Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Satoru wakes with a start, shooting up ramrod straight.

His heart is pounding loudly against his ribcage, the only thing he can hear, really, and his head feels cloudy and hazy, and he can’t seem to focus. There’s an intense thrum of pain flaring across his frontal lobe, and even without really thinking about it, he can feel his cursed energy going haywire.

He can hear the buzz of it surrounding him; a sound he’d almost forgotten.

Limitless encapsulates him, and it feels like he can’t breathe.

Satoru sucks in a choked inhale, one hand coming up to clutch at his own shirt just over where his heart sits in his chest. He can feel the steady thump, thump, thump against his knuckles, and he tries really hard to believe he’s not dead.

He’d... he’d been in the Prison Realm.

That’s the last thing he really remembers.

He’d been trapped— his cursed energy useless and stagnant in the tight space, dulled in a way that made him feel average, like there wasn’t anything there at all and Limitless had been unreachable no matter how hard he tried.

He’d been stuck in that box.

That thing— Suguru's corpse possessed by that thing, whatever the hell it was, curse or curse user... he doesn’t even fucking know, can’t wrap his head around it, honestly, had used his second of surprise to seal him away in an ancient relic Satoru hadn’t even really known existed.

It had used his dead best friend as a trap, as a Goddamn lure, to stop him in his tracks. Just enough time to activate that stupid prison realm and seal him away. What a cheap move.

Stuck in a timeless shoe box used to imprison him. Something he hadn’t even known existed, hadn’t known was capable of containing the power of the Six-Eyes. Time had not been passing in that realm, he was sure about it, but the world around him wouldn’t cease to exist as well.

Satoru can only imagine the damage that would’ve followed him being sealed away.

That Not-Suguru had power.

He had curses working alongside him. Powerful curses. Curses he hadn’t even consumed— just working with him. Some sort of curse able to manipulate blood, whatever the hell that thing had been, that weak hot-headed mountain curse that Satoru’s really tired of seeing, and that nature-related curse that Itadori and Todo had battled during the fiasco that was the Goodwill Event.

None of them even tied to Not-Suguru's curse manipulation technique, but still working coherently.

He knows his students are strong in their own ways— Itadori, Megumi and Kugisaki, and the second years too, of course. And even Nanami and the other sorcerers had power behind them, even if Satoru hadn’t played the important and prodigious role of teaching them all the best tricks, but everyone knew Gojō Satoru was the strongest.

Virtually untouchable.

Maybe even the strongest Sorcerer to date.

That thing clearly knew Satoru was the strongest too.

They’re a powerful group, but if Satoru had been tricked and bested... how much of a chance do they really stand against this? If the strongest was taken out, how would the rest fare?

That wasn’t even Satoru’s superiority complex speaking, that was simply logical thought. The game’s over when the king is captured, isn’t it? There’s no doubt in Satoru’s mind that Not-Suguru was masterfully playing a game of chess with them, always two steps ahead of them.

Everything that happened before Satoru was sealed, before war surely went on after he'd been seal, wasn’t a war to that creature parading around in Getō Suguru’s body; this was a game he intended to win. And maybe he had?

Satoru squints his eyes shut, afraid to imagine any further; scared to see what his mind would conjure of his students, friends and colleagues without his protection. Of possible death, surely bloodshed left in the wake of Satoru’s imprisonment. The thought made him physically sick.

It knew Satoru was a threat, so it tried to cage him. And it succeeded.

Fuck.

How long had it been?

How much time had really passed?

How did he even get here? Where was everyone? He certainly wasn’t in the Prison Realm anymore, but there’s still something that feels... off. He can’t imagine any of his first-year students leaving him alone if he’d been gone for who knows how long and was finally back. Unless... they were unable.

Satoru’s thoughts whir dangerously at the implications of that specific thought.

He pushes away the pitting feeling in his stomach.

He eases himself back along the soft cot under him, pushing himself up into a sitting position so he can survey over the room. He takes stock of the room; empty. Good. Perfect.

He can breathe for a second then.

Satoru swallows roughly, grimacing at the stiffness of his limbs as he pushes himself up a bit straighter and shuffles back a bit more until he can lean back against the wall with a wince.

He brings a shaky hand up to press his fingers against his eyes, ignoring the flicks of pain that follow the relief the pressure offers. There’s an intense ache buried somewhere behind his eyes, and without a blindfold or something of the likes to nullify the world around him, pressure is the only thing that can help.

“Oh good,” Satoru startles, hand falling from his face in surprise. Gearing up for a fight, or an attack. His hands lifts minutely for a Blue attack, but he wilts just as fast as recognition clicks in his mind, hand dropping back to his lap. He knows that voice. “You’re awake. I'm going to pretend you didn't just threaten me. You've been pretty out of it.”

"Force of habit," Satoru swallows thickly, "sorry."

Finally, Satoru lets his eyes drift to the door, where Shoko is entering the room.

Her lips are tilted up faintly, a tiny, relieved smile.

“No worries. Now, how are you feeling?”

Satoru opens his mouth, gapes dumbly for a second before his jaw snaps shut with an audible click. He stares, blinking owlishly as he takes his friend in with all the power of his sight as well as his cursed technique, opening his mouth again, trying to form words before ultimately letting his jaw snap shut again.

Then, finally, “why do you look like that?”

Satoru can’t keep the incredulity from his voice as he scans her up and down unashamedly.

She’s so young— what the hell is happening? Why does Shoko look like that?

“Asshole,” Shoko scoffs, marching towards the bed.

Satoru can just shrink back faintly as she looms over him in irritation.

“You try not sleeping for three days while on idiot watch, and then we’ll see how good you look, dumbass,” Shoko sneers. There’s an air of playfulness, but she also sounds genuinely annoyed too. He hadn’t heard her sound like this in years. “You know, your personality is pretty shit sometimes. If you weren’t so pretty, I’m sure the rest of you would scare people away.”

“I’m powerful too,” Satoru mutters back on autopilot, still trying to wrap his head around the fact he’s staring at a teenaged Shoko. “It’s a selling feature, you know?”

He hears himself saying these things but can’t seem to focus on them.

Maybe she snorts out a laugh, or maybe she just glares down at him in annoyance, he isn’t sure.

He’s just trying to wrap his brain around this. Around Shoko looking like that again.

As far as he’s aware, and he likes to think he’s pretty aware of things, aging is supposed to go forwards, not backwards, right? So why is Shoko, twenty-eight the last time he’d seen her, looking like a fresh-faced baby sorcerer? She can’t possibly be any older than eighteen. There’s just no way.

What the fuck is happening?

Satoru sucks in a shaky breath as he tries to collect his thoughts on the matter, tries to string together something intelligible to say, but just ends up pausing abruptly when he hears something, someone, approaching the room. The footsteps fall heavily outside the infirmary, hurried and anxious, but familiar too.

“Shoko,” Satoru hears a voice that has him freezing. No... that can’t be. How is he here? Why is he here? “Hey, I brought you some coffee, how’s Satoru doing—”

Satoru’s blood turns icy in his veins, and his body tenses up.

He lets his eyes slip shut, squeezing them shut as he inches backwards on the infirmary cot. He topples to the ground uneasily, only protected by Infinity flaring up around his body.

That... that’s Suguru’s voice.

That had been Suguru’s heavy footsteps trailing into the room.

Suguru’s stupid, calm and comforting voice. Something he’d missed— whatever that curse thing, or whatever it truly was that was possessing his best friend’s corpse was, it had never been able to mellow Suguru’s voice like this.

Too confident.

Too egotistical and malevolent.

Too self-assured, grinning teasingly in a way that Suguru had never seemed so vicious, so telling that that wasn’t his Suguru stood before him. That it wasn’t his Suguru who’d trapped Satoru in that stupid Cursed Object’s grasp and sealed him away without a care.

Looking back now, Satoru can see where they differed.

If he hadn’t been so surprised by his best friend seemingly resurrected and talking to him, Satoru’s sure he would’ve been able to tell the difference instantly. Six-Eyes might not have been able to tell, but Satoru could.

That thing had put on a good show at first glance, but it wasn’t Suguru.

Unless it’s learning.

Satoru’s heart stutters in his chest at the thought.

Satoru inhales another shaky breath, pushing himself back until his spine connects with another wall—or until Infinity connects with another wall.

Footsteps trail closer, pounding on the floor. His eyes are squinted shut, but Six-Eyes allows him to see the cursed energy fluttering closer before pausing just before him. Everything pauses; the people, the energies. Everything goes stagnant around him.

Maybe they’re talking, or maybe they’re not.

He’s not sure.

He can’t hear anything past the static in his own ears.

It feels like Suguru. Looks like his energy wisping off his frame, dirtied and mucky by the curses he’s consumed, but something so calm and naturally Suguru as well. Satoru doesn’t know how his friend had managed to balm over the energy of the curses under his possession, but he had.

But that thing had looked, felt and sounded the same too.

“Satoru?” Satoru stiffens at Suguru’s calm, worried tone. “Hey, it’s okay. Are you alright? Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What happened? Shoko, why is he—”

Icy blue eyes sliver open, and for a second, all Satoru can see is cursed energy hovering just before him. Blobs of energy pressing in close, looming around him. He lets his eyes adjust past Six-Eyes, focusing on his regular vision until two figures form before him from the clouds of cursed energy.

When the haze clears from his vision, he studies the two before him.

Shoko, stood just behind Suguru, but leaned forwards slightly.

Her lips are pulled downwards in a frown, eyes narrowed worriedly as she scans Satoru’s hunched over form. Her arms are laced over her chest, an air of indifference that doesn’t fool Satoru in the slightest. He can read the uncertainty and worry in her taut muscles. She’s close to him, but not close enough for it to be suffocating. A healthy distance. Satoru appreciates it.

His eyes flick downwards, staring straight ahead now.

He meets Suguru’s worried eyes.

Icy blue meeting dark purpleish-black irises.

Suguru is crouched just in front of Satoru.

They’re almost the same height, Suguru only an inch or so taller in their different positions. It’s still painfully easy to let his gaze linger in Suguru’s own despite how his heart hammers even harder against his ribs. The dark-haired boy’s eyes are kind, but genuinely worried, one hand outstretched faintly as if battling with himself on whether or not he should fully reach out to Satoru.

Satoru can’t decide between shying away from his touch or reaching out to meet him desperately.

He does neither.

Satoru’s eyes flick up finally, drawing the line across Suguru’s forehead where those disgusting stitches had sat. Where that thing had popped the top of Suguru’s head and skull open, and exposed its slimy self to him when he was already weak against the restraints of the Prison Realm, incapable of doing anything about the atrocity.

But... they’re not there.

Suguru’s forehead is stitch free, just a furrowed brow and a tuft of dark hair falling over his forehead. There’s a crinkle between Suguru’s eyebrows, worry obviously clear, but besides those things, there’s nothing out of the ordinary.

Still, Satoru wants to reach over and touch, verify for himself as if his physical sight and Six-Eyes aren’t enough, run his thumb over the line he can still envision running around the entirety of Suguru’s head when he thinks hard enough about that monster, but he keeps his distance, hands curled into his chest to avoid temptation.

Satoru chokes on another stuttered breath when he finally notices.

Suguru looks so young.

Both of them— Shoko and Suguru. They’re young. She’s not the woman he’d had falsify Yūji’s death just a couple months ago to get the higher-ups off the poor student’s back and he’s not the man Satoru had had to kill a year ago after he’d tried to recruit Yūta into his genocide mission and had hurt Satoru’s then first-year students like a toddler throwing a tantrum when he was denied.

And he’s certainly not the monster who’d tricked and imprisoned him.

The lack of stitches and scarring is proof enough of that.

He doesn’t understand.

How do they both look like this? Why is Suguru even here? How is this possible—

“-toru—”

Satoru stiffens.

If they look like that, and they aren’t concerned that he looks so much older in comparison, then would that mean...

Satoru pushes himself up abruptly, shouldering past both his friends without a word. His limbs feel shaky and almost numb, but he pushes onwards desperately. He stumbles, one hand coming up to palm at his temple where his head thrums, pounding along with each step he takes.

He distantly hears them calling out to him, following just a step behind him, matching his own panic, but he’s on a mission. He needs to see for himself. He needs proof.

The bathroom is dark when he throws the door open and stumbles in, but he can still see himself in the mirror just from the light filtering in from the main room of the infirmary.

He doesn’t bother with the door, doesn’t bother with the light.

He can see enough anyways.

Satoru’s hands lift to prod at his face, eyes wide with surprise.

He’s so young.

His fingers trail down soft skin, wide eyes taking in his own baby face.

God, he doesn’t even remember looking this young.

Maybe he repressed his school years after everything that happened, but it truly has been a lot of years since he’d looked like this. Young and innocent. Childish. Unbroken but the world and Jujutsu society.

His breath catches in his lungs, and he wavers with a bout of dizziness that threatens to take him out, but he just can’t seem to tear his gaze away from his own face.

He’s sans any eye protection, which he’d known as much by the constant sting of Six-Eyes, hair a ruffled mess and slightly greasy but falling familiarly over his face and eyes. It’s shorter, just barely, and he’s lacking his undercut that made wearing his blindfold easier.

Satoru’s eyes flick down his own body in the mirror, chewing on the inside of his cheek when he recognizes the familiar student uniform. The slick cottony material hugs his slender body a bit looser than the satiny teaching uniform he’d long since gotten used to.

He’s a tiny bit shorter, and not quite as sturdy; lankier.

Satoru’s hands fall from his face to brace on the edge of the counter, breaths coming out short and forced as he wobbles unsteadily.

What the absolute hell is happening?

He’s dreaming.

He has to be dreaming.

That stupid cube finally did it. Lulled him into a sense of security, shattered his mind. Fuck.

“You could've just said if you needed to take a piss,” Shoko is the first to reach the bathroom door, hand clutching against the wood of the doorframe as she leans in. Worry still curls in her tone, despite how she’s trying to keep it neutral. “You’re such an idiot, if you keel over from your own sheer stupidity, I’m not going to bring you back.”

Suguru appears just a second later, peering into the room over Shoko’s shoulder. His eyebrows are knit even tighter together, worry lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he scans Satoru not so subtly.

He’s not half as good at hiding his worry as Shoko is.

Satoru lets out a humorless laugh, tears stinging at his eyes before he lifts his hands to press his palms hard against his eyes. Against Six-Eyes. Six-Eyes that’s telling him everything is okay. That this is fine. That this isn’t cause for concern— that being here, right now, with Suguru and Shoko who look like students, with him looking like a student when he’s twenty-eight-fucking-years-old, is perfectly normal.

This is not normal.

This is so far from normal it’s not even funny.

The last thing Satoru feels before blacking out is his knees buckling under him, hands slipping from his face as he folds in on himself and Suguru’s energy ramming past Shoko hurriedly to catch him before he can hit the ground.

The second time Satoru wakes up, he’s not alone.

He spots Shoko on the other side of the room, leaning out a window with a cigarette balanced between her lips. Smoke wafts into the room despite the open window. It’s funny to him that younger Shoko opened the window, when older Shoko doesn’t even bother anymore.

He supposes she is usually in the morgue at that point, everyone goes to find her when they need her, but the point still stands. Growing up had been rough on her too.

Some battles aren’t worth fighting anymore.

Satoru lets his gaze flick to the side where he spots Suguru.

The other boy’s eyes are shut, and he’s leaning back against the chair he sits in, head lulling back a bit. His arms are crossed loosely over his chest, rising and falling faintly with the even breaths of his chest.

Satoru can’t tell if he’s awake and resting his eyes, or if he’d really fallen asleep.

He has half a mind to reach out and touch, thumb along Suguru’s forehead like he’d wanted to earlier, but now Satoru isn’t sure what’s really happening.

It had felt so real.

Both of them here, young students before the cruel world of Jujutsu had really taken a toll on them. Before Suguru had defected and brought calamity with him whenever he returned. Everything about this felt real. Waking up. His body. Passing out. The energy his Six-Eyes is seeing, and even what his normal human vision is seeing.

It’s real.

This is real.

These people are real. His friends are real. They’re real and right in front of him. Alive and not what they’d been the last time he’d seen them. It’s like he’s seeing the them from the deepest pits of his memory.

Satoru sucks in a shaky breath, lifting a hand to his face in an attempt to muffle the sound. A couple more minutes with his thoughts would let him wade his way through all this, but he’s not that lucky. He’s never that lucky.

His attempt is futile.

A quick glance over shows Suguru’s bleary eyes settling on him before the dark-haired teen is jolting up and scooching his chair closer. His fingers settle on Satoru’s arm, putting light pressure which is far more comforting than Satoru thinks it should be.

Satoru’s eyes flick down to the contact, mind whirring at how real it feels.

There’s no way this isn’t real.

There’s just no way.

“Satoru,” Suguru whispers kindly, “hey, how are you feeling?”

“Peachy,” Satoru mutters blandly, flopping back into the pillow behind him. He throws an arm over his eyes, attempting to block out the loudness of the world, but it doesn’t help much. The ache in his head persists. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Suguru scoffs, “maybe because you passed out a few hours ago?”

Satoru hums thoughtfully, “no, that doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”

“Really?” Suguru rolls his eyes. “Looked that way to me.”

“Get your eyes checked then—”

“Ugh, you two are insufferable,” Shoko groans from the window. “Get married already, will you? You’re either moping over each other or bickering like an old married couple. Disgustingly domestic and incredibly annoying.”

Satoru’s gaze flicks back to her, watching silently as she takes one last drag of her cigarette before dropping the butt of it into an old looking can of Cola. She tugs the window shut just a second later, and then she’s making her way over to them.

She pats Suguru’s shoulder sympathetically as she passes, and it’s just then Satoru notices the annoyed, narrowed gaze his friend is shooting in his direction.

He pretends he doesn’t see it.

Suguru lets out a heavy sigh as his hand drops from Satoru’s arm and returns to where he’d had his arms crossed over his chest just moments earlier.

“If I ask you how you’re feeling, will I get an honest answer?” Shoko calls over her shoulder as she pulls open a desk drawer. Satoru watches her rifle through it, head cocking faintly before he loses interest.

“Depends on how nicely you ask,” Satoru offers in return. He props himself up a bit, grinning widely at the woman, even though her back is currently to him. It’s so easy interacting with them. Maybe it really is a dream? “Say please, Satoru and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“You’re a dreamer, Satoru,” Shoko scoffs instead, as she selects something from the drawer and turns back to the two of them. “You’re difficult, you know that?”

“You know, I’ve heard that once or twice,” Satoru quips back as Shoko finally joins them.

Shoko comes to a stop beside Suguru, at Satoru’s bedside. She and Suguru exchange a look that has Satoru squinting between them. His eyes narrow on Suguru, the more likely to try something, who simply cocks an eyebrow in question.

“Hey, Satoru?” Shoko says sweetly.

“Yeah, what—”

The second he turns to glance at her, a blinding light flashes in his eye.

“Hey! Ouch, warn a guy with sensitive eyes before blinding him,” Satoru scoffs, rearing away to rub at his stinging eye. “Do you have any idea how bright that shit is? Even without Six-Eyes. I already had a headache, now I’m seeing stars too! This is why people don't like doctors!”

“You big baby,” Shoko offers a teasing smile, reaching out to grasp Satoru’s chin between her fingers to hold him steady. He stares defiantly up into her challenging eyes, squinting when she holds up the turned off light. “I gave you the option to answer my question, didn’t I? Now, you got any other bright idea to see if you’re concussed or not? No? Then let me check. Don’t make me make Suguru hold you down.”

Satoru can’t help the puff of laughter at her honestly very real threat.

Satoru suffers through her tests, trying not to look away as she shines her light and studies his eyes despite the sharpness of the light against his sensitive Six-Eyes. Spots dance across his vision even after she pulls the light away.

When she releases her grip on his face, he finally reaches up to palm at his eyes.

“Satoru, here.”

Satoru lets his head lull in Suguru’s direction suspiciously, half surprised to find a pair of his circular black-out glasses held out to him. He can’t help but hesitate for just a second as he scans the sunglasses with one eye as he keeps rubbing hard at the other.

Finally, he lets his hand fall from his friction-numb eye and takes the pair of glasses into his fingers gently. He stares down for a long second, studying the frames he’d grown out of and replaced with thin oval shaped ones that fit his adult face better.

“Thought you might want them,” Suguru shrugs as he drops back against the backrest of the chair. “Your other pair got broken when you got knocked down, but I grabbed your spare pair on my way down here. Thought maybe your eyes might hurt when you woke up.”

Satoru had almost forgotten how thoughtful Suguru was.

Back before he turned into a genocidal maniac.

“...thanks,” Satoru breathes out after a long second, flipping the temples of his glasses open and pressing the pair onto the bridge of his nose. The relief is almost instant. Not quite as nice as his blindfold blocking out everything, but still better than nothing. They really did do a good job blocking out the world. “So, what’s the verdict, Doc? Will I make it?”

“Unfortunately,” Shoko sighs theatrically, brow furrowing in amusement as she speaks, “I’m afraid it looks like you’ll live this time.”

Suguru snorts a surprised laugh.

“Unfortunately?” Satoru gapes, only slightly offended, “you’re so mean, Shoko! I’m a joy. I think you meant fortunately.”

“Sure, Satoru,” Shoko smiles softly, “but all jokes aside, you do have a mild concussion. I was expecting much worse considering you’ve passed out twice. Light activity and try not to overextend your techniques. Don’t hide behind Infinity until I give you the go-ahead, and we can wrap your eyes with bandages if you’d like as well, probably more protection than your glasses. Give Six-Eyes a break for a bit while you recover.”

“Yeah, okay,” Satoru slumps in defeat, “and I don’t pass out.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Okay then,” she shrugs indifferently, waving Suguru off with a crooked smile, “you fainted like a dainty little flower. Twice. Better?”

Satoru squawks in offense, “that’s worse!”

Suguru lets out a full bellied laugh at Satoru’s expense, all but bending himself in half as he cackles.

Instead of being offended, Satoru lets a small, pleased smile curl onto his lips as he looks between the two of them. Satoru can’t even find it in himself to be upset at him laughing at him, because he’d missed this with every fiber of his being.

Maybe that’s why this is so hard to believe.

There's a yearning in his chest for this to be real— a desperation for this to be the truth.

He doesn’t know what that means for everything else; eleven years later, two classes of amazing and powerful students he’s playing a role in teaching, that war they were on the brink of (probably full-fledged now) and the Prision Realm.

That had all felt real too.

That... couldn’t have been a dream, could it?

Something that his mind conjures up that’s so vivid it’s real.

Or is this the dream? Being here with a young Shoko; a young, very alive Suguru. Life before shit hit the fan, when they were just three young idiots trying to navigate the Jujutsu world. Before his best friend turned his back on them and defected. Before he’d left Satoru.

Satoru’s gaze flicks between his two friends as he curls in on himself a little.

He can’t even decide what he wants to be real anymore. Doesn’t know where he wants to be.

Here, where he so desperately wants to be, or there, where he’s probably very needed. Satoru knows himself to be a selfish man, he finds a way to get what he wants, and he knows how to work the system in his favor. The world is indebted to him after all. He’s stood alone at the top for many, many years.

He’d love to give into his own whims, be selfish and stay here, but there are people there he wants to protect too. A world that he’d abandoned, whether willingly or not.

Nothing feels real, but at the same time, everything does. It all feels real. Too real.

He’s not sure, and Six-Eyes isn’t even helping.

Nothing makes sense.

But... maybe that’s just the head wound talking?

And speaking of...

“Hey,” Satoru calls attention, glancing between his two friends, “so, uh, what actually happened? I don’t remember anything. How’d I get concussed?”

“On a mission in Tokyo,” Suguru offers softly. All traces of the amusement that had just filled the room like a blanket is swept away by the graveness in his tone. “You were supposed to go alone, but I didn’t have any missions planned, and you wanted to ditch the assistant on the way back and go try a new boba shop in downtown Tokyo.”

“Sounds about right,” Satoru shrugs.

Suguru hums, “we arrived in a small town, at an old temple on the outskirts of Tokyo. A religious cult offering human sacrifices. It’s no wonder they assigned it to you. There was only supposed to be a special grade curse lurking around, but there ended up being a surprise first grade and some grade three and fours. Not that that bothered you.”

“Of course not,” Satoru snorts out, “we’re the strongest, aren’t we?”

Suguru lulls his head in Satoru’s direction, eyebrows knit together as if debating reaching over and smacking some sense into Satoru and agreeing with him.

He does neither as his lips press in a straight line.

“Do remember the part where you almost died,” Shoko says unkindly. “Arrogant prick.”

“That sounds a little overly dramatic—”

“Trust me, it’s not. Suguru had to save your dumb ass,” Shoko perches on the edge of Satoru’s cot, her hand finding his ankle and her thumb stroking along the protruding bone. “Sent you out of the veil on Rainbow Dragon and exercised the curses alone. You’d be a goner if you’d taken that one alone, Satoru.”

Satoru takes a second to process that. “How... what actually happened? I don’t really remember any of this.”

And wasn’t that the statement of the year.

Not remembering anything, remembering too much.

He can’t tell.

“The special grade, a creepy snake looking thing went for you instantly, and I went after the first grade. The fourth and third grades weren’t a problem. The first grade, however, was strong. I think it might’ve even been a special grade one, maybe; definitely kept me busy,” Suguru explains plainly, looking anywhere but at Satoru. “I took care of it eventually and then went to find you, but when I found you and the special grade again, something was wrong.”

“Wrong?” Satoru echoes. “Wrong how?”

“You just... stopped. I don’t know what happened. One second you were fine, I heard you blabbering on about the kind of boba you were going to get, and the next you were silent, and it was throwing you against a wall. You weren’t using any of your techniques. Not even Infinity. You hit hard, Satoru. Then your cursed energy just went super crazy before you could even push yourself up.”

Suguru’s voice had gotten steadily fainter as he spoke, thoughtful and worried.

He’s quiet for a second before he continues, tone stiff, “I didn’t know what was happening. It’s like you... I don’t know, like a cursed energy bomb went off or something. But like in reverse. I don’t know where it came from, but you just absorbed it into your own cursed energy, and then you just kinda lost consciousness. Collapsed completely right then and there.”

“Oh,” Satoru breathes the word out.

“Yeah,” Suguru looks away, cupping his chin in his hand as his elbow settles on his knee, “I hardly had time to send Rainbow Dragon to retrieve you before the curse was striking towards you to finish you off. Just barely got to you first. I lost a couple good curses to that thing. It put up a fight. Definitely could’ve used some backup, but I handled it in the end.”

Satoru swallows guiltily as he turns the information over in his head, “well... I’m sorry. Y’know, for flaking out like that, I guess. I don’t know what happened, honestly.”

“I’m not sure what you did counts as flaking out,” Suguru’s eyes finally flick back to Satoru, brow furrowing. “Apologize for almost dying on me, not for leaving me to do all the work.”

Satoru offers a cheeky grin, desperate to lighten the mood, “oh, my dear, dear Suguru, I’m so very sorry for almost croaking in your presence! How unkind of me! How will you ever forgive me for such a sin? Say the word and you’ll have it! Money? Treats? Smooches?”

Satoru puckers his lips making exaggerated kissing sounds as he leans towards Suguru.

A pale hand pushes his cheek away before he can get close though to press an exaggerated, sloppy kiss onto Suguru’s cheek. Satoru pouts, gaze lulling towards the younger boy as he slumps in defeat before brushing it off.

“You’re such an ass,” Suguru huffs out fondly. “It sucked, but it wasn’t all bad, I managed to consume the special grade. It’ll be useful sometime, I’m sure. Afterall, it is a curse that knocked the strongest sorcerer on his ass.”

“’cause me almost dying ‘wasn’t all bad’,” Satoru huffs back in mock despair, silently reveling in the affronted look Suguru shoots him. He’d almost forgotten how easy it was to rile Suguru up. “So cruel, Sugu-chan! I see how it is! And I was clearly unfit to work! Don’t go telling people it knocked me on my ass! What will our precious kōhais think of their super cool senpai then?”

“Obviously you dying was the bad part, not the ‘wasn’t all bad’ part, dumbass,” Suguru rolls his eyes. “And Nanami and Haibara would have to think of you as a super cool senpai in the first place for anything to change.”

“Mean!” Satoru squeaks out. “Kick a man while he’s down, why don’t you? Don’t you remember, Sugu-chan? I’m hurt. I’m concussed. Where's the sympathy, huh? Be nice to me.”

“You’re fine,” Shoko snickers. “In fact, if you feel okay enough, you’re good to leave. You can go somewhere else to sleep this off. Finally. You had a pretty high fever for a while when we got you back to the school, but you’re back to regular temperature now. We were just waiting for your lazy ass to wake up. Now, I can wrap your eyes and send you away, they’ll probably be overly sensitive for a bit.”

Shoko pauses, hums thoughtfully to herself as if running through a mental checklist before her head cocks in Satoru’s direction and a smile graces her lips, “the earliest I want to see your face is tomorrow morning, so neither of you bother me unless Satoru’s dying again, got it? I’m looking forwards to some peace and quiet and I can finally sleep with you jackasses out of my hair. You’ve been here way too long. Both of you. And I’ve been here too long too. Plus, I’m tired of looking at your ugly face.”

“My face is the prettiest and you know it.”

“Wait,” Suguru pauses, “I thought he shouldn’t sleep if he has a concussion?”

“He'll be fine,” Shoko shakes her head as she pushes off the bed and stretches out her back. “It’s a mild concussion. His pupils weren’t dilated, and he can hold a conversation, as stupid as it was. I was just as worried as you when he woke up that first time, but he’s okay, Suguru. Head trauma is weird like that. Rest is what he needs now. But if you’re really bothered, you can stay with him and wake him up every hour.”

“That sounds like actual hell,” Satoru’s nose scrunches up as his eyes follow Shoko to the cabinet where medical supplies are kept over the rim of his glasses. His eyes flick to Suguru where he pouts at the thoughtful look on the other’s face. “Don’t tell me you’re honestly considering that.”

“Well,” Suguru bites his lip, shaking his head, “I’d rather you not die in your sleep.”

“So, you do care,” Satoru groans, pulling his glasses off his face and palming at his eyes as Shoko finally approaches with sterile white bandages. “Ugh, fine, but don’t be mad at me if I’m crabby. I am just tired. And my eyes hurt. I feel okay now. Seriously. I'm fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Is all this assurance just a way to tell me you don’t want to have a sleepover with me?”

Satoru pouts as Shoko steps closer to start wrapping soft bandages around his eyes. He feels a lot better as the brightness fades to darkness with each coil. He’s definitely going to have to invest in a blindfold.

“I want to have a sleepover with you,” Satoru mutters past puckered lips.

“My room or yours?”

Satoru doesn’t need to see to know Suguru is sporting one of those ridiculously cute, gentle closed-eyed smiles. Satoru pretends his heart doesn’t stutter in his chest at the familiar image his brain conjures up of Suguru’s smile.

Satoru had been a bit afraid that when he went to sleep here, he’d wake up somewhere different.

He’d laid beside Suguru in the dark-haired teen’s bed, his stomach a flutter of familiarity and longing as he settled into the blankets at Suguru’s side. It smelled of Suguru— a scent Satoru had missed.

He’d always liked Suguru’s dorm.

Satoru’s dorm had more; more posters, more knick-knacks, more possessions, more personality.

As soon as he’d been given freedom from his clan, coming here after fifteen long years of isolation and prestige, being the clan’s perfect little God amongst men, he’d done and bought himself whatever he fancied. Sweets, risqué posters, dumb knick-knacks and anything else that would’ve tainted the suffocating air of the Gojō estate.

That said, Suguru’s dorm always felt homier.

Satoru had more, sure, but Suguru had an energy in his dorm that Satoru didn’t know how to replicate. An energy that he thinks he craves somewhere deep in his soul. An energy you won’t find in the walls of the Gojō Clan’s estate.

And having a warm body beside him, his best friend, who was obviously feigning sleep as if some sort of reverse psychology to get Satoru to fall asleep in turn, had something warm and fond lighting up in his chest. Satoru had almost snorted a laugh at Suguru’s not-so-even breaths that gave him away.

He’d missed having the warmth of someone, of Suguru, at his side.

Suguru’s arm was under Satoru’s shoulders, and Satoru’s ear fell on Suguru’s bicep, just before his shoulder. He was able to perfectly wedge himself against Suguru’s side.

It wasn’t the most usual position for best friends, guys at that, but after their rocky first couple months as classmates, Satoru had found companionship in Suguru that he’d never been able to find anywhere else. They bickered and fought, rammed head over stupid things, but at the end of the day, their relationship trudged on through it all.

The one who came closest to reaching him.

His one and only.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Suguru.

There was comfort in the position— how they had to puzzle themselves into the small dorm beds on sleepover occasions such as this one, how it came so naturally. There was no hesitance, no awkwardness between them. It just was what it was.

The beds were small, they’d always ended up sprawled over each other in the morning anyways.

Still, he didn’t want to give in to the call of sleep, no matter how much his eyes and head were begging to rest. He was afraid. Terrified to really let himself be vulnerable and fall asleep when he wasn’t sure what would come of it.

He was still so confused, and he was scared that something would change.

He didn’t want to wake up back in the Prison Realm.

He didn’t want to wake up in a war zone.

He wanted to stay here.

“Aren’t you tired, Satoru?”

Suguru’s voice is soft. It’s soft, and nearly inaudible, but it still disturbs the façade of sleep they’d lulled into. They both know the other is not asleep, but he’d appreciated them both pretending.

Satoru feels Suguru’s head turn and knows he’s watching him.

“I am,” Satoru admits lightly, refusing to let his head lull in Suguru’s direction in turn. “I’m so fucking tired, Suguru...”

A soft breath the just faintly catches against Satoru’s hair, “why aren’t you sleeping then? If you’re tired. I don’t understand, Satoru.”

I’m scared, Satoru wants to admit.

It sits on the tip of his tongue, and he almost, almost, lets the vulnerable words slip out. But he also doesn’t want to admit it. He’s Gojō Satoru. What does he have to be scared of? What does this world have to offer that’ll honest and truly scare him?

When an obstacle rises in front of him, he rises higher.

That’s how it’s always been.

“I don’t want to wake up and see you’re not here,” Satoru lets out instead. It’s not condemning. Sappy, maybe, but not condemning. He chews on his bottom lip and squeezes his eyes shut behind Shoko’s immaculate bandaging job. He turns his head away from Suguru’s prying eyes, tries to push down the feeling of being watched that always gets under his skin. “I don’t want things to change.”

“Will you sleep if I promise not to get out of bed before you wake up?”

Satoru lets out a weak sounding laugh, finally letting his head lull in Suguru’s direction. Of course Suguru wouldn’t know what Satoru really meant. Satoru himself hardly knew what he meant.

Still, the childlike sentiment is oddly charming.

He’s still got his eyes covered, can’t see anything and even Six-Eyes is nulled with the cover, but he still feels Suguru’s tired gaze scanning his face. Satoru offers a half smile for Suguru’s sake.

“I’ll try to sleep,” Satoru insists instead of accepting the offer, sinking further into the mattress and Suguru’s arm that he’s using more like a pillow than the actual pillow behind him. “I’m just being an idiot. Don’t worry about it. Goodnight, Suguru—”

“What do you think is going to change if you go to sleep?” Suguru asks quietly.

A beat passes, Satoru hums in acknowledgment just so Suguru knows he wasn’t ignored.

“I don’t know,” Satoru finally says evenly, lying right through his teeth. He knows exactly what’ll change. He doesn’t want to admit it. Can’t admit it, but he knows.

Suguru is quiet for a long second.

Satoru focuses on Suguru’s breathing, trying to match it with his own. Finally, Suguru’s body shifts as he pushes himself up faintly, no doubt turning his head to scan Satoru again.

The younger boy looks for a while, studies Satoru with a precision that no one but Suguru had ever been able to reach when it comes to making Satoru feel bare, then lets out a quiet sigh as he drops back into the pillows in defeat.

“I know Shoko said you’re okay, but you’re really worrying me, Satoru.”

Satoru hums faintly in return, shutting his eyes and finally giving in to sleep just to avoid responding to that.

To Satoru’s genuine surprise, not only does he wake up in Suguru’s dorm room just as he’d gone to sleep, but he also wakes up beside Suguru.

Just like he’d promised.

The dark-haired teen had shifted in the bed at some point, probably when he woke up, back leaned against the headboard and Satoru senses the quiet hum of his phone in his hand even with his eyes still covered and shut. His other hand is trailing gently through Satoru’s hair, careful not to disturb the bandages.

Satoru’s head is pillowed on Suguru’s stomach, one arm thrown over him and his face buried in the fabric of the younger’s sleep shirt. Satoru doesn’t have it in himself to be embarrassed about clinging to Suguru like this.

He’d long since accepted, and tried very hard to ignore and forget about, the hole in his heart that Suguru had left, but it’s nice to feel whole again. Even if this is a dream.

“Satoru?” the fingers in his hair pause, “are you awake?”

Satoru doesn’t open his eyes, muttering sleepily into Suguru’s shirt, “if I say no, will you keep doing that? Feels nice. Helps with the headache.”

Suguru snorts out a laugh, going right back to trailing his finger through Satoru’s hair. “Sometimes I’m not sure if you’re my best friend, or a cat. How did you sleep?”

“Shitty,” Satoru hums into Suguru’s shirt. “Someone kept waking me up.”

He faintly remembers Suguru shaking him awake a couple times through the night. Maybe not every hour, like Shoko had suggested, but enough times that Satoru’s sure he lost a good amount of sleep between rousing and trying to fall back asleep.

“The nerve,” Suguru scoffs sarcastically, “someone caring about your well-being and not letting you fall into a coma or possibly even die while you slept. I’m a terrible friend.”

“The absolute worst,” Satoru agrees readily, smiling against Suguru. He pushes himself up just enough to turn onto his back, head now dropping on Suguru’s thigh. Suguru goes with it, fingers carding up through his bangs instead now. “Lighten up, Suguru. Shoko said I was fine, and would you look at that? I’m fine. Gojō Satoru lives to see another day, yippee.”

“You’re still concussed,” Suguru reminds.

“But I’ll live,” Satoru grins back sharply. “I’m fine. Seriously. It takes more than a knock to the head to take me out. I’ll lay low for a bit, doctor’s orders, and then I’ll be good as new. Like always. Okay?”

Suguru is quiet. Too quiet.

Satoru cocks his head faintly, eyebrows furrowing slightly, “what?”

“You just...” Suguru sighs. The phone in his hand gets set on the mattress, and then his hand is lifting to rake back through his own dark hair before scrubbing down his face. “You said some weird stuff last night. Worried me a bit.”

“Did I?” Satoru hums. “I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Satoru keeps his expression light, clueless, even when he feels Suguru’s gaze dropping to scan him. He feels more exposed in the morning light, as opposed to the dark night. He doesn’t react, keeping his expression lax and uninteresting. Innocent.

Thankfully, Suguru doesn’t push.

“Forget it then,” the other lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “You were probably just tired anyways. Now, am I allowed to get up and start my day now that you’re awake, or does his majesty still require my presence? Just so you know, I’ve needed to pee for like an hour, and I’m hungry.”

Satoru stretches out along Suguru’s middle before curling up like a cat and angling his head as if peering at Suguru’s face despite the bandages. “I mean, you are a pretty comfy pillow so...”

“We can make pancakes for breakfast?”

Satoru pauses, squints his eyes through the bandages.

“...with chocolate?”

“With chocolate.”

Satoru waits on bated breath for the other shoe to drop.

Three days.

He’d been here for three days. He’d been waiting for three days. Waiting, and watching, and ready to be sucked back to the hell of the Prison Realm. To return to whatever hell would await him outside the Prison Realm, eleven years in the future from this point.

He goes to sleep each night expecting to wake up in his own personal hell, and each morning he’s surprised to find himself in a bed, still just a seventeen-year-old boy.

Nothing happens.

That first entire day passes by with nothing.

They make breakfast, and Shoko stumbles out of her room just as Suguru is plating the last bribery chocolate chip pancake. Satoru’s already eaten three by the time they see their friend, as well as two handfuls of straight chocolate chips, but there’s still more than enough for everyone.

Satoru takes a long shower, sneaking around the dorm bathrooms as if something will catch sight of him and drag him away. Despite Shoko’s warning, Satoru showers with Six-Eyes sweeping over the room just as a security blanket that nothing will sneak up on him when he’s vulnerable, bandage blindfold left with the rest of his clothes.

He hangs out with Suguru and Shoko, enjoys meals with them, and even catches sight of Nanamin and Haibara on their way out for a joint mission on the other side of Japan. There’s something surreal about seeing the two of them. Haibara, who’d been gone for a lot of years, and the version of Nanami that Satoru only really thinks about when teasing his blonde friend about his emo high school years.

He’s hyperaware of everything going on around him, even without Six-Eyes.

He gets the all clear from Shoko to take off the bandages that evening and return to his glasses. His headache hasn’t quieted at all, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He doesn’t mention it.

He spends another night in Suguru’s dorm before returning to his own dorm room.

He returns to core classes with Suguru and Shoko the second day.

Yaga teaches on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Though, when lessons are finished, Satoru finds himself kneeled through a lecture from Yaga about being more careful and being aware of his surroundings when out on missions, as if passing out was something he could’ve prevented— he doesn’t even remember doing, the old man just liked to nag.

Some things never change.

Satoru shoulders through the lecture on autopilot, and beelines to the gym where Suguru and Shoko are when he’s finally dismissed.

He falls right back into the routine of it as if he hadn’t missed a day, let alone what feels like eleven whole years. It’s frighteningly easy to settle into this, even after he’s been a graduate for so long, since he's been a teacher for almost as long.

But... no, that’s not right.

If he’d graduated, he wouldn’t be stuck in classes now.

So he couldn't have.

...right?

Life continues on.

He doesn’t get assigned any missions, and Satoru doesn’t even mind that he’s been benched. Maybe if he weren’t still so unsure about everything, he’d kick up a fuss, but he’s relieved to have some time to figure everything out without his teachers and the higher-ups breathing down his neck.

He wonders if it’s Yaga who’d benched him, or Shoko’s insistence as the school’s aspiring physician.

It all feels so normal. So ordinary.

Another day in the life of a Jujutsu Sorcerer student.

It feels right and normal, but darkness looms in his stomach despite it. A worry deep in the pits of his stomach that whispers that something’s not right. That this isn’t right, no matter how good it feels.

He’s starting to think that maybe it was all just a nightmare.

The Star Plasma Vessel mission, his first official failed mission, and the Sorcerer Killer.

Meeting Tsumiki and Megumi.

Growing up, becoming a teacher— actually liking it.

Collecting hordes of students like he collects Digimon cards. Each rare and spunky and insanely strong. The next generation of Sorcerers that he’d intended to make the strongest. A group to stand by his side at the top, a position very few ever reach.

Okkotsu and Riko.

The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.

Killing Suguru.

Yūji and the King of Curses.

Meeting Not-Suguru.

The Prison Realm.

The war he’d unknowingly left them to fight without him.

...

Was it all just some elaborate nightmare?

It had all felt so real. His students, his friends, his colleagues. The deaths he’d faced and the people he’d lost. Everything he’d done, the decisions he’d made that led to that point. It felt so real.

He’d lived that life, there’s no way he hadn’t.

It feels so real. The people he’d met, feelings he’d felt. Things that had happened, both to him and because of him. It’s so detailed, far more detailed than any dream has the right to be. It felt lively and familiar— not in a distant way, either, but in a way that it is the truth.

It feels right.

It aches to think about all of that stuff. Memories that are his, he thinks, but don’t really feel like his now. To remind himself of all of that stuff. Everything that went wrong, the people who’d been stuck in the heart of that nightmare. It makes his chest swirl with guilt and regret and shame, a gross weight in his stomach he can’t get rid of, but it still feels right.

He belongs there, he knows that— that feels like the truth— but he also belongs right here.

He just doesn’t get it.

Satoru slumps back against the courtyard wall, watching Suguru and Shoko work on hand-to-hand.

Or, watching Suguru try to teach Shoko some hand-to-hand, even though she doesn’t have plans of actually taking on curses once she graduates and applies to med school. Yaga insists she not even go on any missions— her technique is too valuable he says, but it’s obvious the orders have come from the higher-ups.

He lets his gaze drift from them.

If Satoru looks hard enough, if he squints towards the distance of the courtyard, he can almost see ghosts of those kids he’d dreamed up running amok in this very schoolyard. His students.

They’re all too real to be figments of his mind. They’re unique, personable and vastly different from one another. It’s not an image of a stereotypical class of young faceless Sorcerers, nothing average about the wily group possessing his psyche.

They’re actual kids, actual people, he’s had the pleasure of meeting.

Personalities, appearances, strengths and techniques.

They’re real people. Real students.

There’s just no way they can’t be.

Panda and Inumaki watching in amusement and playing cheerleaders as Maki and Yūta arch in defensive positions for what Satoru knows will be an intense spar. Maki snapping out critiques which are a little too venomous to be constructive criticism, but Yūta stumbles to correct himself hurriedly, offering sideways smiles whenever his position matches hers.

She may look annoyed, but the pleased smirks whenever Yūta isn’t looking breaks the façade.

Then, a bit to the left, he can envision Megumi standing gloomily while Nobara and Yūji bicker over something stupid; perhaps a movie, or shopping, or something else Satoru doesn’t care about. He can see Yūji saying something stupid, innocently, and Nobara gritting her teeth before launching full force at him, a perfect balance between playful and seriously pissed as her energy radiates annoyance and that fierce determination that had made him want to take her on as a student.

Megumi watches on, unimpressed, but lips quirked up faintly.

How can that all be a dream?

How could something so real be a dream?

Everything that doesn’t make sense right here and now, doesn’t feel like a dream but... neither does this. This all feels so damn real too. He doesn’t know which is the dream. He doesn’t know which is real. He doesn’t even know what he wants to be the truth, because either way, something doesn’t feel right.

“Hey, space cadet?”

Satoru blinks in surprise as a hand waves in front of his face. His head jerks up, glasses slipping down his nose as he stares up at Shoko over the frame of them. He’s not sure when he started slumping back against the wall, but now even Shoko is taller than him.

Satoru blinks again, coming to awareness and finally noticing that Shoko and Suguru are right here. He hadn't noticed anyone move. Hadn’t noticed their approach.

He squints at her before dumbly muttering a simple, “huh?”

“You were spacing out,” Suguru tells him, expression pinched faintly. “Just kinda staring at us. You didn’t notice us coming over?”

“Not really, no.”

Satoru pretends not to notice the faint, uneasy tilt of Suguru’s head.

“And you had this look of impending doom,” Shoko adds, patting his cheek with the hand that had just been waving an inch in front of his nose. Satoru’s nose wrinkles faintly as he eyes her. “I mean, I get that Yaga’s training is ass, but you looked like something terrible was going to happen. You know something we don’t about today’s lesson?”

“No,” Satoru shakes his head. “I was just thinking.”

“I didn't know you knew how to do that,” Shoko snorts out teasingly as she tugs a carton of cigarettes from her pocket and slips one between her lips.

Satoru glares sharply for a second before it melts into a pout, “I’ll have you know I do a lot of very thoughtful thinking. Important stuff going on up here.”

Shoko lets out a hum of acknowledgement that sounds suspiciously like mocking as she pats at her pockets before frowning. A second later she snakes a hand into Suguru’s pants pocket and pulls her hand back with Suguru’s lighter grasped delicately between her fingers.

“Hey,” Suguru rolls his eyes, but doesn’t look offended in the least. Suguru watches Shoko through narrowed eyes as his arms cross over his chest. “Thief. You could’ve just asked, you know.”

Shoko shrugs as she sparks the lighter to life and cups the flame to the tip of her cigarette. She sucks in a drag of it before holding the lighter back out to Suguru. “Maybe I just wanted to put my hands on you.”

Suguru rolls his eyes.

“Hey, wait, if I start smoking can I put my hands on you too?” Satoru cocks his head to Suguru, batting his eyelashes. It’s entirely teasing, just to see if he can get a rise out of Suguru. Maybe embarrass some colour onto his cheeks. “Why should Shoko get to have all the fun?”

“No,” Suguru’s brow furrows as his narrowed gaze falls onto Satoru and hardens slightly. “Don’t even think about it, Satoru. You don't need another addiction, your sweets one is more than enough. Besides, you don’t even like the smell of cigarettes, you always complain that we smell.”

Satoru has half a mind to point out he doesn’t mind the faint cling of it on Suguru, but Shoko smells like a chain-smoker more often than not. He doesn’t not like it; it just gets overwhelming to his senses.

He wisely keeps his mouth shut.

“And you just put your hands on him whenever you feel like it anyways,” Shoko reminds with a snort. She takes another drag of the cigarette and blows the exhale of smoke in Satoru’s direction. “No point in ruining your lungs for something you already do.”

“Yeah, but you basically felt him up though!” Satoru cries out as he bats away the cloud of smoke away with a glare shot at her. “So not fair.”

“Do you want to feel Suguru up?” Shoko’s lips curl devilishly.

Satoru’s jaw snaps shut.

Shoko snickers.

“Just so you know, I hate you both,” Suguru sighs tiredly as he pockets the lighter. Despite his words, Suguru is sporting a fond little smile as he looks between the two of them. “Why are we even friends?”

“You don’t have many other options,” Shoko shrugs back, “unlucky draw. I’m sure Nanami and Haibara would gladly take you in, Haibara does have quite the fascination with you, Suguru.”

“Unlucky draw,” Satoru agrees, flashing Suguru a grin. “Its no wonder Haibara-kun adores Sugu-chan so much though! He’s just so amazing, isn’t he? Almost as amazing as me! Close second for sure.”

Suguru shoots him a deadpan expression, but Satoru just beams in return.

He’s glad they’ve distracted themselves from his spacing out.

He doesn’t want them to ask questions, doesn’t want to answer any questions. And he can’t very well explain something he doesn’t understand, now, can he?

“I don’t see very much warming up going on out here.”

The three of them stiffen simultaneously, all whipping around to see Yaga stepping out the doors with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His stern expression sweeps over them before narrowing on Shoko, glare noticeable even behind his glasses. “I’m going to forget I see a cigarette in your hand if it’s gone within the next five seconds, Ieiri.”

Shoko drops the nearly finished cigarette to the concrete below them as if it had suddenly burned her, scuffing the embers out with her shoe.

“Litterer,” Satoru scoffs teasingly to her under his breath, which prompts a not-so-gentle shove from Shoko. She glares daggers at him as she picks up her pace in a poor attempt at leaving them behind.

Suguru stifles a laugh from behind them, as the three of them hurry to follow behind Yaga.

“Glad to see you’re feeling well enough to return to training, Gojō.”

“Awh, don’t tell me you were worried about little ol' me, Sensei,” Satoru teases, hands tucking in his pockets as Suguru finally falls into step beside him. Shoko is still a couple steps ahead. “I’m touched old man, honest. But really, I’m fine. As I keep saying. Seriously, one knock to the head and suddenly I’m made of glass. I get hit harder in class all the time.”

“Maybe we’re just treating you like a human being,” Suguru retorts stiffly.

Satoru doesn’t know what the sudden tension is from, one eyebrow arching as he glances over at his friend. “Well don’t,” Satoru sniffs indifferently. “Like I said, I’ve been hit harder in class.”

“It’s not about how hard you were hit, Satoru,” Suguru narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “It’s the principle of it. Your cursed energy went weird, and you were left defenseless because of it. What if it happens again? What if your cursed energy putters out again, and you’re left defenseless?”

“I also passed out,” Satoru scoffs, “you know, a bodily reaction? What did you want me to do? Stop being human? I’ve tried, doesn’t work. It's honestly a drag.”

“Gojō, Getō,” Yaga’s voice already sounds exhausted.

They ignore him easily.

“I’m not talking about this specific incident, Satoru,” Suguru snaps back hands tightening into fists at his side. “I’m talking in general. Do you even have any idea how to fight if you’re not using your technique as a safety net? You half ass your way through combat and hide behind Infinity and don’t take anything seriously because you think you’re so strong. And you are, but you’re not invincible and you won’t always have the upper hand. Did you not learn anything from this? From almost dying? I think we have a right to be concerned about you!”

“I was clearly sick or something!” Satoru sneers back, shoulders hunching up defensively as he turns to glare at Suguru. He’s unsurprised to find a matching heated glare directed at him. “Just drop it, will you? So I made a mistake, that, might I remind everyone, I don’t even remember making. I don’t see you pointing out anyone else’s shortcomings. I don’t fucking know what happened, okay? So lay off.”

“Does that not worry you?” Suguru snaps heatedly. “What your cursed energy did? What happened? That you don’t know why it happened? I saw what it did, Satoru! It wasn’t normal, and then you collapsed! In front of a curse, in a veil! You could’ve died! You would be dead! Why aren’t you concerned about it?!”

“Well, I obviously didn’t do it on purpose!” Satoru growls back, “it was an accident! And who said I wasn’t concerned? I might be the strongest, but cursed energy is cursed energy. I’m still learning too! God, it’s like everyone forgets I'm a student too! I may walk among them, but I’m not a God. I am a human. I’m just like you, Suguru, so why are you using this as some kind of olive branch to nitpick me? I fucked up once. My cursed energy fucked up once. Get over it. I told you to lay off, Suguru!”

“I'm not saying you did it on purpose!” Suguru fumes, leaning in so they’re almost nose to nose glaring daggers at each other, “I’m saying I’m worried about you, you arrogant asshole! You could’ve died! I’m worried about you, and you’re just pretending this is normal when it’s really not!”

“Boys—!”

“Sensei...?”

The voice, as quiet as it is, cracks like a whip through the tension.

Satoru’s sure everyone startled, that the four of them tense up at the oddity disturbing the tranquility of Jujutsu Tech’s training field. It’s a small voice that drags such a reaction from them. Small and very, very out of place here, because that— that's the voice of a child. A young child.

A young child who has no business being here at Jujutsu Tech.

Now, Satoru is not a sensei. Maybe somewhere in his dreams, but not here. Not now. He’s a student himself. He has a sensei. So, there’s no reason for him to glance over, well, besides to maybe gawk at a child within Tengen’s barrier.

But he can’t help but glance towards the call of the word as if moving on autopilot.

As if the word, the small voice, is calling out to him instead of Yaga-sensei. It feels... familiar in a sense. Somewhere in the pits of his soul. Familiar in a way he can’t quite put into words.

Satoru turns his head and freezes when his eyes settle on the child.

He’s short— tiny, really. Satoru’s not sure he’s ever seen a human that small. Satoru doesn’t know children, but there’s no way this one is any older than five. He’s dressed in a pale sky-blue uniform shirt, no doubt an elementary school uniform of some sort, maybe even a preschool uniform.

Satoru's mouth drops open anyways.

At first glance, he doesn’t know the kid. Not that he thought he would; he doesn’t know any kids. He’d lived a sheltered life at the Gojō Clan estate and his first real introduction to youth had been when he’d started at Jujutsu Tech with Shoko and Suguru. And they weren’t quite kids at that point. Not like the small human before them.

Still, Satoru can’t help but let his eyes flick up the kid.

Wide, childlike eyes and rounded chubby cheeks. Short, but probably average weight and height for a toddler. Satoru assumes, at least. Fluffy pale pink hair? A bit odd, and... and familiar.

Where has he seen that before—

Holy shit.

The child looks just as surprised to see him as everyone else looks to see an unknown child here, auburn irises widening comically as Satoru’s hand lifts to tear his glasses off his face as if they’re the culprit behind what he’s seeing.

Six-Eyes trail over the child, but he’s just a regular non-sorcerer kid.

Six-Eyes might not see anything of interest, but Satoru sure as hell does.

In turn, the child scans Satoru up, hardly giving anyone else a second thought. The kid’s surveying gaze starts at Satoru’s shoes and climbs up his frame until the child’s wide eyes meet Satoru’s just as shocked blues.

A long second of stunned eye contact between them.

Shock bleeds into the child’s expression as uncertainty clouds his gaze. He’d found his way here, but now there’s a hesitance in the boy’s eyes. Satoru completely understands.

This is a mess.

So fucking messy.

The child takes a tiny, hardly noticeable step back, as Satoru takes a longer stride forward. His teacher and classmates are all but forgotten behind him, and he’s unable to tear his own gaze away from the child a couple steps away. Something about seeing him makes Satoru’s chest warm and fuzzy. Excitement, he thinks.

“Oh my God,” the boy whispers in shock as the realization hits. “Sensei.”

Warmth blossoms in Satoru’s chest as the weight of all of this crashes into him, a wide, toothy smile pulling at his lips despite the churn of ‘what the fuck’ in his stomach.

Satoru takes another step forwards, arms spreading wide in excitement, “Yūji-kun! You’re here!”

“Oh my God,” the child repeats breathlessly, sounding far older than any child his age should sound, unable to tear his eyes away from Satoru. The boy shakes faintly, shock maybe, words a shaky exhale, “it’s really- you’re- you look- this is— oh my God!”

There’s really no doubting it now.

Clearly this is not the dream Satoru had thought it to be since waking up in the infirmary feeling weird in a way he can’t describe.

Twenty-eight-year-old him and the shitshow residing in his thoughts, more often than not, is also not a dream either, apparently, because that, that child right there, is Itadori Yūji, Satoru’s fifteen-year-old student.

Satoru’s fifteen-year-old student who is currently a round-faced knee-high child.

A child he’s never met as a seventeen-year-old. A child who wouldn’t know about him, a child he wouldn’t know about. A child who shouldn’t know about this school— about Jujutsu Sorcery, in general— and who certainly shouldn’t be able to find this school and get through Tengen’s barriers without detection.

Because Yūji, the Vessel of Ryōmen Sukuna, The King of Curses, over eleven years from now, currently has not an ounce of cursed spirit in his little tiny body.

Interesting.

But also, fuck.

Chapter Text

Satoru is the first to move, the first to brush off his stupor at this frankly odd situation.

He wastes no time in bounding towards the child like an overexcited dog, dropping down to crouch right in front of Yūji with a wide, relieved grin. Even crouched, he’s taller than Yūji— just barely.

If Yūji is surprised by the speed and instant proximity between them, he doesn’t let it show.

Satoru thinks he sees relief in Yūji’s gaze too, hidden behind the hesitance as he slowly scans Satoru, like he can’t wrap his head around this.

Yūji’s eyebrows furrow, eyes trailing over Satoru’s face as if he can’t believe what he’s looking at, even up close without any distance between them.

Honestly, it should be Satoru in such disbelief.

Yūji is a literal child, Satoru is just a bit younger.

He really hasn’t changed much physically besides growing a bit taller and filling out a little. He’d grown into his gangly limbs by the time he’d graduated, for the most part at least, but besides that, you’d be able to easily pick him out in any photo.

He’s not exactly ordinary, is he?

He’s distinct with his stunning looks, snow-white hair and unforgettably unique Six-Eyes.

Yūji had clearly recognized him near instantly.

“You’re here,” Satoru chirps again, hands catching Yūji’s small wrists. His hands are tiny in Satoru’s own. Yūji’s entire hands, wrist and all, fit in Satoru’s palms. “How are you here? I thought— hn, well, I’m not sure what I thought, but this is still a surprise, Yūji-kun!”

“I came here to—” the child stutters, teeth clamping down hard on his bottom lip before he wilts nervously, “I don’t know. I just- everything's- this is all—”

Yūji sucks in a shaky breath, “I don’t know.”

“I see,” Satoru hums back brightly. He lets one of Yūji’s hands go to pat the top of pale pink hair, smile brightening at how soft the boy’s hair is. “I get it! Yūji-kun came to find me, didn’t he? What a smart Yūji! I’m so proud!”

“I came to find someone,” Yūji corrects with a light snort. “I just happened to find you first, Sensei. I wasn’t sure if you’d even... after the- the—”

The Prison Realm.

Yūji doesn’t need to say it.

“Well,” Satoru quirks his head dismissively, hoping to convey that that’s a topic not for right now, “I’m here even after that. And so are you! Wow! I missed Yūji-kun so much! I hope Yūji missed me too! Sweet, sweet Yūji coming to find me! Knew exactly where to go! You look so different! Little Yūji is so cute! And this—”

Satoru’s hand drops from Yūji’s head to cup his jaw gently, thumb stroking just under the side of his eye where tiny little scars settle. The sight of it confuses him more than he’d care to admit, because those little slits are definitely the scars of Sukuna’s eyes.

Despite not sensing an ounce of cursed energy from Yūji, he’s still obviously been claimed by Sukuna.

There’s no chance Yūji has eaten a finger yet, the first contact he makes with Sukuna is towards the end of middle school, years from now, so this must’ve transferred over with Yūji’s consciousness or whatever the hell had put them back in their younger bodies.

Maybe it’s an essence of the Sukuna from the place they’d come from that had tagged along.

Without the fingers, he’d be nothing here yet.

Nothing but a whisper of Sukuna’s former glory.

Maybe a tiny bit of him resided, mingled together with Yūji’s own soul and consciousness when he’d found himself back in his child body. There was a good chance the Heian curse user was here now, dormant and powerless despite claiming Yūji’s body as his vessel once again, but it was unlikely he had any power.

His fingers are all still sealed away with talismans, the majority of Sukuna’s soul, the Sukuna from this time period’s soul, lying in wait with them.

Hm.

“—this is different.”

Yūji sucks in a shaky inhale, trying to tug out of Satoru’s grip to look away guiltily.

“Don’t worry, Yūji-kun!” Satoru beams gently, grip tightening gently, assuring, on the boy’s jaw as he speaks, hoping his student finds the hidden message that he doesn’t see anything sinister with Six-Eyes just yet. “It’s really not a problem, okay? Don’t sweat it.”

Yūji swallows, scanning Satoru’s eyes sharply before a wave of relief crashes over his auburn irises. Yūji ducks his head in a light nod, voice nothing but a whisper, “okay.”

Satoru tries not to revel in how tiny Yūji’s face is in his palm.

Yūji offers a tiny smile in return, and Satoru can’t help but gush, standing up just enough to bury his face in Yūji’s hair as he hugs him without thought. Infinity flickers off willingly, and Yūji’s soft hair tickles Satoru’s lips and chin as he traps the child in the embrace.

Yūji had been the most accepting of physical touch of Satoru’s bunch of first years— Megumi had always been a prickly child and Kugisaki made her distaste obvious unless Satoru was bribing her with sweets, meals out or use of his credit cards which were just as limitless as his technique.

He never minded— to each their own, right?

Different relationships for different kids.

He knew Kugisaki liked him well enough, all of that aside.

And even Megumi showed his affection in his own little prickly way.

All his students liked him in their own ways, no matter how snippy, curt or annoyed they seemed with him at times. And even if they don’t like him, he knows they all respect him. He’s the powerhouse of the Jujutsu Sorcery world— they all trust him to protect them, even if they’re not all his number one fans.

Satoru knows he’s an acquired taste that can, and will, overwhelm people. He also knows he has a lot of people who don’t particularly like him. He knows he pisses people off, thrives on egging people on and riling them up. It’s simply easier to make enemies than friends for the strongest, yet all his students respected him, at least a little.

Even Maki and Megumi, who’d been the two hardest to convince.

Yūji though, took everything in stride, matching people’s energies in such a people-pleasing kind of way that bordered on unhealthy. Kindhearted and genuine. Yūji had never been afraid to launch at Satoru for a hug or nuzzle up to him in excitement, and it was just so natural for Satoru to let him.

And when there wasn’t a trace of Sukuna’s energy spiking up around the boy, Yūji was one of the few people Satoru willingly lowered Infinity for.

A refreshing reaction.

Maybe because Yūji knew nothing about the Jujutsu world and the pedestal Satoru had been perched on all his life when the kid had swallowed that finger. Yūji’s first impression of him was Satoru kicking Sukuna’s ass and then bargaining for Yūji’s life to the higherups.

Sticking his neck out for Yūji’s sake and managing to get his execution postponed.

Satoru knew Yūji looked up to him, adored him and trusted him wholeheartedly, which he knows he doesn’t always deserve. He’d never had a student possess such a deep-seated respect for him in a way that was just so different to everyone else acknowledging Satoru as the strongest.

People had always respected Satoru for his power, but Yūji respected Satoru for Satoru.

The kid knew nothing about Jujutsu. Yūji saw people, and he saw strength as different things. Satoru had impressed him when they’d first met, Yūji didn’t know what he was truly capable of— that Satoru had the world of Jujutsu falling to its knees in his presence.

Yūji’s adoration was for him, not for what he could do; though the power Satoru had was an added bonus that constantly amazed the kid.

It was something Satoru had always adored about the kid.

Yūji just had something about him that made people like him.

Now, child Yūji just melts completely into the embrace as if he’s desperate for it. Satoru’s not used to a tiny body molding against his own, grabbing tightly at whatever he can reach. Little hands clutch at Satoru’s uniform, and Yūji lets out another shaky breath against Satoru’s chest.

Satoru lets his own body lose some of the tension, maybe an attempt at comforting Yūji, he’s not sure.

Maybe he’s just as desperate to embrace his student after everything. After not knowing what was going on out in the real world with them, unsure if any of them were even alive. To know that Yūji was okay. That he was alive.

Satoru didn’t know anything about what happened after he was sealed, but now he knew Yūji was alive. In the very least, someone was alive too. Alive and here.

At the end of the day, he might be glad to be back here, to see Suguru, and Shoko, Nanami and Haibara, Yaga, even, but he’s genuinely relieved to have Yūji here too. To not be alone in this.

To have something from there.

Something that made that place real.

Someone clears their throat behind them, and Satoru jerks to his feet when he remembers Suguru, Shoko and Yaga are all here witnessing this odd reunion between Satoru and his student, eleven odd years before they’re even due to meet.

Despite rising so fast, Satoru keeps a steadying hand on Yūji’s shoulder. Satoru feels Yūji’s body stiffen up with tension under his palm, Yūji quite clearly also having forgotten they weren’t alone.

Satoru spins to face everyone, easily nudging Yūji behind him as he moves. He gives a reassuring squeeze to the boy’s shoulder before pulling away. Yūji is half hidden behind his tall figure, though Satoru’s sure he’s peeking out in his own attempt to understand all this.

Satoru’s intent on being a human buffer while he processes what the hell he’s looking at right now.

Satoru’s nose scrunches up as he glares daggers at the gawking group. His arms lift to cross tersely over his chest, tongue clicking and face settling into irritation at the fact they’re staring as he regards them all carefully.

He doesn’t take kindly to being gawked at. Not like this. Not in the fun way.

“What’s everyone staring for?” Satoru quips in annoyance, gaze flicking over Yaga, Shoko and then finally Suguru where his eyes linger. “None of you ever seen a toddler before? Colour me surprised.”

“Hey, I’m four!” Yūji squeaks. “Not a toddler.”

Satoru waves a dismissive hand that has Yūji’s composure bristling in ire as his shoulders slump with what is undeniably a pout. Adorable. Yūji-kun is cute.

“Us?” Suguru is the first to speak, baffled and looking completely startled, “when the hell have you seen a toddler before? You don’t even like kids. Who is that, Satoru?”

“He’s four,” Satoru rebuts, just to piss Suguru off. Suguru’s eyes narrow dangerously before flicking fast down to Yūji’s half hidden frame before his gaze jumps back to Satoru. “Sheesh, Suguru, insensitive much? Yūji-kun is obviously four. Asshole.”

Suguru’s eye twitches.

“Gojō,” Yaga’s voice interrupts, deathly calm. “Watch your language around children. Now, do you mind explaining to me why there’s a child who you personally know here right now? A child who seems to know you quite well? Why is he here? How did he even get here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Satoru’s attention flicks up to his Sensei, lips curling in a menacing grin, “my Yūji-kun came to find me! One would think you’d be better at eavesdropping, old man. What? Thought I didn’t notice? And Yūji-kun kindly admitted that he was coming to find me! And I think we can all tell how he managed past the barriers, huh?”

Satoru then pauses, turning back to look down at Yūji, “but that is a good question. How did Yūji-kun get here? I’m curious too.”

“Uhm, the bullet train?” Yūji cocks an eyebrow when he catches Satoru’s eyes. “How else?”

Satoru nods as if that makes perfect sense.

And it does, sorta. Maybe.

If Yūji wasn’t a child riding across Tokyo alone, it would have made sense, at least. Sendai to Tokyo wasn’t a super long ride by train, no more than a couple hours at least, but it was still long enough. And, as far as Satoru knew, the trip wasn’t exactly cheap. When he’d sent Megumi to Sendai for Sukuna's finger, Satoru’s pretty sure the train ticket had cost somewhere around 10,000 yen.

Still, “bullet train,” Satoru parrots in agreement because it’s an answer even if it barely makes sense, offering Yūji an assuring nod before looking back at Yaga with a lull of his head, “obviously. How else would Yūji-kun get here, Sensei? Use your brain.”

The man narrows his eyes sharply.

Satoru honestly doesn’t care.

“I’m sorry,” Shoko clears her throat, sounding slightly winded, “what the fuck is happening here?”

Satoru glances at her before looking at Yaga, “what no language reprimand for Shoko? Fuck’s way more colourful than asshole, isn’t it, Sensei? So, that’s the kind of words you want little Yūji-kun learning?”

He’s ignored. Ouch.

Satoru’s cheeks puff out in annoyance at the fact they all seem to brush over his whining. Because c’mon, seriously? No reaction to that? From anyone? Not even Yūji? That little traitor.

Yūji stills behind Satoru before he shuffles out further.

Satoru remains quiet as Yūji settles at his side; a tiny fist grasps his school pants as if he’s afraid Satoru will disappear as soon as he’s not watching him.

Satoru sets a hand on top of the kid’s head, just resting it there.

Yūji either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind.

The child’s wide eyes fall onto Shoko; recognition intense in his little gaze. It’s no surprise he recognizes her— Shoko hasn’t changed much over the years either. She’s aged a bit, sure, grew her hair out a little too, lost far too much sleep and it shows, but she still looks relatively the same.

And she’s got the same personality and bedside manners too.

Then, the boy looks towards Yaga.

He stares for a second longer before he seems to piece together who he’s looking at.

Yūji’s head cocks, scanning the man up and down as his brow furrows.

Yaga does look different, though he sounds the same. His hair is shorter, and he’s not quite as softened yet. He’s still a hardass veteran Sorcerer who’d see more than his share of the shitty world they live in, but he’s slowly but surely been softening around the edges as time goes on.

He’s a completely different man to the teacher Satoru remembers greeting him on his first day at Jujutsu Tech— all sharp features and thinly veiled annoyance at Satoru’s antics and rich boy mannerisms.

Satoru doesn’t know if Panda exists at this point yet, but that’s when the man really started softening around the edges. Parenthood, and watching the three of them fall apart before his eyes had done things to that man that Satoru had never understood.

Maybe that’s why he’s been so lenient with Satoru over the years.

Lastly, Yūji’s gaze flicks to Suguru.

And he tenses sharply when recognition lights up in his gaze.

Satoru’s never seen Yūji’s gaze harden like that, not unless he was looking at curses threatening to hurt his friends, and he doubts many four-year-olds would be able to glare with such ire.

Ah.

So, the kid had met Not-Suguru too then.

That figures.

He never would’ve met the actual Suguru— this Suguru. He was dead long before Yūji ate that finger. Nearly an entire year. And the most he’d hear about Suguru would be if the second-years or Megumi, who’d heard it from the grapevine, shared a retelling of the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons fiasco.

So that’s... not great.

He supposed he should’ve expected it, for Yūji and the other students to have encountered Not-Suguru as well. There’d obviously been a trap placed for him, but their only goal couldn’t have been to imprison the Six-Eyes. And if they knew about his imprisonment, which Yūji obviously does, Satoru knows they’d all be trying to get him back; probably tracking Not-Suguru down.

Not-Suguru had been strong, effortlessly using Suguru’s corpse and cursed technique to his advantage. Satoru can only imagine what Yūji would’ve seen out there with a brute like Not-Suguru running around without him around.

At this point, Yūji probably knows more about what that specific future holds considering Satoru had been caged up the Prison Realm the entire time. He almost doesn’t even want to ask.

He doesn’t like the darkness in Yūji’s usually bright eyes.

And if by the way Yūji’s so obviously gearing up to launch an attack at Suguru like a tiny ball of negative energy and genuine, unadulterated fury, it’s probably nothing good that happens over there.

“That guy is—” Satoru claps a hand over Yūji’s mouth, effectively silencing the malice trickling into the child’s dark tone. He snakes his other arm around Yūji’s waist, hiking him up off the ground as if he weighs nothing, an easier position to keep his hand over Yūji’s mouth without having to be bent over.

Yūji hangs from his arms, squirming faintly as sharp eyes flick from Suguru to glare up at Satoru.

“Ah, ah, ah, Yūji-kun!” Satoru warns lowly to just Yūji, “don’t be hasty now. You’re different and so are they. Don’t forget. Look really closely, okay? You trust your Sensei, don’t you?”

Yūji glares up at him, and for half a second, Satoru thinks Yūji might bite his hand like a rabid little dog. He debates activating Infinity again, but then the tiny student wilts in defeat.

The boy’s wild eyes trek to Suguru and Satoru can see Yūji’s gaze draw a line across Suguru’s forehead, back and forth, temple to temple, just like Satoru had been doing since waking up in this impossible situation. Satoru knows he doesn’t find that gross, distinguishing incision.

Behind his hand, Yūji’s mouth presses in a straight line at what he finds, until finally, Yūji’s head is bowing in the slightest of nods.

“Quiet for now,” Satoru reminds under his breath, finally pulling his hand away and repositing the kid so he’s more supported. He makes sure his hold has Yūji facing the other direction, chin settled on Satoru’s shoulder, but teeth still gritted in frustration.

Still, he can practically feel Yūji glaring daggers at nothing over his shoulder, the tension not easing at all even though he can’t see his target anymore. The expression fixed on the child’s face is hard. It’s not a look on the kid Satoru is used to seeing.

Thankfully, no one’s seemed to notice Yūji’s unease towards Suguru directly, all too focused on the fact that he, Gojō Satoru, is holding a seemingly random child.

Satoru knows he needs to deescalate and get them far away as soon as possible if he wants to avoid a four-year-old Yūji trying to take on Suguru. Or this whole— our consciousnesses are from a horrible, terrible future alternate timeline where we’ve all fucked up horrendously and the world is coming to an end— thing coming to light.

Probably best to keep that on the downlow for now anyways.

At least until Satoru knows what the fuck is going on.

Which is unfortunate, because he’d honestly love to see Suguru try to fend off a furious little ankle biter of an Itadori Yūji. Suguru would have no idea what to do with that, and it’s an amusing thought.

Yūji might be small, but he is trained to fight, and by Satoru and his star pupils, no less. Something tells Satoru that he might be a scrappy little fighter without Sakuna’s influence and power.

He has half a mind to just release the kid and see what happens but decides better of it.

For now.

Satoru hums lightly at the amusing thought before focusing back on the matter at hand.

It’s easy nestling a small body into his own— he's not completely unfamiliar with it though it does feel foreign. Foreign in a way that balances tippingly between remembering feeling like this at some point, distantly remembering holding someone small like this, but also like it hasn’t happened yet.

It’s a whiplash kind of feeling Satoru doesn’t like very much.

Megumi had been around this age as well when he’d met the kid. Yūji and Megumi were vastly different children, and Megumi was fiercely independent and hesitant about Satoru butting into their lives for the longest time, but there were still a couple instances where Satoru had gotten the privilege to carry the adorable little urchin just like this.

That though... hasn’t happened yet despite Satoru’s misleading memories.

Yūji settles into the embrace a lot easier than Megumi ever had.

Yūji is a bit bigger than Megumi too, even being younger than when Satoru meets the Fushiguro siblings, but he still slots perfectly into Satoru’s hold, legs hooking around Satoru’s hip, while a little arm clings to his shoulder for support. Yūji’s clearly making an effort not to look at the others, whether because of lack of impulse control, trust in Satoru or genuine unrestrainable anger, he’s not sure.

It’s just so trusting of a position— Satoru knows very well Yūji could be squirming and kicking to be put down. Many a times had Megumi pushed desperately against Satoru’s shoulder and rammed his head up into Satoru’s chin to be set back on the ground.

Yūji has no reason to trust seventeen-year-old Satoru, but he does.

“Well,” Satoru clicks his tongue, offering his friends and teacher a toothy smile that might be a bit too bright considering they’re all looking at him as if he’d grown a second head, “if that’s everything...? I’m going to get Yūji-kun home! I’ll be back! Don’t wait up!”

Without waiting for a response, Satoru warps himself and his students out of Tengen’s barriers and away from the school. Far away from the prying eyes of the people from Satoru’s past— or... maybe present? It’s messy, he’s not sure.

Yūji’s arms wrap around his neck faintly, tightening when Satoru’s feet hit the ground and he’s jostled a bit. Satoru takes a couple quick steps, falling into step with the foot traffic they’d arrived in before he lowers Yūji to the ground as he keeps walking.

The small boy stumbles to right his footing before letting himself be swept along with the traffic and Satoru’s long steps as he maneuvers the crowd easily.

Satoru lets Infinity blanket both of them just so no one runs into or accidentally pushes into either of them. If Yūji notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Come,” Satoru urges, his fingertips settling between Yūji’s shoulder blades to guide him along. He’s slower as a child. Satoru thinks if he wasn’t touching Yūji, he might just lose him in the crowd. “I know a great spot for some hot chocolate. And there’s amazing sweets too! Have you ever had a black sesame macaron? Or there’s a lot of other flavors too! I think you’ll like it, Yūji-kun! My treat, of course, considering you’re... well.”

Satoru just barely sees Yūji’s cheeks puff up in offense.

Still, the child doesn’t dispute, so Satoru leads the way to the café he’d recently tried with Suguru after escaping their assistant and absolutely loved. Satoru had returned to the dorms with a whole box of nearly four dozen macarons (not accounting for what Satoru had snacked on, on the drive back to Jujutsu Tech) and other sweet treats to share with Shoko and their underclassmen.

The little bakery is still on the newer side when they get to it.

Satoru pauses outside the door as Yūji stares up in wonder, “I’ve never seen this bakery before, Sensei.”

“It closed when you were still a kid, I believe,” Satoru tells him under his breath as he pushes the door open, “rising prices, rising economy. Turns out my patronage wasn’t even enough to keep the place afloat. Life happens. It sucks though, this place was so good! Really though, who knew the general population couldn’t afford a couple dozen ¥650 macarons every couple of days. Outrageous! If I’d have known they weren’t making good money I would’ve invested, or at least hired the baker as a personal pâtissier. Missed opportunity.”

“Sensei,” Yūji’s lips curl up in a light smile, “¥650 for how many?”

“For one, why?” Satoru cocks his head down at the surprised looking child.

Yūji’s head quirks upwards in awe before shaking his head, “Sensei, that’s a lot of money for a macaron— let alone a couple dozen of them. Every couple of days. I didn’t know desserts could be so much, and aren’t macarons small? I knew you were rich, but that’s... wow.”

“Is it?” Satoru hums, “oh well. Support local businesses! If you want great quality, you pay the price for it. Trust your Sensei, Yūji-kun, these will be the absolute best macarons you’ll ever have! You’ll see, it’s worth it! Besides, the price hasn’t risen yet! Still completely affordable, don’t worry.”

“Your definition of affordable is very different from mine, I think, Sensei.”

Satoru laughs at that, “don’t worry about the prices, Yūji-kun. I told you I was paying— be more like Kugisaki, take your Sensei’s generosity in stride! What’s the point of having a black card if you’re not swiping it like crazy? Yūji-kun wouldn’t believe the benefits his Sensei gets for spending money!”

Yūji stills abruptly as the words leave Satoru’s mouth.

The child’s head lowers, pink hair curtaining his eyes as his hands tighten into fists at his side, shaking faintly. Actually, his whole tiny body is shaking as if trying to regulate emotions far too big for his little figure. It’s not the first time he’d seen Yūji possess such raw emotions, but there’s something different about it this time, and he doesn’t think it’s the pint-sized body.

Satoru slowly eases back into place beside the kid, sending a weary smile and a wave of acknowledgment to the woman waiting for them behind the counter.

“Yūji-kun?”

“I’m fine,” Yūji forces out, forcing his body to relax. When he looks up at Satoru, his eyes are glossed over with unshed tears and he’s offering a shaky smile, “sorry. I’m fine. I just... I’m sorry, Sensei.”

Yūji brings his palms up to press deeply into his eyes, sniffling back tears as he does so.

What had Satoru said?

He’d just been talking about money, why would that upset Yūji—

Kugisaki.

He’d mentioned Kugisaki, hadn’t he? An innocent little comment. A playful little thing that he’s just so used to teasing about. It was true; Kugisaki had no qualms about taking Satoru’s card and going wild in any shopping center. She was more than happy to let him pay for meals out, or accept the treats he brought back from missions abroad.

It had never been a problem before, he’d tease Kugisaki herself about being a mooch, and she’d just grin deviously and hold her hand out for a credit card which he’d pass over with dramatic, feigned bemoaning.

Everyone knew he was impossibly wealthy and most expected it of him, not that he minded.

He liked a lavish lifestyle the most of anyone, and it was nice to share it with others.

He was limitlessly wealthy and nothing these kids could do would ever make a dent in his accounts. He liked waving money around, and Kugisaki liked to be a part of it, or be on the receiving end of it. It was a respectable quirk of hers— she knew what she wanted and went for it.

He’d mentioned Kugisaki innocently and Yūji had reacted as if Satoru was speaking of... of the dead.

A ghost of the past. A recent ghost that still haunts Yūji, like how Suguru had haunted Satoru since Christmas eve last year when he’d had to kill his best friend. How Amanai Riko’s death would keep him up at night late into his early twenties, and sometimes even now, whenever he had even just a moment to himself to sleep through the higher-ups working him like a dog.

Oh.

Oh no.

Something unpleasant coils in Satoru’s stomach. Anxiety, he thinks. Not a feeling he really knows. He doesn’t get anxious. Or maybe it’s genuine fear at the thought of the kids he’d grown to adore dying. Yūji hadn’t explicitly said it, but sometimes actions speak louder than words.

Maybe being a teacher had made him weak, or maybe it was his students who’d done that. He’d watched the same thing happen to Yaga, but it still surprises him just how much he’d liked getting to know those kids.

It hits him like a truck that he honestly has no idea what could’ve happened out there after Not-Suguru had sealed him away in the Prison Realm. It had been a thought in the back of his mind, sure, endless ‘what ifs’ circulating in his head, but there had been no definitive answer.

He’d been hanging onto hope, too prideful of the fact that he knows how powerful those kids are, each and every one of them. Prideful in the way he knows he’d taught them well. He’d been hoping deep in the pits of his mind that they’d prevail, somehow, even without him there to protect them.

He’d had no definitive answer before, but now, looking down at Yūji, stood frozen, fisting away tears before they can fall, Satoru thinks he does have a definitive answer.

And not one that’ll bode overly well in their favor, he thinks grimly.

They’re powerful young Sorcerers, but they’re still kids.

And they’re fighting curses and curse users who’re equally as powerful.

Once again, if Satoru had gotten bested by them, however cheap that trick was, it wouldn’t be impossible that the students and everyone else fighting that war could’ve been as well.

The unpleasant coil in his stomach settles like a rock.

Satoru sucks in a slow breath, schooling his features into an easy smile as he stands back to his full height.

He plucks Yūji up off the floor without a thought, not giving the kid an option to refuse, not that he thinks Yūji would. The boy curls into Satoru’s neck, little face buried in the junction between his shoulder and neck.

It’s a little unexpected, but Satoru takes it in stride.

He wonders aimlessly as he marches up to the counter if maybe it’s the child-like instincts taking over in distress and urging Yūji to act like this, or if the kid’s just really needing a hug, or something.

“Hi!” Satoru chirps to the barista, smooth mask slipping into place despite the churning of his stomach, “I need two dozen macarons— surprise me, just make sure there’s a couple black sesame in there too. Ooh, and those strawberry ones look good too! I’d also like two hot chocolates, a medium and a large. Make the large with three shots of mocha syrup and both with lots of whipped cream. To go please.”

“Of course,” the barista nods quickly, “was that everything?”

Satoru scans the display case thoughtfully, “throw in a couple matcha cookies too. Oh! And a few of those cute iced brownies! That’s everything, thanks.”

The barista rattles out a total that Satoru doesn’t care to listen to, swiping his card without a thought. He slips his card back into his wallet and tugs out a couple ¥10,000 notes, passing one to the awestruck cashier who holds it like Satoru had passed her an active mine instead of a tip and slipping the other in tip jar on the counter.

“A-are you sure, sir?” The barista says weakly, staring down at the banknote before wide eyes lift to Satoru’s own, still hidden behind his sunglasses. “This is a lot—”

“Wouldn’t have given it to you if I wasn’t,” Satoru hums as he slips his wallet into his pocket and hoists Yūji’s slipping body back up. “Keep it. It would hurt my feelings if you didn’t accept the gift!”

The woman nods dumbly before setting to work.

It looks like she’s here alone, unless there’s someone else in the back, which is unlikely.

She boxes up the macarons, brownies and cookies first, passing them over the display case before getting to work on the hot chocolates. She kindly gives Satoru a drink tray, pressing both hot chocolates into it and setting it carefully on top of the box of treats for easier carrying.

He manages to slip a hand under the box of desserts, still holding Yūji up with his other arm. Thankfully the kid had arranged himself, so he was partially supporting himself as well, making this so much easier.

“Hold on tight, Yūji-kun,” he mutters to the kid as the woman turns her back to them for just a second. Yūji’s arm tightens around his neck faintly and then Satoru’s warping them out of the café without another word.

The best place to talk, Satoru decides, is away from everyone.

He doesn’t want to discuss an alternate timeline, perhaps this timeline’s failure of an upcoming future, around anyone who could possibly hear it. That’s one way to freak out a bunch of non-sorcerers.

Hell, he’s sure it would freak sorcerers out too.

Satoru warps them up into the sky above Tokyo, settling them easily on a little ledge of Infinity he creates under them. It’s the most secluded place he can think of, and he knows no one will be able to follow them up here. None of his friends, teachers (if they’re even looking) and certainly not any normies.

Being the strongest and most powerful had its perks.

There’s an unfamiliar yet completely familiar spike in his own cursed energy, and it takes him a second longer to realize this wasn’t something he could quite do before at this age, as easily as it had happened.

His hands shake faintly, as if running on too much caffeine. Too much energy that his body doesn’t know what to do with. He’d never felt quite like this when using his cursed energy, maybe too much for this point in time. For this body.

He’d done it so naturally, so used to using Limitless that the math behind it came without a thought anymore. Using his technique was second nature to him; running Infinity near constantly and warping for easy travel. That’s not something he should be capable of right now.

Satoru just... knew what he was doing.

Maybe... had his cursed energy come back with him?

Hadn’t Suguru been saying something about a bomb of cursed energy going off in reverse? His cursed energy and consciousness from another point in time reabsorbing into his younger body, maybe? Like Yūji had unintentionally brought Sukuna?

It buzzes under his skin, power this younger body isn’t used to, but he knows himself capable of using. Relies on it like second nature, even in his younger body.

The math is precisely calculated, comes naturally as if it’s been the usual for over a decade. He’d been quick to alter his equations for account for Yūji too, and there’d been no problem; the power he’d been oh-so used to all these years flutters through his body.

He’d long since mastered his techniques, and his domain.

It’s weird to be in a body that’s not familiar with everything he knows how to do. His mind and consciousness are familiar with this extent of energy, even if his body isn’t.

It’s like his body is trying to play catch-up to the consciousness it had gained. Hm.

That’ll take some getting used to.

Satoru shifts his hold on the baked goods and drinks, lowering Yūji to his perch of Infinity with just one arm. For a moment, Yūji looks down and then clings hard before his feet can hit the solidity of Infinity. Satoru snickers until the boy himself seems to realize it’s okay.

Yūji lets out a shaky laugh, looking up at Satoru with a crooked, embarrassed smile.

Satoru’s brought back to the first time he’d offered Yūji the impossible— stood in the middle of a lake, walking on water. Satoru had committed the awe in Yūji’s expression to memory, pleased to be able to show off to someone new how powerful he truly was.

The kid lets himself be lowered after that, fixing his shirt which had ridden up.

“So,” Satoru starts conversationally when his attention catches the school shirt, “you skipping school, Yūji-kun? I’m sure they’re losing their minds over a missing ankle biter. Four, you said? Yikes, I wonder how many of your teachers are pulling their hair out as we speak. Y’know, you’ll definitely be a missing kid by this evening if I don’t get you back soon.”

“I had more important things to be worried about!” Yūji defends with a huff, cheeks puffing out as he wilts faintly. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I... wasn’t thinking, I guess.”

He doesn’t look like he’s done, so Satoru stays quiet.

“I just... I don’t know what happened. B-but I’m not supposed to be here, Sensei! Not like this! I woke up as a four-year-old! A-and I’m supposed to be... b-back there. I left. But I don’t... I don’t understand. I don’t know how. I don’t understand, but I need to! I need to understand this!”

Yūji wheezes lightly, overcome by desperation, “I thought... I thought maybe you’d be at the school, maybe, I’d hoped you’d be there, Sensei. Or... or maybe Ieiri-Sensei, or even Yaga-Sensei. Someone. I hoped someone I know might be at the school, and might be able to help me figure this out because this is- it's- it’s—”

“Completely bonkers,” Satoru offers with a crooked grin. He passes Yūji the medium hot chocolate, then plops down on the blanket of Infinity as he sips his own drink. Perfectly sweet.

The kid watches him for a long second before moving to sit beside him uneasily.

Yūji offers a tiny nod of agreement.

“I get that,” Satoru assures offhandedly, “don’t worry. I woke up in the same boat. It’s been three days for me here, same for you?”

“I think so,” Yūji’s head bows in another nod. “My grandpa said I had a super bad fever for a while— collapsed at school, I think? I don’t remember much of it. He had to come get me and carry me home. They finally allowed me back today when the fever truly broke and I...”

Yūji chews at his bottom lip, “I knew I had to get to the school. I looked up bullet train tickets on my grandpa’s computer while he was in the shower this morning, and I took, borrowed, some money from Grandpa’s wallet to cover the costs. I take the train to school alone everyday while Grandpa goes to work to support us— I bought a ticket to Tokyo instead of across town to school. I wanted— needed— answers...”

Yūji clears his throat, gaze focused intently on the plastic lid on his hot chocolate, “I walked from the train station to Jujutsu Tech and the barriers... I thought maybe you guys would’ve sensed Sukuna passing the barriers, but maybe not. I haven’t heard anything from him since I got here but the scars... He’s gone quiet like this before, it always feels like he’s scheming when he goes radio silent, and I don’t want him to hurt anyone...”

“Firstly, I didn’t know Yūji-kun was a thief in his youth!” Satoru lets out a low whistle, teasing gently, hopeful to ease the suffocating tension, because he can’t stand serious, “I never would’ve guessed. Sweet, kind Yūji-kun swiping cash from his grandfather. A delinquent in the making.”

“I was desperate!” Yūji whines, sounding the most like a child Satoru’s heard yet. “I’ll pay him back! I just needed to make sure this is really real— Grandpa wouldn’t understand any of this if I asked! I don’t understand any of this! Grandpa’s supposed to be... h-he died, Sensei, but he’s here again and I’m four suddenly and I just don’t understand anything. Please be serious, Sensei, I-I'm freaking out here!”

“Sorry,” Satoru winces. “I know. I’ll be serious."

Satoru's hands tighten faintly on the paper cup on his hands as he considers every bit of information Six-Eyes is providing him at this very second. He clears his throat lightly, "...you don’t have any cursed energy, you know.”

“I—” Yūji swallows thickly, “I don’t? But his marks...”

“None, sorry,” Satoru shakes his head. “I’d know, Yūji-kun. I’m quite familiar with Sukuna’s energy. And you got through Tengen’s barriers without detection too. Only someone without cursed energy can do that. I don’t know what to tell you, honestly. I don’t understand either. One second, I’m in the Prison Realm and the next I’m... well, here.”

Yūji stays quiet, and Satoru takes a long second to mull over his thoughts.

“If I’m understanding this all correctly though... I think when this, whatever this is, happened, parts of us came back. I don’t sense any of Sukuna’s energy, but he’s obviously marked your body as his vessel, even if he’s not active yet. It’s not insane to theorize that maybe an essence of him came back with your consciousness. The two of you were pretty intertwined— hence why I couldn’t exercise him without killing you along the way.”

Satoru rubs at his chin, humming to himself thoughtfully, “my friend said he sensed greater cursed energy around me when I passed out the day my consciousness returned to my younger body. I’m stronger than what I was at this age originally, and you... you have Sukuna’s mark without ingesting one of his fingers. It’s obvious our consciousnesses are older, and I believe the energies that came back overwhelmed our younger bodies. There’s no other explanation for both of us passing out three days ago, probably at the exact same time, when we ended up here, and both of us running high fevers.”

Satoru hums thoughtfully again, mostly to himself, before letting his attention flick down to Yūji’s wide, intent eyes. Yūji is obviously hanging onto every word he’s saying, taking it all in and mulling over it himself. Always attentive about curses and the likes.

It sounds like honest to God cinematic bullshit, but it’s real.

There’re very few explanations to something like this.

The kid still looks worried.

“Look, he could very well be dormant inside you right now, lying in wait until a finger comes along again, or perhaps your younger body isn’t up to his standards yet.” Satoru stretches his legs out, flipping open the box to grab a macaron. “He’s a vain man, Yūji-kun, he was already unhappy in the body of a teenager. Sukuna is a powerful being, he’s probably able to wall himself off if he is in that noggin of yours, energy included. Does anything feel weird? Like it shouldn’t be there?”

“He did always call me brat,” Yūji frowns thoughtfully. “I... don’t remember how it feels to be four, Sensei. I can’t tell if anything feels different. It all feels different from how I was before I woke up here.”

Another hum from the teenager, blue eyes scanning the child from behind dark glasses.

“Four is pretty young, I suppose,” Satoru agrees with a tilt of his head. “Either way, the fingers are what gave Sukuna his power. He was dormant until you ate the first one, right? Maybe not connected to you directly, but dormant all the same. This is basically the same, right? Even if he’s staked claim on you already, you haven’t eaten one yet. You never provided the power he’d need to be reincarnated in this particular body yet.”

Satoru pauses, attention flicking up to study the sky overhead thoughtfully. “You don’t have to eat another finger if you don’t want. From my understanding, he’s not capable of hurting anyone without his power. He’s powerless, Yūji.”

“But what if—”

“I’m very in tune to Sukuna’s cursed energy,” Satoru offers with a crooked grin, attention angling back down to the kid, “I’ll know the second that bastard tries anything and I’ll be there. A surge of strong, ancient-like cursed energy will get noticed, Yūji-kun. And if he does wake up and starts talking to you, you come straight to me. I’ll keep him in check, don’t you worry. You trust your Sensei, don’t you?”

“I trust you, Sensei,” Yūji mutters dutifully.

“Good,” Satoru nods, selecting a strawberry cream macaron, a flavor he’s seen Yūji enjoy before, and pops it into the kid’s hand. Yūji stares down at it, studies the pastel dessert before taking a small bite.

Satoru hums, pleased as Yūji swallows the bite.

He must like it, because he takes another, slightly larger, bite of the dessert.

Satoru selects another macaron from the box, a black sesame one despite those being for Suguru, for himself and takes a bite too. He eats half in one bite.

Satoru hums again at the flavors, eyes flicking back to Yūji, “you’ve got to remember, Yūji, this is all in theory. I don’t really understand either, but I am very aware of Sukuna. I did my research before pleading for Yūji-kun's life, and I’ve memorized his cursed energy. You’ll be safe.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“Everyone else will be safe,” Satoru reiterates with a shrug. “And you will be too.”

A beat passes— Yūji sips at his hot chocolate with eyes directed down through Infinity guiltily, while Satoru chews and swallows the second half of the delicious macaron.

“Now,” Satoru hums, licking at his finger where some of the filling sticks. “How’s about you catch me up. What happened after I was sealed— how'd we end up here? Am I going to have a tiny Maki, or a tiny Fushiguro trespassing over the barrier too? A teeny tiny Inumaki or Okkotsu, maybe? I don’t know about Panda yet, but he wouldn’t need to sneak around the school anyways.”

Satoru carefully avoids saying Kugisaki’s name, but it doesn’t seem to help at all.

Yūji’s face drops, just like it had in the café, hands curling into fists and tightening until the skin on his hands bleaches to a bone white, absolutely demolishing the remainder of his macaron he’d had in his hand as he goes.

Tears well in Yūji’s eyes, and that sick feeling is back in Satoru’s chest as he scans the younger hesitantly. This can’t be good.

Satoru doesn’t dare reach for another macaron; thinks he might actually throw up if he does. Uncertainty prickles uncomfortably along his skin, a dark weight dropping in his stomach.

“I tried so hard,” Yūji whispers brokenly, head bowing down. “I tried my hardest, Sensei. I tried my hardest, but it wasn’t good enough. I w-watched as they... as everyone— I-I wasn’t strong enough. They... I let them die. I let them all die.”

It feels like all the air gets tugged from his lungs, “what?”

“They’re dead!” Yūji heaves out, choking on his own shaky breaths. “N-Nanamin, and Kugisaki. T-they... I-I watched as they... and-and Fushiguro. My Senpais. Yaga-Sensei. My brother. Todo-senpai. The rest of the Kyoto students, the Kyoto teachers. Everyone, Sensei, I let them... they all died, and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t help any of them. I couldn’t stop it and you were locked away, and Sukuna he— I was weak. We lost, and I— I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even get you out of the Prison Realm.”

Yūji buries his face in his hands, curling in on himself as he sobs brokenly.

“I let them die.” He repeats through tears. “I let them all die, and then I was weak— Sukuna he-he—”

“He took control?” Satoru asks calmly, trying to keep the tremor from his own voice as he wills his shaky hands to stop. The shaky breath Yūji forces out is answer enough. “Yūji, what happened?”

“He intended to kill you,” Yūji whispers into his hands. “Everyone else was gone and it was just... I was so desperate to get you out, Sensei. I had that stupid Prison Realm and just— I needed you to be alive even if everyone else was already... but I was weak.”

There’s such grief in the child’s voice.

Grief that has no right coming from Yūji’s soft little child voice.

“I couldn’t open the gate, I tried e-everything, but Sukuna... he could. He knew how it worked; I think. He told me he was going to slaughter you and make me watch. Like I’d watched everyone else... ‘what’ll be left to fight me for, huh, brat?’ th-that’s what he said to me! He’s the worst! I hate him, Sensei! A-and those curse users, they fed him fingers. Made him stronger and then asked for his help and he— he killed them too. I watched. There was so much death. He was so strong. He’d planned to slaughter you the second you were released, and I couldn’t stop him—”

--

“Domain Expansion: Malevolent Shrine.”

“Domain Expansion: Unlimited Void.”

--

The thought’s hazy at best, but it's there in the recesses of his mind.

He just barely remembers the gates opening after who knows how long— light shining on his face like freedom— and then he’d seen Yūji’s face, but no... that wasn’t right. It was Sukuna. Lines of ancient black ink running boldly over Yūji’s young face and chest, and eyes too dark to be Satoru’s bright student.

It had to have been Sukuna.

And then Yūji’s lips had curled up into a venomous grin, muttering a low but powerful: Domain Expansion: Malevolent Shrine as his hands contorted along with the sign for the domain.

It had been all he could do to counter with his own domain.

The words Domain Expansion: Unlimited Void falling from his lips in no less than a heartbeat as his fingers crossed in call of the domain. It had been sheer adrenaline; the only defense Satoru could think to do. He’d reacted without a thought— Six-Eyes blaring in sensory overload as he’d stumbled from the radio silence from his cursed energy in the Prison Realm to a glaringly loud fight.

Sukuna was strong, the strongest he’d been yet and still not even at the peak of his power yet, but... Satoru was also strong.

“There was a domain clash,” Satoru blinks owlishly, words heavy on his tongue as he processes that. Sukuna would’ve had to be strong at that point for their domains to clash so violently. “I used Unlimited Void to counteract.”

Yūji chews at his lip, nodding slowly as he fists at his eyes, “you were both so strong. He... was up to fifteen fingers, Sensei. I don’t remember what happened after that, but I woke up to my Grandpa waking me up for school after being sick with a fever for a few days and Sukuna was... there, but not there, and I... I knew I had to find someone who’d understand. I knew it couldn’t have been a dream— a-a nightmare. It all happened. I lost everything, Sensei.”

“I... see,” Satoru finally breathes out.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t think there even is anything to say.

Dead.

They were all dead in another timeline. In the timeline that Satoru and Yūji belong in. The place that they’d come from three days ago after a war had been lost and they’d been the only two remaining of the lot of sorcerers, apparently.

It was the future of this timeline unless something changes.

Everyone worth fighting for is dead.

Everyone he was supposed to protect is dead.

Not-Suguru had won the game after locking away the strongest player, Sukuna was starting to overpower Yūji; gaining strength and opportunity from weakness a teenager would be prone to in such a situation, and everyone they knew and loved was dead.

What was left in that world?

What was left to go back for?

If Sukuna had really been as despicable— as coldblooded and murderous— as Yūji says, not even Yūji would be safe to go back to that time should they try to return. They’d want him executed. Immediately. Not even Satoru could talk his way out of that.

They’d want Satoru to kill him, just as he’d promised when pleading for Yūji’s life.

The threat Sukuna poses now would outweigh the gains of keeping Yūji around to keep disposing of fingers. They’d get rid of fifteen of Sukuna’s fingers along with an innocent teenaged vessel.

The higher-ups would be all over that, if any of the old bastards were even alive still.

Yūji would die too, and Satoru would have no one left.

It’s wrong.

It’s all wrong.

How had everything gone so, so wrong?

“I should’ve been stronger,” Yūji sobs brokenly, tearing Satoru from the brewing thoughts. “I should’ve done more. ’m sorry, Sensei, ‘m so sorry. It’s all my fault. Their deaths are on my hands. I was weak—”

“It’s not your fault.”

The boy freezes.

Satoru tugs his glasses off to rub at his eyes.

He’s not crying— but his eyes ache in what he knows is a threat of tears. He presses the pads of his finger and thumb into his eyes to stem the pressure building. He doesn’t want to cry in front of Yūji.

He doesn’t share the same grief here. Not in the sense Yūji does.

He hadn’t been through what Yūji had, hadn’t seen what Yūji had seen during that war.

Yūji needs a pillar right now.

Satoru will process all of this later.

Alone in his room where no one will see him crying over the loss of people he hasn’t grown to love yet. Students who hadn’t worn down his walls yet, students who were just children right now wherever they happened to be, and friends who’d yet to stick around despite how much Satoru knows he can be.

Blue eyes flick down to study the child, unsurprised to find watery, reddened auburn staring back at him. Yūji’s looking at him like he’s waiting for Satoru to yell or get mad. To be upset and take it out on him. Maybe Yūji’s expecting disappointment from him, expecting Satoru to blame him entirely for the absolute trainwreck that was their timeline.

It’s not going to happen.

If Satoru blames anyone for this, it’s himself.

One of them is supposed to be the strongest sorcerer alive, and it’s not Yūji.

Yūji’s eyes are puffy, cheeks tear stained.

He looks so broken.

Satoru can only imagine what he must be going through.

Satoru’s biggest loss had been Amanai and Kuroi, then Suguru— both when he’d defected and when Satoru had finally had to kill him. Different kinds of losses, but still losses all the same. They both still tore holes in his heart that it never truly felt like he recovered from.

Yūji had lost everyone.

One after the next until there was no one left to try to save. Watched as they were knocked down like dominos, and he’d been unable to do anything to prevent it. A losing battle from the start. He had even been caged within his own body for some of it, forced to watch from his own eyes as someone else took control and did horrendous things using his own hands.

Facing death is the cruelest lesson you learn as a Sorcerer, not death for yourself, but death for others, and Yūji had learned it tenfold, all at once. That’s something that’ll haunt Yūji for the rest of his life, and Satoru is sure of it.

It might not have happened here, but that doesn’t change the fact that it had happened. That very real people, very real friends, had seen such gruesome ends. That Yūji had been witness to it all.

Satoru had never felt greater sympathy for anyone.

For a second, Satoru doesn’t even think the child is breathing as they stare at one another.

“W-what?” It’s so weak.

“Not your fault,” Satoru forces himself to look away.

He leans back on his arms, forcing a quiet breath in through his nose, and out through his mouth twice in an attempt to regulate his hammering heart before glancing back down into wide, disbelieving eyes.

This was always something he’d never liked about being a teacher.

Something he’d never been particularly good at, not that he’d ever admit it aloud.

Emotions were messy.

Teenager’s emotions were messy. They were unpredictable, and he wasn’t foolish enough to think he understood them. He’d barely understood when he was a teenager himself; his own messy emotions that he chose to repress instead of try to understand.

Sometimes he wonders how things would’ve changed if he’d processed his emotions instead of shoving them down. If he’d learned how to see others struggling and known to help before it got bad enough that they burst at the seams.

Satoru could try all he might, but he knew he wasn’t the best at consoling people.

Satoru didn’t like problems that couldn’t be solved with throwing some money at it, or with sheer strength and power alone. Problems like that made him feel human. Human and weak.

Curses were easy to take care of.

People were less so.

He’d learned that the hard way after Amanai’s death, and Suguru’s spiraling mental health. He hadn’t known what to do with those things. Hadn’t done anything besides pretend everything was how it had been before. He’d been a dumb, self-centered teenager, high off his own newfound power.

Hadn’t even really noticed until it was too late, as horrible as it sounded.

He’d never been good at this, not when it really mattered all those years ago.

When he’d repressed Amanai and Kuroi’s deaths, pretending it didn’t bother him. Trekking on and accepting mission after mission just to keep himself distracted from their failure.

When he hadn’t known what to do with Suguru’s crippling guilt, the genuine confusion that washed over him like a tugging undercurrent as he questioned what he was really fighting for. The festering of hate that he’d chosen to cling to like a life preserver to keep his head above water winning over in the end.

What would've changed if Satoru had actually been there to dive in and save his drowning friend?

He hadn’t even known what to do with watching Shoko lose both of her best friends for different reasons. Hadn’t known how to broach the subject of Suguru spiraling downwards on those few occasions he and Suguru had crossed paths between that last mission together and Suguru defecting.

He’d made mistakes.

But he’s older now. Wiser.

And Yūji is his student.

Satoru had promised the higher-ups he’d be responsible for Yūji, and maybe that claim has tilted somewhere along the line at this point, morphed into something entirely different, but he’s going to be responsible for Yūji.

Sukuna or not, Yūji was someone Satoru intended to protect.

Even now.

Gojō Satoru does not go back on his word.

“You’re not the only sorcerer who was there, Yūji,” Satoru reminds without looking down. He doesn’t want to see Yūji’s teary face. “We all lost. As a team. As a society of powerful sorcerers. It wasn’t one person’s failure, it was everyone’s. Go team, right?”

“But I— a-and Sukuna, he—”

“You fought,” Satoru says quietly. “Until the end. You fought hard. You fought until the end, and your actions and reactions now tell me as much. I can see it in your eyes. You gave it your all. I’m proud of you, okay? You tried. You suffered through so much and kept trying. Kept caring. It was a losing fight from the beginning.”

“I should’ve tried harder,” Yūji whimpers in reply. “I could’ve done more— helped more. How many of my friends wouldn’t have died if I was better...?”

“It’s not your fault,” Satoru says again, sharper this time. “It’ll never be your fault. You are a student, Yūji, a first year. Just fifteen years old. Responsibility like that should’ve never fallen onto you. On to any of you. You shouldn’t have even been a part of that fight— none of you should’ve, but we were desperate, and you’re all strong. I should’ve been there. It was my fault, Yūji, not yours.”

“It’s not your fault,” Yūji shakes his head vehemently, “you were imprisoned in that cursed object—”

“That’s exactly why it’s my fault,” Satoru shrugs, finally letting his gaze tip sideways. “I’m the strongest, and it still tricked me. I wasn’t fast enough to put the pieces together, and I fell for a trap. I’m the strongest sorcerer to date, and that thing knew it. They wanted me gone and I was the idiot who let it happen. If anyone’s to blame, Yūji, it’s your Sensei.”

“But you were tricked—”

“That doesn’t plead my case.”

“But Sensei—”

“Let me accept blame, Yūji.” Satoru squints at the child vibrating with sheer emotion. “This isn’t yours to bear alone, you know. We both left that place. You may have watched the destruction, but I let it happen. And I’m the adult here, not you. I’m your Sensei. I let this happen. You’re wallowing in guilt for things out of your control. It wasn’t your fault; you tried your best—”

“My best wasn’t good enough!” Yūji shouts desperately, like Satoru doesn’t understand.

“And neither was mine.”

The child stills at that, head slowly turning to Satoru.

The older wants to look away, but he can’t. He lets his gaze meet Yūji’s and offers a tiny half smile. Maybe it’s a sad smile, or grim even, but it’s honest. It’s truthful.

Yūji takes the expression in with furrowed brows.

“We made wrong choices,” Satoru continues. “Everyone did. We lost. People died. Our friends died. That happens, you know? That’s a byproduct of war. You can’t change that, what happened to them. Those specific versions of themselves. They died, Yūji. They fought noble fights to the end, I’m sure, but they are gone. None of us were strong enough. That timeline is probably burning to the ground as we speak. We failed, Yūji. I failed.”

“B-but shouldn’t we...” Yūji lets the thought peter off, looking away shamefully. “We have to go back.”

“For what?” Satoru shakes his head, eyes drifting to sky sullenly. “Who is there to save anymore?”

The question is rhetorical.

They both know there’s no one left. Yūji had seen, and Satoru believes him.

Satoru continues sharply, “do you see any point in trying to save something already crumbling to ashes, Yūji, because I don’t. I’ve worked my ass off for people who don’t give a shit about me. You’ve worked your ass off for people who have tried time and time again to execute you, even going as far as to do it without my knowledge, behind my back.”

Satoru is quiet for a long second, reining in the emotion festering in his chest.

“My friends and students died. I wasn’t there to help them. Everyone who I care about there is no longer there for me to care about. There’s no one left over there I want to fight for. The ending to that timeline is unfortunate. It’s devastating, don’t get me wrong, but there’s nothing left that I want to save. Nothing I’m willing to go back for.”

“Sensei...”

“I want to be selfish,” Satoru admits like it's a secret. “I want to make a selfish decision for the people I love. I’ve made the wrong choices. I’ve been ignorant to things. But for some reason, we’re back. We’ve been given another chance. The future that we came from isn’t worth saving. But there are people here we can save. Aren’t there people you want to save, Yūji-kun?”

Yūji’s gaze drifts to Satoru’s face before he looks away guiltily.

“There are people I want to save,” Satoru lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’ll do better this time around. I’m a selfish man, Yūji-kun. I messed up, and I want to change that. I want to fix it. I can change that now. I want to make a better future for Kugisaki, and Fushiguro. For Nanami. And the second years. For the friends I failed before I even grew up. For everyone I failed the first time. For... for you, Yūji.”

“You never failed me, Sensei,” Yūji’s voice is so soft.

Satoru can’t help but laugh.

“I’ll still do better,” Satoru assures, reaching over to pat Yūji’s fluffy hair. “Whether you eat that finger eleven years from now, or not. You get to decide for yourself what you want to do this time, and I’ll fight harder for you. And don’t worry about Sukuna. We already knew he was a colossal asshole. Sukuna’s actions aren’t your own, Yūji. A vessel will lose control eventually, no matter how strong you are; you played no part in anything Sukuna did. I don’t blame you for anything.”

Yūji doesn’t say anything, just stares down at the hot chocolate his tiny hands are curled around. His hands are still sticky with macaron, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Can we really be that selfish?” Yūji asks quietly. “Is that allowed?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”

The boy cracks a smile, but it doesn’t linger.

“Everyone we lost is alive right now,” Satoru finally admits. “Megumi, Nobara. Megumi’s sister, Tsumiki. You saw Ieiri and Yaga back at the school. That other guy is my best friend, and he’s here too. The second-year students. Your grandfather. The Kyoto kids and staff—”

“Junpei,” Yūji adds quietly. “And Choso, too.”

Neither are names Satoru knows, but they obviously mean a lot to Yūji.

One of the names he can faintly remember Nanami telling him about; a friend Yūji had lost while working missions with the ex-salaryman. The other, he’s completely unsure about.

“Junpei and Choso,” Satoru agrees readily. “They’re alive, and they’ll eventually find their way into our lives, and if not, we’ll find them. Trust in that. This ragtag group is meant to be, I think, it just doesn’t have to end up the same way it did.”

“I want to do better for them,” Yūji admits quietly.

“I know,” Satoru bows his head. “And you will. Y’know, they say you’re never supposed to meddle with milestone events if you ever end up in the past like this. You know, those old movies? I think there was a couple in that stack of ‘em you watched. Something about it possibly changing the future, all that dramatic shit. I was never one for rules at this age though.”

“I don't think you’re ever one for rules, Sensei.”

“Right you are, Yūji-kun!” Satoru laughs openly, verging on manically, “which means I don’t give a shit if I fuck up the future we’re from. I want to fuck it up. I will fuck it up. For the better. It’ll be better this time. I promise you.”

“It’ll be better,” Yūji repeats as if it’s a mantra. “I trust Sensei.”

Satoru smiles honestly at the boy, “I won’t let you down again.”

Yūji is quiet for a moment, he sips at probably cold hot chocolate as he absently brushes the sticky smear of pink macaron onto his shorts. Satoru sips at his own cold drink too, closing the lid of the pastry box as he does.

Yūji whipping to face Satoru has the teenager startling.

“Wait, wait, hold on a second, that other guy is your best friend?” Yūji jerks up as if the words finally register in his head, “the one who was with you and Ieiri-sensei? Sensei, that guy was the one who—”

“I’m aware,” Satoru cuts Yūji off with a heaving sigh, flapping a dismissive hand. “I told you, they’re different, remember? The guy you just met is called Getō Suguru. He’s my classmate. My best friend. We’re partners in crime, the Strongest Duo the Jujutsu world has ever seen—”

“Sensei,” Yūji’s nose wrinkles distastefully. “That’s the guy who imprisoned you. He turned the world against each other. He’s the reason so many people died—”

“No, the Getō you met was basically just a puppet. A vessel. Definitely not my Suguru.”

“How can you be so sure—”

“Getō’s dead.”

Yūji’s mouth drops into an ‘o’ shape, wide eyes locked on Satoru.

He’s aware of the look, even though he’s purposely looking anywhere but at Yūji.

Satoru hopes his expression doesn’t twist, he’d never been good at keeping a straight face when talking about Suguru, after he’d left, or after he’d died.

Try as he might, it was a wound that had never really healed.

“Look... the Suguru you saw today, the real Getō Suguru, died, Yūji,” Satoru makes sure to keep any emotion from his voice, despite the image of Suguru’s one-armed, bleeding body, and the honest smile he’d shot in Satoru’s direction at the very end. “Back when your senpais were still first years. I had to kill him myself. I know he’s dead, but his body... that was really him. His body and cursed technique, at least.”

Satoru finally lets his attention cock down to face the kid.

Yūji doesn’t say anything.

“This Suguru is innocent. He hasn’t... he’s not bad. And he won’t be, if I can help it. He did do bad things, sure, but I never believed he was bad. Delusional sometimes, sure. Misguided, of course. A little dark, definitely. But not inherently bad. Shit happened, but he’s a good guy, Yūji, the best guy. Far better than I am. He went through some stuff, and it... it changed him. How he viewed stuff. I’ll save him this time, before he can spiral again. You’ll like him if you give him a chance, okay?”

“But...”

“I know,” Satoru winces.

He knows he’s asking a lot.

Suguru’s body is at the center of the boy’s trauma; sealing Satoru away, killing people and probably being a giant asshole about it too, starting a war that had taken so many lives.

“But it wasn’t really him. Just like Sukuna isn’t you,” Yūji’s eyes flutter closed as he processes the comparison unsurely. “The thing that trapped me in the Prison Realm was using his corpse as bait. A nasty little trick only a coward would pull. It’s able to possess corpses and wield their techniques, I think. I don’t know for sure; we didn’t exactly have long to chat before he closed the gate on me.”

“So the stitches then?” Yūji scratches at his own forehead lightly. “On the forehead? I wasn’t really sure, but you said to look, and that’s... that’s the only difference I really noticed. When I saw him in our, er, world, he had stitches across his forehead.”

“Yeah,” Satoru nods slowly, thoughtfully. “As far as I can tell. As long as you don’t see any stitches, it’s fine. And if you do, ever, see stitches like those on anyone, you leave immediately and find me, okay? Do not engage. Seriously. Especially without having any cursed energy. And preferrably not before you at least hit double digits, ‘kay? ‘kay.”

“Right,” Yūji nods sharply, only looking slightly put out. After a second, the kid wilts a little, chewing on the inside of his cheek almost nervously. “He... he was very strong. Is he... always that strong, do you think?”

“No, I think he's a slimy weasel who stole someone else’s strength because he lacked his own.”

Satoru snaps the words out angrily before he can think better of it.

He lets the tension melt from his frame when the sharpness catches up to him, eyes flicking down to a wide-eyed Yūji, “it... I don’t know for sure, but I think it’s a cursed technique. Whatever it is might not be physically strong alone, but it’s smart. That’s just as dangerous. Be careful.”

“I will,” Yūji blinks slowly before letting out a nervous laugh at the malice in his Sensei’s tone. “So, your friend... Getō-san, right? He’s strong then? If... if that thing who possessed him was using his strength, I mean.”

“Almost as strong as me!” Satoru puffs his chest up proudly, letting Yūji change the conversation topic. “We’re not the Strongest Duo for nothing, Yūji-kun! Ever wondered if anyone was strong enough to stand beside your amazing Sensei? Well, Suguru is the one! Two powerful Special Grades! You might’ve seen that thing using Suguru’s technique, but it’s called Cursed Spirit Manipulation. He’s got a whole bunch of curses under his thumb! Even a dragon! You’ll love it, Yūji-kun, I’m tellin’ ya!”

Yūji offers a small smile, “sounds super awesome, Sensei.”

“It is!” Satoru cheers. “My Yūji-kun will be so amazed by my Suguru! You’re very alike, you know! Both have an acquired taste for cursed things. Suguru will finally have someone to complain to, someone who’ll understand his woes— well, in about ten or eleven years, at least. If you choose to go down that road again. Or if we tell him at some point, I suppose.”

Yūji lets out a laugh, something that Satoru can only describe as a child-like giggle, and it's a sound Satoru wants to keep hearing. He wants to keep Yūji happy. He wants things to change for Yūji too.

He wants to do so much better this time around.

Better for Suguru, for Shoko. For Nanami and Haibara. For Yaga, who Satoru knows will become a pillar of support for him in upcoming years. Better for Yūta, Maki, Toge and Panda. Way better for Megumi and Tsumiki. And better for Kugisaki and of course Yūji too.

It’s still surreal to him that Yūji’s here too.

Satoru’s honestly so glad to have someone from that timeline with him. Someone to provide answers, and to remind him of all he needs to accomplish this time around.

He will change it.

And it’ll all start with Suguru.

“Welp!” Satoru hums finally, stretching out his back before pushing himself to his feet.

He hooks his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, clapping his hands together gleefully as he glances down at Yūji over the rim of said glasses. Yūji glances up at the cheerful drawl.

Satoru offers a crooked smile when he meets the kid’s eyes again, “time to get the missing ankle-biter back to school. How good are you at working the waterworks, huh? Think we can get away with a missing little Yūji-kun took a wrong train and dashingly handsome Gojō Satoru found, rescued and returned him safely?”

“Really?” Yūji cocks an eyebrow as he rises to his feet. “You want me to cry? I don’t know if anyone will believe I bought a ticket to Tokyo and accidentally ended up here. It was expensive. I don’t know how I’m going to pay grandpa back. Or... or explain this when he asks.”

“Well,” Satoru clicks his tongue with a teasing smile, “it’s that or I get arrested for kidnapping. Do you want to have to visit your poor Sensei behind bars, Yūji-kun? Do you know what they do to pretty faces like mine in prison, Yūji? You want your amazing, wonderful Sensei to suffer? And you know we don’t have to tell them where I actually found you, right? We’ll leave Tokyo out entirely. Warping you back will save you another two hours travel time too— we'll say I found you at a station in Sendai, lost.”

Satoru grin sharply, “a simple mistake for a little guy like you. I doubt they’ll question it too much.”

Yūji snickers into his hand, “I guess I could cry if you think it’ll work.”

“Nawh!” Satoru playfully swoons, as he fishes into his pocket to pull out his wallet. “Now Yūji-kun is his Sensei’s hero! It’ll definitely work— but, on a completely unrelated note, Yūji-kun's senseis are women, right?”

Yūji cocks a suspicious eyebrow, “yes, why?”

“No reason!” Satoru chirps with a laugh, flashing a bright smile as Yūji’s suspicious expression deepens faintly, scanning Satoru’s face. “Don’t worry about.”

Satoru snickers to himself as he continues with what he’d been doing; tugging out a couple more yen notes, enough to cover paying back Yūji’s grandfather, as well as pocket change— more than enough for Yūji to make another impromptu trip to Tokyo if he needs it.

He passes the bills to a confused looking child.

“For your debt,” Satoru explains cheekily, patting Yūji’s head. “And in the future, steal money from me instead, yeah? Or ask. I’m not stingy. I'm sure your grandfather will notice money going missing like that if you keep it up. A ticket to Tokyo is expensive, isn’t it? Me, though, you could rob me blind, and I probably wouldn’t notice. I mean, I’ve probably got accounts I don’t even know about. Say the word, and Yūji-kun will have it!”

Yūji puffs his cheeks out fondly but does slip off his backpack to tuck the money into one of the pockets inside for safe keeping. “Thank you, Sensei.”

Finally, Satoru bends down to pick up the box of leftover desserts. He takes both their empty cups as well, before holding his other hand out for Yūji to hold so he can wrap them back to Sendai, fingers wiggling promptingly.

Yūji offers a sheepish smile as his tiny hand settles in Satoru’s bigger.

Satoru lets his hand curl around the smaller one entirely, giving a light squeeze.

“Hey,” Satoru says suddenly, watching Yūji’s face carefully as the boy looks up to regard him. “Will you do your favorite Sensei a huge but super easy favor, Yūji-kun?”

Yūji’s head tilts in question.

“Enjoy being a kid for a while, okay? Don’t be worried about all this stuff, because your Sensei will take care of it all until you make it back to the ripe age of fifteen. Just because you know this all exists, curses and sorcery and stuff, doesn’t mean you need to go chasing it. Be a normal kid. Enjoy being little again. Stay safe, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Yūji agrees after a second, “I’ll try, Sensei.”

“Good boy,” Satoru smiles brightly. “Now hold tight!”

It’s easy enough to convince Yūji’s preschool teachers that he’d gotten on the wrong train that morning and had been too shy to mention it to anyone, only to end up on the opposite side of Sendai.

Satoru explains on with a feigned sympathetic air about how he’d found Yūji sobbing outside the train station on the other side of Sendai and had kindly skipped his own afternoon classes to help the child get back. He feels Yūji glaring into him and his dramatics, but the teachers don’t seem to notice.

Satoru gets a kick out of Yūji’s annoyance and getting to tease the boy indirectly for being a child.

‘I was afraid someone would be missing him terribly!’ Satoru had lifted a hand to his heart solemnly, ‘I really just wanted to make sure little Yūji-kun got back safe and sound, Ma’am, poor thing was terrified! I couldn’t just walk away, it felt like my duty to escort the little guy back!’

They swoon, despite being older than him. He’s used to it.

He’s always been popular with ladies— boyish good looks getting him far, pretty eyes he can flash when things are looking down and he knows how to work a charming personality too when it’ll benefit him. They call him sweet and gentle. Tell him that he’s kind soul and that he’s so thoughtful for making sure Yūji got back safe, and that Yūji is lucky that he found him instead of someone else.

Yūji very nearly snorts out in disbelief but manages to pass it off as a pathetic sounding sniffle.

Satoru finds himself grinning teasingly down at the child when they happen to glance at each other. Yūji looks completely unimpressed but cracks a small smile when Satoru grins down.

They thank him profusely, arching in bows of gratitude.

He doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash behind his glasses at the gesture.

He had probably saved their asses; they should be grateful.

It’s nearly time for school to be letting out, and they hadn’t had the kid all day.

He’s pretty sure guardians and parents phone in to let the teaching staff know if kids won’t be showing up, so Yūji had just not shown up and they did virtually nothing about it. He knows Japan’s big on independence in their youth, not that his helicopter clan would’ve ever considered such a thing, but a kid not showing up is concerning, isn’t it?

Either way, there would’ve been a huge panic if anyone actually communicated.

Satoru wonders if Yūji’s grandfather even knows he’s been missing all day, or if the kid’s school was keeping it hush until they had to contact the boy’s guardian and the police to report him missing. The kid had mentioned his grandfather was at work, so he's not sure if they would've tried to reach him to question the child's whereabouts.

Satoru sees Yūji roll his eyes at this whole exchange out of the corner of his eye, but when the boy’s teachers glance down, his wide eyes are wet with unshed tears and his bottom lip wobbles.

He’s quite the little actor.

Satoru’s eyes shine behind his glasses as he bites back a laugh.

They part ways with a wave between them, Yūji into the school as his teachers lecture him gently, and Satoru watching until the coast was clear to warp away. He wishes Yaga would lecture him gently like that for skipping classes too, but he’s sure he’d going to get a smack on the head instead.

He’d prefer the smack to a lengthy lecture, honestly.

He doesn’t go back yet.

Can’t seem to force himself to bite the bullet just yet.

He needs a second to think now that Yūji’s returned to his rightful place in this timeline. He leaves Satoru alone with his thoughts and man does he have a lot to be thinking about.

Satoru doesn’t return to the school for a couple more hours.

Doesn’t want to see Suguru yet, doesn’t want to fight with Suguru anymore. He’s still processing that fight they’d had before Yūji showed up. He honestly doesn’t want to start up where they left off.

It pissed him off to no end that Suguru just assumed Satoru wasn’t in over his head with all this when his friend didn’t even know the tip of the iceberg on this one.

Suguru had always had a knack for getting under his skin though.

And really, he wants just a second alone to process all this.

He wants to take a second to mourn those he’d lost in another timeline, versions of these people that he may or may not ever see again depending on how this all turns out in the end. To mull over everything that took place while he’d been rotting away in the Prison Realm, everything Yūji had told him.

And even to compare how they’d both come into this world. Similarities, difference. How the domain clash could’ve played a roll— the possibility that his domain might’ve been the reason they’re back nearly eleven years in the past.

Something like Limitless was infinitely powerful, and Satoru doesn’t think there's a dual Six-Eyes and Limitless inheritor out there that has ever reached the techniques entire potential. It’s too vast, too many infinite numbers. There truly is no limit.

But still, was the concept of time travel even possible?

He’d barely dabbled with the thought in all his twenty-eight years. Time travel was nothing but a theory he'd think of late at night when he couldn’t fall asleep, not something he’d cared to invest time in when there wasn’t a sure outcome of success.

Yūji’s visit had definitely answered some questions he’d had, but now he has even more and there’s no answers in sight. It’s a lot to think about. A lot to consider.

Yūji had brought more questions than answers.

When evening draws closer, Satoru finally bites the bullet and warps himself back to Jujutsu Tech.

He drops himself in the middle of the kitchen to drop the pastries off with intentions of disappearing into his dorm for the night, but instead, he finds himself frozen like a deer in the headlights when he catches sight of Shoko and Suguru standing leaned against the counter, nursing boring bowls of steaming rice.

On the bright side, they both look equally as surprised to see him.

“Satoru?” Shoko cocks an eyebrow at his sudden appearance. She scans him curiously, head to toe and then right back up. Her lips purse, brow furrowing when her dark eyes steady on his black out glasses.

For a long second, the three of them just stare at one another.

It takes Satoru an embarrassingly long second to realize they look so surprised because at this point in this timeline, he’s not great at warping. He’d told them that the numbers were precise, that any miscalculation could be catastrophic and dangerous.

The fluidity of it had come along with reaching the peak of his power— when he’d finally grasped reversed curse technique. Which... had not happened yet. Another secret he’s keeping close to his chest. He had not awakened his full potential yet; shouldn’t be able to use his techniques as flawlessly yet.

And he’d just warped in.

And he’d warped out earlier too, with Yūji.

Ah.

That explains it.

Of course they’d look so shocked. This was power that he’d learned over years and years of hard work and trauma, only to grace his younger self with now.

Satoru himself had struggled, but now he was gifting this version of himself all his hard work and strength. Lucky younger bastard. It’s a good thing Satoru’s here too, or he’d be genuinely pissed off an alternate of himself got it so much easier.

That also begs the question of if they did possess their alternate younger selves? It sorta just feels like his original timeline is a mere distant memory, a dream, that, of course, was accompanied by influxes of power and cursed energy. He really did feel young, and it was easy being seventeen. Natural.

Perhaps they’d merged with their younger selves?

Only time would tell at this point.

“Since when could you warp so easily?” Comes Suguru’s surprised voice.

Satoru forces his gaze over, blinking slowly behind his glasses as he forces himself back to the situation at hand. Right. This weird standoff thing they’ve got going on.

He really needs to get over this ‘head in the clouds’ thing, or he’s gonna get himself into trouble.

“Since I’ve been working on it. What, you never noticed?” Satoru answers defensively. “I must be real good at coming and going if you’ve never noticed. Practice makes perfect and all that jazz, right? I thought you paid more attention to me, Sugu-chan! I’m hurt! You’re telling me you have better things to do than watch me all day? Unbelieveable!”

Suguru’s eyebrows furrow faintly in irritation, “okay, but... don’t you think it was a little risky warping someone else when you’re still learning? I mean, you can barely warp yourself across the schoolyard without exhausting your cursed energy, Satoru. Why the hell would you think it’s a good idea to take a kid with you?”

Suguru pauses, gaze dropping to the box still in Satoru’s hand before his expression morphs to a deadpan. “And did you seriously use that kid as an excuse to skip school to get treats? Yaga’s gonna lose it if he finds out.”

“Yaga can kindly kiss my ass,” Satoru snaps back, rolling his shoulder as he sneers back at Suguru, “y’know, you're being very hostile for someone who I got a treat for. Where’s the ‘thanks for thinking of us, Satoru! You're the best!’, huh?”

Satoru makes a show of setting the box on the counter, flipping it open to expose the treats inside.

He’d thought of all of his friends when selecting— strawberry for Yūji, rich chocolate brownies for Shoko, not-so-sweet black sesame for Suguru, Nanami likes bordering-on-bitter matcha, that weirdo, and Haibara loves macarons just as much as Satoru does. His order checked all the boxes.

There was a method to his madness.

He debates taking another macaron before leaving the rest to be scavenged through, but his stomach is still unsettled and in knots after that conversation with Yūji.

Guilt twists like a dagger and grief settles in his stomach like a bottomless pit.

It’s his biggest failure yet— one he’ll never be able to forgive himself for. He might be getting a second chance to change things, but that doesn’t erase the first failure. He’ll never forgive himself, and deep down, he hopes Yūji never forgives him either.

“Look,” Satoru sighs tiredly when neither of them speak, fight draining out of him. He brings a hand up to card his fingers through his hair, looking away. “I’m really not in the mood for another lecture, Suguru. My math was correct, and we both survived. Go me! No spliced grade-schoolers. Relax. Now, I got black sesame macarons just for you, Sugu-chan. And iced brownies for my dear Shoko. And all the other macarons flavors too— go nuts. I don’t care. I’m not hungry, so if that’s all, I’m going to bed—”

“Hang on,” Shoko interrupts, setting her bowl on the counter to set her hand on her hips disapprovingly. “Satoru, wait. Are we just- you're honestly not going to tell us who the hell that kid is? This is so fucked up, Satoru. What the hell? Why was a kid coming looking for you? Who was he?”

“Oh...” Satoru pauses apprehensively, turning back to stare directly at the two of them as he musters up a serious expression, “he’s my son.”

Suguru promptly chokes on the bite of rice he’d just shoved in his mouth and Shoko’s arms fall to her sides as her eyes bulge out of her head in shock.

Just the reactions Satoru was going for.

Chapter Text

Satoru takes pleasure in watching Suguru pound helplessly at his chest as he coughs up stray pieces of rice. Shoko had shaken herself from her stupor at the ruckus of their friend hacking up a lung, whipping to face Suguru and patting hard at his back while the younger teen wheezes and coughs.

Satoru leans back against the counter in front of where he’d set the box of desserts, watching on with a raised eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything, just observes the dynamic between his two friends.

The episode only lasts a couple seconds at most before Suguru is finally drawing in shaky breaths and setting his bowl of rice back on the counter with Shoko’s with a click of ceramic slamming down hastily.

“S-Satoru,” Suguru finally lifts his head, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, lifting teary eyes to meet Satoru’s own schooled expression. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory,” Satoru shrugs lightly, keeping his expression serious despite the tease, “y’know, reproducing? Sex? What, does Sugu-chan not know about the birds and the bees? Well, dude, when a man really likes a woman, they—”

“Fuck off, Satoru!” Suguru snaps in annoyance. “I know what sex is, you asshole. God.”

Satoru hums innocently, “then what’s the problem?”

“Maybe the fact that you’re seventeen and that kid— your kid— is four??” Shoko is the one to wheeze the words out. She looks the most rattled Satoru thinks he’s ever seen. “You would’ve been thirteen—no, no, wait, you would’ve been twelve, Satoru! What the fuck! How did you even- is that even possible?”

“What do you mean?” Satoru tilts his head, feigning innocent confusion.

“How can you have a kid?” Suguru’s the one who asks this time, eyebrows knit together in shock and unease. “How does that even happen? You’re a kid yourself! How did you—?”

“Maybe my stunning good looks and charming personality?”

“Bullshit. When we met you, you were a stuck up, arrogant, egotistical narcissist,” Shoko sneers, but there’s still worry and shock in her expression despite the harsh string of words. “I doubt that would’ve been different when you were younger. Not to mention you were twelve. A kid. Who the hell would want to sleep with you?”

“Well, someone, obviously,” Satoru teases before pouting. “And that’s so rude, Shoko-chan! I definitely wasn’t that bad. Your list of insults didn’t need to run that long; you just wanted to hurt my feelings!”

Satoru bites back the smirk threatening to grace his lips, lulling his attention in her direction instead as he manages an unimpressed expression as he crosses his arms over his chest, “if you don’t believe me, how else do you think I’d get a kid, huh? You saw him!”

Silence.

“Was it like— was it consensual?”

“Yep,” Satoru pops the ‘p’, but doesn’t elaborate.

Doesn’t want them thinking anything bad, but also doesn’t quite want to let the ruse go quite yet. He’s enjoying it. Taking pleasure in the way their faces have pinched as if biting into lemons.

It takes everything in him not to laugh.

“And was she also your age, or...”

“Well...” Satoru shakes his head mischievously. “Older gals are charmed by me, aren’t they? The woes of having a God-like profile and gorgeous blue eyes. I'm irresistible. I’ve always been stunning. They swoon in my mere presence; I’m the whole package.”

“You were twelve,” Shoko deadpans. “That’s definitely illegal, dude.”

“And you’re so full of yourself. Wow.” Suguru agrees with a groan. “Your mere presence annoys the hell outta me. I don’t believe this, Satoru. You’ve never once mentioned this. Not once.”

The silence is heavy for a long second, until Satoru finally lets his amusement trickle through despite his best efforts of containing it. The stifle of laughter turns into a full snicker, and then a real laugh as he takes in their priceless expressions.

He brings a hand up to cover his mouth as he lets his glasses slip down his nose until they can see his sparkling, teasing gaze.

“Wait, are you fuckin’ bullshitting us right now?” Suguru snaps in genuine annoyance.

“Of course, I’m bullshitting you! He’s not my fucking kid!” Satoru cackles loudly now, reveling in their shocked expressions, “man, you two are gullible! You should see your faces! Hah, do you really think I could’ve even had a hookup when I was that young? I barely even knew what sex was when I was twelve. I mean, I’m a sheltered clan heir, I barely left the estate, idiots. I almost always had a chaperone breathing down my neck. Trust me, no one got close to me as a kid. Like, no one. This is fuckin’ hilarious. Wow. I needed a laugh.”

“What the fuck, Satoru?” Suguru snarls through a scowl, eyes narrowing dangerously as Satoru continues to snicker. “Your sense of humor is so fucked. You’re the worst.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Shoko grits out weakly in agreement, looking away as her cheeks flush. “God, Satoru we were worried about you for a second there. Even rich kids like you can get groomed into shitty situations. Thought we might have had to go to Yaga on that one. Fuck. You were an awful kid, but you were still a kid. You really are the worst human being to exist.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Satoru brushes away a tear of laughter, finally looking up to face twin scowls. “I just couldn’t pass up on an opportunity like that. I wanted to see your faces— gotta keep you on your toes, you know? Seriously though. I was just pulling your leg. Yūji is not my son. Promise. Thanks for being worried about me, okay? Nothing like that happened. Don’t worry.”

He’d hardly given the idea of his own current age a second thought before he’d spoken.

Yūji could easily be his kid if he was twenty-eight still. It wouldn’t have been weird, there would be no uncomfortable questions and he probably would’ve gone with that if that was the case.

It wouldn’t have been weird to have a surprise child as an adult, but alas, he’s only seventeen. That is a little weird. Especially in the early 2000’s.

Still, if he really did want to go that route here too, he could’ve stuck with it.

It’s not impossible to be a father so young, but that would bring more questions he doesn’t want to answer. Twelve is very young to be sexually active, let alone have kids, even if he knows it’s probably happened before. Just because he was sheltered doesn’t mean everyone was.

But that was more work than it’s worth, honestly. He didn’t even want to think of the kinds of talks he’d be subjected to with Yaga if the man thought he was being sexually irresponsible or thought Satoru had been hurt by someone resulting in a child coming into the world. Makes him cringe just to think about it.

He wasn’t lying about being sheltered as a kid; it’s not impossible, but it’s very, very unlikely.

And it had stressed his friends out much more than he’d thought it would initially. Worried them. If he’d ever found himself wondering if his friends actually liked him, not that he ever did anymore, those reactions would’ve been all the proof he’d need that they do care about him.

It’s really endearing that they’re so worried about him, he almost feels bad about riling them up.

Almost.

It was still fucking funny seeing the shock on their faces.

“If he’s not your kid, who is he?” Suguru’s scowl has wavered to curiosity now. His arms cross over his chest after brushing a stray grain of rice off his shirt and onto the floor. “Who is he to you?”

“Yūji is my brother,” Satoru offers with a crooked smile.

“You don’t have a brother,” Suguru’s eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Yeah, you’re the sole Gojō heir,” Shoko agrees with a click of her tongue. “Everyone knows that. You don’t have any siblings. You radiate only child energy in the worst possible way. We’re not stupid, Satoru.”

“Hang on, you’re telling me that’s where you two draw the line?” Satoru snickers, hands lift in a ‘wait, wait’ gesture. “Let me get this straight, it’s easier to believe I had a sex life at age twelve and ended up with an accidental baby by thirteen then to believe I have a younger brother no one knows about? That’s kinda hilarious.”

Satoru laughs openly now, cocking his head and smiling toothily at Suguru, “I know I’m charming, guys, but twelve is a bit too young to be the playboy you believe me to be now, don’t you think? I was just yanking your chain a little before, I’m serious now. I have a brother.”

“You’re really not joking this time?” Suguru frowns skeptically. “You really have a brother?”

“Yep,” Satoru bows his head in a nod. “Not joking. An adorable baby brother. Wasn’t he cute? Can you believe your favorite classmate is a strong, adoring oniichan? This whole older brother thing has grown on me! My cute otōto!”

“How?” Shoko squints at him.

“This again?” Satoru sighs dramatically as he lulls his head in Shoko’s direction, “didn’t we just go over this? And you’re supposed to be our doctor, the smart one. Okay, listen, when a mommy loves a daddy very much, or need a clan heir, they decide to—”

“Satoru...” Shoko warns dangerously.

“Fine, fine.” Satoru rolls his eyes as he pouts, “you’re no fun. Have neither of you ever heard of an affair? Infidelity? It's common, you know. Even in age old clans. Actually, especially in age old clans. The arranged marriage bracket his high with old bloodlines like the Gojōs. My dad’s a sleazeball who slept around on my mom after they did the deed and had me, as expected of them, and knocked some poor woman up. Then baby Yūji came along. Simple, right?”

“Why haven’t I heard anything of it?” Shoko narrows her eyes, “that’s a pretty big scandal, Satoru. Gossip like that would’ve traveled fast. It’s the Gojō clan. Suguru might not have heard about it, but I probably would’ve. I grew up in the world of Sorcery.”

Satoru clicks his tongue, “it’s not exactly the kind of dirty laundry one of the three esteemed clans would want to air, you know? They kept it pretty quiet. I didn’t even know until recently. You’d be surprised what old money can do. Yūji just happens to share the same unfortunate bloodline as me but without the perks. Poor kid.”

“You’re really not tricking us again?” Suguru asks uncertainly.

“I’m really not,” Satoru shrugs halfheartedly. “He’s really my brother. Well, half-brother, at least. He’s not acknowledged as a Gojō, and he never will be. Kid didn’t inherit any technique, and he was born out of wedlock. Old bloodlines like the Gojō clan run on bullshit like purity and power. A child born of infidelity won’t be acknowledged. They may have possibly been swayed into taking him in if he’d had an inherited technique, but... you saw. That one’s a no-go. Kid’s shit outta luck.”

It’s the easiest excuse he can think of.

Something that links the two of them together. Something that offers Yūji the option to be around Satoru and the school if he needs it without raising concerns or suspicions.

And it’s also a target off of his back too. A random child seeking him out and following him around like a ducking is weird, looks weird on him, but a little brother doing it? Completely normal.

“They’re really that uptight?” Suguru’s eyes are wide in surprise.

“You’ll never meet another group of people with sticks lodged so far up their asses,” Satoru rolls his eyes to himself, “as if half those geezers aren’t cheating on their wives too.”

Satoru throws his head back to laugh suddenly, eyes flicking back to both his friends as he offers a cheeky smile, “y’know, I’d love to know how many illegitimate Gojō clan offspring are running around out there, honestly. Anyways, you never would’ve heard about this because I’m the only one with any contact with him. Yūji was practically born and then exiled from the moment he took his first breath. It’s bullshit.”

“Jeez,” Suguru frowns thoughtfully, “that’s... awful. Sorcerer clans suck.”

“You’re telling me,” Satoru agrees with a snort of laughter. “It is what it is. I like to think this is a blessing in disguise for Yūji. Growing up as a clan heir blows. There’re benefits— don't get me wrong. I mean, I’m loaded, right? Dashing good looks. Undeniable power and strength. I am the pride of the clan, but I’ve been on a leash since the second I opened my eyes for the first time. I’m glad he gets to be normal.”

“Not to mention humble,” Suguru deadpans, shooting Shoko a sideways look.

“And vain,” Shoko agrees with a heavy sigh. “Like a peacock.”

Satoru pouts. “Hey.”

“Wait, if...” Suguru starts slowly, and it’s just then Satoru realized the burrow of confusion on his friend’s face, “...if he was here looking for you, why’d he look so terrified when he found you?”

Satoru quirks his head in Suguru’s direction, letting out a prompting hum for his friend to elaborate.

“Your brother,” Suguru clears his throat as he leans the small of his back against the counter behind him, “why did he look so scared when he came to find you? Wasn’t he looking for you?”

“Ah,” Satoru blows out a slow breath.

He probably should’ve suspected this line of questioning. Suguru is perceptive; he doesn’t doubt his friend would’ve noticed the anger and hesitance colouring the child’s face.

Yūji hadn’t exactly hidden it in the pure rage that he’d been overcome by when laying eyes on Suguru. Yūji had always worn his heart on his sleeve, Suguru would notice that. Blind rage like that is not an emotion you’d typically see on a four-year-old.

Suguru was always the most empathetic of the three of them.

“Well...” Satoru debates what to say; what to share to make them understand and how to spin it around to fit this point in time, “Yūji... he had a rough start to it. I don’t know all the details, but he’s been through some shit; it really fucked with him. He... lost some people, saw some shitty things. It was rough. Poor kid was traumatized by it all.”

Wasn't that the fucking truth of it.

Satoru’s not sure Yūji will ever be the same after what he saw in their original timeline.

He doesn’t even know what Yūji saw past the broad: ‘everyone is dead’. Yūji hadn’t exactly spilled many details. Satoru was still blissfully unaware of how everything happened, but he really doesn’t think Yūji is ever going to actually tell him those gruesome details.

It’s not surprising Yūji would be so different after witnessing everything he did, unable to stop any of it no matter how hard he tried. That’s traumatic as fuck.

Just because they’re back now, where those nightmarish things haven’t happened, hopefully never will, doesn’t mean he’s suddenly going to forget, or get over watching people he cares about being slaughtered before his eyes.

He’s never going to forget those feelings.

Something like that sticks with you.

Satoru remembers his own slow, thoughtless steps when he brought Amanai’s body back after that last mission he and Suguru had taken together. Forcing one foot in front of the other as people clapped over a dead child, just a few years younger than them. Cold skin against his hands, the sheet covering her fluttering with each step.

The look in Suguru’s eyes that he’ll never forget when Satoru had asked if he should kill every last bastard in that room. Suguru’s face when he’s said no, only to take out an entire village, his own village, parents and all, months later. Hypocrite.

And Satoru certainly doesn’t think he’ll ever forget shouldering his way through killing Suguru.

Moving on autopilot because it hurt so much to actually think about what he was doing. Who it was that he finally had to kill. Crouched beside his one and only, watching him bleed out before his eyes, knowing it had to end there.

Knowing that even without Satoru doing it, Suguru would not have walked away that night.

Knowing there was no chance at saving Suguru, even if he did miraculously survive losing a limb and so much blood. He was too far gone; blinded by his truly despicable goal of mass genocide of non-shamans. He was stubborn as a mule. Just like Satoru.

He couldn’t have put it off any longer. And he couldn’t have convinced Suguru either.

Suguru was an active threat against the students, against the world.

It needed to be done.

Still, Satoru had never hated himself more than when he’d sat beside his best friend’s corpse until he could find the strength to get up and move again.

Those horrible incidents they'd been through have changed them— for better or worse. There's no coming back from that, not really, but they can grow from it. They know what they don't want to happen this time around, and they have a means to try to prevent it from happening like that again. Satoru's hopeful Yūji will recover over time.

Satoru considers his own words thoughtfully with a shallow breath, shuffling faintly to the side so he can slip up onto the counter to sit beside the bakery box.

Shoko and Suguru are watching him intently, picking him and his words apart, but he pretends not to notice, gaze instead lingering on a clock hung on the opposite wall.

“I won’t go into it too much, it’s really none-your-business but he lives with his grandfather now. His mom’s out of the picture and his dad, my dad— well, you know. Colossal douche; wouldn’t touch his own bastard kid with a ten-foot-pole. The guy barely entertained the idea of having me, and I was perfect, you know?”

Suguru snorts out something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, and Shoko rolls her eyes.

Satoru can’t help but smile lightly.

“Anyways,” he huffs thoughtfully, “Yūji worked himself into a panic today, and his grandfather was at work, so he came to me? Maybe the next best thing? I don’t know how kid’s brains work. He knows this school exists, and knows I attend. He’s crafty, I’m not surprised he made it here. Sometimes you just need your oniichan, ye? It’s cute really, how enthralled he is with me already!”

Satoru can’t help but smile softly as he thinks of Yūji.

“He’s a really great kid though. I only met him recently, but he’s... he’s just- I don’t know. I’ve never met anyone like him. He’ll do great things when he’s older; I know that much. He’s pretty okay— for a small fry at least. I don’t mind having him around, so, y’know,” Satoru clears his throat awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck as uncertainty flutters through his stomach, “expect to see the kid around.”

“That’s high praise coming from you,” Shoko lets out a low whistle. “Favoritism already?”

“Definitely,” Satoru laughs heartily, kicking his legs back and forth, leaning back on his hands. “You tease me now, but I bet you’ll both be wrapped around his little finger when you meet him! If he could win me over, you’ll both be easy work for the kid!”

“He must be pretty important to you already,” Suguru crosses his arms over his chest. “You skipped school for him today. You should’ve seen the look on Yaga’s face when he processed the fact you just left in the blink of an eye. He was especially mean to us because he was mad at you.”

“My legs still hurt from running laps,” Shoko agrees with a glare in Satoru’s direction. “Asshole. You just had to go and piss Yaga off, didn’t you? It’s so like you to wind him up and then bail; leaving us with your mess.”

“Awh, man! What I would’ve paid to see that look!” Satoru whines dramatically. “And I don’t know why you’re both so mad. I mean, I’ve skipped school for less. You two should’ve bailed too. Easy. And how else was I supposed to get him back to Sendai before everyone freaked out that he was missing? He’s just a kid. And we stopped for macarons to cheer the little guy up, not explicitly to piss Yaga off, though it’s an added bonus. Yūji is... he’s not doing great right now. What’s wrong with a guy trying to cheer his little brother up?”

“Right,” Suguru rolls his eyes with an unimpressed click of his tongue, “you know not everyone can just warp away from their problems, right? Some of us would’ve gotten our asses handed to us by cutesy cursed dolls if we’d tried that.”

Satoru’s mouth forms an ‘o’ shape before it presses into a sly smirk, “admitting I’m better than you, then, Suguru? I am the best, aren’t I? Glad we can all finally agree! And that really sounds like a ‘you’ problem, Suguru, not a ‘me’ problem.”

“You’re confusing best with worst again, Satoru.”

Satoru sticks his tongue out, “you’re just mad that I’m clearly better—”

“Wait, Sendai?” Shoko cocks any eyebrow, drawing them back to the conversation with a tired sigh. “How’d your brother manage that trip alone? Isn’t he a little young to be travelling city to city alone?”

“I’m not gonna reveal his masterful secrets!” Satoru snickers fondly, “just know he’s a slippery little guy. Clever far beyond his years, let me tell ya! My sneaky little Yūji-kun, I’m so proud of him! He’s going to give his grandfather trouble, I know it!”

“He must get it from his older brother,” Suguru drawls with a tiny upward curl of his lips. Something warm buzzes in Satoru’s chest at the words. It’s one thing for him to call himself Yūji’s brother, it’s another entirely to hear someone else say it. “Why’d he want to come here anyways?”

“What can I say?” Satoru grins sharply, “he must’ve missed his oniichan. Who can blame the poor kid? I am pretty awesome! He looks up to me already; already seeking me out! I make a lasting impression; I must be a good big brother!”

“You were already an awful person to be around,” Shoko moans out tiredly, shoulders slumping as she finally turns back to pick up her bowl of rice. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be one of those annoying older brothers now. We get it, you like your brother. Give it a rest.”

“I think it’s nice,” Suguru objects. Satoru perks up only to scowl when Suguru shoots Shoko a knowing look. “He’s kinda talking about someone else besides himself for a change, isn’t he? Who would’ve thought this day would come; Gojō Satoru acknowledges something besides his own ego.”

Satoru gapes mildly offended.

“Actually, you’ve got a good point,” Shoko agrees with a snicker as she pops a bite of rice into her mouth, lips curling teasingly in Satoru’s direction.

“I see how it is! Maybe you two are the worst,” Satoru scoffs playfully. He lifts a hand to press over his heart theatrically, leaning back as if being shot in the chest. “See if I share anything else about my darling little Yūji-kun with you mean jerks. I pour my heart out to you, and this is what I get! Betrayal!"

“Yeah, yeah,” Suguru waves a hand, finally turning back to his own late dinner. “Do you want some rice? There’s some left. We weren’t sure if you’d be back or not, so we made enough for you too.”

“Nah,” Satoru shakes his head, finally shuffling off the counter. He lets the conversation go, exhaustion crawling back into his mind now that the adrenaline of fucking with his friends has faded.

Satoru stretches out an arm behind his head, “not really hungry. I’ve kinda got a headache anyways, so I’m gonna head back to my room for the night. If Yaga asks, tell him you haven’t seen me. I don’t have the brainpower or mental strength to pretend to listen to another of his lectures today.”

Satoru heads towards the door, turning back to smile weakly at his two friends, “if you see the kōhais, tell them their favorite senpai brought treats to share! Boring matcha cookies for my boring old man Nanamin and Haibara-kun loves macarons, so he’ll be thrilled! Like I said earlier, they’re free game now. Their senpai is so thoughtful!”

“We’ll pass on the message,” Shoko waves her chopsticks dismissively. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Suguru bows his head in response, “feel better, Satoru.”

Satoru throws a halfhearted wave over his shoulder before disappearing from sight.

Satoru finds himself lying awake in bed despite the mental exhaustion. It’s sometime later— a couple hours at least. The dorms had quieted as everyone returned to their rooms for the night.

His eyes are squeezed shut, arm thrown over them for good measure, but he can’t seem to fall asleep. His mind buzzes with thoughts he can’t quiet.

The room is loud— or maybe that’s just his thoughts.

Six-Eyes is being a nuisance and he doesn’t have a blindfold to offer that relief. The constant buzz of cursed energy next door in Suguru’s dorm, and across the hall where Haibara and Nanami are sound asleep in their own rooms feels like a drill pressing into his temporal lobe.

It makes it hard to let himself relax.

His thoughts keep gravitating to the timeline he left to crash and burn.

It had been unintentional, unwilling, but it had happened all the same. He’d told Yūji that it wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t, but Satoru can’t help but feel like the failure of an entire timeline, an entire world, fell onto his shoulders for not being there.

He’s the strongest, yet... what good had being the strongest done for them in the end?

Not-Suguru had won with his cowardly trap, too much of a chicken to face Satoru head on because he knew he’d lose. And with Satoru sealed away, there was no one left to stand a chance against Suguru’s cursed technique.

Satoru was in a league of his own when it came to power and technique, everyone knew that, but so was Suguru, just a step behind him. They hadn’t been called the strongest duo for nothing.

Suguru rightfully stood at Satoru’s side.

Suguru was at the top too, the two of them together in a league above everyone else. Who was there to counteract Cursed Spirit Manipulation if Satoru was sealed away?

It was a cowardly trap, but Satoru can’t argue that it wasn’t masterfully planned.

It had worked in the end. Not-Suguru had prevailed. It was too late to stop it.

That world was probably in pure chaos and despite it all, Satoru can’t find it in himself to really care.

He mourns it, sure, but he doesn’t care what happens to them now.

He was not a kind man.

He knew as much, never let it bother him. He hadn’t been raised to care; he’d been raised to be the strongest. To stand alone. To be a pillar in Jujutsu society. When he was younger, he truly hadn’t understood why they made such an effort to protect those who were weak.

He’d do it, it was expected of him, but he hadn’t understood why.

He and Suguru had often butted heads over it.

Suguru was righteous and overly kind— wanted to protect everyone and take care of everyone. He liked looking out for the little guys. The weaklings. And Satoru was the complete opposite.

Maybe it was the way they were raised; Suguru amongst the weak non-shamans, and Satoru alone at the top all his life. Nothing had pissed Suguru off more than Satoru’s lack of understanding— his lack of empathy for those weaker than him.

It was something he’d slowly understood with age, and through trial and error.

Not in the way it came naturally to Suguru, but in the way that he could finally grasp at the strings of understanding that Suguru had been dangling in front of him since they’d met and had that first blow out of a standoff over opposite opinions on the matter.

From then on, he’d found himself starting to grasp it.

Watching and studying.

Seeing it for himself; witnessing weakness turn into strength through sheer willpower.

He’d been gifted power, blessed like a God with the prized techniques of the Gojō clan bloodline, the most powerful Sorcerer in four-hundred years— maybe even ever— but others weren’t so lucky.

Others struggled and had to find their own way to the top.

Maybe that’s where his views started shifting.

Everyone was weak compared to him, he’d always known that.

But weakness didn’t mean useless. Suguru had taught him that. A sorcerer born into and raised by a non-shaman family keeping pace with the Six-Eyes. That’s when Satoru really realized that not everyone could start at the top, but they can still work their way up if they had enough drive and determination.

Suguru had worked his way up from nothing; a sorcerer born into a normal family.

He’d come from the very bottom of the social pyramid when it came to the Jujutsu world, and he’d, against all odds, found a standing so close to Satoru’s own that it was scary.

Suguru had been an enigma to Satoru.

His first glimpse at life below his pedestal; the first person below him that he'd bothered to consider.

The only person he'd ever considered as an equal.

It had been an epiphany.

They can still catch up to him.

Not everyone was worthy of Satoru’s attention, but there were people who were. And it was a game to find them, to recruit them, and watch them climb the ranks and get stronger, get better.

People he’d seen potential in. People he’d let get close to him. People he selected after careful thought and consideration, after seeing what they’re capable of. Gambling on their abilites, and proving himself right. If there’s anyone who can spot power, it’s the one who’d lived his life at the top.

Those he could see who would put up a fight and climb the mountain to try to catch up to him.

The fight in their eyes, and the sparks of determination that made him oh-so giddy to witness.

There was a small circle of people he truly wanted to protect.

People he’d sworn to protect after losing Suguru.

Everyone else came second to those people, the rest of the world slotted into place behind them. Protecting non-shamans simply came after protecting those he wanted to protect. A package deal; secondhand protection because there’s nothing to fear when the monsters are gone.

It didn’t matter who he was killing the curses for in the end, everyone benefitted from it.

Killing curses protected his students, friends and those he deemed important.

He taught them to protect themselves. He taught them to rely on each other. He made sure they could protect themselves and protect the people they chose to care about too. Protect each other, like he’d never been able to do for Suguru.

He liked to think of it as an umbrella effect.

Satoru’s protection fell to them, and theirs to whomever they deemed fit to receive it and so on down the pyramid of Sorcery grades.

And the people at the bottom? The regular, unknowing non-shamans? They were sheltered too.

By everyone; by Satoru at the top holding his umbrella over everyone, by the lower grade Sorcerers doing their part to protect those beneath them, by the students learning and offering aid when permitted. Enthisiastic protection they so willingly offered.

Either way, the curses were gone and the normies were safe.

The circle of Sorcery.

The goal was to protect those unaware of the dangers lurking, but Satoru’s goal wavered from that over the years. It had long ago wavered— honestly, he’s not sure he ever considered what he was doing was to protect the non-sorcerers.

He had his own goals.

His own ulterior motive besides protecting weak non-shamans unable to protect themselves.

His goal just happened to coincide with what was expected of him. But deep down he knew they’d always come second to protecting those he cared about.

Those he wanted to protect.

Satoru didn't do anything he didn't want to do.

And now that there was no one left for him to take care of?

He didn’t see a point in protecting anyone in the world he’d left behind. No one from the point in time they’d hailed from was worth saving. Everyone who was, was already gone and he can’t fix that. He saw no point in trying to go back. It wasn’t worth saving. Not to him.

Everyone he’d lost in that timeline wasn’t lost here. All those failures were forgiven. Everyone he loved and cared about back, alive and well. Order restored. A second chance to do better.

Amanai Riko and Kuroi were alive.

Fushiguro Toji was still alive.

Megumi and Tsumiki still holed up in their dingy little apartment, both unaware of the Zen’in clan’s greedy claws inching closer by the day, intending to take possession of the inherited Ten-Shadows technique that Fushiguro Toji will so kindly sell to them if he hasn’t already.

The students are all alive, young and bright-eyed, carving out their places in the Jujutsu world as he lays here. Friends Satoru had long since said goodbye to are living again. It felt so right. It felt nice.

Everyone was alive here. Everyone was well, living on.

The horrors of their original timeline, the future set to take place years away from this point— hopefully never to be seen in this alternate timeline because it’ll be different.

Satoru refuses to let it play out as it had.

Refuses to watch death like that again.

Everyone was on the right track to ending up exactly where they were. That first milestone event hasn’t altered anyone’s course. There’s time to change what’s been done— correct his own damning failures.

That was good.

That was more than Satoru could’ve asked for in such a scenario.

He’s got a chance to fix this timeline for the better.

But...

But no matter what he does, these weren’t the people he knows yet.

He’d still lost them all. Allowed them to die under his watch when he’d made it his personal mission to keep them safe. They might never be the people he knows depending on how this all pans out in the end, depending on how he curves the course of things from this point on.

Everyone he knows is dead.

Gone in another timeline, killed without his knowledge while he’d been trapped under the crushing weight of that stupid cursed cube. Unaware of the horrors happening just outside his prison, just under his nose while he was indisposed of.

They’d been killed.

They were dead.

Everyone was dead, he had to accept that.

His friends. His family. His acquaintances. Even the people he didn’t typically like but wouldn’t explicitly wish hardships on. There was nothing left for him. Nothing he wanted.

They were all dead.

He’s supposed to be the strongest sorcerer, and yet he’d let this happen.

He’d fucked up an entire timeline with one stupid mistake. Letting his emotions get the better of him for just a couple measly seconds, and in the end, it cost everyone’s lives.

Shoko. Yaga. Nanamin. Megumi, Tsumiki and Nobara. Panda. Yuta. Maki and Toge. The Kyoto kids. Utahime. Mei Mei. The geezers were probably dead too. Gakuganji (about time on that one, honestly). Yūji was alive, he’d somehow survived this, but he wouldn’t be if they went back.

What was left of the Jujutsu world would want him dead.

Another life Satoru wouldn’t be able to save.

Another failure because he wasn’t strong enough.

So much death. So much heartache. So much guilt and grief.

The people he cares about are gone. The world he’d build for himself, the world he’d laid down brick after brick— friends, students, family— to create is crumbling around him and there’s not a damn thing he can do. You can’t fix death. Not even Shoko could and besides that, she’s...

Satoru’s teeth sink into his bottom lip.

It hits him all at once that he’d be the last remaining student of his time at school if he were to go back.

Mei Mei and Utahime were gone, according to Yūji. Suguru and surprisingly Shoko too. That one’s harder to swallow because Shoko never should’ve been in the field like that. They must’ve been desperate for her to be in such a position. Haibara long ago lost his fight, and Nanami was now dead too.

Satoru could only imagine the gruesome death that could’ve taken someone like Nanami Kento, especially if Yūji was there to see it happen.

Nanami would’ve fought hard to the end for the poor kid.

The thought makes his stomach churn.

Figures.

A part of him had always known it might be the case in the end, the strongest left standing alone, but he hadn’t expected the knowledge to taste so bitter. That it would hurt this much.

Satoru doesn’t know how Yūji is functioning if he’d witnessed such atrocities; Satoru himself feels like the rug has been tugged out from under him and he can’t find stability.

Satoru swallows thickly, blowing out a shaky breath.

A knock on his door startles him from his thoughts.

It’s faint, he could probably pass it off as the old building creaking as it settles for the night, but Satoru knows that’s not the case.

He drops his arm from his eyes and turns his head to study the door silently.

It had been soft, sheepish almost. An announcement, yet an announcement that was meant to go unheard if not vigilant. His room is pitch black— no one should be bothering him. There’s no outward sign he’s awake, and he can tell it’s late by the darkness bleeding in through his window, the moon sky high.

Anyone else would assume he’s asleep, so he knows exactly who’s at the door.

With a soft huff of amusement, Satoru pushes himself up.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of a middle of the night visit, my dear Suguru?” Satoru leans against the door frame with a cheeky smile when he pulls the door open. “Y’know, most people would assume someone is asleep when their door’s closed and the lights are all off.”

“Well, you’re not very asleep, are you?” Suguru shoots back with a crooked smile. “Your cursed energy’s been tense all night, how am I supposed to sleep when I sense it flickering like that? Very distracting.”

“Welcome to my world,” Satoru huffs, opening the door wider as an invite in. “Six-Eyes is being a bitch. And just so you know, your energy’s not much better, asshole. Now, don’t just stand there, c’mon in.”

Suguru huffs out an amused breath as he passes through the threshold.

Satoru watches him move, “so... you couldn’t sleep either then?”

“Not really,” Suguru admits with a shrug.

“Figures,” Satoru hums, “just one of those nights, I guess. Oh well. It’s nicer being miserable with a friend instead of alone, you know?”

Satoru eases the door shut after them quietly once Suguru is fully in the room.

He doesn’t want to risk waking Nanami or Haibara.

Their presences from afar are oddly comforting, but the doesn’t mean he wants to deal with them coming over right now too. The calmness of their energies as they sleep is peaceful. Satoru likes sensing them alive and well.

With the door shut, Satoru plops down on his bed, inching back until he can lean against the headboard tiredly, taking his position back, just sitting instead of laying. His spot is still warm.

He watches out of the corner of his eye as Suguru drops unceremoniously onto the foot of the bed, legs pulling up and crossing under him as the mattress dips with his weight.

He looks tired, but not like he’s going to fall asleep anytime soon. It’s a mental exhaustion dulling Suguru's gaze; and, well, maybe a bit of physical exhaustion too. He just looks tired.

Satoru doubts he looks much better.

Suguru makes himself comfortable on the bed before his gaze finally lifts to Satoru.

The only light they get is the pale glow of the moon through the window, basking them in a very faint light. He hadn’t bothered turning the lights on, his eyes already ache. It’s still bright to Satoru’s eyes. Without his arm for protection, the glow almost burns his retinas.

He should’ve shut the curtains.

Maybe that was his problem.

Satoru’s gaze is out the window despite the ache, but he feels Suguru’s eyes on him after he settles onto the blankets. Suguru’s hands fall into his lap, shoulders caving in on themselves tiredly. His hair is down, falling loosely over his shoulders and down his back, falling just below his shoulders.

It’s a lot shorter than the last time Satoru had seen it down.

Ten years in the future.

When Satoru had had to kill his best friend.

Satoru lets his eyes flick to Suguru after another second, one eyebrow arching curiously as he catches the other boy’s eyes and— uncertainty coils in his stomach when they do finally lock gazes.

He can’t quite place the emotion flickering in Suguru’s expression.

The dark-haired boy’s eyes widen a fraction, gaze trailing softly over Satoru’s face, up over his cheeks and along the curve of his nose before stilling on Satoru’s own eyes.

Then, to Satoru’s surprise, Suguru’s gaze softens over.

Even in the darkness Satoru can make out the emotion, though he can’t place it.

Satoru opens his mouth to question it, but Suguru beats him to it.

“Satoru,” Suguru says gently, “are you... crying?”

“Hah?” Satoru blinks in surprise, and only then does he notice the wetness clinging to his lashes. He brings a hand up, swiping gently under his eye before letting out a choked laugh when tears smear across the meat of his thumb, “ah,” Satoru sniffles now realizes he is in fact crying over this, both hands digging into his eye sockets to dry the tears, “fuck. Sorry. I didn’t...”

“Why are you sorry?” Suguru frowns lightly.

Satoru opens his mouth, decides better of saying anything potentially incriminating, and instead lets his jaw snap shut with a click of his teeth. He wants to look away from Suguru but can’t find it in himself to do so. He fiddles with the hem of his sleep shirt and offers a shrug in answer.

He desperately wishes he’d had the forethought to slip his glasses on before he’d opened the door, some protection against Suguru’s sharp, concerned gaze, but it would look weird to put them on now.

Suguru would know something was up. He’d see Satoru trying to shield himself and he’d question it. Satoru had honestly forgotten how easily Suguru could read him.

Even in the end, ten years later after not seeing each other at all, Suguru looked at him like Satoru was an open book. A part of him hates it; the other part of him preens at the fact.

His other half knows him so well. His better half.

“Are you... okay?”

Satoru snorts a laugh.

It sounds muted to his own ears— Suguru will definitely see right through it. Suguru is kind, Satoru knows. Suguru is observant and empathetic in a way most sorcerers aren’t.

“'course,” Satoru still tries to assure. Bright and easy as if he can’t feel tears still welling in his eyes. Ugh. “I mean, why wouldn’t I be? I’m... I’m fine. I don’t know why I’m...” Satoru swallows weakly, head dipping to sever their eye contact and palm at his wet eyes again. “I’m okay.”

“What?” Suguru snickers quietly, speaking unbelievably soft when he continues, “suddenly you can’t express emotion around me? What are we, fifteen again? Are you not the same guy who had tears welling in his eyes when they were out of cheesecake at the café you like?”

Satoru angles his head towards Suguru in amusement.

“Six-Eyes was just bothering me that day,” Satoru huffs out playfully in denial. “I deserved a treat, Suguru, and they had the nerve to run out. And I obviously had something in my eye!”

That incident does faintly ring a bell— Satoru remembers making a begrudged Suguru wait nearly half an hour for a fresh cheesecake to cool and be topped. It had been a long mission on the other side of Japan; Satoru was still trying to learn Red and had fast gotten overwhelmed by his own mediocracy and failure with the technique.

Suguru had suggested they visit the bakery they’d found the first time they’d been sent to that specific location, and the thought of that cheesecake had been the only thing able to drag him from the pissed off slump, and then, when they’d finally shaken off their assistant and made it to the bakery, they’d been out of it.

He’s sure anyone would cry.

And it had been a damn good cheesecake too.

Well worth the wait, no matter how annoyed Suguru was with him for making them sit idly in stiff silence in a tiny bakery. The cheesecake was fresh, topped with deliciously sweet strawberry sauce and fresh berries too. Satoru had nearly inhaled it whole.

He’d originally bought two slices, and then ordered the rest of the cake as well to satisfy his sweet tooth and make up for having to wait so long in a pissy mood.

“So Six-Eyes was only bothering you after you found out they were out of cheesecake, huh?” Suguru offers a tiny, crooked smile. The tease is very prominent in his tone, Satoru’s stomach does a flip. “And if you want that to sound legit, stick to one excuse, Satoru.”

“You’re mean,” Satoru puffs his cheeks out in defeat. “Y’know, if I’m remembering it right, I’m sure you enjoyed that damn cheesecake just as much as I did, bastard. At least I’ll admit it, unlike you, coward.”

Suguru snickers, and Satoru finds himself letting out a real laugh too.

Satoru reaches a hand up to palm away the remainder of the tears. He’s not sure what they keep welling. It’s annoying. He lets his hand drop his hands into his lap, slumping back against the headboard as if holding himself up is too much effort now.

They lapse into silence, Satoru lets his eyes flutter shut.

“So,” Suguru starts conversationally, “you’ve got a brother now, huh?”

“I’ve got a brother now, yeah,” Satoru huffs out in amusement. “Good to know some things actually stick behind that humongous forehead of yours, Sugu-chan. I did outright tell you I had a brother.”

“Asshole.” Suguru snaps without any malice, flicking gently at Satoru’s calf. Satoru snickers. “You know what I meant. Open ended statement. For you to elaborate. Like, what do you think of it? Of having a sibling, I mean. Especially a younger sibling. That’s bound to change some things. It’s some serious responsibility, you know? When did you actually meet him?”

“It doesn’t really change much,” Satoru lets his eyes sliver open. “It’s not like I really had to give up my ‘only child’ status, as Shoko so kindly called it. My life doesn’t change. His life doesn’t really change. He doesn’t know shit about the clan bullshit, and it’s better that way anyways. He’s happy with his grandfather, and I just get to be the fun, bad influence big brother.”

“And I...” Satoru hums to himself, “huh, I guess I met him... a while back? Before school started back up again. Towards the end of first year, I think.”

That lined up well enough, Satoru thinks.

It’ll be easier to keep details straight if they keep it as close to the truth as they can. He’d met Yūji towards the end of the boy’s last year of junior high, and Yūji has been his student since then.

That was when he’d met the kid, and he’d known him for a good number of months now.

“So, you’ve just had a secret brother for months?” Suguru cocks an eyebrow. “I can’t believe you never told me. I didn’t know you were capable of not talking about yourself for that long. You’re constantly surprising me, Satoru.”

“Bullying,” Satoru huffs, shooting Suguru a teasing grin and a halfhearted shrug. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not the moron you two think me to be, y’know. I can keep secrets.”

If only you knew.

“No one said you were a moron.”

“You’ve implied it! Loads of times!”

“I don’t think you’re a moron,” Suguru rolls his eyes fondly, “now, tell me more. Do you like it? I never... pictured you being the responsible older sibling type? Do you feel any different?”

Satoru knows Suguru has siblings.

An older brother, about four years older, and a little sister just one year younger. Suguru is very proud of his siblings— his brother lives across Japan, currently studying pre-med with goals of being an orthepedic surgeon and his little sister is in an exchange program, living with a host family in America for the duration of high school.

They’re normal, non-sorcerers, just like Suguru’s parents so Satoru’s never met them.

Suguru didn’t even talk about his family at all that first year.

Satoru knows he talks to them often though.

He wonders if he’d kept in contact after killing their parents.

Wonders if his siblings would even know that Suguru and his curses had done all that damage and killed so many people. Suguru had been a wanted curse user, in the Jujutsu world, but Satoru wasn’t sure what would’ve extended to the general population. He wasn’t really in any normie social circles, so he had no idea.

Suguru had gone batshit crazy chasing after what he deemed to be an ideal world, but Satoru wholeheartedly believed his Suguru was still buried deep in that shell of his best friend.

Satoru wonders if that’s how Suguru rationalized killing his parents along with the rest of his hometown. His siblings away from home, nothing there to make him hesitate. Would it have been different if his siblings were there too, or was he so blinded by fury that it didn’t matter who he had to take out?

Were they still his big brother, and baby sister, or were they just useless curse-creating monkeys at that point? He hadn’t seemed very regretful about murdering his parents, couldn’t see past his ideation.

Satoru supposes he’ll never know now.

“And I do like it. Having a sibling. I like...” Satoru looks away, drawing his knees up to his chest, “I like not being alone. My family sucks ass. Clans are bullshit, but Yūji’s different. Yūji... I think we understand each other pretty well, you know? I’m going to protect him; I know that much. I want him to grow up in a better world. I’m going to give him a better world to grow up in.”

Suguru offers a gently smile, “spoken like a true older brother. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Like I’m not constantly saving your ass,” Satoru scoffs with a teasing smile. “Are you saying I’m not the kind, doting older brother type, Suguru? Cuz that’s offensive.”

“Hang on a second, Hotshot, as I seem to recall,” Suguru deadpans with a roll of his eyes, “only one of us needed their ass saved recently, and it wasn’t me. What do you know about that, oh great strongest sorcerer of the century?”

“I was sick!” Satoru whines. “You’re never gonna let me live that one down, are you? So cruel.”

“Probably not,” Suguru shrugs, playfulness lapsing for just a second as he continues uneasily. “You scared the shit out of me, you know? I thought you were dead. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To see your best friend like that?”

Yes, I do, Satoru thinks tightly but doesn’t dare voice. More than you’ll ever know.

“Yeah. I know. I’m sorry,” Satoru’s shoulders hunch in as he wraps his arms around his drawn-up legs. “I really didn’t mean to. And I... I didn’t mean to go off on you today either. It was a dick move. I just—”

“You don’t like people treating you like a person.”

Satoru’s face puckers sourly, “don’t say it like that. I just don’t see what all the fuss was about. We get hurt all the time. It’s practically in the job description— ‘high chance of death’ should be on the cover of the student handbook. I can’t be perfect always, and it felt like you were rubbing it in my face. I’m not used to feeling like that. It was just...”

Satoru bites his lip as he tries to focus on one specific feeling, “...I don’t know. Overwhelming? Just didn’t feel like all the worry was warranted. I lived, and I was fine in the end. I bounced back perfectly fine. Everything was okay.”

Suguru studies Satoru intently, “you almost died. And you were really sick, Satoru. We care about you, and we were worried about you. That’s what friends do. I didn’t... it wasn’t my intention to make you feel like that. I know it wasn’t your fault, I know you’re more than that bullshit God amongst men schtick you hide behind. I was just... I was scared, okay? I lost my temper. You just piss me off sometimes. Your shitty high and mighty attitude—”

“Right back at’cha,” Satoru sneers back.

Suguru narrows his eyes before sighing deeply through his nose. “I didn’t mean that as an insult.”

“Yeah, well, I took it as one,” Satoru scoffs. The heat flickers out of him, leaving exhaustion in its wake. “How could you not mean that as an insult? Asshole. You really know how to push all the wrong buttons, don’t you?”

“Right back at’cha.”

Satoru can’t help but laugh, and he’s relieved to see Suguru’s lips quirk up faintly too, the tension easing back. It’s just so easy to let things escalate when it comes to Suguru. They know each other so well, too well; know how to pick at each other and push the right buttons to get a reaction.

And it often doesn’t even take conscious thought— it's like a subconscious pull to annoy the shit out of Suguru. And he knows Suguru gives back just as hard as he takes.

No one has ever pushed Satoru back like Suguru.

Satoru hadn’t realized how much he missed this.

He knows he’d always missed Suguru, but now that he’s got back what he’d lost in the first timeline, he’s just now realizing how much it had hurt. Knowing he was out there after he’d defected, knowing that when they finally did meet again, things would be messy. And it definitely had been messy. Suguru had made his own decisions, chosen his own destiny, and Satoru had too. He'd had to live on knowing Suguru existed somewhere out there, and wanted nothing to do with him. And then he'd had to live on with his own life after having to kill him.

Satoru had repressed it all.

Shoved the feelings down so it didn’t hurt as much.

But it had hurt. It had always hurt.

But he was back. Suguru was back. Everything was back to how it had been; before that last mission they’d shared. That first failure that had torn a rift between them and broken something deep down inside of Suguru. The first milestone that would change their fate going forwards now.

Satoru would make damn sure that it changed.

He traded another timeline for this, Satoru comes to the slow realization.

Maybe he got this back, got his friend back and had the chance to do things better, but he’s going to lose so much more. He’s going to have to give up everything he’d had. He’s already lost so much; an entire future that’s going to get wiped out of existence.

That maybe already has been wiped away.

There was so much he was going to miss going forth in this timeline; people who had existed that he’s going to have to let go of. They're here, but they’re different.

The versions of themselves that might never come to be, for better or for worse.

Relationships that might never be the same as they had been, people he might never meet in the same way. Everyone Satoru had known for the last ten years will cease to exist in this timeline. Those specific people. They’re still here, all alive, but they’ll never be the exact same as they’d been before.

He’s going to have to accept it.

Be okay with it.

But there was also so much he could do better.

He can make their lives better.

He’s going to make their lives better.

Maybe they won’t ever know that anything’s different— won’t ever face hardships that they had in another future; he hopes they never have to find out how awfully that first timeline had turned out. How royally Satoru had fucked it up from the moment Amanai Riko had died because he simply wasn’t strong enough.

But he’ll always know.

He’ll always remember.

And he’ll always mourn the people he’d failed the first time around. He knows how to do better, be better, but it’s still a drowning feeling to know he had to lose everyone to get to this point.

He needs to say goodbye to what he’d known because they’re going to be different.

And that needs to be okay.

Goodbye, Satoru thinks solemnly. He lets his eyes slip shut, drawing in a steady breath through his nose as he lets his chin rest on his kneecap, I’m sorry for everything that happened. I promise to do better for you all. It will be different this time. I’ll make sure of it.

“Satoru,” Suguru’s voice is quiet again, “you’re crying again.”

Satoru lets out a weak laugh through the tears.

He’s not surprised. “Am I?”

Suguru regards him, studies Satoru with carefully gentle eyes, and then the dark-haired teen is pushing himself up and crawling to the head of the bed too.

Satoru doesn’t say anything, just watches as Suguru settles right beside him so they’re shoulder to shoulder. Satoru’s head angle, chin still on his knee, to look to the side where Suguru is resettling.

Suguru is a calming weight at his side, the brush of their arms grounding him.

“You said, when you were talking about your brother earlier... that he lost some people recently...”

Satoru's breath hitches, eyes flicking away from Suguru.

Something dark swirls in his chest at Suguru mentioning them.

Someone from this timeline mentioning the people from the other timeline. Speaking of the dead like he’s not speaking about an alternate, grown-up version of himself and all their friends who suffer more than anyone could ever imagine.

Suguru has no idea what he’s doing, what he’s really trekking into talking about these people he doesn’t know. People he knows all too well, technically, but will never know like Satoru does.

Satoru has no intention of mentioning it, even as the tears well faster at the words.

At the reminder of their deaths.

Of everything he’d had to give up, everyone he’d had to give up.

That sick feeling that makes his stomach tighten up is back. Tears cling to his lashes, blurring his vision. He can’t stop the tears, no matter how hard he tries.

They just keep welling until they finally spill over.

He hates feeling weak, but it’s Suguru.

Suguru might be an asshole, but he wouldn’t ever judge Satoru for expressing emotion. He’d long since let himself be weak around his best friend, he knew he could trust Suguru.

Another person who’d never seen Satoru as just the strongest sorcerer. Possibly the first person to acknowledge that there was a person beneath the title he'd been given from birth.

Yūji was just like Suguru.

Maybe that’s what he’d taken a liking to the kid.

Satoru can’t hold back the soft sob at the thought.

He hides his mouth in his hand, refusing to look at Suguru despite how close they are.

He can’t help the emotions festering as everything finally comes down around him.

The tears come faster, and his breath catches in his lungs.

The mask he’d expertly slipped into place for Yūji’s sake cracking apart. The façade he’d hidden behind for his struggling student, for the people he’d known who will hopefully never have to see that heinous future that Satoru and Yūji had come from, falls away against his will.

Satoru lets the mask slip and doesn’t bother trying to stop it.

He feels exposed, but there’s no one else he’d rather have here with him. If he can’t be alone to work through these exhausting emotions, he’s glad to have the anchor that is Getō Suguru.

Suguru presses on gently, unsure but still trying, “did you maybe... know them too?”

“Yeah,” Satoru admits weakly after a long second.

Only when he thinks he can speak without sobbing again.

He lets out a pathetic sounding sniffle, wiping hard at his eyes, “yeah, you could say that. I... I knew them. Not quite like Yūji, but... yeah. I just... I don’t know. I’m going to miss them. They felt like family. To both of us. And he’s... I’m really worried about what it’ll do to Yūji.”

“I’m sorry you’re going through this,” Suguru offers softly.

A hand comes up into Satoru’s field of view, a thumb dragging under his eye as a tear gets swiped away. Satoru doesn’t dare move, as surprised as he is, wide blue eyes tracking the movements of Suguru’s hand.

His eyes flick up, catching sheer kindness in the purple-ish black studying him.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Satoru.” Suguru continues with an empathetic smile, “you’re allowed to grieve too. Being the strongest doesn’t mean not having emotions, you know that, right? I know it’s easy to put on a brave face for a little sibling, but don’t do it for me, okay?”

“Thanks,” Satoru stumbles the words out as another sad laugh bubbles out through the emotion.

He lulls his head in Suguru’s direction, a tiny, thankful smile curled onto his lips. It’s hard to believe this is the same guy who’s destined to commit genocide in another timeline.

Satoru will stop at nothing to change that.

“Thank you, I mean. I... just, thanks, Suguru. For saying that. A-and for, y’know, caring- I mean, I—” just really missed the you who cared about me. “Ah, I don’t know. I’m just tired, I think. Crying makes my eyes feel like shit. Man, I don’t know what got into me! I’m sorry you had to see that—”

An arm wraps around Satoru’s shoulders, he cuts himself off when he feels a light squeeze.

Satoru gapes in surprise, for just a second before he’s being tugged into a soft hug. Satoru hesitates, just a second, before letting his arms wrap around Suguru in turn.

It’s an awkward angle, Satoru’s knees get in the way, but he can grab fistfuls of Suguru’s shirt and bury his grossly wet face in Suguru’s neck. He lets out a stuttery sigh, eyes squeezed shut.

“Don’t apologize.” Suguru murmurs, “I’m glad I got to see it, see this, Satoru. I’m glad you let me in.”

“What?” Satoru snickers wetly as he wills away the tears, not moving his face from Suguru’s neck, “this a kink of yours? A little weird, man.”

“Sure,” Suguru snorts back playfully, “if by kink you mean me being genuinely relieved and admiring when you act like a human being instead of the Sorcery world’s arrogant, unstoppable robot, you can call it whatever you’d like. I don’t care.”

“A kink it is then,” Satoru decides with a playful smile that presses against Suguru’s neck. He takes another slow breath before finally pulling back to look at him. “I’m telling Shoko all about your weird kinks, by the way. I think she’ll get a kick outta it.”

“By all means,” Suguru grins back sharply, gently maneuvering to flick Satoru in the middle of his forehead, “but you know that’ll mean telling her you were crying around me. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, I just know how you roll; your fragile masculinity. And she’s kinda mean sometimes to be fair, as much as I love her. You really want her to know? You’d just be hanging yourself out to dry, Satoru.”

“Is nothing ever sacred?!” Satoru whines as he rubs his forehead, jutting his bottom lip out in a pout. “You’re so mean! I trusted you! And I don’t have fragile masculinity, I just have nothing to cry about. There’s a difference.”

“You’re the one who wanted to tell her,” Suguru reminds with a laugh. “Now, c’mon, it’s late. We should at least try to sleep a little before classes tomorrow. What do you say?”

Satoru’s nose scrunches up, but he does bow his head in a nod.

They rearrange themselves on the small bed, both of them falling into familiar positions. They scooch down until they’re both lying flat, Suguru tugging the blankets up from the foot of the bed to cover both of them.

Satoru falls back into the pillow, letting himself melt into it.

A tiny part of him misses the warmth of touching Suguru, but it’s not the end of the world.

Suguru stills too, one arm bent behind his head on the pillow, and the other lying flat on his own stomach. He’s on his back, staring at the ceiling, eyes not yet shut.

Satoru shifts a bit, pulling the blankets up to his chin as he lets his own eyes fall shut. They’re really aching. He wonders if he’ll have a migraine tomorrow from all the crying.

For a long while, he lays flat and tries to sleep.

And then he gives up.

“Hey, Suguru?” Satoru mock whispers, completely sure his friend is still awake.

“What?” Comes the gravelly reply.

“What other kinks do you have?”

A huff of air that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. He doesn’t answer.

Satoru pouts without opening his eyes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Uh yeah,” Satoru huffs, “that’s why I asked. Duh.”

“There’s something genuinely wrong with you, you know,” Suguru shifts faintly, and Satoru doesn’t need to open his eyes to know Suguru is looking at him again. Satoru bites back a smile. “You need to go to sleep. You do know Yaga’s gonna be on your ass first thing in the morning, right? I can’t wait to watch. You definitely deserve it.”

“Should I add that to the list of your kinks?” Satoru lets out an unflattering snort of laughter. “You like watching me cry and watching me suffer. You’re a sadist. And, wow, Suguru, you really know how to kill a mood, don’t you? Mentioning Yaga is like mentioning your mom during sex. Serious turn off.”

“You have experience mentioning your mom during sex?” comes Suguru’s soft, amused tease. “And what mood? If you were putting the moves on me, you’re shit at it.”

“No!” Satoru hisses, scandalized. He can’t help the smile at their familiar banter, as crooked and offended as it is. “Ew, fuck. And by the way, you’d know if I was putting the moves on you. I'm irresistible, 'member? Even you'd be weak to my charm! Like I’d waste my talents on you, asshole.”

“You said it first,” Suguru laughs in amusement, “now go to sleep, Satoru.”

They don’t talk about Satoru’s emotional breakdown the next morning, or any day after.

Satoru is completely fine when they stumble from Satoru's room and head to the communal bathrooms to brush their teeth together. He’s chipper, and if it weren’t for the quick glance Suguru had gotten of Satoru’s tired, red eyes before he’d slipped his glasses onto his face, Suguru might not even believe it really happened.

The older teen is all smirks, wisecracks and sarcasm, just like usual.

Teasing their underclassmen, Suguru and Shoko alike as the group crowds into the kitchen for a more traditional breakfast that Nanami had started (claiming that he’s made just for himself, but who makes five cups of rice for themself?).

Satoru doesn’t mention it, and Suguru doesn’t want to push him.

He knows better than to push him.

He’d learned a lot in the short time since knowing Gojō Satoru, but pushing is something that will get him nowhere. Honestly, it’s a sure-fire way to get Satoru to clam up and close himself off.

Satoru is like an alley cat; that’s the closest comparison Suguru thinks he can make.

You can offer food, treats, time and affection all you want, and they might, if you’re lucky, let you get close, but if you make one wrong move and startle them, you’re on your way to the hospital for a tetanus shot.

Satoru gets defensive, and by defensive, Suguru means he’ll throw punches and run his mouth. Satoru has a bad habit of challenging people when he feels threatened; not unlike a stray cat clawing at your arm if you get too close. It’s usually Suguru on the recieving end, but he’ll raise his hackles for anyone.

Suguru remembers a notable fight in their first year when Satoru had clocked Suguru in the jaw.

He doesn’t remember what they’d been fighting about— probably mindless name calling back before they’d become friends and he’d gotten to know the Jujutsu world’s golden child— but he doesn’t doubt that he’d probably said something stupid and insensitive that had set Satoru off.

He’d learned that lesson quickly.

He still didn’t back down from a fight with Satoru, but he knew how to sidestep a fight breaking out. For the most part. Unless he also lost his temper, which happens a lot around Satoru.

They’re like the whole-ass magnet in that figure of speech.

Opposites attract, sure, but flip those suckers upside down and they repel.

Suguru knew that Satoru didn't let anyone in that he didn't want to.

Satoru kept himself guarded, and so few got to witness what Suguru had seen in the middle of the night that night. The sight of Gojō Satoru's moment of weakness. Something no one else was privy to simply because Satoru closed himself off and kept everyone at arm's length. Suguru couldn't tell you what made him go to Satoru's room last night. Couldn't explain what prompted him to feel like he needed to go to Satoru— an invisible thread pulling him towards Satoru's door. A need to check in after everything he'd learned that day.

He just hadn't expected to see him crying.

The thing was, Satoru could put on a mask and convince even himself that he was fine. He could slip into a role of fine and no one was none the wiser. But Suguru could just always see through his bullshit. It's like he was immune to all of Satoru's bullshit; knew the other on a level different to everyone else.

He could see something going on; that Satoru was acting different somehow, even if he couldn't put his finger on what. But he wouldn't push. He'd just watch. Observe. Try to understand. That's all he really can do.

It’s been a few days since that night now.

The weekend had come surprisingly fast.

Suguru was alone outside doing some meditation in the sunny, late fall weather. It’s surprisingly warm today. The courtyard is blissfully quiet, and he takes full advantage of it. He needs some fresh air.

He never really gets a second to himself between the underclassman, Shoko and Satoru, so he rarely finds the time to practice meditation without being disturbed by one of them.

Today though, he finds some time.

Shoko has holed herself up in the infirmary, or maybe even the morgue, with her mentor doing God knows what, Haibara and Nanami away on another joint mission in Kyoto, and Satoru had finally been allowed on his own mission after his injury and medically prescribed break, though not a tough one.

And boy had Suguru heard about that.

“A second grade!” Satoru had whined that morning after swinging Suguru’s dorm door open and stomping in after his visit to Yaga’s office. “Can you believe that? A second grade curse— for me! The Six-Eyes! What the fuck? One knock to the head and suddenly I’m weak?!”

“Not weak,” Suguru had replied without looking up from his science textbook, “they’re just being cautious. As they should be. Shoko said light work, remember? Just because you were permitted back on missions doesn’t change the fact you suffered a pretty bad injury. Trust me, you’ll be their full-time overworked dog once again before you know it.”

“Shoko can suck it,” Satoru scoffed in irritation as he’d flopped onto Suguru’s bed. “No one even asked her. I never did. I’m not weak. I don’t need a break. This is bullshit. I’d ask if you want to come with, but they don’t need two special grades for a shitty second grade. Waste of man power. Ugh. Who do they think I am? This has Yaga written all over it.”

“Tell you what,” Suguru had finally looked up, flashing a smile as he turns to regard Satoru sprawled unhappily across his bed, “you go take care of that mission and then when you get back, we can head into town and check out that new dango kiosk in the mall you’ve been talking about. Just don’t be an asshole to the assistant and come back in one piece, deal?”

Satoru had glared snidely over the top of his glasses, “I’m so fucking offended right now that you think I can be bribed into playing nice, but fine, deal. I’ll be on my best behavior. You’re buying.”

Suguru wisely decides not to mention the fact Satoru could, in fact, be bribed with sweets into behaving, instead focusing back on his textbook to hide the smile. “Uh huh.”

Satoru left right after that.

He’d been pissed off, dragging his feet, but he’d seemed to have calmed down by the time he started texting Suguru about how bored he was in the car. Then about the different flavors of dango he wanted to have, and any other silly little thought that crossed his mind.

Suguru’s wallet already hurts at the thought of treating Satoru.

Suguru blows out a breath through his nose, eyes fluttering open as he lets his straight form loosen a bit. He glances down at his cellphone in the grass beside him to see if Satoru had texted him yet, before looking back up to scan the courtyard.

Suguru startles when he sees it.

His eyes meet golden hazel, watching him from the pathway a couple steps away from him. There’s an eerie hesitance in the gaze he meets, dark circles under those eyes that don’t look right on a child. He barely needs to take a second to realize just what it is he’s looking at.

He’d seen this exact scene just a couple days ago. He gets a wary sense of déjà vu.

Suguru sucks in a breath of surprise, forcing his body to relax.

To come off as non-threatening as possible.

“Yūji,” Suguru offers what he hopes is a kind smile, “what are you doing here?”

Chapter Text

Yūji has been trying to adhere to Gojō-sensei's request.

“Enjoy being a kid for a while, okay?”

He’d been so relieved to find himself not alone in this new world— er, this new old world that he’d long since outgrown. It’s surreal. He can hardly believe it.

When he’d first woken up to his grandfather stood at his bedside, rough, calloused hand brushing Yūji’s bangs off his forehead to feel for a fever before deeming him well enough to go back to school, Yūji had thought it was a dream, or a memory or something.

It’s not like he hadn’t had soft dreams like this since his grandfather had died.

Remembering the kindness and the soft side that Yūji’s sure only he ever saw anymore. Grandpa didn’t have many friends, and as far as Yūji knew, they were the only family left either of them had.

Grandpa had been the only parental figure Yūji really remembers having.

He knows he had his mother and father, but they’d disappeared when he was too young to remember them. He’d have no idea what they’d look like if he’d never seen photos of them. Grandpa had always talked highly of his son, Yūji’s dad, but didn’t often say much about his mother.

Yūji had never pushed— didn't really care when Grandpa was more than enough for him.

It had felt so familiar; as he’d pushed himself up from bed, little feet pattering to his wardrobe where his school uniform waited, backpack leaned against a small desk in his room. So normal. So mundane. So true to his hazy memories.

It had felt... too familiar.

Too real.

Something felt wrong.

When Yūji had gotten a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he’d known something was very wrong. Little fingers jabbed hard at the markings under his eyes, at Sukuna’s eyes, heart hammering hard in his chest because that wasn’t right.

Sukuna couldn’t be here.

Sukuna had never been a part of these dreams, has no part in his memories.

That wasn’t right.

It had to be a dream— a nightmare— because there’s just no way Sukuna could be here too. He’d never invaded dreams unless they were vile nightmares that he’d conjure up. But this was different. The domesticity of it. Sukuna wouldn’t touch something like this with a ten-foot pole.

The panic had really set in when Grandpa had urged him into the kitchen for breakfast while he’d stepped away to shower. He moved on numb legs, standing frozen in the middle of the main living area after his grandpa had disappeared into the bathroom.

Yūji had tried to pinch himself, tried to force himself awake. He’d slapped his cheeks, prodded at Sukuna’s marks high on his cheekbones. He’d even pressed his palms hard against his eyes, praying when he opened them again, he’d be back in his dorm jolting up in bed, or even... back in the heart of that war he remembers being in.

It didn’t work. When he’d forced his eyes back open, he’d still just been staring wide-eyed at the breakfast his grandfather had laid out for him. Stood small in the open area of his childhood home.

It was still the same.

He’d tried to dig deep into himself and find Sukuna, but there was nothing but silence.

Like he wasn’t really there despite the markings.

There was something wrong.

Yūji could feel it.

This all felt real, of course, but then there was the... God, that war. And his friends. So much death, so much destruction. Sensei getting imprisoned, and that monster who’d trapped the strongest sorcerer in the first place killing people left and right.

That stupid game he’d cornered everyone into, the game he’d orchestrated by using them all as pawns. The game that had taken so many lives, killed so many people. It all happened. It was all real. There’s no way it couldn’t have been.

Where would he even get ideas like that as a young child?

Visions so vivid he’d lived it.

But that means everyone was...

Holy shit.

Yūji’s heart pounds hard against his ribs, breath coming out quick and heavy. Tears flood his eyes, but he forces himself to wipe them away.

He can’t be crying now.

Not when he doesn’t know what’s going on.

Not when Grandpa could walk out of the bathroom at any moment and question why Yūji’s sobbing in the living room beside his untouched breakfast. Yūji wouldn’t know how to answer.

He doesn’t even know the answer.

He can’t believe it.

That had all happened.

He couldn’t dream something like that up, it had to be real.

It feels so real.

He’d known then that he needed to get to Jujutsu Tech. By whatever means necessary, because this wasn’t a problem he could take on alone. He was still so, so new to all this stuff, to Jujutsu and Curses. He had no idea what to even think, let alone what to do when facing a situation like this.

And he didn’t even have Sukuna to redirect him in the right direction to figuring out what the fuck happened, as awful as the King of Curses was, he’d never liked Yūji blundering around like an idiot past his own amusement.

Sukuna would snap and demand control after getting his fill of Yūji being a clueless moron, or he’d condescendingly direct Yūji towards his goal from the depth of his domain inside Yūji’s head. It had always pissed him off, but he’d take literally anything from the age-old Curse user now.

Of course, the one time Yūji is practically begging for his help, is the one time he hears nothing from his head roommate. That figures. It’s so in character for Sukuna, that asshole.

Still, there had to be someone at the school who could help him.

He’d be so screwed if he was the only one here now.

What would he do then?

What if... what if it was all a dream?

No, that couldn’t be right. If it was all a dream, how would he know about Jujutsu Tech and curses? About Sukuna? What would explain those scars under his eyes that he’d never had before the King of Curses had been reincarnated in his body?

Someone at the school would know what to do.

Yūji’s praying on it.

It’s a lot easier arranging his trip to Tokyo than it probably should be.

Grandpa’s old laptop is slow when Yūji finds it on the coffee table in the living room and boots it up, but he’s able to search bullet train tickets while keeping an eye on the clock, and the still shut bathroom door. He picks the fastest line, one that leaves just before school starts, and swallows down the guilt as he sneaks into Grandpa’s room to find his wallet and takes just enough to cover the expenses.

Yūji bows his head regretfully as he places the wallet back on grandpa’s bedside table before sitting himself in front of his breakfast, numbly eating his food as to not alarm the man that he’s acting weird. He doesn’t remember how to be a kid, not this young, so he hopes he’s able to fake it well enough.

Like usual, Grandpa walks him to the train station before getting onto his own train that will take him just outside of Sendai, where he works. Yūji’s train usually leaves a couple minutes later, one that’ll take him to the other side of Sendai where the only pre-elementary school is, but he will not be on it.

Sendai isn’t huge, but it is big enough that it’s faster and safer to send young children to school on the trains instead of walking. The elementary school and middle schools are a bit closer, and the high school just outside of the town, though Yūji has no intentions of attending that one.

Meeting young Gojō-Sensei had been a whole ordeal.

He doesn’t really know what he’d been expecting, but it’s certainly not this.

He’d instantly known what he was looking at, shock bleeding into his entire being as his teacher had bounded towards him in the same student uniform Yūji and his friends wore every day. He didn’t look different, not really, but at the same time, he really did.

It was completely disorienting.

There was no doubting it now.

They’d really traveled back in time.

He’s not sure if he’d been hoping it was all a misleading dream, that he’d find a normal school and no white-haired, blue-eyed demigod of a man, or if he actually wanted this to be the truth.

For everything that he’d been through to be real just so he didn’t feel insane.

It was all true though. Seeing Sensei cemented that for him.

Curses, that war. Sensei. The Prison Realm. Sukuna. The entire Jujutsu society not being able to stop what had happened, losing so humiliatingly without Sensei backing them up. Everyone’s deaths, Sukuna taking over and trying to kill Sensei. That had all... it all happened. It was all really real.

Ending up here...

It didn’t make any sense.

But here they were.

The two of them somehow back in time. Yūji stuck in his four-year-old body, and Sensei just a student at the very school he teaches at in the future. Yaga-sensei was there, and Ieiri-san as well, and— that monster was there too.

Yūji’s relief at having his Sensei here too was short lived when he’d seen the man who’d played such a key role in the deaths of everyone Yūji knew and loved. Who’d imprisoned Sensei and watched in amusement as he turned everyone against each other without the Strongest sorcerer there to put a stop to it. Watching as people killed each other as if for sport.

It was disgusting.

Inhumane.

He could kill him.

He was going to kill him.

And then Sensei had stopped him.

Sensei had stopped him, and Yūji knew he could trust the man. He’d scanned Sensei’s expression, took note of the serious pinch in the man’s features and he’d let himself relax. He’d let it go in that moment.

And then Sensei had whisked him away from them all without a care.

He’d always trusted him, so he’d trust him now.

It was a lot harder telling Sensei everything he’d missed that Yūji had thought it was going to be. Reliving it all, admitting to everything. Having to share their weaknesses with the strongest sorcerer. Having to tell him everyone was dead. Yūji’s classmates, the other teachers. Sensei’s friends.

He couldn’t bear to look his teacher in the eyes.

He’d never felt so overpowered by emotions.

Couldn’t calm his own breathing or stop the heavy sobs that shook his frame. All he could really do was try to brush the rush of tears away before they could fall. Yūji was a mess beside his Sensei, but he didn’t care. Couldn’t find it in himself to care.

It was the first time he’d really had a second to process everything, and it hurt a lot.

Yūji cried himself hoarse, but Sensei didn’t seem bothered either.

He’d never really seen such a thoughtful look on Sensei’s face. Something so serious. It was... alarming to say the least. Yūji appreciated it, Sensei taking this seriously too, but something about not seeing a playful smirk, or teasing glint in Sensei’s expression made him uneasy too.

Neither of them knew what was happening, but at the very least they weren’t alone. He’d always have Sensei. Someone else who knew of the world they’d come from. Someone who made this all feel real when it was insane enough to make Yūji question it constantly.

He doesn’t know what he would’ve done without Sensei believing him. Knowing too.

That had been a few days ago.

And Yūji had really been trying to go as his Sensei asked, trying to live his normal life again— the life he’d had back when he’d been four the first time around. Before he’d lost grandpa, swallowed that finger and had his entire world flipped upside-down.

And it should be easy.

His classes weren’t hard; all they really did was colour, play outside and learn sports, learn numerals, learn how to respect their school, each other and how to interact with one another. He had a lot of friends, friends he doesn’t even remember having, but they’re all friendly with him.

Grandpa was alive again.

It should be fine.

He should be fine.

It should be easy, but it wasn’t.

There was something akin to fear in the back of Yūji’s mind. It was constantly there, fluttering in the depth of his subconscious. And he hadn’t understood it at first. He’s not sure he ever felt like this with he was little— the unshakeable feeling that something was wrong. That something wasn’t right.

It had hit him all at once that he could no longer see curses.

He knew they were around. He knew they existed.

They were there, and he couldn’t see them. He couldn’t even sense them despite knowing they existed. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe that just because he couldn’t see them, didn’t mean they weren’t lurking around in the shadows.

Maki-senpai had told Yūji about one of her missions with Okkotsu-senpai in her first year that had been located at an elementary school very much like his. Kids his age going missing. Curses taking them and killing them one by one.

It made his stomach coil violently.

Curses could be anywhere, and Yūji could no longer see them. He was no longer aware to their presence. It felt like he was always being watched, and he didn’t even know if it was a rational feeling considering everything, or irrational just because he constantly felt on edge.

He felt so uncomfortable in his own skin; so scared of everything that moved out of the corner of his eye. They could be lurking anywhere, and Yūji would never know. They could be in his home. In his classroom. Following him home, or on the train with him. Waiting and watching.

He’d have no idea.

He’d have no way to defend himself, or anyone else.

That terrified him.

This had all been fine when he was blissfully unaware to the dangers lingering around, unseen by the average person, non-sorcerers, but that’s not the case anymore. He knows they exist, and he’s seen what they can do. He’s scared constantly. Constantly feels betrayed by his own eyes. Constantly hates Sukuna for introducing him to all this in the first place and then leaving him to fend for himself now.

If the curse user is watching, embedded somewhere in the pits of Yūji’s soul, he’s probably having a field day reveling in the fear Yūji can’t seem to shake.

He can’t fall asleep at night; doesn’t even remember the last time he slept a solid night.

His sleep is flimsy at best, waking to anything that moved, whether it be lights running along his bedroom wall as a car passed by the window, or his grandfather moving outside his bedroom.

Even noises would startle him from his sleep; the house settling for the night, or even Yūji’s own bed creaking under him if he shifted. Anything would send a jolt of fear through his body.

He was so on edge.

So aware of everything that he couldn’t shut his brain off.

Even if he did manage to drift off, he finds himself flailing awake at any change in the room. Heart pounding in his chest as he struggles to catch his breath.

And if he does wake, he’s usually unable to fall back asleep as he clutches his blankets up to his chin.

It doesn’t feel like he’s ever alone because he just can’t verify it.

He doesn’t know what could be hiding in the corners of his bedroom, or what’s in the closet, or peering in from the hallway or window. There’s probably nothing, but he can’t be sure of that.

The shadows dance around the room and it keeps him up.

How are you supposed to sleep when anything could be around? Lying in wait until you’re vulnerable. Maybe kids really had the right idea to be scared of the dark. You never know what’s lurking. Yūji had never been scared like this before, but he’d also never known that things were actually lurking around.

The weekend comes slowly but surely.

Each day Yūji had fallen into the routine he faintly remembers from before he’d grown up a bit.

Grandpa keeps him on track, watches over him, and walks them both to the train every morning. Yūji goes to school and does his best to pay attention and not let the chill of feeling like he’s being watched interfere with his studies.

He tries so hard to act naturally, but it’s taking a lot of effort to remember how to be four again.

How to act, what to do, what to say.

He can tell they’re getting worried.

He knows he looks awful.

Each morning the bags under his eyes are a little bigger, a little deeper, and he feels his own emotions fraying. He constantly feels like he’s going to start bawling for no reason. He’s getting snappy and he feels bad every time he accidentally slips and snaps at someone who doesn’t deserve it.

His emotions are even harder to control as a child than they are as a teenager.

No wonder kids are always freaking out and throwing fits if this is how they feel.

Emotions were already so hard, and they’re only getting hard to control as he functions on less and less sleep. He can’t control his emotions, he can’t control his outbursts.

He doesn’t think being four had ever felt this hard.

When Yūji wakes up Saturday morning, he knows he can’t let this keep going on like this.

He needs help. He needs Gojō-Sensei's help. He’s the smartest, he has to have an idea to help Yūji survive this. He can’t keep doing this, can’t keep pretending he’s fine when he can’t sleep, and he’s constantly terrified that something that he can’t see is watching.

Soon, Grandpa will be asking questions, and his teachers will start to vocalize their worries. He wants to be normal for them, he’s trying, but he’s scared.

He’s not even scared of the curses, not really, he’s scared of not knowing.

Of living as a sorcerer for so long and it suddenly all being gone.

He’s scared and they won’t understand.

No one will understand.

No one but Sensei.

Yūji really hopes Sensei will understand.

Grandpa works on Saturdays.

It’s the best day to slip away from Sendai again. Yūji doesn’t know if grandpa knows about the impromptu visit just days prior, but he really hopes not. He hadn’t said anything. His teachers hadn’t mentioned his absence past the gentle scolding and kind reprimands.

He won’t notice today, Yūji knows.

Grandpa works an entire eight-hour shift on Saturday before having Sunday off to spend time with Yūji. Yūji is usually left home alone— which is a very recent development as far back as he can remember.

Their neighborhood in Sendai is a quiet, friendly little group.

Everyone watches over each other, and even if people don’t typically like Grandpa and his gruff nature, they like Yūji well enough and always keep an eye on him too.

The children all play together, and parents watch over them in shifts.

Grandpa leaves bentos in the fridge for Yūji through the day and is always back by dinner.

Yūji had always known it was sacrifices like that that had kept them afloat as a single income family. An old man supporting a growing boy. Grandpa worked hard to support them; Yūji never had any complaints.

It’s easy to slip away from home without someone actually keeping an eye on him.

He uses the extra money Sensei had given him and buys a ticket into Tokyo once again.

It feels like a big waste to be doing so many trips back, but he’s at his whit's end on this one. And Sensei is loaded. The man had probably already forgotten about passing him a handful of banknotes. He’d handed Yūji nearly ¥30,000.

Yūji’s not sure he’d ever even held that much money, let alone had it as a child.

He can’t keep living in fear or people will start questioning him.

And he doesn’t know what he’d do then because what does Yūji really have to be so terrified of?

His life isn’t bad, Grandpa takes good care of him. No one will believe there are monster that he knows exist but he can’t see. It would be passed off as childish antics despite how real Yūji knows it to be.

No one would understand.

It’s a very isolating thought.

The train ride is quiet.

So is the walk from the station to the school.

He doesn’t expect anyone to come find him when he steps through the barrier this time, Sensei had told him as much. He won’t be noticed, because there’s nothing about him to be noticed.

He doesn’t even want to announce his presence anyways.

He just wants to find Sensei.

He walks up the familiar walkways, not spotting anyone this time. He’d heard the loud arguing the last time he’d been to the school and following that had brought him to Sensei and his classmates.

It’s quiet this time, so Yūji heads towards the school instead of veering off towards the training field.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting to find, but it’s certainly not Getō-san sitting silently in the grassy plains of the school courtyard. He’s alone, and his eyes are obviously shut, his legs crossed under him, with his hands loose where they hang just over his knees.

It’s a peaceful look.

His body is lax, chest rising and falling with even, deep breaths. He doesn’t seem to notice Yūji watching him; it looks like he’d meditating or something along those lines.

Yūji still can’t force himself to move an inch.

It’s the worst kind of fear response.

It's the only response that the childish part of his mind seems to be able to conjure up. He’s noticed before that his teenaged consciousness is often ramming hard against the frightened child within. He’d noticed it that first day he became aware of everything when he’d felt so relieved to be safe in Sensei’s arms.

It’s a confusing clash of emotions.

Yūji forces his eyes to trail up the teenager’s face to run along his forehead just to verify. He squints from afar before letting out a slow breath of relief. Still no stitches. That’s... good. That’s great. He’s not the horrible thing that had destroyed an entire world.

This is still Getō-san.

Gojō-sensei's best friend.

Yūji tries to calm his racing heart as he repeats those two sentences to himself.

For a long second, he just stands there.

He stands, a few feet away, and he watches the teenager. The older boy doesn’t move thankfully. Doesn’t notice. It’s like Yūji can’t force his brain to accept the fact that this person is a completely different one to the guy who’d ruined everything in their original timeline.

They’re not the same.

He has to keep reminding himself.

He now understands why everyone was so cautious around him and Sukuna at first.

Yūji sucks in another shaky breath, swallowing hard when the teenager finally shifts from his trance of meditiation. He still doesn’t notice him, not right away. Yūji watches the teen’s eyes flutter open before he’s glancing down at something at his side.

He frowns faintly, shifting once more as if trying to get comfortable again.

And then he looks up.

Yūji freezes as the other’s eyes find his own.

They’re actually really pretty— not quite like Sensei’s super cool Six-Eyes, but a deep purple that fades off to black towards the outer edges of his iris. Even from afar, he can see that it’s not your average eye colour. It’s different. Unique.

Yūji’s not sure he’d gotten close enough to Getō’s corpse to be able to notice before.

He knows there’d been a dark humor in his eyes when Choso had been fighting him, and from the distance, Yūji couldn’t see past that. There’s light in his eyes now. Bright and cautious.

No hint of malice, superiority or deceit.

He hadn’t even considered that monster who’d turned an entire nation, probably an entire world at this point, on itself could actually have coloured eyes; that there was anything under the grave darkness of its actions and ideals.

The look in his eyes now makes Getō look more human.

Less... threatening.

It takes a second for Getō to blink out of his own surprise at the situation, at the surprise of seeing Yūji here again, but then he’s shifting a bit more; body losing the tension easily as he offers a disarming smile that reaches his eyes.

Yūji still hesitates.

“Yūji,” Getō calls Yūji’s attention softly.

Yūji startles, having not expected Getō to know his name.

It’s silly, obviously Sensei would’ve mentioned him when asked, they’d seen him a few days ago. They’d want answers. Sensei told him all about these people, so he should’ve expected Sensei to return the favor when talking to them. Sensei seems like the kind of guy to play both fields and be good at doing it.

When he manages to drag himself from his thoughts, Getō has now shifted to a position that looks seconds away from pushing himself up. Yūji can’t help but tense up when he notices.

He shifts from foot to foot, debates turning tail and running away, but he really wants to see Sensei. He needs to see Sensei. Getō-san is bound to know where Sensei is, right?

He could take him to Sensei, couldn’t he?

He does trust Sensei if he says this man is harmless right now.

Even if he doesn’t quite trust Getō.

If the teenager notices the conflicting emotions, he doesn’t mention it.

His smile just softens faintly as he regards Yūji with a cocked head, “what are you doing here?”

“I—” Yūji clamps his mouth shut.

Tears spring to his eyes again, against his will, and he sucks in a stuttered breath in a failed attempt to calm himself down before he starts sobbing in front of Getō-san. He doesn’t even know why he’s crying. It’s humiliating. Being four is awful.

His emotions are too wild to control. He can’t get a hold of himself.

What is he even doing here? This was a bad idea. This was the worst idea.

What did he expect to happen?

He can’t just show up here unannounced! He knows students at this school are busy— Sensei is probably busy. Sensei doesn’t need him bothering him with his problems.

Yūji’s hand tightens on the hem of his shirt that he’d fisted his hand into at some point in the spiral. He sniffles, stiffening in surprise when he realizes that Getō has in fact pushed himself up in his moment of distraction and moved closer.

He’s still a safe distance away, crouched before Yūji.

He sits back on his haunches, elbows on his knees and a kind smile on his lips. He’s still taller than Yūji, but there’s nothing intimidating about the height advantage. He’s not looming, almost like he’s trying actively to make himself small.

It’s surprisingly kind.

Yūji’s eyes still flick to his forehead before dropping back to his eyes nervously.

This is Getō-san, not that curse user who’d possessed his body.

“Are you looking for your Onii-san again?”

Yūji pauses, processes that before lifting wet eyes to look at the teenager, “O-Onii-san?”

Getō smiles warmly, not batting an eyelash at Yūji’s surprise, “Satoru-kun’s out right now, but you’re welcome to wait for him with me. I think he should be finishing up his errands soon, but I can send him a text to let him know you’re waiting? If you’d like. Sometimes he gets distracted, but I think he’ll be happy to come back if he knows you’re here for him.”

Yūji considers the offer as the word Onii-san echoes in his head.

He’s sure heat is flooding to his cheeks. Sensei had... did the man say they were brothers? Him and Sensei? Really? Yūji just barely bites back a huff of fond exasperation.

That actually sounds like something Sensei would do.

First Choso claiming to be brothers and now Sensei. Funny.

Yūji’s head bows in a shaky nod, sniffling once again.

“I want to wait for Onii-chan.”

He figures there’s nothing wrong with playing into the excuse Sensei had clearly laid out before him. It doesn’t surprise him, honestly. Sensei is always two steps ahead.

He’d probably been laying groundwork since they’d first been reunited. Yūji’s almost afraid to know what kind theatrics his teacher would’ve come up with regarding the whole situation they’d found themselves in. He wonders what Getō-san truly knows. They’re best friends, aren’t they?

Sensei had encouraged Yūji to play into their lost child ruse in front of Yūji’s teachers, so it can’t hurt to do the same thing for Getō-san if Sensei has already confirmed they’re brothers.

It’s surprisingly easy to refer to Sensei as a big brother.

He’d acted more like an older sibling than a teacher most of the time anyways.

“We’ll wait together then,” Getō-san smiles gently. His hand stretches out as an offering; it’s not a demand, simply an offer. He doesn’t move any closer, leaving the ball in Yūji’s court. Yūji would probably do the same thing to a scared child he came across. “Would you like to go wait inside? I can get you a glass of water?”

He hesitates for just a second—

Not the same person. Not the same person. Sensei trusts him.

—before silently closing the distance with meek little steps. Directly in front of Getō, Yūji hesitates once more before gently setting his hand against Getō’s larger one.

The teen responds by gently closing his fingers around Yūji’s hand as he rises from the crouch. He shoots Yūji another soft smile before ushering the both of them towards the school building, “let’s go wait for him then.”

Satoru is definitely not taking his frustrations out on the curse he’d been sent to take care of.

Definitely not.

He’d put up a veil solely because he cared about damage, like Yaga always preached, not because he didn’t want the assistant tasked with keeping an eye on him to see his overpowered attacks against a measly grade two curse he could take out with a flick of his fingers, blindfolded.

His cursed energy rumbles through his body, static like electricity his younger body is still trembling to contain. He supposes this is also good practice. His seventeen-year-old body isn’t ready to handle anything more than sharp attacks of Blue.

He knows he can do Red.

He can even do Hollow Purple, but he’s not sure how his body will fare either of them yet.

He knows the secrets to Reversed Curse Technique, sure, but that doesn’t make up for his body being weak in comparison to his twenty-eight-year-old version. Or even this body after coming within an inch of his life— technique jumpstarted when facing the choice of growing stronger, or death.

This body hadn’t had that breakthrough yet.

Knowing how something is done and actually being capable of doing it are two very different things.

Warping and attempting to use Infinity continuously are already draining to his body.

Those techniques are child’s play to twenty-eight-year-old Satoru. He can, and does, use them in his sleep. That’s not the case here. He has this awareness, but his body simply isn’t up to par. The energy is there, and despite how he knows how to use it all, he’s not ready to actually use it.

He needs to get his body used to those constants, his energy constantly running and lying in wait for whatever he commands, before he considers going for more, as easy as it would be to obliterate the weak curse cowering away from him with each step forwards he takes.

There would be repercussions.

And he doesn’t want Shoko to bench him again after he’d just been cleared to return to missions. What would they think if he came back from a fight against a second grade and needed medical attention for overusing his technique? They’d hover even more, and Suguru would certainly have something to say about that. Ugh.

Satoru lifts his hand to blow a hole through the wall he can sense the curse hiding behind, grinning sharply when it instantly takes off as soon as it’s the slightest bit exposed.

“You’re so weak,” he taunts as he keeps stepping closer. There’s no urgency. He’s not at risk here, he shouldn’t be the one afraid, that cowering curse should. “All tough and scary when you’re stalking and killing pretty young ladies who work in this office, but scared of little ol’ me? I’m hurt.”

Another blast of Blue.

The wood of the wall splinters apart and Satoru simply steps through the hole he’d created, catching sight of the curse hightailing it around a corner.

“Not gonna face me?” Satoru mocks. “You’re a coward, huh? So, you know you’re weak then? You know I’m not? Is that why you’re so scared? You know, all you are is target practice to me. Keep running, but you’ll never escape me.”

He knows this curse isn’t intelligent enough for conversation; doubts it’s even retaining anything besides the threat in his tone. It’s far from a special grade, far from the curses Satoru is used to facing.

And its worlds away from the curses who’d tried to challenge him in Shibuya.

Satoru lifts his hand to blast another perfectly aimed attack but pauses when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Huh. He keeps his hand raised, halfheartedly aware of where the curse is slinking away to, as he drags his phone out of his pocket with his other hand.

He flips it open, brow furrowing at the image that pops up in his and Suguru’s chat log.

It’s a picture of Yūji, perched nervously on the unmistakable couch in the dorms common area. His shoulders are hunched up, nearly to his ears, a glass of water clutched between small hands that he’s intently staring into as if afraid to look anywhere else. Satoru can see the unease in the picture alone.

How unexpected.

He hadn’t expected Yūji to make another trip to the school so soon.

And certainly not when he wasn’t there.

Well, looks like he needs to cut this short now. He’s needed elsewhere.

“It’s your lucky day,” Satoru scoffs loudly to the curse.

He charges up another Blue attack without moving any further into the building, pressing more energy into it than the others before sharply focusing his Six-Eyes on the waves of cursed energy on the other side of the building now.

He launches the attack with nothing but a faint flick of his finger, taking pleasure in watching the energy blow through and completely decimate three separate walls of drywall before obliterating the curse where it had been hiding behind a desk.

It’s the most powerful Blue attack he has, but it’s nothing in comparison to Hollow Purple.

He follows after his attack, stepping through the destruction to survey over the remainder of what had originally been three separate offices, finding not a trace of cursed energy left in the dust and crumbles of walling. That was too easy. No fun at all.

The only entertaining part of this mission will be seeing Yaga pissed off about property damage when this report finds its way onto his desk. And he can’t even complain about it because Satoru had put up a stupid curtain. Hah.

With a hum, Satoru drops the curtain and heads outside to find his assistant.

He could just leave, wants to, but Suguru had told him not to be an asshole to the assistant, so he’ll be a good little student and at least tell her he’s leaving. It’s not like she can stop him anyways.

The things he does for his friends.

Satoru warps into the school easily, feet hitting the ground just behind the couch.

Yūji doesn’t seem to notice him yet, little body finally settled back against the plush cushions. The water glass is on the coffee table, and Yūji’s hands are set in his lap like he’s not sure how to act besides sitting politely.

Suguru’s not uptight in the least, probably wouldn’t care if the kid was hovering close or just... well, not sitting like a perfect little doll in their common area, but Yūji’s still harboring that trauma of meeting Not-Suguru in their original timeline. It’s surprising he’s even in the same building as Suguru, honestly.

He hears Suguru milling around in the kitchen and knows his friend and trying to make himself look busy for the child’s sake. He’s clearly trying to keep a healthy distance and not hover.

Maybe he’d sensed the unease too.

Yūji isn’t exactly subtle.

Satoru plants his hand on the back of the couch as he leans over the couch, and by extension, Yūji, and peers at the student. The boy’s sharp eyes shoot up to meet Satoru’s upside-down gaze when he’s jostled faintly, Yūji’s nose scrunching up faintly as he smiles.

“Hi, Onii-chan,” the boy drawls out sickly sweet, the nickname obviously a playful tease.

“Hello, Otōto,” Satoru returns just as cheekily.

It doesn’t bother him that Yūji finds amusement in their little ruse.

He’d hoped he would’ve seen Yūji first at some point so he could explain the pretext of their unusual relationship. Clearly, Yūji had just gone with the excuse without Satoru needing to explain it to him. He should’ve expected as much, Yūji was always game to go along with his little shenanigans.

Yūji’s cheeks flush brightly when Satoru turns the tease onto him, and the teen can't help but let out a snicker of laughter as he lifts a hand to pat Yūji’s head. His hair is still super soft.

Satoru would love to just card his fingers through it, but he pulls away instead.

He straightens up from his lean over the couch, watching Yūji’s head tip back completely to follow his movement. Satoru’s eyes scan the boy, taking note of details not visible in the grainy photo he’d been sent. He looks rough. “What’s up with you? You look like shit.”

Yūji huffs out an unamused breath at the words.

“Satoru.”

The protest comes from somewhere else.

Satoru lets his attention lull in Suguru’s direction, finding the younger teen hovering in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. The sharp call of his name had sounded scandalized, disbelieving, and there was an obvious warning glare in Suguru's eyes as he narrowed his eyes on Satoru.

Yūji jumps at the heat in his tone, but Satoru knows Suguru’s sharpness is just for him.

Suguru moves further into the room now, glare never straying from Satoru as he crosses his arms over his chest as if disappointed. He’d clearly spent way too much time watching Yaga settle into that exact stance of disappointment. Kiss ass.

Suguru’s words are hissed out quietly, “the hell’s wrong with you? Don’t say stuff like that around him!”

“He’s heard worse,” Satoru defends, though he does lift his hands in surrender. “Right, Yūji?”

The child hums innocently, “what does shit mean, Onii-chan?”

Satoru sees the smack on the back of the head coming before Suguru even moves to hit him. It doesn’t really hurt, he doesn’t bother with Infinity, but he does shoot a snickering Yūji a betrayed pout as he rubs the stinging crown of his head.

“That’s enough out of you,” Satoru groans to Yūji. “You’re getting me into trouble, bad Yūji-kun.”

Yūji’s eyes are bright with amusement. Rotten brat.

“You wouldn’t be in trouble if you weren’t a horrible influence in the first place,” Suguru sneers under his breath, shoving Satoru with his shoulder before rounding the couch to put distance between them. “Who in their right mind would let you near a child? Related or not.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Satoru mutters through puckered lips. “Cry me a river, Suguru. I’m a bad influence, whatever. Just remember, I’m new to this. And cheeky attitude aside, Yūji-kun, that didn’t answer my question. You look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

Yūji is quiet for a long second and then, “I haven’t.”

“Oh?” Satoru hums, rounding the couch to plop down beside him. He’s aware of Suguru listening in, watching from a distance but not intruding. Yūji’s clearly forgotten about the additional presence. Satoru doesn’t bother mentioning it. “And why’s that?”

“I can’t see them.”

Satoru blinks once, then twice, before it hits him.

He can’t see curses anymore.

Yūji had lived a normie life up until he’d gotten a hold of that cursed finger.

The ability to see curses had come with Sukuna. The presence of the finger’s strong energy as the sigils hiding its presence crumbled away, and the strength of the curses trying to get to it first. Even normies would’ve been able to see energy like that.

The child body Yūji had been returned to doesn’t have Sukuna in the way he had before, and he’s had no interaction with one of the fingers yet either, so it’s not surprising he wouldn’t be able to see curses anymore.

“I see,” Satoru finally murmurs thoughtfully. “And that... bothers you?”

He just needs to be sure.

A lot of people would like not having to see those ugly fuckers if they didn’t have to. Especially kids.

Yūji nods sheepishly, looking so tired.

Yūji’s attention drops to his lap as if he’s scared Satoru will make fun of him or something, but all the teenager does is throw an arm over his shoulder and pull him into a side hug.

The kid tenses for just a second before melting into the embrace.

“Easy fix, Yūji-kun,” Satoru tells him, finger pressing gently between the boy’s eyes when he looks up to meet Satoru’s attention, right into the bridge of his nose. “We just need to get you a pair of glasses.”

“Glasses?” Suguru repeats, baffled.

He clearly does not know what they’re talking about yet.

“Glasses,” Yūji also mumbles out thoughtfully before a spark of recognition lights up in his eyes. Wide eyes shoot to Satoru’s own, catching just over the edge of his glasses where Satoru had been waiting for the kid to look up. “Like... like Maki-senpai? You can do that...?”

“Exactly like that!” Satoru cheers, squeezing Yūji’s little shoulders. “Clever Yūji! I’m the strongest, of course I can do that! I'll just infuse a pair of glasses with cursed energy for you, and then your problem will be solved! Charming, clever big brother strikes again! I don’t know what you’re on about, Suguru, I’m great at this.”

“Hang on, you’re talking about infusing cursed glasses for him? You’re going to give him a cursed tool?” Suguru wheezes out in shock, “Satoru, think about this. You know that’ll mean he’ll be able to see—”

“Uh huh,” Satoru cuts him off with a warning look. “Kinda the point, yeah. Trust me. I know what I’m doing, Suguru. It’s fine. Seriously.”

Suguru bristles, eyes studying Satoru intently before he wilts in defeat.

“I hope you really know what you’re doing, Satoru.”

“Of course! I always do,” Satoru preens. “Now! I believe someone promised me a trip to the mall if I behaved! I hope you don’t mind a little tag along— I'll even pay since Yūji’s coming too, yeah? You’ll still owe me though. Don’t forget. We can pick out a pair of glasses to infuse while we’re there, and there's something else I need to pick up too while we’re out. You guys ready to head out now?”

“Do we even have a ride?” Suguru asks, eyes narrowed. “The mall’s across town. I don’t want to walk. And you warped here, didn’t you? Which would mean you left your assistant.”

“We don’t need a ride!” Satoru chirps back. “I’ll be your ride! It’s faster and easier if I take us there. Come, come! Let’s hold hands, Sugu-chan! You’ve never let me warp you before, have you? It's completely safe! You think I’d put my darling little Yūji-kun at risk?”

Satoru pushes himself up to his feet, scooping Yūji up as he goes.

The boy squeaks out a noise of surprise, shooting him a glare but settles into the new position, nonetheless. A small arm wraps loosely around his neck as little eyes flick studyingly between Satoru and Suguru.

Satoru holds his other hand out to his friend, fingers fanning out promptingly.

Suguru hesitates.

Satoru’s grin sharpens.

“Waaait, you’re not scared, are ya?” Satoru eggs him on, grin widening.

Suguru’s eyes narrow, “I’m not scared.”

“Oh yeah?” Satoru teases sharply, lifting a challenging eyebrow as he wiggles his fingers, “prove it.”

Suguru’s shoulders square up, marching to where Satoru’s hand is still outstretched. He pushes his palm against Satoru’s own, fingers lacing their hands together as if accepting a challenge. “If you kill me doing this, you’re dead.”

“I think you’d be dead, actually,” Satoru snorts, squeezing reassuringly at Suguru’s hand. “Re-lax.”

Suguru opens his mouth the retaliate, but Satoru warps them away before he can.

When he lands them in the middle of a bustling food court, Suguru’s hand is clutching his own tightly. He wobbles a bit unsteadily, eyes squeezing shut.

Satoru patiently waits a second for Suguru to overcome the wave of vertigo.

“Wuss,” Satoru gives a playful squeeze before pulling away. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You’re genuinely the worst,” Suguru grits out, eyes squinting open.

“Get used to it,” Satoru sticks his tongue out at Suguru before bending down to lower Yūji to the ground. And for a second, he completely forgets Yūji is mentally fifteen and not four, when he holds his hand out for the child to take.

Yūji must also forget that minor detail as he slips his hand into Satoru’s thoughtlessly.

Satoru doesn’t dare mention it to the child looking up at him expectantly.

Perhaps there’s more child-Yūji mixed in there than he’d initially thought. He’d seen the mental anguish of a teenager who’d somehow survived war, but this was a different side to that. Blind trust; youth in his character, not just his body. Something that Satoru can’t say he’s seen from Yūji yet.

That’s interesting.

“Now, c’mon,” Satoru whines to the both of them, “I’m starved.”

They eat probably far too much dango.

Satoru buys, as promised.

They don’t have an overly large selection to try, so he just ends up buying two portions of every type they have and doesn’t even bat an eyelash as he pays.

Satoru knows himself to be a bottomless pit when it comes to sweets, but he’s pleasantly surprised by the fact that tiny Yūji still has a huge appetite. He doesn’t know where the kid had fit all the dango he’d eaten; he probably ate his weight in the sweet treat.

He knew teenager Yūji could eat you out of house and home, like most teenaged boys could, but he hadn’t expected this teeny tiny version to be capable of such a thing too.

It’s nice to know Yūji hadn’t changed much over the years.

He’s a growing boy, of course he’d be hungry, and Satoru has no problem indulging him.

“He really is your brother,” Suguru had snickered as Yūji stuffed two balls of dango into his mouth at once, cheeks filling out like a chipmunk as he chewed with a pleased hum.

He wasn’t paying them any attention.

“Were you questioning it?” Satoru teases quietly just to his friend, licking a sweet glaze off his lips. “What, my honorable word not enough for you? Also, I’m a little offended that watching him eat like a starved animal cemented the blood relation to you.”

“Not anymore, I’m not,” Suguru snorts back, eyes slightly worried as he watches Yūji. “I’ve seen you demolish an entire dozen of mochi donuts by yourself. How is he not choking? How did he even fit both of those in his mouth? I have so many questions.”

Satoru shrugs, biting another ball off his skewer.

When they’re finished, just two skewers of dango are left out of the dozen he’d bought.

Suguru insists that they bring them back for Shoko instead of throwing them out.

Satoru doesn’t care what happens to them, but he thinks Shoko will enjoy the red bean and soy sauce glaze varieties remaining.

Satoru hadn’t expected to split up, but he takes it in stride.

“My sister said she was missing some of her favorite snacks,” Suguru rubs sheepishly at the back of his neck, “I’m going to send her a care package of sorts. I think she’s a little homesick. What, you didn’t think I just wanted to hang out with you, did you?”

“Firstly, rude. Secondly, awh,” Satoru teases, “a cute, doting older brother.”

Suguru’s gaze flicks down to where Satoru is still holding Yūji’s hand, before his eyes are meeting Satoru’s once again, expression a playful smirk, “you’re one to talk.”

Satoru’s cheeks puff out as Yūji snickers at Satoru’s expense.

Satoru scoffs playfully as he glances down at Yūji, shoving his student’s head away gently, which prompts a full-on giggle from the child as he tips back against Satoru’s leg to steady himself.

Yūji is still holding his hand, so there was really no threat of the child actually falling.

It’s cuter than he’d care to admit.

Satoru can’t bite back the smile, offering a shrug when he catches Suguru’s fond gaze.

“Come find us when you’re ready to go,” Satoru clears his throat. He’s not sure what to make of the look Suguru is shooting him with. “There has to be some place that sells glasses around here. C'mon, Yūji-kun, we’ve gotta be fast if you want these glasses by the time I have to bring you home.”

“Text me which store you end up in,” Suguru agrees, already turning away and throwing a wave over his shoulder as he strolls away. “I’ll catch up.”

Satoru and his student watch Suguru disappear into the foot traffic heading the other direction before Satoru spins them around and they’re heading off too, “what's the verdict, Yūji?”

“He’s...” Yūji’s voice tapers off before he clears his throat, “I was a little nervous at first, but I think he’s nice. Not... not scary. Not like the other one— I mean the, um, the corpse stealer. I can tell that they’re different.”

“He is nice,” Satoru agrees. “I think he likes you too, by the way. I don’t expect you to like him instantly, I know his face has done some shitty things to you, but try to see them as two different people, alright? You never met Suguru before, and he’s not at fault for that bastard who stole his body’s actions.”

“I’m trying,” Yūji ducks his head, “it’s just... it’s hard. Sometimes. He seems really kind and I... I know they’re different. They act different and... and sound different too, a bit. He doesn’t have the stitches, and he’s actually nice too but... I don’t know.”

“I get it,” Satoru nods.

And he does. He does get it. He’d be a liar if he said he didn’t occasionally find himself scanning Suguru’s head for those incriminating stitches. That thing had gotten too good at using Suguru’s body— being Getō Suguru; stepping into the role and playing him flawlessly. It disgusted him.

They walk in a comfortable silence for a moment, Satoru leading them through the crowds.

“Sensei?” Satoru hums in acknowledgment. “I didn’t know you had any friends.”

Satoru lets out an affronted noise, gaze flicking down to Yūji to stare at him over the rim of his glasses. The child’s cheeks are flushed brightly in embarrassment. Adorable.

“You sound like Megumi,” Satoru pouts. “He’s mean to me too. I'll have you know I have loads of friends.”

“N-not in the mean way!” Yūji backpedals hurriedly, little hand squeezing his larger one as if comforting. “I just mean... I’ve never seen you act like that around anyone else. I mean, I, well, I’m not around you a lot, I guess, and you’re gone a lot too on missions and stuff, so I wouldn’t even know! Just... you seem different. Around him. How you are with... with Getō-san; it’s different. You’re happier, maybe?”

“Yeah, well,” Satoru forces his gaze back up, “he’s my one and only, Yūji-kun. I missed him.”

Satoru can feel the boy staring up at him even as he guides the child along. Yūji keeps pace, more like a duckling trailing along at his side than anything else. Satoru doesn’t mind the presence.

They pass by a couple more stores before finally arriving at the one Satoru had his mind set on.

“Here we are!” He brings them to a stop, grinning down at Yūji when the boy peers into the store before shooting Satoru a confused look.

“An electronic store doesn’t sell glasses, Sensei.”

“No,” Satoru agrees as he drags Yūji in, “but it does sell phones, which you are in desperate need of! As much as I enjoy your company, you can not keep up with these surprise visits. You’re lucky Suguru found you today. It could’ve been Mei Mei— I might’ve had to buy you back from her— or Utahime, or jeez, Yaga. I’d never hear the end of that one— you’d never hear the end of that one.”

“You gave me the money to come,” Yūji reminds with a frown.

“Yeah,” Satoru agrees again, “and I’ll give you more for emergencies, but it’ll be so much easier if I can just come get you, right? Cheaper, faster and it’ll save us both the stress of you showing up when I’m not around. And... I’d like to be able to check in. And I’m sure you would too, eh?”

Yūji doesn’t say anything, but he does duck his head in a very faint nod.

Satoru takes it in stride.

Satoru marches them up to the counter and picks out the best model they have, the one identical to his considering he’d upgraded his phone not very long ago.

He always picks up the newest model as soon as it comes out.

It’ll be a couple years until the first generation of smartphone really hits the market.

He gets a SIM card and memorizes the new phone number connected to it.

Satoru pays for the phone, and hands the box down to Yūji to hold.

At the last second before leaving, he spots a small stand of blue light glasses.

Interest piqued, he turns fully to the display, scanning the four pairs of glasses.

They’re definitely not popular yet, he’s honestly surprised to see them here at all, but the frames are black and sturdy and normal, and there’s no prescription in them that’ll mess with Yūji’s eyes.

Satoru picks up a pair, holding them up to the light as he debates their worth.

It’ll be easy enough to infuse these with cursed energy, and if Yūji plans on using them constantly, they’ll hold up. They’ll be a little big on his face right now, but he can grow into them at least. No damage to his eyes— if anything the early blue light protection might be useful if it’s not a gimmick.

When he turns back to his student, he finds Yūji distracted looking at a display of phone charms, specifically a little tiger charm. Cute.

Satoru slips the glasses onto an unassuming Yūji’s face from behind, crouching beside the kid to look at the charms too. He plucks the tiger off the display as Yūji reaches a hand up to touch at the new addition on his face, little nose scrunched up as he goes cross-eyed trying to look at the plastic seated on the bridge of his nose.

Satoru cocks his head to scan the boy.

“Comfortable?”

“They’re a little big,” Yūji admits, little fingers touching the glass. “Do they look okay? I’ve never had glasses...”

“You’re always adorable, Yūji-kun,” Satoru teases as he pokes Yūji’s scrunched up nose. The boy’s face scrunches up even more in offense. “They are a bit big, but you’ll grow into them. I think they’ll work well for you, and it saves us having to shop actual glasses. Sounds like a bore.”

“Works for me then,” Yūji bows his head gratefully. “If you think they’ll work well.”

Satoru hums back, plucking the glasses off the boy’s face and taking both the glasses and the phone charm up to the counter to be paid for. He leaves the store with Yūji dutifully trailing after him, holding both the new phone and the tiger charm as Satoru hooks the glasses into the front of his shirt for safe keeping.

They find a nice bench to sit on while they set Yūji’s new phone up.

Satoru texts Suguru their whereabouts before taking the phone box from Yūji’s hands and busting into it. There’s just something about opening a new phone that excites him, even if he doesn’t get to keep it.

It’s easy setting up the new phone.

He inputs his own number and saves his name as ‘Satoru-oniichan!!’ which makes Yūji snort in amusement from where he’s on his knees on the bench beside Satoru, watching everything he does, before adding other precautionary numbers like ‘Getō S.’ and ‘Ieiri S.’ just in case.

Satoru knows Suguru would drop everything to get to Yūji if he did ask for help and Satoru wasn’t available or something. Even after everything, seeing what Suguru could potentially become if something doesn’t change, he still trusts his best friend wholeheartedly.

If Yūji is important to Satoru, Suguru will take an interest in him too; that’s just how Suguru is.

Finally, when the phone is all set up, Satoru clips the charm onto it and passes it to its new owner.

Yūji stares down at it like its foreign technology he doesn’t understand.

“It’s like holding a rock,” Yūji’s nose wrinkles as he scans the folded flip phone taking up the entire expanse of his little palm. “I think my grandpa still had one of these before he died. I’m pretty sure it was older than I was.”

“Gah! You age me so, Yūji-kun!” Satoru cries out, “so rude! Just so you know, this was peak technology when I was your age! And by that, I mean when I was my age, right now. Teenager. Really, it's the best of the best! You weren’t cool if you didn’t have a flip phone! You have a good couple years before we get the luxury of smartphones again. Good ones at least. So, get used to that thing.”

Yūji pouts, staring down at the flip phone in his hands.

“Worry not, Yūji-kun,” Satoru puffs his chest out, snaking an arm around Yūji’s little shoulders and pulling him right into his side as he leans down, “I’ll make sure to buy you one as soon as they hit the market! You’n’me both because I’m also going to miss the ease of smartphones too. Technology only gets better from here.”

Yūji laughs at that.

“Besides, it’s just to keep in contact. You can text or call. I trust your tech savvy Gen Z brain will be able to figure out this prehistoric piece of equipment?”

“If the dinosaurs could, so can I,” he manages a solemn looking nod before the expression cracks to a teasing grin.

Satoru shoves him away playfully as he laughs, “I’m only thirteen years older than you! You wound me! Yūji acts all sweet and kind, but he goes right for the jugular!”

The child giggles again.

Satoru can’t help the fond, prideful curl of his lips.

They meet up with Suguru and Satoru warps them back to the school.

Suguru doesn’t even put up a fight this time, and he’s not as jostled when they’re suddenly back in the dorm's common area instead of a hidden nook of the mall. He still blinks owlishly, obviously swallowing back a wave of displacement, but he bounces back a lot faster.

Satoru drops Yūji on the couch as if he’s a sack of potatoes as he pulls the glasses off from where they’re still hooked on his shirt, inspecting them with a hum.

Suguru gives him a disapproving look from afar, but Satoru just sticks his tongue out.

He infuses the glasses without much hassle— it doesn’t take long before he’s holding them up and studying them thoughtfully. He can sense the energy in them, but since he already sees curses and cursed energies, he can’t be completely sure they work until Yūji verifies.

Unfortunately, when he returns to the couch to urge Yūji to try them on and test them, the kid has passed out. Satoru arches an eyebrow, standing over the child.

He’d frozen in his steps when he’d noticed, mouth shutting with a click instead of calling out to the boy excitedly as he’d planned to do. He’s unable to look away from Yūji’s lax face smooshed in the couch cushions.

It takes a second to process what he’s looking at.

It’s not like he’d never seen Yūji passed out on a couch or something.

The kid could sleep anywhere before.

It’s just weird seeing Yūji curled on his stomach, limbs clutched tight to his body like a tiny little ball, taking up no more than a singular couch cushion. His body rises and falls evenly with soft breaths, eyelids fluttering. His face is so lax, innocent.

He looks young— Satoru knows he’s not technically, but like this?

It’s easy to forget he’s not your average four-year-old.

He probably needs the rest, and it’s nice that he feels safe enough to let himself relax this much. There’s a good chance Tengen’s barriers are what lulled the kid to sleep— a sense of security against curses sneaking up on him. Or, maybe it’s the presence of the strongest sorcerer? Satoru can’t be sure.

Still, it’s... cute. Domestic.

“You’re being so weird.”

Satoru drags his attention from his student, raised eyebrow now arched towards where Suguru is sat in the armchair on the other side of the couch from where Satoru stands. “How so?”

Suguru shrugs. “I’ve just never seen you act like this around anyone.”

“Like what?”

“Kind,” Suguru says.

Satoru stills as his face pinches in genuine offense. “I’m always kind, asshole.”

“You’re really not,” Suguru snickers good-naturedly. He flaps a dismissive hand, before correcting himself, “okay, okay, fine, so kind wasn’t right. You can definitely be kind sometimes. Apologies. Maybe soft was the adjective I was looking for. You’re soft around him.”

“Says the guy who just bought stuff to send his little sister a care package.”

Suguru lifts his hands in surrender as he chuckles, “no need to be defensive. I never said it was a bad thing, I was just pointing it out. It’s different, but it... suits you. You’re easier to be around when you’re not being an asshole.”

“Gee, love you too, Getō,” Satoru sneers back in mock offense.

Suguru laughs kindly, eyes slipping shut as he offers a real smile. “I’m serious. It just feels like you’ve grown up a bit recently, is all. Finally matured, even if just a little. I was a little worried you never would; who knew all it would take is a little brother to get dropped into your lap to kick your ass into shape.”

Or the end of the world, along with everything I ever cared about, Satoru thinks tiredly. But yeah, having Yūji here with me now helped too. Someone to be better for; someone who knows what's at stake here.

Satoru sighs softly, offers a light half-smile to his friend as he moves to sit beside Yūji on the couch.

He doesn’t have anything to actually reply with, doesn’t even trust his voice after such a grim reminder, as innocent as Suguru’s words had been. Satoru thinks the end of the world would force anyone to mature. It had matured Yūji in a way that’s honestly frightening.

His hand settles on the curve of Yūji’s spine, fanning out across nearly the entirety of the boy’s back.

He’s so small.

Yūji doesn’t stir despite the touch.

Satoru is honestly so glad the kid is around too. He never thought he’d be so grateful to not be alone in a situation like this, even if Yūji had just been a student to him before this.

He’d liked the kid, sure, but he really was just a kid Satoru had taken under his wing. A student that had needed a bit more help; a student he’d gotten the opportunity to take on more one-on-one after that encounter with the finger-bearer curse mission had left him fake-yet-real-dead.

Yūji really was a great kid and student. Sukuna’s vessel that had turned out to be a pretty great guy all things considered. Yūji was kind, genuine and the polar opposite to the curse residing in his body.

Who wouldn’t like a kid mentally strong enough to cage up something like Ryōmen Sukuna? And Yūji was charming. Even Satoru had been charmed by him. That’s an accomplishment.

Satoru’s glad that it’s Yūji here with him now.

Even if Yūji is just a kid now. He’s still someone from that other timeline. He’s a reminder of what Satoru’s trying to achieve here. Who he’s going to make a difference for.

Yūji had been wronged, numerous times, and Satoru will make his life better too.

And... maybe he’d always wanted a sibling.

“Let’s let him sleep for a while,” Satoru says offhandedly, refusing to look at Suguru and knowing his voice has soften significantly. “Then he can try the super cool glasses his awesome brother made for him! Any curse in particular you wanna show off to my easily amazed little Yūji-kun? Better be something super cool!”

Suguru snorts a laugh, “bold of you to assume I have anything not completely terrifying.”

“He’s tough,” Satoru insists. “He can handle it.”

“He’s a child.”

“You’re a child.”

A snort, “you’re one to talk.”

He lets Yūji sleep for about an hour before he gives the kid’s shoulder a light shake and murmurs the student’s name with a singsongy lilt to his tone.

He’s not sure how long Yūji intended to stay, but it’s getting close to late afternoon.

Yūji, Satoru comes to realize, wakes up adorably. He stretches out his arms, rubs his eye with the heel of his palm and yawns through squinted eyes. His awareness comes back to him slowly, and a flush lifts up his cheeks when Satoru grins teasingly down at him.

It reminds Satoru of when Megumi had been little like this.

Child-like mannerisms.

In due time, he’ll approach the Fushiguro siblings again. Not too soon or it’ll be suspicious or draw in unwanted attention from a certain Sorcerer Killer. Maybe he’ll even have better luck winning the siblings over if he brings Yūji along too.

He wonders if child Megumi will be as taken with Yūji as teenager Megumi had been.

Satoru shakes himself from his thoughts when he feels eyes on him.

He’s not surprised to find both Yūji and Suguru watching him intently.

Satoru forces a grin onto his lips as he swipes the glasses off the table, giddy to show Yūji.

Yūji is near vibrating in excitement as Satoru holds the new glasses over his head, just out of reach. Suguru huffs in amusement as Satoru requests a drawn out ‘pleassse’ from Yūji, which the boy readily repeats, completely used to Satoru’s playful antics from their own timeline.

He slips the glasses onto Yūji’s little face again when he’s satisfied with the pleading.

Satoru leads a glasses donned Yūji and a still unimpressed Suguru outside the school to test the new glasses with one of Suguru’s curses.

The cursed spirit Suguru manifests is a small Kappa sort of creature that’s a semi-grade one curse. He’d consumed it towards the end of their first year when they’d gone to take care of a cursed spirit drowning people in a river.

It’s more of a turtle than a human, but it’s an ugly little thing, nonetheless. Human like features and bottomless eyes that stare, but it’s not fast and it’s not very mobile unless in water.

It makes it even creepier.

Satoru barely resists scrunching his nose up in offense at the creature’s presence with them.

The Kappa doesn’t see the light of day very often.

Yūji gapes in surprise as he pushes the glasses up, slipping away from the safety of Satoru's side to study the spirit up close.

He’s not scared in the least, intrigued if anything; Satoru can’t help but shoot a semi-surprised looking Suguru a boastful smirk. The look says everything it needs to: I told you so.

Suguru rolls his eyes and with a flick of his finger sends the Kappa toddling threateningly towards Satoru, who squeaks out against his will and flails backwards as he rushes to blanket himself in Infinity. It’s not his proudest reaction, but that turtle thing is beyond creepy and he wasn’t prepared.

Yūji full on cackles much to Satoru’s embarrassment.

Even Suguru is snickering behind his fist as he calls back the cursed spirit.

Suguru ends up showing Yūji a couple other low-grade curses, nothing scary, Satoru notes, nothing scary besides that stupid Kappa. There's just something about that thing that rubs Satoru the wrong way, he hadn’t liked it much the first time around either.

It’s not much time later that he’s warping Yūji back to the sleepy town of Sendai, walking him towards his neighborhood before bidding him goodbye again without getting close enough to be spotted.

The boy offers a smile, eyes bright behind the glasses. His eyes subtly trail around his surroundings, inspecting sharply, and Satoru knows then that the boy truly had needed the glasses to feel safe. He doesn’t sense any threatening cursed energy, but leaves Yūji to his inspection anyways.

Satoru warps away after seeing the kid disappear into a small house at the end of the street.

Chapter Text

It takes about a week until Satoru is completely cleared to return to his regular missions.

He’s kept under close observation and restrictions, what Satoru had begrudgingly dubbed Yaga’s training wheels protocol— which is the absolute worst thing Satoru has ever experienced in this current timeline so far, in case anyone was wondering— where he’s assigned nothing more advanced than measly semi-grade one.

And even then, that had only happened when Suguru had tagged along.

So, for the most part, he gets assigned what he likes to call the grunt work for the Jujutsu world. Grade fours, threes, twos and exactly two semi-grade ones (with peer supervision, of course— Satoru could strangle someone). And it’s boring. He’s so bored.

He hasn’t been held back like this since he was a child. People never cared about what he did, but everyone at this school seems to care too much about him now.

It’s both heartwarming, and completely annoying.

Still, he hates it.

He hates them treating him like he’s weak.

He hates them treating him like he’s some fragile little flower that’ll wilt if they’re not careful.

He hates being leashed back like this when he knows he’s capable of doing so much more no matter what happened before— knows that he’s been through worse and done so much more.

He could curse Yaga for caring so intently about his safety.

There’s nothing exciting about his assignments.

They don’t even consider assigning him anything stronger until Shoko and the school physician are satisfied with his completely healed up concussion. Apparently, a knock to the head is dangerous, and losing consciousness is even more so.

They’d held firm, no matter how much Satoru begged, pleaded or grumbled. He’d even tried giving Shoko the silent treatment for about three hours, but the jerk actually enjoyed it. Suguru had just shrugged his shoulder as he bit back a smile when Satoru had gone to him to complain.

His friends are the worst.

Then finally, after a long week, he’s medically cleared to return to regular missions.

Shoko flashes that stupid blinding light in his eyes once again, and the school physician leans over her to inspect his eyes too. They mutter between the two of them, and Satoru sits patiently, ignoring the conversation as his foot bounces in anticipation for the clean bill of health that he knows he’s going to be receiving.

He feels fine.

The headache had slowly faded away days ago, and his cursed energy hadn’t done anything weird since that mission with Suguru when he’s collapsed as he and Yūji were bounced back into their younger bodies.

And that’s an important note to make, because he knows Yaga had enlisted Suguru to watch for anything out of the ordinary when it came for Satoru’s cursed energy— the only person able to actually sense cursed energy and get close enough to Satoru without raising suspicion to do so.

Satoru hadn’t mentioned the obvious eye his best friend was keeping on him, and Suguru hadn’t let slip either; probably thinks he’s pretty slick going unnoticed by the Six-Eyes.

He’s not, but Satoru will let him believe it. Kinda funny, actually.

Still, Satoru knows his cursed energy hasn’t done anything strange since that day.

There’s more power, sure, but nothing about it is outward or visible. You can’t sense the influx because all he’s allowing to surface is energy he knows how to handle for now. You wouldn’t be able to sense the strength to his energy because he keeps it contained.

And he’ll continue to do so until he trusts his body can handle it, or... or if desperate times call for desperate measures. He’d learned the hard way once, and he might have to force his body into such a state again to be able to come into the entirety of Limitless.

He doesn’t have very high hopes for the Star Plasma Vessel mission that’ll arrive not long from now, and Fushiguro Toji isn’t someone to be underestimated.

He knows he needs a plan past: ‘I’m the strongest and I can take him!’

That hadn’t worked the first time, it wasn’t going to work this time.

Plain and simple.

He couldn’t fall back onto power like that again, especially not when he wasn’t at his true potential, because it hadn’t worked. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Satoru had needed to force it down anyways.

That entire mission had been a mess.

Everything that could’ve gone wrong, had. They’d been strung along by fake bounties and fell right into Fushiguro’s hands trying to outsmart him in the exact ways he’d expected them to.

He wasn’t strong enough.

Amanai had died. Kuroi had died. A part of Suguru had died that day too, and although Satoru had come out of that fight stronger than ever, he’d lost more than he’d gained, even if he didn’t realize until it was too late.

If he wanted things to change, he couldn’t walk into that mission unprepared again.

He couldn’t be full of himself, because he’d been beat. Easily.

He’d underestimated the Sorcerer Killer that first time and that had been his downfall. It had costed the lives of two innocent people they were supposed to protect, gravely injured Suguru and had, technically, gotten himself killed before he’d learned Reverse Cursed Technique.

There was no one to blame for that failure but himself; his own cocky attitude. An attitude he has no right to have, considering how weak he is right now. How easily Fushiguro had overpowered him.

Looking back on it, he’d been too arrogant.

He’d placed himself on a pedestal he’d had no right placing himself on.

Teenagers are stupid; they’re full of themselves and are overconfident when they feel like they know what they’re doing. Satoru knows he was awful for that.

Seventeen-year-old Satoru thought himself to be unstoppable.

When in reality, he was very much stoppable.

Even after that mission, after losing so much, he still highly regarded himself.

And would until very recently when it had all gone downhill.

He’d always had a big head— he can admit to that. He knows as much. His own strength engrained into his very being from the moment the Gojō clan realized he’d inherited not one, but two, of their prized innate techniques. People telling him how powerful he was, how strong he was, how he was a messiah the Sorcery world needed.

The balance of the world finally tipping in their favor with his birth.

The first in centuries to be born with such power.

And there’d never been anything that could stop him— no curse, no human being. None of the numerous assassins sent to try their hand at sneaking onto the clan estate to kill him as he’d grown up, or any of the failed attempts at poisoning him because there wasn’t much else anyone could do against a Limitless holder capable of Infinity.

Many had tried to kill him over the years, but none had succeeded.

He’d always considered himself to be virtually untouchable.

Until he’d met Fushiguro Toji.

And even then, Satoru had learned from the encounter. From the loss.

He’d gotten stronger from the failure.

He’d been pushed into a position where he either had to get better; rise above the obstacles placed in his path and find a way to keep moving forwards, or he was going to die there.

He’d risen above dying that day and learned a difficult technique to keep himself going.

Then, he’d taken down the Sorcerer Killer using his new strength, but he was too late for anything else. They’d already lost. Suguru had already been broken beyond repair, and Satoru hadn’t even really noticed.

And he’d tried not to let that bother him.

It could’ve happened to anyone. That’s the worst part. They were just students; a job so big should’ve probably never been doled out to the two of them in the first place, but Sorcery wasn’t a just world.

Power came with responsibilities, no matter your age.

No matter your experience.

As soon as you were ranked Special Grade, you were at the mercy of the higher ups. You take whatever mission that gets handed to you because if you don’t, others will die trying when it’s ultimately assigned to them.

His first failure. The first death on his hands— he and Suguru were supposed to be Amanai’s bodyguards, and she’d ended up dead before she could merge with Tengen.

They hadn’t been strong enough.

Satoru hadn’t been strong enough.

His first encounter with failure; with feeling inferior.

Probably the one that hit the hardest— besides, of course, losing an entire world to a war he’d unknowingly benched himself in. That will always be his greatest failure. Always.

Maybe, looking back on it, he hadn’t taken that mission as entirely seriously as he should’ve— hadn't considered the possibility of failure or losing because he never did. He’d gone into it letting his superiority complex do the talking, and he’d been thoroughly humbled by a non-sorcerer with nothing but a Heavenly Restriction and weapons at his disposal.

He had to do better this time.

He had to be ready; to find a way to curve the course of fate until it veers off in a new direction. Satoru refuses to let it turn out like it had the first time. He refused to lose Amanai and Kuroi again. He refuses to let Suguru go down that path such a traumatic event will set him on.

He refuses to let that happen again— there has to be a way.

That can’t be the only outcome.

“What are you thinking so hard about?”

Satoru hums in acknowledgment before he really considers the words. He lets his attention lull in Suguru’s direction, peering at him over the top of his glasses, “what?”

“You weren’t paying attention in class,” Suguru snorts in amusement, “your attention span is worse than usual. You’re lucky Yaga can’t see your zoned-out eyes behind your glasses, or I’m sure you’d be in detention right now.”

“Ah,” Satoru’s gaze flicks to the chalkboard, scanning the words written sharply before looking away. It’s Jujutsu history he’d known since before starting at this school.

He’d had tutors teaching him this shit since he was old enough to sit up on his own.

He’s sure he hadn’t paid attention the first time around either.

Satoru’s gaze flicks back to Suguru, offering a toothy smile, “I was just thinking about my mission this evening. A first grade and some second grades, finally. I’ve been freed from the torture of light work. Sooo? Wanna tag along?”

Suguru huffs a laugh, organizing his notes as he speaks, “y’know, you’ve done nothing but complain about me tagging along with you on missions all week, and now you’re inviting me? I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Satoru.”

“That was against my will,” Satoru retorts firmly, leaning back in his chair with a pout, “you weren’t coming as my friend and equal, you were coming as my babysitter. Different things. I don’t like it when you’re watching me and reporting back as if you’re Yaga’s second set of eyes.”

Suguru offers a light smile but doesn’t look surprised. “You knew then?”

“I’m not dense,” Satoru snaps without any heat. He watches the other teen sort himself out, not moving from his seat. “And you guys aren’t exactly subtle. Why else would they send a second Special Grade with me on banal missions? Plus, you’re the only one capable of sensing my cursed energy, and you’re the only one who’d witnessed it going haywire in the first place. Two and two, Suguru.”

“What if I was just concerned about my friend and wanted to tag along?”

Satoru shoots him a narrowed glance, “did you, or did you not, report back to Yaga after being a good Samaritan friend accompanying me on my missions?”

Suguru’s lips curl up faintly, eyes bright when he looks over, “no comment.”

“That’s what I thought,” Satoru blows out an unamused huff.

He lets the annoyance roll off his shoulders like water off a duck’s back, “anyways. I forgive you for that betrayal. So, you in for the mission or not? You got your own mission or something? And... wait, where is everyone? Classes just ended, didn’t they? Yaga wasn’t breathing down my neck for not paying attention. What’s up with that?”

Suguru hums thoughtfully.

“Well, Yaga said he had something to take care of and rushed out of the room once class was over,” Suguru shrugs, finally standing up. Satoru pushes himself up too, falling into step with Suguru. “And Shoko said something about looking at cadavers in the morgue or something. She was pretty excited. Didn’t really want to know, so I didn’t ask. She’s way too enthusiastic about dead things; sometimes she creeps me out.”

Satoru snickers in agreement.

Suguru lets out a sheepish laugh as the two of them leave the room, glancing back over his shoulder to study Satoru, just a step behind him, “as for your mission... yeah, sure. I’ve got nothing else going on. My next mission isn’t until the one we’re scheduled for tomorrow morning. The special grade one in Osaka.”

“Oh, right,” Satoru hums back.

He remembers the briefing that had taken place just that morning before classes had started.

Yaga had told them both to be prepared to leave early in the morning, it was a lengthy car ride to Osaka, and then he’d assigned Satoru his mission this afternoon after dismissing Suguru.

He’d been assigned a couple advanced missions that had been put on the back burner while he’d been unfit to handle anything above semi-grade One. They’d saved missions for him; requesting him specifically.

It’s easier to send the Six-Eyes alone then risk losing other manpower.

It’s nothing extra special— most of the time they assign both Satoru and Suguru, especially if it’s any sort of special grade. It’s good to have backup, especially as students, and the more curses Suguru absorbs, the more they can use him as a weapon.

Satoru is sure that the higher ups hadn’t given him a break in the slightest, probably didn’t even care that their golden boy was down for the count and recovering, and he doesn’t doubt the assignments for him had been piling up on Yaga’s desk all the same. He’s near positive that Yaga had been postponing and pushing things back for his sake, probably against the higher up's wishes.

Suguru had been right; they hadn’t wasted a second before unloading jobs onto him when he was medically cleared, not that he minded. All the more practice before it comes down to the wire again.

He’s relieved everything was going back to normal, finally no one hovering over him anymore.

“Well, c’mon then,” Satoru finally says, “I’m supposed to be outta here and on the road by four. Let’s go. Maybe if we’re fast, we can check out a mochi stand I heard about before we’re due back.”

“Why am I not surprised that’s what you’re thinking about.”

The mission was simple enough.

They’d arrived at a hospital where patients were disappearing from their rooms without a trace. Five patients had gone missing— disappearing in the span of mere moments between nurses stepping in and stepping out with nothing left behind.

And it can’t just be people getting up and leaving, most were medically bedbound.

They’re just gone.

Particularly youth— kids not much younger than Satoru and Suguru themselves.

He sensed the first grade easily, its presence lingering in the east wing of the hospital, a pediatric ward, and about three second grades milling around it.

The wing had been evacuated under the ruse that someone could smell gas and it was simply a safety precaution while it was sorted out, and Satoru had even been badgered by Suguru into putting up a curtain over the entire wing.

Not that he’d actively wanted sick, dying or healing people to deal with and worry about damage to the hospital and fights taking place around them. He had some morality. And he probably would’ve put up a veil even if Suguru wasn’t here to chide him. Probably.

They encountered the first curse just inside the curtain. Satoru easily condensed it into nothing more than an orb of cursed energy with nothing but a light wave of his index finger, tongue clicking as he grabbed it to examine.

It wasn’t overly strong despite its grade.

“Here,” Satoru holds the orb out to Suguru.

“Why didn’t you just exorcise it?” Suguru cocks an eyebrow. “You do realize that was a second grade, right? What am I supposed to do with that?”

Satoru tilts his head, “why would I do that when you’re here too? Absorb it.”

“I’m not supposed to absorb that curse,” Suguru’s brow furrows, expression pinching with bewilderment. “It wasn’t assigned. You know that. I’m not even supposed to be here, Satoru. And, better yet, why would I want to?”

“So?” Satoru tilts his head, studying the orb in his hand. It’s just one of the second grades, not typically something Suguru would consume. “What does it matter if it was assigned or not anyways? No one’s gonna know what you’ve got hidden in that stomach of yours, are they? And they’ve never explicitly said you couldn’t consume other curses besides the ones they say, did they?”

Suguru hesitates, “no, but...”

Satoru hums, watching Suguru out of the corner of his eye, “and why should I kill it when it’s a perfectly good curse that could be useful at some point? Seems wasteful to me. You could absorb all these curses. Good to have, aren’t they?”

Suguru’s nose scrunches up, clearly not on board. “Satoru...”

“You know what I think?” Satoru changes his tactic.

“No,” Suguru rolls his eyes playfully, “tell me what you think, Satoru.”

“I think the higher ups can suck it.”

Suguru looks fully at Satoru now, face scrunching up skeptically as he watches Satoru.

“Hear me out,” Satoru continues flippantly, holding a hand up to silence his friend, “I think you have the potential to be stronger, and they’re scared of that. I know you don’t have a limit to how many curses you can absorb, but they’re still meager with what they’re allowing you to have. Is it not concerning that they know everything you have? That they keep track of it?”

“How is it meager when I get to absorb first and special grades?” Suguru is watching Satoru carefully now, refusing to look at the curse in Satoru’s hand. “They’re not stingy with power. I think they’re the opposite, actually. I have strong curses. And it’s not like I’m the only one they keep tabs on.”

“Yeah, sure, but there’s power in numbers too,” Satoru says easily.

He thinks of The Sorcerer Killer releasing that disorienting swam of fly heads— the confusion of it that had hindered Satoru weak. It had been a good tactic. Not strong in terms of power, but useful all the same. Useful because it was unexpected. Useful because it was easy and unpredictable.

Satoru lulls his attention over to Suguru, lips pulled in a serious line, “strength is great, but quantity is a power of its own. Ever considered that? Because I think it’s overlooked, is all. Especially knowing what you’re capable of. You don’t have a limit, so why are you being so selective about grades?”

“Overlooked?” Suguru mutters in disbelief, like he can’t believe that’s something Gojō Satoru would actually say. “Since when do you care about little overlooked details like that? You’re the strongest; that’s not exactly your speed, is it?”

Satoru hums thoughtfully, tone a drawl, “I mean, don’t bother if you wanna be a one-trick pony all your life. I’ll kill it if you want; just say the word. You’re obviously strong with your special and first grades, don’t get me wrong, but what about when that’s not enough? What are you gonna fall back on? You could have other tactics up your sleeve. Things the higher ups don’t know about.”

Things the Sorcerer Killer won’t know about.

Please take the bait.

“When that’s not enough...?” Suguru repeats baffled, eyes narrowing suspiciously, “what does that even mean? When will my curses not be enough? I have strong curses, Satoru. You know that. I have curses to fall back on. I haven’t had a problem yet; I have power. You’re weirding me out, what’s up with you?”

“I’m just trying to help,” Satoru shrugs. “I don’t see the problem with having more curses than the higher ups think. There’s your own power in that alone, something they can’t command. I don’t see a problem with having surprise tactics to fall back on when you’re desperate. I do see a problem with everyone knowing what you’re capable of.”

Satoru pushes his glasses up to rub at his eyes, “take it from a guy who’s been under fire since he was born: word gets around. If people really want to, they’ll figure you out. When your cards are laid out, the odds are stacked against you. Simple as that. All I’m saying is have something hidden up your sleeve.”

“You almost sound like you’re scared,” Suguru says, tone edging at teasing. “You don’t usually mention something as below you as weaknesses. What, not so invincible, Satoru?”

“No one’s invincible.”

That shuts a surprised Suguru up real quick.

Suguru’s teasing smile is wiped off his face as he just stares at Satoru.

Satoru lets his glasses fall back over his eyes, attention lulling to Suguru again. The other’s mouth is faintly open in surprise, shock, even, purple eyes darkened with unease as he studies Satoru, a little perturbed by the conversation.

“What? Don’t look so surprised.” Satoru grins sharply, “I’m just sayin’.”

Suguru’s jaw snaps shut, swallowing roughly.

After a second, Suguru clears his throat.

“Okay... so, what’s the play here, then? You just want me to absorb every curse I come across?” Suguru’s nose has scrunched up faintly in disgust, though he hasn’t completely shut the idea down. “You do realize they taste like shit, and I see a lot of curses, right?”

“I never said every curse,” Satoru defends, offering the second-grade orb once again, “I just think you could do with expanding your inventory a little. Have variety. Have throw away curses that won’t damage your strength if you happen to lose them. Have strength in terms of grade quality, but have a backup too. If your strong curses happen to get killed, what happens to you, huh? Don’t get caught with your pants down, dude.”

Suguru’s eyes finally flick to the orb, considering, before his eyes are lifting back to Satoru’s, “are you sure you’re the same guy who’s been whining about how weak second, third and fourth grades are all week?”

“Well, yeah, compared to me they’re weak as fuck. But I’m not talkin’ about me here. I already have tricks up my sleeve,” Satoru snorts. “I don’t need to rely on weak curses. Who do you take me for? That’s your forte. No offense.”

“Right...” Suguru’s expression pinches as he decides whether he’s offended or not. After a second, he lets out a sigh and holds his hand out expectantly. “Fine, you convinced me. Pass it here before I change my mind.”

Satoru giddily passes the curse over, feeling far prouder than he should.

Suguru eyes Satoru with a frown before he sighs and takes the curse into his own hand, pinching the edge of it for easier swallowing, “why do I feel like you have some grand plan I don’t know about?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Satoru scoffs cheerfully, turning away as Suguru so he can have a bit of privacy. He doesn’t like being watched. Satoru can get that. “Can’t a guy care about his best buddy? Why are you always so skeptical? I’m watching your back like a good classmate— like Yaga wants. A star pupil and classmate! Be grateful.”

"Uh huh," Suguru huffs, eyeing the orb distastefully, “there’s no way you’re not up to something.”

They find and take care of the other two second grades as they make their way towards the strong pulses of first grade energy— both of which Suguru dutifully swallows down when they’re offered to him.

Satoru’s pleased that Suguru is listening to him.

He knows Suguru hates eating curses; usually only does it when there’s a decent amount of benefit for him. First grades and up because they’re powerful. They’re useful. Any sane person would probably choose quality over quantity when it comes to something like curses, but the smart person would choose both.

There doesn’t need to be a decision.

Decisions like that are meant to control power.

Maybe he’d scared his friend a little; weakness wasn’t exactly a topic Satoru contemplated often, rarely verbally at that. Suguru was bound to be uneasy about Satoru pointing out their weaknesses instead of boasting about their strength as usual.

They are the strongest duo, but that doesn’t mean they can’t get stronger. It doesn’t mean that there isn’t room for improvement, because Satoru sure as hell knows he can only go up from here.

They find the first grade curse in one of the hospital rooms.

It’s stood unmoving in the middle of the room, two hospital beds pushed against the wall, and a privacy curtain half drawn. It’s not very threatening at first glance— in fact, if Satoru couldn’t see the waves of cursed energy, he might’ve thought this thing was human.

From behind, it looks almost normal.

Then the curse turns to them— long dark hair curtaining its face.

It’s distinctly human, more so than most curses, but there are no facial features besides a mouth. Its mouth is pulled in a straight line, dragging near jaw to jaw with sharp rows of pointed teeth peeking out.

It has no eyes, no nose, no ears, just clear smooth skin over where those specific features would be.

It’s not overly tall, has a small physique. It’s human enough. Feminine, faintly. It stands on two legs, two arms drawn up to its chest as if skittish. It’s fingernails are more like claws, sharp and curved but not quite long.

A pale, greyish complexion and no other discernable features on its body.

It isn’t wearing anything, but its smooth skin is that of a mannequin.

“Vengeful Spirit?” Suguru mutters at Satoru’s side.

“Looks like it,” Satoru agrees, tugging his glasses off his eyes to study it more intently, “it’s strong, but I’m stronger. Obviously. You sit back and watch the master work, yeah? No helping. Seriously. It’s my mission, leave it to me. I’ve been benched way too long to consider letting you play too. I won’t kill it; it’s all yours, buddy. I think this one will make a great addition to your collection!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Suguru huffs back, “show me what you got then, Strongest Sorcerer.”

“Gladly,” Satoru puffs his chest out, tossing his glasses back to Suguru.

His lips curl menacingly into a smile, cracking his knuckles as he finally steps towards the curse.

The curse is strong.

A little stronger than Satoru had assumed at first glance.

It’s still nothing but a grade one. Though, despite the grade, it has a decent amount of power in such an unassuming little figure. There’s a lot of bite in the curse’s energy.

The fight isn’t overly exciting, but it’s the most work he’d had to do in ages.

It can’t touch him; Infinity shields around him, but it’s swift and fast as it dodges his attacks and launches ravenously at him. It doesn’t bother with Suguru, attention focused solely on Satoru.

Not that it would get far even if it did turn around and go after his friend. Satoru wonders if Suguru can feel the blanket of Infinity around him as well. He trusts Suguru to be able to protect himself, but it’s easy enough to ensure it doesn’t come down to that.

The curse bites at his Infinity, jaw unhinging disturbingly whenever he lets it get close enough. Teeth sink into Infinity, and it would definitely be fatal if it weren’t for the Infinite space.

No damage comes; it can’t get through Infinity no matter how hard it tries to sink its teeth and claws into him. It just aggravates the curse; Satoru watches it grow more and more enraged with each weak attempt. Its attacks get sloppy and the agility he’d first seen starts to waver.

It’s not an experienced curse.

It pounces away from him with a screech, and Satoru ends things there.

He pushes waves of cursed energy into his attack when he feels like he’d gotten a good feel for the curse, knows its limits and had taken apart its entire being with Six-Eyes. He plants his foot for stability as he fires the wave of energy with precision, as if firing a sniper rifle.

It hits the curse dead-on, just as he’d intended.

It’s not exorcised, though it’s a close call.

He’d planned on having Suguru absorb that one too— it could definitely be useful for something down the line. It was strong and fast. Agile. Suguru could do a lot with a curse like this one, so Satoru deems it a good addition to Suguru’s growing arsenal.

“That took you a while,” Suguru drawls with a frown. “You’re losing your touch.”

“I was studying it,” Satoru defends, condensing the cursed energy into an orb for easy consumption. He turns back to sneer at Suguru. “I could’ve obliterated it. Easily. I was just giving it a shot at landing a hit; thought it might’ve been stronger, but it wasn’t. What a let down. Here, eat up.”

Suguru’s nose wrinkles, but he takes the orb as he passes Satoru back his glasses.

Satoru kindly turns away so Suguru can eat the curse without being watched.

He hears a faint gag, and Suguru drawing in steady breaths through his nose.

He still doesn’t turn around, but he does talk to fill the silence, distracting his friend effortlessly, “y’know, that was easier than I thought it was gonna be, honestly. Oh well. Maybe the curse tomorrow will actually have some fight. I’d like a challenge, you know? Anyways, this just gives us more time to check out that mochi shop! It’ll get the taste outta your mouth too, so win-win!”

“How kind of you to pretend the mochi shop is for my benefit and not your frighteningly demanding sweet tooth. I still don’t know how you’re not a type two diabetic yet.”

Satoru whirls around to face his friend, grinning brightly as he slips his glasses back over his eyes, and pats sympathetically at a hunched over Suguru’s back, “everything I do is for you, Sugu-chan!”

He goes on a couple more missions.

Some with Suguru and others without.

He takes stock of the curses he faces, weighs their worth as he draws out fighting them— two birds with one stone as he practices using his own cursed energy and takes that time to evaluate the curse’s potentials knowing what he does about what’s to come.

He deems a lot of the curses he encounters on missions good enough to have some potential to be useful in the grand scheme of things; maybe not strength, per se, but potential. Some curses he just exorcises after studying them, but everything he deems potentially useful is packed away into a condensed cursed orb that makes it back to campus to be absorbed.

Even Suguru has been more selective about what curses he’ll absorb. Not just following the higher ups and Yaga’s demands of curses they want him to have, but curses he sees as useful as well.

Maybe it’s ill advised to be offering Suguru strength when he could very well turn out like the Suguru who’d killed his home village and released hundreds of curses in an attempt to start a war and recruit high schoolers into his ranks, but Satoru hopes by giving him strength now, it’ll change the course of what’s to come.

If they can potentially save Amanai, there’s a chance Suguru may never spiral like he did. And he’d be saving two additional lives— giving Amanai Riko the chance to grow up.

Satoru knows it won’t correct everything, he’s not that optimistic, but hopefully it’ll be a good start.

Truthfully, Satoru still doesn’t know what Suguru had seen on his last mission, whatever it was that had flipped his moral compass switch and sent him nosediving into a hatred for non-shamans, but he does know Amanai’s death had been the start of it all.

The incident that had shifted the way he thought.

Satoru knows he can’t guarantee that he’ll win against the Sorcerer Killer without getting killed again in the process, he has a really bad feeling the only way his body is going to accept Reverse Cursed Technique is going to be when that primal need to survive is jumpstarted.

And if that’s the case, he needs Suguru to have something in his corner besides powerful curses. An experienced assassin like Fushiguro will stand a chance against Suguru’s strongest curses, especially with his Heavenly Restriction— he has before, he’ll do it again.

Fushiguro is going to be expecting powerful curses from the Cursed Spirit Manipulator.

He’s not going to expect his own tricks to be used against him.

Satoru needs them to have an upper hand; to have as many hidden cards up their sleeves as they can or he’s not going to be able to change anything. If he loses Suguru again, he can kiss this timeline goodbye as well. He’s the start of it all.

Suguru holds all the cards, whether he knows it or not.

If this fails again, Satoru is going to have to make a difficult choice once again, and he... he can’t let Suguru walk away if the timeline they hailed from is what’ll come from Satoru’s weakness. This is bigger than the two of them, no matter how much it’s going to gut Satoru to take matters into his own hands if this goes south again.

Satoru pushes his glasses up to rub at his eyes, tired from the thought of what’s to come.

“Getō-senpai!” Satoru angles his head faintly, seeing Haibara bounding towards Suguru with a grin. “Can you teach me some more hand to hand since we’re all off today? Sensei says I’m getting better at it, and it’s all thanks to you! I understand it best when you’re helping me, Senpai!”

“He has been getting better,” Nanami adds. “You’re a very good teacher, Getō-senpai.”

Suguru laughs sheepishly, “ah, sure. I’m always happy to help. I’ve noticed you’re getting better, Haibara-kun. Your response times are better, and you’re keeping up easier. Did you want to join in too, Nanami-kun? Shoko, Satoru? You two in?”

“I’m not looking to get my ass handed to me today, thanks,” Shoko retorts, leaning back onto her hands. “I’ll watch. And laugh when Satoru ends up on his ass.”

“Hey,” Satoru pouts theatrically from Shoko’s side, “just for that, I’ll sit this one out too. Ha. Find something else to amuse you, jerk. So mean.”

"Wuss," Shoko shoves Satoru’s shoulder away playfully as Suguru rolls his eyes in amusement, turning away and leading Haibara and Nanami to the training grounds just a few steps away from where Satoru and Shoko are reclined in the grass.

Satoru watches his best friend talk to the first years for a second before guiding them into position for a spar that he’ll observe and offer pointers and critiques he notices throughout.

It’s good for the first years.

Suguru knows what he’s doing; the best of the three of them at close combat.

He’s kind but stern in his teachings.

Satoru wonders briefly how different everything would’ve turned out if Suguru had started teaching alongside him. How different would Okkostu and the second years be with Suguru’s guidance too? What about Yūji and the other first years?

Satoru likes to think he’s a good teacher, but he knows he leaves much to be desired.

Suguru though, seems to be a natural. He’s a natural at this, and a part of Satoru knows his friend would embrace teaching professionally; would absolutely love Satoru’s rag-tag group of students.

Maybe... if things change, he’ll be able to talk his friend into teaching.

Satoru already knows he’ll follow in his own footsteps once again.

The kids will need him in due years.

Yūji needs him now, but will need him even more if he decides to continue on as Sukuna’s vessel; Megumi and Tsumiki will need him in the months to come and, well, who else will plead for Yūta’s life down the road? Plead for Yūji again, if he takes on the hardships of the King of Curses again?

They’ll all need him, and he’s not about to let anyone else down.

“If you think any harder smoke will start coming out your ears.”

Satoru flicks his attention to the side, lips twitching up lightly in a smile, “always so kind, Shoko-chan. Also, pretty sure that’s not possible.”

Shoko snorts a laugh, inching closer to bump her own shoulder against Satoru’s, “I’m the doctor, not you. Just take my word for it. Smoke out the ears? Legit. It’s totally a symptom of idiot brains going into overdrive. Completely fatal most of the time too.”

“To be fair, you’re not a doctor either. You’re lucky they're even offering you pre-med this early because of your technique. You know, I’d almost believe you just for how matter-of-factly you said that,” Satoru scoffs back, “unfortunately, I’ve seen you cheat on tests so... y’know, grain of salt or whatever.”

“Fake it ‘til you make it,” Shoko shrugs. “So, what’s got you so quiet? Something wrong?”

“Nah,” Satoru shakes his head, “just thinking.”

“That’s dangerous.”

Satoru shoves her back with his own shoulder, a dopey smile tilting onto his lips as she snickers.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’d seen Shoko like this— not in his own timeline, at least. Carefree and sarcastic, smiling. Her future is just as grim as everyone else's. It’s lonely. She’s lonely.

He’d been a bad friend to her too, and he’d really missed her.

“Seriously though,” Shoko leans against Satoru’s arm, looking up at him, “are you really okay? A lot’s happened recently. You really scared Suguru and I. I mean... you’ve been a little different since you got hurt, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you taking more missions now that you’re cleared. What’s up with that? You’re not even groaning about lower curse grades anymore. Finally the dutiful soldier the higher ups always dreamed you’d become?”

“No chance in hell,” Satoru scoffs. “Those geezers aren’t worth my time. I’d rather kill myself then conform to what they want me to be. Fuck those stuck-up, conceited old fossils. I’m the strongest, they can kiss my ass.”

Shoko smiles fondly, eyes slipping shut in contentment, “that’s what I like to hear. Still though, you’re working yourself awfully thin for whatever reason. Just remember, you might be the strongest, but burnout’ll hit right through your Infinity if you’re not careful.”

“I’m fine,” Satoru assures, peering over the edge of his glasses. “I’ll be fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle, and it’s only a couple more missions. More practice. More experience. I just need to get stronger. I’ve got people to protect, you know? Goals. Promises. The whole shebang.”

Shoko hums, “this about that little brother of yours then?”

Satoru hums back thoughtfully, pausing before he can reply when his phone vibrates faintly in his pocket. He puckers his lips as he fishes a hand into his pocket, pulling the device out only to snicker.

Truthfully, he’d already known who could be reaching out, everyone else who contacts him is within eyesight. Yaga would call. His clan doesn’t contact him, have long since given up on trying to reach him unless he reaches out first (very unlikely). Everything related to the council or those old geezers still goes through Yaga first as Satoru is a minor.

That leaves one other pint-sized fifteen-year-old.

Satoru smiles fondly anyways, “speak of the devil.”

Yūji-kun!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶): r u busy ?

Satoru huffs a breath of amusement, turning to smile at Shoko as he flashes his phone screen to her so she can see too, “I’m going to go check in on him. If anyone asks, I’m taking a piss. I shouldn’t be long. I mean, I am the king of fast travel.”

“Roger that, Your Highness,” Shoko gives a halfhearted salute, pulling away from Satoru and leaning back on her arms once again, “I doubt they’ll even notice if you’re fast. Go be a doting older brother, or whatever it is you do now. I’ll let you know which underclassman ends up on their ass first. My bet’s on Nanami; Haibara’s on his game today.”

“You’re the best,” Satoru laughs heartily before warping away.

It’s Saturday once again, the day of the week that Satoru knows Yūji’s grandfather is at work all day. And Yūji doesn’t text him unless it’s safe to do so, so Satoru is sure his grandfather isn’t home.

With that in mind, he doesn’t hesitate to drop himself right in the middle of Yūji’s living room, grinning sharply when Yūji startles at the sudden disturbance. He’s sat on the couch, glasses pushed up his nose.

Satoru’s glad he’s getting good use out of them.

He even looked like he’d slept a little more since he’d last seen him last Saturday.

“You know, Sensei, normal people knock,” Yūji snickers.

“Normal people are boring,” Satoru sighs heavily, as if that idea was exhausting to him. “I’m not boring. Besides, you texted me. That’s basically an invite. And no, to answer your question, I’m not busy today. We all miraculously have a day off today, so I was just hanging out with my classmates.”

Yūji blinks slowly before he frowns, “o-oh, I uh, I didn’t know you were busy with your friends. You didn’t have to leave for me, Sensei. I was just... just checking in. I didn’t mean to bother you—”

“I already said I wasn’t busy,” Satoru rolls his eyes with a huff, “maybe I just wanted to check in too. And it’s really not a bother. I wouldn’t have gotten you that phone if I didn’t want to hear from you, right? Your amazing Sensei is here of his own freewill, so you don’t have to be so worried all the time, okay? You’re doing just fine, Yūji-kun.”

Yūji’s jaw clicks shut. His head bows faintly, and Satoru can’t help but reach over to ruffle his finger through his pale pink hair. Soft as always.

Yūji leans into the touch like a cat, eyes slipping shut.

“So,” Satoru hums, pulling his hand away and instead crouching in front of the couch, “you up to anything today? Your grandfather’s supposed to be at work until tonight, right? Did you wanna come back to school with me for a bit? If you’re just gonna sit around here like a lump, you could at least pretend to be productive; like us! Probably more fun than hanging here alone.”

“You don’t mind?” Yūji asks abashed.

“Nah.”

“And... and your friends won’t mind? Getō-san w-won't...?”

“Nope,” Satoru shakes his head. “In fact, I’m sure the underclassmen would love to meet you! Ooh! And Ieiri too! For real this time. I think she still doesn’t quite believe me about you. She’s rude like that, but she’s gonna love you, obviously. Hah, you’re gonna be so surprised when you meet my kōhais! And I already told you, Suguru likes you just fine. He won’t mind. I won’t let anything happen to you, ‘kay? Whaddya say?”

Yūji hesitates, “if... if you’re sure no one will mind then I’d like to come back to school with you for a while. It feels... not so scary there. Y’know, no curses and stuff. The barriers. And... and Sensei’s there too.”

Satoru has to physically stop himself from cooing.

“They won’t mind,” Satoru insists with an edge of finality, “and if they do mind, they get to deal with me! Yūji-kun is my perfect, amazing Otōto, well, as far as they know, at least. If they’ve got a problem with you, then can take it up with me and I won’t be as courteous.”

“You sound scary.”

“Whaaat? No way,” Satoru grins with a laugh, “I sounded brotherly. Definitely. My job as your pseudo-Onii-chan is to protect you. Seriously though, Yūji-kun. I meant what I said. I won’t let anything happen to you, okay? Not even my friends are safe from that promise to you. If they want to dig their own graves, so be it. Trust your Sensei.”

“I don’t think it’s really that serious, Sensei,” Yūji mutters sheepishly, cheeks dusting faintly with a blush. “It’s not really a big deal...”

“Maybe not to you,” Satoru’s smile softens, as he finally pushes himself up, patting Yūji’s head as he rises, “but it is to me. Besides, you’re just a kid. An adorable one at that! They’ll love you! I’m sure of it, and if not, we can find something else to do. You at least appreciate when I take you for treats, unlike my dull, sensible classmates and kōhais. Y’know, there’s definitely something wrong with savory people.”

“Hn, I like everything,” Yūji informs, sitting up straighter and scooching off the couch.

Satoru already knows that, but he smiles toothily anyways, “and that’s why you’re my favorite!”

When Satoru warps them back to the school, he doesn’t drop them right in the middle of the chaos he can hear going on in the distance. As much as he’d like to see what has Haibara squeaking loudly for whatever reason, and Suguru’s echoing laughter that carries over.

It would be unkind, he thinks.

He should at least give Yūji a bit of a warning.

He remembers the look in Yūji’s eyes when he’d told Satoru about the ending to the war they’d lost— Nanami being one of the names he’d cried over the hardest; a death he’d witnessed far more personally than Satoru’s sure he could ever imagine.

He still doesn’t know details, doubts Yūji will even tell him anything at this point, but Satoru likes to believe he knows his student quite well. After months of observing him, being the only person Yūji really saw (besides Nanamin) while he’d been fake dead. He’d really gotten to know the teen.

And because of that, he knows Yūji had really liked Nanami over the time the blonde had been mentoring Yūji. And he’d also known Nanami had not-so-secretly cared deeply for Yūji in turn.

He’d looked up to the boring ex-salaryman.

Yūji had learned a lot from Nanami.

Satoru had been glad the kid had a mentor like Nanami Kento, and he’d only been slightly jealous of how much adoration Yūji had had in his eyes when talking about or being around Nanami. He still looked at Satoru with more, that deep-seated respect and awe, but Nanami got it too.

And don’t get him wrong, it was cute.

The moment he’d introduced the two of them and had seen Nanami’s walls caving in as he looked at a bright eyed Yūji, he’d known it was definitely a good move on his part.

Satoru doubts Yūji will be able to recognize Nanami, isn’t even sure if the boy really knows or remembers that Nanami was Satoru’s underclassman, but it’s bound to be a shock to not only see Nanami again after seeing him die, but also seeing young, emo-esque Nanami.

They appear closer to the school, his classmates just faintly in view at a distance. Satoru squeezes at Yūji’s hand lightly as he starts them in the direction of his classmates. Yūji treks along beside him, content to let Satoru lead him by the hand.

“Before I introduce you to everyone else,” Satoru starts slowly, “I think I should give you a chance to collect yourself. Process all this before you actually meet everyone, okay? You can’t be any weirder than any other four-year-old, so keep that in mind.”

“Collect myself?” Yūji repeats, frowning lightly as he looks up at Satoru, “process... process what? What do you mean, Sensei?”

“Well...” Satoru pauses, clearing his throat. They stop close enough to see the teenagers, but far enough away that no one will notice them unless they draw attention to themselves, “have a look.”

Yūji squints at Satoru before his gaze flicks to the rowdy group.

He spots Shoko first, eyes scanning her thoughtfully. She’s sat in the exact place Satoru had left her, attention now on her phone instead of the chaos taking place in front of her.

Next, his attention settles on Suguru, another familiar face he’d already met, who is still down on the training ground with the kōhais, lips tilted upwards in amusement and arms crossed loosely over his chest as he watches them.

Yūji tenses briefly before relaxing almost as fast.

Still a work in progress there, Satoru supposes.

Haibara, on his back and obviously groaning in defeat, is the next one he sees, confusion furrowing Yūji’s little brow as he takes in the stranger. And lastly, his eyes land on Nanami, stood over Haibara, and holding a hand out to help the other boy up.

There’s no doubt that Nanami hadn’t just kicked Haibara’s feet out from under him.

Satoru waits patiently as Yūji takes in the information, eyes trailing over everyone once again before his gaze catches on Nanami with a thoughtful furrow of his brow.

He stares harder, squints faintly, and Satoru can practically see the gears turning in Yūji’s head.

“Wait...” Yūji breathes out, whipping his attention up to Satoru, “wait a second, is... is that Nanamin?”

“It sure is,” Satoru snickers, patting Yūji’s shoulder praisingly. “He looks different, doesn’t he? Bet you thought he always looked like a stick-up-his-ass salaryman, huh? Well, surprise! Emo hair! Don’t worry though, drastic appearance change aside, he’s still good ol’ Nanamin!”

Yūji must be struggling to process what’s in front of him because he doesn’t jump to defend Nanami as he usually would. Satoru knew right then that giving him a second to process was the right call here.

“He’s alive,” Yūji croaks breathlessly, and when Satoru’s eyes flick back to the child, his wide eyes are watery. “I... I knew they were alive still, I believed you, honest, but he’s... he’s right there, Sensei. He’s alive... That means Kugisaki and, and Fushiguro... My senpais. Everyone. They’re- they’re—”

“They’re all okay here,” Satoru confirms quietly. “But they are going to be different. He’s still the same guy under there but... remember he doesn’t know you yet, okay? I know Nanami was your mentor, but that’s not the case yet. He’s not going to know you.”

Yūji hesitates for a second before bowing his head in a nod.

When he looks up at Satoru, his eyes are still glassy, but he’s smiling widely, “that just means I can meet him all over again! On better terms this time! Without... without the curses and stuff. The fighting. Mahito. He’s still...” Yūji bites hard at his lip, “he’s still Nanamin, right?”

“I’m pretty sure he’ll always be Nanamin,” Satoru snorts fondly, “but yeah. He’s still the same guy you know. He's just baby Nanamin. And if I know my darling little kōhai, he’s going to be taken with you all over again. He’s got a soft spot for kids; you in particular. I doubt meeting you earlier will change that, so don’t worry.”

Yūji’s cheeks puff out as he squints, “I wasn’t worried.”

“Oh yeah?” Satoru teases as he pinches lightly at Yūji’s cheek, “tell that to your face then.”

That gets a shaky laugh from the kid. Satoru counts it as a win considering the boy had looked like he was going to start crying a couple seconds ago.

“Anyways,” Satoru drawls, “you ready to meet them now that you know who you’re meeting, or would you like to do something else instead? You’ll freak them out if you start crying. Are you prepared to do this now? No harm in blowing this off for a bit, they’ll never even know.”

Yūji nods slowly. “Yeah, I am, I just...” he laughs softly, wiping at his eyes with his palm.

He’s not crying, but he does wipe away the gloss of unshed tears. “I just can’t believe Nanamin is my age. That I’m meeting him now. You’re a second year now, right? So that means he’s a first year if he’s your kōhai. Just like I was. That’s crazy. He looks so young! And his hair! Wow! I’ll be okay. I wanna meet Sensei’s friends.”

“Let’s meet them then,” Satoru grins, not hesitating if Yūji’s not hesitating. Satoru starts them moving again, Yūji keeping pace. “Just let me know if you wanna go at any point. We’ll leave, no biggie.”

Yūji doesn’t respond, but Satoru doesn’t need an answer.

It’s Suguru who notices them first, just his eyes catching on Satoru at first before he does a full double-take and lets his gaze sink down to the child at Satoru’s side.

He’d probably sensed Satoru’s energy getting closer, but Yūji is a surprise.

Haibara’s curious gaze watches Suguru for a moment before he follows his line of sight, only to gasp and shoot upright in surprise. He’s on his feet, hurrying over to Satoru with a beaming grin, “Gojō-senpai!” the teen chirps, “you’re back! And you’ve brought someone!”

Nanami and Suguru have caught up to Haibara by now, Shoko groans tiredly as she too pushes herself to her feet. They don’t crowd in, but they do get closer, Yū being the one to come the closest to them.

“Indeed, I have!” Satoru matches Haibara’s energy, “formal introductions time! Classmates, kōhais, this is my adorable baby brother Yūji-kun!! Isn’t he just so darn cute?”

Satoru’s fingers curl around the entire top of Yūji’s tiny head from where he’d planted his palm on the crown of the boy’s head, giving a little shake, “and Yūji-kun, these are your onii-chan's bestest friends in the whole entire world! You already know Suguru-kun— and that grumpy gal over there is Ieiri Shoko. These two are my dear kōhais Nanami Kento and Haibara Yū!”

Yūji swallows a bit nervously before arching into a bow, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“Are you sure he’s related to you?” Nanami squints, “it seems he has manners.”

“Nanamin!” Satoru cries out, playfully wounded, “that’s so mean! I have manners— great manners! It’s your manners that come into question when you say mean things like that! And in front of my baby brother!”

Yūji scoffs under his breath, and it’s only because Satoru’s known him so long does he see the sideways glance of exasperation. It’s gone as fast as he sees it, but Satoru still shoots him a teasing wink that only Yūji is at an angle to see behind his glasses.

“Kento-kun,” Haibara scolds halfheartedly with a laugh, “Gojō-senpai is right, that’s not very nice.”

“Hang on, he’s got a point though,” Shoko snickers, “Yūji-kun only just met Gojō, so he hasn’t had any time to corrupt the poor kid yet. Lucky break in that lineage.” There’s a scoff from Satoru that Shoko promptly ignores. “It’s nice to meet you, Yūji, you can call me Ieiri, or Shoko. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, yeah!” Haibara beams, crouching down in front of Yūji with a gentleness, “I’m Haibara Yū, but you can call me Yū-chan! Or just Yū! Whichever you’d like! Can we call you Yūji-chan, or was there something else you’d prefer?”

“I-I don’t mind,” Yūji says calmly, though he does step closer to Satoru’s leg.

“Yūji-chan it is then!” Yū’s smile is so contagious as he rises back to his full height, “anyways, like your nii-san said, this is Nanami Kento; he’s my best friend and classmates! He might look grumpy, but he’s really not!”

“Nanamin?” Yūji’s wide eyes look up to the blonde.

For a very long second, Nanami just stares down, a light distasteful frown on his lips at the hated nickname Satoru had dubbed upon at their first official meeting, before he sighs and bends forwards into a slight bow, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Yūji-chan.”

Satoru knew Nanami would cave.

He’d known it from the second he even considered reintroducing them, but that was fast even for him. Yūji must just be a really charming kid if he’s got Nanami wrapped around his finger already. Not even a word about the nickname? No remark? A little disappointing, honestly.

“We already met,” Suguru clears his throat, “but I also don’t mind what you call me. You can still call me Getō-san if you’d like, or Suguru works too. Whatever you’d like. I have a feeling we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other, Yūji-chan.”

“Ooh, or you could call him Suguru-chan!” Satoru’s hand drops from Yūji’s head so both his hands can fall onto the kid’s shoulders with a teasing grin shot at his best friend. “Or! Or Sugu-nii! I like that, Yūji-chan, call him Sugu-nii!”

It might be pushing it a little, Satoru realized belatedly, but Yūji doesn’t tense up quite as much as Satoru expected the second the words left his mouth without a thought. He’s not exactly relaxed, but he’s not taut with tension either. Baby steps.

Yūji looks up at him, scans him in a way only someone who knows he’s not entirely seventeen will be able to do before his gaze flicks back to Suguru shyly, “uhm... is Suguru-chan okay?”

“That’s fine,” Suguru cuts in before a pouting Satoru can. “Like I said, whatever you’d like. Not what Satoru would like. His opinion doesn’t matter. Your brother is just being annoying, which I’m sure you’re used to at this point.”

And Yūji— Yūji actually giggles at that! Then he nods in agreement!

Satoru has never felt so betrayed by a student.

“Hey!” Satoru pouts, pulling Yūji back against him, “you’re tainting him! My sweet, kind little Yūji! I didn’t bring him here so you guys could turn him against his amazing older brother!”

“And on that note,” Shoko squints curiously at Satoru, “why did you bring him here? You know most people bring their kid siblings to the playground or park; not somewhere like Jujutsu Tech. Is he even allowed to be here?”

“I can bring him wherever I want,” Satoru puffs his chest out, “who’s gonna stop me? Besides, what does it matter— we've all got nowhere to be today, and neither does he. Figured he could hang out with us instead of by himself. Sue me; I wanna spend time with him. I’ll take him and go if it’s a problem.”

“No problem,” Suguru insists, hands raising in a placating gesture, playing mediator as always when it comes to Satoru interacting with others, “cool the defensiveness, Satoru. It was a simple question. We obviously don’t mind, but that doesn’t mean Yaga or someone else won’t. Don’t get yourself into trouble having him here.”

“Like I care what Yaga thinks,” Satoru scoffs, “he can cry about it. Yūji’s gonna be around here a lot if I have anything to say about it, and if he’s got something to say about that, he can say it to me.”

Satoru feels Yūji’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t dare look down to meet the boy’s eyes.

“That’s definitely not gonna end well,” Shoko snickers in amusement. “Yaga really does have his hands full with you. Y’know, your beef with authority is going to get you in trouble one of these days, Satoru.”

“Nah,” Satoru sniffs indifferently, “if authority was smart, they’d stay on my good side. They’re no trouble for me, but I can be trouble for them if I wanted. Those geezers need me more than I need them, and they’d be morons to not realize that.”

“Sounds like your superiority complex is talking again,” Suguru teases drily.

“No, it’s definitely my God complex doing the talking, Sugu-chan,” Satoru fires back with a curl of his lips. Suguru lets out a snort of amused exasperation.

“Well,” Haibara clears his throat, always a diffuser, “whichever of Gojō-senpai's complexes is talking, I’m sure it’s deserved! I mean, I’d do the same thing for my sister, so I understand. I respect older siblings looking out for their little siblings. That’s our job.”

“Respectable,” Nanami agrees disapprovingly, “but callous too. Senpai should watch what he says.”

“Let’s just focus on respectable then,” Satoru grins sharply. “Oh-ho, did I just get a compliment for Nanamin? Has the day finally come? Respecting your amazing, strong senpai? I can’t believe it! Someone get the camera! This needs to be documented! Nanamin respects me!”

“Please reconsider the callous comment, Senpai.”

“Too late!” Satoru boasts, stepping away from Yūji for a second to throw himself on Nanami, arm locking around his neck as he presses his cheek against his disgruntled kōhai’s. “Nanamin called me respectable!”

The blonde sighs in defeat, prompting a hearty laugh from Haibara who pats sympathetically at Nanami’s shoulder. Satoru takes mercy on his underclassmen, pulling away with a half smile.

“So, Satoru,” Suguru reins in the conversation easily, “now that you’ve brought Yūji, what exactly did you have in mind to entertain him? I hope you don’t expect him to just sit here with a group of teenagers he barely knows. We were still working on close combat but that’s...”

“Yeah, I know, I know, that’s advanced for him right now. Don’t badger me.” Satoru sticks his tongue out at Suguru. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of... well—” Satoru smiles widely, gesturing to Suguru promptingly.

For a second, Suguru just stares before his expression presses in a deadpan. “No.”

“C’mon!” Satoru pleads, “I promised him! And he can see them now! Su-gu-ru! Pleeease!! He was so excited when I mentioned it! Don’t break his little heart...”

Yūji looks between the two with a furrowed brow.

“You’re the idiot who promised him,” Suguru scoffs, glaring daggers at Satoru. “You’re the one breaking his heart, not me. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Su-gu-ru!” Satoru whines, scooping Yūji up into his arms and pinching his cheek with the hand not holding him up. Yūji’s cheeks get squished between Satoru’s thumb and index finger, head being angled in Suguru’s direction. “Are you really gonna say no to this face? Look into his eyes and say no. Tell him no. Do it. Break his little heart. Shatter a baby’s, my baby brother’s, hopes and dreams, you cruel bastard.”

Suguru’s eyes flick to Yūji’s little pinched face before he looks away sharply with a deep, defeated sigh. The dark-haired boy brings a hand up to drag down his face. “Fine,” his arms fall over his chest, crossing in halfhearted annoyance, “fine. You’re awful, Satoru. I don’t know why I even like you. Ugh. Which one?”

Satoru perks up, “you know which one.”

Suguru stares Satoru down for a long second, Satoru’s challenging glare matching his own promptingly before Suguru sighs one last time in defeat.

The younger teen shakes his head, planting his feet as he braces himself.

“Oho boy,” Shoko sighs, “I know where this is going. You’d better hope Yaga doesn’t see you exploiting your technique like this for Satoru’s enjoyment again.”

Satoru flips her off with the hand wrapped around Yūji, his middle finger pressing lightly against the child’s side. Yūji doesn’t seem to notice as he turns to look at her, eyebrow cocking faintly.

As he moves to look at her, Suguru brings a hand up to his chest before swiping his hand back as if pulling something from the depth of his body.

Yūji whips back to face Suguru again before he can turn fully to Shoko, little arms tightening around Satoru’s neck as Rainbow Dragon bursts from Suguru’s chest and fires past them at bullet speed, expertly dodging tree trunks as it disappears into the sea of trees for a second.

In the distance, the beast shoots up into the sky, the majestic beauty of it on full display as it glides closer, overhead. Satoru bounces faintly in place in excitement as Yūji stares up into the sky in awe.

He can hear Yū gushing excitedly about the curse he rarely gets to see and out of the corner of his eye, Satoru sees both Shoko and Nanami looking up at the creature as well. Both look impressed.

Rainbow Dragon is impressive.

“Th-that’s a dragon!” Yūji squeaks.

“Keen eye!” Satoru can’t help but laugh, poking Yūji’s cheek, “I told you he had a dragon. What, didn’t believe me? That’s Rainbow Dragon! Isn’t it cool? Personally, it’s my favorite of Suguru’s collection!”

Yūji turns to Suguru now without an ounce of fear, eyes wide and sparkling with sheer fascination behind the cursed glasses, “you have a dragon!”

Suguru give a fond laugh, “I do.”

Yūji whips back to face Satoru again, “he has a dragon!”

Satoru snorts a laugh too as he and Suguru make eye contact, “he does.”

“I’ve never seen a dragon,” Yūji whispers in awe. “That’s so cool! This is so cool! Nii-chan, he has a dragon! It’s so pretty! It’s so fast! Wow! I didn’t know curses could even look like that!”

“Most people haven’t seen a dragon,” Satoru snickers, “know what else most people haven’t done...?”

Satoru shoots Suguru a manic grin, unsurprised to find the dark-haired teen already watching them from afar. Suguru squints at Satoru’s expression before his eyes narrow dangerously, “Satoru, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t you dare—”

Satoru dares. Of course he dares.

He warps them up into the sky above the group, free falling with Yūji in his arms.

The kid is holding on for dear life, but despite the fall, he’s not screaming or overly terrified. Satoru thinks he might have teeny-tiny nail marks on his shoulder after this though.

It’s not the first time Yūji’s gone airborne with Satoru around, and it honestly won’t be the last, he’s sure. Besides, Satoru does have them blanketed with Infinity, and worst comes to worse he’ll teleport them back to the ground safely, but that’s not the case.

It’ll never be the case with Suguru.

Rainbow Dragon shoots under them, perfectly timed to catch them midair, and Satoru lands gracefully on the beast’s forehead, sinking down to a cross-legged position for stability as the creature zooms onward without a care.

It’s a familiar position. One he falls into every chance he gets.

It’s just so thrilling to ride Rainbow Dragon.

There’s so little in his life that’s as exhilarating as riding a cursed spirit dragon. It had been Satoru’s absolute favorite thing from the second the cursed spirit hadn’t shaken him off that first time; whether that be the Spirit Manipulator’s doing, or the dragon itself not bothering.

He liked to think the dragon liked him as much as he liked it, but it was definitely unlikely.

Neither of them had admitted it, both too proud back when it had been exorcised by Toji, back before Suguru had defected, but they’d both mourned the loss of the amazing spirit. Suguru probably more so than Satoru, but they’d both taken an understandable liking to the creature.

He settles Yūji in his lap now, one arm wrapping around his little waist while his he places his other hand on the hard skin on the creature’s head, fingers weaving faintly through snowy white mane for security.

Yūji stares in awe down at the dragon’s head, its yellow eyes and long snout as if he can’t believe what’s happening. It’s cute; the genuine awe in his expression. Satoru leans close to the kid to be heard over the wind whipping past them, “they haven’t ridden a dragon either.”

Yūji’s head cranes back to look at Satoru, eyes wide and trusting before he faces forwards again, little hands grabbing fistfuls of Satoru’s school pants for stability. It’s honestly a lot of trust.

Satoru drops Infinity so the wind can catch in their hair, brushing against their features as Rainbow Dragon makes a sharp turn and nosedives suddenly.

The wind whips against their faces, almost biting, but not overwhelming.

Yūji squeaks but doesn’t look fearful. That’s excitement in his eyes. Adrenaline.

Satoru hasn’t seen a smile like this from Yūji since he’d found him eleven years in the past.

Rainbow Dragon pulls up the moment before it collides with the ground, firing off past the group of teenagers as it hangs low to the ground. Satoru just faintly sees Suguru shaking his head in exasperation as they pass, but then again, he was obviously giving Yūji one hell of a dragon ride. Softie.

Rainbow Dragon expertly shoots into the greenery of the forest again, weaving easily between trees. Yūji laughs brightly, child-like, leaning back against Satoru as he flairs Infinity up to avoid them both being smacked in the face by a low hanging tree branch. Rainbow Dragon ploughs right through it.

The dragon ride continues for another couple of moments before Rainbow Dragon slows to a stop by the group before disappearing entirely from under him. Thank the lord for Infinity, which breaks his, what would’ve been rough, landing. Satoru has to stumble forwards to keep himself upright.

He barely manages to get his feet under him, stumbling to maintain his grip on Yūji.

“Sheesh, Suguru,” Satoru scoffs, holding Yūji up by an arm around his waist as he brushes imaginary dirt off his shirt with his other hand indifferently, “crash landing, much? We could’ve gotten hurt. Think of the children.”

“Says the guy that just deliberately dropped himself and his little brother from the middle of the sky, trusting a cursed spirit to catch him,” Suguru snaps back, shoulders squaring up disapprovingly. “You’re reckless as ever, Satoru. Wow.”

“That was a little scary,” Haibara laughs awkwardly, only smiling when he sees the joy on Yūji’s face, “just seeing you guys fall like that. Good thing Getō-senpai is so good at manipulating his curses! That was a good catch, Senpai!”

Suguru huffs, glare not leaving Satoru’s grinning face.

“It was careless,” Nanami adds drily, “I’m going to constantly question your brother’s safety when he’s around you, Gojō-senpai. Perhaps you need adult supervision too.”

Satoru sticks his tongue out at Nanami.

“Nuh-uh,” Satoru corrects Suguru cheekily as he lowers Yūji back to the ground. He flaps a dismissive hand at the group. “You guys need to chill, you’ve got it all wrong! I was trusting my best friend to catch us with his super cool cursed spirit, not the curse itself. Completely different. And look at that; he did! Do I know my friends, or what?”

Satoru doesn’t bat an eyelash as the group groans in disagreement.

Then, teasingly, Satoru glances down at Yūji, hair wayward and cheeks flushed with waning adrenaline, “now, go on, Yūji-kun, thank Sugu-chan for the fun ride. He’s never that nice to me, so it was all for you. He probably would’ve let me fall if you weren’t there too.”

“And if I did,” Suguru sneers back, “you would’ve deserved it.”

“Gojō uses his new brother as a negotiation chip like a terrorist to get what he wants,” Shoko snickers, cigarette pinched between her lips, but not lit. “The hands the entirety of Jujutsu society is counting on throwing children out of the sky.”

“It doesn’t count as throwing him if I fell too,” Satoru defends with a crooked smile. “I knew Suguru would catch us! And Infinity, duh. No harm done. He’s fine, look at that dopey smile. Kid had a blast. You’re all just mad you didn’t get a dragon ride.”

Satoru looks down, a pulse of unease shooting through his chest when he realizes Yūji is not by his side. A subtle, frantic glance around over the edge of his glasses finds the kid easily enough.

Yūji had inched closer to Suguru as they’d been talking.

Satoru is the first to notice, mildly surprised to see Yūji approaching on his own freewill.

He looks to be psyching himself up as he hesitates just at Suguru’s side.

No one else seems to notice.

A little hand taps at Suguru’s leg, cautiously, and the other teen tenses in surprise before relaxing as he looks down at Yūji. Suguru crouches down to his level without a thought, offering a gentle smile, “yes?”

“Thank you!” Yūji bows, arms straight at his sides.

Suguru looks a bit dumbfounded as his eyes flick to Satoru, who shrugs, before focusing back on Yūji.

After a second, Yūji straightens up, hands planting on Suguru’s knees as he leans closer in excitement. Suguru looks as surprised as Satoru feels.

Maybe excitement is one of those emotions that brings out the four-year-old in Yūji too. It’s always a treat to see the mannerisms of a young child surface above the trauma and mental barrier of his fifteen-year-old psyche.

Satoru’s always relieved to see it. He should keep note of all these findings.

“That was so cool, Suguru-chan!” Yūji chirps, “it was like a rollercoaster! But better! I didn’t know curses could be not scary like that! Onii-chan said your cursed technique was cool, but that was so different from— s-so much better! Thank you so much! You’re really good! It was so fun!”

Suguru’s eyes widen a fraction as genuine smile curls onto his lips.

Suguru’s gaze is fond as he regards a still beaming Yūji, hand lifting slowly, choreographing his movements, before setting a gentle hand on Yūji’s head.

The boy doesn’t bow away like Satoru expected.

“I’m glad you had fun, Yūji-kun,” Suguru says genuinely.

Satoru’s heart flutters in his chest.

He shoves down the weird feeling, perking up as he marches towards the two to lean all of his weight on Suguru’s crouched form, arms crossing over Suguru’s shoulders. He manages to faintly ruffle Yūji’s hair when Suguru pitches forwards a bit before recovering his balance.

The other teen wheezes at the pressure, but Satoru doesn’t move, just leans closer to Suguru’s ear, “does that mean we can do it again, Suguru-chan? Pwetty pwease?”

“No. And get off me. You’ve lost dragon privileges for flinging yourself, and a child, into the sky and freefalling like that. It was completely unnecessary and terrifying. Grow up, asshole.” Suguru rams his head up against Satoru’s chin, “if you don’t move now, I’ll bring out the Kappa you love oh-so much. Seriously, my leg is cramping. Satoru, get off.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

He dares. Of course, Suguru dares.

A few more days pass by; Satoru keeps close track of the dates, ready and waiting for the day Yaga will announce that he and Suguru have been personally selected by Tengen themself to protect the Star Plasma Vessel.

It’s getting closer.

Satoru doesn’t remember the exact day it had fallen on; he hadn’t cared much for keeping track of things and left all that up to Suguru when they were paired. Dates and times were often irrelevant and easily forgotten after the fact. So long as he got done what needed to be done, what was the point of keeping up with it?

It all just blurred together— a lot of his high school career had, especially after Suguru defected.

He doesn’t know exact dates, but he knows it’s getting closer each day.

Anxiety tightens in his chest in a way it never has before.

It’s mid-morning when Satoru’s phone rings.

Classes had been cancelled for the day considering Shoko was busy in the morgue with her mentor, and Suguru was accompanying Nanami on a mission. Haibara was recovering from his latest mission, just a little bruised and scratched up, he claimed with a tired smile.

Yaga had told Satoru not to bother coming to class, which was fair.

No point teaching just one student, especially if that student is Gojō Satoru.

Good for Yaga knowing a lost cause when he sees one.

He’s popping a piece of caramel popcorn that Haibara had brought back from his mission yesterday into his mouth when he feels the vibrating of an incoming call. Satoru hums to himself as he chews, fishing it out of his pocket and flipping it open expertly.

He’s expecting to see Suguru’s name, or even Shoko or Haibara, maybe even Nanami, who calls very, very rarely. He’s even expecting to see Yaga’s name, for whatever reason.

The only name he’s not expecting to see is the one flashing on his screen.

Incoming Call: Yūji-kun!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Satoru hesitates as he swallows the partially chewed popcorn. He stares down at his phone, hand tightening on it faintly. Yūji doesn’t call. Not once had Yūji phoned him. Yūji texts, like clockwork, like the Gen Z he is, in the evening. Sometimes through the day. He doesn’t call.

Satoru’s thumb hovers over the answer button, blinking slowly as he finally accepts the call and lifts the device to his ear, “Yūji? What’s up?”

“Who the hell are you, and how the hell do you know my grandson?”

Oh fuck.

Chapter Text

“Who the hell are you, and how the hell do you know my grandson?”

Oh fuck.

“Ah,” Satoru bites hard at his bottom lip as he winces, “Itadori-san—”

“I don’t know who you think you are,” the man cuts him off gruffly, a defensive snap in his tone, “but you keep the hell away from him unless you want the cops involved. I’m fucking serious. Don’t contact him. Don’t speak to him. Don’t buy him gifts. This phone is getting disconnected. Stay the hell away. This is all the warning you’re getting. Sick bastard.”

Satoru’s heart is pounding in his chest as the words register, as the malice in the old man’s tone trickles into his senses. Before he can so much as breathe, the call disconnect tone is ringing loudly in his ear. The dull tone rips right through his head, pain trailing in its wake.

The call had been ended.

Yūji’s grandfather had hung up on him.

Fuck.

“Shit,” Satoru hisses to himself, pulling his phone away from his ear to stare at it in shock.

Shit, shit, shit.

In hindsight, maybe he should’ve given Itadori Wasuke more of a thought when he’d been ironing out the details. The Yūji that Satoru knows may very well be fifteen, but he is, technically, just a child in this timeline. Thoughts of a teenager, but not much else.

He’s a child with a guardian that Satoru hadn’t... familiarized himself with.

And that’s... well, that doesn’t look great on Satoru.

He’d been an idiot and gotten himself distracted with his friends being okay with Yūji, Yūji himself being okay and trying to get everything on the right track to not become the shitshow this world is destined to end up in. Yūji’s grandfather being alive still had sorta slipped his mind— the depth of what that really meant for them, not the fact in and of itself.

He’s going to take Yūji away— that's the only thing Satoru can process.

The only thought ringing around in his head as his knees threaten to buckle under him. His hands slap down on the counter to stabilize himself, the plastic of his phone smacking loudly, but he can’t be bothered to care.

Itadori Wasuke is going to take his student away from him, the man was going to sever the only tie he has left; the only thing he has left of that timeline, of that place that had been doomed to failure.

Yūji is all he has left.

That last shred of life from a timeline that’s gone, of the people they’d both lost to that war. Friends, family, everyone. The last remaining person of everyone Satoru had known and loved, the lone survivor who’d ended up here with him.

The reminder of what needed to change, and who he was changing things for.

Yūji is all he has left.

And Satoru is all Yūji has left too.

They are the only ones left who understand the other. They’re the only two who’d come from that hell of a future. Yūji’s grandfather could never understand him. Not anymore. Not like Satoru does. No one will ever be able to understand Yūji like he does, no one will ever understand him like Yūji does.

He can’t lose that.

He can’t let Yūji go.

Satoru finds himself standing outside the Itadori house before he even realizes he’d warped himself.

His phone is still clutched in his hand, grip tight enough that he has a halfhearted thought that he might split the plastic. He’s not even sure he’s actually ended the call on his end. Satoru moves on numb feet to the door, not even taking a second to consider before he’s pounding a fist against the door with urgency.

He hears loud footsteps from inside but can’t seem to force himself to stop with the assault on the door. His heart is in his throat, and there’s an unfamiliar wave of something making his stomach flip-flop.

He needs to clear this up.

By whatever means necessary because he refuses to lose Yūji. He refuses to let that kid’s only connection to the Sorcery world, and curses, and even the future of destruction they’d left behind be severed because he’d screwed up and gone too fast without keeping the right people involved.

It wasn’t fair to Yūji.

The door swings open, and Satoru stares down at the short man.

Despite his small stature, the man radiates power and authority. If any of the higher ups ever stared him down like this, they might’ve actually stood a chance at subduing him. They’re obedient weaklings though; too afraid of him to do much else than lecture him.

Satoru takes a respectful step backwards as the small man narrows his eyes on him sharply, scanning him up and down with a scowl.

He’d never actually met Itadori Wasuke in their timeline.

He’d passed away before Satoru could meet him, before Yūji had even eaten Sukuna’s finger. Satoru remembers joining Yūji when he'd been paying his respects to the man who’d raised him from early childhood, but that was about the extent he knew of the old man.

“Itadori-san,” Satoru bows lightly, more on instinct than anything else.

If he’s going to change this guy’s mind about him, he’s going to have to be on his best behavior. Growing up in an esteemed clan had beaten manners into him; if he can put on a show for the geezer higherups, he can put on a show for Yūji’s grandfather.

“We haven’t met before, my name if Gojō Satoru and I’m—”

“It’s you,” the man spits, scanning Satoru up and down sharply. Recognition lights up in his gaze, followed by contempt, “you’re the one stalking my grandson. I saw you walking with my grandson, I should’ve known. You’re younger than I thought. I don’t know what you’re planning to do here, but it ends right now. Stay the fuck away from him.”

The old man sneers over his nose.

“I just hung up on you a second ago and you’re already busting my damn door down,” Itadori-san snarls, stepping forwards, way more intimidating than anyone so much shorter than Satoru should be. “Are you stalking my house now too, creep? I don’t care how young you are; leave my grandson alone, or I’ll call the cops. Keep your hands off him, whatever you’re trying to do to him. Now, you’d better get the hell off my property—”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding!” Satoru interjects loudly, wincing at the tone of panic in his own voice. If the man notices, he doesn’t mention it, one eyebrow simply arching challengingly. “Please, Itadori-san, it’s... it’s really not what you think! I’d never do anything like that.”

“I’ll call the cops if you don’t—”

“Wait! Please, just... haven’t you noticed anything different about your grandson?” Satoru blurts, one last desperate effort. He’d been serious about doing anything to keep his contact with Yūji, even telling the man the truth. “You must’ve, right? He’s been different. I know you’re seen it. I know you’re worried— I would be too. Ever since that fever he had. It was bad, right? Dangerously high, took him out for a couple days, right?”

“How long have you been—”

“Yūji came to find me, you know,” Satoru says quickly, desperately. “He came to find me, at my school. In Tokyo, where I'm assuming he’s never been before. He put himself on the bullet train, and he walked up endless steps to find me at a disguised Buddhist temple of a school in the outskirts of Tokyo. You wouldn’t know it. He shouldn’t have known it existed. But he did, and he found me there.”

Satoru sucks in a slow breath, “he’s been different. You’ve seen it too; you can’t argue that. Please, I know what this looks like, really, I do, but I have no intention of hurting him. I have no intention of hurting him, but that goes the same for leaving him. I promised him. I have answers for you. Please, just... let me explain.”

He’s never pleaded for anything like this in his life.

Gojō Satoru doesn’t plead, never has, but right now, he’d get on his knees and beg for this man to listen to him if it meant he wouldn’t take Yūji away.

He’d failed Yūji enough, he refuses to let it happen again.

Especially now, when Satoru is the only one there to advocate for him.

Itadori-san stares for a long moment, jaw set with clenched teeth, and arms crossed tightly over his chest as he scans Satoru up and down as if gauging his worth.

It isn’t easy to make Satoru feel uneasy, but this man certainly managed.

Maybe he’s not used to people looking at him like this, or for people to not know how utterly beat they are in his presence— maybe it’s because this man is looking at him like he’s just a nuisance teenager and not the Honored One.

Or maybe it’s the prospect of never seeing Yūji again.

A threat looming over his head that, should this go wrong, he won’t know how to bypass. Itadori Wasuke holds all the cards in his hands. For one of the first times in his life, Satoru feels powerless in a situation.

Finally, the old man pushes the door open a bit wider and gives a tense ‘come in’ gesture, “get in here then. Don’t stand at my door like a creep; the neighbors'll talk more than they already do. You’d better actually have answers. Fuck around and I’m having you arrested.”

“Fair enough,” Satoru bows his head.

Satoru slips into the house cautiously, Six-Eyes aware of the old man even when he keeps his attention on anything but Yūji’s grandfather.

He hears the door click shut and waits for the man to lead him into his home.

He hadn’t actually seen a lot of Yūji’s childhood home, just the living room, where he hadn’t even really looked around. He’s certainly not going to explore with Yūji’s grandfather look at him like he’s going to turn around and stab him in the chest.

Satoru can practically see the skepticism coming off the man in waves.

“Your generation going shoeless now?” comes that gruff voice as he turns to dig around in a closet in the genkan. The man clicks his tongue, unimpressed, “hooligans.”

Satoru blinks owlishly, eyes flicking down to his own feet in surprise.

He’s barefoot. Not surprising.

He had just been in the dorms a moment ago, shoes weren’t on his mind. Plus, there’s a layer of Infinity under his feet anyways, so he hadn’t even noticed. No risk of hurting his feet, though it does probably make him look even more insane than he already feels in Itadori Wasuke’s presence.

“Wear these.”

A pair of house slippers are dropped on the ground in front of Satoru, a little small, he can tell, but he politely squeezes his feet in anyways. The fabric is surprisingly giving, stretching over his large feet. His heels faintly hang over the edge of the sole.

The old man nods to himself before glaring up at Satoru’s face, “and take those Goddamned glasses off in my home. I can’t see your eyes. If you’re in my home, I want respect.”

“Right,” Satoru bites back a grimace, lifting a hand to gently tug his glasses off his face. The sensory overload is immediate as unrestricted feedback surges through his brain, but it’s not the end of the world. At least the lighting in the Itadori home is soft. He’ll just have to deal with a migraine later. “Apologies, Itadori-san, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

For a long second, the man simply studies Satoru’s now visible eyes.

The man squints, nose wrinkling as he looks, as if disbelieving his eyes are natural, before turning away without a word. He walks further into his home, and all Satoru can do is follow after him after hooking his sunglasses in his shirt.

Satoru has never felt more scolded than when he’s gestured to sit at a kotatsu table that’s already pleasantly warm. His hands drop awkwardly to his lap as he crosses his legs in the warmth under the table. For one of the first times in his life, he doesn’t know what to do. How to act.

He has such a slim margin for error here, and he can’t fuck it up.

Not if losing Yūji is the outcome.

Across from him, Itadori-san kneels under the table as well. A second later, a phone is set on the table. He knows exactly what he’s looking at by the little tiger charm on it. Satoru doesn’t take his eyes off the man, only glancing down at the phone out of the corner of his eye.

“Did you get my grandson this?”

“I did,” Satoru admits.

There’s no point in lying. He has a sneaking suspicion that he would just be digging his own grave at this point. He needs to trek carefully around Itadori Wasuke.

“I wanted to be able to keep in contact,” he says calmly, head bowing as his fingers tighten on his ankles where he’d set his hands, “I swear, that’s all. I bought it new and gave it to him. He picked out the charm himself. Cute, isn’t it? The only numbers in it are my own, and two of my classmates, but he only talks to me. It’s his to do as he pleases with, I didn’t force it onto him.”

“My grandson is four,” the man snaps, “he doesn’t need a cellphone.”

Satoru clears his throat, “I’m going to have to disagree with you, Itadori-san.”

The old man’s glare hardens sharply. “What?”

“Both your grandson and I are more comfortable with him having that phone,” Satoru gestures to the device on the edge of the table with his chin, “I’m sure you would’ve looked through the messages between us. There’s nothing incriminating. It’s unorthodox, sure, but I haven’t done anything bad. And I never will. I know what you think I am, but I’d never hurt Yūji. He contacts me first, and I answer. He likes being able to reach out to me, and I like knowing I can reach him if need be.”

The man’s jaw tightens in annoyance, “why are you so concerned about a child you don’t know?”

“Who said I didn’t know him?” Satoru cocks his head, “I do. Better than you can imagine, actually. And that’s why I’m concerned. You know, I made a promise to protect that kid, and I plan to keep it. He’s my responsibility, and I take that seriously.”

“He’s not your responsibility. You don’t know him.”

“Agree to disagree again, Sir.”

Itadori-san's fist slams down on the tabletop, teeth clenched.

“This isn’t a game,” the man sneers darkly, “I am the one responsible for my grandson. You're a stranger. You’re a creep talking to him, contacting him. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you’d better stay the hell away from him—”

“But you're worried about him,” Satoru cuts Itadori-san off, an indifference in his tone despite his heart pounding against his ribcage at the nasty look shot in his direction. “You wouldn’t have invited me in if that wasn’t the case. You don’t understand this, right? He’s different, you must’ve noticed? Unless you haven’t noticed anything, which would be baffling. You are his grandfather after all, and he’s not as subtle as he thinks he is.”

“You have some nerve,” the old man snarls, “you think I haven’t noticed anything? You think I wouldn’t notice my grandson developing scars under his eyes from a fever that was high enough to kill him? How impossible such a thing is? Scars from a fever? That he woke up from that fever with haunted eyes— that look in his eyes that I’ve only seen in men who’d seen and survived war?

“How he’s losing sleep, suddenly so skittish about everything. Always looking over his shoulder like something’s looming? Those glasses he now wears, that he’s so protective of, so unwilling to part with, despite his perfect vision? How he’s been disappearing for hours, neighbors seeing him walking around with a stranger. I’ve noticed things. You have no right to accuse me of not—”

“I didn't mean to offend,” Satoru raises his hands in surrender.

Well, he hadn’t meant to offend much.

His own patience is running thin, he hadn’t anticipated Itadori Wasuke to be so standoffish.

Makes him wonder what the old man had really thought his relationship with Yūji was. Nothing good, obviously. And he can admit it didn’t look great from a guardian standpoint, but that doesn’t change the fact there’s nothing nefarious about it. He supposes it makes sense if Yūji is their topic of conversation.

A protective grandfather trying to keep his only grandchild safe.

When Yūji talked about his grandfather, it was mostly good things.

Satoru’s trying to see the man Yūji talked so highly of, but he just sees a skeptical, untrusting man.

The old man squints at Satoru, forcing eye contact in a way most don’t when pinned against Satoru’s Six-Eyes. People have often complained that his eyes are unnerving, but Yūji’s grandfather doesn’t seem bothered in the least. Are they... having a standoff?

Satoru sits back a little, studying the man too.

“You’re not as unaware as I thought,” Satoru speaks quietly.

The man bristles as if offended, but it hadn’t been Satoru’s intention that time.

It had been just simple verbal thought.

“You seem like a reasonable man,” Satoru continues, trying to ignore the darkness in the man’s eyes. A fierce protectiveness that’s a little unnerving to be on the receiving end of, “just let me explain.”

Satoru gets a sharp nod after a second of nerve-wracking silence.

“Perfect. Thank you. Now, we’re fighting for the same thing here,” Satoru finally says, voice calm, “you want to protect Yūji, and I do as well. I honestly have no ill intentions when it comes to him, as hard to believe as that may be. I’m the strongest, you don’t know that yet, but it’s true. I might be a stranger to you, but I’m not a stranger to him. Your grandson is a person very important to me, and I like to think I'm important to him too.”

“Will he vouch for that?” the old man asks slowly after a second. He doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, but it’s the most composed Satoru’s seen yet.

The murderous glaze to his eyes has softened faintly too.

A work in progress.

Satoru lets out a light laugh as he rubs the back of his neck, “well, I sure hope so. He looks up to me, I know as much, and I know he trusts me too. I might not always deserve it, but you raised a great kid. Loyal.”

“Raised?” the man arches an eyebrow, “I’m raising a great kid. Currently. The boy is four years old.”

“Ah,” Satoru hums thoughtfully, “yes, I suppose that’s right at this point. Well, either way, Yūji’ll be a great kid. Selfless, kind, genuine. Maybe even a bit too much, if you ask me. But it makes him good at what he does.”

There’s a beat of silence between them.

He knows the old man is watching him, but Satoru refuses to look over and meet his eyes.

Refuses to acknowledge it.

“And what does my grandson do?”

“Nothing yet,” Satoru shrugs. “But in the future?”

Satoru manages to force his gaze back onto the man, icy-blue meeting green, “in the future he’ll do something a little foolish, which I genuinely think is quite commendable, honestly, and he’ll throw himself into a world he really has no business being a part of. You see, Itadori-san, you and I come from very different worlds.”

Satoru still doesn’t look away, hands crossed on the tabletop now, “and Yūji, though coming from your world, is going to throw himself headfirst into my world. It’s really not his fault, unforeseen circumstances that are partially my fault, I suppose, maybe, but he’s going to do something reckless for the sake of other’s safety. It’s admirable, but he’s going to have to live with the consequences of his actions.”

“The future,” the old man repeats, glare sharpening as he regards Satoru like he’s grown a second head. Satoru knows then that he’s losing him. Itadori-san plants his hands on the edge of the table, moving to push himself up, “You’re insane. I think it’s time for you to go—”

“You can think whatever you want about me,” Satoru clicks his tongue, making no move to rise, “it makes no difference to me. Believe what you want, Itadori-san, it won’t change anything. You said it yourself; the boy has the eyes of a veteran who’s survived war. Well, guess what? He’s survived war. A brutal war. A war we couldn’t win. People died. His friends died.”

A pause, neither speak for a long second before Satoru continues, “you wanted answers, well, there’s your answer. You can believe it or not, but that won’t change the truth. Nothing can change the truth, whether you accept that or not. All you’ll end up doing is hurting your grandson.”

The old man hesitates before he slowly sinks back down. “Yūji is four.”

“Respectfully,” Satoru holds eyes contact, “Yūji is physically four. But mentally? He’s fifteen. He’s grown. He’s seen things you can’t even imagine. You have to have noticed the changes. How he acts. How he thinks. The level of maturity that no child should ever have to have.”

“So you’re trying to tell me that my boy is from the future.” The man drawls mockingly. “He’s from the future, where he’s fighting a war? You really think I’ll believe that load of bullshit? Time travel? A four-year-old? Just call me a unicorn then. And you? You a wizard then? What kind of drugs are you on, boy? I want you out of my house. Now.”

Satoru wants to pull at his own hair, “he looks four, but does he act four anymore?”

The question hangs in the air for a second.

Satoru blows out a calming breath, “really think about it. If you can look me in the eye now and tell me you’re not worried about changes in your grandson, I’ll leave right now. I’ll go and neither of you will ever see me again. I’ll even promise you; but before that, just know that I am the only person in this world who understands your grandson. If you’re so sure, I’ll leave you to it.”

It’s a gamble.

Maybe it’s a risk he shouldn’t be taking, but what else can he do? He can’t force someone to believe him. He has no legal standing here, Itadori Wasuke is Yūji’s guardian, and he has all the say.

This man needs to come to a conclusion himself, whether that’s the right one, or the wrong one.

Satoru wonders how far Itadori-san is willing to go to pretend everything is normal when it’s quite obvious Yūji is struggling. Will his pride win, or his love for his grandson?

It’s obvious that the boy is not okay, and the man is so far out of his depth with it.

“I...” the old man squints before his gaze drops in defeat, “I can’t say that. Fuck.”

Satoru nods, “do you still want me to leave, or should we continue this conversation, Itadori-san?”

“...no, let’s talk.” The man sighs heavily, hand dragging through white hair. “I want to understand this for my grandson. This all sounds like hooey, but you seem so confident about spewing it. There has to be honesty in what you’re saying. Your eyes are creepy, but they’re not blown. You’re not intoxicated, just... weird. This all sounds like bullshit, but it also makes sense. And... I can’t ignore the changes in Yūji. First though, who are you to him? Who are you really?”

“I’m Yūji-kun's favorite sensei!”

The man grimaces, “you’re just a kid yourself.”

Satoru offers a patient smile, “you’re right. In eleven years, I’m going to be Yūji-kun's favorite sensei! He simply adores me, just like all my students! I’m a great teacher, your grandson is lucky to have me! He’s a special case, you know? Surprises even me, and I’m the strongest in our line of work.”

“Eleven years,” Itadori-san breathes out the words as he presses a thumb against his temple, “how old are you really? What is your line of work— how does my fifteen-year-old grandson end up in a war?”

“Twenty-eight!” Satoru grins now, “but physically, I’m seventeen. Still a student— in fact, I’m a student at the very school I’m going to teach at in the future, weird right?”

The man shoots him an unamused look.

Satoru shifts slightly, “and as for my line of work... it’s not going to make much sense to you.”

Satoru hesitates now, “in the simplest of terms, you could call us... exterminators. The world isn’t as peaceful as the average person believes. Not that humans are ever peaceful, but there’s more to it. Much more. There are things that the average person doesn’t see that have the potential to harm. Dangerous creatures. These creatures are called curses.

“Curses are created when cursed energy leaks from humans, who we classify as non-sorcerers, and they’re a result of harboring negative emotions. There’s a lot of curses out there, because there’s a lot of emotions.

“Cursed energy thus gathers in one spot, building up like sediment until a cursed spirit takes form. They’re something you can’t see or feel, but they exist. They’re everywhere, but they’re typically weak. Stronger curses exist as well, but there needs to be a lot of negative emotion for them to get stronger. Long story short: they’re very real, and very dangerous.”

Itadori-san nods slowly, like he’s trying to understand what’s being told.

It’s a lot to process, especially for someone who doesn’t believe anything like that could even exist. Normies were simple minded. Blissfully unaware and weak. But to be fair, it sounds like the things of nightmares; urban legends people use to scare their children and friends.

Honestly, he looks a little put off by the idea, but at least he’s giving it a chance. Satoru is very aware he could’ve been kicked from this house and Yūji’s life just as easily. He’d half expected it, honestly.

“More specifically to what we do,” Satoru hums thoughtfully, trying to think of how to piece everything together so an older normie will understand, “very few people are born with the gift of awareness to these curses, and even less with the ability to manipulate what we call cursed energy— typically using inherited cursed techniques or tools imbued with cursed energy. I am one of those gifted people; the most gifted of them all, really. These people are what’s known as Jujutsu Sorcerers. We have the power to see, touch and exorcise these cursed spirits.”

Satoru leans back on his hands, “our job is to protect the weak; those unaware of curses.”

The old man studies Satoru, stares him down hard enough that Satoru has to physically stop himself from shuttering, “and what do these curses do?”

“Well,” Satoru clicks his tongue, “you know all those unexplained deaths and disappearances that get reported? People going missing without a trace, or winding up dead and stumping the authorities on how it happened? Unsolved mysteries? That number exceeds ten thousand annually, which is shocking, isn’t it? Either the police are shit, or there’s more to it.”

“These curse things,” Itadori-san squints, “they're the cause then?”

“They are definitely the cause,” Satoru assures. “More often than not. That’s not to say humans don’t also do atrocious things. But, yeah, those statistics are a direct result of the influence that curses have on normal society. Entities that normal people can’t see or hear but have the ability to harm. Their existence has been kept secret from non-sorcerers, as they are invisible to them. No point in putting people on edge over something that might be there, you know?”

The old man blinks owlishly at him, and Satoru frowns.

Where had he lost the man?

Satoru clears his throat, “anyways, Jujutsu sorcerers act in secret to repel the threat of curses. So, you don’t really have to worry about it. We protect you. Sorcerers exorcise anything powerful enough to cause true harm.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” the old man finally asks. “If it’s a secret, why get us involved?”

Satoru considers that, bites lightly at the inside of his cheek before sighing, “because Yūji knows this world exists, and it would be pretty cruel of both of us to ignore that. I need you to understand that you can’t save Yūji from this. You can’t make this okay for him. He’s going to always look over his shoulder. He’s going to be scared. He’s going to feel a need to protect you from things you can’t even see. He’s never going to be the kid you tucked into bed before that fever. I’m sorry.”

Satoru watches the old man’s expressions. For a long second, there’s defiance, like the man is considering pushing back, and then it slowly bleeds away to a quiet, accepting sadness. “I see.”

“It it’s any consolation,” Satoru offers a tiny smile, “your grandson is going to make a fine sorcerer when he’s older. He protects the weak with a smile. He makes people feel safe. He’s strong and brave. I’ve never had a student quite like him.

“There’s a kindness in him that he’s obviously learned from those who raised him. He’s adored by his classmates and teachers. He’s going to make himself a place in our society, whether they like it or not. It’s unconventional in ways I won’t get into, but know I’ll be there every step of the way. He’s got the strongest in his corner with him.”

Itadori-san nods slowly, considering, “and where am I in all this? Do I just let him do this? Let him put himself in danger like this? Do I watch him sign himself up for war, barely a young man?”

“You died,” Satoru informs quietly.

There’s no point in beating around the bush.

Itadori Wasuke has proven himself to be a ‘no bullshit’ kind of man. Satoru respects it.

Satoru scans the man, head cocking to the side, “I never got the pleasure of meeting you in our timeline. You died just before Yūji came into his Sorcerer powers, right before I met him, I believe.”

“So I leave him all alone then,” the old man says in quiet anger, but for the first time, he doesn’t sound like he’s angry with Satoru. “He’s still just a kid, even at fifteen. I never wanted that for him.”

“I wouldn't go as far as to say that,” Satoru shakes his head, “Yūji is a charming kid. He’s never alone. He makes friends wherever he goes, and I, for one, am quite fond of the kid. I’m pretty hard to get rid of too. I wouldn’t be here right now if Yūji wasn’t someone I considered important. Y’know, you can’t expect yourself to live on forever, Itadori-san, and family... doesn’t have end with blood.”

Itadori-san's brow furrows thoughtfully, “he’ll really have people after I’m gone?”

“He’ll have me, always,” Satoru assures genuinely. “And there’ll be others. Maybe not yet, but the time will come that he’ll surround himself with a whole unit of people looking out for him too.”

The man looks skeptical again, as if Satoru is pulling this out of his ass to convince him.

Satoru bites back a smile as he rests his chin in his palm, elbow on the tabletop, “when you died, Itadori-san, I took Yūji on as a ward. He wasn’t the first, I have a knack for finding special people who need a bit of guidance. It was all special circumstances, honestly, but he proved himself to me. I’m hard to please, so props to him. I enrolled him in the school best suited for him, taught him to control what he had and he thrived. He’ll make friends he considers family, have upperclassmen who look at him like he’s a younger sibling, he’ll have teachers who’d die for him in a heartbeat.”

Satoru pauses, thinks of that dragon ride he and Yūji had taken, before he finally lets the smile settle on his lips, “even now, my friends adore the kid. My best friend would do anything for him, I’m sure of it. I’ve even got a hard-ass underclassman who’ll be putty in his hands in no time. These people know about curses, they can protect him. Yūji will always have people there for him.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I am sure.” Satoru laughs openly now, head thrown back, “I’ve seen it. I speak solely from experience. He’ll always have people who love him. It’s hard not to when he loves so fiercely.”

The old man sighs, rubbing at his forehead before dragging a hand back through white-grey hair, “I just want to keep him safe.”

“Sometimes the best way to do that is to realize that you can’t.”

The glare that’s shot in his direction is heated, but Satoru doesn’t back down. It’s a hard truth. One Satoru knows this man needs to hear.

If he’s going to sway Itadori-san at all, he’s going to have to be honest, as hurtful as it may be.

He keeps his shoulders squared, stares straight ahead until the old man makes eye contact. They stare for a long second, neither saying anything until the older man’s features soften, just faintly, in acceptance.

Only then does Satoru offer a tiny smile.

“You seem like the kind of man who wants the honest truth,” Satoru defends halfheartedly, “I respect that. This is the truth, as hard as it is. Sometimes to protect someone, you need to know when you’re not enough. This is no slight against you. It’s a matter of logic. You can’t protect your grandson from what you can’t see. You can't take him away from this because it’s a part of him. It’ll follow him. At the end of the day, Yūji is already a part of our world whether you like that or not. You won’t stand a chance against a high-grade curse. You’re a normal person. He’s not anymore.”

“Who’s going to protect him then?” Itadori-san snaps. “You?”

“I plan to,” Satoru says sharply. “I want to teach him early on so he has a fighting chance. I want to have him close so I can ensure nothing happens to him. I can keep him safe. Yūji’s cursed energy... it doesn’t come naturally. He may not have it now, but he has been marked. You need to understand that. I’m not saying this for sure, but Yūji very well could attract curses. Possibly at any point. He’s been marked by something powerful.”

“What are you getting at?” the man narrows his eyes dangerously.

Satoru clears his throat, “not now, but in the near future, I’d like to ask for you to consider allowing me to take Yūji in, to be his guardian. I can keep him safe, provide for him and keep up with him physically and mentally, not to mention teach him and protect him in ways you simply can’t. No offense.”

“What?” the old man deadpans.

“It’s not just Yūji,” Satoru assures with a tilt of his head, “in the upcoming months, I’ll come into possession of two other kids, a pair of siblings. And a bit further down the line, a third in an unfortunate situation. And a handful of students. Teacher, remember? I’d like to keep them all together. I want to protect them. I intend to protect them. I have the means to provide for them, your grandson will never want for anything in his life.

“He’ll be raised with others like him, and you’ll be able to see him as much as you’d like— I have a nifty fast travel ability that’ll get him here asap. All I’m asking is for you to consider letting me be Yūji’s guardian when the time comes. I’m not ready yet, but I will be. I can keep him safe. I can help him if something happens. I know how to protect him.”

A flat, tense glare, “you wanna take my grandson from me.”

“I want to protect your grandson with you,” Satoru corrects, angling his head to study the old man. “Like I said, say the word and you’ll see him. I know what I’m asking. I know how difficult this decision will be. We both have your grandson’s best interest at heart. I know you care for your grandson, and trust me, Yūji adores you too. You’ll always be his grandfather. But neither of you are safe as is.”

“How do I keep him safe then?” Itadori-san narrows his eyes.

“You can’t,” Satoru says firmly.

“Like hell I can’t—”

“This is a whole world you don’t understand, a whole world you can’t even see,” Satoru sighs, digging the heel of his palm into his eye. “You really don't understand the dangers. You can’t see that he’s scared of hurting you. You don’t know what I know. I can offer him protection, and that extends to you. He will want you safe too, even if that means safe from him.

“I’m sorry, but distance is the best option for that. Curses could be able to sense him, and if he’s here, you’re sitting ducks. You won’t be able to fight a curse, and Yūji will get hurt trying. Right now, you don’t know him eleven years from now, but I do. And he will fight for you, Itadori-san. He’ll feel the need to protect you, even in his current state. Trust me on that.”

The man physically deflates, hands planting on the floor behind him as he leans back. Maybe he already knows that about his kindhearted grandson. “I don’t want to lose my grandson. He’s all I have left. He’s all I have left of my son.”

“You’re not losing him,” Satoru offers a light smile. It’s cute, honestly, how much this man adores Yūji. “Most grandparents aren’t guardians to their grandchildren. A minor role doesn’t mean an inactive role. You raised him well, and he'll always have that, but it’s going to be different this time. He’s going to need more. He’s going to need safety you can’t offer.”

Satoru waits for the man to respond, but he doesn’t.

He simply stares down at the edge of the table, jaw clenched tightly.

Satoru continues anyways, “you said you were worried about him being alone; I’m not trying to take away his family, I'm trying to give him more people to rely on. More people who’ll love him. You’ve already raised your child; don’t you think you deserve to be just a grandfather now? Don’t you think Yūji deserves to have you and then some?”

Satoru can read the hesitance in the man’s expression, but it is slowly cracking away as Satou chisels.

He has a weakness.

And that weakness is Yūji.

That can be exploited.

In the nicest way possible, of course.

“You know, the thing about all this stuff,” Satoru starts slowly, making sure he has the man’s attention, “is that it’s very lonely when people don’t understand you. Sorcerer kids feel isolated no matter what. And that’s not on you. No matter how hard you try, you’ll never understand him like he needs. People who can’t see what we see will never understand. He’ll always feel different, no matter what you do.”

A pause, Satoru lets his words sink in.

Itadori-san is still watching him, brow furrowed and eyes sharp and unrelenting as they pick Satoru apart. Satoru tries not to let the feeling of unease wash over him, focusing on his own words instead.

“I can offer him familiarity and normalcy despite it all,” Satoru continues gently, “there are people who’ll understand him just waiting for him to find them. People who’re just like him. There are friends who’ll be going through exactly what he is. The boy I’m going to take in, he’s just like Yūji. They’re destined to be best friends, I think. Young sorcerers he can bond with, friends he can know even earlier, so he never feels alone. It doesn’t have to be you and Yūji versus the world, Itadori-san.”

Itadori-san doesn’t move for a moment, before he deflates a bit, “you can really protect him?”

“I’m the strongest,” Satoru assures with a cheeky grin. “I’m basically a God in our society. You can ask anyone. It won’t make sense to you, but no one like me’s been born for over four-hundred years. I’m preeetty special. There is literally no one in this world that Yūji will be safer with. You can even ask Yūji himself. I’m the best; he adores me!”

“You sound like a conceited prick,” Itadori-san grumbles, “but I like the confidence. If you’re so sure, I’ll consider your request. Not now. You’re a stranger. To me, you’re a creep who was contacting a child. And Yūji will be a part of this too. If he’s what you say he is, he gets a say in what he wants. If he doesn’t want to be a part of your... world, he won’t be. Understood?”

“Loud and clear,” Satoru nods. “But he will want to. If Yūji wanted to walk away, he wouldn’t have asked for the glasses. He might not go down the path he did the first time, but I know he has intentions of helping people. He’s kind. He’s going to want to save people he hasn’t even met yet. I know it.”

“You gave him those glasses?” the man squints. “I should’ve guessed. Everything strange about that kid now keeps pointing back to you. Yūji said he won them in a draw at school. I thought it was a weird prize for a preschooler, but he hasn’t taken them off since. I didn’t question it, what do I know about what kids like these days.”

“Yūji’s a fibber,” Satoru grins sharply, “they’re special glasses. Helps him see cursed spirits. And before you get mad at me, he asked for them. I’d never offer, or just give them to him. He asked, and I agreed he could benefit from them. They give him a sense of security. He’s been sleeping better since he got them, right? Knowing something exists and not being able to see it is an eerie feeling, I don’t blame him for wanting them.”

The old man hesitates, “that... makes sense. I don’t love the idea of you opening doors into your creepy world for him, but I’ll admit he has been sleeping better since he got them. I’ll let you off on that one.”

Satoru grins sheepishly.

“Now, explain this war to me,” the old man sniffs indifferently, arms lacing over his chest. “How do we stop it. That’s not a world I want my grandson to be a part of.”

“We can’t,” Satoru’s brow furrows. “I, however, already have a plan in the works. You don’t need to be worried about it. Seriously. I’ve got it handled. I know exactly what needs to change at this point so that awful future never sees the light of day, Itadori-san. I have eleven years to right wrongs, and it’s due to start soon.”

“You’re going to meddle then?”

Satoru schools his expression, gaze flicking to the serious faced man. He can’t tell if the man’s tone was accusing, or just curious. Itadori Wasuke is a hard man to read.

“Would it upset you if I said I was?” Satoru keeps a poker face, “what I do now has nothing to do with Yūji. He knows nothing, this fight starts way before he gets involved. Something will change soon, and I’m going to try my damndest to alter the outcome in our favor. I know I can fix this, Itadori-san, and I’m going to. The future your grandson and I come from will not reoccur.”

“No,” the man decides sharply, “keep my grandson safe and stop that shitty war before it happens, and I don’t give a flyin’ fuck what you get up to. My priority is Yūji. It always will be. Fuck. I really can’t believe any of this. You know, I tried to keep him away from all of that shit.”

“Wait,” Satoru pauses sharply, hesitates, “you knew about sorcery?”

“No,” the man shakes his head. “Not really. But his parents... his mother, she was always an odd one. There was just something about her. I never believed in this stuff, but I think there was a subconscious thought, maybe. After seeing my daughter-in-law change. My son was head over heels, blinded by rose-tinted glasses when it came to that girl, but Kaori...”

Itadori-san huffs, dry washing his face before meeting Satoru’s eyes, “she was a nice girl, don’t get me wrong. My boy met her when he was in college, and they were sweethearts ever since. She was lovely; a kind girl, loved my son dearly. She was good for him, but she was strange.”

“But?” Satoru prompts in interest.

He hadn’t expected to get the full story from someone who’d watched everything fall into place; is honestly a little baffled Itadori-san is even offering information considering how they’d met just under an hour ago under unfavorable circumstances.

He’ll take any information he can though, especially if there’s a chance this woman was a sorcerer.

Satoru had never questioned Yūji parentage, but then again, there was never anything to question. His parents were gone, and his grandfather raised him. Nothing overly strange about that arrangement.

But if this man thinks there’s something odd with it, Satoru will consider it.

“But there was an accident about a year before my grandson was born,” the man says indifferently, “a work accident, I was told. She had a nasty headwound— my son said something about severe head trauma? A brain bleed, I think? That was when he was going to the hospital to meet her. He was a wreck, called me when he got there saying they told him that she’d died. Dead on arrival at the hospital, that’s what he said. I cried with him on the phone. I liked Kaori, and I know Jin loved her.”

Satoru frowns, “what happened then?”

“Well, she lived,” the old man admits, looking baffled. “Mind you, I never went to the hospital. She wasn’t even there longer than a day. You’d think she’d be monitored after a severe head trauma and dying in an ambulance, at least for a day or two, but she was allowed to leave. She was fine. Up and walking. You’d never be able to tell she’d even been hurt, but she was... different. My Jin couldn’t see it, but I... I don’t know, I could just tell.”

Satoru remains silent, watching the old man as he leans back and glares down at the cellphone still set on the table. Itadori-san lets out a heavy sigh, rolling his shoulder.

“About a year later, they had Yūji. Jin was over the moon. Adored the boy, he’d always wanted kids. Yūji’s my boy’s spitting image; looks just like him. He was thrilled, would just hold Yūji and stare down at him for hours. I did the same thing when Jin was born. Kaori though... she never seemed particularly interested in Yūji.”

Itadori-san pauses, thinks for a long moment before catching Satoru’s eyes with a wary frown, “they’d always wanted kids. Jin ever since he was Yūji’s age, and I know Kaori was excited to start a family too. I swear, the two of them were always talking about having a family, wanting two, or three kids. I could tell something was off when Kaori announced her pregnancy. No enthusiasm. It was like it was a chore. I thought maybe she’d be different about the kid when he was born, but it was... worse. She was cold, distant. I don’t think I even saw her hold him.”

Satoru’s brow furrows, taking in everything being offered and dissecting it sharply.

“Yūji was just a couple months old the last time I saw either my son or Kaori,” Itadori-san leans back, hands planted on the floor behind him. “I babysat a lot. Jin worked. Kaori was... I don’t know, maybe I just didn’t trust her. Since that accident, she just gave me a weird feeling. I had time. I was retired at that point. They dropped him off one day, promised to be back by the evening. That was the last time I saw my boy. I haven’t seen or heard from either since. I don’t know if they’re dead or alive, but all I have left of my son is Yūji.”

“That head injury,” Satoru's mouth has suddenly gone dry. “Do you have any more detail...?”

“No,” the man frowns, brow furrowing. “I almost don’t even believe there was an injury at all. You wouldn’t be able to tell she’d been hurt at all if it weren’t for the sutures on her head. I never understood why she never had them taken out, even after she was supposed to have healed up. Like I said, she was a strange one.”

Sutures. Stitches.

“Do you have a photo of her?” Satoru manages to croak out.

The man frowns again, thoughtful, before he rises to his feet and heads into another room. Satoru doesn’t move, doesn’t even trust himself to stand without falling over as his heart pounds.

It feels like he can’t breathe.

Itadori-san returns a short amount of time later, a photo album in his hands.

The man flips the book open and sets it down in front of Satoru, blue eyes instantly dropping to the old photos, gaze easily catching on the first photo he sees.

It’s of what appears to be Yūji’s mother and father.

It’s easy enough to tell, the man does look an awful lot like his student, even more so with Yūji wearing the cursed glasses now. The woman, however, is completely unfamiliar. There’s no sign of any stitches, so maybe this is prior to Itadori Kaori’s accident?

They look happy.

They’re laughing and smiling, Itadori Jin’s arm thrown over the woman’s shoulders, and she’s leaning into him with a soft adoration on her expression. He looks lovesick.

“That was before the accident,” Itadori-san confirms Satoru's suspicions without prompting. He pulls the album towards himself, flipping a couple more pages, “after the accident, Kaori hated getting her picture taken. She was never a shutterbug, not like my Jin, but she loathed it after. I always assumed it was because of the stitches.”

The man stops turning the pages, sliding the book back to Satoru, “I managed to take this one when they had Yūji, it’s the only photo I have of the three of them. The only photo of Kaori I have after the accident, I think.”

And there, on a hospital bed in the background of the photo, while Itadori Jin cradles a newborn Yūji in his arms, is Itadori Kaori. Itadori Kaori with those disgusting stitches that were no doubt a part of Not-Suguru's cursed technique. Holy shit.

It was the same.

The dullness in the eyes, even in the photo. The lack of emotion. The indifference to the situation, as if she hadn’t just had a baby. It’s the image of a monster caught unsuspecting; that neutral expression and body language captured perfectly on camera.

A monster not playing the part when it thinks no one’s watching.

Satoru’s stomach churns violently.

“She...” Satoru forces his eyes up from the photo at the old man’s passive drawl. It’s the most uncertain the man has sounded since Satoru had met him. “I was right about her, wasn’t I? About Kaori. That’s not... There's something off about her; you wouldn’t be white a sheet looking at that picture if that wasn’t the case. It’s... she’s something from your world.”

“You’re right,” Satoru breathes out, flipping the book closed when he can’t bear to look any more. His skin prickles at the thought of those disgusting stitches carrying a baby Yūji to full term. Of it having its hands on Yūji at all.

Stitches is Yūji’s mother.

Suguru— no, Not-Suguru, was Yūji’s mother.

That’s so fucking gross.

What else does he not know about? Does Yūji himself know about this? This doesn’t seem like the kind of thing someone would share with their grandson, and it’s also the kind of thing Yūji would probably share when learning of the Jujutsu world. Especially after seeing Stitches.

Is there anything else he should be aware of going forwards?

Wait, hadn’t Yūji mentioned a brother?

Now he has more questions and less answers.

And he’s freaked out too. Great.

This is so much worse than Satoru thought it was.

“She’s very, very dangerous, Itadori-san,” Satoru tries to keep his voice indifferent, but he’s sure there’s a dark and urgent curl to it. “I’m not kidding. I need you to contact me if she ever turns up again. If you hear from her, or even see her. Or your son for that matter, if he does happen to reach out. Contact me and I’ll come. Without question. This is why I need Yūji to have that phone on his person. And you too. This person is a monster.”

Maybe the old man hears the dire firmness in Satoru’s demand, because he doesn’t protest, or make any snide remark about Satoru being just a teenager.

The old man simply watches him before bowing his head in a nod. “I understand.”

Itadori-san hesitates, frowning deeply, “she wouldn’t... she wouldn’t hurt Yūji, would she? She’s his mother, she never seemed keen on him, but she... would she...”

“I don’t know,” Satoru says honestly.

There’s nothing else to say on the matter. He doesn’t have answers.

He knows as much as Itadori-san at this point, but it’s more than he’d known before.

It’s a definite technique that allows the user to transfer bodies and inhabit said body and technique. There’s enough evidence of that between Itadori Kaori and Suguru sporting identical stitches after death, and he’d assumed as much just from his interaction with it before he’d been sealed.

What a fascinatingly disgusting technique.

Which would mean Itadori Kaori would’ve had to have had something valuable Stitches wanted. A technique, maybe? Like how it wanted Suguru’s manipulation technique? Or something else entirely, maybe?

He can’t be too sure, doesn’t know what this thing’s motives are.

Still, there’s a good chance Kaori was a sorcerer, or at least knew of Jujutsu. How else would she wind up on Stitches’ radar? The chance of it randomly selecting people off the streets is microscopic— it seems masterfully intelligent, so it’s going to take full advantage of who it possesses.

Its identity is still unknown, the original one before it started claiming others, its reign freely walking around in corpses under the higherup’s noses could’ve been going on for decades, or, hell, even centuries. It could simply change identities. How long has it been doing this— how many people’s identities have been stolen after their deaths?

Satoru swallows roughly, dragging his eyes back up to meet Itadori-san's, “she... she’s dangerous. That’s all I’m going to share. Just... do not trust her. I don’t know what her plans are, and I don’t know if Yūji is a part of it. She’s a very bad person, Itadori-san. That accident changed her in ways you can’t understand.”

“Is she...” the old man looks away, eyes glaring a hole in the wall behind Satoru, “she’s a part of that war you’re trying to stop, isn’t she? She puts Yūji in danger. She puts everyone in danger. She hurts people.”

“Yes,” Satoru doesn’t want to lie, "she does play a big role in it."

Or, whoever the brain in the head of Itadori Kaori really is plays a huge role.

The man scowls, brow furrowing in anger, “I always knew she was bad news. After that accident. She changed. I tried to talk my boy into taking his son and leaving her, but he was so blinded by her. Fuck. Do you think Jin is...”

His words taper off, but Satoru knows where he’s leading without needing to hear it. The teenager looks away sympathetically, not saying a word. He doesn’t confirm, nor deny, honestly doesn’t know but... it’s very unlikely Itadori Jin is still alive four years after the fact. Still alive and having made no attempt at contacting his father or son, especially if he was the family man Itadori-san claims him to be.

Satoru doesn’t have the heart to say it.

Stitches is a monster; the people it meets are nothing but pawns— Itadori Jin, and even Satoru himself when Suguru’s face and voice had made him pause, and Satoru’s willing to bet dozens of others fooled by it pretending to be someone close to them too— and the world a big game of chess they’re masterfully moving pieces in. Setting themself up for checkmate even now, eleven years in the past from the point the war truly takes place.

They’ve always been two steps behind— hell, they’re like twenty steps behind apparently.

How long has this curse user been tactfully moving around pawns? How long has it been laying the groundwork for this war? That game Yūji had told him about through tears that had ended so many lives? Moving in the shadows under Satoru’s, the entire Jujutsu world’s, nose?

The old man sucks in a stuttered breath, drawing Satoru’s attention away from his dark thoughts, Itadori-san's attention shooting down to his own lap as he inhales, palming hard at his eyes.

No answer is answer enough when it comes to something like this.

“I see,” the words are quiet, but Satoru hears the crack of devastation. “Thank you. I always assumed, after so long you start to lose hope, but to know that she really was... and my boy left with her...”

Satoru hesitates, “I’m sorry.”

The old man flaps a dismissive hand, “you’re just a kid now, don’t apologize. I was the one who sensed something off and still let my child go with her. He was a big boy; claimed he knew what he was doing. Called me crazy, even. I... still have Yūji. They could’ve taken him, but they didn’t. I’m thankful. My boy was loyal to a fault. It made him blind. Yūji gets it from him.”

“If your son was anything like the young man Yūji comes to be when I met him, you raised him well too,” Satoru offers uncertainly, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

He’s out of his depth now.

This would typically be the point he’d pawn things off onto other sorcerers with him, students even, to sympathize the death of a normie’s loved one. Or just warp away and leave the rest to the assistants. Satoru was good at everything he tried, but he wasn’t one for indulging in other’s emotions, not if the person wasn’t someone he knew.

The man lets out a gruff bark of laughter, gaze finally finding Satoru again, “kiss ass.”

Satoru cracks a smile, playfully raising his hands in surrender.

Yūji scans the school yard subtly as he follows the group of his peers out when school is finally finished for the day. His Sensei’s wave from the door, but he doesn’t turn back, too busy inspecting his surroundings. He’ll forever be grateful to Sensei for making the glasses for him.

He’s not sure what would’ve happened if Gojō-sensei hadn’t suggested and made them for him.

He hasn’t seen any overly dangerous curses between his home and his preschool, mostly just fly heads clinging to people, and lingering fourth grades that he thinks he could take out if he had any cursed energy or a cursed tool like Maki-senpai used. If he literally anything besides his normal four-year-old self.

The only part of Sukuna he misses is his strength and power.

But he doesn’t have either of those things, and he’s pretty sure Sensei will draw the line at providing a four-year-old with a weapon. Yūji is fifteen, mentally, they both know it, but it’ll still look bad on him to give a child something dangerous. Yūji’s come to terms with that.

He’s going to have to get used to being vulnerable because there’s not much else he can do.

He still wonders if maybe he’ll be able to talk Sensei into something small, like an imbued pocketknife or something? A switchblade, maybe? Little enough to carry on his person in case something happens.

The phone is great, and he’s glad to have it; likes the security of having Sensei’s number so close in a world where he can’t fend for himself, but he doesn’t want to have to bother Sensei over little things. How dumb would it be if he got attacked by a fourth or third grade and had to ask Sensei for help?

He really doubts it, but he’d feel a lot better knowing he had some way of defending himself if something did start something.

Getō-san had already been upset enough about Gojō-sensei giving him the glasses, he’d probably have an aneurism or something if he thought Gojō was giving his little brother anything dangerous.

It’s a funny thought.

He’d never considered Sensei having close friends because the Sensei Yūji knew in the future kept everyone at arm’s length. Even his three students. He was a nice guy, cocky, rightfully so, but Yūji had never seen any relationships between Gojō-sensei and anyone else that went below surface level.

The closest was Ieiri-san, who was apparently a school friend. Who knew?

It’s different now. Sensei is different; especially surrounded by these people. Haibara-kun, Nanamin. Ieiri-san and Getō-san. Especially Getō-san. He’s never seen Sensei act the way he acts around Getō.

He’s my one and only, Sensei had said at the mall, a solemn, forlorn wilt to his expression. I missed him.

The thought still has a sting of fear shooting through his chest. Getō-san still makes him feel uneasy, despite how kind he’s been since Yūji had met the younger version.

He trusts Sensei, with everything he’s got, but trusting Getō... that’ll take some work.

He’s really nothing like the Getō he’d seen who’d orchestrated the Culling Game. He’s nice and kind. He’d shown them a dragon, and even let Yūji and Sensei ride on it which is an experience Yūji had never even thought possible. You’d be a fool to try anything like that on a regular curse, but Getō-san had had so much control over his curses. It was crazy cool.

He’s starting to think he can tell the difference between them.

Sensei obviously trusts Getō-san a lot, and if he trusts him, Yūji thinks the teenager is trustworthy. As long as there’s no stitches. It just might take some time for his brain to truly process the fact that Getō had been someone before he became that monster who’d started the Culling Game.

Yūji tucks his hands into his pockets as he turns to face forwards finally. His eyes immediately catch something unusual. That’s his grandfather. Why is his grandpa here? Why isn’t he at work? Why is he picking Yūji up, did he miss something?

A smile curls onto his lips nonetheless as he moves to run towards the elderly man, “Ojiichan—” and then the smile promptly falls off his face as he freezes in place when he notices that his grandfather is not alone, “S-Sensei?”

“Yūji-chan!” Sensei cheers first, waving enthusiastically as Yūji forces himself to move again, joining the two waiting for him. Sensei bends down slightly, eyeing Yūji over the edge of his glasses as he sticks his tongue out, “nuh-uh, it’s Onii-chan, remember? Gotta keep up appearances! Don’t call me sensei~”

“R-right,” Yūji chews at his lip, finally forcing himself to keep moving forwards, “yeah, sorry, I just, um... you’ve... met. Ojiichan, do you... know who that is?”

“You mean your Satoru-oniichan?” the old man scowls, holding Yūji’s missing cellphone up for the boy to see. Yūji’s sure all colour leaves his face. So... that’s where the phone had gone. He’d been in a rush that morning and hadn’t been able to find it. Oh no. “We’re acquainted. I’m very aware of you brother. We had a nice long chat this morning. And I think we all need to have a proper conversation now.”

“Right,” Yūji looks to Sensei for guidance, but the teenager just smiles brightly. Dread still pools in his stomach. He’d never even thought about Ojiichan and Sensei meeting, let alone talking while he’s not around.

Both men have a tendency to be... not nice, but it seems they’ve found some sort of equal standing somehow. Yūji has a bad feeling about it.

“Yes!” Sensei grins, shoving his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing his school uniform. Yūji wonders why he’s not in class too. “I’m taking you both out! My treat, of course. What are we feeling? Ramen? Sushi? Sukiyaki? Oh! There’s a place around here that has a great chicken katsu, Sendai’s best! Private seating too. So, Ojiisan, what do you want? I always treat Yūji, it’s your turn!”

Yūji chokes on his own spit as his grandfather’s attention lulls in Sensei’s direction.

Sensei had called his grandfather Ojiisan.

That’s... ballsy.

For a long, tense second, Yūji fears the old man will lose his temper, but he’s genuinely surprised when he doesn’t. There’s an almost sour curl to his grandfather’s expression, but the man simply sighs, arms crossing over his chest as he scans Sensei distastefully. “I don’t care.”

“Chicken katsu it is then!”

The old man simply sighs again, hand snaking out to settle on Yūji’s shoulder protectively. There’s a gentle squeeze over the strap of his backpack, and Yūji lets himself lean back faintly into his grandfather.

The boy doesn’t quite know what to do with the claim— Sensei clearly notices but doesn’t bat an eyelash at it. Weird. It makes Yūji think he’s definitely missed something.

There’s no doubt.

There’s a weird familiarity between Sensei and Ojiisan. He’d really met Sensei. And Sensei had done, or said something, because Yūji knows his grandfather does not care much for strangers, let alone teenagers teasing like that.

Sensei is an enigma.

Something he doesn’t understand had happened while he was at school. Something important, obviously. That’s so like Sensei though, always one step ahead.

Yūji’s not sure he’ll ever understand the man.

Yūji lets himself fall into step with the two older men, keeping pace at his grandfather’s side while Sensei leads them away from the school. Yūji cocks his head, scanning his teacher up and down.

“Onii-chan, why are you wearing house slippers outside?”

“Sheesh,” Sensei snorts, looking back at Yūji over his shoulder, glasses slipping down his nose until Yūji can see the amusement in his eyes, “why are you Itadori’s so caught up on footwear?”

Satoru pays extra for a little secluded table towards the back of the restaurant.

He insists they order whatever they’d like— Yūji takes him up on the offer, whereas Itadori-san seems to pick cheap. The man does opt for a flask of saké, which Satoru thinks is acceptable given he’d just had his world flipped upside down.

If he was finding out about curses, his four-year-old grandson actually being a war veteran fifteen-year-old, his son’s wife being a crazy body snatching monster looking to start a war and had a guy like Satoru explaining everything, even he’d be asking for alcohol. And he hates alcohol.

They don’t really talk until after their food has arrived and the waitstaff leaves them alone.

Satoru and Itadori-san had already come to some agreements, but it’s nice to include Yūji.

They inform the boy that his grandfather knows the most of anyone else in this timeline. Yūji looks surprised, but not put off by the idea. Maybe he’d wanted to tell his grandfather, or maybe he’s just relieved to not have to tiptoe around his guardian, pretending to be something he isn’t anymore.

They explain the arrangement they’d come up with.

Itadori-san had agreed to letting Yūji spend the entirety of Saturdays with Satoru so long as he was returned either that evening when the man was off work, or the following morning as to not disrupt their day off together.

Satoru had agreed instantly.

He knows it’s merely a trial run to see how Satoru handles Yūji, and if Yūji accepts the idea before he even considers handing off guardianship, but it’s honestly more that Satoru thought the old man would agree to so soon.

They had just met that morning, and not on the best of terms.

Neither tells Yūji of the plan for later down the line if all goes according to plan, but Satoru doesn’t think he’ll mind much. They’ve lived together before with no problems. It won’t be much different.

He knows Yūji will feel safer with him around and it’ll be a weight off the boy’s shoulders to not have to constantly be worried about his grandfather. It’s obvious Sukuna is still a thought in the back of the boy’s mind too, so there’ll be some relief knowing someone can stop the age-old curse user if need be.

Plus, Yūji will be game for any training Satoru’s willing to offer.

He can tell. Just because Yūji’s in a younger body, doesn’t mean that glint of determination in his gaze is gone. Satoru sees it every time he looks at the kid and knows Yūji’s struggling to be young and weak when he’d been so strong with Sukuna’s influence.

And he’ll probably be ecstatic to be living with Megumi again too.

Maybe Yūji will even bring Megumi out of his shell a bit. And he knows Tsumiki will simply adore the pink-haired boy. Satoru can picture it now. How cute. She’s too kind for her own good.

Yūji and his grandfather both agree to the long-lost family schtick Satoru suggests once again as a cover up. It’s surprisingly easy getting Itadori-san on board. Maybe he’d already assumed that was the direction this was heading by how Satoru had called him Ojiisan earlier to mess with Yūji, and his phone contact in Yūji’s phone.

The man hadn’t even looked like he truly hated it. Satoru counted it as a win.

He’s definitely making it his personal mission to butter the old man up.

And besides that, it was still the simplest excuse. No one can argue that and now that everyone’s onboard and up to date, there’ll be no confusion down the line.

They iron out a couple more details between the three of them before Satoru finally gets a second alone with Yūji when the man excuses himself to the restroom. The two of them watch him go, the man a bit wobbly from the drinks but still sober enough for rational thought. Just a bit tipsy.

Satoru will still walk them home after this though.

Satoru turns back to the boy, unsurprised to find Yūji already watching him.

“So... you, ah, you met my grandpa then,” Yūji starts slowly, like he doesn’t know how to start the conversation. “How did that go? How did that even happen?”

Satoru snorts, swirling an impossibly sweet mocktail in his glass. It’s fruity and delicious.

“Besides the predator accusations that prompted the meet the family trope?” Satoru cocks an eyebrow. Yūji wilts guiltily. Satoru’s not put off by the assumption, it had looked sketchy. He’s lucky the man hadn’t called the cops the second Satoru knocked on the door. “It went fine. We came to some agreements. Your grandfather’s not half bad.”

Yūji’s mouth opens faintly before he smiles sheepishly, “people don’t usually say that about him.”

Satoru hums back, “I’m not half bad either though, it’s not always a compliment. Like I said, we came to some agreements. Saw eye to eye on some things. Mutual respect. I respect men like him, and he kinda scares me a bit too.”

Yūji snorts a laugh, “now that, I hear all the time.”

“Seriously,” Satoru whines dramatically, “I thought he was gonna murder me or something when I knocked on the door! I look curses in the eyes daily and nothing has ever looked at me with so much malice. I think that man would kill for you, Yūji-kun. If I didn’t have Infinity, I might’ve been worried for a second when we officially met!”

Yūji laughs as if Satoru made a joke. It wasn't really a joke.

The boy pops a piece of chicken into his mouth, chewing slowly, “just so I know, how much does my grandpa really know about all this? Y’know, curses and stuff.”

“Everything,” Satoru tells him easily, staring down into his mocktail. “What he actually understands about it is another matter entirely. Look, I don’t think you understand just how close to calling the cops on me your grandfather was, Yūji-kun. If I wanted to be able to see you still, we needed to come clean to him. He’s the only one who knows, and that’s only because I refuse to lose you too.”

Yūji offers a sad smile, head bowing as he fiddles with his chopsticks. His voice is quiet when he speaks, “I really don’t want to lose you either, Sensei.”

Satoru reaches across the table to ruffle Yūji’s hair, grinning widely, “and you won’t. Now that this is all cleared up. You’ll even get more time with me! Lucky, Yūji-kun! I’ll have to actually talk to Yaga about this now, but I’ll win. We’ll do something super fun this weekend! Oh! Maybe Universal Studios Japan! We can invite my classmates and kōhais if they’re not busy too! It’ll be a blast!”

The boy cracks a smile at that.

Satoru leans back in his chair, studying the child, “actually, Yūji, there was something I wanted to ask you now that your grandfather’s gone for a moment. It’s... important.”

“Huh?” Yūji cocks his head, “what is it?”

“When you told me about what I missed in the Prison Realm,” Satoru starts slowly, thinking his words through carefully, “you mentioned a brother. Now, you don’t have siblings. Or you didn’t when I looked into your family registry before bartering for your life. What did you mean?”

Yūji’s brow furrows in confusion before recognition lights up in his expression, “oh!” he chirps in understanding, “Choso! Yeah, I found out about him right before the stitches guy started the Culling Game. I don’t remember all that stuff really well...”

Yūji huffs, brow furrowing in thought, “but he was a little weird, definitely tried to kill me, but then he seemed to think we were related? Wanted me to call him Onii-chan. I rolled with it. He was a pretty good guy in the end. He switched sides... sorta? Mainly just to protect me, I think? He had a really cool blood manipulation technique. Really strong. I’m not sure he was entirely human, honestly, but yeah, he said we were brothers. He was super serious about it.”

“Blood manipulation?” Satoru hums.

Hadn’t he... yeah, he’d seen something with a blood manipulation technique right before the Prision Realm. When he was fighting those two special grades before Not-Suguru made his special appearance with that stupid cube.

Hearing blood manipulation makes him think of the Kamo Clan, their prized innate technique, but the person he’d seen was no one he’d ever seen before. He likes to think he knows a decent number of Clan officials and members of the three big clans, especially ones with powerful techniques.

And if he’s remembering correctly, it certainly wasn’t completely human despite how it looked. The cursed energy of it was like nothing Satoru had laid eyes on before.

That was Choso?

“Now that I think about it,” Yūji hums, “that guy was Getō-san, right? The one who trapped you in the Prison Realm? The body-snatcher? He was using Getō-san's body at the time, right?”

“Uh huh,” Satoru agrees wordlessly.

“Well,” Yūji presses his thumb under his chin, fingers curling over his mouth thoughtfully, “Choso called him something different. It’s a little fuzzy, but... I think he called him... it was something to do with Kamo? But not Noritōshi-senpai— but... oh wait, uh, yeah, that might’ve been the name he called actually, but not referring to my senpai. A different one!”

“Kamo Noritoshi?” Satoru pauses as the name clicks into place. Dread pools in his stomach. “Hang on... was that curse guy a Death Painting? Your brother is a Death Painting? You know, Kamo Noritoshi is considered to be the most evil sorcerer to date, well, besides the corpse stealer, I mean. Yūji— what do you know about him?”

Yūji shrugs helplessly, eyes wide at the sudden seriousness, “I... don’t know. It’s fuzzy. I’m sorry. I just remember Choso saying Kamo, and um, the corpse stealer agreed he goes by a lot of names and that was one of them, and then he said Kamo created him and that he wasn’t... entirely human, I don’t think? Everything’s just kinda blurring together now. It was really stressful.”

“No,” Satoru clicks his tongue, as he rubs his forehead stressfully above the glasses, “don’t apologize. Just... ugh, that makes this a bit more complicated. I think... you actually are brothers. Half-brothers. Related by blood. There’s a very good chance.”

If Stitches had possession of Kamo Noritoshi too, there’s a very good chance he was the mastermind behind the Cursed Womb: Death Paintings. Holy shit is there somewhere this asshole hasn’t been?

He’d been committing atrocities for decades.

Well over one-hundred and fifty years.

Who knows how far back he’s been fucking around with Sorcery.

“Huh?” Yūji blinks owlishly, scanning Satoru’s expression, “what makes you say that? I mean, he seemed pretty sure but why... why are you agreeing, Sensei? Do you... know something I don’t?”

“Yūji...” Satoru winces as a headache pulses against his skull. "Do you remember what your mother looks like?"

He rubs furiously at his temple with his palm as he considers his words carefully.

"No?" the boy frowns, "she and my dad left when I was a baby. Why?"

“Your mother... she... had the stitches. On her forehead. Your grandfather showed me a photo of her, and I knew instantly. According to your grandfather, Stitches took over before you were even conceived. Stitches is... ah, this is so gross to say. Stitches is your mother, Yūji. And Stitches also made the Death Paintings. There’s definitely a blood relation if I’m right.”

“Stitches is my... Oh.” Yūji’s face pinches as understanding sweeps over his face, followed closely by his skin paling as his body slumps sickly. “I’m related to that thing? I have a half curse brother? Brothers? Didn’t he... there’s nine Death Paintings, aren’t there? Oh wow... that’s... my head hurts. I kinda feel like I’m gonna puke. This is just... I don’t know how to process all this.”

“It appears so,” Satoru flops back against his chair tiredly, pushing his glasses up so he can throw an arm over his eyes instead as he sighs. “And that makes two of us.”

Chapter Text

Satoru has a lot to think about after his early dinner date with Yūji and his grandfather.

First of all, Stitches is far more intertwined with everything than it appeared at first glance.

This guy has to be centuries old at least.

If he was parading around as Kamo Noritoshi, Itadori Kaori and Suguru, there has to be dozens, if not hundreds, of other victims. That’s three identities this curse user has taken, three lifetimes. Three. That he knows about. Three confirmed.

But how many more are there?

How long has this guy been walking around in other people’s skin? How long has it been since this corpse stealer wore its own face? How has something so formidable, so dangerous, been able to survive like this? A curse user living for so long without intervention from Sorcerers is unheard of.

Without a Six-Eyes looking into it.

It’s insane.

Satoru’s never even heard of anything like this.

You’d think if anyone knew such a thing was happening, it would be mentioned. He’d heard nothing of a corpse stealer in all his life. He’d heard nothing of stitches lining someone’s forehead like that. Nothing of Kamo Noritoshi being possessed, nothing of Itadori Kaori in general— he'd only learned about Suguru because he knew his best friend and that thing had not been him at the very core of existence.

He hadn’t thought a technique like this was even remotely possible— a technique like this that’s virtually untraceable. The user can literally step into a new body, a new identity, if it feels threatened.

And it’s good at it.

If Satoru didn’t know Suguru like he did, he might’ve thought his friend really had been resurrected. His energy was the same. His mannerisms. His speech and voice. It spoke like Suguru, it wielded their friendship like a blade, probably had access to Suguru’s memories; unless it had been watching and observing since their school years, which isn’t impossible, technically, yet gives Satoru a serious case of the creeps anyways.

It truly had stepped right into Suguru’s entire being after he’d died.

It’s no wonder he’s never heard of it.

It’s not surprising the higherups aren’t aware this monster exists out there, and if they are aware, he’s honestly not even surprised they’re keeping it quiet. If they’re not good enough to track it, they won’t bring attention to it because that’ll mean admitting they’ve been turning a blind eye to the atrocities it’s been committing for however long it’s been around.

Admitting that they’re weak against it and that they’ve been letting this carry on for however long this monster has been operating. Years, decades, centuries; how long?

That, of course, begs the question of how Satoru is supposed to stop this thing if he doesn’t know who it could possibly be. Japan is a big place, and it has a huge population. Anyone could have those stitches. That curse user could be anywhere, doing anything, and no one would even know.

How do you hold someone accountable for their actions when they’re able to change their face and identity at the first signs of danger? If this person even so much as caught wind of the fact Satoru knows about Itadori Kaori, he’s sure it would choose a new identity to avoid detection.

The only thing he has to go off right now, is that he’s ninety-percent sure the curse user is still Itadori Kaori. There’s no reason for it to have switched, no reason to feel threatened and if it selected her, it’s bound to have a reason to do so.

This curse user doesn’t seem like the type to operate on whims.

It’s likely it’ll keep that identity until he can get his hands on Suguru.

Wait... does it already have its sights set on Suguru? Or did that come after he defected and made himself an easier target with those stupid ideations of his that were bound to get him killed?

Who’s to say Suguru never encountered Itadori Kaori, this body stealer, in those ten years?

The only good thing about all of this is that whoever this mastermind is, there’s no way it’ll know that Satoru is onto it if he doesn’t draw any attention to it. He can keep digging into all this under that curse user’s nose, because it has no reason to feel threatened.

There’s no way anything could know that he and Yūji hail from the future.

Only Itadori Waskue knows the truth, and Satoru would like to keep it that way. It’s safer for everyone if it stays that way. As is, Satoru’s hoping to keep Yūji in the dark for the most part too.

He needs to keep it that way.

Whoever this curse user is might know Satoru is a threat, he’s the Six-Eyes and the inheritor of Limitless, his birth had been proudly broadcasted to the entirety of the Jujutsu world, after all, but it won’t know how much of a threat he truly is at this point.

He’s just a dumb, overconfident teenager.

Or so everyone assumes.

That’s good.

That works in his favor.

This body hijacker is used to being two steps ahead.

It’s confident. It’s obviously smart, has lived a long life— knows Jujutsu, has done horrible things but no doubt learned through experimentation and years practicing this craft, but it’s never faced someone like Satoru. It had been scared of Satoru, there’s no other reason the coward would trap him in the Prison Realm if it thought it stood a chance against him.

If Satoru can find a way to be three steps ahead early on, he may very well have a shot at ending this before it even starts. Unassuming people are weak. And this curse user is blissfully unaware that Satoru has his eye on it as it lurks in the shadows.

It has no reason to be watching over its shoulder if it believes it’s safe.

And it doesn’t have any reason as of current to question its safety. Satoru needs to keep this quiet. He needs an element of surprise, if this curse user is really powerful enough to pull off something like the Culling Game Yūji talked about. He needs this curse user lulled into a false sense of security.

But to do that, he can’t go in blind. He needs to do some research.

There’s a lot he needs to look into because there’s no way these instances are one-offs. He’s willing to bet there’s a string of documented curse users doing horrible things.

There’s no way Kamo Noritoshi is the only identity it truly used.

There’s a lot he doesn’t understand, and there’s no one who can help him. His best chance at this is to scour the archives and pray there’s something of use. If this curse user has been living in the shadows for over one-hundred and fifty years at least, it predates anyone alive currently.

Who is he supposed to ask? Who would even know what he’s talking about? How does he bring attention to this without risking this curse user catching on? Who can he trust?

Satoru stops in his tracks.

This curse user predates anyone alive... anyone except for Master Tengen.

Tengen has been around since before the Heian era. If anyone's bound to know anything about this curse user, it’s going to be Tengen. There’s a fountain of information below this very school. And Tengen is one of the few people Satoru thinks is completely trustworthy.

Someone outside his circle of people, but it’s not a good idea consulting them.

Tengen though... it’s not a bad idea.

The only problem is, how is Satoru supposed to get to Tengen?

Tengen doesn’t see people they don’t want to see. The age-old sorcerer lives a life of solitude below the school and it’s near impossible to get to them without Tengen wanting you there. He can’t exactly ask for a meeting with the sorcerer out of the blue, not without raising suspicion.

Yaga would definitely get his nose out of joint if Satoru asked and didn’t provide any answers.

It’s not exactly something you can just ask for and expect it to happen. There are channels something like that would go through before making it to Tengen, and Satoru doesn’t want the entire Jujutsu world knowing he’s requesting a meeting with the Sorcerer.

That leaves the Star Plasma Vessel mission.

Tengen will be reaching out to them.

They’ll be invited to go to Master Tengen when they have Amanai.

That might be his only shot of making it to the Tombs of the Star Corridor without drawing too much attention to the fact he needs to speak with Tengen about an unrelated topic to his mission.

It won’t be that easy. Nothing is ever that easy. He’s still not entirely sure how he’s going to change the outcome of the mission so no one dies. Well, besides maybe him, which is a variable he has been thinking about. He’s got a bad feeling that he’ll need something strong to force his body into a state of fight or flight again.

He’d been observing his own energy and how his body reacts and as much as he tries, he can’t seem to force his body past the mental barrier sealing away the power of Reversed Curse Technique.

What a drag—

“Satoru.”

Satoru hums softly in response without really acknowledging someone actually spoke to him, no less who was speaking to him. He doesn’t look up, hardly acknowledges he’s no longer alone in the hallway.

His thoughts catch up a second later, gaze jerking up to find Yaga staring him down with his arms crossed over his chest. The man’s eyes are sharp, but there’s a glint of worry he’s not used to seeing in the man’s gaze. It almost balms over the hardness Satoru has come to know Yaga by.

“Sensei!” Satoru chirps when he finally forces his brain away from his thoughts and back into the moment, a grin curling onto his lips, “just the guy I was looking for. I have a request that you’re not allowed to deny!”

“You’re not going to acknowledge the fact you’ve just been standing in the hallway outside my classroom for five minutes?” The man squints suspiciously. His eyes scan Satoru up and down subtly, as if expecting to find him bleeding or something. “Are you okay?”

“I’m always okay,” Satoru snaps lightly. The man doesn’t seem to take any offense to the tone. Satoru hadn’t even meant to snap. “I told you to stop worrying about me. I’m fine. Seriously. You’re still treating me like I’m made of glass. What will people think if they see you babying me. I’m the strongest Sorcerer you have, act like it.”

“You’re a student,” Yaga retorts with a tired sigh, “you’re my responsibility no matter which family you come from or what your technique is. You were hurt on a mission; I’ll treat you like any other student hurt on a mission. We’ve had this argument before.”

“And we’ll keep having it,” Satoru pouts childishly.

“I suppose we will,” Yaga agrees with a tired scowl. “Also, Satoru, that’s no way to ask for a favor. Come into the classroom and we’ll talk. I’ll consider your request if you ask nicely and explain yourself.”

“Or you could just say yes now and save us both the trouble.”

“Or I could simply deny your request entirely,” the man says with a calm seriousness. Satoru’s eyes narrow in a glare. The man matches it, just as sharp. “Get in the classroom.”

Satoru huffs as he slumps his way into the classroom, Yaga following a step behind. Satoru beelines for Suguru’s desk in the middle of the row, plopping into the seat as the door shuts behind them.

Satoru appreciates the privacy.

Not that anyone would think to look for Satoru with Yaga during their free time. He usually steers clear of their teacher outside of classes and mission scheduling.

Yaga now, and always will be, a stick in the mud.

Honestly, he’d been on his way to the archives to do some research into curse users and some of the more hidden sorcery history that the teachers aren’t keen on telling the students about until closer to their third year, but he might as well do this now anyways since the opportunity arose.

“So, what request would you like me to consider?” Yaga asks as he moves to lean against his podium at the front of the room. The desks are pushed up close enough that they can talk regularly, barely any distance between them.

“I’m going to be bringing my brother onto campus every Saturday,” Satoru leans back in the seat, leg crossing over his knee as he pushes his chair back onto the two back legs. “I’d appreciate a dorm for him too, but he can sleep in my room if need be. I don’t sleep much.”

“Denied,” Yaga scoffs without missing a beat, staring at Satoru as if he’d grown a second head.

“I think you’re mistaking me... I’m not asking,” Satoru reiterates lowly, glasses slipping down his nose so he can shoot the man a challenging glare directly. “I’m going to be looking after my brother every Saturday, and he’s going to be here, whether you like it or not, Sensei. I thought I’d ask as a formality, but I don’t care whether you agree or disagree. It’s happening.”

Yaga makes an affronted noise, body tightening up in that way it does when Satoru is getting on his last nerve. The man clicks his tone in a self-calming sort of way, voice deathly calm, “you know very well that that request is out of the question. This school is no place for a child to be. Your request is denied, Satoru. Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m willing to do for that kid,” Satoru says calmly. “He either comes here for a single day a week, or I go, and I don’t mean for the day. And if I go, you can expect to see me only during school hours. I will come and go. I will refuse missions if they don’t fall within school hours. I will be gone the second school hours have finished, no matter what I’m doing. Where I am. My time is valuable and if you’re not willing to compromise when it comes to my family, neither am I. I have priorities, Sensei, and going on missions doesn’t have to be one of them.”

Satoru knows that arrangement will work for no one.

The higherups work him like a dog, and everyone knows that. Satoru doesn’t have a problem with it. Usually. He knows they won’t take kindly to Satoru stepping back if he does make good on that threat.

He gets assigned nearly double what anyone else gets, and the curse grades are typically higher than most can handle single handedly. They’ll take a serious hit on efficiency if Satoru starts refusing any missions.

Satoru has no intention of doing so, who knows who'll be voluntold to take his missions, but he needs to light a fire under Yaga’s ass to let him know Satoru is serious about this.

Yaga’s eyes narrow dangerously, “are you threatening me, Satoru?”

“I’m simply suggesting you reconsider,” Satoru blinks owlishly, feigning surprise as he gazes at the man over his glasses with the most innocent flutter of his lashes he can manage. “Did that come off threatening, Sensei?”

Yaga doesn’t buy it, arms simply crossing tighter over his chest defensively.

Satoru sighs, “look, Sensei, I like you. I respect you, despite how I come off. Despite how you come off. Sometimes I think of you as an annoying parent, you know? I thought you’d understand the importance of family. I’m just trying to look out for my brother. Isn’t that the kind of responsibility you wanted me to have?”

Something in the man’s eyes softens slightly.

“I do understand, and I’ve noticed the changes in you since you started spending time with your brother,” the man insists, about as soft as Yaga can get, “but you know the higherups will never agree—”

“So don’t tell them. Simple. They’ll never even know.”

“Satoru.”

“Seriously,” Satoru frowns, all four chair legs hitting the ground as he leans forwards. He plants his elbows on the desktop, leaning even further forwards onto them. “They won’t know. Yūji doesn’t have cursed energy. That’s about all we screen for around here. Let me ask you, how many times has Yūji been on school grounds? It’s not a trick question. If you’re so sure they’ll notice, how many times has he been here?”

The man hesitates suspiciously, “well, once, but—”

“Nope,” Satoru pops the ‘p’, cutting the man off. “Three. Actually, four if you count comings and goings in the same day. That first time you saw him, a second where he came to find me and found Suguru instead, the third time that same day where I took him off campus and brought him back, and a fourth just a couple days ago when he came to meet Shoko and first years.”

“You’ve been sneaking a child onto campus.”

“You say as if he’s contraband,” Satoru scoffs. “He’s a little kid, not the Inverted Spear of Heaven. He’s harmless. And it’s not really sneaking if there’s no way of being caught. He’s literally walked onto campus twice, Sensei. Without even my knowledge. Straight through the barriers, completely unnoticed. He’s not sneaking. You really think those geezers will notice?”

Yaga’s brow furrows as he squints. “How do you know about that tool? I’ve never mentioned it before. It’s been missing for years.”

“Extensive clan tutoring,” Satoru drawls back easily. Oops. Maybe he’s had the Sorcerer Killer and the Star Plasma Vessel mission on his mind a bit too much recently. Satoru flaps a dismissive hand, “first thing to come to mind. Unimportant. You know what is important? My brother being looked after when his grandfather is at work. Do you want him fending for himself home alone? He’s just a baby.”

Yaga hesitates again, “there’s really no one else who can watch your brother?”

“It’s just his grandfather and I,” Satoru shakes his head. “He knows about curses too; he feels safe here. He feels safe around me. It’s one day a week. Maybe spending the night. The higherups will never even know, and if they do find out, I’ll take blame. What are they gonna do? Expel me? I’d like to see them try.”

“No, I’ll take blame,” Yaga sighs heavily, rubbing at his hairline stressfully. “Fine. I approve. Saturdays only. And if he does come here on any other day, inform me. Even just a text, or a call. If I’m sticking my neck out for you, I want to know when.”

“Deal!” Satoru confirms with a grin.

“And I assume you’d like me to keep your schedule clear on Saturdays too?”

“If it’s possible?” Satoru shrugs. It didn’t really matter if he was sent away. Most missions he could complete relatively fast if he actually tries. “I don’t mind leaving Yūji here at the school with Suguru or Shoko, or, hell, even Nanami or Haibara. I trust them. Or even you, Sensei. You’d watch my little brother for me, wouldn’t you?”

Satoru bats his eyelashes along with the tease.

“I’ll approve Saturday leave, but that’s probably the best I can do,” the man says instead of agreeing or denying the tease. He shakes his head in exasperation. “God knows you need a break. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you working yourself to the bone these days, asking me for extra missions. I’m actually thankful you’re willing to step back from missions for the sake of babysitting.”

“I’d do anything for Yūji,” Satoru offers his first sincere smile since entering the classroom. “I think we both have someone we want to protect. Family is what’s important. I knew you’d understand.”

Yaga stills, eyeing Satoru with a furrowed brow, “what does that mean, Satoru?”

“It means whatever you want it to mean, Sensei,” Satoru grins cryptically.

He ignores the way his teacher tenses up suspiciously, eyes flicking to the doorway like he’s hiding something. Satoru reads Yaga like an open book after all these years, watching calmly as the man falls right into the verbal trap he’d laid out. It’s too easy.

He’s definitely hiding something.

Something small and undeniably fuzzy. Black and white. Cute as a little teddy bear.

That’s all the proof Satoru needs to know Panda exists already.

“Anyways,” Satoru pushes himself up from Suguru’s desk, heading for the door with swagger; hands tucked into his pockets and head cocked faintly. “Now that that’s taken care of, I’m going to the archives. There’s something I want to look up.”

“Anything I could help with?” Yaga has shaken himself from his stupor.

Satoru notes the forced indifference but doesn’t mention it.

He’ll give his teacher mercy; he’s probably stressed the hell out now anyway. Probably already has nervous heart palpitations or something. Panada is a secret for a reason right now. Satoru won’t really push until Yaga takes the step to introduce them first. It’ll happen. He’s proud of his kid.

Yaga’s brow twitches as he watches Satoru leave.

Satoru would bet the man’s going to head to his personal quarters as soon as he’s gone from sight, an urgent need to check on his taboo little secret. It’s a good thing Satoru likes Panda, and he hadn’t been lying when he said he considered the man an annoying pseudo-father.

His secret is safe, even if he doesn’t know it.

“Nah,” Satoru throws back over his shoulder as he reaches the door, “just checking up on some things. Nothing important. Clan bullshit. I’ll handle it. Thanks for the chat. And... thanks for being understanding. Glad I didn’t have to keep my word or anything. It’s so much easier living in the dorms.”

“You didn’t really give me a choice,” the man accuses gruffly. Despite the words, he doesn’t sound overly put out by being blackmailed by the young clan heir. He’d always had a soft spot for Satoru.

“Yeah, I didn’t,” Satoru laughs in agreement, “but still, thank you.”

A pause. The man sighs. “You’re welcome, Satoru.”

Satoru is sat in the depth of the archives, surrounded by books when someone else enters the room.

He blinks in surprise at that, but doesn’t bother turning to see who came in.

It’s not your typical school library; there’s no librarian and the room is normally empty, unless someone was looking into something or doing some research. Like he’s doing now.

Normally, students wouldn’t be allowed in the archives— they're restricted by ID card, only teachers and approved personnel allowed access, but a Special Grade ID will get you a lot of leeway, no matter your age. It’s one of those technicalities no one really cares about since there’s so few Special Grade Sorcerers, especially student ones.

That said, he knows exactly who’s sneaking closer without needing to look up.

Tokyo Metropolitan has the biggest archive selection considering the barrier here are the strongest. It’s also why the Tokyo school has the most in the Cursed Warehouse.

Like the Death Paintings and what few of Sukuna’s fingers they’ll already have, Satoru’s willing to bet.

Satoru barely looks up from the book he’s reading as footsteps draw closer.

“Satoru,” Suguru says in way of greeting, stopping just before the older teen. “You were supposed to meet me an hour ago to train, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I had to ask Yaga if you were assigned an urgent mission or something. He said I could find you here. What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’d be doing in the archives?” Satoru drawls, finally looking up. He grins sarcastically at Suguru’s annoyed deadpan, gesturing easily to the spread of books around him. “I’m researching, obviously.”

“Researching what?” Suguru’s nose scrunches up. “You don’t usually do work when you don’t have to. And I know there’s not a test or anything coming up because I’m the one who forces you to study. And nothing we’d be tested on would be in here. Shoko can’t even come in here.”

“I don’t need to study,” Satoru drawls, “and it’s a little bit of everything, honestly.”

At that, Suguru cocks an eyebrow.

The younger flips the book closest to him close, thumb marking its place as he scans the cover, “’Ancient Jujutsu Artifacts and Weapons’?” he reads, before letting the book fall open again, now inspecting the page it’s on. “What even is the Prison Realm?”

“A missing artifact,” Satoru says without looking up from the book spread open in front of him that he’s hunched over. He keeps reading on.

It’s some of Kamo Noritoshi, Stitches’, research notes into the creation of the Death Paintings.

It’s just a handwritten, leatherbound journal that had obviously been seized when the Death Paintings themselves had been. Satoru’s not even sure it belongs here, but it’s here, nonetheless.

He’d stumbled upon the title-less spine in the restricted shelves when looking for other possibly documented instances of atrocious acts due to possession in the Jujutsu world. Curiosity had won over, and he’d plucked the book off the shelf and cracked it open, surprised by the bulk of notes.

He hadn’t found anything overly noteworthy on the shelves— nothing in Stitches’ league, at least.

Still, the journal is morbidly interesting and equally sickening. Stitches is a disgraceful human being. Satoru can’t look away from the research notes, in the same way people struggle to avoid looking at a car accident.

He’d gotten a little distracted from his mission.

Finally, Satoru flips the book closed so Suguru can’t see anything, looking over at the pages Suguru is skimming as he balances his jaw in his palm, elbow resting on the cover of the journal, supporting his head, “it’s been lost for over three hundred years. There’s not much in that book, actually. And what is there is surprisingly dull. A sketch of a blacked-out cube is oh-so helpful. Why bother documenting it if no one knows what it does? What it even looks like? I’m disappointed.”

“Why are you so interested in it?” Suguru frowns. “Do you know something the book doesn’t?”

Satoru looks up to meet his friend's burrowed expression, “well, according to legends, it can capture and contain the Six-Eyes. I just thought if something like that was possible, I should look into it.”

“That’s oddly specific,” Suguru says, eyes still scanning the book as if it’ll say the same thing. It doesn’t. The book barely even confirms its existence. Entirely unhelpful. “Where’d you hear that?”

Satoru simply shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Anyways, that wasn’t even really what I wanted to look up, I just stumbled across it, and remembered hearing something about it. Thought it was worth reading. It wasn’t. Oh well. I was actually brushing up on cursed weapons.”

Suguru hums, flipping a couple pages of the book, looking at some of the other old as dirt artifacts, before turning to the beginning of the book and consulting the table of contents.

He flips directly to the weapons section, skimming the pages as he goes.

“Most of these weapons are long gone,” Suguru says after turning a couple more pages. “Sold off under the table, part of private collections. Some are even hidden in the warehouse on campus. Or they may not even exist anymore. These archives are just documentation that they existed at one point; you know? I wouldn’t be too worried about these, Satoru, they haven’t been seen in hundreds of years.”

“Yeah,” Satoru agrees, biting back the flare of knowing disagreement.

Some of those weapons will be super relevant very soon.

They should be very worried about them.

“Right, I know,” Satoru says instead, “like I said, it’s just some research. Personal research. Because I’m curious. Shouldn’t you be proud of me? I’m hitting the books!”

“I’d be prouder if you hit your science textbooks. Or even your math homework. Not books on—” Suguru leans on the table to peer at one of the other open books before pausing, “—wait, why are you looking into Ryōmen Sukuna? Wasn't he, like, the most powerful Sorcerer to date? Sensei’s only mentioned him like once, why are you interested in him?”

“Maybe he was the strongest,” Satoru pouts. “I could take him in a fight.”

Or at least match the power of his domain.

“Sure, sure, you’re the strongest alive, Honored One,” Suguru placates thoughtlessly, eyes not looking up from the book as he reads. “You and that ego of yours, I swear.”

Satoru scoffs under his breath, arms crossing over his chest in offense.

Suguru doesn’t acknowledge it, attention focused on the book.

It’s all fairly basic information, Satoru had read it all already.

How the Sorcerers over a thousand years ago had exorcised him, how his fingers were sealed away with talisman and hidden globally because they physically couldn’t be destroyed. How he’d gotten the name the King of Curses, some of his morbid acts during his reign as the strongest sorcerer.

There were even snippets of where the first two of his fingers had been found before they were sealed away in the Warehouse on campus.

Satoru thinks a few more had been found after the book was published. And he’ll find a couple more in the years to come too. And of course, so will Megumi and Yūji.

The book itself is all about important Heian Era Sorcerers, not Sukuna specifically, and there’s not much in it. Satoru had hoped to maybe find something about Stitches in there, but there was nothing.

Maybe he’s not that old, or maybe his technique is just that good at evasion.

It still frustrates him to no end that he has an entire archive of Jujutsu history, and still knows nothing about this guy. He’s never not gotten answers like this before. He can only be as smart as the information he has. And that information is a whole lot of nothing. His patience is running thin.

That just means if there’s any hope at all of identifying Stitches, that hope is Master Tengen.

Assuming Satoru can make that visit happen.

Still, it’s the same book Satoru had read when considering Megumi’s request to spare Yūji’s life. What’s in that book and Satoru’s own self entitlement had spared the life of a teenager.

Suguru’s eyes finally flick up from the book, narrowing on Satoru, “now answer the question.”

“Fine. He is the strongest sorcerer to date,” Satoru agrees before shooting his friend an unamused look. “And don’t worry about it. I can just be interested in things, you know. Do I need a reason? Why are you being so weird about this? It’s just some research. Literally. So, why are you scrutinizing my choice of light reading?”

Suguru’s expression pinches in disbelief, “because your choice of light reading is morbid and you’re being weird about it. You’re looking into artifacts, weapons, curse users and Heian Sorcerers, that’s not a simple interest; it’s like your reevaluating Jujutsu history entirely. Why?”

Satoru frowns in annoyance as Suguru’s eyes narrow, “we both know you don’t do anything without reason, but here you are researching when you could be doing literally anything else. When you could be flashing your techniques like an overconfident peacock while we train. What are you hiding?”

“Jeez,” Satoru scoffs, standing up to flip all the books around him closed. Next time he comes here, he’s going to make sure Suguru is asleep or on a mission or something. He can't get much done with someone breathing down his neck. “Get off my back, will you?”

Suguru glares as Satoru tugs the Heian Era Sorcerers book from his hands, shutting in loudly, making sure his friend can tell he’s annoyed, before adding it to the pile he’d stacked up.

Suguru watches silently as Satoru returns all his books to their places on the shelves, the glare fading off to hesitance as he watches Satoru forcefully shove books back where he’d gotten them. The archives aren’t huge, but there is a decent selection of shelves that Satoru bounces between.

Maybe he can read the genuine annoyance in Satoru’s body language.

Satoru is genuinely annoyed.

And he doesn’t even know why.

“Why are you being so defensive?”

I don’t know.

“Why are you being so damn nosy?” Satoru fires back before he can think better of it. “God, I can’t do anything around here without someone hovering! For fuck’s sake!”

Satoru doesn’t know why Suguru is getting under his skin right now.

It had been fine.

He hadn’t cared his friend was here in the archives with him. He hadn’t minded the company, even if it was distracting. He hadn’t minded Suguru asking questions and skimming the books he’d selected in confusion. He can usually ignore Suguru’s nitpicking too.

He doesn’t mind answering his questions.

Satoru knows most of the time, Suguru is just genuinely curious. Satoru knows he comes from a non-sorcerer family and a lot of this is new to him. Maybe that’s why he pays so much attention in classes. All this information might be old news to Satoru, but it’s all new to Suguru.

He likes Suguru’s company. Normally.

He doesn’t know why he can’t handle being under Suguru’s microscope right now. He’s used to it. That’s just who Suguru is. Satoru doesn’t know why every pointed question feels like Suguru is questioning him. Why it feels like Suguru is judging and nitpicking and trying to piss him off when he knows that’s not Suguru’s intention in the slightest right now.

Why Suguru watching him now feels like too much.

He’s poking his nose where it doesn’t belong.

He’s dismissing things without a care when they’re very important. It’s pissing Satoru off, but Suguru doesn’t know how important this all is. And he won’t, because Satoru will make sure no one else sees what’ll happen if he fails again. No one else will see that war. That failed timeline.

Suguru doesn’t know that he’s speaking of things he doesn’t understand.

Because Suguru doesn’t understand.

Suguru doesn’t understand how dire this is. How important this information is. How stressed Satoru is that he’s not getting answers and time is ticking down. How he knows he’s not ready, but that’s not going to stop Yaga from assigning the Star Plasma Vessel mission, or stop Fushiguro Toji was attacking. How unnerving it is to know more about all this shit then what’s in the history books.

It’s all too much.

He’ll never understand how much is riding on this not happening how it had the first time around.

How useless Satoru, The Strongest, had been; how there’s so much they don’t know and how it’ll bite them in the ass in no more than a couple weeks, if that long. How genuinely screwed they are if Satoru can’t figure this shit out and come up with some kind of plan. Fuck.

“I’m not hovering.”

“Really?” Satoru turns to sneer at his friend as he slots the last book into place, “what would you call this then? ‘cause I call it hovering. I was minding my own business and you come in here calling me weird and questioning everything I do! Maybe mind your own business, Suguru!”

“Maybe don’t promise to do something with someone and then leave them hanging, Satoru. I wouldn’t have come looking for you otherwise,” Suguru scowls back. “You could’ve cancelled on me instead of leaving me to wait for you for half an hour before scouring the school to find you. If you were so busy.”

Satoru grits his teeth.

Suguru continues before he can even open his mouth, “and I never called you weird, I said you’re being weird. Because you are being weird. What the fuck’s your problem?”

“Right now?” Satoru hisses, “you.”

And Satoru knows that’s the wrong thing to say.

He knows it the second the words leave his mouth.

But it’s too late.

Suguru’s eyes harden defensively.

Satoru almost winces, only able to watch as Suguru’s walls go up in the same way they had when they’d first met and hated each other. It’s been a while since he’d seen that guarded hardness to his eyes.

“Fine,” the dark-haired boy rolls his eyes, turning away sharply and marching to the door. “Whatever, Satoru. Forget training. I don’t care. Sorry I bothered to come find you. Don’t worry, next time I won’t. You’re such an asshole.”

“Sugur—”

The door slams shut before Satoru can even get his full name out.

Satoru groans loudly into the eerie silence of the archives. Fuck.

He lets his head thump a couple times against the hard wood of the shelving unit, groaning in frustration at himself as he stares down at the floor, thin wood indenting into his forehead.

He squeezes his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the adrenaline pumping in his veins at the argument.

What the hell was that?

Why was he acting like that? Like a hormonal teenager? It’s like he could just sit back and watch that trainwreck before his eyes. Like he, twenty-eight-year-old Gojō Satoru, wasn’t truly in control. He hasn’t been this out of touch with his emotions since he was actually seventeen.

Repression was a tool he frankly overused, so where the hell was that repression just now?

Shouldn’t he be beyond this?

Maybe it’s not just Yūji being affected by his younger body.

Ugh.

He doesn’t see Suguru for the rest of the night. To be fair, he doesn’t go looking.

Suguru doesn’t even look at him as he passes by the following morning, Satoru heading to the communal bathrooms and Suguru leaving them. He doesn’t mutter a word as they sit on opposite sides of the table during breakfast, with Shoko as a barrier, obviously sensing the tension but not bringing attention to it.

Suguru doesn’t even look in his direction when they’re seated at their desks as Yaga drones on.

When classes are finished, Suguru is the first out, not sparing anyone a glance.

Yeah. He’s pissed. Still. Fuck.

“What did you do?” Shoko asks, drawing in Yaga’s attention as well, even if the man refuses to acknowledge student drama. Satoru’s eyes flick to the man, but he turns his attention away quickly.

“Why do you always assume I did something?” Satoru asks glumly, rubbing at tired eyes under his glasses. He hadn’t slept at all last night.

Too stressed about everything else going on; responsibilities nobody but him knows about, an event that could possibly be a starting trigger to the end of the world looming over the horizon, and in addition to everything else, he’d been stressed about pissing off Suguru. Again.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Shoko says sarcastically, and it shouldn't be as offensive as it actually is. Seriously, not every fight is his fault. “Now, tell me what you did, Satoru.”

“None of your business,” Satoru snaps.

It’s just something else he doesn’t mean to say.

Speaking before he has a chance to think. His brain to mouth filter is near nonexistent at this point apparently, but at the same time, he’s getting really tired of people shoving their noses in his business, as innocent as it is.

“Just fuck off, Shoko.”

“Gojō,” Yaga scolds halfheartedly in warning as he leaves the room. The older man really doesn’t want to be a part of their teenaged angst. Eluding at its finest. Satoru rolls his eyes.

“You’re such an ass,” Shoko shakes her head with a sigh, “just fix it. Whatever it is. You’re both unsufferable when you’re moping around like this. I can’t take it. Seriously. I’ll be in the morgue if you two decide to get your heads out of your asses and talk like normal human beings instead of whatever the hell this is.”

“Whatever,” Satoru looks away from her petulantly.

Shoko narrows her eyes as she gathers her belongings, and then she too leaves the room without a word. Alone in the classroom, Satoru vibrates in his seat with... ugh, what even are these emotions? Teenager emotions. He’s so angry. He’s upset. He’s stressed, and tired and fuck— everything sucks.

He just wants to hit something.

This is the worst.

He warps away thoughtlessly.

Satoru doesn’t know what possesses him to wait outside Yūji’s preschool in Sendai for over forty-five minutes after he leaves the classroom. He doesn’t know why he’d end up here when he’s fed up with everything back at the school, doesn’t know why this is where he’d go to escape his problems.

The doors to the school open, and knee-high humans flood out in crowds, some glancing at him curiously while others are blissfully unaware as they crowd parents, start walking towards the trains or other foot paths, or rush to the play structures.

Yūji is one of the last kids out, instantly finding Satoru in the crowd.

And the kid smiles at him when he sees him.

At least there’s someone he hasn’t pissed off. Someone who’ll smile at him still.

Some of Satoru’s foul mood melts away as he offers the kid a light smile in return. He waves the boy closer despite how Yūji is already fending his way through the crowd to join him.

“Hi, Onii-chan,” Yūji greets brightly when he reaches Satoru’s side, “what are you doing here?”

“We’re getting ice cream,” Satoru decides on the spot, upon seeing the child. An excuse to steal Yūji away for a little while, and something to distract him from everything else going on. Plus, the sugar will definitely help him focus. “I’ll text your grandfather in a second, so he knows I have you. C’mon. My treat~”

Yūji’s mouth opens in surprise, he looks like he wants to question why they’re going on an impromptu ice cream trip in the middle of the week, but after a second, his mouth falls shut again.

He nods slowly, falling into step with Satoru’s wide paces.

When they’re no longer front and center of Yūji’s school, Satoru offers a hand to the boy, and the second he takes it, Satoru warps them away. When their feet land in Tokyo, outside an old ice cream parlor that’s been around for ages, Satoru doesn’t release the boy’s hand.

Yūji doesn’t voice any complaints, little hand lightly squeezing at Satoru’s.

It shouldn’t be as comforting as it is, but it calms some of the festering unease in his chest. The reminder of who he’s doing everything for, what he’s trying to stop. A better world for these kids. A world where they don’t have to lay their lives down in a war that they can’t stop.

It’ll be different.

It has to be.

“Are you okay?” the boy asks softly as Satoru pushes the door open.

A little bell rings overhead and someone greets them at the counter.

“What kind of ice cream would you like?” Satoru asks instead, leaning closer to the display. He eyes all the flavors, refusing to look at the boy watching him curiously. “Get whatever you want. Ah, wait, you don't get hyper, do you? Oh well, not my problem. You could get one scoop, two. A bowl. A cone. Toppings. Mixed ice cream. Order a tub for all I care. Have at it.”

Then, to the man behind the counter, “I want three scoops of cake batter on a waffle cone. Chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Chocolate sprinkles. And whatever he wants.”

Yūji orders two scoops of plain chocolate on a waffle cone.

He doesn’t get anything else besides the ice cream.

Satoru pays for both without a word, not even bothering to offer a cheeky smile to the man behind the counter before he’s leading the kid out to the tables outside. It’s a little cold, not really ice cream weather, but he knew this place would be open. It's one of his favorites.

It’s a touristy part of Tokyo, so despite the time of year, they’re still open. They’re always open. It’s a very American-y looking shop, he knows from his escapades overseas when he needs a sugar rush. Maybe it’s to cater to the American tourists visiting, or even just a way for native Japanese people to enjoy something different, but Satoru has always loved the place.

He likes the change of scenery.

He really doesn’t know how they stay in business, especially when it’s colder outside.

Satoru plops down in his chair, eyes squeezing shut as he licks at his ice cream. There’s a dull pain behind his eyes that he’s trying to ignore, part of him hopes the cool ice cream will soothe the ache.

He hears Yūji sliding into the chair across from him.

For a while, they eat their ice cream in silence.

“Sensei,” Yūji finally breaks the silence, and only then does Satoru open his eyes. Yūji is watching him, brow furrowed, and head cocked faintly. He’d look more serious if there wasn’t ice cream smeared across his chin. “Did something happen?”

“No.” Satoru dodges the question with ease, licking his ice cream with purpose to avoid looking at the boy across from him. “But how are you? Y’know, after the whole... Stitches-mother thing. That’s rough. How’re you coping?”

Yūji stares for a second long, probably debating if he should rise to the bait or not.

With a sigh, the boy leans back against his chair, honey-eyes scanning Satoru thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “I’m a little freaked out— I mean, I know about Sorcery and everything but that’s a bit much, you know?”

“Yeah,” Satoru agrees, slumping back against his own chair in suit. “It definitely is a bit much. Stitches is clearly far more intertwined with Sorcerer history than I first thought. Kamo was a disgrace to not only the Kamo family, but Sorcery entirely. Now to find out he wasn’t Kamo Noritoshi in the end, and to find out Stitches has a part in your life too... where else has that curse user been hiding?”

Yūji nods slowly, “I guess it’s good that I don’t really know my mother. Ojiichan talked about my dad, but he never really talked about mom, you know? I guess that must be why. It doesn’t... really change much, I never knew my parents. They’re these ideas of people that I have; living on through stories I’ve heard and my own imagination.

“It’s still gross though. To know that Stitches and my dad... that my mom was... yeah, that makes me shutter when I think about it. That body stealer guy is awful, I don’t like knowing it was so close to me. That there’s a... yuck, a bond between us, y’know? A maternal bond.”

“That body stealer is awful,” Satoru agrees with a huff of laughter. After a second, he leans forwards again as his expression goes serious, “I’ll keep you safe from Stitches, you know that right?”

Finally, Yūji offers a real smile, as tiny as it is, “I know, Sensei.”

Pleased with that, Satoru takes another long lick of his ice cream, looking away from the boy as he does. Satoru doesn’t need to look to know his student is watching him. Yūji sits there, eyes on Satoru, ice cream forgotten as it melts down the side of the cone and his little fingers.

“Sensei,” the boy tries again after a long second.

Satoru hums in acknowledgment.

“What’s wrong?”

Satoru doesn’t look over for a long second, as if looking at Yūji will mean weakness. Admitting to the fact he’d run away from school, friends and his problems, and that he was overwhelmed in a way he hasn’t let himself be since he’d met Fushiguro Toji that first time, when the man had killed him.

Maybe it’s his wide little doe eyes, or the worried tilt of his head.

How the kid can read him so well is beyond Satoru.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Sensei.”

Satoru sighs heavily, reaching the hand not holding his ice cream up to drag back through his hair. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to admit defeat to his student. He’s the strongest, how is he supposed to explain losing his temper like a child to his student?

Satoru is good at everything he does, but emotions... not so good.

“Why do you think something is wrong?” Satoru asks finally.

“You’re sad,” Yūji replies without missing a beat. He licks at his knuckles where melted ice cream sticks his fingers together. Satoru’s brow furrows. He’s sad? “Your glasses don’t hide your expressions as well as your blindfold used to and I’ve... well, you’ve never looked so sullen, Sensei. And you don’t usually come find me like this, it’s usually me coming to you. And you didn’t text first, which you usually do. Was there anything I could do to help?”

“No,” Satoru bites the bullet, “I fucked up. You can’t help.”

“How’d you fuck up?”

It’s weird hearing a four-year-old ask such a thing so seriously. Satoru has half a mind to reprimand the boy, but Yūji is fifteen and Satoru honestly doesn’t care about cussing anyways.

Still, Satoru’s grateful no one else is around or he’s sure he’d be getting dirty looks. He doesn’t need that right now, might even lose his temper again and blow up on someone. Fuck.

“I just,” Satoru slumps further in his chair, “I said something and pissed someone off.”

“Did you mean it?”

“...no,” Satoru looks away guiltily. “I was just pissed off and it came out before I could think better of it. He hasn’t spoken to me since and now everyone’s mad at me because we’re fighting. I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“This is about Getō-san, isn’t it?”

Satoru squints behind his glasses, “how’d you know that?”

Yūji shrugs, licking his ice cream innocently. “Did you want advice or just company?”

“You’re four,” Satoru deadpans, licking his ice cream gloomily, “what kind of advice do you have? Impart your wisdom, oh wise Yūji-kun. What am I doing wrong?”

“Apologize,” Yūji says without looking up. “If you didn’t mean it and it hurt someone’s feelings, apologize. I mean, I should know what I’m talking about, right? I say dumb stuff all the time and Kugisaki and Fushiguro accept my apologies when I realize I was insensitive or that I was being stupid. Getō-san probably will too if you acknowledge it.”

Satoru’s nose scrunches up. Apologize. Him. To Suguru.

It... may work.

Satoru’s not sure he’s ever honestly apologized, especially to Suguru.

Not for a petty argument like they’d had in the archives. He’d never let arguments like this bother him. They were always fine after a couple days anyways, falling back into step with one another without mentioning what had pissed them off in the first place, but it feels different now that he knows what it’s like to actually lose Suguru.

Something’s changed.

Fighting with him makes Satoru uneasy, and his friend not talking to him actually hurts. It hurts almost as much as when Satoru had had to kill a bleeding Suguru for the safety of his students and potentially the entire non-sorcerer world. It’s so stupid, but it’s like a crushing weight in his chest.

But apologizing... would it work?

“Who said you could be the mature one?” Satoru sneers without any heat.

“Welll,” Yūji says cheekily, nose scrunching up as he grins, “someone has to when Fushiguro isn’t here to do it.”

Satoru allows that to break the tension, letting himself laugh at the comment.

It is funny.

Megumi definitely is the most responsible of Satoru and the rest of the first-year students combined. He gets it from Tsumiki, no doubt. Satoru can’t wait to have them back— adorable pouty-faced little Megumi and Tsumiki’s sun-shininess that gives Yūji’s brightness a run for its money.

Satoru turns his attention back to his ice cream, swiping his tongue up over a rivulet of melting cream. “I just don’t know how I let this happen, you know? It was fine. And then it just wasn’t. He didn’t even do anything wrong; I was the one who freaked out. Ugh.”

It’s the most vulnerable Satoru supposes he’s ever let himself be. Especially around a student.

But things have changed— his relationship with Yūji has changed. He’ll always be the boy’s Sensei, Yūji will always be his student, but it is different now.

Yūji is the only one he can talk to like this, the only one who’ll understand the mess of emotions and feelings weighing down on his chest because the boy is going through the same thing.

The emotional whiplash of being eleven years younger physically, with the mentality of someone who’d lived eleven years longer. It’s maybe even worse for his student, considering Yūji is four— that's barely even a real person yet. He’s practically still a baby.

As weird as it is to admit, he’s started to see the boy as more of an actual younger brother/friend than a former age-regressed student. It feels weird, but it also feels right given the context. It’s comfortable. Things will never be as they were; their relationship is bound to change as they grow closer and settle into this pseudo-sibling alibi.

Even when Yūji is old enough to attend Jujutsu Tech, their relationship will have already been drastically changed, so the future in that aspect will never be the same as it was in the original timeline.

“Do you think...” Satoru turns back to Yūji, eyebrow cocking in encouragement for the boy to continue. Yūji doesn’t look up, “do you think there’s a chance that maybe... ah, how do I explain it? That the us, the ones here before we came back, because it’s not like we were just empty vessels, that they’re still... y’know, around?”

“Hah?” Satoru blinks owlishly.

“Well, it’s just... I have an overwhelming urge to cry a lot,” Yūji admits, not looking up from his ice cream. “I just sometimes have feelings that are big, and I don’t know how to control them. When I think about it, most of it shouldn’t feel as big as it does, but it’s like... my brain is processing it differently than my conscience, you know? And I’m scared of things I don’t remember being scared of, even if I know it’s irrational. Like... like curses.”

“You’re four and have not an ounce of cursed energy,” Satoru cocks an eyebrow, tongue clicking as he eyes the boy, “hate to break it to you, Yūji, but you should be a bit scared of curses. I think that’s pretty healthy for someone in your shoes.”

“I know, I know,” Yūji smiles, “I just meant that sometimes it feels like there’s a part of me that surfaces that I don’t really recognize. Younger. Someone I forgot, I guess. But he’s here too. It’s like he’s a part of me now again. Little Yūji. And... I don’t know, sometimes he’s in control. And I don’t even notice. It feels right, natural. Or... or maybe it’s because he is me too, y’know, a part of me. I mean, this is the younger part of me’s world, you know? Just- maybe there’s... like, a younger Gojō too.”

Satoru hums.

He’d considered this as well— not really about himself, but by watching Yūji act in ways the fifteen-year-old version of him never would.

Seeking comfort, content to hold his hand or be carried around. The small child curling into his embrace. The childish brightness in his eyes sometimes, and those fears wearing him down that the fifteen-year-old side of him is too proud to admit. Or even the subconscious pull Yūji has to him and the school, what he deems safety.

Satoru notices the little things.

It’s not impossible that there’s an asshole teenaged version of himself integrated with his current consciousness that rams his ugly ego and self-centered personality out at times.

The uncontrollable fire that Satoru knows took front and center through his teenager years when even the slightest bit provoked. The self-entitlement. The arrogance. The superiority complex he hasn’t quite shaken still, and even the hint of the God complex that had, unfortunately, gotten worse after he’d learned Reverse Cursed Technique.

He faintly remembers Suguru riling him up like that— the fits he’d throw and the full-on fights that left them in detention with Yaga, especially in their first year. Satoru gave back just as good as he got, pushing buttons to get a rise, to provoke Suguru into fighting him; him and Suguru matching each other’s energy even if the energy itself wasn’t pleasant.

It makes sense there might be a younger part of him that was forced to integrate with the older part.

And if anyone was going to provoke an unhinged teenaged Satoru into making an appearance, it would be Getō Suguru. Teenaged Suguru who knew all the right buttons to push to provoke a teenaged Satoru. Satoru couldn’t explain what had come over him in the archives in any other way.

He’d gotten so mad so fast.

“Maybe there is,” Satoru agrees with a frown. “I don’t like him.”

Yūji laughs at that as he licks his ice cream.

“I think you’re going to have to learn to coexist, Sensei,” the boy mutters with a cheeky smile, “but on the bright side, I doubt younger you is anywhere near as bad of a head roommate as Sukuna was.”

“I don’t know,” Satoru plays along with a teasing smile, “I’m kind of an asshole.”

“Sensei, Sukuna literally ripped out my heart when he took control of my body, just to threaten Fushiguro and make a point. I literally died.”

“Oookay,” Satoru laughs at how morbid, yet true, that sentence is.

No one besides the corpse stealer is as bad as Sukuna, even if younger Satoru is an asshole. Satoru had grown up a little bit in eleven years. Where it really mattered, at least.

“Fine,” Satoru relents, the hand not holding his ice cream lifting placatingly, “I’m not as much of an asshole as Sukuna. I admit. You got me. But I’m still a little prick.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” the boy teases.

“Hey! Rude, Yūji-kun! You spent way too much time with Megumi!” Satoru accuses with a whine, “what happened to the Yūji that worshipped the ground I walked on, huh? Where’d he go?”

Yūji giggles, taking another lick of his ice cream, “that Yūji clearly spent too much time with Megumi. And I don’t think I ever worshipped you, Sensei, I respected you. Sometimes you were a little weird, but always super strong. And powerful. And funny. And a little mean sometimes too, like when you gave me Tsukamoto when I didn’t know anything about my technique. He hit hard. It was good training though.”

“You were amazed by me, don’t think I never noticed,” Satoru pouts. “And you learned fast with Tsukamoto. Surprisingly fast, actually. Just as intended. Not mean, tough. Challenging. I was impressed.”

“Yeah,” Yūji relents without fight, absentmindedly licking his ice cream sticky knuckles, “I definitely was amazed. I still am. Sometimes I still don’t believe I actually know you. You’re cool, don’t worry. I’ll always think you’re cool. You know, I miss Tsukamoto. He was a good movie buddy. Towards the end, at least. He pretty was chill.”

“Tsukamoto would just punch you constantly now,” Satoru huffs another laugh, finally biting into the edge of his waffle cone now that most of the ice cream is gone and it’s accessible. “I can hear the abuse accusations now. Were the groomer allegations not enough for you, Yūji-kun? Need to add more to my track record? Do you want your grandfather to hate me? Mean.”

Yūji laughs at Satoru’s expense, but he doesn’t mind.

The boy takes a bite of his ice cream, humming in contentment as he lets the conversation lapse into silence. It’s everywhere. All over his mouth and chin. It’s dripped down the fingers holding his cone, and he’d smeared the mess each time he attempted to lick it clean.

He’s going to be unbelievable sticky.

Satoru really can’t tell if it’s fifteen-year-old Yūji enjoying the treat, or four-year-old Yūji.

Satoru is quiet for a long second, thoughtful, “you really think an apology will help?”

“I think it can’t hurt to try,” Yūji says, focusing intently as he swaps his sticky ice cream cone to his other hand, licking at his now freed up knuckles. “Are there any napkins?”

“I think nothing short of soap and water will clean that up,” Satoru offers with a teasing grin. “And there’s no point when you’re not finished. Finish up and I’ll bring you home before you can mess anything up. Efficiency.”

Yūji’s eyes flick up to Satoru’s face, “and then you’ll go apologize to Getō-san?”

“And then I’ll go apologize to Getō-san,” Satoru parrots on instinct, shamed by who looks like a toddler. He takes another bite of his cone, studying Yūji over his glasses before he snickers. “It’s so hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing more ice cream then you’ve eaten.”

Yūji bristles as if this is news to him, “hey!”

Satoru warps them directly into the bathroom in the Itadori house.

He lowers Yūji to the ground, rising to his full height only to squawk a playful tease-scolding to the child when he catches sight of himself in the mirror; instantly spotting a tiny, yet entirely visible chocolate residue handprint on his shoulder where Yūji must’ve grabbed onto him at some point.

“I told you not to touch me!” Satoru whines, glaring at the little handprint. “Ugh, now I have to actually do laundry. You have grimy, gross little fingers. You’re lucky I know exactly what you smeared on me, or I’d be more upset.”

“On the bright side, melted chocolate ice cream is way better than curse blood,” Yūji insists, not looking even the slightest bit guilty or shamed, “or human blood for that matter. Probably easier to get out too. I’m sorry, Sensei.”

“No, you’re not,” Satoru pouts.

Yūji snickers as he steps up onto a tiny stepstool that barely gives him any more height, “no, I’m not.”

Satoru grumbles to himself as he turns the tap on, Yūji just barely too short to reach it by himself, even with the stool. Satoru is once again reminded of how tiny his student is now. Tiny and adorable.

With a sigh, the teenager pulls open a couple drawers in pursuit of something to wash his face with, finding a stack of face cloths in the second one he tugs open.

He runs it under the tap, then turns to Yūji, scrubbing carelessly at Yūji’s sticky face without thought as the boy’s hands rub together under the tap. The child absolutely cackles at the assault on his face, and Satoru finds himself smiling along in amusement as he cups the back of the boy’s head and rubs furiously yet gently at his mouth and chin.

Satoru startles when he catches sight of someone hovering in the doorway through the mirror, instantly taking a step back from the boy. Yūji glances up over his shoulder smiling at the old man.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Itadori-san squints.

“Sensei warped us right into the bathroom,” Yūji explains without looking away from his task, “remember, Ojiichan? I told you that’s how his cursed technique works. It’s really cool! Limitless can do all sorts of amazing things! Sensei is the strongest!”

“I did mention fast travel,” Satoru adds sheepishly when the old man’s eyes flick to him in question.

“Right,” the man clicks his tongue, still looking skeptical despite the fact they literally just appeared in the bathroom. “Finish washing up, Yūji,” he says after a second, “and you,” he gestures to Satoru, “come with me.”

The man disappears just as he’d come.

Satoru hesitates for a long second, sharing a quick look with Yūji as he sets the cloth on the counter. He offers the boy a disarming smile, ruffling pink hair as he heads after Yūji’s grandfather.

He finds the man in the kitchen. The room smells delicious— whatever they’re having for dinner simmering away on the stove top as the dated rice cooker hums quietly.

“Take those glasses off.”

The man isn’t even looking at Satoru, but he still complies.

The feedback is still overwhelming, but he doesn’t mind much. It’s a small price to pay to respect the Itadori home. He hooks them into his school shirt, standing awkwardly as he slips his hands into his pants pockets, “did I do something wrong?”

“No,” the old man scoffs. “Grab bowls. Three. Bring them here.”

Satoru blinks, “...three?”

“You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” Wasuke finally turns to glare at him. He holds a wooden spoon in his hand, what looks to be curry clinging to it. Satoru wordlessly shakes his head. “Good. You’re staying for dinner then. I hope you like curry.”

“I’m... staying for dinner?” Satoru repeats slowly. As if it’s a foreign concept. And truthfully, it is. People don’t invite him to dinner. Not like this, not in to their homes for home cooked food. People invite him to dinner and expect him to pay, expect to be treated to luxury, and he doesn't mind.

It’s no hardship. What’s the point of having money if he doesn’t spend it?

People keep him at a distance, and he does the same.

“You need some meat on your bones,” the old man grouches, “you expect me to believe a gangly thing like yourself is gonna save the world? You’re all skin and bones. You need a good hearty meal.”

Satoru doesn’t know whether to be offended or touched. Perhaps both.

Satoru hesitates, “you really want me to... I don’t want to intrude.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want you to accept,” the man grumbles, turning back to the pot. “You look stressed. And tired. I can see it in your eyes. You think I can’t tell? You need a good meal and some down time. You need a break. I raised my son, and I’m raising Yūji. I can tell when a headstrong young man is barely hanging on. You’re just like every other teenaged boy.”

Satoru opens his mouth, but promptly shuts it when he realizes he doesn’t know what to say.

“What?” Satoru finally forces out, still not moving. “How do you...”

It’s Itadori-san's turn to hesitate, not turning away from the stove a second time, “you might have a lot on your plate, the thoughts of someone older and wiser, but you’re still a kid too. Where you come from doesn’t change that. If you want me to pretend that you’re family, I’m going to treat you like you’re family. I don’t play make-believe. To me, you’re just a kid. That’s all you’ll be under this roof. Just like Yūji is still just my grandson despite, well, everything else.”

The man finally looks back over his shoulder, “you’re someone important to my grandson. That makes you important to me too. So, look after yourself too. Join us for meals sometimes so I know you’re being fed. Visit. Come over when you need to; I don’t mind my home being somewhere you can turn to when you need to get away from everything related to the end of the world. You live in a school dorm, right? That can be tiring. I don’t know how your world works, but it’s an option. I won’t turn away a grandkid.”

“You... want me to come over?” The words come out as a stunned whisper.

Once again, people don’t typically appreciate his presence.

He gets on people’s nerves. It’s easier to piss people off than to befriend them. He annoys people to their very core, often without even meaning to. Sometimes meaning to entirely. Having people hate you is easier than having people leave you. Maybe it’s a defense he hid behind after Suguru defected.

And he knows Itadori Wasuke hasn’t come around to the idea of him completely. He knows Itadori-san still doesn’t trust him completely. He can see the faint uncertainty in the man’s eyes. The second of hesitation every so often. Itadori-san doesn’t know it, but demanding Satoru take his glasses off is just an invitation for Satoru to really watch.

They had gotten off on the wrong foot, but the old man is trying.

A lot of people don’t.

“If you’re gonna be my grandson, act like it,” is all the man says in return.

There’s a stern finality to the claim that makes Satoru’s heart beat hard for a second as a fuzzy feeling settles in his chest. He doesn’t know what to think of it. The old man doesn’t turn around, maybe he can tell Satoru might break if he acknowledges it.

He’s teetering very close to emotions he doesn’t know.

This is unfamiliar. This is nothing like growing up in a clan.

He envies anyone who gets to grow up like this. Normal. Suguru, Haibara, Nanami and Yūji coming from non-sorcerer families. Even Shoko had grown up in a home instead of an estate, even if she came from a family of sorcerers.

“Now,” the man clears his throat, “get the bowls so we can eat. Above the rice cooker. Quickly now. It’ll get cold. Three of them. Get us a good helping of rice and bring them over here for some curry. You do your part in this house.”

“Okay,” Satoru agrees, stepping to the cabinet as directed, “right.”

“Ojiichan, I—” Yūji pauses as he rounds the corner, bright eyes taking in the scene, the three bowls of curry, before a wide grin splits across his face, “Sensei is joining us for dinner?! Cool! You’ll love Ojiichan’s curry, Sensei, it’s the best! Even better than that place you took us to in Nagoya!”

“Really?” Satoru grins right back, a teasing lilt to his words, “that’s a big claim, Yūji-kun! I’ll have to taste to believe it. Don’t make false claims! Don’t get my hopes up!”

“It’s true!” the boy grins sharply in challenge as he moves into the kitchen to grab one of the bowls and a pair of chopsticks. Satoru follows suit, trailing after the boy into the other room where the kotatsu table awaits, “I can’t wait for you to eat your words! Money can’t buy homemade! Try it!”

Indeed, it can’t.

A few hours later finds Satoru standing outside Suguru’s dorm room.

He’d left the Itadori home with a full stomach and a feeling of contentment that he’s not sure he’d ever really felt before in his life. He wonders if that’s what it’s like to actually be a part of a family.

His clan had never felt like a family.

Growing up on the estate was quiet meals alone, seeing his parents only if there was business to attend to. Nannies and hired help coming and going to the point where he hadn’t bothered learning any names, and tutors who didn’t care for him in the slightest. He was just a self-entitled brat to them.

He acted as they treated him until it became his only personality. Until it became who he was; some nurture over nature thing, or whatever.

Being the Six-Eyes meant people were scared of him and having Limitless made it easy to hold people at arm’s length. Even young, he could tell that there was a rift between him and everyone else.

He lived a life of isolation as he was primed to be the sorcery world’s perfect little attack dog.

Man had that fallen through when he’d started at Jujutsu Tech.

Suguru and Shoko had been the closest he thought he’d ever come to family but, well... that ended poorly. Heartbreak of his best friend choosing genocide over him, and distance that settled like a rift between him and Shoko as they grew apart, mourning the loss of their best friend.

Neither relationship truly survived Suguru’s defection.

He’d been too young and immature to really be family with the Fushiguro siblings; they established early on that they were content to take care of themselves if he helped them with the funds they’d need, like rent, utilities, school fares and grocery money. He’d been fine with that.

Truthfully, he hadn’t known what he was doing in the slightest, so that was a bust too.

Not to mention he’d never had an adult treat him like that. An adult treating him like a regular person. Like a kid. Itadori Wasuke could clearly care less about curses and techniques, about who Satoru was in a world he didn’t care to truly understand.

And it was something Satoru had literally never felt before.

Itadori-san was a strange man, but Satoru honestly liked him.

Satoru shuffles on his feet, pushing his glasses up a bit to push the heel of his palm into his eye. Going a couple hours without his glasses was hitting him hard, a headache already starting behind his eyes.

He’d stopped to get Suguru a bribery gift; a bag of his favorite snacks and that DVD the other teen had mentioned wanting to see. Satoru’s already seen it. Multiple times. Suguru will love the film.

Satoru will watch it when he misses his best friend.

He lifts a hand to knock but hesitates.

Is this stupid?

Their problems resolve themselves— is this weird? Apologizing. He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t even know how to apologize. Not really. There’s a difference between muttering a quick, unmeaningful sorry and an actual apology, right? Will Suguru even accept an apology? Does he want one? Will it change anything? Is he just waiting for things to go back to normal too, or is he still truly pissed off?

Had Satoru actually hurt his feelings?

Was Yūji right?

“Satoru.”

Satoru jumps back, clutching the plastic grocery bag to his chest as his eyes dart to the now open door.

Even behind the glasses, blue eyes find annoyed purple. Suguru glares, “what?”

“How’d you...” Satoru says dumbly. “I didn’t knock.”

“No, but your cursed energy isn’t exactly easy to ignore when you’re hovering right outside my door,” Suguru’s arms cross tightly over his chest. “What do you want, Satoru? And where have you been all evening? Yaga was looking for you. You really need to stop disappearing. It’s a bad habit, you’ll get into trouble.”

“Oh,” Satoru frowns. “Yeah, I was... um, at dinner. With Yūji. And his grandfather. I picked him up from school. It was short notice. And I stopped to pick some stuff up for you on my way back. Some snacks. Your favorites. And... and a movie. Y’know, to, uh, to say sorry.”

Suguru pauses, squinting at Satoru, “what?”

“I’m sorry,” Satoru says louder after clearing his throat. He holds the bag of goodies out as an offering, “for what I said. In the archives. Please take the peace offering. It's for you, I didn’t know how else to... material objects are all I really know. Sorry.”

Suguru’s tense stance melts away as his brow furrows in confusion. He leans against his door frame, mouth a straight line as he regards Satoru unsure, “you’re apologizing?”

“I’m apologizing,” Satoru bites the inside of his cheek nervously, positive that he still sounds completely unsure, “Or... I’m trying, at least. I lost my temper yesterday; I didn’t mean it. I don’t know why I said it. You’re not my problem. I just have a lot going on right now— y'know, family stuff and uuh, other stuff, and you were there, and I got defensive, I guess. I’m sorry.”

Suguru squints at him, not making any move to take the peace offering hanging from Satoru’s fingers, “why are you acting so mature all of the sudden?”

“Would you believe me if I said I got some sense scolded into me by a four-year-old?”

Suguru cracks a smile at that, “actually,” he snickers, “I would. How did that go?”

Satoru shrugs sheepishly. “I mean, he was right. I didn’t mean what I said, and I... think it hurt you. Maybe. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I told you, Yūji is wise far beyond his years. It’s like he’s my conscience or something. Can we just... agree that I’m an idiot? Do you forgive me?”

Suguru hums indifferently, “what movie did you get?”

“That trashy chick flick you wanted to watch,” Satoru chirps, digging the film out of the bag, bouncing on his heels. “Y’know, the one you were staring at in the rental place and refused to acknowledge because Shoko was with us? That one. Don’t think I didn’t notice! There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a good rom-com, Su-gu-ru! Let your feminine side out, macho man.”

“I don’t have a feminine side.”

“And you said I was the one with fragile masculinity,” Satoru deadpans. “All dudes have one. I have one. Nothing to be weird about. Gender roles are bullshit anyways, I mean, I look damn good in a skirt, just so you know. I was kidding anyways; it doesn’t matter what movies you wanna watch. They’re not really gender coded.”

“What does that even mean?” Suguru asks, eyes wide and exasperated. “Gender roles? Gender coded? What are you even talking about?”

“Forget it,” Satoru laughs, he’s not talking very 2006, is he? He’d definitely spent way too much time with the 2018 first years. They clearly broke him, Kugisaki in particular. “Just watch what you wanna watch. It doesn’t matter. I watch a whole assload of genres. You think I never watched chick flicks? Rom-coms? Dramas? If you can name it, I’ve probably seen it. It’s just media, dude. Who cares? Besides, it’s here now, so let’s watch it! I won’t even spoil the end!”

“Alright, alright,” Suguru relents with a shake of his head, “fine— wait, what? When did you wear a skirt? When did I miss that? Does Shoko know? Are there pictures??”

Satoru just laughs, “none you’ll ever find. So, do you forgive me? I really am sorry.”

“Yeah,” Suguru sighs, scratching awkwardly at his hairline. “I do. I would’ve anyways after I cooled down, but... it’s nice that you apologize for once. Your brother really is a good influence on you.”

Satoru has never felt the relief that settles in his chest at those words before. At Suguru accepting his apology. The world feels right again. Everything’s back on track.

Suguru hesitates, a little sheepish, “look, Satoru, I know you have a lot going on right now. I’m sorry too, for what it’s worth. I was being nosy. You don’t owe me anything. I just... want to understand you again. You are being weird, and you’ve changed a lot. It’s... different. I don’t think I was ready for you to mature so fast; you know? I have to catch up to you now.”

“Yeah,” Satoru agrees sullenly, “sorry. I know. I don’t mean to. Just...”

“I know,” Suguru offers a tiny smile, “you’ve got things going on. And you shouldn’t apologize for growing up. It’s normal. I get it. I’m sorry too, remember? We’ll put it behind us. I always say you’re allowed to have emotions too, it’s a bit hypocritical when I get mad at you for expressing them.”

“I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“No,” Suguru gives one of those kind, shut-eyed smiles that Satoru adores, “but you were upset. It’s not an excuse, but it is context. People don’t always think clearly when they’re upset, and you did apologize. Which you’ve never done before. So. It’s fine. Besides, I could tell you weren’t quite right. Whatever you were doing is obviously important to you, and I don’t understand that. I distracted you. I pushed. It’s not entirely your fault. I’d be pissed too, I think.”

Had Suguru always been like this?

Emotionally mature when whoever he’s speaking to is emotionally mature? Is Suguru one of those people who’ll rise or fall to match someone else?

He’d never noticed.

Satoru knows he’d been an emotionally stunted teenager which followed him through his entire life, far easier to repress than feel, but could it have been this easy to make up with Suguru?

All those fights. All those instances of the two of them ramming heads over something stupid. Endless days of silent treatment and tiptoeing around each other.

Satoru almost wants to laugh at their stupidity.

He remembers a lot of his friend, thinks highly of him even after seeing the kind of man he became after defecting, but he’s not sure he’d ever considered Suguru so kind and understanding.

Maybe because he never thought to apologize like this the first time around.

Suguru had never been in a position to be understanding like this.

They’d fight and get over it. Like clockwork.

It worked for them.

Satoru hadn’t known better.

Suguru might not have either.

But Suguru really is a kind person, which just makes the whole upcoming defection thing all the more difficult to understand. Satoru doesn’t understand what went wrong.

What had truly happened?

Amanai had been the first embers of flame, losing Haibara fuel on the fire, but that last mission he’d gone on— that had been the explosion. The breaking point. The point of no return.

That had been when everything blew up in Satoru’s face.

What happened on that mission?

“Besides,” the dark-haired teen grins, “it’s you. I know what you’re like. I’m used to you being an asshole and an idiot. I’m still a bit bewildered you admitted you were wrong and apologized. I appreciate it, seriously, but I’m surprised still. I’m not used to you being sensible.”

Satoru pouts, “is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult? I can be sensible.”

“Take it as whatever you’d like,” Suguru’s grin only widens teasingly. “Now, c’mon. Let’s watch that movie before it gets too late. Yaga has us on early morning field work tomorrow, if you were on school property when he came to find us, you’d know that. I’d like at least some sleep before that. And just a heads up, Yaga’s pissed you left without permission again.”

“Yes! Movie night~!” Satoru bounds forwards, ignoring the rest of what Suguru said for now, the plastic bag Suguru still hadn’t taken crinkling with his movements, “you’re gonna love the movie—”

“Hang on,” Suguru says with a frown, arm shooting out across the doorway, stopping Satoru in his tracks. The white-haired teen pouts theatrically. “What’s that on your shoulder?”

Satoru only needs to pause for a single second before he groans loudly at the reminder.

“It’s chocolate,” Satoru sighs, looking down at the little stain in disdain. “This was my last clean uniform shirt, and that little brat wiped his gross-ass chocolate fingers on me! The betrayal! He wasn’t even sorry! Had the nerve to lecture me, and then didn’t heed his own advice! The jerk laughed!”

Suguru laughs too, hearty and open. “Go change out of your uniform then. You’re not getting on my bed with chocolate on you. I’ve learned that lesson. And you can borrow one of my shirts tomorrow if you agree to actually help me with laundry duty this time. Not like last time.”

“Sitting on the dryer doesn’t count as helping?”

“God, you’re such a rich kid.”

Chapter Text

Life carries on as usual.

Satoru gets sent on missions, alone, with Suguru, or accompanying one of the kōhais.

He collects curses for Suguru, he practices his techniques, keeps trying to kickstart Red. It’s no use. Red and Hollow Purple are just out of reach still. They’re there, the energy, but he can’t seem to grasp it.

That thought makes him uneasy.

He feels worse about their odds by the day.

He attends classes.

He hangs out with his friends in his down time.

He visits the archives late at night when everyone else’s cursed energy has calmed down with sleep and there’s no threat of distractions. He’s steadily making his way through the selection of old books the archives have to offer, and he’s still coming up short.

Frustration curls in his chest the moment he steps foot in the room, dreading wasting hours reading books only to come up short. At this point, he’d read nearly half of what they have and he’s still found nothing of use. Nothing mentioning such an intricate technique.

No insider knowledge on anything they’re going to come up against on the Star Plasma Vessel mission. The Prison Realm is nothing but a myth that’s barely confirmed or denied, the relic weapons Fushiguro will come wielding are said to be lost to the ages.

As if they’re not going to be used to try and take out the Six-Eyes in the next however long when the mission finally makes it onto Yaga’s desk, assigned by Tengen themself.

Satoru’s sure that everything is missing because the Sorcerer Killer has them all.

He doesn’t sleep much.

Actually, he doesn’t really sleep at all, spending his nights hidden away in the archives surrounded by stacks of books, both read and in waiting to be read.

And even when he tries to sleep, he can’t.

He's wound too tight.

He knows what’s going to happen soon, and he’s stuck here in limbo while he’s supposed to pretend the world is completely fine. He’s supposed to pretend he’s not due to die and resurrect himself with Reverse Cursed Technique he doesn’t even know how to do yet, that they’re not supposed to lose the Star Plasma Vessel they’re going to be enlisted to protect and that he’s not going to watch his best friend crash and burn before his eyes because they failed a little girl who just wanted to live.

Satoru tries not to think about it.

He fails that too.

He texts Yūji throughout the days, and even texts the boy’s grandfather once too.

He’s oddly touched by the invitation to come around for dinner again on Sunday. Even more touched when he remembers that that’s Itadori-san's bonding day with his grandson since they’re both free. Yūji had always made it sound like some sacred day of grandfather and grandson bonding.

Yūji’s following texts urge Satoru to accept.

He does.

Itadori-san seems pleased (Satoru thinks??) in the following ‘Ok.’ text, followed swiftly by a string of colon and parentheses smiley faces from Yūji in their own chatlog appearing on Satoru’s cellphone screen.

He sits kneeled through scoldings for leaving the school without permission; gets scolded for ignoring his phone in addition to disappearing without a trace, and then gets granted permission to come and go so long as he adheres to a set curfew Yaga instates, and promises to answer his phone if he does disappear off campus for whatever reason.

Satoru can’t tell if the man is trying to make his own life easier by not having to fuss over Satoru, or if he’s finally come around to the fact that Satoru doesn’t give a damn about respecting the school rules if it clashes with Yūji.

Either way, Satoru appreciates the leeway.

All three of them are granted the same set of expectations— keep in contact and at least inform Yaga if they’re leaving, report high grade curses if they come into contact with any (unlikely to just stumble on anything above grade three, honestly), be within the barriers by ten PM and in the dorms by midnight, or face consequences— there’s no favoritism from their Sensei, though it’s unlikely Shoko and Suguru will just disappear like Satoru does.

He’s the only flight risk, and they all know it. Unless they happen to be with him, but that still proves the point that Satoru is the instigator and it’s unlikely they’ll just up and disappear without him around.

Saturday sneaks up on him.

He’s tired. He can’t sleep even when he tries.

He knows it’s irrational knowing this’ll follow the original timeline, nothing’s been displaced yet, but even he can’t help but worry about the Sorcerer Killer.

Toji is able to get through the barriers undetected.

He’d managed to sneak up on Satoru, Satoru knows he’s probably already on the man’s radar. He'd apparently been on Fushiguro's radar since he was a snot-nosed brat. Who knew the guy would hold a grudge for so long— so Six-Eyes alerted his to the sensation of eyes on him, maybe the creepy stalker shouldn't have been watching Satoru in the first place.

Every time he shuts his eyes, he feels eerily uncomfortable. Like something is lying in wait, like the only man who’d ever pulled one over on him will appear randomly and slice clean through Satoru’s jugular and chest, down to his pelvis and leave him for dead once again, and then go after Suguru and their friends.

And Satoru won’t be able to stop it.

He doesn’t often feel like there’s something that can hurt him, but Fushiguro Toji can. And he will.

He goes to the archives like usual to distract himself. He’d planned to only stay in the archives for a couple hours and then try to sleep some, but the time had gotten away from him, and when he’d finally lifted his nose from the books, it was early morning.

Shit.

There’s a dull buzz of pain behind his eyes, his body obviously warning the incoming of a stubborn migraine that’ll no doubt swiftly transition from the faint flicks of pain he’s feeling now to a steady incapacitating thrum.

The pain throws him off his game, nonetheless.

At least this is happening now, instead of during the mission. He’ll need his wits about him then, or he can kiss his chances of saving Amanai, Kuroi and Suguru goodbye.

Besides, he’s used to migraines. He’s used to functioning through them, offering smiles and biting back the pain. A façade of ‘I’m fine! A-okay, like usual!’. He’s the strongest, he doesn’t have time for sick days. He’s used to this; used to feeling like this and trudging onwards.

The world doesn’t stop because he feels unwell.

Overstimulation has been a part of his life as long as he can remember.

He’d been born with Six-Eyes, born with hypersensitivity.

Six-Eyes is both a blessing and a curse.

He can live through migraines though, even if they’re hell.

Satoru stares at himself in the mirror for a long second, toothbrush bitten hard between his teeth as he massages his temples. His glasses are knotted in his hair from shoving them up hastily, and the pain behind his eyes pulses when he palms hard at his eye sockets.

His jaw clenches on the bristles of his toothbrush as he squeezes his eyes shut.

It’s not gonna be a good day.

Satoru finishes up in the bathroom, untangling his glasses from his hair with his eyes closed before slipping them back onto his nose when they’re free. At least he can hide behind them.

He’s due to pick Yūji up soon and needs to be dressed to do so. He still has a personal standard for how he’ll be seen— sleep clothes don’t fit the bill.

At least he doesn’t have to wear a uniform.

Civilian clothes are so much more comfortable.

Satoru stumbles into his dorm, searching through a pile of laundry in the corner of the room.

It’s all been worn, but it smells fine.

It just smells like the expensive cologne he likes to wear, which... right now makes his stomach churn violently. It’s overwhelming. The sharp scent is anything but pleasant, stinging at his nostrils, too much even wafting up from the sweatpants he’d just tugged on.

It’s strong even after sitting in a heap of dirty laundry.

Fuck.

The thought of suffocating in a t-shirt or a sweatshirt while he pulls it over his head is appalling, even if it’s just for a second. If the sweatpants are a problem, anything on his torso will be.

His migraines haven’t been this bad since before he’d learned Reverse Cursed Technique.

And that tracks, considering he still can’t grasp the technique right now.

His only saving grace is one of Suguru’s sweatshirts thrown over the back of his desk chair. He doesn’t remember when he’d stolen it, or why, but it’s been on the back of his chair for a while.

He plucks it into his hands, sniffing at it hesitantly from a distance.

It smells like Suguru. The cherry blossom and lavender incense the younger boy likes to use; the ones that remind him of his mother when he’s feeling homesick, and his cheap department store deodorant which is about as much fragrance as Suguru uses. He still always smells nice.

Satoru doesn’t know how he manages when he eats disgusting curses for a living.

It’s not perfect.

The scent is still overwhelmingly strong to the all-seeing nature Six-Eyes making all his other senses go haywire too. It’s still tenfold better than his own clothes, and there’s a subtle comfort in the smell as well. The smell of Suguru.

Satoru doesn’t hesitate to tug it over his head, melting into the warmth instantly. He tugs the hood up, finding it smells faintly of Suguru’s shampoo, sweet and faintly fruity. A little like coconut.

He likes that smell best.

Satoru’s arms wind around himself as he tries to swallow the feeling of his stomach churning. He hasn’t eaten anything, but his stomach still threatens to expel its contents. It’s all around unpleasant.

He glances at his alarm clock, squeezing his eyes shut when he realizes he’s a couple minutes late.

He’s not sure warping is a good idea, but the train is over four hours to Sendai and back, and Satoru doesn’t want to do that either. And he promised Yūji and Itadori-san. He doesn’t break promises.

Satoru buries his hands in the pouch pocket of the sweatshirt, warping himself to the Itadori home.

Picking Yūji up and bringing him back to the school takes more out of him than he thought it was going to. It’s over in ten minutes max, there and back, but it leaves Satoru feeling drained— the influx of cursed energy warping takes ultimately kickstarting the usually gradual descent into his migraine near instantly.

It hits him full force.

His cursed energy is thready, the weariness of his body translating to his energy as well.

His eyes ache, and the pain in his head is sharp now. His glasses are pushed as far up his nose as they can be, nestled into the bridge of his nose to the point the nose pads on the frame dig indents into his skin. They don’t block out nearly enough light, or cursed energy, and the smidge of distance between the glass and his eyes hurts.

They don’t help much.

He wishes he had one of his blindfolds, something snug against his eyes to do a better job of blocking everything out, but at this point in time he doesn’t have any, and getting his quality tailored blindfolds hasn’t exactly been top of his priority to-do list.

Satoru tugs himself from his thoughts, gaze flicking to Yūji, sat cross legged on his bed.

He’s already invested in a game of Snake on his phone.

Satoru had showed him the game on his own phone after dinner the day he’d been invited to stay over at the Itadori home. He’d helped Yūji download it onto his own phone right after.

Satoru is flopped down beside the boy, he’d hardly set the kid down before bellyflopping onto his mattress, face pillowed in his crossed arms in an attempt to block out the remainder of the light, but all it does is push the glasses more insistently into his skin.

Yūji hasn’t turned his attention away from his phone, and he hasn’t asked what they’re doing today. Satoru feels bad. He’s the one who suggested entertaining the kid while his grandfather was at work, and now all they’re doing is nothing, just with a companion.

“What do you want to do today?” Satoru mumbles into his forearm, aware of Yūji glancing over even without seeing it. “You name it and we’ll do it. Say the word!”

Enthusiasm hurts. Even his own voice makes his head pound. Ugh.

“What?” Yūji asks.

Satoru pushes himself up onto his elbows, cheek now resting on his bicep so he can see the kid, “I said we’d do something. We can go get something to eat, or go shopping, or...” he really doesn’t want to say it, “or go to Universal Studios like I suggested at dinner the other day? When I took you guys out for chicken katsu, remember?”

Just saying the words makes his head ache worse.

The thought of loud rides, people screaming on said rides and making it even louder than it already was, and screaming kids, because he knows they’ll be screaming kids, makes him feel queasy. It’ll be bright, and loud and overstimulating and his head already thrums at just the thought of all that.

But he’ll do it. If Yūji asks.

That doesn’t mean it isn’t a stupid idea though.

He’ll probably pass out if he goes on any rides, and as easy as it is to spend money, that’s not the most exciting part of theme parks. Yūji’s clearly an adrenaline junkie, he’ll want to ride rides.

Distantly, Satoru wonders if Yūji is even tall enough for any of the good rides.

“Do you...” the boy frowns, setting his phone on the mattress, “do you want to go?”

“It’s not about me, it’s about you,” Satoru huffs, dropping his face back into the darkness of his arms, “I’m game for anything. I’ve done everything there is to do so I’m good for anything, what do you want to do? I’m entertaining you, not the other way ‘round. What’ll hold your tiny attention span?”

For a long second, Yūji doesn’t answer. It’s so quiet, Satoru even lets his eyes slip shut, forgets for just a moment that he’s not alone in his room, until the boy speaks, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Satoru says on autopilot. “So, what do you wanna do today?”

“Can we just...” Yūji bites his bottom lip, “can we just watch movies like we did when I was pretending to be dead? Maybe without the punching? Talking about Tsukamoto the other day made me really miss him, you know? And I... missed watching movies with you. It was nice.”

Yūji hesitates, before offering a meek smile, “I mean, unless you wanna do something else! I don’t mind! I just... I’m a little tired. School is a lot more tiring than I remember it being. It shouldn’t be, we don’t do anything, but it is. And... and there’s always next weekend to do something super fun, too! R-right?”

“Yeah,” Satoru agrees, pushing down the wave of relief in his chest. Movies he could handle. “Good point. Probably for the best! USJ is way more fun with more people, and none of my classmates or kōhais are available to come today. Boo, boring responsible students on their boring missions. When I’m a teacher, I’ll make room for fun too. My group is a depressing bunch, yours is super fun! Well, ‘gumi’s a little depressing sometimes too, but it’s different!”

Yūji smiles lightly, a bit distant at the mention of his classmates.

Satoru doesn’t draw attention to it.

That also works in Satoru’s favor, because as much as he likes Yūji, he does not want to go to Universal Studios just the two of them. Being a responsible adult is so boring. Even more so when it’s one on one and he doesn’t have the privilege of stepping back and letting kids entertain each other.

Yūji and Kugisaki can bicker for hours, and Megumi had always been content to watch. They barely even noticed if Satoru stepped away from them. And it only sometimes ended in fistfights and tackling. Satoru loved when they did that. They’re so fun.

Still, he would go right now, definitely, if Yūji wanted to, but it would be much better with others.

Going alone meant being a responsible pseudo-guardian constantly or risk Itadori Wasuke’s wrath if the boy got hurt or lost. Going with friends meant he could pawn the kid off occasionally to do more exciting things that the boy wasn’t tall, or old enough to do.

He’d been looking forward to leaving Nanami on babysitting duty and hitting the thrilling rides with Suguru and Haibara. Maybe Shoko too. Nanami had been the first to cower behind the excuse of a mission when Satoru had suggested the outing.

That’s so like him.

Boring salaryman in the making.

It’s like he’s allergic to fun or something.

Haibara and Suguru had at least looked apologetic declining the offer of a free Universal Studios trip courtesy of the Gojō Clan’s wealth, especially considering the theme park is still on the newer side. Shoko merely frowned around her cigarette with a shake of her head.

Everyone had been sent off on their missions early that morning.

Suguru investigating a reported semi-grade one causing trouble in a tiny village in rural Gunma, Nanami and Haibara off to Fukushima together for a second grade. Shoko wasn’t sent out, just busy doing a lab with her mentor in the morgue. She’d mentioned it taking most of the day. Depressing stuff.

Satoru’s sure Suguru will be the first back.

He’d left the earliest, before Satoru had even stumbled his way back from the archives, and the traffic in that direction isn’t usually bad. He’s efficient with his work and doesn’t like sightseeing alone.

Satoru’s pretty sure his younger friend only goes sightseeing and souvenir shopping to humor him.

So Suguru will be returning within the next couple hours.

The kōhais, that’s another story entirely.

They’re tough though, they’ll get the job done. They always do. Satoru doesn’t have to be worried about the two of them being sent to wrongly graded curses until after the Star Plasma Vessel mission.

That’s when Haibara loses his life, and that won’t be happening again.

Satoru will pay more attention. He’ll hover over them, whether they like it or not. He’ll invite himself on missions. Work himself harder if it means others don’t die. Haibara will not die. Nanami will not lose his best friend. He and his classmates won’t lose their underclassman.

Satoru will make a difference for them.

For everyone.

“Sensei?” Yūji’s voice startles him from his thoughts, “are you sure you’re okay? You’re kinda... spacing. A bit.”

“Yep,” Satoru pushes himself up finally. “I was just thinking. I’m game for a movie day if that’s what you wanna do. Most of those movies you watched with Tsukamoto are still here, the ones out already, at least. Take your pick! They’re stacked near the closet. We’ll watch in the common area. That’s where my DVD player is. And the TV is bigger than my laptop screen. Cool?”

“Cool,” Yūji agrees with a warm smile.

Satoru watches the kid scooch off the bed, beelining to the stack of DVD cases. He crouches down as he sorts through them, selecting a couple films. Satoru doesn’t care what he picks.

Afterall, he’d seen all these movies before.

When Yūji’s made his selection, Satoru leads him out of his dorm and into the common area. The boy sets the DVDs on the table as he decides with to watch first.

Satoru heads to the kitchen for a second alone, and to make Yūji some popcorn.

His head pounds with each step, and even when he shoves his glasses up to massage his aching eyes, the pain doesn’t lessen. He shoves the glasses back over his eyes with a sigh of frustration, squeezing his eyes shut as he moves blindly through the kitchen.

The smell of popcorn is nauseating, and the cacophony of popping kernels and the hum of the microwave feels like little blades jabbing into the side of his brain. Satoru rubs his forehead as he pulls the bag of popcorn out of the microwave, dumping it into a bowl.

He finds a couple other snacks he’s hidden around the kitchen, as well as some drinks— a water bottle for himself, and a melon soda that may be Haibara’s, that Satoru will replace with interest, for Yūji.

When he returns to the living room, Yūji is sitting patiently on the couch.

Satoru scans the TV, smiling despite himself at the title screen of the film, “why am I not surprised you picked Human Earthworm.”

“Hey! It’s a classic!” Yūji defends with an amused huff, “you’re the one who owns it. That’s on you, Sensei. And you said I could pick! I still think the fourth installment is the best, but they’re all great movies. You can pick the next one.”

“Uh huh,” Satoru hums, setting the drinks on the table and dropping the popcorn bowl into Yūji’s lap. Little hands cup around the huge bowl. He tosses the kid the remote that he snags off the coffee table, starting the movie before he sends it flying at the boy.

Yūji squeaks as he flails to catch the remote, scowling halfheartedly at Satoru as the teenager flops back onto the couch, legs tucking behind Yūji’s small body as he stretches out.

The boy huffs a laugh as he leans back into Satoru’s calves, attention finally settling on the TV.

Satoru breathes a sigh through his nose, eyes finally falling shut.

He doesn’t even notice when Yūji lowers the volume of the TV.

Suguru bows his thanks to the assistant who’d driven him to and from his mission. The assistant bows his head in return, pulling the car away from the curb to return the car to the parking garage.

Suguru heads into the dorms.

His mission hadn’t been too bad.

The semi-grade one was a nuisance, able to manipulate weak cursed energy. Suguru’s not completely sure, but he thinks the curse might have been able to lull you into a state of relaxation.

It had been a small Kodama curse, a nature curse— sunken, hollow eyes and mouth, like knots in a tree. It looks like a little tree trunk, actually. It’s about the length of his forearm, yet a little thicker. It’s fast and clever. Suguru thinks it’s old, despite the grade.

The feeling that had washed over him was the serenity of nature. Calming.

He’d felt it as soon as he’d stepped foot outside the tiny village, where people had been going into the forest at the foot of the mountains, never to be seen again. There was no trace of anyone, no one alive or dead, so he really doesn’t know what the curse had done with those it had taken.

Though the energy was weak and unpracticed, the little forest curse put up one hell of a fight.

Suguru didn’t succumb to the numbing ease, aware of that being a possibility from the mission details Yaga supplied him with when he was assigned this mission.

He was able to keep himself on track, and the curse did not appreciate that.

It was obviously a protector of the forest of sorts, and it’s not the worst curse he’d seen. Part of him understand that there were unhappy people out there. Forestry was a problem, and he’d seen a few trees cut down upon entering the little village. It was still made of negative emotion, the manifestation of unhappy nature enthusiasts, he’d bet.

Still, despite that, it’s not something he can just leave.

The curse was still willing and capable of harm, so it couldn’t stay.

Suguru had struggled a little, but he’d managed to exorcise and consume the curse in the end.

Now that it was his, he’s definitely going to look closer at the curse’s technique. It’ll be useful, he’s sure. Maybe not against curses, but humans, probably.

Maybe he could try it out on Satoru.

Maybe then he’d actually sleep.

Suguru sighs at the thought of Satoru.

He doesn’t know what to think.

There’s definitely something up with him. It’s so obvious. He’s been weird since Yūji came into his life, not that finding out you have a younger sibling isn’t life altering, but it’s gotten worse recently.

It’s like he’s constantly on edge.

Sneaking out at night, staying out the entire night without sleeping. Suguru knows he’s doing it. He’s heard Satoru’s door open late at night, only to open again in the early hours of the morning just before the other boy bounds out of his room, ready to start the day. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want a repeat of the last time Suguru brought Satoru’s sudden oddness up.

He’s genuinely sneaking too— not warping.

Warping is a lot of cursed energy that flairs up around him before vanishing completely along with Satoru. Suguru would sense that if he was doing it. It’s loud and bright; he doesn’t see cursed energy like Satoru, but he senses it in his own way.

And like everything else about Satoru, his energy demands attention.

Satoru is sneaking out in the traditional way. He’s hiding.

Suguru’s sure he’s going to the archives still.

Suguru doesn’t know what he’s so insistent about researching, what he’s trying to gain through the books, but it’s obviously been keeping his focus and distracting him. He’s tried to piece together everything he’d seen in that assortment of books— ranging from tools, to artifacts, to Ryōmen Sukuna— but nothing made sense.

It wasn’t some puzzle; it was a bunch of pieces of different puzzles that Satoru clearly understood, could wedge together thoughtfully, but no one else would when glancing at it.

The defensiveness was something else that rubbed Suguru the wrong way.

Satoru had always been a fairly open book when it came to Suguru, but he’d been slamming that book closed whenever Suguru drew close these days.

Suguru’s not used to being held at arm’s length by Satoru.

They’d been thick as thieves since partway through their first year— when Suguru had somehow managed to flip a switch in Satoru that had changed his entire view of his classmates.

They were no longer weak in his eyes.

Suguru, in particular, was no longer weak.

Suguru’s not sure Satoru had ever truly viewed Shoko as weak, just strength in a different area to him. Strength in the form of Reverse Cursed Technique that even the Six-Eyes wasn’t capable of.

Satoru was a lot of things, but he was never unfair when it came to commending strength. If he deemed you worthy, at least. And if he didn’t, well, he wasn’t exactly pleasant to be around.

Six-Eyes gave him something no one else had, and he was smart on top of everything else.

It was no secret Satoru searched out powerful individuals he considered strong.

Some, like Iori-senpai would likely never live up to Satoru’s standards. For whatever reason. Suguru honestly doesn’t know what Satoru has against her. She’s a good sorcerer, and she’s really nice when you’re not trying to get under her skin and needle her. Shoko’s a pretty good judge of character, and Shoko likes Iori-senpai.

Still, from that point on, things changed between the then first years.

Suddenly they weren’t just two Special Grade classmates coexisting, but the Strongest Duo.

So, he’s not used to not understanding Satoru.

He’s not used to Satoru shutting him out like he had in the archives.

They’re best friends.

They tell each other everything.

Or they did, at least.

Something is obviously going on, and yet Satoru has mentioned nothing.

He doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t relax, and he’s barely eating. He’s often lost in thought, expression pinched in a way Suguru doesn’t understand. He talks less; he’s quieter in general.

He’s nothing like the obnoxious, immature first year Suguru had hated with a passion last year, and he’s not even anything like the arrogant asshole Satoru had been just before he’d finally told them about Yūji. Something is different. Suguru doesn’t know what.

He doesn’t hesitate to accept missions, or tag along with Suguru or the first years. It doesn’t matter what grade curse they’d been assigned; Satoru is there— watching, observing and helping if need be.

He’s working himself to the bone.

Even Yaga’s worried.

Thankfully he’s got some moral responsibility to watch Yūji on the weekend so at least he’s taking Saturday off to rest and look after his brother. If any of them are going to run themselves right into the ground, it’s definitely gonna be Satoru.

Suguru cards his fingers back through his hair, careful not to mess up the neat bun as he enters the dorm building. He pauses when he hears the faint murmuring of the television in the living room.

Suguru’s brow furrows.

The dorms are supposed to be empty.

The first years left right after Suguru that morning, Shoko was in the morgue doing whatever it was that enthralled her and her mentor, and Satoru had been bouncing off walls chattering on excitedly about spending time with Yūji, excited to take the boy to USJ today.

Had they not gone?

Satoru had seemed pretty crestfallen when no one else could join them.

Had that put a damper on their plans?

Suguru turns to head into the common area instead of heading to the dorms, brow furrowing when he catches sight of a head of pink hair. “Yūji?”

The boy jolts faintly in surprise, tenses up at being disturbed as he turns to regard the owner of the voice, little head cocking faintly.

He sighs out a quiet, “oh,” when he sees Suguru standing in the doorway behind the couch, smiling lightly at the teenager, “hi, Suguru-chan. Onii-chan said you were on a mission, did it go good? Was it cool? Did you find anymore cool curses to keep?”

“Hi,” Suguru replies, startled by the questions, “yeah, uh, it was fine. I handled it. The curse was kinda cool, I guess. Maybe I’ll show you later. I... didn’t know he told you about missions. Hopefully he doesn’t scare you with details. And speaking of, where is your brother?”

Yūji’s nose scrunches up before he gestures to his side.

Suguru needs to step into the room to peer over the back of the couch to find his friend.

Satoru is pushed back into the backrest cushions, lanky body taking up the entire length of the couch. His face, glasses and all, are smothered in the couch cushions.

Suguru is sure surprise is obvious on his face.

Satoru doesn’t stir, even when Suguru is looming over the couch. It’s unsettling.

Is he... is he sleeping? Now? With Yūji here?

That’s not very like Satoru.

“I think Onii-chan is sick,” Yūji says softly after a second.

“He’s sick?” Suguru repeats, stunned. What? “Sick how? Did he tell you that?”

Suguru reaches forwards to gently set his hand over Satoru’s forehead.

He’s half surprised not to be stopped by Infinity, but if Yūji’s here, he’s probably not going to feel the need to protect himself. And if he’s sleeping, he’s not really able to maintain control. It fluctuates. The same can be said for when he’s not feeling well. He’s complained about it before.

He’s even more shocked by the fact that Satoru doesn’t stir beside the faint pressure of Suguru’s hand flattening over his head. Satoru’s a light sleeper. Like super light.

Suguru pushes down the thought.

He doesn’t feel warm.

“I think his eyes hurt,” Yūji offers with a shrug, turning to watch Satoru now too. “We were watching a movie, and then he fell asleep and I didn’t wanna wake him. I think he’s tired. He looks tired.”

“I think so too,” Suguru agrees quietly.

Everything has clicked into place.

Satoru has a migraine.

He's susceptible to them; Six-Eyes and the intense oversensitivity dragging him down. Satoru had told him himself, explained that it’s always been a problem for him. Back in their first year, there’d been one bad migraine that had knocked him off his feet.

The first time Suguru had seen the Strongest Sorcerer of the century acting human.

Satoru had gone on three back-to-back missions that the higherups had assigned to him personally, without consulting Yaga, and he’d overused his techniques. Their teacher had been pissed when Satoru passed out in the shower. Suguru had nearly had a stroke when he found him.

It’s a miracle Satoru had even made it back to the school, that’s what Shoko had muttered when Suguru asked how Satoru was a few hours later. Cursed energy could be exhasuting, and Satoru was an idiot who ignored his own boundries.

He’d been down for eighteen hours; locked in his pitch-black dorm room, bandages wrapped around his eyes to block at as much energy and light as possible, and a blanket drawn over his head for good measure.

Suguru’s sure this migraine now has been brought on by Six-Eyes, in addition to his lack of sleep, the obvious stress weighing him down and overworking himself despite everything else.

Not eating well probably played a role in it too.

Satoru really set himself up for failure on this one.

The idiot just kept going, probably ignored the warning signs.

It’s no wonder this migraine is hitting him so hard.

Suguru’s honestly surprised it’s taken this long for it all to catch up to Satoru.

He’s been off for weeks at this point.

“He is sick, sorta,” Suguru offers a light smile, hoping to ease the worry off of Yūji’s face, “but he'll be okay. It’s a bad headache. Sometimes his eyes cause him problems— he sees cursed energy, right? His eyes are very special and because of that, they’re sensitive too. They’re able to see more than anyone else and sometimes it’s too much. Sometimes this happens, and he needs a break.”

Yūji looks to be absorbing the information earnestly, brow furrowed in thought as he scans Satoru. “Does this happen to him a lot?”

“No,” Suguru says honestly.

He pats Yūji’s head over the back of the couch, offering a smile, “but when it does happen, he doesn’t feel well for a while. He needs rest and quiet. You did a good job taking care of him. You know, he’s also kind of an idiot who doesn’t like to admit he’s not feeling well.”

At that, Yūji nods in agreement, attention flicking back to the TV, “Onii-chan warped us here even though I think he wasn’t feeling well before he came to get me.”

Of course he did.

That idiot.

“That sounds like him,” Suguru sighs.

“Don’t slander my name. Callin’ me ‘n idiot to my young impressionable kid brother. So rude.” Satoru groans loudly, startling both Suguru and Yūji who turn to look at him. The older teen continues, voice muffled as he pushes his face closer into the cushions, “and Yūji, don’t snitch to Suguru. Also rude. The betrayal.”

“I thought you were asleep,” Suguru comments, leaning over the back of the couch over Satoru.

He doesn’t draw his face from the couch, just pushes into the fabric more intently. Suguru knows his shadow is looming over Satoru, knows the other teen knows he’s there, but he barely stirs.

Suguru wonders how much his head truly hurts.

With Satoru’s need for dramatic flair, you’d think he made a big spectacle of illnesses and injuries.

That he’d want sympathy.

It’s the complete opposite.

For as dramatic as he is about everything else, he’s got a scarily high pain tolerance and a knack for brushing off his own wellbeing in fear of being viewed as weak.

Suguru actually worries about Satoru for that exact reason.

It’s not like he doesn’t have reason to be concerned.

Back in their first year, before he’d gotten as fluent with Infinity, he’d broken his ankle on a mission and hadn’t told anyone. Not even Suguru, who was literally with him, had literally watched Satoru when he’d fallen through the floorboards of an old cursed mansion under renovation.

He’d ignored Suguru’s outstretched hand offering help with a sneer and pulled himself out the hole without a word. This was before they became friends. They didn’t avidly hate each other anymore, but they clearly didn’t consider the other anything more than a classmate either.

Satoru had walked off, not appearing in pain at all, even when Suguru had asked if he was alright.

The moron had walked on it for nearly two full days until Shoko caught sight of the swollen mess when his pant leg had ridden up, proceeding to shove him down and straddle his legs to pull his pant leg up the rest of the way despite his protests and cries of ‘assault, assault!’.

She’d then proceeded to smack him upside the head in irritation before insisting that he go to the infirmary with her to get it checked out and healed with her technique.

Suguru had been the shoulder Satoru leaned on when Shoko flicked him in the forehead for putting weight on it when he’d insisted, snappily, that he could walk by himself. Suguru still remembers the kicked-puppy expression on Satoru’s face as he leaned heavily into Suguru’s shoulder as Shoko had scolded him the entire way to the infirmary.

Suguru had felt awful for not noticing he’d been hurt, but Satoru hadn’t outwardly expressed any pain.

“I was not,” the older snaps. Suguru thinks Satoru was going for threatening, but it’s about as scary as a kitten. It’s cute. “I was resting my eyes, dickhead. I was awake. Ever heard of relaxing?”

“You’re such a liar,” Suguru snorts fondly. “I’m sorry for waking you. Please, go back to resting your eyes. I insist. Don’t stop relaxing on my account. You dork.”

Yūji snickers, hand coming up to cover his mouth as he averts his attention. A second later he pops a handful of popcorn into his mouth. It’s only then Suguru realized that it’s after noon now and it doesn’t look like Satoru’s fed his little brother.

He’s been asleep, Yūji already confirmed that.

“Are you hungry, Yūji-chan?” Suguru turns his attention to the boy fully, offering a light smile, “I doubt your onii-chan would’ve gotten up off his lazy butt to feed you and it is past lunch time.”

“He’s been fed,” Satoru defends and Suguru’s sure his eyes are squinted into slits behind the glasses.

“Candy and popcorn don’t count,” Suguru retorts with a roll of his eyes. “Only you can survive on an exclusively junk food and sugar diet. It’s not healthy, he needs real food you six-foot tall toddler. He’s still growing.”

“Big talk for the guy only half an inch shorter than me,” Satoru sneers back without looking up. “Size matters, hasn’t anyone ever told you, Su-gu-ru? It’s true. You’re just jealous~”

Suguru rolls his eyes, not bothering to reply.

He turns to Yūji instead, “do you want to come find something real for lunch with me? We'll leave your grouchy brother to find a better attitude. I’ll maybe even consider bringing him something to eat.”

“The only thing I’ll find is my foot up your a—”

“And that’s enough out of you!” Suguru cuts him off, hand slapping down over his friend’s mouth. He feels Satoru’s lips press in a straight line under his palm. “Wow, you just have no filter ever, do you? There’s a kid here. What would his grandfather say if he heard you talkin’ like that around him?”

“Probably ‘smarten the hell up, Boy!’” Yūji says from the other end of the couch, mimicking an aged voice as he tosses a piece of popcorn into his mouth. The boy is watching them, head cocked faintly. He smiles innocently when Suguru’s surprised gaze falls into him. “What, Sugu-chan? You asked.”

The corners of Satoru’s lips pull up faintly in a smile under Suguru’s hand, something small and real despite the obvious pain of his migraine. He lifts his own hand to pry Suguru’s away.

Suguru isn’t entirely sure what prompts the soft look on Satoru’s face, but he likes to see it nonetheless.

“You did ask,” Satoru huffs a laugh into the cushions, “I can see him saying that, actually. Maybe with a smack to the back of the head— y'know, one of those warning ones? That sounds about right. Your grandfather scares me a little.”

"Or a flick to the forehead," Yūji nods solemnly in agreement.

Suguru watches the exchange baffled. They’re just so alike. Gojō Satoru has a hard personality to match, but Yūji manages. Just— friendlier and kinder. More innocent. Easier to get along with. Not a dick.

“You’ve had him for only a couple months,” Suguru says tiredly, “how have you already ruined him? He’s a good influence on you, but you’re a terrible one on him.”

“He was like that when I found him!” Satoru whines. “It's not my fault.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You’re mean,” Satoru groans, pushing his face even further into the cushions, “go away, will ya? Just take the kid and feed him if it’ll keep you out of my hair. I surrender. Take him and go. Take our child and leave, you heartless monster. He’s a child of divorce now.”

“Onii-chan,” Yūji huffs. “You’re weird.”

Satoru flaps a dismissing hand halfheartedly.

“A sacrifice must be made,” Suguru agrees with a laugh, “I wish you’d told me we were married before breaking my heart. Springing a divorce on me is cruel. Oh well. Our child is better off with me anyways. I’ll actually feed him something more than popcorn and melon soda. I’m sure his grandfather will appreciate it.”

Satoru’s lips twitch up into a smile again, but he forces his expression back into a pout. “You’re not even going to try to fight for our relationship? For me? I’m wounded. I’m devastated. You’re just gonna take our kid and go? Leave me? The cruelty. The brutality. Sugu-chan is merciless.”

“Yeah, yeah, get over it,” Suguru smiles kindly as he turns to the teen’s little brother, “c’mon, Yūji-chan, wanna help me make some onigiri? I’m sure the first years and Shoko-chan will appreciate having something to eat when they get back. We’ll be in the kitchen if you need us, Satoru.”

Another dismissive wave from the older boy as he turns to face the couch completely. Suguru would almost call it petulant if he didn’t think Satoru was in serious pain right now.

Yūji slips off the couch with one last worried look thrown at his brother.

Suguru offers a gentle smile to the child as he leads Yūji into the kitchen.

As he passes, he flicks the living room light off, leaving Satoru alone in the darkness. There’s still light from the window, so it won’t be completely dark unless Suguru draws the curtains closed and turns the TV off, but it’s bound to make a difference to sensitive eyes.

They set about making onigiri.

They have all the ingredients after last week’s grocery store visit. Suguru decides on a simple tuna filling after a quick glance at their stock, because it’s easy and fast. And you can’t go wrong with a good tuna onigiri. The classics.

He enlists Yūji to fight with the stupid can opener that barely ever works as he goes about washing the rice so it's ready to go into the rice cooker.

“Sugu-chan?”

Suguru hums in response, not looking up from where he’s swirling the rice in water with his fingers. He drains the cloudy water before filling the container with clean water and starting again, attention finally flicking back to the child in question.

Yūji is already looking at him, “how bad do you think onii-chan really feels?”

Suguru stills, hand sunk in the rice as he debates his options of how honest he should be to the kid, glancing halfheartedly towards the living room before sighing, “it’s hard to tell. Your onii-chan doesn’t like to let people know he’s not feeling well. I think... well, migraines are very uncomfortable. They’re not fun and can really hurt. And his technique makes it worse. He’s probably feeling really bad right now. But he’ll be okay, don’t worry, okay?”

Yūji’s head quirks, eyebrows furrowed, “so he’s a good pretender.”

Suguru snorts a laugh, “your brother is the best pretender you’ll ever meet.”

Yūji looks thoughtful for a long second before he nods his head in seeming agreement. His focus returns to the partially opened can of tuna. Suguru looks back at his own task.

The teenager drains the rice again, finally satisfied when the water runs fairly clear.

He turns to the rice cooker, expertly starting the machine before wiping his wet hand on his pants. When he turns to the child, Yūji is already dumping the cans of tuna into a bowl.

Bright honey-eyes flick up to Suguru again, “is there anything we can do to help Onii-chan?”

Suguru expects him to ask about the onigiri, he’d seemed pretty distracted, but he’s surprised by the fact Yūji is still hung up on Satoru. Worry still evident on the child’s face.

He’s clearly a sweet kid.

And there’s no question he’s not fond of his brother already.

Suguru’s glad.

Satoru’s a hard guy to get along with sometimes.

Suguru hums in thought, “well, we can be quiet and keep the lights off so it’s not too bright. His eyes are really sensitive, that’s why he wears his sunglasses all the time. Satoru should eat something, but he might feel sick, sometimes that happens, so we’ll see. He should drink water and rest. Usually, he’d lock himself in his room, but if he wanted to do that, he would’ve already.”

Suguru pauses, glances back in the direction of the living room before offering a tiny smile, “it’s most of the stuff you’d do for anyone feeling unwell. Just try to understand he doesn’t feel good. No one likes to be sick, and sometimes they’re not in a good mood, you know?”

“Ah. Should I... go home then?”

Suguru pauses, “do you want to go home?”

“Well, no,” the boy frowns, wringing his hands together, “I like it here, with Onii-chan and... and you, just... Onii-chan thinks I need someone to look after me because my Ojiichan is at work today, but I don’t really. I’m fine. I mean, Ojiichan and I were fine before so... If he’s sick, he should... ah, he just shouldn't be worried about looking after me too. It’s dumb.”

He’s sweet.

How is he related to Satoru?

“Wanna know a secret?” Suguru redirects the conversation intently, joining Yūji at his side. The boy frowns lightly, but nods curiously. “Your brother doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do. You’re here because he wants you here. He looks after you because he wants to. You like it here, and he likes you here too. Whether he’s sick or not, okay?”

Yūji studies Suguru for a long second before his little head dips in a nod. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Suguru smiles gently, patting the top of Yūji’s head, “now, do you like spicy tuna filling, or no? My classmates will eat anything they don’t have to make and love it, and I don’t mind, so you pick.”

“I like spicy,” the boy decides with wide eyes. “I like anything though.”

“You sound exactly like your brother,” Suguru muses. “Though he usually only says that about anything sweet. I hope you don’t inherit the same sweet tooth. I fear for his health sometimes.”

“You know a lot about Onii-chan,” Yūji accuses, lips puckered in thought.

“Well,” Suguru hums, offering a light laugh, “we are best friends. He’s one of my favorite people, you know? I’ve known him for almost two years now, that’s a long time. Sometimes there’s just people in the world that you know you’re supposed to find, and Satoru is one of those people for me.”

“Your one and only?” Yūji asks meekly.

Suguru cocks his head a bit in confusion, “where’d you hear something like that?”

“Onii-chan,” the boy confesses with a little smile, “when I asked him about you, when... um, when he made me my glasses. That day. When I met you. That’s what he told me. Onii-chan really trusts you.”

Suguru’s heart flutters in his chest.

Satoru had said that?

And not just that, he’d said it to his brother. A little kid, no less. You don't just say shit like that to a kid unprovoked.

“Yeah,” he admits with a probably stupid smile at the thought of Satoru saying such a thing. It doesn’t really sound like Satoru, but the boy definitely doesn’t seem the type to make something like that up. And it’s true for him; Suguru has always thought that about Satoru, but it’s surprising to hear the older teen thought the same, “that’s exactly how it feels. He’s my one and only.”

Something flickers across Yūji’s face, something Suguru can’t really place, before a little smile curls onto his lips, “I’m glad Onii-chan has good friends. I think he’s been lonely for a long time.”

Suguru clears his throat, deciding this is a conversation he most definitely does not want to be having, especially when Satoru isn’t here too, “well, what about you, Yūji-chan? Do you have any good friends at school? Or kids in your neighborhood to play with?”

“No, not really,” the boy admits quietly. “I did— I had the best friends but... I don’t know. I can’t see them anymore. They... ah, they moved away. Far away. But. I’ll see them again, I think. I miss them.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Suguru says honestly.

“It’s okay though,” Yūji smiles, though it’s a little distant. “I still have Onii-chan.”

“Yeah,” Suguru hums approvingly, “you’ll always have your brother. He’s a good person to have looking out for you. We’re both lucky. And I’m sure you’re right. If they’re supposed to be in your life, you’ll find them again, or they’ll find you. The world’s funny like that.”

Yūji nods quickly, offering a tiny smile, “what goes into the tuna filling, Sugu-chan?”

They make up a quick spicy tuna filling together, Suguru directing for the most part while Yūji insists on doing the work. There’s not much else they can do with the rice still piping hot, so Suguru spoons the rice onto a plate to cool faster after the rice cooker chimes that it’s finished.

Yūji busies himself with counting out sheets of nori, and Suguru takes that second of distraction to slip away to his dorm room to get changed out of his school uniform and into something more comfortable. He’d been on his way to do so before he’d gotten sidetracked by Satoru and Yūji.

He’d already accepted his fate of spending the afternoon with Yūji; that he was going to be giving Satoru a hand looking after his brother, like a good friend, considering he’s clearly not feeling well.

He hasn’t stirred once or come to investigate the kitchen.

It’s a true testament for how he’s really feeling.

Not that hanging out with Yūji is actually any work, he’s more just company for the boy, not a step-in babysitter. Though he’d be doing the same thing even if Yūji was a rambunctious, hyperactive four-year-old because Suguru knows Satoru needs rest.

He might not let it show, but he’s hurting.

Satoru was right, Yūji is very mature for his age.

All those stories and claims Satoru has made about his brother are ringing true.

Suguru doesn’t doubt the boy would’ve been fine at home alone, despite his young age, but he’s glad Yūji has people willing to spend time with him. He’s glad Satoru had stepped up for him.

Suguru had always had a friend in the form of his younger sister.

They were nearly the same age, and they got along well. When his older brother was off doing whatever it was older kids did with their friends, he always had his sister, so they were never truly alone growing up. Siblings were built-in entertainment. Suguru can’t imagine life without his brother and sister.

He can’t even imagine a whole day alone at such a young age.

On the way back into the kitchen, Suguru stops by the dorm bathrooms to grab a bottle of ibuprofen and a washcloth to put over Satoru's eyes.

Yūji’s waiting patiently in the kitchen when he returns, the plate of cooled rice, a pile of nori sheets, the bowl of tuna filling, furikake seasoning and a box of tin foil on the small kitchen table between two chairs. Suguru eyes the set up with a smile, Yūji has definitely made onigiri before.

Yūji is patiently kneeled on one of the chairs, offering a small smile when he spots Suguru.

Together they build over a dozen onigiri for everyone to enjoy. Surprisingly, Yūji is pretty good at forming rice balls and wrapping everything together in a neat little package. He’s pretty meticulous for a four-year-old.

As they work, Yūji chatters on about how much he likes to cook, and the things he’s made with his grandfather. He talks of meatballs that Satoru apparently loves that are super easy and tasty, promising to make them for Suguru, Shoko and the first years to try too.

If it was any other four-year-old, Suguru would hesitate at the idea of eating something they make, but it’s clear Yūji knows his way around the kitchen. And he’s curious, especially if it’s a real meal that Satoru enjoys. That’s not an easy task.

The boy talks on, saying whatever else comes to his mind as he focuses on his work.

Yūji can ramble.

Suguru doesn’t mind being a listening ear. It’s endearing.

Suguru’s glad Yūji’s confident enough to have personality now— it's a definite upgrade from the silently anxious child he’d brought into the dorms that first official time they’d met.

When they’re finished constructing and wrapping the onigiri, three are put on a plate to be brought into the living room with them, while the others, wrapped with tin foil between the nori and rice ball so it doesn’t get soggy, are placed in the fridge for whoever wants them.

They're easy to grab and go, everyone will love them.

Yūji beams when Suguru tells him as much.

“I hope Onii-chan likes them!” Yūji’s smile widens as he slips off his chair and grabs the plate with the three onigiri on it, little feet padding along the floor as he heads back into the living room.

Suguru listens to the exchange as he tidies up a bit.

“Onii-chan, we made you some food. Have one!”

“You were supposed to make you food, I’m not hungry.” Satoru’s voice is slurred faintly with sleep and pain, obviously disturbed by someone joining him in the living room again. “You eat.”

“But I made this one special for you,” Yūji’s tone wavers, and Suguru bites his lip to keep from laughing, “you don’t want to try it? I put extra tuna filling and everything...”

“I— well, I mean, I’ll try it, okay?” Satoru sighs deeply, the couch creaking as if he’s pushing himself up. “Hey! Don’t use your waterworks against me! I taught you that, so it’s not gonna work, and don’t pout at me. That's like the oldest trick in the book, I practically wrote that book. I’m immune. Use it on someone who’ll cave. Like your grandfather. Or Suguru.”

Suguru scoffs under his breath as he soaks the washcloth under cold water.

Satoru’s next words are muffled around a bite of food, “this is totally guilt tripping, just so you know. You think because you have a cute little face and doe eyes that I’m wrapped around your finger? I see through you. It’s a dirty, dirty trick, Yūji-kun. Manipulation. Honestly, I’m so proud, but you’re supposed to be on my side. But noooo, here you are conspiring against me with Suguru.”

“But it worked,” Yūji sounds so proud of himself. “I learned from the best. Is the onigiri good?”

“You’re such a pain in my ass.”

Yūji just laughs.

Suguru decides to join them again at that point.

As expected, Satoru is sat up, a half-eaten onigiri in his hands.

He already looks finished with it. It’s so clear he’s just humoring Yūji. Satoru’s face is a little pale, hands dropped in his lap, onigiri and all. He does look a little queasy, but at least he’d eaten a little.

It’s more than he probably would’ve done if Suguru was the one asking.

Suguru plops down at Satoru’s side, where his face had been buried in the cushions.

“You put him up to this, didn’t you?” Satoru accuses, slowly glancing in Suguru’s direction as the younger teen snags the last onigiri on the plate.

“Don’t look at me,” Suguru laughs, hand lifting in surrender, “I just helped him make them. You’d know if I was conspiring against you. It’s not my fault your little brother has you whipped.”

“I am not whipped!” Satoru whines.

Suguru smiles teasing, saying nothing besides imitating the sound of a whip cracking under his breath so only Satoru can hear it.

Suguru can feel Satoru’s glare through his glasses. “I hate you.”

“Can we watch another movie?” Yūji interrupts Satoru’s glaring. His onigiri is gone, and he’s looking over at Satoru and Suguru with a studying gaze. Suguru wonders how long he’d been watching them.

“Yeah, sure,” Satoru answers easily enough. He abandons his onigiri back on the plate and flops back down, so he’s sprawled once again, just, instead of across the couch entirely, his head lands on Suguru’s lap carelessly. “Clearly you’re the boss. Apparently. According to Suguru.”

Suguru makes the whip sound again, even quieter.

Satoru still glares up at him, this time bringing a hand up to pinch at Suguru’s side.

Yūji ignores them, selecting a DVD case off the table, before heading to the DVD player.

“Wait!” Suguru yelps when the film he’d picked up finally registers, “wait, hang on a second, Yūji. We can’t watch that one.”

“Why?” Satoru asks without opening his eyes.

“It’s a horror movie, Satoru,” Suguru scoffs, “I know you’re trying to be a super cool older brother, but that movie is actually scary. It scared you when we watched it. Your brother is four.”

“Yūji picked it himself.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s— you know what? No. If you’re not gonna be the responsible one, I will,” Suguru shakes his head, “Yūji, why don’t you go pick... ah, do you even have anything kid friendly? Wait, Satoru, you still have those Studio Ghibli films, don’t you? Those are way better. Yūji, why don’t you go pick one of those?”

“I didn’t see any of those,” the boy blinks owlishly.

“On the dresser, I think,” Satoru says, “sorry, otōto, the real boss has spoken. Go pick a kid’s movie. You can find my dorm, right? Right. I have most of them, I think: My Neighbor Totoro, Howl’s Moving Castle, Spirited Away or something. Hurry back.”

Yūji nods, leaving the two of them alone. The horror movie is set back on the table, and Suguru can breathe easy knowing the boy won’t be watching it.

Satoru’s a good brother, but sometimes he makes it very clear he’s new to having someone so much younger in his life. “You know something like that could’ve given him nightmares, right?”

“Please,” Satoru scoffs, turning faintly to bury his face in Suguru’s shirt, “he’s seen worse outside of screens. He sees curses, remember? Nothing in the cinematic world will ever hold a torch to the horrors of the real world. I told you he’s been through some shit— that movie, whichever it is, is nothing.”

“Doesn’t mean you should encourage it,” Suguru sighs. “He’s young, you need to be the voice of reason sometimes. Protect his innocence for as long as possible. Our world sucks, Satoru, don’t make it sound fun for him.”

Satoru doesn’t answer, nose pressing further into Suguru as his eyes squeeze shut.

“How does your head feel anyway?”

“’m fine,” the other mumbles into Suguru’s shirt.

“Yeah, sure, you’re completely fine. There’s obviously nothing wrong. You’re just buried in my shirt, because you feel like it. For shits and giggles, eh? Right.” Suguru smiles, as Satoru grumbles. “If you’re going to stay like that, at least take your glasses off. They’re digging into my stomach. I have a cool cloth to set over your eyes instead. Might work better.”

Satoru pulls back enough for Suguru to slip his glasses off and replace them with the damp cloth. Satoru's eyes are already squeezed shut when Suguru delicately unhooks the frames from behind his ears, indents in his nose and cheek where the metal had been unforgiving against his skin.

He sets it over his friend’s eyes, smile widening when Satoru sighs a bit in relief.

“Still bright,” Satoru whines after a second.

Suguru sets his hand over the cloth, pressing the dampness into Satoru’s skin. His hand fits perfectly across his eyes, fingers and palm molding into the divots of Satoru’s eyes.

Satoru melts under the touch, going boneless in Suguru’s lap.

Suguru’s expression softens, “any better? I brought ibuprofen too. In case you wanted it.”

“Better,” Satoru sighs in contentment, shifting closer. He’s on his back. “I’m okay for now. Hurts a little less when the lights aren’t blinding. I like the pressure too. Over my eyes. It’s nice. Helps. Thank you.”

Suguru just hums, “are you sure you don’t want to go to your room to rest? I can entertain Yūji and bring him home when his grandfather’s finished work. Or get him set up for the night in one of the spare rooms, if you’d prefer?”

“Nah,” Satoru flaps a hand, “I like his company. This is fine. The movies don’t bother me much, and with the cool cloth and your hand, it’ll be fine. I just need to sleep it off, I think.”

“If you’re sure,” Suguru shifts a bit until he’s more comfortable. He doesn’t think Satoru is going to let him up any time soon, especially if the pressure of his hand soothes the ache.

They’re taking up the entire couch, Suguru wonders where Yūji will sit.

Suguru doesn’t even notice when he starts carding his fingers through snowy-white hair. Satoru shivers at the touch before melting even further into him and the couch.

Suguru watches Satoru’s expression grow lax under his touch.

“Why are you watching me?”

“Who says I am?”

“I can still sense you just fine, idiot,” Satoru snaps back, “you think just because a flimsy piece of cloth and your hand help a little that it’ll stop Six-Eyes entirely? Funny. You’re clearly watching me.”

“Maybe I was just wondering why your sweater looks awfully familiar,” Suguru retorts with a playful tease. That shuts Satoru up quick. The older shifts a bit, almost awkwardly. “You know, I have one just like that. It’s been lost for weeks. Isn't that funny? Gone from my wardrobe, only to show up in yours.”

“What a coincidence,” Satoru murmurs blandly.

“A coincidence?” That prompts a laugh from Suguru. “Yeah. Totally. Of course it is.”

“Don’t bully people when they’re sick,” Satoru mewls dramatically, “it’s cruel.”

“So you finally admit you’re sick?” Suguru brushes Satoru’s bangs off his forehead, adjusting the cloth before replacing his hand, “I never would've guessed, Satoru. I thought I’d never see the day Gojō Satoru admits to ordinary human weaknesses. How the mighty have fallen.”

“Mean,” Satoru sticks his tongue out, lips a pout. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?”

“Only you, like every single day since I met you,” Suguru snorts back. “Sometimes more than once a day. You really need to expand your insult horizon. It’s getting a bit dull, oh Honored One.”

“Asshole.” Satoru sneers behind the cloth, lips pulling up in a sharp grin, “see, I’m right, obviously. You’re an asshole. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Truer words have never been spoken, Asshole.”

“Obviously,” Suguru mimics Satoru’s voice, making sure it a bit higher and whinier than Satoru actually is just to annoy the other. His grin widens when Satoru blows a raspberry petulantly.

They both quiet down at the sound of little feet padding closer— Yūji arriving back in the living room holding a small stack of DVD cases.

“I’m back!” He announces brightly, smiling widely at Suguru, as he waves his selected film. In the next second, Yūji is beelining to the DVD player swapping out the current film with the new one. “Onii-chan has lots of good movies, but I like this one!”

“Good pick,” Suguru commends, offering a smile when Yūji preens at the compliment. The boy inches back to the couch, moving to sit on the floor at the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” Satoru’s voice disturbs them.

“Watching a movie,” the boy replies, looking back over his shoulder at Satoru’s sprawled from. The position doesn’t make him appear very aware, but Suguru knows he’s intently overlooking everything. Yūji clearly notices that fact as well, little face pinching.

“On the floor?”

“There’s no more room on the couch,” Yūji frowns. “You’re too long.”

“There’s always room if you try hard enough,” Satoru’s lips twitch up, “c’mere! You can sit on me. I don’t mind. No sense in you sitting on the cold hard floor when you can be with me~”

“But—”

“No buts!” Satoru’s voice is teasing, “c’mon! You know, I heard somewhere that a weight on your chest helps you relax. Yūji-kun, your onii-chan's head really hurts and he just needs to relax. Won’t you do him this favor? It’s a win-win!”

Suguru watches the interaction silently, not wanting to disturb the sibling bickering.

“You’re gonna use me as weight?” Yūji squints.

Satoru snorts a laugh, arm bending promptingly, “well, what else are you supposed to use kids for? C’mon, you’re only like forty pounds. Easy. Otōto, come lay with your brother! Offer your support in these trying times. I’d feel so much better with a weight on me! And the warmth! Yūji-kun is warm! Pleaassee? Do your favorite onii-chan a favor!”

“Blankets are also warm,” Yūji mutters as he moves towards Satoru.

Even with his eyes completely covered, Satoru still manages to scoop Yūji up the second he’s close enough to do so. The movement is fast— one second Yūji is inching closer to them, in front of the couch, and the next he’s sprawled along Satoru’s torso, the older teen’s arm around him.

“Much better than any blanket,” Satoru hums with a goofy smile, “and way better than the floor, huh? What a kind, thoughtful big brother. I’m the best. You’re so lucky.”

“Onii-chan, you’re using me like a weighted blanket,” Yūji deadpans, though Suguru watches him melt into the embrace, cheek settling on Satoru’s chest as he tucks his head under his chin, “are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Hush,” Satoru buries his nose in Yūji’s hair, “it’s not like you’ve never slept on me before! Last time we watched movies like this, you fell asleep on me! Yūji-chan was sooo cute drooling on my sleeve!”

“T-that’s different!” Yūji cries out, cheeks flushing as he glares halfheartedly.

“Hardly,” Satoru snorts back, “now shush. Quiet time. Watch the movie.”

Yūji huffs but turns his attention to the television anyways.

It takes twenty minutes for the brothers to pass out.

Satoru falls asleep just five minutes into the movie, his fingers scratching lightly across the child’s back thoughtlessly. Suguru knows Satoru is out when he goes completely boneless, hand falling limp on Yūji. Satoru’s fingers are fanned out on the small of Yūji’s back, arm placement almost possessive.

Yūji doesn’t seem to notice when the repetitive motion stills, eyes locked on the TV despite his eyelids drooping sleepily.

Suguru just takes a second to watch the two of them.

To study Satoru like he never can when the older teen is awake and observe Yūji as an extension of Satoru, because honestly, he still can’t believe Satoru has a little brother. It’s odd. The familial bond between the two of them, the closeness that’s astounding when it comes to Gojō Satoru.

Despite his thoughts, Suguru keeps steadily dragging his fingers along Satoru’s scalp, tousling through snowy-white hair and carding his bangs back thoughtlessly as he goes. Satoru had long ago leaned into the touch, and Suguru is pretty sure if he were to stop now, Satoru would stir.

Probably demand that Suguru keep going, like a needy cat or something.

For a guy who hides behind his Infinity as if it’s a second skin, Satoru sure does like having his hair played with. He didn’t even stand a chance at staying awake with Suguru’s fingers playing idly with the soft strands.

Satoru is all for physical touch— whether that be leaning on someone’s shoulder, draping himself over them, punching them, or flicking at them to express his annoyance— but he always fights against anything that leans towards intimate.

Letting himself be soothed, or coddled.

Suguru’s used to positions like this.

He’d grown up in a fairly normal home.

His mother is a kind woman who taught love and respect.

He’s one of three kids, the middle, and sort of the back sheep of the family considering the curses thing, but his mother always made sure he never felt segregated or unimportant.

He was used to having his face squished between her hands, and having kisses planted on his forehead and cheeks. His father wasn’t as physical about his love, but Suguru never doubted the man loved them. Suguru’s father’s love was expressed through pats on the shoulder or head, or the occasional hug.

His brother was a bit distant, maybe because of the faint age gap, but he was loyal and protective.

The first one who’d actually believed Suguru about the curses when he was little, always willing to check closets and under beds for the monsters Suguru often saw, which is ridiculous looking back now because Shintaro couldn’t even see curses.

And his sister was one of those people who demanded physical touch as if it was a requirement to exist. She’d demanded affection as simple as having her hair smoothed back, or fingernails scratching lightly aross her back and always had since she was a strong-willed, demanding little baby.

Suguru always catered to Shiori, even when they were infants; she truly was the baby of the family, and the only sister.

The point was, he’d been falling into repetition like this since he was a baby himself.

It’s easy. Natural.

To Satoru, it was anything but.

Sometimes the difference in how they were raised made Suguru’s stomach tighten in anger he felt for his friend growing up like that.

Satoru had never really explained how he was raised in his clan, but you could tell. How he acted. How he reacted to what should be normal— either overly enthusiastic about simple affection, or sharply overwhelmed by it depending on the day.

What was normal to Suguru, basic human touch and emotions, was foreign to Satoru.

Honestly, Suguru’s not surprised when his friend crashes between the migraine itself, that probably feels a lot worse than he’s letting on, and the relief he must also be feeling as he lets himself be vulnerable. The cool cloth over his eyes, the pressure of Suguru’s hand and Yūji on his chest and having his hair played with.

Yūji falling asleep is a little more surprising.

The child is curled up on Satoru, nose buried in Suguru’s sweatshirt that Satoru wears.

It’s adorable.

Seeing Satoru like this— all domestic with a child curled up on him. He’d honestly never seemed the type. When you think of Gojō Satoru, you don’t think of a doting older sibling. You think of arrogance. Of power. Strength. Untouchable. A league above the entire world.

That’s always how he’d presented himself.

You don’t think of a teenager avidly snuggled up to a child of his own free will.

Suguru doesn’t even think anyone would believe him if he told them this was how he was spending his Saturday. Not that he plans on telling anyone. Not even Shoko.

Satoru trusts him enough to be vulnerable like this, Suguru is oddly honored.

Not just Satoru letting Suguru into this, trusting him, but also that his friend is letting him into snippets of what he holds dear to him. His newfound little brother.

That’s probably even more trust than letting Suguru see him vulnerable.

Suguru shifts a little, lifting his hand from Satoru’s eyes to slip Yūji’s cursed glasses off his face, leaving them on the table with Satoru’s own blackout sunglasses. The boy curls even closer to Satoru with the newfound freedom of plastic not digging into his face, sighing slightly in contentment.

Satoru’s arm tightens faintly around him in his sleep.

Suguru’s never seen anything cuter.

With an exhaled sigh through his nose, Suguru returns his hand to Satoru’s eyes, pressing back into the damp cloth just to be sure Satoru can keep resting.

Suguru shifts faintly, smiling to himself as he settles back into the couch.

He’s definitely gonna be here for a while.

At least Yūji had picked a good movie to watch.

A couple days pass after the migraine incident.

Satoru had started feeling better by that evening, though he refused to get off of Suguru’s lap for the better part of the day. He was just so comfy.

Despite feeling a little better, he’d still kept Yūji at the school for the night, after getting the okay from his grandfather (and running it by Yaga by text like a good student), because even he knew warping in his state would put him right back at square one.

He’ll admit that warping Yūji to the school in the first place was a bad idea.

Yūji seemed content enough too, that mental barrier of the fifteen-year-old version of him overpowered by a movie hungry four-year-old who clearly loved to cuddle and be distracted with bright, attention drawing films.

They watched through three Studio Ghibli films, joined throughout the evening by Haibara and Nanami who plopped down the floor, freshly showered and after changing out of their uniforms, and lastly Shoko, who wedged herself between Satoru’s feet and the armrest of the couch.

He dug his toes into her, and she forced his ankle back until he surrendered. Suguru and Haibara snickered, Nanami rolled his eyes, and Yūji barely looked away from the screen.

Even awake, the boy doesn’t try to push off of Satoru like the teen had expected when Yūji blearily opened his eyes after their nap, and when Satoru does finally push himself up to a sitting position between his classmates, Yūji is perfectly content to sit in his lap and watch the film like a mindless little zombie, leaned back against Satoru’s chest.

Satoru always enjoys little glimpses at young Yūji.

It gives him hope that maybe the kid will grow up normal again, or at least not as fucked up as every other sorcerer out there. Yūji will never be a normal kid again, not like the first time around, but he hopes there are more moments like this one where the kid can be a kid.

By the morning, the migraine is almost completely gone.

He’d dropped Yūji off, only to return for dinner after a mission, just as he’d promised. Itadori-san doesn't even make him take his glasses off, Satoru is sure Yūji said something to the old man, because even if he doesn't say the words, he sounds apologetic for insisting.

A few more days passed; life carried on like usual.

It’s when he’s playing basketball with Suguru in the gym that Satoru is hit with a sick sense of déjà vu.

For a long second, he doesn’t know what has him so on edge about it— as he riles Suguru up and steals the basketball from him. They spend a lot of time bickering and playing basketball together, what’s so different this time?

It’s not until the door bangs open to reveal a stressed looking Yaga does Satoru’s heart drop to his stomach as his blood turns icy in his veins.

“There’s a mission for you two.”

Satoru and Suguru follow Yaga out of the gym, Satoru’s heart pounding hard against his ribcage as he falls thoughtlessly into step with Suguru. He wonders if his friend and teacher can see the faint shake of his hands before he shoves them in his pockets, thankful his eyes are hidden behind his glasses.

“Frankly, I think it’s too demanding for you, but Tengen asked for you two specifically.”

That... explains it.

Oh no.

This can not be happening.

Not yet.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

It can’t be time. He’s not ready. He hasn’t done enough research; he doesn’t know enough. He’d been dreading this, scrambling for weeks, and he’s still not ready. He’s unprepared. He has no idea, no plan, no nothing.

It’s too soon—

And yet, it’s time.

“Suguru, do you trust me?”

“Satoru, what—”

“Do you trust me?”

Chapter Text

“You have two jobs. The Star Plasma Vessel, the only compatible vessel for Master Tengen. You are to protect and escort that girl... and then erase her.”

The words have been ringing in Satoru’s head since Yaga had said them.

Since they’d been led into the school, and this mission was laid in front of them, just like the first time around, except this time, it feels like a bucket of ice-cold water being tossed over his head when the man mutters the words, instead of the preening arrogance that he’d been filled with the first time.

He’d followed numbly into the classroom, forced a cheerful bravado for Yaga and Suguru, though not as clueless as the first time around. He’d managed to calm the pounding of his heart as he fell into the seat beside Suguru, listening along to the conversation, adding his own two cents and immature comments to play the part, despite the hollow feeling in his chest and the anxiety sinking in his stomach.

Escort the Star Plasma vessel to Tengen and give her up. Offer a sacrifice to a demigod of an ancient sorcerer. That’s the logistics of it. At the base of the mission, that’s the goal.

They’re offering Tengen a sacrifice.

Amanai Riko will cease to exist after the merger.

Just as Yaga said, she’ll be erased.

The person she is. The memories she has. The people she holds dear. It’ll all be wiped away. A clean slate for Tengen to rewrite. A willing vessel. An entire person gone for the sake of using her body for some higher purpose that she doesn’t even truly understand.

Tengen will take over her body as if she’s nothing but a vessel.

That’s their mission.

Protect and guard an innocent fourteen-year-old girl and then offer her up as a sacrifice.

The thought makes Satoru’s stomach coil violently.

And the thing is, Satoru does understand how important Tengen’s technique is. He understands that the merger is vital to keep the sorcery world going, that a sacrifice must be made to keep the entire world running smoothly, but at the same time, Tengen didn’t get Amanai Riko the first timeline.

She’d been killed despite their best efforts.

A five-hundred-year wait, and the Star Plasma Vessel had been assassinated right before delivery. In Tengen’s chambers. Suguru and Amanai had literally made it to the Tomb of the Star Corridor.

And they’d still lost.

They’d still been defeated. The girl had died.

He and Suguru had been weak against the opponent; they’d failed their mission— they’d let her die. The Strongest Duo had been weak. They’d been cut down in the most literal sense of the word, and they’d lost. For the first time in their Sorcery careers.

And the outcome?

Life had gone on.

Life hadn’t even really changed. Well, personally, it had changed, but for different reasons to the merger not happening. But for the general population? For the world of Jujutsu? Nope. Nada.

Tengen evolved, and it may not be perfect, it may not be the best thing that could’ve happened, but it wasn’t past humanity level of evolution. There were no repercussions, nothing major, at least.

Tengen had evolved, but not to the point of no return.

There hadn’t been any issues for eleven years, as far as Satoru had heard or seen. Whether or not Tengen was pissed or not, Satoru had no idea, but he could honestly say the world had kept turning even without Tengen’s technique being reset.

Amanai and Kuroi had died, and Tengen had been forced to evolve one step closer to a higher form of existence anyways, but it was fine. It was clear that the merger wasn’t essential at that exact moment for the world to continue turning. It didn’t need to happen. Not at that exact moment. Not Amanai specifically, even if it was the best course of action, theoretically speaking.

They weren’t doomed the second the girl didn’t turn up in Tengen’s chambers. Amanai had lost her life, and the world didn’t combust into flames immediately following.

The world continued to turn, and changes were scarce, if there were any at all.

One missed assimilation didn’t mean the end of the world.

Keeping up with assimilations was a failsafe, as far as Satoru could see.

Keep ahead of it so as to not risk hitting that point of no return.

Be one step ahead now so it doesn’t bite them in the ass down the line.

For another five-hundred-years, or however long it would take for a new Vessel to be born, Tengen would be fine. The world would be fine. The barriers would be fine. Jujutsu would be fine.

If they’re looking at a stages of evolution type of thing, like with Digimon, there are vital points between power. You don’t just level up from Agumon to WarGreymon. You’ve gotta evolve to Greymon and then MetalGreymon before reaching the Mega evolution. You hit Champion evolution, then Ultimate and then Mega. Simple.

Tengen hit Greymon.

They’ll have a problem if Tengen ever makes it to WarGreymon.

Tengen will keep evolving, but bit by bit, not all at once. If it was truly a problem, the world would’ve ended eleven years ago in Satoru’s timeline when they’d failed to protect the Star Plasma Vessel. Tengen would’ve lost their humanity entirely, but that wasn’t the case.

So it’s not exactly good, but it’s also not bad.

And this evolution for Tengen isn’t permanent either, as far as Satoru knows.

In five-hundred-years, a new Star Plasma vessel will be born, and Tengen will return to square one when merged with that individual— body and cursed technique reset, just like if Tengen had merged with Amanai.

Hopefully a vessel that Satoru isn’t in charge of, because sacrificing a kid for the sake of some bigger picture isn’t something he ever wants to try to do again. He really hopes he doesn’t live for the next five-hundred years or so anyways.

Immortality doesn’t seem like all it’s cracked up to be.

Satoru almost pities Tengen.

So yeah, Satoru knows his mission.

He knows what should happen. He knows what would be best for Jujutsu. Protecting Amanai and delivering her to Tengen for the assimilation. Turning Tengen’s clock back and ensuring they have another five-hundred years without worry. In an ideal world, it would be that simple.

Satoru doesn’t live in an ideal world.

Ideal worlds don’t exist.

The world is fucked.

And it always will be.

He has a unique take on this mission, because he’s seen it play out in the absolute worst way possible. At this point, anything will be better than their first attempt, but he’s also not willing to part with Amanai’s life, especially knowing she wants to live.

He’d spent hours of his life imagining different outcomes. Drowning under what if’s because there’s absolutely no way that everything was supposed to happen like that.

There’s no way the world is so cruel, that fate would fuck them over so royally.

That Satoru would get his ass handed to him in a fight against a non-sorcerer, that Amanai and Kuroi would be killed in cold blood, that Suguru would blame himself for everything, turn his hatred onto innocent people who don’t know what they fuck they’re even doing.

Normies don’t know they’re creating curses. They have no idea. It’s in their nature, something that happens unintentionally. Sorcerers have been known to curse things too. Yūta had accidentally cursed Orimoto Rika. He didn't know what he was doing, it wasn’t his fault, but it happened.

It’s human nature, not quite the same deal, but similar enough.

Emotions are fickle, uncontrollable things.

It’s knowledge that the general population doesn’t understand that’s where the problem lies.

Knowledge is everything, understanding curses is where that difference truly lies.

That mission had failed, in the absolute worst way. They failed the kid. They failed Tengen.

Not only did the assimilation not happen, but it didn’t happen because Amanai’s life had been taken before she could even choose her destiny. Before she even had a chance to back out of handing herself over to be used as nothing but a vessel— Suguru had said she was going to choose to live and then Fushiguro had...

Satoru remembers the look in Suguru’s eyes when he’d told him.

The fear, the pain, the heartbreak, the anguish.

Suguru’s beliefs and ideals crumbling down around him, eyes so tired. Shattered by the cruelty of their world. Suguru had a kind soul. An anomaly amongst sorcerers. The Jujutsu world had broken it far beyond repair, and a small part of Satoru doesn’t even blame him for defecting.

If it had have come without the mass genocide, the murder of his parents and village, and the attempt at war that had finally, finally forced Satoru’s hand and costed Suguru his life, Satoru would’ve been proud of him for escaping Jujutsu’s clutches. If he’d walked away, left sorcery behind, even left Satoru himself behind, Satoru never would’ve blamed him for it.

Because Suguru had watched it firsthand.

She was going to choose to live.

And Fushiguro had taken that option from her before Tengen could. And those stupid normies. The Time Vessel Association who’d clapped at the death of a child. Appalling. Disgusting.

Satoru had never felt blind rage like that, so angry he was numb. He honestly could’ve killed every single one of them without releasing his hold on Amanai’s cold body.

He knows how much is riding on the success of this mission.

Not the success of their actual assigned mission, not the success of handing Amanai over to Tengen, he could honestly care less about whether or not Tengen evolves at this point, nothing catastrophic had happened, but for things to change.

For her to live. For Suguru beliefs to come out of that fight unscathed. For Amanai to have that long life she obviously craved, despite how she’s been manipulated and coerced into her rightful mission in life. No child should be asked to give up their life. It’s cruel.

Satoru’s so sick of children’s futures being decided for them.

He’s sick of kids being sent to slaughter— nooses strung around their necks as they march blindly towards death because someone said they were dangerous, or that they had some greater purpose to fulfil. Amanai, Yūta, Yūji. So many others.

A part of him is even disgusted that this is a world he’s never going to be able to escape either.

He’ll never get the option to walk away. Suguru had walked, tried to start an entire revolution, Nanami had walked, Shoko probably could too, if she was insistent and really wanted out, but Satoru? Never.

His life had been decided for him the moment he’d opened his eyes that very first time— he’d grown up under his father’s thumb, under the higherup’s and the Gojō Clan Elder’s thumbs.

He was nothing but a trump card.

He’d known he had a duty from the moment he was capable of conscious thought. His place in the world was drilled into his head before he could even walk. His duty. The Six-Eyes. Inheritor of Limitless. The first in over four-hundred years. The one to disturb the balance of the world.

He’s too valuable; they rely too heavily on him.

So yeah, Satoru knows what should happen.

Is that what he’s going to do?

No.

Absolutely not.

Yaga had assigned their mission: Protect the Star Plasma Vessel.

But Satoru assigned his own, and his is far superior: Fuck this Assimilation, Nobody Dies.

The only exception being the Sorcerer Killer, possibly. He hasn’t decided if Fushiguro is more work than he’s worth. Satoru will walk into this fight with no intention to kill him, but he won’t hesitate either. And well, Satoru himself too, probably, which doesn’t really count because he doesn’t stay dead.

But no one else.

Not Amanai. Not Kuroi. Not Suguru. Not Tengen. Hopefully not even Rainbow Dragon.

Satoru will do better this time.

He’ll come up with some half-baked plan in the next two days before Amanai’s assassination truly happens, praying that what he knows, his limited prior experience, will be enough to change things.

That they’ll survive this.

The world will be fine, and Amanai will not have to die.

God, he hopes he can somehow make that happen.

Meeting Amanai goes about the same as it had the first time around.

Saving her from Q’s little assassination attempt goes exactly the same as he can remember, from his position at least. If he doesn’t interfere, no one else will, and for now, things should play out the same.

Satoru doesn’t get much say in that one, Suguru is the one in the building to handle to explosion. They deal with the Q soldiers easily— they hardly stand a chance to two Special Grade sorcerers, and honestly, Satoru’s fought harder third grade curses. Lame.

Satoru is pleased at how everything is following suit to the memories he has of this specific mission.

If he hadn’t been completely convinced by Yūji finding him in the past, then having this mission play out exactly as it had in his memories now without any intervention from him now definitely would.

The brat still needles under his skin like an annoying little sibling when they first meet, even if he’d been prepared for her this time. It feels different this time. Before, when Amanai had died, it had felt a bit like they were friends after spending so long with her. It wasn’t just a faceless death that’s familiar when you’re a sorcerer, but it was the death of someone he’d let weasel into his bubble of Infinity.

Seeing her again is truly like seeing the dead for Satoru, just like when he’d seen Suguru again. Everyone else, Satoru knows they’re gone, Yūji had verified, the emotion and grief were there in the kid, but Satoru hadn’t witnessed anything. He never saw. He was going off of Yūji’s word.

This felt different.

Seeing her.

Satoru sort of wanted to hug her, but he didn’t. That would be weird for all involved except him, the one who’d carried her once lifeless body and considered committing genocide himself when his own faith was shaken.

Honestly, Suguru is such a fucking hypocrite.

Suguru is equally as irritated to meet Amanai, which is amusing. It’s like Satoru is watching memories from the depth of his brain playing out in front of him. Suguru’s façade cracks the second she mocks his bangs. Ha. Suguru doesn’t often lose his temper with anyone besides Satoru, so it’s a treat to see now what he hadn’t cared about before.

Satoru lets it carry on the same as it had. He doesn't interfere yet. This is such a delicate situation, and one wrong move could fuck this up worse than the first time. He needs to be careful.

He doesn’t really have any other option at this point anyways.

Amanai throws her little fit, they allow her to go to school.

Satoru probably would’ve let her go anyways, because either way, he’s not sure if she’ll see them again. There’s still the sinking feeling in his chest that she’ll die again. That had happened. It will have always happened to Satoru. That they’ll fail her, but he tries hard to force the dark thoughts down.

The reality of it is that he doesn’t know exactly how this is going to play out yet, it’ll be different for sure, but he doesn’t know the outcome any more than he’d known the first time. He’s not walking into this blindly again, but it’ll be different.

He just knows it won’t be the exact same, for better or for worse.

Hopefully better.

Please be better.

Still, he’s glad she gets to see her friends.

After that, they fall into every single one of Fushiguro’s little traps, despite how Satoru is itching not to play into it. He knows it’s a must, even if he doesn’t like it. The desperate part of his brain wants him to confront this head on, the sane part of his brain just wants everything to work out.

If this thing is gonna change at all, he needs Fushiguro to feel safe and confident with his plan. Overconfidence is a curse in and of itself. Satoru needs him to feel like he’s leading them towards the slaughter against their knowledge and that they’re none the wiser.

This’ll all go to shit if he doesn’t feel like he’s one step ahead of them.

If he’s skeptical at all, even the slightest bit suspicious that something isn’t going to plan, he’ll turn into a wildcard that Satoru really, really doesn’t want to deal with.

The last time Fushiguro had pulled one over on him, he’d been sliced from jugular to belly button and been left for dead. Satoru is expecting that this time, but he’s actually terrified that Fushiguro might plan something worse if he catches on.

Satoru can not let that happen.

They fight the money hungry bounty hunters; Satoru still can’t manage a Red attack, no matter how hard he tries. That unpleasant feeling he’d had sinking in his stomach is back full force when he just ends up punching the moron curse user who’d tried to challenge him.

He plays dumb about the bounty on Amanai’s head that he knows Fushiguro put there.

Satoru directs them towards each little incident that had herded them along like sheep in the original timeline. They’d played directly into Fushiguro’s hands that first time. They were genuinely oblivious to it. This time he'll be playing directly into Satoru’s hands by the man thinking they’re playing right into his hands.

Kuroi gets kidnapped (he feels bad about that one), they rescue her.

He lets everything fall into place. Watches thoughtfully, puts on a performance and tries to react and act as close to himself as he had the first time around.

There’s something refreshing about being back in Okinawa.

It’s easy to let himself relax a little now, especially in the presence of Amanai. Playing around in the water, enjoying food, trying not to think about what’s to come while also always analyzing everything as he tries to scrape together any semblance of a plan.

He knows nothing is going to happen between getting on the plane to Okinawa and returning back to Jujutsu Tech. It’s within Tengen’s barriers that shit hits the fan.

If they’d managed to lull Fushiguro into confidence, this’ll all be the same.

So far so good.

Satoru leans back in the armchair he’s sat in. It’s late. He’d talked Suguru into staying another night yesterday, talked him into waiting out the bounty in Okinawa just like the first time around.

It doesn’t really make a difference.

But Satoru enjoyed his time here again. Kayaking, sightseeing, going to aquarium.

It had been a nice day.

The calm before the storm.

His stomach is in knots, and even if he did entertain the idea of releasing Infinity and trying to sleep, he knows he won’t be able to. He knows they’re safe. If everything is as it should be, Fushiguro won’t grace them with his presence until tomorrow afternoon, at Jujutsu Tech.

“Satoru,” Suguru calls from where he’s perched on the edge of one of the beds.

They’d settled for a hotel room with two queen-sized beds. Amanai and Kuroi hadn’t minded sharing, and it’s not like Satoru and Suguru had never shared a bed before.

Not that Satoru had any intentions of sleeping when he’d booked the room.

It’s their last night in Okinawa.

Satoru hopes Amanai and Kuroi had a good time.

Tomorrow morning they’ll get on their flight back to Tokyo, and Satoru will be all out of time. He’ll have to face reality. Do or die. Change the course of the future or fail once again.

Worry churns in his stomach.

They're alone for the moment— Kuroi and Amanai in the bathroom together for some privacy; probably an excuse for a moment to themselves without Suguru and Satoru hovering.

Satoru doesn’t mind, the hotel room is safe.

Still, they’d said something about Kuroi helping wash and braid Amanai’s hair or something after all the saltwater and their busy day doing touristy stuff. It really had been fun. He'd almost forgotten how entertaining Okinawa is. There’s so much to do.

Satoru halfheartedly debates whether Yūji would like Okinawa.

Maybe when he’s got all the kids together, they can come on vacation.

Yūji, Megumi, Tsumiki.

Suguru and Shoko.

Hell, even Nanami, Haibara and Itadori-san if the old man wants.

It’s a nice thought.

Satoru’s never done a family vacation.

Never had a family to do it with.

The light thought almost distracts him from what’s to come.

Satoru lets his attention lull back, one eyebrow arching in question over his glasses.

“You know everything will be okay, right?” the teen on the bed says quietly, lip pinched lightly between his teeth, “you should really give yourself a break. At least try to sleep a little bit tonight. You’re dead on your feet, Satoru. We'll be okay for one night, I promise. I’ll keep watch if you rest for a bit. Please.”

“Still worried about lil’ old me?” Satoru teases halfheartedly, “I’m fine, like I said yesterday.”

--

“Satoru, you haven’t released your technique since yesterday, have you?” Satoru’s body tightens when Suguru leans in to whisper such a question to him, concern piercing through Infinity. “You haven’t slept either. And you don’t plan to sleep tonight either.”

Statements. Accusations. Not questions. Questions don’t work. Easily evaded. Suguru knows better than to ask. He won’t get an honest answer. He never gets an honest answer.

It’s easier to corner Satoru, state facts he can’t refute.

Suguru knows him too well. Suguru always knows him too well.

Suguru stares for a long second, “are you sure we don’t need to go back to Jujutsu High?”

Satoru refuses to look over at him directly. He thinks if he gives Suguru as much, his friend will see the wariness in his eyes. Suguru will pinpoint the fear of what’s to come, the anxiety buzzing in his chest, and just how scared Satoru actually is.

Suguru always sees dumb shit like that when it comes to Satoru.

“It’s not a problem,” Satoru dismisses easily, fist bumping thoughtlessly against Suguru’s chest as he walks away. It’s not a problem. It's not.

--

Suguru doesn’t look away.

Satoru does.

He turns away entirely, shoulders slumping back in the armchair. He is tired. He brings a hand up to rub at his forehead, a dull ache behind his eyes from the continuous use of Infinity. It’s exhausting.

No wonder Fushiguro had snuck up on him.

This is all so much worse without constant RCT usage.

Even when he doesn’t see Suguru anymore, eyes focusing out the balcony windows, the sun setting overhead, he knows Suguru is still staring. He feels eyes on him, and it’s not eerie. It’s almost comforting. Someone who sees him. No one sees him. Not like Suguru.

There’s no doubt Suguru is watching him intently, elbows on his knees and his jaw cupped in his palm as he angles his body in Satoru’s direction. Still trying to see what Satoru does about this mission, still trying to understand something he never will.

“You’re doing that thing again, Satoru,” Suguru says quietly.

Satoru’s brow furrows, turning back to his friend with a frown, “what thing?”

“You’re being weird,” Suguru says, tone dull and Satoru knows it’s not an insult or a challenge. Another observation. Another statement. Satoru sinks deeper in the chair, forcing his eyes away once again. “Why won’t you let me in? What are you thinking so hard about? You’re worrying me.”

Satoru hums in acknowledgement, then, “do you think it has to be like this?”

He asks without thinking.

He doesn’t look over.

He doesn’t want to see the look on Suguru’s face.

“What are you talking about?” Suguru hazards the words uncertainly.

“This,” Satoru’s eyes watch the sunset, transfixed on it despite Six-Eyes scanning their surroundings repeatedly, “I just don’t see how this is a good thing, you know? This assimilation. This mission in general. What’s the point?”

“Well... you know what will happen if Tengen doesn’t merge with the Star Plasma Vessel,” Suguru says easily. Satoru hears the confusion in his tone. “Yaga told us. You were listening right? Your dumb Digimon reference sounded relative enough. You know this is for the greater good, Satoru. Tengen’s technique isn’t something we can let get out of hand. You know that.”

“Do I?” Satoru retorts, finally looking back. “Do we really know anything about Tengen, Suguru? How much do you think we actually know about all this, huh? Is there proof this merger is truly necessary, or is this a theory? A safeguard? There have only been a couple assimilations. I seriously doubt Tengen’s let themself past this point, so how do we know something terrible will happen if Tengen happens to evolve?”

Suguru leans back on his hands, thoughtfully, “going in that direction of logic, how do you know something terrible won’t happen if Tengen does evolve? That’s not our decision. We don’t know anything. We don’t understand Master Tengen’s technique. Tengen knows what they’re talking about. Just like you know Six-Eyes and Limitless best.”

Suguru doesn’t say anything for a long second.

And then, in a final tone, “we were assigned a mission, Satoru. That’s what we’re doing. That’s all this is, don’t forget that. We’re to protect her and bring her to Master Tengen.”

“I don’t give a shit about the mission anymore,” Satoru scoffs impatiently. “Do you not remember our conversation? Back at school, before all this bullshit started? We agreed that we wouldn’t force her if she changed her mind. You a liar then?”

“Did I miss the part when Amanai changed her mind?” Suguru challenges back, just as intense. “I won’t force her if she decides she doesn’t want to assimilate with Master Tengen, but I also won’t let you make that decision for her. Seriously, what’s gotten into you? Since when do you care?”

Hearing Suguru ask that hurts more than Satoru would care to admit.

He cares a lot. He’d seen the aftermath of all this. He’d seen the worst outcome he thinks is possible, watched it flourish for eleven years and hated every second of it. He’d lost so much from this mission.

And most of all, he’s not heartless, contrary to popular belief.

Satoru schools his expression expertly, refusing to let any emotion show.

“She clearly doesn’t want to,” Satoru sneers back before he can stop himself.

Anger is better than hurt.

He doesn’t know if it’s his reaction, or the younger version of himself deflecting emotions.

“Have you not been babysitting around the same brat I have? Anytime we mention it, her face falls. She’s scared. She doesn’t want to, and we both know it. She’s probably been manipulated into embracing this higher calling thing all her life. You don’t get it. She doesn’t think she has a choice, Suguru.”

“You don’t know that,” Suguru’s brow furrows. “And that’s not a decision you get to make anyways, Satoru. It’s not your problem. We have a job to do. She has a job to do.”

Annoyance bubbles up in Satoru’s stomach.

Suguru can be such a goody-two-shoes sometimes.

How this guy could cause so much trouble down the line will always stun Satoru. Seriously.

“Let’s look at it logically, yeah? We’re offering a sacrifice,” Satoru snaps, keeping his voice low as to not disturb the girls. “That doesn’t sound as pretty, does it? That’s not disgusting to you? This feels wrong. So wrong. On so many levels. This mission is so fucking stupid, man. Our job is to protect the sacrifice we’re leading right to death. We might as well toss her in a volcano or something at this rate! We’re supposed to be the good guys, and we’re sending her off to a step up from death. Barely.”

Satoru draws in a shaky breath, looking away sharply, “Amanai Riko will cease to exist, and you’re okay with that? After getting to know her? After seeing how young she is, how much she wants to live a normal life; go to school, have friends, grow up? Don’t you think we’re the bastards here?”

Suguru frowns, but Satoru isn’t done.

“I think Amanai has no idea what she’s doing— not really. She might think she does, but she doesn’t. What teenage girl truly comprehends offering herself to be a vessel? She doesn’t want this. No one would want this.”

“That still isn’t your decision to make,” Suguru says again, too calmly. “And it’s not mine either.”

It pisses Satoru off.

Satoru squints behind his glasses. He refuses to look back at Suguru, attention locked on the sun even lower in the sky now. It’ll be dark very soon. And then it’ll be morning. Satoru’s not ready.

“Fine,” Satoru raises his hands in surrender.

He dismisses the conversation easily, pointedly ignoring Suguru’s narrowed gaze. There’s no winning. Suguru didn’t broach the subject the first time until it was too late anyways. It’s a lost cause.

He can see Suguru’s cursed energy flaring up and down, tilting with the other’s boy’s annoyed uncertainty, and Satoru doesn’t need to look over to know his friend’s jaw is clenched tight.

Satoru waits.

For four painstakingly long minutes.

And then the bathroom door opens.

“Amanai,” Satoru calls without looking back— Suguru's cursed energy flares big at the call, but Satoru isn’t concerned about it, “question for ya.”

“Satoru,” the warning from Suguru is low.

Satoru ignores that too.

“Hn?” the girl turns to look, brow furrowing as Satoru pushes himself up out of his chair and shuffles towards her. His hands are tucked in the pockets of the sleeveless hoodie he’s been wearing, steps casual. “What is it, Gojō-san?”

“This assimilation,” Satoru hums, eyes following Amanai as she moves to plop down on the other bed. Satoru follows after her, dropping to a crouch in front of her as he tugs his glasses off his face, “y’know, the merger that’ll end your life. That something you really want to do?”

Amanai pauses, eyeing Satoru with a frown, “what?”

“Do you want to do it?”

“Satoru.” Suguru tries again. Ignored.

“Well, it’s my duty,” the girl replies dutifully, gaze suspicious despite the dullness as she speaks.

The fear of the unknown. Or perhaps the fear of knowing too much and choking on it as it consumes every waking thought. The uncertainty. The eyes of a child backed into a corner with nowhere to run.

Amanai clears her throat, but it doesn’t clear the nervous waver, “I accept this for the greater good of humanity. It has to be done. I’m the chosen one. I know what’s expected of me.”

Her answer is slightly different to the monologue she’d given earlier, when they’d first met her.

She’d been proud back then. Proud to be selected to play a role in something bigger than herself. Giddy anticipation colouring her tone at the idea of being special; there’s honor in that, no doubt.

This is the answer of someone who knows what should be done, acknowledging the responsibilities on her shoulders what were unfairly assigned. These are the words of someone who’s actually been considering what merging with a being such as Tengen will mean.

What she’ll lose in this.

Someone who’s now come to the conclusion that she’ll need to lose herself in the process. She’s coming to terms with that that truly means. Death to her mind and soul so her body can merge with ancient energy. Wiped from her own body.

“Good answer,” Satoru says offhandedly with a crooked, amused smile. “Tengen and the higherups would love that one, but that’s not what I asked.”

Amanai stares wide-eyed, gaze not leaving Satoru’s own shining blue.

Kuroi hesitates in the bathroom doorway, Satoru feels it, and Satoru avidly ignores Suguru glaring daggers at his side. He doesn’t care. This isn’t about them. Either of them. This is about Amanai Riko.

This is about her getting the choice that so many aren’t offered— that she wasn’t offered until it was too late. He knows she wants to live; will she admit it now?

“I don’t care about moral responsibility bullshit,” Satoru says gently. Just to her. He watches Amanai, eyes staring into hers. She doesn’t look away, maybe she can tell he’s giving her his entire attention for the first time ever. “Forget about all that for a second. Forget about everyone else. I’m asking about you. Do you truly want to offer yourself to be Tengen’s vessel, or do you want to live?”

Amanai swallows thickly, eyes not leaving Satoru’s still, “I...”

The second they step back onto school grounds, Satoru is unable to draw his attention away from the two moving ahead of him. Suguru leads the way, and a head of black, loosely braided hair keeps pace just a step or so behind.

Suguru looks far too lax, shoulders slumping a bit in relief to be within the safety of Tengen’s barrier.

Satoru finds it oddly strange, even though he logically knows Suguru has no idea what they’re walking into. It does feel safe to Suguru. To Satoru it feels like they’re walking into a lion’s den.

They are walking into a lion’s den.

Satoru knows what happens next though.

He keeps his eyes on them, lip bitten hard between his teeth as he bides his time.

Six-Eyes scans everything— he knows Fushiguro is hiding in the forest, somewhere, even if he can’t sense him at all. He tries. He tries so hard. Still, he sees nothing. The man is no doubt waiting and watching, looking for that perfect moment to strike.

A moment of weakness.

He’s waiting for the second Satoru lets go; that moment of weakness Satoru is going to hand him willingly. If he’s done a good enough job pretending to be clueless, things are about to get bloody.

Suguru is unsuspecting, blissfully so.

Satoru almost feels bad about throwing Suguru into this, not even offering so much as a warning. He couldn’t. It’s too delicate to be meddled with. He knows that. The element of surprise needs to surprise everyone but Satoru. Suguru too.

One wrong move and everything could come crashing down again.

Satoru learns from his mistakes.

Everything is the same, yet it’ll be different from here on out. No question.

This timeline will change.

He’d actually managed to get to this point.

Holy shit.

“Satoru,” Suguru calls over his shoulder, with a light smile. Satoru sees relief in his expression too, not just his body. He’s almost envious. “We’re safe now. You can let Infinity drop.”

Satoru draws in a steadying breath, lets it go.

He counts to three in his head and...

Pain.

Just as he’d thought.

Sharp. Sharper than he remembers, honestly. The type of pain that flares and stings and burns all at once. His eyes drift down, he blinks owlishly at the blade impaling right through his chest, the bloody scene straight out of his own nightmares.

Blood stains his skin and his uniform, dripping down the sharp edge of the katana speared through him.

There’s a look of panicked desperation on Suguru’s face; Satoru waves him off.

Suguru yells, but it falls on deaf ears. A curse barrels at them, swallows Fushiguro up whole but Satoru knows it won’t hold him. It’s just a second later he’s slicing clean through Suguru’s curse.

Suguru’s shocked.

Satoru isn’t.

He’s still just as strong. The Sorcerer Killer is exactly as Satoru remembers him.

He doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing.

Satoru sends his best friend away like he remembers doing eleven years ago.

Suguru hesitates, nothing’s changed there.

And then, like Satoru knew he would, Suguru trusts him and goes. Hurried footsteps pound away as the two of them race off towards the entrance to the Tombs of the Star Corridor. Satoru will meet them there. When he’s finished here. Satoru trusts Suguru.

It’s time to change the future.

It all comes down to this.

Everything in his body, mind and soul is telling him to react. He knows what’ll happen, so change it; to use what he knows and spare himself the pain— kill Fushiguro now, but he still needs something from the man. He needs something from the man he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to find anywhere else.

Satoru knows there’s no other way this body will understand.

He needs to be stronger.

Stitches is out there somewhere, and Satoru’s only at half his strength right now.

Those are not good odds. He needs to have his full power. Reverse Cursed Technique, continuous Infinity, unlimited warping that doesn’t strain his body, Red, Blue, Hollow Purple, his Domain.

And to do that, he needs to sacrifice himself.

The blade bursts straight through Infinity, lodging deep into his throat, gliding down as if Satoru’s flesh is nothing but warm butter at Fushiguro’s pressure. If the stab to the chest hurt before, this is like splashing acid on his chest and lighting it aflame.

He doesn’t remember it feeling like this, but maybe he’d repressed that too.

His consciousness gets hazy, blood gushes— it feels like death, but it’s a familiar feeling.

The blade plunging into his head is where his consciousness really lapses when the pain gets overwhelming. There’s not a part of him that doesn’t hurt. He feels blood trickling down his head, wants to sluggishly wipe it away, but he doesn’t dare move.

Doesn’t even think he’d have the coordination to do it anyways.

More of his blood on the ground around him than in his body.

For a long second, Satoru thinks he’s dead.

That he’d made a miscalculation somewhere and this is the end of him.

Truthfully, he doesn’t remember this feeling. He remembers the trauma, but this feels a bit excessive— like he’s living it in slow-motion. Seeing it from an angle he never did before. Maybe his conscience is stronger now, able to clutch at consciousness, or strong enough to stay alive.

Or, maybe he’s just used to the pain. Familiar with the idea of this. He’d been expecting it, anticipating it since he realized it was something he was going to have to relive.

He doesn’t think his consciousness had held on this long before, or... was it different somehow?

Something flickers in his chest, small but there. He draws no attention to it. He lays completely still, the perfect image of death. It’s familiar to his mind, but not to his body. Energy festering.

It buzzes somewhere deep inside him.

Fushiguro watches Satoru for a long second, he keeps completely still, doesn’t dare so much as twitch, ignores the blinding pain of the blade being tugged out of his head, and fights to keep eyes that beg to be closed open. Dead. He’s dead. He’s supposed to be dead. Corpses don’t blink.

He can survive this, he has before, but he doesn’t know how much he can take if Fushiguro keeps butchering him. There’s a limit to everything— even Limitless. A line he knows exists somewhere but doesn’t want to toe now. He’s not immortal, just very, very lucky. And unimaginably powerful.

The man walks away.

Leaves Satoru for dead; his figure growing smaller and smaller as he trails lazily after Suguru.

What does he have to be scared of anyways? He thinks he’d just killed the Six-Eyes.

Satoru’s thoughts grow fuzzy again when there’s nothing to truly focus on.

He can’t even entertain the idea of moving, as much as he wants to. He knows he needs to get to Suguru. Things need to change. He needs to get there too. Faster this time.

Still, he can’t force his body to do anything.

He doesn’t know what dying feels like, but he thinks it would feel something like this.

He’d always wondered if he’d truly died that day, eleven years ago, and come back to life the second his body figured out Reverse Cursed Technique, or if he’d almost died and his body struggled to stay alive?

Apparently, its Reverse Cursed Technique that dragged him back from the pits of hell. He had died; there’s no way he hadn’t died from this that first time, especially since it took a second for his body to truly grasp Red. It was a last defense. Internalize and repair.

Red was not energy his body or mind knew what to do with.

This time it was different, because the energy was already there.

His body just needed to figure out what to do with it.

It’s then, as he lays in a puddle of his own blood, thoughts slow and bleary as he humorlessly tosses around the idea of letting his eyes slip shut, of giving in to the call of sleep that he knows will soothe the burning feeling of every nerve in his body screaming in pain, that he decides, unblinking eyes impossibly wide, that no, this was no mistake.

This is exactly what needs to happen right now.

Suguru rushes forwards, feet pounding against the tattered stone of the ancient tomb floors.

His heart pounds with each step.

The plan.

Follow the plan.

He doesn’t get far when a shot rings out.

Suguru startles abruptly, pausing in his steps and swirling back to face the scene behind him. His eyes flick to the tomb entrance, where that man who’d attacked Satoru stands alive. He’s here and... and Satoru is not. Suguru tries not to worry.

It’s not part of the plan, but plans change, right?

Ever evolving.

That’s all this is, right?

So, where the hell is he?

Suguru’s eyes instantly find a gun aimed lazily towards the space just behind Suguru’s body, where another body had been trailing after him. A shot had rung out. This man looks too pleased with himself. His heart hammers harder against his ribcage.

The plan.

Stick to the plan.

His gaze flits to the mess of braided black hair, stood motionless despite the bullet wound to the head, before his gaze drifts back to the man as a sneering smile curls onto his lips, “you took the bait. Satoru said something was going to happen, guess he was right.”

The body behind Suguru drops lifelessly, he watches out of the corner of his eye and feels the connection he has sever. Purple seeps from the wound as the girl, no, the curse, one of Suguru’s, is exorcised.

Suguru glares hard at the man, the genuine surprise on the guy’s face more satisfying than Suguru could’ve ever imagined as the curse drops dead.

The man stares for a long second. Then he laughs. Loud and amused.

“A decoy, huh?” the man’s grin widens sharply as Suguru’s body arches into a defensive position, “pretty clever. I didn’t expect that— couldn’t sense it from a distance. The likeliness to the vessel’s back profile is uncanny. The hair, the size. That’s the Six-Eyes brat’s doing, isn’t it? I should’ve anticipated the Six-Eyes doing something to get in my way. He’s always been a pain in my ass. So. Where’s the girl? Dead or alive, a job’s a job. I’m going to be getting paid.”

“You’re sick,” Suguru sneers in disgust, “she’s just a kid, leave her alone. She doesn’t even want to merge with Tengen. She's not here, so get lost. We tricked you, remember? It was a decoy. You won’t find her. She’s safe.”

“I don’t give a shit,” the assassin laughs again, “she’s a paycheque, is what she is. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Tell me where she is and you’ll live to see another day, or I kill you like I did the Gojō brat, and I find her myself. Take your pick.”

Suguru’s breath catches in his throat, panic buzzing. He can’t be serious. There’s no way he... that Satoru could be... but the plan. It was all going according to his stupid plan.

Amanai was safe, Satoru promised it would be fine.

This isn’t fine.

--

“Trust me, Suguru. This’ll work. I know it. Six-Eyes, remember?”

“Six-Eyes doesn’t work like that, Satoru. Even I know that. How does seeing cursed energy translate to seeing the future? You’re not a clairvoyant. And what the hell do you know about the future, anyways? Where did this stupid plan of yours even come from? It sounds ridiculous.”

“Shut up, don’t tell me about my own technique! Just trust me. Suguru. Come on.”

“Why are you being so cryptic? I don’t like this.”

“I have a feeling. Y’know, one of those dumb gut feelings you’re always going on about? I can have those too! You don’t ignore those, rigghht? Something bad is going to happen. Just... trust me. Please. This will work. It’ll be fine. I promise.”

--

He promised.

And Suguru did, he trusted Satoru. He’d always trust Satoru. He followed the stupid plan, even if he thought it wouldn’t work. Even if he thought using a decoy was pointless. Even if he didn’t even truly believe anything would happen, that they were in the clear at that point. Back at the school.

Safe from curse users in Tengen’s barriers.

He trusted Satoru when he said he felt like something bad might happen, or, perhaps humored Satoru’s gut feeling, that it might not be safe for Amanai. Suguru followed every direction Satoru gave him to a tee.

He ran, just like Satoru said— he left his best friend and now he’s dead.

Satoru...

No...

Suguru summons some of his strongest curses, and after a single second, draws forth more— he digs deep inside the pocket of his technique and deploys all those useless little fourth, third and second grade curses Satoru badgered him into taking. An army surrounds him, waiting and ready for order.

It feels right using the curses his friend insisted he have to avenge his life.

The man arches an impressed eyebrow.

“Hit a nerve, did I?” The grin curls darkly on the man’s face as he watches the cursed spirits fill in the corridor around Suguru, “ah, fine, we’re doing this the hard way, I guess. On your way to join your little classmate? I didn’t know the Gojō brat let anyone get close, didn’t know anyone even liked him. I’m sure he’d be touched you’re dying in his honor. Y’know, kid, I would’ve spared you, but I don’t mind cutting you down like I did him. I will find the girl, thirty-million yen is hard to pass up.”

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you.”

The man laughs again, taunting and mocking.

Suguru’s jaw tightens in fury. Darkness churns in his stomach, grief numbed over by anger. Satoru was dead. Satoru died. He was gone. This fucker killed his best friend. Satoru was dead.

All at once, he releases his curses.

“I...” tears well in Amanai’s eyes until she finally breaks, “I... I don’t. I don’t want to. Please. I don’t want to die. I want to stay with Kuroi, and I want to stay with my friends— I have to do it, I have to, but I don’t want to. It’s for the greater good, I do this so everyone else lives a better life—”

“That's not a sacrifice anyone should ask you to make,” Satoru says gently. “You don’t have to. We won’t force you. The decision is yours, Amanai Riko, whatever you choose, you have the two of us in your corner.”

“It’s my duty,” the girl whimpers quietly. “How can you help me? What can you do?”

“We’re the strongest,” Satoru sets a light hand on her knee, as he offers a small, disarming smile. “You’ve seen what I can do, aren’t I impressive? Don’t you trust us after the number of times we saved your ass these past couple days? I’m hurt.”

Amanai gives a tiny nod, snorting in amusement. “I trust you. And! And, you didn’t save my ass! You embarrassed me in front of my friends! Do you know how many texts I’ve gotten asking for your number? Gross!”

Satoru actually laughs at that, reminded back to the middle schoolers flocking to him, “yeah, yeah. Totally not my fault! I can’t help it that I’m a cutie, Riko-chan! It’s both a blessing and a curse. Tell them I’m flattered, but not interested. What a confidence boost, though!”

“Just what you need, a confidence boost. As if you weren’t annoying enough to be around anyways,” Suguru jests drily. “Can we focus, Satoru?”

“Right,” Satoru laughs meekly, “yeah. Seriously, Amanai, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You can live a long happy life. You can finish school. Go to college, or university. Get a degree. Get a job. Make friends. Build yourself a family. Y’know, Suguru and I made a deal long before we met you— we wouldn’t force you into this if you didn’t want to do it.”

“It’s true,” Suguru nods slowly. “Satoru shouldn’t have cornered you like he did, but he was right. We won’t force you— we're prepared to handle this. You’re not just the Star Plasma Vessel, you’re you as well, Riko-chan. Those two things do not have coincide.”

Amanai looks hopeful, but not convinced. She chews at her bottom lip, arms wrapping around herself. “Are you sure I can just...” Amanai bites hard at her lip, “...not do it? Won’t Tengen-sama be upset?”

“Oh definitely,” Satoru shrugs uninterestedly, “there’s a good chance everyone will be upset, but that’ll be on Suguru and I. We’re the ones failing our mission, not you. You’re just choosing to live, which isn’t a crime. No one has any right to demand you give up your life, Star Plasma Vessel or not. Trust me, we’ve already considered the consequences of not handing you over. Besides, something tells me it won’t be the end of the world if there’s no assimilation. Don’t worry about it.”

Amanai still hesitates.

“I don’t want you to go through with this.”

Satoru turns in surprise to face Kuroi. Everyone glances at her. Satoru rises to his full height and shuffles out of the way when Amanai’s shocked eyes flick to her caretaker. “Kuroi...”

She hasn’t moved from the bathroom doorway, eyes downcast like she can’t bear to look at any of them when emotional, “I want to be a family with you,” the woman admits quietly, almost silent. “We are a family. Getō-sama helped me see that. I don’t want to lose you. Please choose to live, Riko-chan.”

Amanai stands shakily, making her way back to the doorway where she wraps around Kuroi, burying her face in her caretaker’s shoulder. Instantly, the woman’s arms lace around the teenager, hugging her back just as tight.

“I want to live,” Amanai admits shakily. She looks back at Satoru and Suguru over her shoulder, tightening her hold on Kuroi as she breathes out the words, “I don’t want to be a vessel.”

“Then you won’t be,” Satoru says, leaving no room for argument, not that anyone will argue at this point, “I’ve given this some thought, truthfully. I don’t think you guys should stay here in Japan. Not for a little while at least. The bounty is still active and there are people who’ll want you dead. I’m sure Sorcerers will also want the assimilation to happen whether you agree or not.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Kuroi asks hesitantly.

“You’re supposed to leave it to me,” Satoru grins. “How’s your English? How about passports? America is the best place to send you for now. No one will look there— I've been a bunch of times, it’s nice. I suppose we could get away with you staying in Japan, but I’d feel better knowing there’s an ocean between you and Tengen, Amanai. We’ll get you on a flight tonight, and I’ll send you off with enough money to survive for a while. You can have a credit card linked to the Gojō accounts.”

Amanai frowns, “well, I... took a couple English language classes? I’m not fluent, but...”

“I can hold a conversation in English,” Kuroi adds quietly, arm still wrapped around Amanai’s shoulders, “and we do have passports but they’re... ah, they’re still in the apartment.”

“That’s a start at least,” Satoru hums back, already thinking of the possibilities.

The fact of all this is they’re not safe in Japan.

There’s a bounty on the dark web, and he’s sure Q and the Time Vessel Association won’t rest until the Star Plasma Vessel is dead, even if there’s no way she’s gonna merge with Tengen.

Not willingly at this point.

If she's alive, there’s still the chance of assimilation.

Death is the only assurance that the merger doesn’t happen, or, possibly when Tengen evolves.

Satoru’s not sure if there’s a time limit to the assimilation, or if it could happen at any point, but he knows Tengen is empathetic and not cruel.

If Tengen wasn’t, why would they get the orders of giving Amanai a good last couple of days?

If Amanai doesn’t want to merge, Satoru doubts Tengen will force it.

He hopes at least. It doesn’t matter what Tengen wants, Amanai will not be there anyways. Tengen and the higherups will just have to deal with this. It is what it is.

Satoru is quiet for a second, attention flicking to the women, “this is all I can do from here; you’ll have to find your own accommodation over there— or live in a hotel indefinitely using the card. You’ll need to hide yourselves and be careful. Aliases couldn’t hurt either. You can take my name if you’d like. It’ll match the card. I know someone here who can get you two fake identifications made if you want, and if you give me a name, I’ll get you your own credit card sent out, so you don’t run into any trouble using mine. Don’t keep in contact with anyone in Japan besides me for a while until this all clears.”

Suguru clears his throat, dragging Satoru from his thoughts.

“I have a Japanese contact in America,” Suguru adds helpfully, looking between the two with an easy smile, “my little sister. She’s been learning English since she was little, and she’s fluent now. She can help as a translator. She’s an exchange student in high school, a couple years older than you, Riko-chan, but she’ll help you guys settle into America if you’re interested. If Satoru can get you there, I can get in touch with her.”

Satoru hums in agreement as he tugs a credit card out of his wallet and passes it over to Kuroi.

If it was 2018, he’d have contacts in America as well, but oh well. Suguru’s sister will have to do, even if Satoru’s never met Shiori. If she’s anything like Suguru, he trusts her too.

“It’s practically unlimited,” he tells Kuroi as he stuffs his wallet back into his pocket.

All that’s left now is to pay for flights, get them some cash, pick up their passports and send them off without anyone finding out.

By the time they make it back to the school, they’ll probably already be over the border.

“More than enough to take care of you guys for a while,” Satoru grins. “Don’t worry about spending it. And I can always transfer money too, don’t be shyyy! Seriously. Let me know. It’s the least I can do.”

“Are you sure?” Kuroi hesitates. “You’re doing so much for us, and this is... it’s a lot. I’m grateful, but...”

“Yeah,” Satoru shrugs, “’course. You just keep protecting Amanai. Take care of each other, yeah? We’ll see you guys again at some point. This isn’t for forever, just until things cool down, right? Now, Suguru will wait with you guys while you pack up what you want to take. I’m going to hit the bank and then scavenge the wreckage of your apartment to grab your passports. Any idea where they might be?”

Amanai and Kuroi board a flight from Okinawa to Honolulu at three AM that very night. It’s the only flight going out to America until the following evening, so Satoru books their seats the second he sees it. They’re cheap economy seats, but he can’t do much better if he wants them gone as soon as possible.

Satoru warps them to the airport to avoid everyone being seen, that nagging feeling that Fushiguro is hanging in the shadows even if Satoru knows he won’t attack until they think they’re safe at the school.

The girls will get on a connecting, second flight a few hours later after landing, that one taking them into California where Suguru’s sister has agreed to meet them at the airport and help them to the hotel.

Satoru had phoned in to book a hotel in California for them, just to save them the trouble after travelling for so long. It’s a nice one he remembers staying in over the years, still on the newer side at this point. Five-star rating.

They both hug Satoru and Suguru each, squeezing tightly.

Satoru can feel the thankfulness rolling off them in waves as he lets Infinity lapse to hug each of them without the barrier. Kuroi thanks them profusely, head bowing, and even Amanai mutters gentle, embarrassed thank yous into their shirts.

Satoru holds the teenager tight, and Amanai squeezes back extra tight, as she promises to keep in touch. He pats her back before ushering her towards Kuroi, their flight being called for boarding.

He’ll never admit to anyone how his heart thumps pridefully in his chest as he and Suguru watch the plane take off. They’re safe. He did it. They lived. Amanai will live no matter what they walk into back at Jujutsu Tech. The future will change. He doesn’t know how, but he’d managed to save two lives.

They go back to the hotel in Okinawa alone for the rest of the night. Satoru warps them right into their hotel room, throwing himself face down on the bed with an exhausted groan.

“Should we go back to the school now?” Suguru asks as they both plop down on one of the queen beds. “Tell everyone she didn’t want to do it?”

“No,” Satoru denies quickly, eyes squeezing shut. “Not yet. I don’t think this is over yet. We should follow the original plan. Get on the flight. Go back to school. Keep it as close to the mission as possible.”

“Why?” Suguru frowns. “Amanai and Kuroi are safe. If we don’t show up with them, the assimilation literally can’t happen, and there’s nothing they can do about it. It’s not like they can fire us, or expel us, we’re their workhorses. All they can do is take the loss and move on.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Satoru mumbles into the blankets.

“Okay, well, how are we supposed to keep it as close to the mission when we don’t even have the mission anymore?” Suguru’s frown deepens, “and what’s the point anyways? Why would her presence make a difference if we’re not bringing her to Master Tengen?”

“It just will, I don’t know what to tell you, I have a feeling.” Satoru sits up with a hum. “Hey, do you... remember that curse? The one from the hospital, that mission you joined me on? The freakily human one? Still have it?”

Suguru’s brow furrows before the gaping black hole of his technique opens in the floor of the hotel room and the curse crawls out of the pocket. It clambers to its feet, face curtained in long black hair.

Satoru pushes himself to his feet, pausing thoughtfully by the curse.

He makes a turning motion with his finger, and Suguru dutifully commands the curse to turn until its back is facing Suguru. Satoru collects the curtain of hair into his hand until it resembles a ponytail, and looks back at Suguru with a sharp grin, “we braid the hair, put some clothes on it and keep it facing away from me at all times. Doesn’t the back profile remind you of a certain brat?”

Suguru frowns, eyes flicking to the curse as his nose scrunches up, “I mean, maybe, from a distance? I guess. You want us to go to school with an Amanai decoy? Why? What’ll that even do? What’s the point of that, Satoru?”

“I have a bad feeling,” is all Satoru offers. “If we want that bounty gone for good, they’ll need to see Amanai going to the school. If she’s not with us, people will look for her, righttt? We won’t have a problem when we’re back within the barrier, no one will know what we do with her then.”

“But the bounty will be lifted while we’re on our flight tomorrow morning,” Suguru reminds with a squint. “The hunters will quit when there’s no pay involved. No one will be watching if there’s not money in it for them. You’re making this unnecessarily more difficult.”

“No, I—” Satoru sucks in a calming breath, throwing his head back as he lets the curse’s hair fall back into place. “I don’t think it’s that simple. Doesn't all this seem a little odd to you? A little staged?”

“I guess...” Suguru pauses thoughtfully, “maybe it is a little weird. Why would the Time Vessel Association bring Kuroi here? I’ve been thinking about that. What’s in Okinawa? What was the point of luring us here? Why didn’t anything happen if they wanted us here?”

Satoru nods in agreement, “I think something is going to happen, Suguru. I can feel it. I can sense it. We need to have Amanai when we go to school. Everyone needs to believe we’re following our mission. Something is going on. I think she’ll be in danger if we show up empty handed. It feels too easy, you can’t tell me you don’t feel it too. There’s a threat. A bad one.”

“We’ll be safe when we’re within the barriers again, Satoru.”

Satoru doesn’t look back, a ‘no, we most certainly will not’ sitting on the tip of his tongue. He bites the exhausted words back, sighing as he rubs hard at aching eyes, “Suguru, do you trust me?”

“Satoru, what—”

“Do you trust me?”

A breath.

“Yeah,” a soft confession, “against my better judgement, I always do.”

“Then help me, please. Even if it seems stupid. I’ve been thinking about this, Suguru, for so long. Just... let me try. Stop fighting me. What’s the worst that can happen, right? If it’s so stupid, just humor me.”

“It does seem stupid,” Suguru sighs deeply, the curse vanishing from sight as Suguru flops back onto the bed, “but fine. Tell me your plan. I’m gonna be pissed if this is all for nothing, Satoru.”

Satoru knows he’s not healed when he manages to stumble to his feet.

His brain is slow and groggy, definitely the blood loss working against him, but he’s able to find his way to a standing position and keep himself upright, even when his stomach flip-flops with lightheadedness.

He feels so tired.

So exhausted, but there’s energy buzzing under his skin urging him on.

His clothes cling stickily to his body, dried blood flaking off his head. His eyes hurt. His wounds burn when he jostles them, Reverse Cursed Energy fusing his skin back together where he stands— that too hurts. He doesn’t remember it hurting like this. Maybe he’d been too hyped up on adrenaline.

He may have started bleeding again at the movements, he’s not sure.

But he’s alive, so can he really complain?

His head feels fuzzy with the pain, the sheer feedback Six-Eyes is absorbing now that his energy is truly unlocked overwhelming to the core, but he pushes on.

One foot in front of the other.

To Suguru.

To the tombs.

He has to get to the tombs.

He can’t be late this time.

Each step hurts, but he can’t bare laying here any longer knowing Suguru is alone with Fushiguro. He’d been faster this time, he thinks. The jumpstart of his energy already existing helping. And he’d managed to cling to consiousness. Another win.

Hopefully he won’t run into Fushiguro outside the tomb again.

Please let him find Suguru alive in that tomb. Nobody dies. That’s the goal.

But Satoru will throw a fucking fit if Suguru dies in that chamber at Fushiguro’s hands. He's come so far, he can't lose Suguru now. Not when he just got him back, not when it can be different.

Satoru wants to run, but he physically can’t.

His chest tightens, and his head aches. The wounds decorating his body tingle. He thumbs at the headwound, simply because he’s curious, finding it fused shut already.

He thumbs over a raised scar.

That was pretty fast.

His chest is another story.

He has half a mind to pull his shirt back from the collar and look at the horror hidden back there, but the thought of seeing it also makes him feel queasy. He already knows what the scars will look like. He’s lived with them for eleven years, looked at them in the mirror for eleven years.

Hopefully he’s the only one who comes out of this fight torn to pieces.

He knows the long, throbbing slice down his chest is not healed. Each step feels like it’s tearing the attempts RCT is making at healing, but he refuses to sit idly when he knows this fight isn’t over.

Of course, his technique would prioritize his heart, then his brain and following that the rest of the destruction. He wouldn’t be moving if his heart wasn’t healed. His brain was the second most vital organ, and superficial wounds, if you could call Fushiguro’s handywork that, would be last priority.

He can divide his energy between Infinity and healing. Easy.

The Cursed Warehouse’s energy buzzes in the corner of his eye, familiar cursed energy there as well. Sukuna’s fingers. The Death Paintings. Even the hidden energy of the warehouse itself is familiar. He’s been to the warehouse enough times that Satoru could find it easily.

Satoru doubts Suguru or Fushiguro would’ve noticed it.

He keeps going forwards. He’s close to the tombs. The warehouse is just before the tombs. He’s so close. He can sense curses— like an assload of curses. Too many to count. All linked to Suguru’s technique. What the hell is going on in there?

Satoru hurries his pace.

The stairs leading down to the Tombs of the Star Corridor come into view, and once again Satoru picks up his pace at the sound of stone crumbling. He all but falls down the stairs, hand pressed against the wall for stability.

The sight that greets him at the bottom is grim.

Slaughtered curses, far more than Satoru knew Suguru could control at once at this point in his life, he’d seen the Night Parade in the future, but Suguru had had eleven years to perfect his technique.

This is desperation. This is anger. It’s rage. It's emotional.

Satoru doesn’t understand.

His stomach coils in knots.

Despite the bodies littering the ground, one being the decoy Amanai, there’s still dozens of curses attacking Fushiguro. He dodges and slices through the curses effortlessly. He’s covered in purple blood, The Inverted Spear of Heaven dripping goopy violet blood.

All different sizes, all different grades. Powerful and weak.

An army, Satoru thinks giddily.

Just like Satoru wanted his friend to have for if he’s ever in a pinch.

He doesn’t see Suguru, but he knows he’s there somewhere.

He’s alive— Satoru senses his energy, but it’s hard to pinpoint with all the activity going on. His Six-Eyes are instantly overwhelmed by everything. Still, his curses wouldn’t be active if he wasn't alive. Suguru is somewhere in these tombs controlling them, probably waiting for Fushiguro to tire, or for a moment of distraction to make a move.

Satoru knows no such time will come.

Not with his Heavenly Restriction.

Fushiguro is money hungry, and he will see this through to the end. Suguru is just a hurdle in his path, like Satoru had been no more than ten minutes earlier.

His goal is to kill them and track Amanai down to finish the job.

Not even an ocean between them will mean Amanai and Kuroi are safe from Fushiguro.

He’ll track them to the ends of the earth to ensure he gets that thirty-million yen.

Satoru has half a mind to offer double, triple, or maybe even quadruple that bounty price for the man to give up on his Star Plasma Vessel assassination mission, but he knows Fushiguro can’t be trusted.

Satoru knows he’s an idiot, but even he’s not that stupid. It’s not even about the money getting scammed, he could care less about the loss— it’s about the insecurity that he can’t possibly trust that Fushiguro won’t turn around and assassinate Amanai even after he’s been paid off.

Satoru does not trust words alone. There’s no assurance in that.

It’s not a risk he’s willing to take.

He’s still hesitating in the doorway when Suguru finally makes a move.

Rainbow Dragon darts behind Fushiguro, the man whipping around to face the swoosh of air as the dragon speeds past, out of reach of the blade, and in the next second, Suguru’s dropping down from his Manta Ray curse, foot kicking into Fushiguro’s spine before he’s jumping away.

Despite the impact, Fushiguro barely moves, swiveling on his feet as he jerks his blade out wildly. He’s still so fast. Turning in the blink of an eye, dark-blue eyes wild, and lips curled in a manic grin that makes Satoru squirm. He’d faced that look. It’s the look of someone enjoying a challenge. Fighting Suguru is a game, just like fighting Satoru in his original timeline had been.

Suguru grunts in pain, the blade catching some part of him, just before Rainbow Dragon zooms between them, Suguru grabbing a fistful of its mane and letting the curse carry him away.

Toji laughs in a frenzy, instantly swirling around when a third-grade curse slithers up behind him. The second he turns to that curse, another curse inches towards his newly exposed back.

Satoru watches in awe, hand tightening into a fist where it’s still supporting his weight against the wall.

Strong.

Suguru is strong.

He’s playing the defensive, Satoru realizes breathlessly.

Attacking when there’s a chance but making sure he has an escape lined up.

The curses really are distractions. He’s yanking Fushiguro along with powerful curses he doesn’t mind losing, nothing above a semi-grade one, and overwhelming numbers attacking from all angles. Suguru is reading the man’s focus from the sidelines for when he should strike.

When he can get close enough to attack, he does.

Satoru has never seen Suguru fight like this.

He knows his friend has at least a hundred curses between everything he and Suguru had been collecting over the weeks, and that doesn’t even count what he’d already had and what he’s assigned to absorb.

So much for Suguru being a one trick pony.

This is different too, Satoru realizes. How Suguru is handling Fushiguro. How Satoru had made it here, and Suguru is still standing. Everything is different. It makes Satoru feel giddy.

Satoru’s never been prouder.

Fushiguro slices through two more of Suguru’s curses, eyes finally flicking towards Satoru. He’d been silent, but he’d been watching intently. Honestly, Satoru’s not surprised the man realizes he’s being watched. It seems like a pet peeve of his at this point.

The man’s smile darkens in surprise at seeing Satoru alive before it sharpens in morbid amusement.

Probably not good.

“Reverse Cursed Technique, huh?” the man cackles darkly, “you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Six-Eyes? Should’ve expected you’d be such a pain in the ass to get rid of, but I also didn’t expect your friend to go all out in your honor. Did’ya know your lover boy has a weakness?”

“Satoru!” Satoru hears the desperate yell from above— so his friend had spotted him too. It’s not like Fushiguro had addressed him quietly after all. Suguru's still on Rainbow Dragon, zooming closer, but not close enough. “No!”

Satoru barely manages to blink as the man moves, one second across the room, the next just before him. He moves quick, dodging stray curses Suguru desperately places in his path, blade slaughtering through anything he can’t dodge before he’s stood directly in front of Satoru, close enough to whisper right into his ear, “you know that weakness of his is you, Golden Boy?”

Accompanying the words is the Inverted Spear of Heaven piercing right through his Infinity once again, straight through his partially healed stomach. It still hurts. It burns.

But it’s not as bad as the first time just minutes earlier.

It’s like rubbing salt in a wound.

He can handle it.

But still, ouch.

Fushiguro twists the blade smugly, “maybe your buddy’ll get sloppy when I kill you in front of him. Do me a favor and stay dead this time, Six-Eyes. I’m tired of you brats getting in my way.”

Satoru coughs, blood filling his mouth.

Yet when he looks up to meet Fushiguro’s eyes, he smiles wide, “I am full of surprises, aren’t I?”

Fushiguro drives the blade deeper, hands on the handle of it even as he leans back to study Satoru, trying to make sense of the words. It’s not something someone in his position would say.

Fushiguro was probably expecting him to plead.

Satoru won’t.

He never will.

One of the man’s eyebrows arches in question, but Satoru just grins darkly.

It’s probably a bloody, morbid sight. He doesn’t care. He’s beyond caring.

Satoru lifts a shaky hand to shove Fushiguro off with all his might.

Fushiguro stumbles at the impact. Maybe he expects Satoru to be weak and frail after the ass-kicking he’d taken earlier. After being carved like holiday poultry by a relic. He probably looks worse for the wear but looks can be deceiving. It’ll take more than that to take out the Six-Eyes.

It’s the most caught off guard Satoru’s ever seen the man.

The blade catches on his flesh as it’s tugged back with Fushiguro's clumsy footwork. It’s slick and slippery with blood, both Satoru’s and curse blood, so when Fushiguro stumbles back, his grip on it slips off.

The spear clatters to the ground, and Satoru kicks it away.

He hates that stupid blade.

Satoru scans for Suguru, taking the second of Fushiguro’s disorientation to find his friend. Suguru’s getting closer by the second. Rainbow Dragon zipping towards them, Suguru’s face pinched in fear and desperation. Satoru feels bad, but he can’t acknowledge him.

He only has a second.

He needs to be fast now.

He can’t risk Suguru getting caught in the crossfire, can't risk hurting his friend.

A second is long enough though.

“Like this one,” Satoru continues drily, his middle finger crossing over his index, as his other hand settles over the fresh wound, “Domain Expansion: Unlimited Void.”

The vast sea of Infinity fills in around Satoru and Fushiguro, cutting off just before Suguru, who Satoru hears yelling. Guilt tugs at his heart again, Suguru sounds hysterical as he yells, cusses and pleads, but Satoru needs to focus on Fushiguro. He has to end this, before anyone else gets hurt.

Satoru laughs wildly at the look of uncertain surprise on Fushiguro’s face.

And does he spot a hint of fear in the Sorcerer Killer’s eyes? Delightful.

Fucking finally.

Chapter Text

Using his domain might have been a bit of overkill, Satoru decides as the void of Infinity whizzes passed them, settling around them like a suffocating blanket of space and time and everything, but in his defense, he was thinking on the fly and he’s bleeding profusely still, so his judgment is shot.

And it’s not like he could Hollow Purple the guy down here in the tombs like he had outside the first time around. He’d destroyed so much— the tombs could literally crumble on them if he causes too much property damage.

They already don’t have the Star Plasma Vessel to deliver, why not just cause the Tombs of the Star Corridor to cave in too and take out Tengen while they’re at it.

God.

Yaga’s gonna have his work cut out for him on this one.

Satoru might feel bad if he wasn’t riding the high of success.

It’s a little bit of a gamble trying to corner Fushiguro in a domain, he could leave, but to do so, he’d need to find his way past the domain's Infinite grasp and be able to move.

The teen lazily lets his eyes flit over to Fushiguro, gaze dragging over his caved in body. He studies the tension in Fushiguro’s body, and the twitching of a body not complying with demands of movement.

Satoru cocks his head in amusement.

So, no, neither of those things look to be in Fushiguro's wheelhouse at the moment. Heavenly Restriction or not, at the base of it, he’s still just an ordinary human. And Infinity is all powerful.

The man had fallen over somehow, when his domain had deployed, probably. It’s not like he could push himself up. He can’t even move, his mind probably nothing but mush.

As far as he’s concerned, if you wanna fuck around with the Six-Eyes, you have to be prepared to fail.

Satoru knows he doesn’t need to worry about a domain clash because Fushiguro doesn’t have a cursed technique to play around with. He’s at Satoru’s mercy now. His expression is still surprised, eyes wide as he takes in everything going on around him, witnesses the recesses of Infinity.

He’s probably not used to domains holding him.

Satoru feels all powerful knowing his domain is like no other. Stronger. Powerful. Inescapable.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” Satoru comments casually as he walks towards the man.

He drops to sit in front of him, far enough away that Fushiguro can’t touch him, not that Satoru thinks he can move in the slightest, but close enough to keep an eye on him. He’s obviously incapable of moving, overwhelmed by what he’s witnessing, but Satoru knows better than to let his guard down around the Sorcerer Killer.

It hasn’t been long, a second, maybe two.

But it feels longer in the domain.

Time moves differently in his domain.

Satoru tugs his hand away from the hole in his middle, scanning the sluggishly bleeding wound. His hand is clammy and sticky with blood when he pulls back to survey the damage, red staining his skin. He feels the numbness of RCT stitching his cells back together.

He draws in a shaky breath before replacing his hand back over the wound and pressing hard to keep stemming the bleeding as he leans back on his other hand.

Fushiguro has managed to draw his eyes to Satoru.

He smiles widely when they catch eyes, “you surprise me too, y’know. I’ve seen mightier beings than yourself overwhelmed by my domain. Props to you, I guess. You’re hanging onto your consciousness. I wonder if it’s your lack of cursed energy. I’ve had normies in my domain before. I ran the numbers, didn’t want them to die, you know? They’re innocent. I have nothing against normies. Anyways, wanna guess how long it takes to completely mind fuck a human?”

Fushiguro doesn’t speak.

He can’t speak.

“No?” Satoru’s smile widens as he mocks, “well I’ll tell you anyways. I think it’s fascinating. My power is absolute, I wanna brag about it. Just point-two seconds. Knocked ‘em unconscious. But I think they lived in the end. Probably. If my numbers were right. I don’t really know. What I do know, however, is that I’m not going to be as careful around you. You can take it, can’t you, Fushiguro?”

Satoru looks away for a second, considers the man before him and then considers the vastness of his domain before looking back, “you’re not entirely a normie, but you’re not a sorcerer either. I’ve been curious what a Heavenly Restriction would do faced against my domain. Most can't hold someone like you, but mine is different. Does it feel different? Are ya scared?”

Satoru hums thoughtfully, dismissively, “guess you’re weak too. Not surprising. You can use all the fancy weapons you want, you’re still just a weak normal man. Dirty tricks can’t always make up for power, now, can they? I mean, look where I’m sitting, and look where you’re keeled over, right?”

Fushiguro’s teeth grit.

He doesn’t move.

The man’s body shakes, Satoru would love to see what’s going on in his brain.

The feedback he must be getting. Infinity. Limitless. Everything he’d done in his life forced upon him in an instant. Years passing. Incomprehensible, yet forced upon him anyways. Something no one is supposed to bear witness too, impossible to process without the shield of Six-Eyes.

Maybe that’s where the difference lies— Satoru isn’t creating something from cursed energy. Well, he is, it’s still a domain, but it’s something that already exists. He’s simply showing it.

Infinity exists, its endless numbers, it’s everything and nothing all at the same time, but it’s known. Even normies know Infinity; cherish those little infinity symbols. Satoru is simply showing what truly exists, the recesses of what no one understands.

Fushiguro’s putting up a good fight. His brain isn’t putty yet. That’s cool.

The only thing he’d seen withstand his domain like this is Jogo— that weak hothead special grade. And withstand is a very loose observation. He’d been weak against Satoru’s domain. He’d been frozen, overwhelmed by everything. Frankly, if Satoru hadn’t been greedy for answers that day, he would’ve exorcised that special grade easily.

That lucky bastard’s only saving grace was not working alone.

Satoru sighs, cards his fingers through his hair to clear away the thought before his eyes flick back down to Fushiguro. He’s still just a heap— though his body tenses like he’s trying to push himself up.

Satoru clicks his tongue, “you know, the first time we did this, you won.”

Fushiguro’s retinas widen a fraction.

“I know right?” Satoru snorts in amusement. “Crazy. Man, you really were a nuisance. You would’ve been again, too, if you weren’t playing directly into my hand this time around. All your little stunts. The bounty. The kidnapping. Sneaking around the school, trusting your lack of cursed energy. Hah, you’re good, I’ll give you that. I was fooled the first time. This time though, not so much. Every step you took, I was two ahead.”

Satoru squints at the man before grinning sharply, “doesn’t feel so great, does it? Knowing you were never winning. Just remember I’m always going to be better than you. I won in the end, huh? Both times. How does that feel?”

Satoru stares hard at the man, picking apart micro expressions.

It’s about all the movement he can actually manage. What a pity.

“Still,” Satoru drawls, “in my timeline, you managed to kill me; you killed the girl too. You butchered my best friend but didn’t kill him. Man was that fun. You’re lucky all I did was kill you. You don’t know what I was willing to do that day. You got the easy way out, let me tell you.”

Satoru clicks his tongue as he thinks about everything this man put them through, “you really had that Hollow Purple coming for you. You won, I’ll give you that, but you still ultimately lost. It’s inevitable. You were going up against me. I just made it easier this time. I have no patience for you, Fushiguro. Especially when you’re hurting what I care about.”

Fushiguro’s eyes flick away for a moment before they’re back on Satoru.

Satoru smiles brightly, humoring the man, “it really didn’t end up like this before. I was desperate. I’d never been put in my place before. Never failed. You called me Golden Boy earlier, and that’s a good observation. Up until I met you. You’re a heartless monster, and that’s coming from me. I suppose I should thank you though, without you killing me, I never would’ve figured out Reverse Cursed Technique. I’m stronger than ever, and that’s thanks to you.”

Satoru throws his head back, laughs loudly, “you made me into who I am today. Isn’t that hilarious?”

“I’d ask if you wanna know how you died in my timeline, but I’ll tell you anyways,” Satoru draws his knees up to his chest, chin on his kneecap as he wraps an arm around his shins. “Did you know if I fuse Cursed Technique Amplification: Blue with Cursed Technique Reversal: Red, I get Hollow Purple? It’s a nifty little trick. Strong. Destructive. Definitely my favorite, though I don’t get the chance to use it often. Blew a hole right through you. It was satisfying.

“And I could’ve this time too— done it again, I mean— you’d deserve it for all the shit you put us through, but it was too risky. You see, I was faster this time. Or you were slower. We never met in the tombs originally, you’d already finished your work by the time I found you again. Maybe my best friend was stronger this time, or you were just worse.”

Satoru hums to himself thoughtfully, “ah, and I suppose I was just plain curious too. This is my first domain in this timeline! Truthfully, I didn’t know how to cast a domain that first time we met. It was all still so new, y’know? Hah. Embarrassing, right? But now I can, and isn’t it cool?”

For a long second, Satoru doesn’t say anything.

Some time passes, maybe a second in the real world.

“I really hate you; you know?”

The words are dark.

Fushiguro’s body tightens up, but Satoru doesn’t move an inch.

He remains seated, sharp eyes watching the man’s every breath. Satoru’s face twists with resentment the longer he stares at the face who’d caused so much harm, done so much damage, even without knowing the intensity of the repercussions to follow.

A shiver trembles through the prone figure at Satoru’s sizzling gaze.

Satoru hopes Fushiguro feels very watched.

He’d always hated that, hadn’t he?

Satoru blows out a breath, glaring down at the man, “you inadvertently kicked off the end of the world. My timeline was doomed to fail because you’re a piece of shit who kills kids for money. It doesn’t mean anything now, don’t worry, I’m fixing it; I just want you to have that on your conscious when you croak. So much death. So much destruction. You’re heartless, but even I know you have something you care about. Wanna take a wild guess what happened to that little something where I come from?”

Satoru barely takes a second to gasp a breath before he continues coldly, “dead. Like everyone else.”

His smile is sadistic when he regards the man.

Fushiguro’s eyes don’t so much as waver, they’re blown wide and unseeing.

Satoru doesn’t think he’s retaining anything anymore.

He wonders if Fushiguro even knows what they’re talking about at this point.

Satoru sighs deeply, lulling his head back.

He tries to declutter his thoughts, carding his fingers back through his hair, uncaring of the dried blood flaking off. He shuts his eyes for a long moment to try to stem off the ache— he wants to sleep.

He wants to be done with all this, but he knows this isn’t the end of his day, no matter how exhausted he is. There’s always more. Always something else. It’s a terribly tiring life.

He still has to face Tengen.

“I bet you’re wondering why I’m telling you all this,” Satoru rolls his shoulder as he kicks his legs out, ready to stand, “and I don’t have any elaborate reason. I wanted to tell someone, and I know you’ll never tell anyone, eh, Toji? Or maybe I feel like I owe you at least some semblance of an explanation as to why you were outsmarted so easily when you thought it was all going to plan. And it was. My plan.”

He can see the toll Infinity is taking on the man— his eyes are now unfocused, not even someone like Fushiguro would be able to withstand his domain; Satoru isn’t even sure if he’s hearing anything anymore. There’s a blank look on his face, eyes dull.

Any longer and the man’ll start drooling.

The second the domain breaks back to reality, he’ll be mentally gone.

There’s no doubt about it.

What a pathetic end for the Sorcerer Killer.

Satoru finally pushes himself to his feet now, crouching down to Fushiguro’s ear to sneer darkly, “and don’t worry about Megumi. I’ll kill the entirety of the Zen’in clan before I let them hurt him. You’re a waste of oxygen, selling your kid to them. This is no favor to you, mind you, I’m past righteousness. He’s a good kid despite having you as a father, and he’ll be a far better person than you ever were. And cute little Tsumiki too. They deserve better than a deadbeat like you anyways.”

Fushiguro’s eyes find clarity for just a second, a single, Unlimited Void second, darkness clouding in as he glares daggers with nothing but intense eyes before the haze returns full force and any and all emotion is stripped away.

Satoru stares down into bottomless pit orbs; no thoughts, or even too many thoughts.

Satoru rises to his full height.

Four seconds.

That sounds about right.

He dismisses his domain, and Fushiguro drops unceremoniously to the floor unconscious.

His brain is as good as mush.

After all, the longest Satoru himself has been in his domain was six real world seconds, when he’d countered Jogo and made it a teaching experience for Yūji.

Four seconds is a long time to see and feel everything, without seeing or feeling anything at all. It was years for Fushiguro in that domain. Satoru wishes he felt any remorse for this, but he truly doesn’t. In the first timeline he’d felt something— staring down at Fushiguro’s caving in body, a hole blown right though his torso, arm gone, but now... nothing.

‘Any last words?’ he remembers asking in his original timeline, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he stared down at the destruction of his technique— a dying man bleeding out.

He doesn’t need to ask again.

He’s beyond caring for people who hurt them.

He’s beyond remorse.

And at the end of the day Fushiguro is a human, and Infinity is a cruel, unforgiving place. No matter what technique, Heavenly Restriction or anything else you happen to have.

A brain is a brain, and they’re vulnerable despite it all.

Satoru doesn’t doubt Fushiguro will be on life support for the rest of his life if he doesn’t croak before that. The thought is odd, but Satoru can’t find it in himself to care about the fate of this man as he stares down at the lifeless body emotionlessly. He’d died the first time.

Satoru isn’t sure if this is a step up from that, or if it’s worse somehow.

“Satoru!”

He hears the call of his name, but it feels like he’s underwater.

Then there’re hands on him.

First, they’re grabbing hard on his shoulders, giving his torso a shake, Satoru’s body submits to the force. It’s rattling. His stomach churns, and his head aches behind his eyes at the motion. He thinks he hears talking— it's Suguru, it has to be Suguru, but Satoru’s eyes can’t really focus, and he can’t really hear, and his heart is pounding.

The hands lift from his shoulders just to cup at his jaw.

They’re soft, gentle, delicate, but his fingertips dig desperately at his skin as palms cradle his chin. Satoru wonders if Suguru knows how hard he’s gripping. The blunt grip drags Satoru from the hazy lull.

He draws in a shaky breath when he finally focuses on Suguru’s terrified face.

“-toru!”

“Suguru,” Satoru finally replies, “fingers, ow. We need to book you a manicure or somethin’.”

Suguru rips his hands back as if Satoru’s words physically burned him, falling back one shaky step as he stares wide-eyed at Satoru. “Satoru... sorry, you just- you weren’t responding and I—”

The white-haired teen snorts a distant laugh, “that was a dramatic reaction. I didn’t say go, just, your nails, y’know? Mark me up with those claws of yours later. Preferably not the face, it’s my best feature.”

He goes for a joke.

It feels like it falls flat.

Suguru just looks completely exasperated.

“Dramatic?” Suguru repeats, tone snappy as his hand grabs Satoru’s wrist, “I’m being anything but dramatic! Satoru, you’re covered in fuckin’ blood! God! Is that all yours? Shit. Holy shit. Are you okay?! I need to, you’ve gotta... Shoko! We need Shoko! He— t-that guy said you were dead! You’re covered in blood, and he said you died and, fuck, he stabbed you in the stomach! And the chest! And that— was that a domain? Your domain? What the fuck? Are you—”

“I’m fine,” Satoru offers a tired smile. “We don’t need Shoko.”

“Oh no, we definitely need Shoko, Satoru, you’re not—”

“I’m fine,” Satoru repeats quietly, “seriously. I’m fine. I finally figured out Reverse Cursed Technique! I healed, Suguru. I’m alive. That bastard tried to kill me, but I survived. I’m mending as we speak. It hardly hurts. I’m okay. Besides, I’m barely even bleeding anymore. It’s fine.”

“Barely even still means you are bleeding,” the dark-haired teen grouches.

They stare at each other, as if to size their opponent up.

Satoru can’t tell if Suguru is about to punch him or hug him or something along those lines, and then all at once, the dark-haired boy’s face crumples, bottom lip wobbling. He palms at his own eyes as he finally breathlessly croaks out, “he told me you were dead. Satoru, I thought you were really... fuck... fuck!”

Suguru’s near hysteric.

Satoru doesn’t understand. Panic wells in his chest. This didn’t happen before— he hadn’t seen Suguru again until he’d been bringing Amanai’s body back.

Suguru had seemed fine then, ever the responsible one telling Satoru not to kill them all.

“Suguru, hey, look at me. I’m alive. I’m okay.”

Suguru doesn’t look convinced when his eyes do flick to Satoru.

So, Satoru steps closer, around the lifeless body, and takes Suguru’s hand into his own. He gives his hand a squeeze before bringing it to his chest, adjusting Suguru’s palm until it lays flat over Satoru’s pounding heart.

There’s no way he can’t feel how wild it’s beating with adrenaline.

Satoru can hear it in his ears.

If this doesn’t prove he’s alive, that his heart is still beating despite all odds, Satoru doesn’t know what will. It takes a second before Suguru’s hand is pressing lightly without Satoru’s involvement, his own hand still holding Suguru’s in place over his chest.

It feels... oddly intimate.

His heart speeds up at the thought. He’s sure if he had more blood still left in his body, he’d be going red in the face at this point, but he’s almost positive he’s a ghostly pale.

RCT won’t help reproduce red blood cells.

He still lost probably far too much blood, any normal human would’ve died, he knows. He had died, he’s like ninety-five-percent sure. Blood loss is still blood loss.

He’ll either need to wait that out, wait for his body to naturally start making blood cells to replenish, or let Shoko do whatever it she’ll surely demand when she sees him. He’s almost a little scared to be reunited with their med-student friend. Yikes. She’s gonna flip.

“See?” Satoru cocks his head a bit as Suguru’s palm presses hard into his ribs, without Satoru’s guidance. “I’m alive. I’m fine, okay? Not dead. I’m sure he would’ve said anything to fuck you up, yeah? Don’t trust the bad guy’s word. I’m okay, Suguru.”

Suguru draws in a shaky breath, as he steps right into Satoru’s space, arms wrapping around his neck in a tight hug. It's a desperate hug. Tight. Almost suffocating, really, but it’s comforting all the same.

Satoru thinks he needs the hug just as much as Suguru clearly does.

He hadn’t known what he’d be coming back to.

Suguru could’ve been dead.

Satoru never would’ve forgiven himself if that happened.

Suguru buries his face in Satoru’s neck, nose shoved into the junction between his neck and shoulder. It hurts a bit, the pressure of Suguru pressing close enough that they’re basically breathing the same air, squeezing tight because Suguru doesn’t know the extent of Satoru’s injuries, but Suguru’s hair, no longer in the tight, neat bun, tickles his jaw and ear. It makes up for the discomfort.

Satoru lets his arms wind around Suguru’s chest, squeezing back just as tightly despite how it tugs at still sealing wounds. His hand flattens on Suguru’s back, fingers curling into the muscle.

Suguru hugs tighter in silent response.

For a long second, they just stand like that.

It’s comforting. It’s something Satoru desperately needed but didn’t know.

He’s been so worried about this for so long. So scared of losing Amanai, Kuroi— of losing Suguru again. He’d been terrified. Running on fumes because he couldn’t risk relaxing when there was so much to do. Too scared of this to let his eyes shut for more than a couple minutes.

This is the best outcome he could’ve anticipated.

It may not seem that way to anyone else, but it truly, truly is.

The only major injury was his, and he could handle that. He’d bounce back in due time. He was already up and moving— he'd killed Fushiguro in his own timeline after being carved up. He was self-healing where he stood. It was fine. It worked. This was a success.

“Your plan was so fucking stupid, Satoru,” is hissed into his neck.

“I know.”

“We’re never doing anything like that again.”

Satoru smiles, cheeks pressing against Suguru’s temple, “I know.”

“We’re supposed to be a team, Satoru,” the words are nothing but a whisper against his skin, “don’t send me away again. Don’t make me question if you’re dead somewhere because I left. Please. Treat me like an equal. We’re the strongest.”

“I know.” A pause, Satoru’s heart pounds hard. “We are. ‘m sorry.”

After another second, Suguru finally pulls back. He holds Satoru at arm’s length by his shoulders, worried eyes scanning over his features. One hand lifts up to cup his jaw again, tilting his face until icy-blue eyes meet warm purple. Satoru’s stomach flip-flops. “Are you really okay?”

“Well, I’m a little sore,” Satoru admits with a shrug, Suguru’s hand falls from his jaw and Satoru misses the warmth of it, “but I’m really okay. I feel pretty good actually. My heart is pounding, and I’m exhausted, but wow. I’ve never felt like this before, y’know? Strong. Powerful—”

“That’s the adrenaline talking,” Suguru snaps, “or maybe the shock.”

“I’m not going into shock,” Satoru truly laughs at that. “I’m just... relieved that’s over. This could’ve gone so much worse, I think. Think if we had of actually had Amanai here. Nobody died, Suguru. That’s a win. And— oh, hey, wait, you got hurt too, are you okay? He got you with the spear and—”

“Am I okay?” Suguru squints challengingly, “yes, Satoru, the single cut on my arm is completely fine. Let’s revisit your apparent death, and the stabs you took to the chest and stomach, not to mention whatever else you’re hiding! What the hell happened? What did he do to you? He said you died, and looking at you now, I believe him still! Shit— I don’t fucking care what you say, I’m calling Shoko, because you’re still covered in blood, and I’m freaked the fuck out!”

Suguru is fuming as he shoves Satoru away by the shoulders, “and then you can walk me through your fucking domain that did whatever the hell it did to this guy! When the hell did you learn to do that? Why the fuck did you never tell me? Is he even alive anymore? You were gone for like four seconds, and you come out of it with a corpse! What did you do? Fuck, Satoru!”

“He’s alive,” Satoru insists distastefully.

Suguru shoots him with a withering glare, “that’s all you have to say for yourself? Seriously? After everything, after all this? You never even told me you could form a domain— Yaga's barely even taught us! He said it’s something we’ll work on next year, Satoru, so where they hell did you pull that from?? And- and, why the hell aren’t you using Infinity?! Why weren’t you when he—”

“I was using Infinity,” Satoru interrupts with a frown. Suguru shoots him a challenging look. Satoru blinks owlishly as he assures, “I was. Seriously. I turned it off when you told me to. The barriers were supposed to be safe. After that, I kept it on. I’d be an idiot not to with that asshole targeting me.”

Suguru doesn’t look convinced.

Satoru blows out a sigh through his nose, angling his head down until his eyes find the abandoned spear off to the side where he’d kicked it. He nods towards it with his chin, Suguru follows his gaze.

“That’s the Inverted Spear of Heaven,” Satoru says slowly. “It’s imbued with a special foreign type of cursed energy— it nullifies techniques. Even Limitless and Infinity are vulnerable to it. It went right through. I had Infinity on, it just didn’t matter. I hate that stupid blade.”

Suguru’s eyes watch Satoru, then flick back to the blade before his gaze darts back to Satoru as he draws in a shaky breath, “you were reading about that in the archives. The Spear. The book you were reading said it was missing. Satoru. What the fuck?”

“Quite the coincidence, huh?” Satoru mutters with false cheer, “funny, isn’t it? Looks like it was found after all, who knew? Lucky us getting to see it in action firsthand! Y’know, I wonder what else he had in that weird, cursed inventory worm of his. And speaking of, that’s definitely a curse you should have. It’s around here somewhere, right? He didn’t have it in the domain. And it’s not like he’ll need it anytime soon.”

“I already have it,” Suguru grimaces, “it freaks me out a little. It crawled right to me when your domain closed around you guys. Like it was seeking assurance. Or... or comfort or something. It talks. I haven’t absorbed it yet, but it... makes me uncomfortable. I think it likes me a bit too much. I don’t know how he kept it; there’s no link between them, it just... liked him. It’ll be useful though, I think.”

“He made good use of it,” Satoru agrees. “I’m sure you can too.”

Suguru hums, “and speaking of your domain, what did it actually do to him?”

Satoru looks over at Suguru to find the other teen staring down at Fushiguro’s crumpled form.

He hasn’t moved an inch, but he’s breathing. His heart is lazily beating.

He’s not dead; though, he probably wishes he was.

“He saw Infinity,” Satoru says easily.

He crouches beside Fushiguro, nudging the man’s temple with his thumb. His head lulls like a ragdoll. There’s something oddly relieving about it. Satoru hums to himself.

No movement. Not acknowledgment.

No threat.

Satoru clicks his tongue, “a normal human brain isn’t capable of understanding something so vast. Think of it like a suitcase; you can only pile so much in before it can’t shut, right? Well, Infinity just keeps piling and piling. Until it bursts, and then it keeps piling more. Until the suitcase explodes, or implodes, under the weight, or something along the lines.”

Satoru stares at Fushiguro before standing, brushing off his knees needlessly.

Imaginary dust is nothing compared to the very real blood stains, “the only reason I can handle Infinity and my domain is because of Six-Eyes. I see that every day; I process everything differently, and I have since I was born. Infinity is everything at once. I’m used to overwhelming feedback. Normal brains aren’t equipped to process that, or experience it at all so... basically, if I had to guess... his brain is soup.”

“That’s morbid,” Suguru scoffs. “Will he get better?”

“Doubt it,” Satoru shakes his head as he rises to his full height. “But maybe he’ll surprise me. He seems to be full of them. Anyways, he won’t get better for a very long time, at least. You said about four seconds, right? He would’ve seen a lot in that time period. He saw years worth of information. Assuming every point-one-second equals about a... let’s say year and a half in my domain— you do the math.”

“That’s... holy shit.” Suguru’s brow furrows in surprise. “It was only four seconds though.”

“Sure,” Satoru nods, “four seconds out here, but Infinity works different than that. Especially in its core. Time moves differently. My domain is a literal void of infinite numbers, space, time: everything. No normal brain can comprehend everything it forces you to lay witness to. You see and hear everything, yet at the same time, you see and hear nothing.”

Suguru hums in acknowledgment, “that would be cool if there wasn’t a dead guy at your feet.”

“He’s not dead,” Satoru says with a crooked smile.

The smile turns a little dark, not that Satoru notices, as he continues, “death is too easy for this scumbag. Do you know how many people he’s killed? You're looking at the alleged Sorcerer Killer, Suguru. This guy was the mastermind behind all the shit we went through these past few days. He set the bounty on the dark web. He got Kuroi kidnapped. He would’ve killed Amanai. Probably Kuroi too. Us, if he could.”

“He did kill you,” Suguru snaps tiredly, lips curling down as he says the words.

Satoru groans petulantly, “are you seriously never gonna let me live that down?”

“It happened literally fifteen minutes ago,” Suguru grimaces, “no, I am not gonna let you live that one down. At least not until you’re seen by an actual doctor— I don’t trust your self-diagnosis. Satoru, you died. That’s— I don't even know what to say about that, but it’s not okay. I don’t give a shit if you healed, you still died. I feel sick, because- because you died—”

Satoru huffs, cheeks puffing up with his exhale. That guilt is back in his stomach, dark and stormy. He feels sick too. Or maybe it’s still the blood loss making him feel uneasy.

“I’m okay,” Satoru’s voice is quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Suguru sniffles with a laugh, “don’t feel guilty for living. I just— you're my best friend, okay? I love you. And he told me you were dead. I really thought you were... that I’d never... and it fucking hurt because I... I left you alone with him. I let that happen. I left you, and you died—”

“I love you too,” Satoru mumbled on autopilot before he squints with a frown, “and I told you to go.”

“I still shouldn’t have left you. I should’ve ignored you. You don’t leave your partner behind,” Suguru palms at his eyes, clearly frustrated with himself, “I wasn’t even protecting anything. It was a curse, not Amanai. She’s safe and I still... maybe you wouldn’t have died if I was there too—”

“Or maybe you would’ve died too,” Satoru says quietly. “I healed, Suguru. I knew I was capable of Reverse Cursed Technique. It was there, I just... couldn’t reach it. I’m stronger than ever now. He didn’t kill me, he made me stronger. I wanted you to be safe too. That decoy was bait. He needed to believe that was Amanai. You didn’t leave me behind, you followed our plan. You trusted me—”

“And you fuckin’ died because of it!”

Satoru wilts, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Suguru snaps tiredly. He sags just as fast, shooting Satoru an apologetic glance, “God, don’t, Satoru. I told you not to apologize. I’m not... I’m not mad at you, okay? I’m mad at myself. I’m mad at this guy for hurting you, and Tengen for choosing us when there’re so many other sorcerers, and Yaga for agreeing to it and even the higherups for deciding this was a suitable job for us.”

“But we’re the strongest,” Satoru reminds gently.

“Strength has nothing to do with it. We’re kids, Satoru,” Suguru shakes his head, hands reaching to grasp Satoru’s, “you’re a kid and you died doing a job that should’ve been assigned to an adult. Does that not seem fucked up to you?”

Something dark swirls in Satoru’s chest.

This... isn’t right. Suguru’s not supposed to feel like this— Amanai lived. That was the trigger. That’s what made Suguru question his faith. The girl dying was what rattled those first cracks in Suguru, so why... why does it sound like his faith in Jujutsu has been shaken? Everything’s fine. No one died.

Satoru doesn’t understand where he went wrong.

It’s supposed to be fine—

“Satoru, hey,” a hand cups his jaw again, Suguru’s other hand patting gently at his other cheek, “don’t pass out on me. Sit down, okay? You’re okay. I’ll call Shoko and—”

“I’m fine,” Satoru assures, gently brushing Suguru’s hand away.

“You look like you're gonna pass out,” Suguru says quietly. His hands hover at Satoru’s sides, like he’s afraid he’ll keel over too. “Your eyes went all glassy... You really should sit down for a second. Please, you’re gonna fall over.”

Satoru refuses.

He’s afraid if he does sit down, he won’t be able to force himself back up again. And this isn’t the end of it. There are still things he needs to do. He needs to see Tengen. He needs to talk to Tengen.

Stitches is still out there.

The war is still a possibility as long as that monster still roams Japan. The threat still looms, and until Stitches is dealt with, the fate of this timeline is unknown. Maybe Stitches doesn’t get their hands on Suguru, but that doesn’t mean they won’t find someone else powerful to use.

Everyone he loves and cares about is still in danger because Stitches is out there.

“I’m fine,” Satoru assures again, playfully slapping Suguru’s hovering hands, “jeez, weren’t we over this Satoru-is-made-of-glass thing? I just got you all off my back.”

“We were until you died,” Suguru deadpans, a small, relieved smile curling onto his lips despite the blank expression. “All bets are off now. You wanna toe the line of death, people are gonna treat you like you’re a reckless suicidal maniac. Those are the rules.”

Satoru snorts a laugh.

“That’s actually fair,” Satoru grins. It softens faintly as he scans Suguru. The other is now looking over Fushiguro, fingers pressed to his pulse in the man’s neck as if he doesn’t truly believe someone so still can be alive. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Suguru.”

He thinks back to the crossed ‘x’ shape that had scarred Suguru’s chest in his own timeline. The painful reminder that they’d failed Amanai. He won’t have those scars here. Satoru’s the only one coming out of this with a visible reminder, and this time it’s a reminder he’d won, not lost.

“Y’know, when you talk nice to me, it makes me feel like you’re actually dying,” the other snorts playfully, gaze rising back to Satoru as he stands from his crouch by Fushiguro. “Don't confuse me by being nice when your entire personality is being an ass. Don’t go into the light, Satoru-kun.”

“Fine, Jackass,” Satoru retorts with a snicker, “eat shit next time. See if I care.”

“That’s more like it,” Suguru rolls his eyes, though his smile is finally starting to lose some of the unease. Suguru offers an honest smile at tease that makes Satoru’s chest feel warm.

Satoru had been hoping he could convince Suguru he was really okay through actions alone. Words didn’t seem to help much, but acting like he was fine, despite the pain and exhaustion creeping up on him seem to be working.

Normalcy.

Suguru needs normalcy.

Satoru can provide that.

“Okay, now, as much as I wish this was the end of all this bullshit, you stay here with Fushiguro,” Satoru says calmly, hands tucking in his pockets. “Give Shoko a call and wait for her, Yaga and whoever else invites themselves to see our mess. I’m sure everyone and their dog wants to see our fuck up—”

“And where the hell do you think you’re going?” Suguru’s hand on his chest stops him in place, “you’re waiting for Shoko too, Mr. Resurrected-from-the-dead. If either of us needs to see her, it’s you, Satoru.”

“I’m going to go grovel to Tengen,” Satoru snorts out, lulling his head in Suguru’s direction. “’member? The whole no Star Plasma Vessel thing? The failed mission? Ringing any bells? Tengen will want to see me. And it was my idea, my plan, my money that put her on a plane to America; I’ll take the blame for it. You wait here. I promise I’ll let Shoko run all the diagnostics her little heart desires after, okay? Just for you~”

“Better than nothing,” Suguru huffs.

The younger teen hesitates then, scanning Satoru unsure, “are you sure you don’t want to wait a second? We can go together after you’re looked at. We can take blame together; I agreed to your plan. It’s not all on you, Satoru. I want to go with you. I... I don’t want you going alone.”

“Nah,” Satoru grins disarmingly, hoping there’s no longer blood in his teeth. “Divide and concur. I’ll be okay. It’s just down a couple staircases, right? Easy. You watch the Sorcerer Killer and give Yaga his report. You break the news to him, and I’ll break it to Tengen. Honestly, I think you’re gonna have a worse time, so enjoy that. It won’t take long, I’m sure. I’ll be back in a jiffy, and then I’m all yours.”

Without waiting for a response, Satoru throws a wave over his shoulder as he descends the stairs towards Tengen’s chambers. “It’s not like I can go anywhere, right? One way in, one way out. And my cursed energy is shot after this, I won’t be warping for a while. Be right back!”

He’s actually a bit surprised Suguru agreed to this after everything, but technically he didn’t agree, and Satoru just didn’t give him a choice. They both know they can’t leave Fushiguro alone despite his state, so Suguru has definitely been cornered with responsibilities.

Satoru almost feels bad, yet...

Satoru needs to see Tengen alone, even if that means facing the age-old sorcerer after failing a very important mission they assigned specifically to Satoru and Suguru.

His heart pounds as he descends the stairs.

He’s never actually met Tengen.

Everything had gone through Yaga the first time, and though Tengen never got Amanai, it was because of death, not because of Satoru and Suguru’s choices. You can’t reprimand kids when a death is involved. Losing a life is punishment enough, and neither of them had come out that mission the same.

This time is different though.

Satoru wonders how pissed Tengen will be.

He pushes the door at the bottom of the spiral stairs open when he arrives; hesitates a second before passing through the threshold.

He passes through another barrier, it hums faintly. Six-Eyes picks it apart. He knows Tengen knows he’s there, he wouldn’t have been granted access through that barrier into the inner chambers if not. He wonders if Suguru would’ve been permitted in too, if he’d actually followed along.

That must be how Tengen ensures they only see who they wish to. That, and the fact that things are ever changing within Tengen’s security barrier around the school.

This level of energy and prowess is outstanding.

He’s never seen something so intricate up close. He’d always thought the barrier around the school was the best curtain he’d ever seen, but this one is even more thorough.

“Gojō Satoru,” is the greeting Satoru receives when he’s completely through the barrier. He can’t see Tengen, nothing but an outline hiding in the shadows of the chamber. “The Six-Eyes. I was wondering if I’d ever get the privilege to meet you, though... you come alone. Without The Star Plasma Vessel. Why is that?”

“Tengen-sama, there was a change of plans,” Satoru says, voice carefully emotionless, “Amanai Riko decided she doesn't want to give up her life. She chose to live, a choice belonging to her entirely, respectfully, and we simply honored her wishes, just as you requested.”

Tengen hums, “I see. Very well.”

And nothing else.

Satoru stalls, blinking in confusion, “that’s it?”

Another hum, “what did you expect, Six-Eyes?”

“Well...” Satoru clicks his tongue, shuffling his feet a bit uncertainly, “I half expected you to smite me on spot or something, I guess. I didn’t think it would be this easy.”

“I’m honored you think I have such power,” Tengen replies, an amused lilt in their tone. “I am not a God, Six-Eyes, no more than you. I have centuries of practice and an advantageous technique that I utilize for the sake of Jujutsu. Though, even if I could, I wouldn’t make a habit of smiting people delivering unfortunate news.”

Tengen pauses, then releases a breathy laugh, “I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I am not angry. I fear evolution. It’s a risky path, I like to avoid at all costs. I have not evolved; I’ve been cautious for many a quincentennial. I do not know what evolving entails, what I’ll truly become. That said, I won’t take what’s not being given. The girl is safe, yes? I’m glad. Her position is sensitive.”

“She’s safe,” Satoru confirms, though spares all details.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Tengen specifically, it’s that he doesn’t trust anyone. Well, perhaps Yūji. And Suguru and Shoko. But that’s about the extent of it. He simply can’t risk anything at this point. She’s safe. That girl will live. She’ll live a long life; she’ll have a family and friends she’ll grow old with.

He’ll die seeing that through if it comes to it.

“Good,” Tengen’s tone sounds pleased, above the hint of light disappointment buried further in the words. “It seems I chose the right duo to carry out my mission.”

“We failed,” Satoru reminds, squinting at the figure.

He wishes the lighting wasn’t so poor in these chambers.

It had been well lit in the tombs, but the chambers themselves are another story. He can see Tengen’s energy, sees the bulk and power of it, but their features pale in comparison. He can tell Tengen’s voice and features are faintly feminine, but that’s about all. Aged, definitely.

He wonders how long it’ll take for the evolution to occur.

“Maybe so,” Tengen says easily, tone knowing, “but you’re right, Six-Eyes. I did request you fulfil the Star Plasma Vessel’s wishes. In that sense, you exceeded my expectations. I don’t consider myself cruel, though there is cruelty in the requirements of my technique. A vessel should be willing, Amanai Riko was not. There’s nothing to be done. Thank you for the report.”

“That’s it?” Satoru asks again, dumbly.

“That’s it,” Tengen agrees.

Satoru still doesn’t move. He can’t force himself to go. He’s here. He’d made it to Tengen. To the chambers. To the oldest living being.

The only chance at answers that he’ll probably ever encounter.

He’s so close, he needs to ask, needs answers but...

But how?

“Was there something else you needed from me, Gojō Satoru?” Tengen asks easily, almost knowing. “I assume you wouldn’t come to me just to report a failed mission. To come to me without my vessel is bold, even for you, Six-Eyes. And you wouldn’t hesitate to leave when business is finished, if you had no further agenda. You have questions. I may have answers.”

It hits Satoru all at once.

“You allowed me in even though you knew I didn’t have the vessel.”

“You’re correct.”

“Why?” Satoru’s brow furrows.

“I monitor what comes and goes through my barriers,” Tengen offers as if that explains anything.

Satoru must look confused, because Tengen continues, “of course, everyone would know if a curse passed through, or unregistered cursed energy, it would be counterproductive if that not the case, but I see all. I see depth. What comes, what goes. Energy passing through.”

“Your cursed energy specifically always impressed me. Power. Strength. Even so young. I’ve known Six-Eyes and Limitless inheritors before you, but there’s something special about you,” the figure’s head tips faintly to the side, studying. “So I notice, when you left my barrier with a remarkable amount of power, and you returned with tenfold. Overwhelming amounts. I was merely curious.”

A pause, Tengen hums thoughtfully, “and, of course, your companion. The one with the traces of ancient, cursed energy whom you've been accompanied by quite often. Not enough to become a threat, but enough for me to notice a disturbance crossing my barrier. Very faint. Nearly nonexistent.”

“You can sense his energy?” Satoru’s mouth has gone dry.

Satoru himself couldn’t sense any of Sukuna’s energy on Yūji.

If it’s there at all, it must be faint.

That makes him wonder just how sensitive Tengen’s barriers are to the actual caster of them. If Tengen can sense an ancient energy Satoru can’t, the barrier must be far more complex than meets the eye.

Not that he expected anything less of the barriers sealing away the entirety of Jujutsu.

Still, they were never alerted to the presence of any ancient energy anytime Yūji passed through the barriers, so Tengen must have deemed the traces amicable despite its nature... or maybe the traces were faint enough that only someone who knew the compressed energy could place it?

Tengen would’ve been alive when Sukuna reigned. It’s probably a familiar energy output, even at its barest, minimal form. Mere essence. Wow.

Satoru tries hard to remember sensing anything of Sukuna on Yūji in this timeline, but he truly hadn’t. If the barriers could sense something Six-Eyes couldn’t, that was remarkable. Satoru supposes Tengen isn’t the oldest living being for nothing— Tengen's sorcerer skills are like no one else.

“I can,” Tengen confirms. “Six-Eyes, who is the child?”

“A vessel,” Satoru admits with a shallow breath. “He’s the vessel of Ryōmen Sukuna. He’ll eat one of Sukuna’s fingers to save someone’s life, and the King of Curses will be reincarnated. Not... not now, but he will be. In the future. We’re... not from this time. Well, we are, technically, but we... there’s another timeline we came from; another future we’ve lived.”

“Ryōmen Sukuna,” Tengen repeats, as if tasting the name. “Yes, that’s the energy. I haven’t sensed it in well over a thousand years. Strong. Powerful. Yet repressed. Different from his fingers. More potent, yet I’ve never sensed energy quite so compressed. That would make sense if the energy the child has is from another timeline where he was reincarnated. So, it transferred over— Ryōmen's energy, and your’s. Your energy is more mature than your body, Six-Eyes. That’s fascinating. I’ve never heard of such a thing. What happened?”

“There was a domain clash,” Satoru says, more to himself than Tengen. He racks his brain for details, yet still comes up short. “I don’t really remember it, but I assume my domain, Unlimited Void, altered time and space around us and sent us, our consciousness and cursed energy, back. Sukuna’s vessel, Itadori Yūji, was returned to his child body, and me... well, I was twenty-eight. He was fifteen. It was Sukuna’s domain I was trying to counter.”

“I see,” Tengen hums, then hesitates, “the boy, the vessel, is he a threat?”

“No,” Satoru says sharply. Maybe a little too sharp. “He’s a friend, he’ll be an asset. Besides, he’s just a child right now. I can’t sense any cursed energy; Sukuna has not been reincarnated in this timeline, may not be at all, depending on what Yūji decides. And if he ever does turn into a threat, I will kill him myself. But he won’t.”

“That’s quite the claim, Six-Eyes.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I see,” Tengen relents without much fight, “I trust you. Now, you have questions. But first, tell me more about your world. I want to understand before I divulge information.”

“We come from a world of war,” Satoru admits, eyes squeezing shut, “eleven years from now. The end of mankind. A game, The Culling Game, or so I’ve been told, will wipe out Sorcerers and Non-Sorcerers alike. Orchestrated by the one with stitches running along the forehead. A curse user with the technique of possessing corpses and wielding their cursed techniques. Undocumented.”

Satoru draws in a shaky breath, glaring at the floor, “I can’t find anything of relation anywhere, but I assume it’s not new. I had hoped you’d know something the archives don’t. I’m at a loss, Master Tengen, I can’t do anything if I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“Kenjaku,” Tengen says without missing a beat, tone dropping as if frowning. “That’s the name of the sorcerer whose technique you described. He goes by many though. Kenjaku was his first, his original.”

“Kenjaku,” Satoru finally has a name. It tastes bitter on his tongue. The monster who’d possessed his best friend, who’d used Suguru as Satoru’s weakness. He has an identity. Kenjaku. A coward. “What do you know of him, Tengen-sama?”

“Not much, I’m afraid,” Tengen says. “My place was never on the battlefield. Our worlds didn’t clash. He knew of I, and I of him. I wasn’t concerned with the darker ways of sorcery, that was left to others. My place was here— protecting, guiding and teaching sorcery. Building this domain of learning.”

Tengen’s head angles, Satoru sees the faint movement, “I truthfully didn’t know he was alive.”

A long pause.

“Though I suppose it makes sense considering his innate technique is a bit like mine. A new body is a fresh start, death would be avoidable. Kenjaku was strong and powerful, he knows sorcery well, but he was also clever. A master of manipulation. Charming. A wolf in sheep's clothing, I remember him being called. I’ve suspected Kenjaku may be out there still, but I was uncertain. That said, I don’t know much.”

“He is still out there,” Satoru assures darkly, brow furrowing, “and he’s going to be a problem. He’s lurking in the shadows, but he is still active.”

Satoru hesitates, hands clenching into fists at his sides, “you’ve... heard of the Death Paintings, right? Kamo Noritoshi’s cursed wombs? In the future, one of the Death Paintings will confirm a link between Kenjaku and his creator, his father. A sentient humanoid curse with a blood manipulation technique. It’s strong. According to Sukuna’s vessel, a source I trust. It’s only a matter of time before he initiates his little game here too.”

“Hn,” the figure shifts faintly, “yes, that does sound like a possibility. I’m not surprised.”

Satoru frowns, rubbing idly at his chest where the numbness of fusing skin distracts him, “Master Tengen, how long has Kenjaku been alive?”

“A long time. At least since the Heian Era. I can’t be more specific, after a certain point, the years start bleeding together,” Tengen says thoughtfully.

“Heian Era?” Satoru blinks slowly, only distantly aware of how his eyelids feel like sandpaper, “around the same time as the King of Curses?”

“Yes,” Tengen hums, pleased at the link Satoru brought up. “Ryōmen Sukuna knew him. From what I heard. Though, that was all hearsay at most. They were not friends, but they were friendly enough. Ryōmen led quite the following, Kenjaku preferred solitude.

“Kenjaku always seemed fascinated by the limits of sorcery. Committing vile deeds that I’d hear about. What could and couldn’t be done with cursed energy. Always testing the boundaries. Testing limits. He was quite the talk back in the day. He pushed. Experimented. He would’ve been executed for his acts too, I’m sure, just as Ryōmen Sukuna was, but he was a master of disguises. Where Ryōmen was arrogant, Kenjaku was slippery.

“Granted, I didn’t know either of them well. I knew cursed energy, and what people told me, not faces. We never met. For the best, I’m sure. Though regarding their kinship, I believe they stayed out of each other’s ways. That said, neither should be underestimated, Six-Eyes.”

“I already learned that the hard way,” Satoru scoffs under his breath. With both of them, he doesn’t add. “Do you think they might’ve worked together? Back before Sukuna was exorcised and sealed?”

“I don’t know,” Tengen answers after a thoughtful second. “Ryōmen Sukuna lived very long ago, and he’s not yet awakened in this specific timeline. That’s a long time for loyalty. And yet... I’ve always wondered who would’ve been powerful enough to split his soul between fingers when he could’ve simply been exorcised and executed. That’s advanced sorcery, not just anyone is capable of.

“There are not a lot of us left to follow through over such a period of time— new fingers are always appearing, that’s no coincidence. Immortality is rare; how ever one can achieve it. The Heian Era was not a nice place; pacts and contracts were made, evil reigned, and the line between sorcerer and curse user was thin. It’s not impossible they could’ve had an agreement in place. Sorcery was not what it is today, but binding vows existed. So perhaps.”

“Anyways,” Tengen clears their throat, “I think you’re more likely to know the answer to your question, Six-Eyes, or maybe Ryōmen’s vessel. You’ve experienced what I have not, and the boy what you have not. The only ones who’d know of a vow, or contract would be Ryōmen and Kenjaku themselves. I don’t have answers for you, apologies.”

“I see,” Satoru huffs.

He’s a bit disappointed. He got some answers, but not enough.

Now he has more questions than what he started with, but he has a name. Kenjaku.

That’s something at least; something he hadn’t known before.

“Do you have any other questions?”

“The Prison Realm,” Satoru cocks his head, speaking before he even realizes that’s what he’s asking about. It’s been on his mind. He doesn’t know how long he was sealed while an entire war raged on. “I looked in the archives, but I couldn’t find anything of use. It’s a threat to me, and I want to be prepared. What do you know of it?”

“You’ve encountered it?”

“I was sealed,” Satoru confirms grimly. “Kenjaku will use it against me. I’m the strongest, and he’s scared of me. The world is doomed without me. My world will come to an end, and everyone I love will die because I’m imprisoned in a box. There’s no guarantee this timeline won’t share the same fate, and I am humanity's best chance at survival. I need to understand that artifact. I need that artifact.”

“It is a threat to you,” Tengen agrees, tone sharp, “it’s true purpose is for exactly that. Imprisonment of the Six-Eyes and inheritor of Limitless. An impenetrable prison that can contain the bulk of your power. I’m sure you can agree that you’re virtually untouchable?”

Satoru doesn’t confirm or deny.

Tengen isn’t looking for an answer anyways, the ancient sorcerer continues anyways, “that has always been a worry, since the first Six-Eyes inherited Limitless. The magnitude of your power being turned against sorcerers, against humanity... we’d stand no chance. It was a safeguard, assurance in case someone of your caliber went rogue.”

“Your precaution doomed the world in another timeline.”

“It seems so,” Tengen hums apologetically. “The problem is not that the Prison Realm exists, it’s that we do not know its whereabouts. It’s been a couple centuries since I last knew the location. That is where the danger lies. What we do not know is the problem.”

“Do you think Kenjaku already has it?”

“It’s a possibility,” Tengen replies quietly. “All is not lost, Six-Eyes. It’s not as much of a threat when you understand it. What do you know of the Prison Realm?”

“Kenjaku needed me to be still for it to activate,” Satoru recalls from his hazy memories. “He used the element of surprise, a shock, in order to get me still. I couldn’t sense a trap. I was overwhelmed. He manipulated me using a face from the dead. Someone who was dear to me. I thought he was... but it was a trick. I walked into a trap. I was stupid.”

“It does need a moment to activate,” Tengen confirms softly, a sympathetic twinge to the tone. “I’m sorry, Gojō-sama. Kenjaku is a cruel man. Emotional manipulation is a horrible trick, one you did not deserve. Kenjaku will stoop impossibly low to achieve his desired results, it’s unfortunate that you were his target.”

Satoru brings a hand up to his eyes when he feels wetness clinging to his lashes. He’s... crying? Now? Over something that happened then? In another timeline entirely?

He palms hard at his eyes.

No one had ever sympathized with him over it.

No one ever even knew the turmoil in his stomach at seeing Suguru’s face— knowing it was him but sensing something amiss just a second too late. The whirlwind of emotions he’d gone through, just to be devastated in the end. The defeat and heartbreak that he’d felt in that prison, the betrayal he’d felt even if he knew his Suguru was truly dead.

It’s the cruelest thing that had ever happened to him, the vilest trick.

The relief he’d felt hearing Suguru’s voice, the fleeting thought that he was alive, that his best friend had lived against all odds, shattered only by the Prison Realm deploying around him seconds later, leaving him as nothing but a fly caught in a spider’s web.

Satoru’s hands drop to his sides, chest heaving.

He feels so tired. Drained. Exhausted.

He just wants to sleep.

He wants a second to recuperate, to actually heal— he's not giving his body a chance to truly heal. He knows he’s still torn to shreds under his uniform. Each movement tugs at RCT’s attempts at healing, it hurts far more than he’d ever admit.

It’s a vicious cycle.

But he just keeps pushing.

Honestly, he’s probably on the verge of passing out at this point.

“You’re tired, Six-Eyes,” Tengen says after a long second.

It’s an observation— Satoru wonders how closely the other sorcerer has been studying him. He couldn’t tell. Tengen’s tone is calm, verging on soft, like a parent chiding a sniffling child for playing in the rain after being advised not to. Satoru hates how young it makes him feel.

Satoru lets out a humorless laugh, shoulders slumping, “I’m exhausted, Tengen-sama.”

“Then you should rest,” Tengen says, a firm finality in their tone. “We can continue this conversation at a later date. What you know of the Prison Realm thus far is enough to avoid it should need be. But you have time, Six-Eyes, don’t try to change everything at once. Our world isn’t doomed for failure just yet. You’ve already altered the course of fate, have you not?”

“I have,” Satoru swallows roughly.

Pride swells in his chest, “your vessel lived.”

“She didn't before?” Tengen’s tone is surprised, “the Star Plasma Vessel died in your timeline?”

“She was killed in the tombs,” Satoru bows his head, fists clenching angrily at his sides, “she was shot dead after choosing to live, Tengen-sama. Her choice was taken from her the second she made it. Murdered by the man who killed me too. That was the trigger. That was what started the events leading up to the end of humanity. But she lived. And I hope that’s enough to change things here.”

“I see.”

There’s curiosity in the mutter.

Satoru lifts his head, eyes flicking to the figure in the shadows.

“Can I ask you a question now, Six-Eyes?” Tengen inquires thoughtfully. “Before you leave.”

Satoru frowns, “I’ve asked you a bunch, it’s only fair you ask yours as well.”

“Appreciated,” Satoru can almost hear the light smile in Tengen’s tone, “this is simply for my own peace of mind, feel free to refuse if you’d like. You don’t seem to care much for respecting the balance of fate between timelines as you’ve seen it. I will follow your lead in throwing caution to the wind. In your timeline... I never merged with my vessel if she died. Which would mean I evolved, did I not?”

“You did,” Satoru confirms, already knowing where Tengen’s going with this line of questioning. “But nothing really changed. You evolved to a higher state of being, but not past your humanity. I think your evolution goes up in intervals, if that’s any peace of mind.

“You took a step closer, but there are still more steps to take before reaching that point. I’ve noticed no changes in the eleven years we have lived since your vessel was assassinated in my timeline.”

“That’s a relief,” Tengen breathes out. “Thank you. Perhaps evolving won’t be as bad as I feared then. I’ve never reached such a point; this is new to me. I trust your word, Six-Eyes. Despite your presentation, your maturity is astounding. Wisdom beyond your years. I don’t look forward to this new chapter for me, but I can rest easy knowing I keep my humanity despite it.”

Satoru bows his head in a nod. He feels oddly honored hearing such words from someone as highly regarded as Master Tengen. “I... should get back. Yaga-sensei is probably waiting to scold me, and my friends are probably worried. Thank you for seeing me.”

“And you need to rest,” Tengen adds in a chiding tone. “Of course, Gojō-sama. Our conversation was quite enlightening. But you’re correct. You should go. We will meet again, this conversation is far from finished, Six-Eyes. In due time I’ll evolve past this point, and I wish to be alone for it. You’re welcome back at any time, I assume you can find your way?”

“I can.”

“Good,” Tengen says pleased. “Now, don’t stop searching. Knowledge is power, and I will answer any questions you may have if it will save our timeline from the same fate as yours. We will talk more of the Prison Realm later, for now, you need rest. Keep looking for answers. In the archives, in the warehouse– wherever you can find them. You have an advantage; don’t be a fool, Six-Eyes.”

“I won’t be,” Satoru assures. “Thank you, Tengen-sama.”

“Don’t mention it,” comes the smooth reply, “I will help you where I can on your journey. We’re fighting the same war, both of us wish to protect those unable to protect themselves. Kenjaku is a threat to humanity. I will do everything in my power to help you stop him, but... please remember to care for yourself as well, Gojō-sama. Being the strongest doesn’t mean never resting.”

“I understand.”

Satoru barely makes it up the stairs when his world starts to tilt sideways.

He doesn’t even notice the daze settling in his head as he treks up the stairs. The lightheadedness that makes stars dance in his vision as he pushes himself up each stair.

He’s pitching sideways before he even realizes he’s no longer stood straight.

As if waiting for him, or maybe able to sense when Satoru is at his weakest, Suguru is instantly by his side the second he appears through the door. A sturdy arm snakes under his own arm and wraps around his back as a steadying hand plants on the side of his ribs before he can hit the ground.

He must wheeze out in pain, because the fingers fanned out over his ribs are gone as fast as they appeared. He thinks, maybe, he hears apologies and a litany of swear words, but they fall on muted ears. That underwater feeling is back. His eyes feel heavy. His feet feel cemented into the ground.

He doesn’t remember a whole lot after that— Shoko's face comes into view, worried and desperate. The arm around him tightens protectively, and Shoko puzzles herself against his other side, her arm wrapping around his waist supportively as someone moves his own limp arm over her shoulder.

He hears words; talking going on over his head.

Bickering between Suguru and Shoko. Probably.

He tries to tune into it, but he can’t seem to string anything together.

His body is giving up on him.

He’d accomplished everything he was supposed to, everything he’d had planned and now it was at peace to give in to the desperate plea for rest. He’s so tired.

He’s moving, he knows, following on numb legs. One foot in front of the other as he’s all but dragged along. He’s blindly letting Suguru and Shoko lead him out of the tombs.

Satoru thinks he'd seen Yaga there too, but he’s not with them just yet. Maybe he’s back with Fushiguro. Six-Eyes had seen Yaga’s cursed energy— a little army of cursed dolls, maybe he’s using them to transport Fushiguro. There’d been other energy signatures, familiar, but he isn’t in the right state of mind to place. Managers, perhaps. Maybe other teachers, or sorcerers.

They crowd in around Fushiguro’s prone form.

Satoru doesn’t really care what happens to the man now.

He lets his eyes slip shut.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s laid flat on an infirmary cot.

His school jacket has been stripped off, his white button-up is pooling at his sides, chest out and in the open, showing off the bloody scars he’d been hiding. The dried blood has mostly been cleared away, but only a shower will really wash away the evidence.

Shoko has used her technique on him.

He can tell by the tingly feeling of the scars.

Being healed by someone else feels different to healing himself.

His own RCT is still buzzing under his skin, cleaning up the last of the damage.

He feels weak and his mind is fuzzy.

A glance to the side shows a bag of blood hanging over his head. He follows the tube down to his arm, frowning hazily at the IV in his wrist. A blood transfusion. Yikes. That makes sense if he’d lost as much blood as he thinks he did.

He has half a mind to tug it out but knows Shoko will be pissed.

As if someone is reading his mind, a hand settles directly over the needle nestled in his skin, cupping over it gently so Satoru has no access to it. It doesn’t hurt. The touch is so gentle.

“Don’t even think about it,” the voice to scold him is Suguru.

Of course it’s Suguru. There’s no one else who’d touch him like that anyways. There’s no one else who’d sit with him for however long he’s been here. It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.

It’s always Suguru— no one else is so gentle with him. So soft. So kind.

Satoru’s glad Suguru is here.

“S’guru,” something close to relief settles in his chest as he forms the name through his dry mouth, “how long has it been?”

Suguru hums softly, “about three hours since we got you in here. Shoko used her technique on you and the school physician insisted you get a blood transfusion to get your blood count back up. We saw where you died, Satoru. There was so much blood. If you were anyone else but you, you’d be... fuck.”

Suguru clears his throat, tone sounding slightly off now, “you’ll be stuck here for a while, when that transfusion’s done, Shoko wants to give you a round of fluids too. You’re malnourished, dehydrated and exhausted. You’re definitely spending the night here. You don’t get to all but pass out on us and think you get to leave the second you wake up. I will strap you to the bed if I have to.”

“Kinky,” Satoru murmurs, making no attempt at moving.

He doesn’t even have the energy to be up and moving anyways.

He wants to go into hibernation and sleep for weeks.

A hand brushes his hair back and his eyes flutter shut as Suguru pets back his bangs. Satoru’s distantly reminded of the head wound, especially when a thumb trails over the raised scar there.

Suguru draws in a shaky breath, but that’s about all the reaction Satoru gets.

Satoru shivers at the touch. “Where’s Shoko?”

“Sleeping,” Suguru says distantly, attention flicking to the side. “She refused to leave us, so she’s in the bed next to you. She wanted me to wake her when you woke up but... you’re okay and she needs the rest. She used a lot of her energy to heal you.”

Suguru huffs to himself, almost amused, “she said your technique was overwhelmed because you were a stupid dumbass, her words entirely, who didn’t let it actually heal before trudging on into danger. Your new technique was barely keeping you alive— your cursed energy is thready, Satoru. You over did it. And remember when you told me you were barely even bleeding? You’re a fuckin’ liar, dude.”

“’m sorry,” Satoru breathes out.

“Stop apologizing,” Suguru says, tone softening once again, “I kinda wish your brother never taught you how to apologize. Maybe he should give you more lessons, so you know the appropriate time to use an apology. For example, not when something isn’t your fault in the slightest.”

“Fuck you,” Satoru actually laughs at that. He grins when he realizes it doesn’t hurt anymore. He’s healed enough that the scars won’t be tugged open anymore. That’s a relief. “I always knew how to apologize, I just didn’t. There's a difference.”

“He says like that makes it any better,” Suguru snorts sarcastically, hand patting Satoru’s forehead gently. “The fact that Yūji, a literal child, is essentially your emotional intelligence is frightening.”

“You’re such an ass,” Satoru smiles tiredly.

Suguru smiles back, before the expression wavers faintly, “seriously though, how are you feeling?”

“Fucking tired,” Satoru admits, because what else is there to say? He is fucking tired.

He winces as he palms lightly at his chest.

He feels each bump of the scars under his fingertips— nothing is overly sensitive besides his stomach where he’d taken the most damage. Repeatedly. He doesn’t even want to see what that scar looks like.

Satoru offers a shaky smile as he continues, “and a bit like I’ve been through a woodchipper. My eyes hurt too, there was so much happening. Your spirit manipulation work was amazing, man. Actually, all of me kinda hurts. I think I could sleep for a month. And I’m pretty sure if I move too fast, I’ll fall over. God, I’m dizzy.”

“Please don’t fall over, my heart can’t take anymore today,” Suguru laughs playfully, but Satoru hears the seriousness in the words. “Y’know, you look like you’ve been through a woodchipper too. Or a meat slicer maybe. More accurate.”

Satoru shoots his friend a narrowed look, “too soon, dude. Too soon.”

Suguru lets out a quiet laugh, “sorry. The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Like a fucking blade to the stomach,” Satoru teases back, perfectly happy to make light of this utter shit show. Suguru smiles, though it’s small and a bit forced. Satoru swallows sheepishly, “ah, too soon?”

“Just a bit,” Suguru does laugh now, the unease melting away. It’s one of those soft smiles where it’s so genuine his eyes sliver closed. “Maybe too... specific. I don’t think enough time will ever pass for that to be funny. You scared the shit outta me— he was suddenly there with you, and he just, he stabbed you. I watched you spit out blood and then you casted your dumb domain. I couldn’t do anything. You’re such an idiot.”

Satoru pouts, “I thought it was pretty badass.”

Suguru squints before sighing, “okay, fine, it was a little badass. But it was also terrifying. I think I’ll have actual nightmares about seeing you like that, Satoru. I... I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“Same here,” Satoru says before he can even process it, “I mean, uh, about you— like, I meant I’m really glad you’re okay too. Because... because you could’ve been hurt. I’m glad you weren’t. Wow, I can not think straight. Did that sound as stupid to you as it did to me?”

“That’s the blood loss,” Suguru’s expression softens. He leans on the edge of the cot, arms crossing over the mattress. Suguru grin teasingly as he leans closer to Satoru, “don’t worry, you don’t sound any stupider than you usually do.”

“Kick a man while he’s down, why don’t’cha?” Satoru grumbles.

Suguru offers another smile as they settle into a comfortable silence.

Satoru lets his eyes slip shut for a moment, exhaustion surfacing once again. He listens to Shoko and Suguru’s even breathing. Tries to match Suguru’s as he ignores how truly awful he feels.

Everything is hitting him at once. The repressed pain. The dehydration that’s making his mouth feel dry and his lips feel chapped. How tired his body feels after so many sleepless nights and the toll of everything that had happened since accepting this mission.

The ache behind his eyes, and how sore his actual eyes are.

Even his cursed energy feels off after overusing it.

He’d been unconscious while he’d healed that first time, haven’t been able to keep pushing while his body tried to heal. He’s definitely over done it, Suguru had been right.

He can’t even manage Infinity in his state, but then again, he had casted a domain, his first in this timeline at that, which takes a lot of cursed energy. He’d done that while his body was trying to use Reverse Cursed Technique and it’s not like he’d gone easy with Infinity either.

It really is no surprise he feels so drained.

There’s a knock on the infirmary door, which stirs Satoru from his thoughts.

Shoko rouses from her rest as Satoru and Suguru both look towards the opening door. It only cracks open, respecting the privacy in the room, “excuse me. Is Gojō-senpai taking visitors?”

“Nanamin?” Satoru perks up a little, shakily flipping his shirt back into place and buttoning the top few buttons to hide his injury. Suguru scoffs, shaking his head faintly. “Your favorite Gojō-senpai is definitely taking visitors if it’s one of his favorite two kōhais! Are you checking up on me? I knew you liked me!”

“We’re your only two underclassmen,” Nanami mutters as the door fully opens, “and as glad as I am to hear you’re well, Senpai, I wasn’t talking about me.”

And there, at Nanami’s side, is Yūji.

He somehow looks smaller than Satoru’s ever seen him look before.

He’s faintly curled into himself, arm drawn up to his chest where a tiny fist clutches a handful of his own shirt, pressed impossibly close to Nanami’s side. His other little hand is held in Nanami’s own, clutching tight as larger fingers.

Wide amber eyes flick to Satoru, and instantly they’re filled with tears.

“I found him on my way in from a mission. He was sitting on the couch in the living room,” Nanami explains, thumbing over tiny knuckles as he speaks. “He was looking for you, Senpai. Yū-kun said I could find you all here. He didn’t really give me details, just said Yaga-sensei was tied up with some business, and Gojō-senpai was recovering in here, so I hope you don’t mind me bringing him to you. I wasn’t sure where else to take him.”

“No,” Satoru sits up a bit straighter, “’course not. I don’t mind. Thank you, Nanami. I didn’t... Yūji-kun, I thought we talked about you not coming here without letting me know. You’re gonna get me in more trouble than I’m already in when Yaga finds out. What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t answer my calls,” Yūji whispers, and he sounds so scared. Satoru’s heart stalls in his chest. Ah... shit. There was something he’d forgotten to do, wasn’t there? “You said you would, and then you didn’t, and you didn’t even answer when Ojiichan called, and I was so scared because you always answer us. Ojiichan was worried about you, and I thought... I thought—”

Yūji cuts himself off, scrubbing at his eyes with a balled-up fist.

“This is a very appropriate time to apologize,” Suguru mutters to Satoru, elbow brushing against Satoru’s arm.

The white-haired teen glares hard at his friend before he looks back at Yūji, expression softening completely as he takes in the wide, teary eyes and genuine fear. Anndd that guilt is back. Fuck.

“C’mere, Otōto.”

And the boy does.

Without hesitation, Yūji breaks away from Nanami and beelines for the cot. Satoru pushes himself up a bit more as Suguru hoists the boy up onto the bed by his underarms, both careful not to jostle Satoru too much as Yūji crawls up the bed warily.

Satoru blinks in surprise when Yūji curls up against him after just a split second of hesitation, pressing close to his side. Little hands fist at his shirt, grip bone-white tight.

Satoru’s hand hovers over Yūji, unsure what to do next.

It’s the most innocently child thing Yūji’s done yet.

This is a tiny, terrified four-year-old running the show. Teenaged Yūji’s worries and fears, but little Yūji’s instincts and drive for comfort and assurance when facing the unknown.

He hesitates for a second longer before setting his hand on Yūji’s head, fingers combing through his pastel pink locks, “I’m sorry, okay? My phone was on do not disturb for the past couple days. I was on a super important mission. Only a couple numbers related to the mission got through. I guess I forgot to tell you and your grandfather. I’m sorry. That's my bad.”

“S’okay... you got hurt,” the boy observes, a little finger brushing over a healed over scar that peeks out over the edge of his shirt. Satoru shivers as the feathery touch brushes over the starting of the long line on his neck. Where Fushiguro had jabbed the blade before drawing it down.

Yūji's voice is tiny as he retracts his hand quick, “are you okay, Onii-chan?”

Satoru doesn’t know how to feel about the kid seeing the damage.

He’d really been sliced apart, it’s not a pretty sight and despite his young appearance, Yūji would know exactly what injuries as extensive as these would mean.

After all, he’d had Sukuna tear his heart out of his chest with his bare hand.

Yūji was no stranger to death.

It’s probably a surprise to the kid still, he hadn’t really told anyone about his encounter with Fushiguro Toji— not even Megumi knew. This was the closest Gojō Satoru came to death, and it’s not exactly a story he likes to share with kids who look up to him.

It doesn’t exactly assure people he’s the untouchable strongest sorcerer, does it?

It’s not the end of the world that Yūji knows though. If anyone will understand, it’s Yūji.

“I’ll live,” Satoru assures softly. “I’m fine. I promise. This was... a good outcome.”

Yūji stares hard before he seems to decipher what the words really mean. He nods shakily, not happy with the answer, but accepting it. “Okay, Onii-chan.”

“I’ll take my leave,” Nanami clears his throat awkwardly, arching into a respectful bow where he’s hovering in the infirmary doorway, “I’m glad you’re okay, Senpai. I wish you a fast recovery.”

“Thanks,” Satoru flaps a dismissive hand, the hand not raking through Yūji’s hair. “I owe you one, Nanamin. Thanks for bringing him to me.”

The younger bows his head in answer, swiftly leaving just as he’d come.

“Your grandfather doesn’t know you’re here, does he?” Yūji burying his face in Satoru’s side is all the answer he needs. Satoru lets out an amused laugh, “you really are trying to get me in trouble, aren’t you? I really am sorry, Yūji. I completely forgot to let you know. Ojiisan isn’t too mad at me, is he?”

“Worried,” Yūji mutters the correction, “you’d know that if you checked your phone.”

“Ouch,” Suguru snickers, “kid’s got you there.”

“I called you too, Sugu-chan,” Yūji peeks up at Suguru, nose wrinkled. “No one answered me.”

“Ouch,” Shoko mocks the younger boy as she backhands him in the chest. Suguru wilts guiltily in response to Yūji’s words, hand lifting to rub at his chest where she’d hit him. “Looks to me like you’re both heartless idiots who ignored the poor kid’s calls. I got nothing, so don’t look at me.”

That would make sense— Yūji hasn’t really interacted with this Shoko. He’d slowly been easing up around Suguru the more he sees him and gets to know him, but Shoko and the kōhais were still unknowns to him. Satoru’s not surprised he wouldn’t contact her out of the blue.

“I didn’t even know he had my number,” Suguru mutters, squinting at Satoru.

Yūji looks back to Satoru, eyes wide, “I texted both of you first, like you wanted, Onii-chan, but no one answered me. I was worried something happened. Y’know—” Yūji scratches at his forehead with his thumbnail as if speaking in code, “—something bad. And something bad did happen.”

“Nothing like that though,” Satoru assures with a toothy smile, ignoring Shoko and Suguru, “don’t worry about that. I told you; it was a mission. Not... not that. It just went a little... sideways. You know how it is. Missions don’t always go to plan, but I’m fine. Everyone is fine. It’s okay.”

“If you can count becoming a butterflied sorcerer as sideways,” Shoko mutters, unamused as her hand on Satoru’s shoulder forces him back down to a laying position, “then sure. You’re completely fine.”

Satoru feels Yūji frown where his face is pushed into Satoru’s side.

It’s unsettling to him that Yūji is worried about him— even more so that the boy’s grandfather apparently is too. Annoyance flares in his chest as he glares briefly at Shoko.

She doesn’t seem to care. Immune to his sneering looks.

“Hey,” Satoru’s glare softens to a pout, “I am fine.”

“Uh huh,” it’s Suguru who hums the words this time, tone sweet as if consoling an adamant, yet incorrect child. “You’re totally, completely fine, Satoru. Of course.”

Satoru’s pout deepens, eyes glaring into his friend.

“You two are the worst,” Satoru huffs, arm curling around Yūji as he lets his eyes slip shut, “at least pretend for the kid’s sake if you don’t agree with me, y’know? Can’t you see he’s worried? Quell his worries over his strong onii-chan, you horrible people.”

“You did die, moron,” Shoko says flippantly, clearly not pretending for the kid’s sake. “What do you want us to do, lie to him? Let people be worried about you. And maybe don’t be a stubborn idiot when it comes to your own wellbeing, and we wouldn’t even have this problem. The kid deserves to know you’re an idiot.”

“You died?!” Yūji’s head shoots up. “Onii-chan, what?!”

“Thank you for that, Shoko-chan,” Satoru breathes out through gritted teeth.

"Whoops," Shoko says drily, shrugging unapologetically.

Satoru huffs, hand lifting to placate the boy, “I’m fine. Seriously. Look at me, Yūji,” the boy does— little eyes peering up at him uncertainly, “this is fine. Okay?”

He hopes the kid understands what he’s getting at.

This isn’t anything new to me.

This needed to happen, and I accepted that long before it did happen.

It’s a positive change, trust me.

This is exactly as it should’ve been the first time around.

Yūji’s head slowly bobs in a nod as he tucks his face back into Satoru’s side. His quiet words are mumbled into Satoru’s shirt, “you’re okay though?”

“I am stronger than ever, Otōto,” Satoru laughs breathily, staring up at the ceiling as he speaks. “A little more rest—”

“A lot more rest,” Shoko interjects from where she’s checking the IV line. “You’re dumber than I thought if you think I’m letting you go anywhere until I decide you’re okay.”

“Fine,” Satoru rolls his eyes, “a lot more rest,” he corrects himself with a pointed look at the woman. She sticks her tongue out in response, Satoru simply huffs out an amused breath before his gaze falls back to meet honey-eyes. “And I’ll be good to go. I think this was a good thing.”

“He says about literally dying,” Suguru mutters drily under his breath, as he slumps back in his chair, sighing heavily. Satoru’s eyes flick to him, and Suguru offers a soft smile when they meet gazes despite his obvious unease.

Shoko snorts a laugh under her own breath.

Satoru pointedly ignores them both.

“Now,” Satoru clears his throat, “does anyone know where my phone is? I really have to text Ojiisan because he’s definitely worried about Yūji. Actually, what time is it anyways? He’s at work, isn’t he— wait, you’re supposed to be at school, Yūji-kun. Nanamin said you’ve been here for a while. Skipping again? Well, well, well, aren’t you naughty.”

“I’m not sorry,” Yūji mutters, pushing his face further into Satoru’s side, prompting a laugh from the teen. Satoru pats idly at the boy’s head, the corners of his lips quirking up faintly.

Honestly, he can’t blame him.

Satoru would be turning up too if he couldn’t get ahold of Yūji or his grandfather. He can only imagine how worried the two of them must’ve been, especially knowing both know the threat that Stitches, no, Kenjaku, poses.

He really had meant to give Yūji a heads up to avoid all this.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m not upset. I really am sorry that I worried you, Yūji, I meant to let you know you wouldn’t be able to reach me for a while. It was a really sensitive mission, but it went well. Or, as well as it could’ve, I think.”

Suguru is watching Satoru intently when he plops back in the chair he’d been in since Satoru woke up—probably since they’d gotten to the infirmary hours earlier.

He’d gotten up, crossed the room and searched under what appeared to be Satoru’s uniform shirt.

In his hand are both Satoru’s cellphone, as well as his glasses.

He’s the best. He’s a saint.

Suguru is the absolute best human being to exist, probably ever.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?” Suguru’s nose wrinkles as Satoru takes his belongings from his hand, glancing up wide-eyed at being called out. Had he been? Oops.

He slides the glasses onto his face, huffing a sigh at the faint relief of some of his sight being blocked.

“I am not smiling at you,” Satoru mutters in embarrassment, now focusing on his phone instead of Suguru, “maybe I was appreciating how funny looking you are. It’s amusing. I mean, your dumb bangs are pretty hilarious. I’m sure anyone would smile at the haircut you clearly gave yourself with the bathroom lights off.”

“Oh yeah? Still obsessed with my bangs, are you?” Suguru snorts challengingly, “I thought you got over that obsession in first year. And, I mean, that’s a pretty dopey grin you have, Satoru. Are you sure that’s why you’re smiling?”

“Well, you have a pretty dopey face too so.”

“Ugh, you two are gross,” Shoko groans loudly, flicking Satoru’s shoulder as she shoots Suguru a glare. “You both look like dopey fools to me. Also, stop flirting around the kid, he'll think whatever the hell you two are doing is normal. It’s not. You’re just idiots.”

Yūji muffles a laugh into Satoru’s side.

Chapter Text

Satoru sleeps for thirteen hours in the infirmary.

Shoko tends to him; he finishes the blood transfusion and gets two rounds of fluids after it— closer to the evening so as to not dilute the new blood cells. Shoko is extra careful with him despite the irritation from earlier and her harsh words.

She pays extra close attention to him and doesn’t needle him quite as much as she usually would on any given day. Her touch is gentle, and when she does talk to him, it’s soft.

It’s a little weird honestly.

Maybe this had spooked them both a little more than he’d originally thought.

He had come out of this a bit worse for the wear this time, he can admit to that.

He hadn’t let himself heal, he’d kept pushing his body, he’d taken more damage and used more cursed energy than he had originally. The difference was he knew what he was capable of with the energy this time, the first time he’d been experimenting; pushing limits and seeing what he could do with his newfound power.

He'd really run himself right into the ground this time around.

The school physician exams him, eyebrow arching at the tiny figure pressed into his side, sound asleep, but he wisely says nothing about it. Yūji doesn’t stir, even when Satoru distracts himself by carding his fingers through soft pink hair. The kid just curls closer.

The kid sleeps for a while, and Satoru tries to sleep with him.

Yaga apparently turns up too, while Satoru is asleep, and meets Yūji.

One of those brief periods where he’s unconscious and everyone else is apparently awake. Suguru is the one who tells him the meeting even took place, and Yaga is gone when he opens his eyes no more than ten minutes later. It’s almost relieving to have missed their teacher.

Satoru’s a bit nervous about facing him.

The man doesn’t stay long, so he heard, just comes by to check in before he’s off again. Satoru doesn’t doubt he has a lot to clean up after the mess Satoru and Suguru had left.

Satoru knows Suguru stays by his side nearly the entire time.

Anytime he’d blearily rouse, eyes flicking to the chair Suguru had taken residence in, he always finds him— on his phone, reading a book, sipping at what Satoru believes to be coffee, or occasionally coke, watching Satoru with a somber expression, or even asleep with his head hanging down, chin balanced on his chest.

Nanami and Haibara apparently end up taking Yūji home on the train that evening after dinner.

“I was going to,” Suguru had said, looking hesitant as if gaging Satoru reception to the information, “but then Nanami saw us walking towards the doors and offered to bring him back himself so I could stay here with you. Yūji didn’t seem to mind so... you don’t mind, do you? Haibara went along as company, so he had both of them there. It’s a pretty long train ride to Sendai, especially when they’re getting right back on a train back to the school. I think Haibara just didn’t want Nanami travelling back all alone. They’re cute.”

“So, what you’re saying is that you were oh-so worried about me that you didn’t wanna leave my side~?” Satoru cooed, not even forcing his eyes open, “awh, Sugu-chan! I’m so touched!”

“That’s seriously what you got from that conversation?”

Satoru had just smiled sharply.

Thirteen hours later, he feels a lot better, honestly.

He doesn’t think he’s able to warp quite yet, but RCT has died down and he can manage Infinity steadily too. He feels a little better having Infinity back; less exposed. Satoru knows Infinity isn’t a failsafe, not entirely with the Inverted Spear around, but it’s better than nothing.

And Satoru knows Suguru has the blade currently— that he’d fed it to his new worm curse for safe keeping. Satoru trusts Suguru to watch over the blade, feels safer knowing it’s in Suguru’s possession instead of in the cursed warehouse, or in the higherups grimy hands. Or worse, his clan.

It takes a long second for him to force his eyes open.

He can tell his eyes have been wrapped with bandages again. He feels the itchy cotton on his face, far inferior to his satiny blindfolds that he dearly misses at this point. He still sees the light through them, dulled, thankfully, but it’s still bright and blinding when his eyes flutter open.

He keeps them shut to avoid the headache.

He remembers wearing his glasses, so someone must’ve swapped them out for the makeshift blindfold. He wonders if it would’ve been Suguru or Shoko. It’s hard to tell. Maybe a joint effort.

That sounds like something they’d conspire against him over.

They’re good friends.

For a long second, Satoru just listens to the room. He listens for breathing, tries to sense cursed energy even with Six-Eyes dulled over with the cover. He doesn’t sense Suguru. Nor Shoko.

But he’s also not alone in the room.

“Why’re you here?” Satoru asks, nose wrinkling faintly.

“Nice to see you too, Satoru,” Yaga snorts fondly, some of the tension in his body easing as his arms drop to his sides. “Is it wrong for a teacher to check in on an injured student?”

“Fine, yeah, hi,” Satoru hums, humoring him with the playful drawl, “forgive me for being skeptical, that just doesn’t sound like the Yaga-sensei I know. So, are you actually here to scold me, Sensei? I assume you must know how the mission went, and you’re always bent outta shape when we get hurt, or something doesn’t go to plan. If that’s what you’re here for, have at it, just keep your voice down. My head hurts.”

“Trust me, you’ll get your lecture,” the man assures, “you deserve a lecture for this one, but not now. Focus on healing so I don’t feel half as guilty when I do yell at you.”

Satoru snorts a laugh at that, "that's fair. So, where’s Suguru and Shoko?”

“I sent them both away to sleep,” Yaga explains easily, Satoru can hear the light smile curling onto his lips as he speaks, “the hovering first years too. They needed rest too, and the infirmary cots and chairs are not the place for that. They put up a fight, but I assured them I’d stay with you; they were insistent that you not wake up alone.”

Satoru’s heart pounds fondly against his ribs, “they’re good friends.”

Yaga hums in agreement, “you’re all good kids, even if you all get on my nerves and challenge me every step up the way. Especially you, Satoru. If I’d known teaching was so much like parenting, I might’ve reconsidered my career choice.”

“Big talk, Sensei,” Satoru snorts. “You love us.”

“I do,” Yaga admits genuinely honest.

Satoru’s body tenses up as he stills in place. Yaga had... wait. What?

“What?” Satoru squints behind the bandages.

“I do,” the man repeats, sounding amused. “You think I can spend nearly two years with you three pains in the ass and not consider you all my pains in the ass? My students. My kids. I don’t know when, but at some point, you three stopped being the students and started being my kids. I’ve never had a class like you three, and I’m doubtful I ever will again.”

“I didn’t know you were so soft, old man,” Satoru grumbles, and it’s a lie.

He does know Yaga has a soft spot like this.

He’d just never really seen it while he’d been a student at school.

Clearly something else has changed in this timeline, because Yaga never would’ve done this before. He'd never be open like this, and Satoru’s almost positive the man never once sat at any of their bedsides after wayward missions. Not to just watch over them— maybe to lecture, or disapprove of their actions, but not like this.

Not that Satoru had ever really ended up in this position either.

Satoru had hardly even seen Shoko in that first timeline, he certainly hadn’t put himself in quite this position. So weakened by pushing himself. Never giving himself a second for everything to truly fall apart. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in as rough a shape as he is now after squeezing his cursed energy dry by casting his domain in his already weakened state.

He had actually passed out the first time, his body had knocked him unconscious until he was healed. This time, he’d been moving the second he could without passing out, body and healing be damned.

The man had always appeared to have a stick up his ass— a hardass veteran sorcerer who was all bark and bite. He was a good teacher, that was never in question, but he wasn’t exactly the most outwardly caring.

Maybe he just wanted to respect that teacher-student boundary that Satoru couldn’t give two shits about. They were very different people, and in turn, very different teachers too.

A small part deep in Satoru had always sorta blamed the man for never appearing to give a shit.

Appearing being the main theme there because Satoru knows the man did in fact care.

He’d never been the adult that they truly needed; never approaching Suguru, or even Satoru after the failed Star Plasma Vessel mission. He’d always wondered if things could’ve been different in that sense too. If Yaga had done something about Suguru’s declining mental health before he was so far gone, or even told Satoru to slow down with the missions a little.

If he’d been the voice of reason, the adult, they needed instead of watching them run themselves into the ground in different ways. He wonders if anything would’ve changed.

At the end of the day, Suguru was right.

They were kids, and he was their teacher.

That said, he never actually blamed Yaga, no more than he blamed anyone else or himself, or even Suguru, for younger boy’s defection. Suguru’s defection wasn’t one person’s fault— well, maybe Fushiguro Toji— it was a series of events that lead to it.

It was Suguru witnessing the horrors of sorcery in a way he never had before.

It was everyone turning a blind eye, or maybe not even truly noticing his decline.

It was Suguru hiding it away from everyone, from Satoru, keeping his doubts and fears and concerns to himself until he was in over his head and drowning under them alone. Until he couldn’t see the surface anymore, and no one was there to help him.

It was Satoru being too busy and being worked far too thin to really notice the nosedive his friend was taking. Opposite missions keeping them apart, Satoru working back-to-back missions at the insistence of the higherups when they’d heard about his newfound power.

It was the fact that Satoru was too strong to need anyone else with him, according to the cheap bastards who had far too much faith in the all-powerful Honored One. He’d grown used to the isolation, even if it wasn't fair or right for a student, even of his magnitude, to work solo like that.

There were precautions they simply threw out the window when Satoru was involved.

Especially after he’d learned RCT.

Like how they never bothered to give him a partner; not even another Special Grade when fighting special grade curses. It was the fact they deliberately split them up, sending Satoru on missions without Suguru, and sending Suguru away without Satoru.

Satoru honestly barely even remembers the period between the Star Plasma Vessel mission and finding out Suguru had massacred an entire village. He’d been running on fumes; had barely had a moment to sleep, and no one seemed to care about that either.

They worked him hard and kept him isolated because he could handle it singlehandedly. Why offer more manpower or risk casualties when the Six-Eyes was capable of handling it alone.

It was bullshit.

It’s like everyone suddenly forgot he was a kid too. He was a second-year student who was working more hours, taking far more missions than every single sorcerer to cross paths with the school. Past graduates. Kyoto sorcerers. Veteran sorcerers. Adults. More than Yaga, their teacher and mentor.

More than graduated, veteran Special Grades, or even First Grades.

He was only seventeen years old. Not even an adult yet.

And he knows he fed into it.

That he was proud to be the strongest, then and still to this date, but he was also a dumb kid running on the high of surviving death and manifesting strength that was otherworldly.

He wanted people to view him as strong.

He wanted to be powerful.

He wanted people to be in both awe and fear at just his name, to have faith in his ability.

Of course, he wouldn’t know his own limit if it smacked him in the face. At the end of the day, he should’ve expected the adults to know that, to respect it and see when he was tearing at the seams, but no one ever did. No one ever mentioned it. He was the strongest, that’s all there was to it.

As an adult, he can see how wrong that was.

He’d embraced it because he knew there was no one on his level, that his new strength had put him leagues above everyone else. How he was treated like a tool, an all-powerful toy for them to send off on dangerous missions alone because he could handle it.

How no one stood up for him.

And he doesn’t blame anyone, but he can acknowledge that it was a little fucked up.

Maybe that’s why he’s so hellbent on helping kids in similar positions to him.

Megumi, Yūji, Yūta. They’re all strong, and he knows, well and truly, that Jujutsu society would take advantage of them if given the chance. They’d turn them into little machines just like they did to him, or they’d throw caution to the wind and execute them like they’d intended if they don’t conform.

He’s the only one who stood up for them.

If that’s not a testament to this fucked up world, he doesn’t know what is.

So, in the end, it was everything that led to Suguru’s defection.

No one person’s fault.

No one incident.

It was a series of everything.

Jujutsu as a whole had broken Suguru.

Everyone’s lack of attention had shattered him beyond repair.

But still, Satoru had always wondered if it could’ve been different.

If he’d seen and talked to Suguru. If Shoko had. Nanami.

Yaga— their teacher; their guardian.

The one supposed to be looking out for them.

If any of them had taken a second to really look at Suguru, could his original timeline have been different? Could Suguru have been saved?

It was unfair, he knew, but it was still one of those needling thoughts that kept him up at night.

Especially after becoming a teacher himself.

He thinks about if Yūji, Kugisaki, Megumi or even one of the second or third years ever started showing the signs of depression like Suguru had, if he’d step in and try to help. He thinks he would, but... he can’t know. There’s a difference between what you think you’d do, and what you actually do when facing such a sensitive topic.

So, he won’t know.

And honestly, it’s not as clear cut as he thinks.

And even if he did step up to help, it’s not an easy fix anyways.

He knows it’s sensitive, that there’s a line a teacher needs to not cross, can’t overstep. He knows that there would need to be respect and trust for anything to even happen.

That it’s a dangerous subject to tiptoe towards.

That line is virtually nonexistent for him right now anyways, considering Yūji is all essentially his younger brother now and in due time Megumi will be added to the ragtag group too, so it doesn’t really matter. He’d poke his nose in. He knows he would.

These relationships are already being built, at this rate they’ll never just be teacher and students.

Still, the softness was there, Satoru knows now after knowing Yaga well into his adult years and working with the man, but it was always well hidden behind a gruff exterior that had taken years for Satoru to break through. Especially when they were students. Yaga had only started softening around the edges after Satoru took the teaching job. After they lost Suguru. After they’d lost Haibara.

Perhaps that’s when he finally realized how broken they actually were by the Jujutsu world.

“Well, as it turns out, when you’re sitting at one of your kid’s bedsides as they heal from an actual encounter with death, after they’ve had to physically revive themself after being killed, had actually died, you start to reconsider all your parenting choices leading up.”

Satoru huffs out a breath, turning his head faintly in Yaga’s direction.

“I’m sorry you were ever assigned this mission, Satoru.”

“Don’t be,” Satoru flaps a dismissive hand, “Tengen’s the one who requested us, and we are special grades, right? We were best suited for it. I like to think of this as a learning opportunity. I mean, I got stronger in the end. I learned shit, we saved the girl. No one else got hurt. I consider that a win.”

Yaga is silent for a long second. If it weren’t for his even breaths and the fluttering of his cursed energy residuals, Satoru would think he might’ve gotten up to leave at some point.

“Anyways,” Satoru sniffs, “what happened to the Sorcerer Killer?”

“He’s comatose,” Yaga informs quietly. “Ieiri tried to use her technique on him after you were taken care of, but there was no effect. He’s not injured, but I got word that there was reportedly no brain activity. He’s alive still, but he’s living though machines as of now.”

Satoru hums uninterestedly, still urging the man on.

“For now, he’s being treated in hospital under an alias for his and our protection, a barrier placed over his room and sorcerers watching over him, but there’s talk of moving him onto campus.”

“Do that,” Satoru nods sharply, “he’s dangerous. A heavenly Restriction like his is valuable and a threat if it falls into the wrong hands. We’re lucky my domain had any effect on him at all, think about if it was any other domain. Anyone else. You know the saying keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Keep him close. Our safest bet is having him close and being watched over.”

Satoru’s stomach sinks at the thought of Kenjaku getting a hold of Fushiguro’s corpse.

Talk about a headache.

The guy would be unstoppable with a Heavenly Restriction.

Satoru doesn’t know if it’s a gamble the guy would take— forfeiting his cursed energy like that to possess a body that lacks it. Would he still be able to use his cursed energy even with the Heavenly Restriction? Would he be able to cast a domain if it’s something he’s even capable of? Would the Heavenly Restriction act more as a handicap instead of an advantage?

Satoru doesn’t even know the mechanics behind that.

Doesn’t know enough about Kenjaku’s technique to do anything more than hazard guesses.

If Kenjaku truly would be giving up his cursed energy, or if his original technique would overpower. It’s hard to say. He’d never even heard of a technique like Kenjaku’s until he encountered it personally, and even then, Kenjaku wasn’t overly keen on getting into the specifics, even if he liked chatting about it. Satoru doesn’t know the details. He doesn’t know what Kenjaku is truly capable of.

There’s nothing to go off, just theories.

He knows the man is a threat, a danger, but to what extent?

He has absolutely no idea, which makes him even more dangerous.

Still, better safe than sorry, and the safest place to keep Fushiguro would be on campus, within Tengen’s barriers. Satoru knows how sensitive those barriers are now, if Kenjaku tried to come through, Tengen would surely sense his original cursed energy, even hidden behind whatever technique he’s possessing.

Just like Tengen sensing the carryover of Sukuna’s energy with Yūji.

Satoru truly hopes, at least.

Satoru feels Yaga’s eyes boring a hole into him, but he draws no attention to it.

“I’ll mention it during my next meeting with the higherups. They might consider pushing for his transfer if it’s coming from the Six-Eyes,” Yaga says slowly. “You were the one to defeat him. And. I’m sure the higherups will want him close anyways, so the odds are very likely. There's a good chance they can be swayed.”

Satoru hums again in acknowledgement.

“Anyways, the Sorcerer Killer is under our arrest and his execution is pending for his crimes against sorcerers,” Yaga clears his throat, his arm moves, and Satoru knows he’s rubbing at his forehead stressfully, “we’ll benefit from having complete control. It’s an irresolute proceeding considering he’s not technically a sorcerer but does possess a Heavenly Restriction. The majority of his crimes have been against sorcerers, and he is a part of our world. His fate is undecided, and nothing can be truly decided until he’s conscious enough for a trial. Keeping him close is ideal, there’s no question about that.”

“If that ever happens,” Satoru says blithely. “Him regaining his consciousness, I mean.”

He feels Yaga’s eyes boring into him, can almost picture the pinched expression on his face.

“Yes,” he finally agrees. “If he does wake up. Now, that said, the Council is pleased that the Sorcerer Killer has been neutralized and is no longer a threat to us. You did good, Satoru.”

Satoru offers a noncommittal hum.

“You don’t seem surprised by any of this, Satoru,” Yaga comments slowly.

“Not really,” Satoru shrugs indifferently. “I kinda assumed this might be a potential outcome. I mean, I saw how he was in the domain, how he was after it. I really don’t care what happens to him, I just never want to run into him again. He could be dead for all I care.”

Yaga hums, his chair squeaks as he shifts his weight.

“Your domain... when did you learn how to do that?”

Satoru shrugs again, taking great care to not show any telling emotion, “I don’t know. It just kinda happened. Felt like the right thing to do. I just needed to isolate him and... well, he saw Infinity at its core, Sensei. My domain is an infinite void. Endless. Limitless. Overwhelming. Even a Heavenly Restriction would be weak against that. He saw more than the human brain is capable of processing, I think. That’s the gist of it.”

Yaga remains quiet, Satoru knows he’s watching him. “That’s quite the powerful domain.”

“I’m the Six-Eyes, everything about me is powerful,” Satoru snaps, uncaring if he sounds cocky or overconfident. It’s true. “Are you really surprised my domain is above all else too? I feel like I should be offended. It came naturally. Felt right. I don’t know what to tell you. Shouldn’t you be proud of me?”

“I am,” the man says appeasingly, “that’s advanced sorcery. Getō said your domain was complete and impenetrable. Not exactly what I want to hear after learning you’d been stabbed in the gut and isolated yourself from aid, but it worked out in the end. That’s really good for a first domain. Most sorcerers can only cast a partial domain, especially at first. And a lot of sorcerers will never cast a domain, let alone a complete one. It takes years of practice. I should’ve anticipated you might be an exception.”

“I’ll always be an exception,” Satoru mutters, slumping back onto the cot a bit.

Whether that’s a blessing or a curse, is yet to be decided. The answer to that will be determined by whether or not he can save this timeline, or if it’s doomed to fail like his original one.

“What about Tengen?”

“Tengen evolved early this morning,” Yaga informs slowly, like he’s trying to find the best way to continue. “They managed to keep their humanity this time, which is good, but it was a gamble we should not have taken. A gamble you should not have risked. Both you and Getō. The Council is livid. Our entire world relies on Tengen’s technique and humanity. We need it.”

“So, you wanted us to sacrifice an unwilling participant,” Satoru glares through the bandages, “real nice, Yaga. You wanted us to split up a family, kill off a kid. She's a child. I’m glad we didn’t keep you in the loop then if that’s your stance. I thought you’d be different.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Sounds like it to me—”

“Satoru,” the man’s voice is clipped but authoritative, “stop.”

Satoru’s jaw snaps shut at Yaga’s tone.

The man heaves out a defeated sigh.

There’s movement, Yaga rubbing at his eyes probably, “you know this has nothing to do with me. I’m telling you how it is, because I was told how it is. I got the first lecture. I stood in front of the Council; I reported back for the mission failure. I was the one reporting that Tengen never received their vessel, that the evolution was imminent. I apologized on your behalf, on Getō’s. I’m not your enemy here. I’m in just as much trouble as you are because you’re my responsibility. Your mistakes are my mistakes. And even if you don’t consider this a mistake, they do.”

“I’m sorry,” Satoru mumbles weakly, thoroughly scolded.

“I know,” the man sighs again. “I’m glad the girl is alright, okay? I’m sorry you were put in a position where you had to make such a decision. We tell you saving a life is your priority, and then we reprimand you for doing it. You two assessed the situation and you made a call. We’ll never know if it was the right one, or the wrong one, but Amanai Riko is alive and Tengen is okay for now.”

“I think it was the right one.”

“I’m sure you do,” Yaga huffs fondly, “but you did make a decision that others could consider wrong. We’re going to receive backlash for that. That’s just how it is, I can’t stop that. And you need to be aware of this too. Your actions do have consequences and I can’t protect you from that, whether you made the right choice or not.”

Satoru hesitates, “do you think it was a wrong choice, Sensei?”

Satoru will never believe it. He knows he did what needed to be done, what the world needed. He knows that, but no one else ever will. Besides maybe Tengen. Still, Satoru does respect Yaga in his own way. He may not always like the guy, but he values his opinion.

Or maybe this is just a test; Satoru testing his teacher’s character, his morals.

The man is quiet for a second, “I trust your judgement. I think if you believe you made the right choice here, then you probably made the right choice. Just... don’t make this a habit. I don’t like the higherups any more than you do, okay? I can only do so much damage control.”

“Okay,” Satoru’s lips curl up faintly in a smile.

“Now,” Yaga clears his throat again, clearly dismissive, “you rest up some more. You need it. I’ve been trying to shield you from the higherups, but they’re insistent. The second the school physician and Ieiri clear you to leave the infirmary, they’ll want to see you. It can’t be helped, Satoru. I’m sorry. I’ll be here when you wake up, and we can talk some more.”

“We both know you mean lecture some more,” Satoru corrects with a huff, yet something about that quiet assurance puts Satoru at ease. Yaga staying here with him now, even when Satoru knows he’s probably busy doing damage control. “Thank you.”

“Rest, Satoru.”

A meeting with the higherups is scheduled right after Satoru is released from Shoko’s grasp. Like he’s barely standing from the infirmary cot when Yaga appears to lead them to the meeting.

It’s two days later.

He feels mostly fine. Not one hundred percent quite yet, but fine enough.

It’s about as much leeway as he expected.

As much as they’re willing to wait.

Satoru has a suspicion the school physician has been bullied into releasing him by the sour expression the man makes as he signs off on the paperwork that morning.

Shoko looks equally as pissed off as she stands tense by Satoru’s side, jaw clenched as she glares daggers at her mentor. He assumes they’d had some sort of disagreement about the early discharge, but he doesn’t comment on it.

Honestly, it seems like something they’d do.

His cursed energy is nearly refreshed, and his blood count back up to acceptable levels, maybe not great levels, but good enough that he’s not anemic or anything. He’s still a little pale in the face, and he feels a bit weak and tired, but he’s up and functioning just fine.

Some rest is advised, but that’s about the extent of it as he’s ushered out of the infirmary.

Though released from the infirmary, he’s definitely not cleared for missions yet.

He’s no longer dehydrated thanks to the fluids, and he’s been assigned a hearty diet to help with the lingering malnourishment. Suguru and Shoko have been on his case about eating, and he’s not even mad about it. He appreciates it. He enjoys mealtimes with them.

The three of them are busy, have been since they started their second year of school, so having time with them is something he looks forwards to. Especially now that things are different. That he knows what he’d lost and has gotten it back. He’s ecstatic.

The scars are healed over completely, and he’d finally been allowed to shower, so he feels better too. He spends a long time just stood under the spray of the shower, watching the remaining blood, the remainder of that entire shitshow, wash down the drain.

Now, at the meeting, he and Suguru stand side by side before the table of higherups with dark scowls fixed on their faces. Their heads are bowed, and Yaga is talking for them for the most part, stood straight at Satoru’s side.

At least they’re not here alone, Satoru would’ve surely lost his cool by now if they were here alone.

The room reeks of disappointment and irritation— Satoru had never been more annoyed with the higherups’ questionable morality, and he’d fought them dozens of times over the years, including both times he’d managed to shelve Yūta’s and Yūji’s execution dates.

He can almost understand executing two kids with questionable cursed energy that could be dangerous, but Amanai? A little girl who has no cursed energy? Forcing her towards her own personal death for the use of her body is morbid, especially when she doesn't want to. The only thing she has is an unfortunate connection to Tengen, which is gone now anyways.

The window for merging is closed.

Literally all they’d done was put her on a plane.

They didn’t make any decisions for her, even if Satoru did prompt this.

They didn’t even really sabotage the assimilation.

She didn’t want to do it, plain and simply. They weren’t gonna force her, Satoru sure as hell wasn't going to knowing what he does from his own timeline. She’s literally just a normal teenaged girl now anyways. She gets to live on. She gets to be normal. Live a normal life.

Not even Tengen is this upset about it.

So why are the higherups treating this like they’d forced her away by a gun to her head?

Satoru is pissed as he listens to them lecture, snark and ridicule them for their actions. Even going as far as to shit talk Yaga too, who takes it like a champ. The ‘follow orders’ spiel is in one ear and out the other because Satoru quite literally does not give a shit about what these geezers think.

Big talk for a bunch of antiques who sit on their lazy asses all day and give orders.

If he could not be here, he wouldn’t be.

It takes everything in him not to lash out at them— Yaga’s tight grip on his shoulder, as if he’s reading Satoru’s body language and knows he’s seconds away from losing his cool, is the only thing that keeps him from doing it.

“Keep your heads down,” the man had warned beforehand, “and act apologetic.”

Satoru just barely manages to follow those orders. And only because he knows that whatever he does in there with fall back onto not just Yaga, but Suguru too. And he can’t risk that.

Fuck this collective punishment thing.

It was Satoru’s idea. It was Satoru’s money that shipped Amanai and Kuroi off. Satoru guilted Suguru into it. Yaga had no word in this whatsoever. Satoru made this happen. Satoru forced this to happen for the greater good. It’s on him, and yet, all three of them are getting in trouble.

Suguru who’d tried to remain the loyal dog.

Yaga who had absolutely no idea what they were up to.

When they’re dismissed, he shakes Yaga’s grip off and warps away before either can say anything to him. He’s afraid all this pent-up anger is going to bite him in the ass, that he’ll accidently lash out on one of them. He doesn’t remember emotions being this hard to control.

It feels like he’s going to snap just being around them.

He can’t deal with anything else. Not today, not right now.

He doesn’t want to face Suguru after they just got ripped into for something he made happen. He doesn’t want to hear anything from Yaga. If anyone tries to lecture him, he’ll surely blow up.

He just... he needs a second.

Satoru’s feet touch down in the middle of the Itadori’s living room.

He’s surprised for just a second before he plops down on the Itadori’s couch, head in his hands as he sucks in a shaky breath. He hadn’t had anywhere specific in mind when he’d warped. He just wanted to be gone. Away from sorcery, away from the higherup, from what’s expected of him, and who he is.

His emotions are everywhere, and he can’t seem to regulate his anger. Being seventeen is the worst. Fuck. It feels like he can’t even breathe through the anger.

He just wants a second of peace.

“I didn’t think I’d see you today.”

Satoru’s body tenses up, ready to defend himself, but the voice is calm. He knows who it is. Itadori-san. There’s nothing accusatory or malicious in the tone. Not that the man has ever taken such a drastic tone since their first meeting before Satoru had cleared everything up.

“Ojiisan,” Satoru breathes out on instinct, not even noticing the slip-up.

When he lifts his head from his hands, the man’s expression is unreadable, brow furrowed as sharp eyes scan Satoru up and down.

Satoru doesn’t have the energy to decipher the look.

The teen scrubs hard at his eyes, glasses shoved up into his hairline so he could comfortably bury his face in his hands. “I didn’t... ah, I didn’t think you’d be home... ‘m sorry—”

“So, you came to snoop around while no one was home?”

“N-no, I—”

“I’m pulling your leg,” the old man squints, whatever tease his tone had taken gone just as fast as it appeared. Satoru’s never felt barer to someone’s scrutinizing. “Relax, son. Yūji’s at school today, just so you know. He won’t be home for a couple more hours.”

“I’m sorry,” Satoru mumbles tiredly, already moving to push himself up off the couch. His body groans in protest, exhaustion crashing over him. He's just so tired. Of everything. “I know he’s... I should be too, I’m sure. At school. God, this’ll bite me in the ass. My teacher’s gonna be pissed. I don’t know what I was even thinking, honestly. I’ll... go. I’m sorry.”

He hadn’t meant to disturb anyone, and if he’d been thinking clearly, this probably wouldn’t have been the place he’d come to. He really doesn’t know why this is the place he’d come.

Especially knowing Yūji is at school too, and Itadori-san was at work.

He hadn’t even thought that Itadori-san would be home when he’d plopped down. He hadn’t known what else to do, how else to regulate his emotions. He could hide here. No one would bother him here. He felt safe from the Jujutsu world, and it’s a safety he’s never really had before.

It’s the middle of the week. As far as Satoru heard, his day off was Sunday.

“Don’t be sorry,” the man says gruffly, arms crossing over his chest which gives Satoru very mixed signals. “You’re fine. I’m surprised, sure, but I said you could come whenever you needed. And clearly you need something right now. I don’t go back on my word. You’re welcome here, anytime.”

“I didn’t mean to just show up out of the blue,” Satoru offers quietly, fidgeting with his own fingers anxiously. “Or to disturb you on your day off.”

“That’s fine,” the old man shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t care. Show up whenever. I’d offer you a key, but clearly you don’t need one with your hocus-pocus magic stuff. I still don’t understand your comings and goings, but I want my home to be a safe place for you and Yūji, understand? You clearly needed somewhere to be, and I’m glad my home can be that for you. That’s what I want for my grandkids.”

“You don’t mind?” Satoru blinks owlishly at the man. His thoughts stall back to the casual use of ‘my grandkids’, was he... included in that? “I’m not bothering you on your day off?”

“I don’t mind the company,” Itadori-san huffs, almost irritated. “And it’s not a bother. You’ll never be a bother. You can come over any time. Whenever you need. Or, just to visit. Think of this conversation as permission for you to come over whenever. I get lonely, you know. With Yūji always busy with school, the house is pretty quiet these days. I don’t mind. Your company is just fine for an old man like me.”

Satoru swallows thickly, head bowing in a grateful nod.

He wonders if the man is being honest, or if he’s just saying that for Satoru’s sake. He’s positive Itadori Wasuke gets next to no alone time while looking after a grade-schooler and working fulltime.

He seems pretty introverted, Satoru wonders if he’s overstepping.

Satoru rubs at suddenly blurry eyes, looking away from the old man. “Thank you.”

A gruff hum, “now, I’ll make us some lunch— do you want tea, or are you the coffee sort?”

“I’d really like some tea,” Satoru whispers.

“Okay,” the old man nods, “come, let's go to the kitchen then.”

Satoru is urged to sit down at the kitchen table, the old man net letting him help with anything despite the previous claim of ‘you do your part’.

Satoru offers to help him, but the offer is quickly rejected with nothing more than a squinted glare shot over Itadori-san's shoulder as he pours hot water over the tea bags. Satoru’s shoulders slump down faintly, smiling sheepishly when the man huffs fondly before turning back to what he’s doing.

Satoru gets served a cup of chamomile tea that’s not nearly sweet enough for his palate, but he’s not about to mention it to the man who kindly prepared it for him. It’s mild on his palate despite the lack of sweetness he’d typically go for, faintly floral and actually pretty soothing after the shitshow that was the past couple days and that meeting this morning.

He cups the warmth between cold hands and sips at the drink while he watches Wasuke move around the kitchen as if it’s second nature. This, he thinks, is the grandfather the teenager had always talked about. The doting, caring grandfather who adored and cared for his grandson.

Who cooked him homemade meals and walked him to the train each morning.

There’s a warmth to this, this interaction.

It puts him at ease.

There’s something homey and comforting about someone cooking for him. Someone making him tea. He’d grown up with servants, caregivers, nannies, maids and cooks who all but replaced his parents, but this feels different somehow.

A pan sizzles, the rice cooker hums and something’s boiling on the stovetop.

Satoru’s surprised that he’s getting an actual, full meal. He’d expected something fast and easy. Frozen gyozas dumplings, soba noodles. Satoru had literally just appeared in this old man’s living room, and now he’s getting a home cooked meal.

There’s a lot going on, and Satoru feels bad sitting around while the old man cooks for him. He’s not great in the kitchen, he'd been waited on hand and foot growing up in his clan, but he’s not kitchen inept. Satoru moves to stand—

“Sit your ass down,” the old man snaps without looking back, “don’t think Yūji didn’t tell me what kind of shape you’re in after whatever mission it is you people get up to. He said you were at death’s door when he saw you. You need a good, iron-rich meal. You’re pale as a sheet; you probably shouldn’t even be up and moving yet. Kids these days, can’t sit still.”

“Yūji was just worried,” Satoru tries to assure as he eases back down in his chair, feeling faintly scolded. “It wasn’t that bad. I survived. And, I was released from the infirmary properly, I promise. No one would’ve let me sneak out if I tried anyways.”

“Yeah, well,” Wasuke clears his throat.

He flips something in the pan, not looking back at Satoru, “he wasn’t the only one. I was worried too when we didn’t hear from you and couldn’t get ahold of you. You’re just a kid, and to know Kaori— or... whatever she is, is out there worries me. You can’t go silent on us like that again, you hear?”

“I won’t.” Satoru bows his head guiltily, “I’m sorry about that. I meant to call and let you know, but things didn’t exactly go to plan. We got caught up in a mission.”

Or they did go to plan. A bit too well.

“If you’re really sorry, you’ll give me your teacher’s phone number,” the old man grouches, “I wanna be able to reach someone to check up on you in case this happens again. And I want someone to report back to me too. I don’t like not knowing, I don’t want a repeat of this. I want to know if you’re hurt, and I’m tired of Yūji sneaking off to Tokyo because we can't reach you.”

Satoru blinks, “you... want Yaga’s number?”

“That your teacher?” Itadori-san turns back to squint at Satoru, “yes. I want his number. And you’re gonna give him mine too. I want someone to contact me if you’re hurt like that again. I don’t want to be left in the dark. I’ll tell your teacher as much too.”

“That, ah,” Satoru hesitates, thumbing the rim of his mug, “isn’t exactly how my school works. Especially not with normie families. I mean, non-shamans, uh, non-sorcerers. A lot of the student’s families don’t even know what our school is, or what we really do so... not many are worried about their kids getting hurt...” or dying, Satoru thinks but wisely decides not to say.

Satoru doesn’t think it wise to poke the bear, and the Jujutsu mortality rate is scarily high, even for students. If Yūji ever wants to be a sorcerer again, he can’t be scaring his grandfather like that. Satoru's already a bit afraid the man might put his foot down at some point.

“And what happens if a kid gets hurt like you did?” the man fully turns to Satoru, frown lines crinkling between his brow, “Yūji said you almost died, what of that? Who’d they call for you, who was with you when you were critically injured? I hope someone showed up to be with you.”

“Uh, no one?” Satoru shrugs unsure, “I didn’t die, so y’know. Nothing to report. And even if they did report it to the families... ah, like I said, our world’s a little different. My family is different. They know the risks of our school and it’s not... really about me being safe. It’s how I look doing it. What I can achieve, how much I can handle and how our clan looks because of it. How powerful I am— how powerful they are because of me.”

Wasuke’s face pinches in disbelief. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“That sounds worse than it is,” Satoru hurries to assure, “I know you don’t understand cursed techniques, but no one like me’s been born with as much power in centuries. My family, my clan, is very esteemed and our world runs on power. On strength. I’m the strongest there is and nothing else is... well, acceptable. They have high expectations for me. As long as I’m not dead they don’t really... okay, that sounds pretty bad. I see what you’re saying.”

“That sounds appalling.” The old man corrects matter-of-factly, nose wrinkled with disgust. “You’re a kid. You’re their kid, and you almost died. They’re supposed to protect you. What the hell?”

Satoru offers a crooked half smile, “that doesn’t really mean anything when it comes to us. When it comes to me. When you work in secret, things that happen within stay a secret too. No one cares who does it, just that it's done. Normal people don’t even know these threats exist. It’s normal for this to all be kept quiet. Unless, for whatever reason, it can’t be kept a secret. Trust me, it’s normal for us. For my school.”

“Well, that doesn’t work for me,” Wasuke snaps.

There’s a subtle anger in his voice, not directed at Satoru, he doesn’t think, just in general.

“That sounds like bullshit,” the old man growls, “I don’t care how your world works, you’re a part of my world now and I’m not like your people. I want to know what happens to you. I give a shit whether or not you get hurt trying to save everyone. Fuck. You are a child; I want to hear if you get hurt like you did. I am not going to sit in the dark twiddling my thumbs, wondering why you never come back. I care what happens to my kids.”

The man is fuming as he turns back to the sizzling meat.

Whatever he’s cooking, beef by the smell of it, will probably have a very crispy side.

For a long second, Wasuke is quiet, glaring at the skewers he flips. “What the hell’s wrong with your people? Your school? You’re all kids. You almost died, and what? No one cared? You could’ve died. For fuck’s sake, how is that allowed?”

“I ask myself that all the time,” Satoru snorts a laugh as his heart thuds against his ribcage. He’s quiet for a second as he stares down in his tea, smiling forlorn, “people cared-" Satoru thinks of Suguru's hands cupping his face, and the hug. Of Shoko and Yaga hovering, Nanami and Haibara. People did care. "-just... no one with much say in anything. There’s a chain of command, and we’re bottom tier. And besides, it's better people don’t know anyway. My clan would be livid if they heard of my weakness. It’s unacceptable for someone like me. They’d be embarrassed.”

“I care,” the man says with an edge of finality.

He finally pulls the beef skewers out of the pan, plating them before whipping around to face Satoru with a sharp look, “your world is fucked up. Your family is fucked up. If they won’t care, I will. Clearly no one else can tell you’re just a kid. You’re all just kids. God. I didn’t know it was like that.”

Itadori-san stares hard before something like dread crosses his expression, “you... the first time, your first timeline, who cared about you then? When something happened to you. When you got hurt, almost died. Outside of your school friends. Who was there for you?”

Satoru swallows roughly, avoiding eye contact. “People cared.”

People cared to a certain degree. People cared about him until they didn’t. People cared until something better came along, something easier, more normal. People cared until they stopped practicing sorcery, or until they chose a different path. Different ideals.

“That timeline doesn’t matter,” Satoru mutters under his breath, the words nothing but a whisper as his gaze drops to the table, eyes training along the wood grains to distract himself. “This timeline is the important one now. Things are different. Things will be better.”

“That timeline is important,” the man insists, “just because it never happened here, doesn’t mean it never happened at all. That you never lived through it. That Yūji never lived through it. It’s still fucked up. What, you think it’s okay and acceptable for Yūji to have trauma from what he’s been through, but it’s not for you to?”

“That’s a little different,” Satoru frowns, “Yūji saw a war—”

“It’s not different at all,” the man scoffs, cutting Satoru off. “You’re allowed to have trauma too. From what I’ve gathered from both of you, your original timeline was traumatizing. I don’t know what your family, or clan, or whatever taught you, but you’re human. Those are human reactions. You’re allowed to have been scared about what happened to you on your weird mission. You’re allowed to be not okay after almost dying.

“And you both came from that world, you both lost people. That’s fucked. Not to mention you’re a kid now, your brain will process things differently than whatever adult brain you left behind. I don’t know how all that time travel shit works, but I know you went through shit too. That it affected you.”

Satoru hesitates, throat suddenly dry, “I’m not traumatized though.”

“Are you convincing me, or yourself?” the man cocks an eyebrow. “I think you’ve ever been allowed to express that bad things have happened to you, and it may have left lasting damage. You seem like the type to repress things. I don’t care what your school, or your family expect from you. I don’t care that you’re the strongest, whatever the hell that means. You’re a kid. You’re a human. You’re allowed to be those things here. You’re acting like you didn’t almost die a couple days ago. I’m worried about you, Mago.”

Satoru frowns. He doesn’t offer a response, just lets that sink in.

Itadori-san doesn’t seem to expect a response either as he turns fully back to the pan and continues flipping skewers. It smells really good in the kitchen now, Satoru’s excited for lunch.

Satoru’s eyes watch the old man move, slumping a little more into the chair as that exhaustion rears back at him again. He’s so tired. He’s so done with this day, and its barely even noon.

He should probably be in classes, Yaga’s probably pissed. Just because they had that early morning meeting doesn’t mean the rest of their schedule wouldn’t carry on like usual. Classes. Training. Fuck. Satoru’s sure if he looks at his phone, it’ll be blown up with messages.

He doesn’t have the energy to deal with that either.

Satoru’s eyes flutter shut, only to snap open again as his back goes ramrod straight when Itadori-san's words finally click into place. Mago. He'd... he’d called him Mago. Grandchild. Itadori Wasuke had called him his grandchild, like traditionally. An affectionate nickname. Holy shit.

Satoru tries to think if anyone had ever addressed him like that, the elders, his own stick-up-the-ass grandparents back at the clan, but he comes up short.

Affection wasn’t a term the Gojō clan knew how to use.

Had the man even noticed what he said? A slip of tongue, maybe?

Satoru’s heart flutters in his chest as he bites back a goofy smile.

Lunch turns out to be beef skewers, miso soup with tofu a side of rice. Hearty and iron rich. Satoru almost snorts a laugh at the fact.

He bows his head in thanks as the two of them sit down to eat together.

Itadori-san's food is delicious, and though they don’t really talk while they eat, Satoru feels comfortable enough with the old man. It’s nothing like the meals he’d been forced to share with the clan elders, or even his parents. Obligatory meals where he’d sat like a perfect, obedient little doll.

Those meals were tensely silent, and even if there was conversation, the rule was always: speak only when spoken to. It had always made Satoru want to squirm in his seat, always uncomfortable; yet this was a comfortable silence. He was content to eat in silence— enjoying the presence of a man who literally didn’t give a shit about anything going on in the sorcery world.

Satoru hadn’t known how much he needed to separate himself from that, even if just for an afternoon.

He’s tired of people breathing down his neck, yanking him along, because he’s the strongest. He tired of them sitting back on their lazy asses and watching while he’s sicced on curses like an obedient little attack dog that his masters have beat into obedience.

He’s tired of people expecting the impossible from him.

He’s tired of being the Six-Eyes, the Honored One.

He’s tired of everything falling onto his shoulders— things that people of this timeline don’t even know about, and he knows there’s no way to change that if he wants any shot of this timeline not falling in chaos like his own.

It just sucks.

He just wants to exist. For a second. He doesn’t want to think of sorcery. Of what happened to him. His original timeline, or even what’s to come in this timeline. For a second, he just wants to forget it all. And this is the only place where he knows that it’s possible to do that.

This is the only person he’s ever met who has zero expectations for Satoru.

Exist with someone who doesn’t expect anything from him.

Maybe he isn’t as okay as he’d thought.

“It was kind of your school friends to bring Yūji home after he snuck off to Tokyo to check up on you. I didn’t even know he was gone until I got that text from you,” Wasuke breaks the silence, “thank you for taking care of him.”

Satoru bobs his head in a nod without looking up, “always.”

They’re both mostly done eating at that point.

Satoru is fishing through his miso soup for one last piece of tofu he’d nudged with the spoon and Wasuke is cupping a mug of tea, bowls empty.

There’s one last skewer on the plate between them, but Satoru makes no move to grab it.

“Yūji spoke highly of one of them in particular afterwords,” the man continues casually, “I don’t remember who was who, but it was nice to see him interacting with people other than you and me. He’s been a bit isolated since coming back. Has a hard time, I think. It was nice to meet them, people from your world. Kind young men.”

“My kōhais?” Satoru hums thoughtfully, “yeah, Nanami and Haibara are great guys. Suguru was gonna bring him back, but Nanami offered to do it instead so he could stay with me. He didn’t really wanna leave me in the state I was in, not that I wasn’t fine.

“And Yūji didn’t mind, I don’t think. In our original timeline Nanami, he was the blonde one, by the way, was a mentor for Yūji. When I couldn’t, I trusted him to do it. And the kid adored him. Still does. I knew they’d hit it off. And Nanami’s already taken a liking to him too, which is great. I trust him with my life. I... trust all of them with my life, and his too. They’re good people.”

“That’s good.” The old man hums thoughtfully. When he continues, his tone has an odd edge to it. “And when do I get to meet this partner of yours? Yūji talks about him too.”

“Hah?” Satoru finally looks up at the man. “My what?”

Itadori-san clears his throat, “your partner. Your... companion. That boy. Your beau. You know.”

“My...” Satoru squints behind his glasses. “Yeah, I really don’t know. I’m still not following, Itadori-san.”

“Your boyfriend,” Wasuke finally says.

There’s a curl of nervousness in the man’s gruff tone, but Satoru’s brain is only circling around this man thinking he has a boyfriend, “I just don’t want you to be afraid to bring your boyfriend over, okay? I’d like to meet him at some point too. I don’t care, you know? Like whoever you like, it’s no one else’s business. It’s obvious this boy really cares for you, and you about him, and Yūji said your Suguru is a good guy. I’m glad you have someone—”

“We’re not boyfriends!” Satoru squeaks out, embarrassment flooding his cheeks. He ducks his face to bury in his hands, willing the dusting of pink off his face. “Suguru isn’t- we’re not- he-he's my best friend! We are not dating.”

Holy shit, he's so glad Suguru isn't here right now.

Wasuke’s jaw snaps shut as he studies Satoru. “Oh. Yūji said—”

“Of course he did, that little shit disturber. He’s taking this all out of context! We’re best friends.” Satoru groans into his hands as his heart hammers against his ribcage, “respectfully, Sir, I’m going to kill your grandson the next time I see him. Oh God.”

Wasuke, thankfully, takes no offense to the empty threat.

The man barks out a laugh. With a dismissive shake of his head, the old man rises to his feet, collecting their dishes, “well, either way, I don’t care, okay? I just want you to know that. Yūji told me to be nice, but I really don’t give a shit who you like or what you’re into. Like girls, or like boys. Like I said, it’s not my business who you like. Same goes for Yūji.”

Satoru pouts, even more embarrassed because he can feel how red his face is, “I don’t like Suguru.”

For a long second, the old man studies Satoru. Satoru doesn’t need to look up from his hands to know, he can feel the man’s sharp gaze analyzing him. He has no cursed energy, but he’s long since gotten used to feeling gazes on him.

You can’t be good looking and not have the stray ogler checking you out.

Finally, the man hums dismissively, “okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“Okay.”

Satoru scowls at the sound of it as Itadori-san clears away the dishes, patting Satoru on the shoulder good naturedly before disappearing into the kitchen.

Holy shit, the white-haired teen sinks deeper into his embarrassment. He doesn’t believe me.

Satoru doesn’t end up leaving after lunch.

He checks his phone, swallows the wave of guilt at seeing the onslaught of incoming messages— six from Yaga, five from Suguru, two from Shoko. He shuts his phone off and melts deeper into the couch as he dry washes his face in his palms.

His hands raise to dig into his eyes, pressing in search of relief of the light pounding behind his eyes before his hands fall to his sides tiredly.

The old man doesn’t seem to mind his company, just like he’d assured earlier. Satoru is oddly honored this man can put up with him. A lot of people don’t want to. Most can’t. But Itadori-san doesn’t mind as he plops down at the kotatsu table with another cup of tea and reads through the newspaper. Yūji is actually a lot like his grandfather, actually.

Satoru lets his eyes drift shut.

He’s not sure how long he keeps his eyes closed, but he lets his eyelids flutter open when he hears the door open and shut, little footsteps trekking closer.

Satoru shifts up on the couch, unsure when he’d really sunk into it.

“Ojiichan, I’m home—” Yūji’s voice tapers off in surprise, “oh, Onii-chan, what’re you doing here? Did I forget we had plans or something? Should you even be up and moving? You were in pretty bad shape when I saw you last, but you're looking a lot better!”

The old man calls a greeting from somewhere down the hallway, doing who knows what.

Maybe he’d told Satoru what he was doing, or maybe he didn’t. He’s not sure, he can’t even honestly say he’s been awake the whole time he’s been here. It’s been a couple hours if Yūji is not only off school but has also adventured home on the train.

Yūji’s gaze trains on Satoru, coming closer. He’s got his bookbag over his shoulders, a little tiger keychain attached to it. There’s a curious scrunch to his nose as studies Satoru.

“No, no plans,” Satoru drawls out sharply, glaring over the edge of his glasses. “I was waiting for you though. I have a bone to pick with you, hellspawn.”

“Hellspawn? That’s so mean, Onii-chan!” The young boy pauses, scans Satoru’s face before frowning cutely— all chubby cheeks and glasses rimmed wide eyes, “what did I even do?”

“Why did you tell your grandfather that I’m dating Suguru?”

Yūji’s brow furrows, “well you are, aren’t you?”

“I’m not!” Satoru groans. “We’re not dating! He’s just- he's my best friend, okay?”

“Oh,” Yūji frowns. Then, “are you sure?”

“Am I sure?” Satoru snaps heatedly, eyes slivering open to glare hard at the child, “yes, Yūji, I’m pretty sure Suguru and I aren’t dating. I think I’d know. Where’d you get an idea like that anyways?”

“What else was I supposed to think? You told me he was your one and only!” Yūji defends, arms crossing over his chest, “and he agreed that you were his one and only too! That doesn’t sound like something you’d say about your friend, it sounds pretty relationship-y to me. I mean, how he talks about you. How you talk about him. And he looks at you the same way you look at him! All heart-eye-y. And Ieiri-san said you two were flirting—”

“She said that as a joke! It’s a running joke! We were totally not flirting, it was bickering! Like we always do! That’s just, that’s how we are!” Satoru squeaks out, “I do not look at him all heart-eye-y—”

Satoru cuts himself off, freezing abruptly, “wait... he... he said I was his one and only too?”

His heart thumps hard against his chest, palms suddenly clammy.

Why did his heart just skip a beat.

Yūji hesitates now before nodding, “uh huh, when I asked him how he knew you so well. I was still suspicious, okay? I... don’t want him to hurt you again, and I know Suguru-chan is not Stitches anymore but... I don’t know. He could’ve been, and I see how you are with him. I was worried. I just needed to make sure he wasn’t going to hurt you. You’re my onii-chan now, I don’t want anything to hurt you, Sensei. You’re... you’re all I have left, you know? Of them.”

“Yeah," Satoru throat feels dry as he croaks the word out, “I get it. Don’t worry.”

Yūji sniffles, shuffling his feet a bit, “I believe him now though. He looked so happy when I told him what you said, and then he agreed and I thought you guys were just, y’know, keeping the fact you’re dating a secret. Not ready to tell people. I just didn’t want Ojiichan to be insensitive or offend you. I don’t think he would, intentionally, but y’know. This is a different time period to 2018...”

Satoru’s heart flutters. “We’re not dating.”

“For real?” Yūji blinks owlishly, as if he genuinely hadn’t expected this.

“For real,” Satoru confirms, gaze flicking away from the child. “I’m a little offended at how shocked you are that I’m not dating my dude best friend, honestly. Sorry to burst your bubble, kid.”

“You’d just make a good couple, I think,” Yūji offers kindly. “I can tell he makes you happy and I don’t think I’ve seen anyone... ah, um, not really care for your, ah...” Yūji gestures a hand uncertainly as he tapers off.

“My...?” Satoru rolls his eyes, “my what? Spit it out.”

“Well,” the kid offers a crooked, kind smile, “you know. All of you. I think you’re an acquired taste most people don’t particularly like, Onii-chan. I like you just fine though. You’re awesome!”

And yeah, he does know.

It’s no secret people don’t like him.

“But Sugu-chan does like it. He likes you,” Yūji sounds so earnest. “I just wanted you to have someone who makes you happy. Megumi-kun used to say you never had anyone like that, like, uh, like not a partner or anything. I always thought you were lonely.”

And that’s true enough.

Satoru’s not a blushing virgin by any means, but he’s also not the playboy womanizer everyone expects him to be when looking at him. He’s a flirt, sure, the type of guy to know how to smooth talk and he’s good at everything he does, but that doesn’t mean he does it.

He’s had hook ups.

With men and women.

But nothing serious.

Certainly nothing serious enough to tell a six-year-old Megumi.

He’d rather watch movies alone or with his students than be out seducing people who just want a good lay. Digimon films were more entertaining than mindless sex with a stranger he picks up at a bar or club. He’s usually too tired for it anyways, not that he’d ever admit to that. Plus, people are boring. Normies are boring. Sorcerers aren’t worth the work, and no one’s ever even caught his eye.

And he had more important things to do then get laid anyways.

It was never particularly fun anyways. Well, it was fun, but then it was nothing. He never had any connection with anyone. Never wanted to have a connection anyways. He didn’t want to be in anyone’s bed, and he didn’t want them in his. He didn’t like close contact after the fact, cuddling was awkward. He hid behind his Infinity.

The thing was, no one was ever anything more than a fling.

No one could draw in his attention, let alone hold it for more than an evening.

There wasn’t anyone he was content to stay with.

No one he wanted to stay with.

He’d always had high standards anyways. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that.

If there was no connection, he wouldn’t be interested for long.

People were weak. He was strong.

Besides, nothing ever really felt quite like being with Suguru. Watching movies with him, having sleepovers in their dorms. Waking up sprawled across him or vice versa. Going on missions together. Trying new diners, cafés, restaurants or finding new treats to try together. Training together, or getting in trouble together. Partners in crime.

No one ever made his heart flutter, or beat wildly in his chest like Suguru did—

Satoru’s mouth goes dry.

Wait.

Holy shit, he does like Suguru.

“Onii-chan’s all red in the face,” Yūji says, and then there’s a tiny finger poking at his cheek. “Wait, you do like Sugu-chan, don’t you? I knew I was right! I’m great at this stuff!”

“Shut up,” Satoru hisses, “you’re four, and even if you weren’t, I’m not taking any dating advice from a fifteen-year-old. Jeez, have you even had a girlfriend?”

“Not really, but I’ve seen loads of movies! I used to give lots of relationship advice!”

“You are the last person I’d ask. And you’re wrong anyways, I don’t like Suguru.”

“Liar,” Yūji grins sharply, hands on Satoru’s thigh as he leans close to tease, “keep telling yourself that. You have that smitten look on your face again, the one you had when you and Sugu-chan were flirting~ You look at him like that a lot, I’m surprised he’s never noticed.”

“I wish someone would remind you that you’re four,” Satoru huffs, pinching Yūji’s side, “stop talking like this. And when did you get so confident around me? God. Act your physical age. Be four. Whine about cooties or whatever. Dating’s gross. Say it. For my sanity.”

“But you and Sugu-chan would make such a cute couple!”

“Yūji,” Wasuke’s gruff voice calls from the hallway, “leave him be, he needs to rest. Go get changed, and then you can help me start dinner. You know the rules. You have homework too, don’t you?”

“But Ojiichan—”

“Yūji.”

The boy slumps, pouting. “Sorry, Ojiichan.”

“Yeah, Yūji-chan.” Satoru snickers under hir breath, leaning closer to the boy so only he can hear, “leave me alone so I can rest. You rotten little bother—”

“Hey.” Wasuke huffs in exasperation. “Leave him alone too.”

Satoru wilts into the couch with a pointed look shot at the snickering grade schooler, “sorry, Sir.”

“You two, I swear,” the old man sighs heavily. “You’re welcome to stay the night here if you don’t want to go back to school tonight. We’ve got a futon that we can put in Yūji’s room. I’d feel better seeing you eat more too, you’re still skin and bones. I doubt that school feeds you well.”

“He doesn’t eat anything but sweets, Ojiichan.”

“Yūji!” Satoru cries out, “you traitor! Itadori-san, he’s a fibber, you already know this about him so—”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” the old man sighs. “Give me your teacher’s number and I’ll tell him you’re staying here. You’ll stay the night and be back for school in the morning. Even they must be worried about a brat like you disappearing all day at this point. I’d like to see him try to say no to me. I’ll find my way over to your school and make my point clear. You’re family, I won’t stand for any bullshit.”

The old man hesitates in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, “and... drop the honorifics. And the sir. I don’t care if you call me Ojiisan. Or Ojiichan. I’m getting real tired of hearing my surname, especially in my own home.”

Satoru’s breath leaves his lungs in surprise, “are you... uh, okay... Okay. Um. Ojiisan. Thank you.”

“Onii-chan’s blushing,” Yūji teases the other, just loud enough for Satoru to hear, “just like when he looks at Sugu-chan~”

Satoru growls out a low, “I will throttle you, twerp.”

Wasuke rolls his eyes, leaving the boys to be boys.

If you told him now that those two were actually a twenty-eight-year-old and a fifteen-year-old who were completely unrelated in any way shape or form, he’d never believe you.

The old man lets a smile curl onto his lips as he listens to the two of them squabble on his way into the kitchen. He’d always wanted a horde of grandkids. He’d been blessed with Yūji before Jin had disappeared, but he’d always worried Yūji would grow up lonely just the two of them. It's not like they'd had any other family.

Looks like that’s not a worry anymore.

Chapter Text

His evening at the Itadori home is rather uneventful, all things considered.

Satoru listens halfheartedly to Ojiisan on the phone with Yaga, trying to will the smile off his face as the old man’s tone turns to a bark of authority that Satoru knows even Yaga will be weak against.

Wasuke is clearly a no-nonsense kind of guy, just like Yaga, so with any luck the two will find common ground at some point. Satoru thinks they might actually see eye to eye when they’re not both on edge. Maybe not yet, while Wasuke is still seething over Jujutsu society’s flaws, but at some point.

He has a suspicion his teacher tried to deny the request of Satoru staying with them for the night, from what he hears of this side of this conversation and when, exactly, the man’s tone had turned hard and belligerent instead of the forbearing he’d gone into the call with.

Satoru’s sure he’ll need to do some damage control when he gets back to school too, but there’s a part of him oddly touched the old man is already fighting the chain of command for him. Yaga isn’t all that much right now— not even the principal yet, but he’s still someone with some say over there.

That someone is speaking up on his behalf, for his sake, for his wellbeing.

And honestly, he doesn’t give a shit if his teacher is pissed off in the end.

He can get over it.

For the first time in his life, someone is fighting for him. Someone cares about what happens to him; someone is treating him like family instead of a tool of war. An obligation. A higher being on a pedestal the world put him on, or just the asshole show-off Special Grade no one can get along with.

Satoru knows, technically, that Itadori Wasuke has no power here despite the role of grandfather he’s clearly embraced. He’s really not related to Satoru at all, and Satoru is, in fact, a minor still.

Yaga is his guardian. His clan offered up guardianship when he was enrolled into the school and was moved into the dorms, not that they had any power over him either. He stopped respecting them the day he started at Jujutsu Tech. The day he busted out of his prison cell and saw how shitty he’d actually grown up, how much more there was to the world when he wasn’t confined to four walls and a looming estate fence.

He’d been groomed to be the perfect heir, sorcerer, clan head.

It was bullshit.

He’s the clan head in every way but officially.

The Gojō clan functioned on power— who was the strongest, who had the most power. Who could strike fear into the ones who ran the clan. Who could take on the ones in power and win. Who would make them the most powerful of the three major clans, and who could demand respect for them by existing alone.

Satoru’s mere existence did the trick for that. Six-Eyes and Limitless. The Honored One.

He’s sure it’s no different than any sorcery clan.

It ran on strength, and it was no secret that he, the Six-Eyes, was the strongest.

Even as a child.

And he’d known it was coming, even before living an entire previous life. The second Satoru truly became the strongest, stood up for himself and pushed back against them, no one stood a chance against him anymore. Especially now, now that he knows RCT and is the strongest he’d ever been, no one will stand a chance against him. His clan might be run by moron geezers now, but even they’re not stupid enough to think they even have a shot of overpowering him in any way, shape or form.

He carved his place at the top, and that’s where he'll stay.

He was strong. They were weak.

He had a rightful place as the head of the clan.

He knew the position would fall onto him when he was just a child.

At this point, the day he turns eighteen is the day he’ll officially become clan head. Just like in his original timeline. Nothing will change there.

That said, Satoru doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do.

Yaga of all people will know that.

This fight is a losing one from the start, and by the end of the conversation, it’s clear his teacher comes to the same conclusion. They exchange pleasantries, tightly on Ojiisan’s side of the call, and Yaga requests Satoru back first thing in the morning for classes. Ojiisan assures he’ll make it happen.

The night is quiet. Satoru sits at the table with Yūji as he nurses another mug of tea, a little closer to how he likes it considering Yūji had dumped two spoonfuls of sugar into it when his grandfather wasn’t looking. The child does his homework— bleak, boring worksheets.

Colour recognition, numbers, tracing characters from the Hiragana writing system.

Yūji looks painfully board as he dutifully fills in the homework.

They spend no more than ten minutes at the table together.

They have dinner, nikujaga, and Yūji tells them all about his day at school. The old man listens intently, clearly genuinely curious about the child. Satoru can’t help but watch them. Truly seeing how Yūji had grown up as if witnessing a memory from the kid’s head, dropped right into one of the stories he jovially shared when he’d been fake-dead and living with Satoru.

He’s glad Yūji grew up like this. A lot of sorcerers don’t.

After dinner, they play some cards.

Satoru’s never played the game before, but by the end of it he’s on a winning streak.

Ojiisan accuses him of cheating, Yūji comes to his defense and Satoru can’t help but laugh.

A movie follows after that, Satoru can’t get over how domestic this is.

How weird it is to know that this is how a lot of people grow up. The normalcy that’s so different from how he was raised within the estate and the clan.

Ojiisan falls asleep just ten minutes into the film, much to Satoru’s amusement. Yūji assures him it’s normal for the old man.

He and Yūji chat back and forth as the movie plays. It’s nice.

The second the movie ends, the old man is awake as if some second sense that it’s suddenly too late at night for the kids to be awake, ushering them to bed.

It’s earlier than Satoru ever remembers going to bed, but he’s exhausted anyways, so he doesn’t mind. There’s already a futon laid out on the floor, a neat pile of pillows and blankets on top.

It’s more comfortable than he’d thought down on the futon, or maybe it’s just the atmosphere of being here with Yūji and his grandfather that makes him feel so at ease.

Yūji offers him the bed, but he’s content with the futon.

Yūji is still asleep when he wakes up the next morning. Satoru quietly folds the bedding he’d used, and then folds up the futon as well, leaving everything in a neat little pile. He finds Ojiisan sipping coffee in the kitchen and offers a kind smile as he declines the offer of breakfast.

The old man raises an unconvinced eyebrow, and only when Satoru assures that he’ll find something for breakfast does the man relent. Ojiisan seems satisfied with the assurance, letting Satoru go with a wave thrown over his shoulder as he pulls out a pan to get started on breakfast for himself and Yūji.

Satoru warps himself into downtown Tokyo instead, walking into a small little cafe that he, Suguru and Shoko had tried and loved in their first year. A little bell rings overhead as he passes the threshold, Satoru returns the chipper greeting the young woman behind the counter offers.

They have amazing chocolate croissants that even Suguru and Shoko like.

That’s a hard feat considering how boring their palates are.

How are all his friends boring bitter people? He just doesn’t understand them.

At least he has Yūji and Haibara who know real delicacies.

Satoru buys a dozen croissants for anyone who wants them, then picks up one boring black coffee for his bitter best friend, and two coffees with cream for Yaga and Shoko. Satoru hopes picking one up for Yaga will appease the man. The last drink that he orders is his own; a tooth rotting sugary blended frappé that is probably more sugar than anything else. It’s delicious and well worth the trip.

He needs the sugar anyway; he’s going through withdrawals from eating mostly healthy with the Itadori’s. And, he honestly has absolutely no idea what he’s going to be walking into back at school. Maybe he’ll be in trouble, or maybe not. Only time will tell.

Still, it’s easier going into this with bribery gifts, whether he’s in trouble or not.

And if he’s not in trouble and doesn’t need to butter people up, they’ll still appreciate the pick-me-up. Everyone likes a surprise coffee first thing in the morning, right?

He balances the drink tray and box of croissants haphazardly before warping himself right into the kitchen. He’s expecting it to be empty, it’s still pretty early, but he blinks owlishly behind blackout glasses when he catches Suguru’s surprised gaze.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that,” the other mutters with a sheepish smile. “Good morning, Satoru.”

Satoru’s heart thumps hard in his chest, and he has to physically look away from him before he says or does something stupid. Because Suguru looks good. He always looks good, but now that Satoru has realized what all these dumb feelings mean, why his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest when Suguru is involved, Satoru can actually take notice of this fact.

Suguru is hot.

The dark-haired boy is wearing his sleeping clothes— sweatpants and a loose-fitting shirt that hangs low even on his sturdy frame. His eyes are still tired, but there’s fondness in them. His smile small but genuine; it reaches his eyes. His hair is pulled up in a messy bun that should not look as good as it does.

Satoru swallows down that thought with a rough gulp, spinning on his heels to fully turn away.

“Mornin’,” he clears his throat as he busies himself with opening the pastry box, “I stopped by for coffee. And croissants. Y’know, from that one little café? The one we went to with Shoko? The one with the dark roast coffee you two tasteless peasants liked. And the croissants. They're fresh, I mean, they’re still warm, so—

“Satoru.”

Satoru freezes, stares down into the box of pastries. His finger drums a rhythmless beat on the countertop, as he refuses to turn back. You look at him like that a lot, Yūji had teased, all heart-eye-y.

Will he look like an idiot if he looks back now? Is he looking at him like that? Will Suguru notice?

“Are you okay?”

“Uh huh. Fine. I’m fine. Perfectly fine,” Satoru says slowly after a long second. He stumbles through the words like an idiot, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as embarrassment lifts to his cheeks. He hesitates after another long second, “...why?”

“Your face is a bit flushed,” Suguru offers with a one shouldered shrug, the corners of his eyes crinkled faintly with concern. He hides the concern behind a sharp, teasing smile as he continues, “and your repetitive use of fine worries me a little. I might’ve believed you with the first, but three in a row seems like you’re trying to convince yourself when you’re really not.”

“I’m not,” Satoru’s cheeks puff out with his exhale. “I am fine.”

Satoru feels Suguru behind him, he sucks in a sharp breath and holds it without even realizing when Suguru’s arm reaches around him to snag one of the to-go cups, the only coffee with a marked lid to show that it’s different from the other two matching cups.

They’ve had coffee from this place enough to know the mechanics behind it by now.

Satoru is hyper aware of the heat settling behind him. The warmth of another person, no Infinity barrier between them because Suguru has never, and will never be considered a threat to Satoru. The lingering residuals of Suguru’s cursed energy that are more potent than any other he’s ever encountered.

He’s done this to Satoru before.

Satoru’s done this to Suguru, has settled behind him and hooked his chin over Suguru’s shoulder, but now his heart hammers and he feels how red his cheeks are and he can only pray Suguru doesn’t get any closer or he’ll forget how to breathe entirely.

Suguru hovers just behind Satoru for a long second, almost brushing up against him before he finally steps back, and Satoru can breathe again. The quiet exhale he lets out is shaky, hopefully inaudible.

Holy shit.

Satoru whips around to face him, hands clutching the counter for stability as he leans back on it. He really hopes he doesn’t look as flustered as he feels. He doesn’t remember ever feeling like this.

Not with Suguru, but, then again, he’d obviously been oblivious to this in his first timeline.

How they are with each other.

How it must look to everyone else— the feelings he’d kept close to his chest because he didn’t understand what they were or what they meant, and he really didn’t have time for anything else.

This, these feelings and emotions, weren’t a part of the tutoring curriculum he’d gone through at the estate, now, was it? He had no idea. He was raised to be the strongest. He was raised to stand alone. That’s it. Everything else fell short to that, and he’s only now realizing what that had done to him.

How sheltered he truly was from other people, regular society and literally the rest of the world.

Yet another area of his life that had been fucked over by his clan and how he was raised.

He never got to truly learn emotions. It’s one of those things you truly pick up by interacting with others— parents, grandparents, other family members, classmates, friends, siblings, teachers and strangers. Satoru barely had any of that.

He was isolated and treated like royalty in the worst way possible.

He didn’t even get the sex talk until he’d done it himself— typing awkward questions into the online search engine, alone in his dorm room, as heat flushed his face in embarrassment.

And he hadn’t even done that until halfway through first year when he’d heard Shoko and Suguru sharing stories of hooking up— Shoko with a girl at her old school, and Suguru with a girl in his hometown— as they passed a cigarette back and forth between them.

For the first time ever, Satoru was content to not be a part of it. He was content to let his silence buffer him from this situation, letting the other two talk without including him, because Satoru had absolutely no idea what they were talking about at the time.

He’d wisely kept his mouth shut that evening, sat quietly by Suguru’s side in a hidden nook of the courtyard they’d taken up smoking in. He’d gotten out of sharing his own nonexistent story by leaning onto Suguru’s shoulder and feigning sleep.

He’d already complained about a headache after strenuous training that day, so neither had questioned him, not even when Suguru nudged Satoru with his shoulder to wake him up.

He’d never felt more like a sheltered fool. Sex wouldn’t even be mentioned to him at the estate until they start hounding him for an heir when he’s just barely an adult. What a fucking joke.

Right now, though, he feels like he needs to somehow put distance between them, yet, at the same time, he wants to get closer. He wants to be in Suguru’s space— to smell the faint traces of incense clinging to him and his clothes, or the fruity blend of his shampoo.

To feel the warmth of his body that’s so very different from his normal isolation of Infinity.

It’s like the only thing he can think about right now is Suguru.

“You’re jumpy,” Suguru observes.

Satoru jumps when his voice breaks Satoru from his thoughts, proving his point. Ah, fuck. He hadn’t even realized he spaced out. He really needs to stop letting his mind wander.

The dark-haired teen hides an obvious smile behind his coffee, but his eyes give him away, “so, how was your sleepover with your brother?”

“Wha-” Satoru cocks an eyebrow, “how do you know about that?”

Suguru shrugs, “not a lot of places you’d go, is there?”

He doesn’t speak for a second, and then, “plus, Yaga was here checking to see if you were back yet when your grandfather called him. I’ve never seen him struggle so hard trying to keep calm. Was your grandfather laying into him or something? Anyways, he's a little pissed you missed classes again, but... we all know you’re not feeling one hundred percent yet, so I doubt he’ll be too upset. That meeting was ass, I’d have teleported away if I could’ve too.”

“Ah. Right. Sorry for just leaving,” Satoru ducks his head shamefully. “I wasn’t really thinking. They just piss me off— it’s like the higherups have no regard for anyone but themselves. I mean, Amanai’s just a kid and they were so prepared to just usher her off to death, even now. They didn’t even care. Makes me wonder about who else they’ll fuck over if given the chance.”

Me. You. Yūji. Yūta.

Satoru’s stomach tightens up at the thought.

Satoru clears his throat, “it was either leaving, or punching the closest thing to me, which would’ve been you. Or Yaga. But you definitely would’ve been my first choice. You have a very punchable face.”

“I’m so honored,” Suguru rolls his eyes as an amused smile quirks on his face. “Don't worry about leaving. Like I said, I would’ve left too if I could’ve. Classes ended up getting cancelled anyways since you bailed. They probably would’ve been anyways, I’m sure. I think Yaga felt sorry for us in the end.”

“Ah great,” Satoru snorts, tone dripping with sarcasm, “I do adore when he looks at me with pity. Ugh. Like I need that old man’s sympathy. It was shitty, not the end of the world. I’ll get over it, so everyone else can too. It’s not a big deal.”

Suguru watches him for a long second, before shrugging, “I don’t know, I think it’s nice he’s taking it easy on us a bit. That he’s finally giving a shit about us. All it took was you literally dying for everything to slow down a bit. I mean, has he ever just cancelled class like that? He even pushed back one of my missions from yesterday afternoon to this afternoon.”

“I mean, I did just get released from the infirmary,” Satoru drawls. “And you fought pretty hard too. Shoko had to heal you up a bit too, right? How’s the arm? Is it a super cool scar? They’re pretty manly— like battle wounds, y’know?”

“I was fine,” Suguru snorts out, “there’s barely a scar at all. You have more than enough battle wounds for the both of us. And... let’s not talk about that anyways, I hate thinking about how hurt you got. Scars mean you’ve been strong, but I wish you never had to be that strong in the first place.”

Satoru’s mouth suddenly goes dry.

“Yeah,” he says softly, rocking back on his heels, “okay.”

“Anyways,” Suguru’s head cocks faintly, sipping at his coffee knowingly, “that was my point. That you were in the infirmary, I mean. That you literally died. That should’ve scared him. It should’ve scared all of them. I’m not indestructible, Shoko’s not indestructible. Nanami and Haibara aren’t. And you may put up a good fight with Infinity, but neither are you.”

Suguru’s quiet for a second, mouth hidden behind his cup, “just... maybe he won’t be such a hardass about everything now that you terrified us all. Do you think he’s finally figured out we are in fact children and not workhorses?”

“Like he’d ever give up that,” Satoru snorts, picking up his own drink, “hardass is, like, eighty-five percent of the guy’s personality. And Yaga’s not really the problem. We had a... a talk. In the infirmary. He apologized. It was weird. I mean, the dude’s acting like it’s his fault when Tengen asked for us specifically. You think he could’ve just said no to that?”