Chapter Text
You’re surrounded by darkness.
It feels like you’re trapped in some kind of void. You don’t understand what’s happening, but this vast expanse of nothingness stretches out farther than the eye can see. It feels like you can’t breathe. It feels like you’re being smothered, choked, trapped —and you’re desperate to break free.
Ironically, the moment you have that thought, your prayers are answered.
Suddenly, it’s not dark anymore. It takes a few moments for you to adjust to your surroundings, but there’s light, and images come into view. They’re nothing more than blurry shapes at first, but slowly, you’re able to make sense of them.
The silence is gone, too. It’s been replaced by the sound of something harsh, the likes of which grates at your ears and is impossibly loud .
It’s the sound of a baby wailing.
A group of people are staring down at you. Adults, all of them, and their expressions are unmistakably stern. You can’t seem to figure out what’s going on. The baby’s cries overwhelm your senses, and you desperately wish they would stop, but regretfully, they continue.
One of the people scowls.
“The child is born weak. Her cursed energy is scarce.”
Strange. For some reason, they’re looking down at you as they utter those words. They clearly just said, the child .
…are you that child?
The wailing makes sense now. You’re a baby. A helpless little infant. All you can do is cry. You’re incapable of expressing yourself any other way—despite your best efforts to do so—and thus, your wails continue to fill the room, on a seemingly endless loop.
“What a disappointment,” another person sighs.
“She will serve no purpose. We may as well pass her onto a non-sorcerer family. It saves us the trouble of having to—”
“ No .”
Yet another person speaks up. It’s a woman, and although you can’t quite explain how you know, just by looking at her, it becomes clear.
She is your mother.
“My daughter will be raised here,” she insists, a glare crossing her brow. “I was forced into this life. Why should she have the kind of freedom that I was so unfairly denied? I don’t care if she’s weak. Put her to work. She can help out with menial errands, as a servant. It doesn’t matter. Do not let her leave.”
Despite the fact that she is your biological mother, and you are her flesh and blood, her gaze is filled with nothing but hatred. She resents you, it seems, and while an ordinary baby wouldn’t be able to understand her words, for some reason, you do .
All of these terms confuse you. Cursed energy, sorcerers… they make your brain itch. They evoke a strange sense of déjà vu, but you fail to comprehend why. Which only makes it that much more frustrating.
Honestly, this scares you. It’s a scary feeling, to be so utterly helpless, but viscerally aware of what’s happening around you. You have the urge to run away from here, as fast as you possibly can, but your body is physically incapable of doing so.
Even though you escaped the darkness, you’re still trapped.
Some time passes.
You’re older now. You recently turned five years old. If nothing else, you’re thankful for the ability to be able to move normally. Having to live as an infant, while fully aware of everything around you, was absolute torture . It’s true that you didn’t have any responsibilities and you were able to lounge and sleep to your heart’s content, but still… ugh. You’re glad that uncomfortable period of your life is finally over with.
Although five years have passed, nothing particularly remarkable has happened.
Your mother actively avoids you. She treats you coldly, and as far as you can remember, has never shown you any love. Your father, the head of the household, barely so much as glanced at you after you were born. You’re of no interest to him since you’re so weak. He’s had children with several other women apart from your mother, but your half-siblings have far more potential than you, and so, they ignore and look down on you the same way your parents do.
The same goes for pretty much everyone else, too. No one ever pays attention to you, or comforts you when you’re sad, or lets you take a break when you’re tired. The second you started walking properly, they told you to help out with chores, and day in and day out, your weak, tiny little legs can hardly keep up.
You suppose it could be worse. Nobody ever yells at you, or hurts you. Some children have the misfortune of being born into incredibly abusive homes. And while neglect is still a form of abuse, you always have a comfortable spot to sleep in at night, and several yummy, warm meals each day.
You live in a big traditional Japanese-style home, along with many other people. Some of them are your close relatives, some of them are your distant relatives, and some are people that are unrelated to you but married into the family. There are also those who have been purely hired as workers, to help maintain the home, take care of cleaning, cooking, and so on and so forth.
Anyways, there are lots of people here—most of whom are sorcerers.
It’s been vaguely explained to you before. Sorcerers are those born with more cursed energy than most, and have the ability to see and fight cursed spirits. Apparently, cursed spirits are incredibly dangerous. They not only harm people, but can also kill them outright. Hence why sorcerers devote their lives to fighting them, in order to keep everyone else safe.
You have to acknowledge, it’s a noble cause. Sorcerers actively risk their lives in order to fight curses. That’s the kind of family you’ve been born into. But since your cursed energy is so weak, it doesn’t sound like anyone has high hopes for you. Some people within your family occasionally go on missions to fight curses. They usually come back, but there have been a few instances where you’ve asked where certain people have disappeared to, only to be met with a cold, stone-faced expression in return.
Death isn’t uncommon in this line of work. That’s why it’s probably for the best that you’re so weak. The stronger the sorcerer, the harder the missions they have to undertake. You would much rather stay home and do chores instead. You’re not strong enough to save anyone. You’re not strong enough to risk your life. And even after all this time, you have yet to see a cursed spirit with your own eyes.
It’s okay if people ignore you. It’s okay if nobody thinks you have any worth. All you can do is make the most of the life you’ve been given.
What you don’t yet realize, however, is that you’re destined for something much, much greater.
One day, you’re sweeping outside the residence’s gates. The sky is clear, and the sun shines brightly overhead. Even though you’re not much older than five years old, people rarely concern themselves with you. They just give you chores to do, then let you be. It’s negligent, of course, since you’re still a young child, but you prefer it this way. You can appreciate the peace and quiet every now and then. Today, you even snuck out a popsicle, and you set your broom aside for a few moments as you unwrap your cold treat.
Finally, it happens. For the first time since you were born.
A cursed spirit appears before you.
Your eyes widen. Panicked and caught off guard by the frightening, unfamiliar sight, you stumble backwards, falling to the ground and dropping your popsicle. The curse is a gruesome-looking thing. It has several pairs of big, bulging eyes, a disturbingly wide mouth, with rows upon rows of jagged teeth. It’s bigger than you, too. You’re just a child. You have a tiny, weak frame, and right now, you’re so scared that you can’t even move .
The cursed spirit approaches you, cackling in an ominous, distorted tone of voice. Tears well up into your eyes. You need to scream. You need to call out for help. Time and time again, you’ve been told that your cursed energy is weak. You’ve been told that you’re weak. Everyone views you as a hindrance. Pathetic. Dispensable.
Doesn’t that mean… that you have no chance of winning against this thing?
The cursed spirit lets out a shrill, high-pitched laugh and lunges towards you. It’s too close. You have no chance of escaping. Even if you’d called for help by now, nobody would have been able to get here in time. Even if you’d called for help…
Nobody would care if you died.
You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing yourself for an onslaught of pain, which is sure to be unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.
But the pain never comes.
When you open your eyes, the cursed spirit is gone.
“...are you okay?”
Someone is speaking to you. It takes a few moments for you to wipe away your tears and clear your blurry vision. You’re shaking from head to toe, unsure how you managed to survive, but once your gaze falls upon the boy now standing in front of you, suddenly, it all makes sense.
Snow-white hair, paired with bright, piercing blue eyes.
You don’t even need to wait for him to introduce himself. Already, you know who he is.
Gojo Satoru…?
Just like that, it all comes back to you. His appearance sparks something inside your mind, and you’re hit with an abundance of knowledge, a wealth of information that was hiding beneath the surface until now. You remember everything .
This isn’t the normal, ordinary world you believed it to be.
This is the world of Jujutsu Kaisen.
You wince. You must have had some kind of amnesia until now. It’s no wonder so many things sounded vaguely familiar, but you just couldn’t seem to place them. It makes sense now. It makes sense why you were so clearly aware of everything happening around you, despite being an infant.
Somehow, you’ve been reincarnated. And into a fictional world, no less.
You already died once. Back in the real world, as a teenager. There was a devastating earthquake, and you passed away, having suffocated under mounds of debris. You never knew that reincarnation was actually real. You always thought that even if people did reincarnate, they would lose all memories of their previous lives.
You’re not sure how, or why, but by some miracle, all of the details of your past life have returned to you.
“Are you okay?” Satoru asks again, frowning slightly. He’s only a child at this point. You’d say he’s about your age. Which means that only did you reincarnate into Jujutsu Kaisen, but you ended up in the same generation as none other than the strongest modern-day sorcerer.
“I-I’m fine,” you nod. To be honest, you’re not really fine. You’re alive, but it feels like your head is spinning. This is a lot to process. Part of you can’t help but wonder if you’ve lost your damn mind.
No, that wouldn’t make sense. You’ve been living in this world for several years now. It’s far too realistic, far too detailed to be a figment of your imagination, or some kind of long, drawn-out dream.
This may not be the world you’re used to, but the fact that you’re here, living and breathing, means that it’s real .
Which also means that all the horrible deaths that will occur are real, too.
Including Satoru’s.
Your fists clench without you even realizing it. You’ve been told time and time again that you’re weak. You’ve been told that you’ll never amount to anything. But you’ve just discovered that you have a far greater weapon that you could ever have imagined. You have the kind of knowledge that could shake this world to its core.
It’s not like you’re some kind of pretentious fool. What can someone like you do when faced with the likes of Sukuna? You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself. You shouldn’t get carried away. Even if you do your best to help, there’s no guarantee you’ll succeed.
But… you’d like to at least try .
Satoru stares at you for a few moments, just to make sure you’re actually alright, then he turns and starts walking away. He clearly only came here because he sensed the curse and knew someone was in trouble. Now that you’re safe, he has no more reason to stick around.
He must not have been expecting you to chase after him, though.
“W-Wait!”
You stumble, nearly tripping over your own feet as you call out to him. Satoru stops and turns towards you with a look of mild disinterest.
“Yes?” he asks.
“I just… I wanted to thank you properly. For saving me. So, thank you. Thank you so much.” You pause, lowering your head for a moment, but when your gaze finally lifts, you’re grinning ear-to-ear. “I’m [Name]. What’s your name?”
Of course, you already know the answer to that question, but the fact that you even asked makes Satoru falter. By now, just about every sorcerer should be able to tell who he is. The day of his birth forever changed the world of jujutsu. The renowned Six Eyes are recognized by all. People instinctively know who he is, without having even met him. He’s never even had to introduce himself.
Until now, for the very first time.
“...Satoru. Gojo Satoru.”
Neither shock nor realization colors your features. Perhaps you really haven’t heard of him after all. Perhaps that’s why your smile just grows wider, brighter, seemingly without end. He wonders why you’re looking at him with gentleness and warmth, rather than the cold, muted admiration he’s so used to.
Oddly enough, though, he doesn’t mind.
In fact, he finds himself smiling as well.