Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His first coherent thought comes when he exits the warmth that has been cocooning him for as long as he could remember. 

It’s like a programming of sorts , he muses later on, after cataloging everything that happened within the span of two minutes. Like automatically opening a file after the download finishes.

His comprehension is a gradual build-up, as his mind compartmentalizes the sudden chill that wracks his body, the overwhelming introduction of his other senses, the information that suddenly bombards his head. It takes him a while to properly think.

I am Mahito , is the first coherent thought his mind tells him.

His second coherent thought tells him, No, that’s not right.

And then, the memories follow.

This body’s name is Mahito, but his soul echoes another name— a much more familiar, older one, because once upon a time, he used to be someone else. 

Once upon a time, in another world, there was an ordinary boy who would never age past fifteen. Yet, his story somehow has both ended and continued.

Reincarnation; what a novel way to discover it by experiencing it yourself , he near-maniacally laughs to himself, as he studies his reflection on a stray glass shard in an abandoned warehouse.

Still an albino , he observes. A teenaged body with shoulder-length white hair and blindingly pale skin— always standing out, always different, always visible in a way he never wanted to be. However…

The eyes are the windows of the soul, he remembers the popular saying. It's just ironic that his current body got everything right about his soul except for his eyes. What once were light grayish blue eyes are now split into two colors— the right eye now colored a cloudy gray, and the left now a deep blue.

… He supposes the patchwork skin is a stark difference too, but, eh, details. That’s not even mentioning his ‘pants’, which is really just his legs colored black that gives the illusion of having pants. He doesn’t even have a shirt on to hide the stitches that connect his torso to his limbs.

A vague feeling makes him consider that he may not be human in this life.

It takes an experimental stroll outside for this idea to cement.

Initially, his plan was to ask for help from authorities. Or maybe just carry out a brief recon to understand where and when he is in this new life.

However, the moment he steps foot on the populated streets that’s apparently in Japan, he stares at the baffling sight before him.

As an albino, he always did have awful eyesight, due to the lack of pigment in his eyes. It was easily rectified by prescription glasses in his old life, and now this body has cured it overall. But even then, he doesn’t think he has seen anything so clearly and intricately.

Souls , something Innate tells him. Their self and emotions and energy— Cursed Energy.

He sees it all: the low leveled curses littering the streets, the birds perching on top of stalls and telephone wires, the humans going through their day-to-day lives. They all beckon to him, and his hands twitch by his sides.

Oh , he blinks dumbfoundedly. I’m that Mahito.

Chapter Text

For a cursed spirit, it's jarring to be so human-like.

He has the right proportions of a human, the right amount of toes and fingers, and even the right color of blood as opposed to most curses. However, him being human is easily contradicted when he does not feel his pulse, when he does not have a heartbeat, when he does not need oxygen.

(He makes his body move as if it’s breathing, anyway.)

It's a neither-nor existence of being human and not, because how do you categorize a cursed spirit with a human soul? What are the prerequisites for one to be identified as human? Is it the body? The soul? Or is it something else entirely?

… Ugh, he doesn't know if it's him or if it's Mahito’s body that's making him more philosophical than he needs to be.

He wouldn’t make his thoughts about his existence this complicated. He would’ve simply accepted that he just is, and that would’ve been enough for him to live on with his life. There’s no reason to obsess over the technicalities.

And yet…

There’s an instinct inside him that has never been there before, he’s aware. It has made itself known when it told him that his name is Mahito, and it resurfaced when he got a good view of various souls interacting— begging to be touched— in their natural environment.

This instinct embraces his essence and croons, Transfigure.

Much to his surprise, it’s not hard to tamp this feeling down. He expected more resistance, expected for himself to be more bloodthirsty than that, considering his current nature. After all, cursed spirits revel in human misery and suffering; why stop himself from doing something that gives exactly just that?

He supposes that the remnants of his human self played a part in dampening that instinct; morals, ethics, self-control, conscience, humanity. These imaginary chains are what’s keeping him from freely acting on impulse, as he’s especially aware of the consequences that come with transfiguring one’s soul so carelessly.

He’s never killed someone else before, and there’s no reason to start now.

Still, a part of him craves to satiate this burning curiosity. To study, to learn, to know souls and its composition and its connection to bodies and what would it take to—

His thoughts pause. He can do all that without harming innocents, he considers.

He settles on experimenting with the cursed spirits scattered around for the meantime.

In another life, in another timeline, a newly-born Mahito would have no reservations in using humans for his experiments. This would attract the attention of a certain group of cursed spirits to his location, recruiting him to their cause before sorcerers could catch a whiff of Mahito’s potential danger level.

In this one, cursed spirits are slowly dwindling within the area due to Mahito’s experiments that’s exclusive only to them. This change repels the same group of cursed spirits; for, they believe that there is an active sorcerer operation nearby, and they’re not ready to reveal their cards just yet.

It’s a long while until they meet for the first time.

What a fun technique , he muses to himself with a small smile, leaning his head relaxedly back on an alley wall as he observes the transfigured curse on his hand. 

What once was a small four-legged grade-four cursed spirit is now shaped like the silhouette of a maya bird; no longer grotesque-looking. If one doesn’t look too closely, it can pass off as an ordinary bird… kind of. He’s gonna have to work on the feathers.

It moves too clumsily, uncoordinated , he critically analyzes the curse-now-bird’s movements, noting how it walks as if it still has four legs instead of two feet and a pair of wings. It appears that even when he transfigured its soul similarly to a bird’s, its body’s instincts follow the original programming of the soul. He would have to instruct it how to fly if he wants it airborne. 

This would be easier if the curse was made to fly in the first place , he thinks.

Maybe if he adds an additional— ah…

The cursed spirit disintegrates on his hand; it’s exorcized.

Well, it lasted longer than the previous experiments; it endured four transfigurations.

Apparently, low-leveled cursed spirits can only take two to three transfigurations before they ‘die’. Because of their lack of identity and sense of self, their souls are malleable, less resistant to change— it’s easy to accurately sculpt with them as long as the size is proportional to their original’s. Regardless, they’re susceptible to dying from his technique, as the physical trauma would eventually be too much. 

Their transfigured forms are also really fragile , he sighs, before standing up to search and catch more nearby curses. He immediately discards the passing thought that transfigured humans would be more durable due to their physical bodies.

It's not like he needs to experiment to know that, though. Mahito has already showcased enough war crimes to prove it to him.

It’s the curses that are uncharted territory.

He can't wait to see what else he can learn once he encounters a higher graded cursed spirit.

Ah, but isn't he, himself, a higher graded cursed spirit?

Hmm…

The sun is setting by the time he chooses to finish experimenting. He started sometime in mid-morning.

With his body’s wants temporarily satiated, he ponders what to do from here.

What does his human soul want?

What do I want? He asks himself.

Jujutsu Kaisen; he's not entirely ignorant of the world he was now reborn into. He’s aware of the significant change that comes from him being reborn in Mahito’s body… or at least, being in a body that resembles him.

He's not that much in denial to think that there's another soul-shifting Mahito running around.

Still… 

From Before, he had only watched the anime and movie; he didn't read the manga. Yet, unfortunately and fortunately, he knows the spoilers, because what casual fan has not been spoiled by the fandom that constantly challenges itself to post as many manga spoilers as possible?

Beyond season two, he knows that Fushiguro is possessed by Sukuna via Itadori’s binding vow and finger; he knows that Gojo dies eventually along with other fan favorites; he knows there's something called the Culling Games which is basically a battle royale for reincarnated sorcerers; he knows Fushiguro’s sister will die and Fushiguro’s soul takes a nosedive to the Evil Bath— he doesn't confidently know which events happen by order.

He just knows it's a major shitshow all around.

But most importantly,

I’m fated to die by Kenjaku’s stolen technique.

He reflects on that.

The technique that will kill him doesn't seem painful.

He’s not afraid to die; not really. Death is… He has experienced death before, and it's a quiet thing. He has no qualms following after it just as quietly should it call to him, even with life being too loud in an attempt to get him to stay.

But…

(An echo of a soft voice calls to him; a gentle reprimand, “ Kuya .”)

I want to try.

During his walk in the quiet nightlife of the quaint town, he discovers that he was reborn on the 27th of June in the year of 2018 in a small settlement called Tōei.

It says so in the local newspaper.

This body is made to be a fast learner , he easily concludes when he manages to read the kanji printed on it with little effort. Or maybe the human language is already imprinted in his brain and he just needs to practice it to encourage its growth.

Regardless, he's confident that he's now Japanese literate and can hold a conversation with this current town’s dialect. He thinks this is not exclusive only to Japanese, nor is it only applicable to languages. Other skills are just as learnable to his new brain.

He’s a curse based on humans; it's only natural for him to be adept at what humans do best: adapt.

He wonders why Mahito was born here, in the very secluded part of the Aichi prefecture of all places. The population is so small, it can barely produce any curses higher than grade-four. This town doesn’t even have a local high school. 

Why was the embodiment of human hate and fear created here?

He doubts it’s important to know nor will he be able to find the answer for that.

So, he decides that he has no business to stay.

Once you know where you wanna go, it’s easy to find your way towards your destination in the modern era without any gadgets.

Maps, cement roads, literally any sign of civilization— there’s a lot of ways to navigate; one just has to know how.

He studies, he adapts, so he eventually knows how.

It’s easy to observe other humans when they can’t see him, he learns. Even if they do tend to instinctively avoid him. He just finds it needlessly tedious that he has to resort to stalking for answers, instead of being able to ask questions. 

Like a normal human , a part of him unnecessarily adds, which he elected to disregard.

It’s just inconvenient , he rationalizes to himself, actively ignoring the forming pit in his guts, as he watches two kids laugh in their own little world.

Cursed spirits don't need to eat or rest; so, he fortunately doesn't have to waste time on any necessities. This considerably shortens his traveling time, especially when he’s free to hitch on any public transport without paying.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach a big city.

Some time within the unholy hours of morning, he arrives in Shizuoka City.

It’s there he encounters his first sorcerer and human experiment.

Chapter Text

He’s stalling, he acknowledges. 

Tokyo could have been just one train ride away; he could've arrived earlier, and yet he got off at Shizuoka. It's not an impulse stop, either. It's just…

He's not yet recognized as part of the Jujutsu world; he's free until he shows himself to a sorcerer from a Jujutsu school. Shizuoka city is not involved with either of the two schools’ plotline as far as he knows. It should be safe here.

For now, it's his opportunity to take a small tour in a city of Japan. He's never been to the country in his last life, only fantasizing it as his ( their , his memories correct him) dream vacation. 

This world is implied to be directly referenced from his old reality, with the characters and the existence of cursed energy being the only major differences. If he ignores the scattered blobs of curses around him, it would be as if he never left.

He won't stay long in this city— would barely stay a day, even. He’ll allow himself this one stop; no more delays to the inevitable after this, he promises to himself.

He wants to pretend for just a bit.

And then , he grimly thinks, I’ll be what I need to be.

The sun has yet to rise, but Shizuoka’s streets remain lit by its nightlife. Karaoke neon signs, late night restaurants, bar and pub lights— the city is still bright and awake.

And yet, he chooses to lurk in its shadows, in alleyways and closed districts, because his game of pretend will end sooner if a human were to look in his direction and not see him. Because if he were to forget and reach out to them, he’ll be reminded of what he is once his hand makes contact and feels .

The body is the soul, the soul is the body— if he were to touch a human, he knows that his cursed body will not be touching the flesh first, but rather the contours of their soul.

He still has yet to decide if that's better than not making any contact at all.

So, when he’s too close to the sounds of loud laughter and idle chatter, he walks in the opposite direction and decides nothing.

He passes by a closed clothing store, the light glint of the display glass showing his reflection; visible only to him.

For a long while, he stares at it. At Mahito. At himself.

He’s still bare-chested, bare-footed, and just overall bare — showing every bit of his inhumanity through his patchwork skin. Uncomposed, unconfident, unwhole, because who is he without—

The loss hasn’t completely settled in yet, he realizes. Or maybe being a maliciously-natured cursed spirit numbed any emotions related to sentimentality. 

He thinks it’s a bomb waiting to explode on his face.

( Human, not human, human, not— )

It's worse when the world makes an amalgamation of his present and past.

It's troubling to accept that he's a curse, when he looks so identical to his old, human self. The universe could've done him a favor and have just given him Mahito’s original appearance; at least then his white hair and young face wouldn't elicit such strong emotions of his former life. 

However, if he were to change the color of his eyes, if he were to remove the stitches on his face, it would be as if nothing has changed.

It would be as if everything is back to his normal.

… He can still pretend, right? He can make this temporary illusion a little more convincing, a little more realistic.

The clothes displayed in the closed shop can be the final touch to it.

This city is bigger, the population is bigger, which means the chances of crossing paths with a sorcerer is also bigger. It's not like his place of birth where he’s assured that there's no possibility of being seen, much less targeted. Here, his only consolation is that it's not likely for him to meet a canon sorcerer character.

Denial stage of grief aside, he thinks it's a good idea to alter his appearance.

With his gray eyes no longer as striking as his heterochromatic ones and the stitches removed from his face, it's like he’s just any other normal fifteen-year-olds… with very eye-catching white hair. Perhaps he can play it off as his delinquent style.

After tying the shoelaces of his new white rubber shoes, he dusts off stray lint from his black jogging pants, then straightens his gray turtleneck sweater. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t feel guilty robbing a store, nor is he worried. It’s not like the CCTV cameras could catch footage of him, anyway.

Though, interestingly enough, all these clothing items disappeared from the human world the moment his cursed energy enveloped them. He’ll study that and its potential applications later.

For now, it may not be the perfect cloaking disguise, but his convincing human appearance should make any sorcerer hesitate for a moment.

Any sorcerer except for the Six Eyes user, obviously.

But Gojo Satoru is not here, so everything is fine.

When walking around isn't enough to satiate his boredom, he catches some stray curses and mold them for fun; they’re good fidgeting toys. Soft like clay, but also educational in helping him familiarize with his own technique.

And if his hobby happens to reduce the curse population within the same area he stole from, that’s his business.

Being hyper-aware of his own soul is strange but assuring; there's security in being able to monitor the shape of his entire essence. Transforming it, on the other hand, is… not exactly uncomfortable, but it feels unnatural. Wrong, but can easily be corrected.

If he were to describe it, it's like stretching a rubber band: there's tension to it, but not strong enough to test its limits. It won't snap if he keeps it stretched indefinitely, but it will default back to its original shape if he were to loosen his hold on it.

He has to consciously keep the transformation. 

It's easy to conclude that this body’s sixth sense for souls is ingrained due to his technique, but it’s not the only sense he’s foreign with. Due to his new constitution, there's a lot of unfamiliar senses that's natural for curses, but not for his human soul.

For example, he can sense cursed spirits near his radius; the stronger the curse, the stronger the signal— a radar of sorts that serves to prevent friendly fire, he thinks. Or maybe it has something more to do with acting as a deterrent to other curses from encroaching territories. Regardless, he will eventually learn to get used to the sensation.

Now, his attraction to negative human emotions, on the other hand...

Negative emotions smell pleasant. Delicious, but not quite, because he can’t eat it; it's just generally enjoyable to be around in. Considering he’s aware of curses’ origins and how they’re formed, it’s not hard to guess why curses gravitate to agitated non-sorcerers.

He doesn't actively desire it though. All interest for it was snuffed the moment he realized what it entailed. 

That's why when he smells a large amount of it nearby— the fear, the pain, the suffering mixed with the bracing scent of Suruga bay’s nearby waters— he knows it's inviting trouble. 

His curiosity leads him to an abandoned construction site, secluded away near the corner of the city.

Birds make for really good spies. 

Flight, sharp eyesight, small size; recon has never been easier. It's particularly why he focused his first experiments on replicating them with cursed spirits, as they’d be invaluable assets under his control. Like his own shikigami of sorts.

He doesn’t understand why Mahito didn’t focus on the sculpting part of his technique— his transfigurations were all so grotesque and twisted and unrefined. All so hateful .

He supposes that as the curse of human fear and hatred towards each other, it’s only natural for Mahito to have inclinations for chaos and destruction, which reflects on his creations.

He doesn’t have to be the same.

Three perfect replications of a maya bird— all transfigured from nearby fly heads— sit obediently on his palm, their beady eyes staring at him patiently for instructions.

With a timer of their return in mind, he lets them fly to the construction site, entering through its derelict walls and windows. This way, he gets to stay outside its immediate perimeters and prevent accidental confrontations.

Time passes, and only one bird returns to him.

The rest were exorcized , he blinks, surprised, as he eyes the approaching bird. Interesting.

But that doesn't make sense.

He can potently smell the collective scent of negative emotions, but he doesn't detect any high grade curses nearby to elicit such reactions, much less for someone to call in a skilled sorcerer— maybe even more than one— to deal with it. 

So, what’s going on here?

The answer to his curiosity arrives in the form of a plain-looking woman searching for the remaining bird, followed by two humanoid shikigami.

The bird leads the woman to him.

He doesn’t leave.

“What the— a kid?” The shikigami user looks at him, perplexed the moment he enters her field of vision. When the woman gets closer, however, she pauses. She eyes him carefully, mumbling a correction, “No, a curse.”

“Heyo!” He greets her with a smile and a wave. His remaining bird remains perched on his shoulder.

“Shit, you can talk,” she says warily, her shikigami automatically flanking her, on guard.

This— actually talking to someone makes him feel giddy, the excitement tingling his non-existent nerves. It’s been a long while since he last had a conversation; he didn’t realize how much he missed being replied to.

Nearly jumping on his feet, he enthusiastically, cheekily says, “You might not believe this, but I can read too!”

To her credit, she doesn’t gawk at that.

“You’re… smart,” she says carefully, considering the option of diplomatic reason. “What are you doing here?”

“I sensed some interesting emotions within the area,” he answers, his smile turning mischievous. “You mind sharing what you know?”

She scoffs, dark eyes narrowing, “The merchandise ain’t for you.”

Merchandise? His smile drops. What an unusual word to refer to suffering humans.  

He thinks he understands what’s going on now.

“I don’t think either of us will like where this is going,” is all he says to the curse-user, before the two shikigami charge towards him.

Weak , he thinks apathetically.

He knows that it’s unlikely for him to encounter strong sorcerers, but he still ends up disappointed by the short battle. 

He wonders since when was he so interested in fighting.

Human-trafficking , something inside him laughs and revels in vindictive satisfaction, as he enters within the walls of the construction site. 

Inside are six caged humans of varying ages— the eldest being a young man in his twenties, and the youngest being a little girl no older than ten— waiting for their purchasers. Based on the way their fearful, cautious eyes trail after his movements, he can assume that they all have higher cursed energy than the average human.

Well, they’re either seeing him, or they’re seeing the unconscious woman he’s dragging by the ankle.

With no henchmen within the site, he thinks that the woman just works alone with her shikigami. 

Ah well, it’s not like he’ll lack test subjects, anyway. The purchasers will arrive soon.

For now, he puts on a friendly smile, and greets his gawking audience. 

“Hi!” He waves, dropping the woman’s limp leg.

“W-who are you?” A young adult man asks with his remaining bravado, taking initiative to shield away the other prisoners.

Ah, so they really can perceive him; and they're all here, locked up for purchase. He doesn’t like the implications of that.

“I’m Mahito!” He, Mahito, grins, his stitches stretching with his smile. “I’m here to set you free!”

His game of pretend ended sooner than expected.

“I'm not sure how binding vows exactly work; if its buffing aspect is only applicable in battles or if it can be applied outside of it,” Mahito muses aloud to his caged soon-to-be experiments— the curse-user, and the purchasers which consist of five gunmen and their boss. “Let's find out, yeah?” 

They wisely keep quiet.

Or maybe the gunmen and their boss can’t see or hear him. 

That seems about right, when the restrained curse-user is the only one properly looking at him.

“My technique is called Idle Transfiguration; I can mold anyone’s soul into any shape the moment I make contact with any parts of their body. Usually, humans die when their soul is transfigured, but I personally theorize it's because it's sudden and they die from the shock their body goes through rather than from the technique itself,” Mahito explains to no one in particular, feeling out if anything within him changed with this supposed binding vow.

He shrugs to himself when he feels nothing happened.

“Anyway, I wanna know what would happen if I were to transfigure someone reeeally slowly," he says, his hands twitching excitedly by his sides.

Chapter Text

It's insane how well he's taking this all in: being reborn in an alternate mirror world as a fictional being that’s supposed to serve as a future antagonist— the foil to the main character, even.

He should be crying, sobbing, maybe even screaming hysterics. If not for the reasons above, then for at least murdering people. 

But he’s not. 

It's worse when murder is the least of his offenses; he basically tortured them to death for the sake of science.

Yet, he doesn't think much of it really. Not when his new nature found justification in the act; not when he learned many new things about bodies and souls and cursed energy and sorcerers and non-sorcerers and—

Still…

The people he killed may be bad, but they're people nonetheless. He doesn't know if the lack of guilt is the work of his human vindictiveness or the work of his sadistic nature as a curse.

Regardless, the first thing that comes to mind isn't an apology or the need for repentance, but rather the detached thought of,

His sister wouldn't like that; her brother is not supposed to be a killer.

The second is,

But Mahito is, and I’m Mahito now. What then?

The last is,

There should be a shovel somewhere in an abandoned construction site, right?

When he exits the construction site, he thinks about the wide eyes and the shaky gratitudes the human trafficking victims gave him before leaving.

Hopefully, they wouldn't tattle his existence to any Jujutsu authority. It would be troublesome if sorcerers would come searching for him.

Passing by a shallow water puddle, Mahito stops, crouches down, and stares at his reflection that reveals his original form. 

He practices, flatly recites, “I am Mahito.”

While the clothes stayed, he long reverted back his visible stitches and dual-colored eyes— right before approaching the human trafficking victims.

Right before he told them his name is Mahito.

For some odd reason, it was easy to tell them that; as if he'd always been Mahito.

He doesn't know when he grew comfortable with his body’s identity, but lately he considers relenting to his base, non-destructive instincts to better adapt. Maybe things will be easier afterwards if he tries to accept who he is now. 

After all, even with the same soul, he can't confidently say he is the same person.

He eyes his reflection, and attempts the smile he saw canon Mahito make many times before— inviting but dangerous; like a trap waiting for prey. His heterochromatic eyes crinkle with his faux grin, the stitches on his face stretching with it. 

“I am Mahito,” he repeats to himself.

As he thought, that looked too artificial. He drops his smile and thinks he's making this unnecessarily complicated.

Closing his eyes, he mindlessly hums a tune in thought.

He has yet to properly grieve, but if he were to go forward, to stop second-guessing his choices, to prevent future hesitation, he has to let go of the belief that he's either him or Mahito— that he has ties to the expectations of either identities.

(His sister, Maya, is dead. This body, Mahito, has been replaced. 

He, Neal, has died.)

After a contemplating moment, he opens his eyes, and looks at his mirror as if seeing something— someone for the first time.

Not wholly Neal, not wholly Mahito. A mix of both that creates someone new; a different person with the same sentiments and memories as Neal, and the same composition and name as Mahito.

“I’m Mahito,” he says easily with a smile— this time, it's a little smug, a little reassured, a little more genuine.

That’s better.

He leaves with lighter steps to his gait.

Mahito arrives in Tokyo at midday on the 29th of June.

Admittedly, he wasted an entire day with his experiments in Shizuoka. It's hard to resist when there's a sorcerer involved, especially with the added bonus of five more human test subjects— yes, they were non-sorcerers but still! All the results were interesting!

While it's true his nature’s curiosity had a part in him reveling in his experiments, he reasons that it would eventually be necessary to study and know about human souls. Encounters with sorcerers will be inevitable, after all.

It's only logical to be prepared; that's why he left four human experiments alive.

Morphing his stitches off his face, Mahito suppresses his cursed energy output and explores.

Did you know that it’s easy to find compatible souls for curses?

Mahito finds this fascinating when he can utilize this little trivia to create bigger, stronger curses by merging multiple small, weak ones. It's even more fun when he gets to study this phenomenon as freely as he wants with the abundant population of cursed spirits in Tokyo.

Curses are made from negative human emotions; it's common knowledge in Jujutsu society. However, what most don't know is that if you account which emotion a cursed spirit is made from, they tend to have a particular soul pattern. You just have to put them in a label box.

Then the merges come easy.

Fear curses are compatible with their fellow fear curses; resentment curses with resentment curses— sometimes, anger curses are a good substitute but the success rates vary; jealousy curses with jealousy curses, and so on.

If he finds enough grade-three and grade-four curses of the same category, he can eventually create a grade-one curse. Perhaps, even a special-grade. It wouldn't be much of a challenge, it just takes time; the curses don't put up a fight.

They see him as a friend, and he lets them think he is until it's too late.

It's kinda fucked up that he’s pulling a Junpei on all these poor bastards, but ah…

He's Mahito, after all.

He’s allowed to be a little fucked up.

Mahito lost count on how many curses he transfigured as birds and rats to scope the entirety of Tokyo’s outskirts. The only thing that's stopping him from attempting to transfigure all curses he encounters is the fact that he would end up with dangerously low cursed energy. That's a no-no in the strongest sorcerer’s territory.

Frankly, Mahito doesn't have a real plan yet in regards to what to do with canon. He doesn't know where he is in the timeline to plot accordingly.

That's why, through his little spies, he diligently searches for Jujutsu Tech on Tokyo’s nearby mountain sides. With their numbers, he hopes that at least one of them would find the school through environmental discrepancies— from nondescript cars appearing out of nowhere, to people in uniforms going in the same direction.

As far as he knows, Tengen’s barrier is only an illusion, not a shield or a deterrent.

The disaster curses wouldn't have been able to infiltrate it in canon otherwise.

Meanwhile, on Mahito’s own part, he keeps an ear open for any evacuation reports from Tokyo’s juvenile detention centers. He doesn't remember the name of the detention center that the first years infiltrated, but fortunately enough, there are only three detention centers in Tokyo he has to watch over.

With no recent incident reports from any of them, it's safe to assume that Itadori has yet to experience his pseudo-death. 

Hmm… 

Perhaps, he could intervene and prevent Itadori from creating that secret binding vow with Sukuna.

That's an idea.

However, he has to also consider the fact that during the Detention Center Arc, that is when Jujutsu Tech is the least guarded.

Gojo Satoru would be made busy by the higher-ups; the first years are off to be traumatized by their mission; the second years are not in the campus if they've yet to meet Itadori; the third years fucked off somewhere if the anime has yet to feature them; Ieiri Shoko is caved in her clinic— it's the perfect set-up to infiltrate the place and retrieve the Death Paintings. 

He wouldn't get another chance like that again before the goodwill event.

Tsk, tsk, decisions, decisions, he hums to himself.

Well, there's an easy way to settle this!

His little minions find Jujutsu Tech or the Detention Center Arc starts— whichever happens first will be his first priority.

Three days later, on the second of July, a maya bird returns to Mahito with the directions towards Tokyo Jujutsu Tech.

In the end, Mahito decides to prioritize stealing the Death Paintings. However, that doesn't mean he'll neglect the first years.

He has considered splitting his soul to solve his dilemma, but if he were to send his copy at the detention center, it would be powerless against the special grade curse without his technique. If he were to send it to the cursed warehouse, he has no guarantee that it would succeed if it were to face unexpected adversaries.

So, he plans that if he comes out of the campus without any problems, maybe he can be on time to do something about Yuuji’s fake death. After all, his main goal is to prevent Itadori from striking a deal with the devil. He doesn't have to do more than that.

If time ends up being an enemy, then maybe he can buy some.

Five days later, a rat reports to him that a Cursed Womb has started to form in Eishu Juvenile Detention Center.

Mahito pulls out a small transfigured human and curse from his pants’ pocket.

Then, he sculpts.

Chapter Text

When Mahito thinks of souls, he associates the idea with noise and movement and interaction. Because, to him, souls are lively and living and Life.

Through this outlook, his innate technique possesses this core fact: everything with souls is alive; everything alive has souls. And with it, the supplementary fact that ties it all together: the body is the soul; the soul is the body.

Those concepts are simple enough to grasp if only he, himself, didn't contradict it.

Because, once upon a time, he had died and still had a soul. Once upon a time, his soul somehow thrived without a body. 

There was a moment when he simultaneously experienced death and a state of just existing; the limbo between after he passed and before he reincarnated. He was aware of what it's like to be without life and still be.

And to know life’s absence is to be made hyper-aware of its presence.

It's because of this that makes him think that he has better senses for other souls than canon Manito— more sensitive. More… awake, so to say.

It's the best explanation he can give when he manages to find the Death Paintings within the cursed warehouse despite the concealing barrier hiding it. 

Wow, I only needed a half-baked plan to succeed , he thinks with smug satisfaction as he observes the lined up canisters of hybrid fetuses on their respective shelves. Each fetus represents a stage of development during pregnancy.

Mahito thinks they're all ugly.

He also thinks that he can't judge when his human self probably also looked like that at some point… but less mutated.

“Hi,” Mahito greets them with a smile, keeping his voice low in case they get overwhelmed from decades of no stimulus. He's not even sure if they're even conscious right now. “You're all unwanted orphans. I am too. Let's change that and be wanted orphans together, yeah?... Like, criminally wanted.”

That was so lame, he tells himself with a lopsided grin, because there's no better first impression than half-joking to be on-the-run criminals together. There's sarcasm there.

Hopefully, their non-reactive cursed energies are only because they're in stasis, and not because they choose to ignore him. That’d be embarrassing.

Ah well, he’ll eventually know what they think of him once he gets them bodies of their own; he shrugs.

Mahito transfigures his arms into wide arcs to carefully gather and carry the canisters together. Cradling them close, he gives his arms another extension as a second wrap around them, just in case. He affirmatively hums to himself when he's sure they're all secured, and takes a step towards the exit. 

But then, he pauses by the door when an old memory that's reminiscent of this moment surfaces from his soul— a young boy holding a bundled infant girl. 

What a nostalgic feeling , he can't help but think, his grip subconsciously tightening. It's slightly overwhelming, constricting his non-existent heart with familiar devotion that he didn't realize he missed.

A purpose , his human-half croons.

The memory brought forth is a vague, faded picture, but the emotions that come with it feel surprisingly vivid to the point his soul aches when he remembers softly saying,

“I promise I’ll be a good brother.” 

At this, Mahito feels one of the Death Paintings’— Choso’s, he pinpoints— cursed energy flares, as if acknowledging him. 

Then, the rest of his siblings follow.

(Within Mahito’s soul, a chain rattles, latches and locks.)

Ah, he didn't even realize he said that out loud, but they reacted and—

Metaphorical heart racing, Mahito beams and adds, “I’ll put you guys somewhere safe first, and then I’ll give you bodies after I save a brother of yours. I’m kinda in a time constraint.”

A flicker of confusion— woah, I understood that!

“Yeah, I figured he’s one of yours when his soul felt similar,” he lies, knowing he has yet to meet the protagonist, and he thinks they can detect his dishonesty when their cursed energies shrivel hesitantly. 

Throat tightening, he quickly follows, “B-but don't worry! I’ll take care of your baby brother while you guys are still indisposed. Hopefully, I can arrange a reunion afterwards, and then you can meet him properly.”

His genuine intent covers his earlier deceit, and they respond enthusiastically again, their cursed energies collectively singing in approval at his offer. 

Mahito holds back from sighing in relief; that relief then evolves into excitement.

Okay, he thinks. I can live like this.

Fushiguro Megumi thinks that nothing is going the way he wants it to.

When his class was sent to Eishu Juvenile Detention Center for a special grade mission, it was only expected of them to do a brief recon and evacuate whoever can be saved. It's a simple instruction, maybe a bit unsuitable for non-special grade first years, but it's doable if they remain cautious enough throughout the entire mission.

Immediately after they step foot inside, they're caught in an incomplete domain.

Okay, fine, it was an oversight on Megumi’s part to not consider that maybe the Cursed Womb has already awakened, and that he should've sent a shikigami to scope the area first before they entered. At least, if worst comes to worst, his Divine Dog can lead them back to the entrance.

So far, they've yet to encounter either a survivor or a corpse.

Moments later after that thought, their group was surrounded by multiple various cursed spirits.

Fortunately, they're all manageable, and his class eradicated most of them. The thing that got him worried is that the curse responsible for the domain is not among them.

If it's not with us, then where is it?

This question is answered by a disruptive quake on the ground, followed by a resounding crash of concrete on concrete. It sounds nearby, just a bit further up from their position. 

Megumi’s common sense and survival instincts all tell him to leave, that a special grade curse is too dangerous for them, just like Ijichi instructed, but—

“We have to see if we can save someone!” Itadori implores, and Megumi despairs because the altruistic idiot is already sprinting towards the source of destruction. Not wanting to be outdone, Kugisaki follows after him.

And of course, Megumi follows after both of them, which leads them to finding the following:

One; all five inmates are alive. They're huddled inside a small dormitory room away from the main fight, poorly barricading the door with a desk. How did they manage to stay alive despite having a special grade curse on the loose? Well, that leads to number—

Two; a good chunk of the property is destroyed, as someone is already engaged in combat with the special grade cursed spirit. The ruckus they've been hearing earlier all came from a plain-looking woman and her two humanoid shikigami.

Neither fighting parties pause to even take a glance at their arrival.

For a moment, all three Jujutsu students stared, stunned. 

As far as Megumi knows, there are no other sorcerers dispatched on this mission other than his class. Naturally, none of them know who the mystery woman is, nor how long since the battle has started.

But their objective—

“We have to get the prisoners out of here,” Itadori says, watching the fast-paced fight, before looking back at his classmates. 

“We can't just leave the lady on her own,” Kugisaki stares after the twin shikigami user.

Megumi doesn't explicitly say anything about their individual shortcomings; how lacking Itadori’s skills are to a special grade or how Kugisaki’s nails are almost out. 

“This fight is beyond our level,” Megumi states as a matter of fact, because as much as he wants to help a fellow sorcerer, he also knows when not to enter a fight between higher-leveled sorcerers. He can sense that the woman’s dual shikigami, alone, are already grade one each, and she's still struggling to put down the special grade curse.

They’ll be a liability at worst, a distraction at best.

But…

“I’ll have my shikigami act as her support,” Megumi tells them. “You two will escort the prisoners and exorcise any remaining curses on the way out. I’ll regroup with you after.”

I have to try, his eyes narrow at the on-going fight. If I’m going to be a distraction at best, then it would be towards the cursed spirit.

Within this resolve, resentment seethes underneath.

Besides, that small but loud part of him whispers. It wouldn't be fair if a good-willed stranger dies here, while those criminals get to live.

“Hah?! And let you have all the fun?!” Kugisaki clicks her tongue. “Forget it, we’re coming back for your ass!”

They're wasting time, and Megumi knows better than to butt heads with Kugisaki’s stubbornness that's masking her concern; so, he relents.

“Fine, whatever. Go!”

“You better still be breathing when we come back, Fushiguro!” Kugisaki tells him, before turning to run towards the hidden prisoners, his White Divine Dog tailing her to lead them to the exit.

“Take care, Fushiguro! And good luck!” Itadori, in contrast to Kugisaki’s stern look, gives him an assuring smile, then follows after her.

Megumi softly watches their retreating backs, and thinks that something is going the way he wants to for once.

But of course, fortune doesn't tend to favor sorcerers.

“Uh…” Mahito utters out intelligently, as he continues the impromptu staring contest between himself and the principal of Tokyo Jujutsu High, Yaga Masamichi. Mahito lets out an instinctive smile and greets, “Hi.”

There's no grand scheme that led to it, really. 

Yaga taking a stroll around the cursed warehouse’s area was a coincidental occurrence, and Mahito’s timing to exit the same warehouse was just flat-out unfortunate. Truly, he must be a literal cursed spirit.

Talk about bad luck , Mahito whines to himself. It's to his small comfort that Yaga hasn't brought any of his cursed corpses with him. Still, this is a grade-one sorcerer— wildly different from the semi-grade two shikigami user.

At first, the man looks off-put by how human Mahito looks, but his face turns rigidly neutral when his eyes trail after the direction Mahito came from. It doesn't help that Mahito is carrying the very things he took from the warehouse.

When the tense silence stretches too long, Mahito blurts out,

“This isn't what it looks like!” 

“Really?” If Yaga has a reaction towards a curse speaking a full-fledged sentence, he doesn't show it. “So a special grade curse isn't robbing the cursed warehouse of all its nine Death Paintings?”

Mahito pokes his tongue on the inside of his cheek, sheepish. Well, at least Yaga is aware that he’s a special grade; that should make him wary enough from suddenly attacking.

“... Eheh, okay, so it is what it looks like,” Mahito admits, his smile shaky, then frantically adds, “But it's not for evil, I swear!”

“You expect me to just take your word for it and let you go?” Yaga readies his stance, and he looks so hostile and ready to throw hands that Mahito can't help but internally have a panic attack.

Aaahhh, quick, quick! What to do?! What to do?!

He can't properly use his technique with his hands occupied by the Death Paintings; he can't just put them down either when he initially plans to run away. If he morphs any parts of his body to pocket them, Yaga will retaliate before he could even finish. 

I’m really wishing I spared some of my curse-birds for myself , Mahito laments. But he then tells himself that his transfigured human needs all his assets if she has to face the finger bearer curse.

Well, it's not like he can attack Yaga either way. He’s Gojo’s former teacher for fuck’s sake; that's a big minus to his social credit score, which is a no-no if he wants to establish a rapport with Jujutsu sorcerers.

Besides, if he stops cloaking his cursed energy and starts using his technique offensively, it would attract other sorcerers. He doesn't want to be forced to choose between killing to escape and not escaping at all.

As if sensing Mahito’s turmoil, Choso’s cursed energy flickers in concern, his siblings following after his example. They poke and prod at the status of Mahito’s cursed energy, the action growing more frenzied when they sense Yaga’s animosity.

Ah , Mahito registers, feeling something inside him suffocate. They're getting scared.

Just like that, a realization seizes the whirlwind in his mind.

That's right , he thinks. I’m responsible for them now.

They’re counting on a life outside the warehouse, counting on Mahito to succeed because he's all the hope they got for that possibility. He can’t fail here; he can't disappoint them.

And with that resolve, there's really only one outcome from this confrontation. 

He just has to find an opening, just an extra second.

He can do that.

Relaxing his shoulders, Mahito puts on a bravado in the shape of half-lidded eyes and a confident grin that's a touch bit smug. Yaga tenses in suspicion, and Mahito can practically sense the man’s eyes narrow behind his shades.

Then, Mahito breaks his eye-contact with him, choosing to look behind Yaga, letting his eyes widen just a bit in an act of recognition. His grin sharpens.

He thinks of the first name that comes to mind, and lets his mouth do the rest.

“Oh!” Mahito exclaims, and this startles the principal. “It's about time you arrived—” Yaga frantically turns to look behind him. “—Beyoncé.”

“Wait, what?” By the time Yaga registers the name Mahito used to pose back to his earlier stance, it's too late.

With the soul blueprint practically ingrained in his brain, Mahito swiftly bursts out two large maya wings from his back and doesn't waste a second to take off. Through the sounds of rushing winds and fluttering leaves, Mahito can hear a faint voice yelling, “Goddamn!”

“Hoooly shit, holy shit, holy shit,” Mahito continuously mutters curses under his breath, as he tries to reign in his wings’ panicked flapping, considering that he has never fucking flown before. 

He's starting to regret not experimenting more with his shape-shifting ability.

He chants to himself that he doesn't have to fly properly; he just has to stay airborne, just until he gets enough distance from the campus before continuing on foot. If he can't land properly, he can turn himself into a makeshift parachute. He can even transform parts of himself into cushions to not startle the Death Paintings in their containers. 

Okay, yeah, it's all coming together.

These hypothetical contingencies placate him, and his grip on the Death Paintings tightens just a bit to ground himself. 

He knows which direction he wants to live in this life now.

Yes, Mahito acknowledges that kidnapping the Death Paintings was a whimsical choice on his part; a piece in his generic good-doer plan of a puzzle just to say he changed something for the better. It was purely objective to simply see if he can; no real stakes on his part; nothing personal. 

If he dies trying, there's nothing to mourn.

But after making contact with the Death Paintings— these children that never got a childhood, just like…

(Coincidence after coincidence. As if this world wants to echo his old, human life to see if his shell would echo the same.)

How miraculous that this part of his soul persists in this body’s constitution. In a body made of fear and hatred, brotherly love and devotion still persevere.

This changes everything.

Mahito has to change too.

It was dumb luck that saved him from his confrontation with Yaga, he acknowledges. He can't rely on something so sporadic, so reckless. If he were to succeed in the future, it should be because of his strength and skills.

Stronger and faster; he has to be better from now on, because he now has something to lose, something to live for because—

They need me.

Mahito begins to adapt in the air; rhythm begins to bleed into his wing flaps.

High above Tokyo, he soars.

.

.

.

.

.

Here's my concept art of SI-Mahito btw:

Yeah, he has white and (slightly) short hair now. And actual proper clothes lol. I told yall: not much difference haha. His human disguise is just gray eyes and without the stitches on his face.

Chapter Text

The differences between a semi-special grade sorcerer and a special grade curse are not as evident as Megumi first thought they would be. Perhaps he’s been conditioned to believe so, when his perceptions of power levels are skewed by a certain god-made-sorcerer.

Or maybe it is obvious, but not to a mere grade two sorcerer like himself.

Sweat begins to slide down the side of Megumi’s temple, his hands meticulously summoning and unsummoning his shikigami from being exorcised, while still having them aid the mysterious sorcerer. 

The same sorcerer who seems to be intent on fighting with all her instincts and none of her brain, Megumi frustratingly thinks, meaner than usual, to himself. But then he reluctantly retracts that opinion when the woman would send one of her twin shikigami to protect Megumi from crossfires or debris.

Megumi doesn't like this growing trend of getting easily attached to people with good hearts and no common sense. 

The nth explosion of the fight occurs nearby, its shockwave spraying stray pebbles at his direction. Using his arms as shields, Megumi winces, his focus on summoning his rabbit shikigami disrupted. 

This fight is dragging on longer than he intended, and it's slowly but surely damning the both of them. The longer the special grade curse lives and fights, the more time it studies and learns. It won't be long before it thinks of a proper counter to shikigami users.

He had hoped that cooperating with the other sorcerer would give them a better chance at winning, but the woman proves to be a difficult ally to work with. Megumi does not delude himself into thinking that they’re guaranteed to win together, but he knows that there were opportunities to end the fight if only the stranger had listened.

Every time Megumi shouts an instruction, a warning, anything , she acts as if she's deaf to it all.

He doesn't think he has even heard her make a noise.

Exhausted, he takes this moment to observe the fighters properly, and Megumi finally senses that something is… off about the sorcerer and her two shikigami. Their cursed energies don’t seem to be flowing naturally, like there's something else entwined underneath.

Multiple somethings , actually. Like an amalgamation of sorts that he can’t comprehend, only detecting one consistency which is a remnant of a cursed energy signature.

But before he could discern what that meant— 

“Fushiguro, everything alright here?” Itadori arrives, carrying his white Divine Dog.

“What are you doing back here?!” Megumi wants to strangle this idiot. “And where’s Kugisaki?”

“I carried your dog and ran as fast as I could before Kugisaki and Ijichi-san could notice,” Itadori readily answers, putting down the shikigami. “And isn't it obvious? I came to help!”

Great, Megumi sarcastically thinks. Smart enough to not bring Kugisaki and to use the Divine Dog to guide himself back, but not smart enough to not return at all. 

“I told you I’ll meet you back outside,” Megumi admonishes, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration. “There's nothing you can do here.”

Instead of a chastised look that Megumi expected, Itadori softly frowns.

“I can't just leave you here alone either,” Itadori says, and— 

Dammit, what the hell am I supposed to say to that without sounding like a hypocrite? Megumi internally fumes, back to the dilemma of whether or not he should leave the woman behind.

Logically, they’re ineffective fighters against a special grade; he can’t do anything about the sorcerer’s stubbornness, either. But he doesn't want her to die because of it.

Megumi is not completely out of options on exorcizing the special grade.

Steeling his face, Megumi drops his annoyance and gives Itadori a stern look.

“When I give you the signal, I want you to lead the woman out of here,” Megumi instructs him, his tone indicating no room for arguments. 

“Huh?” Itadori tilts his head. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m—” Megumi pauses, overly aware of hearing his own heartbeat in his ears.

The air has gone chillingly still; the world is unsettlingly quiet. His instincts fuel his bloodstream with a new dosage of adrenaline, when Megumi’s horror followed his realization: the fight had ended. He is not optimistic of who the victor is.

Taking a panicked look around the room, he spots the corpse of the sorcerer first. She lays lifelessly on the ground, her torso sporting a giant hole that nearly bisects her; something in his guts lurched at the sight.

And then, he turns and sees his decapitated white Divine Dog.

And the cursed spirit…

The special grade cursed spirit is giggling beside him and Itadori.

An image of Itadori replacing the sorcerer’s corpse flashes in his mind.

Megumi acts first.

“Itadori, get behind—”

One second, he pushes Itadori back with one arm.

“Urghk—”

In the next, a fatal slash appears on Itadori’s torso and Megumi loses an arm.

Mahito arrives at the detention center as a small maya bird, his sparrow wings flapping as fast as they could to get inside. He’s behind schedule, he knows, as he didn't account for the delay of hastily collecting and transfiguring curses as the Death Paintings’ bodyguards in his original plan. Initially, he just planned to leave them at a well-hidden spot deep in the sewers and come back for them. But after acquiring them, well…

He didn’t expect himself to care this much.

It’s precisely because of the Death Paintings why Mahito is exerting so much effort in this supposedly whimsical plan; why he’s rushing to enter an incomplete domain; why he’s fearing for somebody else’s life when he can no longer sense his transfigured human’s soul and her twin shikigami.

And if anyone asks, Mahito would blame the Death Paintings too, when he feels a bundle of unexplained emotions the moment he sees a fatally injured Itadori, slumped on a wall.

He’s dying, Mahito observes. Choso wouldn’t like that. 

He wonders why Itadori has yet to release Sukuna.

… Wait, is that an arm next to—

Mahito distantly hears a body slamming on concrete, spotting Fushiguro losing against the finger-bearer curse. Just like that, he gets the answer to his earlier curiosity.

Hah. Of course. One can always count on Itadori to consider others’ well-being more than his own. 

Kugisaki’s conscious outside but Fushiguro’s still here. If I were to never arrive at this point, Fushiguro would surely die, Mahito hums to himself curiously, transfiguring his bird body back to his original. What a small adjustment that resulted to such a big change.

He supposes that while his transfigured human couldn’t defeat the cursed spirit, at least she served her purpose. She did her part, and it’s about time Mahito does his too.

In a faint whisper only he could hear, he Vows.

“I forfeit my ability to duplicate my own soul; in exchange—”

It would be bad if Mahito accidentally pisses Sukuna off this early.

Megumi can’t properly think through the haze of his body’s pain, his adrenaline only serving to keep him from passing out. Even if he could focus, he no longer has the ability to use his technique when he’s missing an arm. Other than his recently exorcized snake shikigami, he doesn’t have any more shikigami in his arsenal that he could summon with only one hand.

He can’t do anything.

I’m going to die here, Megumi realizes. There’s a detached sort of acceptance from that thought.

The curse grabs his arm— the appendage bruising— and spins him like a toy. Then, it uses the built momentum to throw him up, up, up.

Gojo will take care of Tsumiki from here.

His back meets the ceiling, and he chokes out a bloody gasp, feeling his body embed itself on the cracked cement. He remains there, but he knows that it will not hold, and gravity will eventually claim him.

He may act like a self-absorbed moron, but he’s the most reliable man I know.

Like Megumi predicted, the loose debris gives, and he falls. 

As for Itadori…

He blearily sees the curse jump towards him to land the final blow.

This is my fault.

Without warning, the curse explodes into purple gore, and Megumi instinctively closes his eyes from the onslaught of splattered blood. Then, someone catches him in midair, gravity no longer as heavy.

“Your soul is wonderful!” Megumi hears an unfamiliar voice laugh.

Hesitating, he peeks open one eye, and the first thing that catches it are brown feathers— wings; not unlike a Eurasian Tree Sparrow’s. Then, he opens his other, his eyes now trailing on the face of his supposed savior.

White hair. Stitches. Dual-colored eyes.

Megumi’s sorcerer instincts scream at him.

When Mahito first saw Fushiguro from afar, Mahito had a glimpse of what Fushiguro’s soul could potentially look like with the swirl of colors compacted within his silhouette.

Mahito’s Innate instinct practically begged him to take a closer look; to inspect, to feel, to study, to understand and transfig — he stomps that last thought out. If he wants Itadori to amicably meet with the Death Paintings, it would do him no good to kill one of his friends and build resentment. 

Gratefulness, on the other hand, would open multiple doors for opportunities.

He doesn't waste time on killing the finger bearer curse. It can’t dodge him when it’s in midair.

Still, while experimenting with Fushiguro’s soul is off limits, Mahito couldn’t help but let his technique take a peek at the soul when he caught him and—

It’s an explosion, Mahito thinks, his technique greedily and excitedly studying the contours of this absolutely fascinating soul. Of colors and textures and temperaments and— It makes sense for a Ten Shadows user to have such a dynamic soul, when multiple beings are all tied to one. His soul’s outline even extends to his shadow— that’s a first!

Cold, sticky, territorial. Symbiotic, parasitic, codependent. Blue, green, white.

Fushiguro Megumi’s soul is a beautiful ecosystem.

Mahito can only express his amazement in awed laughter, and a limited explanation of,

“Your soul is wonderful!”

Fushiguro’s responds to that with a shocked stare, and Mahito supposes that Fushiguro’s cursed energy fluctuating with fear is warranted, as he’s another special grade curse. Fushiguro can only interpret that compliment as a threat.

When they’re near enough to the ground, Mahito braces himself for a potential retaliation, but finds himself stunned that they land without problems. It's surprising that Fushiguro doesn't immediately jump away from him, even when Mahito positions Fushiguro to stand. Even when Mahito retracts his bird wings to appear less threatening.

Maybe he's the open-minded type to consider that not all curses are evil? 

“There’s another one with me; similar uniform, pink hair,” Fushiguro finally speaks up, his voice raspy. “Where is he?”

Not the first topic of conversation that Mahito expected, but not entirely out of nowhere.

“Your classmate? He’s over there,” Mahito points at Itadori’s position, still slumped on the wall where he first found him, but no longer bleeding. “Don't worry, he's still alive. He’ll make it.”

Once Fushiguro found his footing, Mahito steps away, his hand hesitating to part from the sorcerer’s shoulder, if only to take one last full view of the latter’s soul.

Funnily enough, it’s through this lingering touch that Mahito realizes that Fushiguro’s soul shape is missing something.

“Ah, your arm is gone,” Mahito observes aloud, his hand awkwardly reaching out. “I, uh, I can fix that, if you want.”

Wow, now that Mahito is— no longer blinded by the soul— properly looking at Fushiguro, he can see how much of a mess this sorcerer is. He thinks that the guy shouldn’t even be standing; why did Mahito make him stand again? 

But impressively enough, even with blood running down his face, Fushiguro manages to look somewhat composed. Mahito can sense the underlying apprehension from him, though.

After what seemed like a long while, Fushiguro responds, “If you can, please.”

At this, Mahito amicably smiles and places a palm on Fushiguro’s head, feeling for the soul and— 

“Done! Good as new!” Mahito retracts his arm. 

Fushiguro studies his regrown arm in surprise, flexing the hand’s fingers and wrist. Then, he inspects the rest of his body. While the blood remains, his injuries are all healed— gone, as if they never happened in the first place. Mahito thinks something clicked within Fushiguro’s mind, when the latter glances back at Itadori.

“That wasn’t Reverse Cursed Energy,” Fushiguro says as a matter of fact, his voice now smoother.

“You’re right,” Mahito confirms. “It’s my technique!”

“Are you a curse?” Is… Is that a trick question? Shouldn’t he know, since sorcerers have an instinctive feel for Mahito’s kind?

Or is the element of a human soul throwing Fushiguro off? 

Regardless, it’s better to avoid directly answering that, and prevent a confrontation.

“I mean, that's what my mom called me,” Mahito impulsively jokes with a small laugh, then internally cringes.

Amazing. He just indirectly admitted that he has mommy issues to a person he just met.

“I suppose there’s good reason for you to be wary of me; my timing was kinda suspicious,” Mahito adds, diverting the topic. “If it makes you feel better, my motive is to mainly keep your classmate alive.”

Fushiguro narrows his eyes at this, asking an accusatory, “Why?”

Mahito sees the sorcerer’s hands twitch.

Oh shit, right, Sukuna vessel. Gotta shoot that idea down quick.

“Your classmate is my brother by association because he's my adoptive siblings’ half brother,” Mahito says with a straight face.

“… What?” Fushiguro furrows his eyebrows incredulously.

“Look, it's hard to keep track of bloodlines when there's a pseudo-immortal slut on the loose, okay?” Mahito impatiently explains when he thinks that he’s overstayed his welcome. The incomplete domain is gone with its owner dead, and it won’t be long before Kugisaki will enter and check in with Ijichi. “Anyway, I have to go and tend to my baby siblings. So uhh, take care.” 

Mahito half-heartedly waves a farewell, turns his back to walk away, but suddenly pauses when he remembers something.

“Oh, and take this.” He reaches into his jogging pants’ pocket, pulling out a mummified finger. He throws it at Fushiguro who instinctively catches it. “I think you’d want it.”

Mahito has no interest in carrying a beacon for trouble.

Now, as for his transfigured human…

“… Do you know her name?” Mahito hears Fushiguro ask him, when he kneels down to survey her body’s damages. He hears the melancholy in the sorcerer’s voice, and something inside Mahito is unexplainably relieved. Content.

“Yeah,” he says, remembering the names he memorized from their IDs. “Her name was Sasaki Ayame.”

With an instinctive heave, Mahito prepares himself to carry the cadaver, and does so with surprising ease. Carefully positioning the body into a bridal carry, Mahito does his best to ensure no further damages would occur on the nearly-bisected body.

Once again, Mahito summons his wings, and just when he’s about to depart—

“Wait!” 

Mahito patiently does not groan, and instead faces Fushiguro. He does, however, cautiously peek at the entryway, anticipating any sounds of arrival.

“Come to Jujutsu High with us,” Fushiguro offers, and Mahito gapes at him. He would have laughed if it weren’t for the earnest look on Fushiguro’s face.

Now, what does he say to that without outing himself as a curse while still not lying? Plausible deniability and all that.

“I don’t have a death wish,” is all Mahito says with a lazy grin, before taking off towards the detention center’s open ceiling.

Up he goes, and away he flies; the vertigo of moving in air is no longer a problem.

Once the view of the detention center has disappeared, Mahito takes this as a time for reprieve, processing everything that has happened in such a short period. 

Everything was an emotional shitshow.

And ugh, what is it with his Innate instincts that makes him a complete weirdo when it comes to unique souls? It took all of his willpower to not even take a peek at the King of Curses’ soul contour that separates him from Itadori, and he paid for it twofold when another interesting soul is present within his vicinity. He can’t not look at Fushiguro’s soul.

Looking back at his thoughts about it—

That was embarrassing! Mahito belatedly realizes. ‘Your soul is wonderful!’?! I should’ve just shut the fuck up.

Mahito assures himself that he’ll eventually learn to keep his mouth shut once he’s no longer desperate for conversations. It’s a side-effect of lacking social activities, he thinks. 

But…

“At least I didn’t say all my thoughts out loud. That should make me not too creepy, yeah?” He asks out loud, unsure of what compelled him to. There’s no one in the sky with him, other than the corpse he’s carrying.

This reminds him of Fushiguro’s sorrow about her dying. 

He supposes that without the context of Ayame being a transfigured human, Fushiguro just saw a stranger wanting to help and died for it. Despite this being done against her will, Mahito… doesn’t want to discredit Ayame’s sacrifice.

“Your body did good; it saved them,” Mahito softly starts, knowing that Ayame prevented the prisoners from dying gruesome deaths. He knows, because he saw a glimpse of a mother and son reuniting before entering the incomplete domain. “I believe that the body is the soul, and the soul is the body. Hopefully, the Heavens believe the same. Maybe it would be enough to reward you with good karma in your next life.” 

The sky darkens.

“That Fushiguro guy grieves your death,” he says, and the feelings of relief and contentment resurface. “Maybe that will make you think that it feels better to be revered than scorned in life. You can try again in your next one.”

Mahito pauses when thunder rumbles. Right; it’s supposed to rain sometime today.

“You know, I didn't feel your soul struggle much when I gave you this assignment.” Mahito looks at Ayame’s face, her expression peaceful. With this closer view, he thinks that she doesn’t look as plain as he first thought she was. “I think you did the things you did, because you wanted to be part of something big, regardless of whether that something is great or terrible.” 

It pours, the rain easily drenching him and Ayame. Mahito considers stealing more clothes to change into.

Mahito sighs.

“Jujutsu society isn't really fair on its average sorcerers, is it?” 

A raindrop lands on the corner of Ayame’s closed eye and slides down. 

Mahito remembers that there’s an area somewhere in West Tokyo’s mountainside that’s isolated enough to bury her in. He could even get her namesake flowers; he should check the kanji of her name again just to be sure.

Ayame translates to Iris , doesn’t it?

Chapter Text

Megumi moves as if on autopilot, his body barely registering on summoning a shikigami to help him carry an unconscious Itadori out of the building. He meets a fuming Kugisaki halfway out, her temper tapering when she sees his and Itadori’s bloodsoaked uniforms.

He doesn't bother with the escaped convicts when he passes by them; not even pacifying Tadashi’s mother from thanking his group, or scoffing at the survivors’ empty promises to be better after thinking they experienced divine punishment.

Overall, the aftermath of the mission is a numb blur to Megumi.

Nearly dying will do that to you, he will later think in the privacy of his dorm room. 

Later, he will lie on his bed and stare at the dark ceiling in silence. Later, he will recall and assess and feel the emotional weight and implications of it all, and later, he will reel and writhe and shake from the fact that—

I almost died.

A thought follows, consoling in its repetitive echoes from many times before, I’ll get over it like I always do.

But that is later. 

For now, he suppresses; he places the facts first. He processes everything in the lenses of logic, his mind automatically bringing up statistics and categorizing the sequence of events.

Megumi’s well-aware of a sorcerer’s average lifespan, of his profession’s mortality rate, of the fact that he’ll die young if he were to remain on this path. He knows it; he expects it. This is not even his first near-death experience. But it's one thing to know he’ll die, it's another to not know how. Megumi thought he knew. 

Once upon a time, years ago, he would review the Zen’in’s archived journals Gojo brought him about the Ten Shadows technique. Megumi would particularly eye Mahoraga’s scant description, and think,

If I were to die in this life, it would be on my terms.

It's a twistedly comforting thought, back when he realized that he has no real control over his life; back when he was still full of vitriol and spite for his age that was still a single digit.

Because if Megumi can't choose how to live, at least he’d get to choose how to die.

But then, that choice was almost taken away from him too, and it was ironically on the one time he lost access to the very thing that got him into this damned life; his cursed technique— his burden and failsafe.

Not to mention Itadori would have paid with his life too.

If it weren't for that strange boy…

“There’s nothing off with either Itadori or Fushiguro; both are as right as rain.” Shoko removes the stethoscope from Itadori’s chest, concluding the entire check-up to her audience within the school clinic. Megumi thinks this spontaneous debriefing could have waited and given them time to change from their bloody clothes first. “Not even a scratch.”

Then, Shoko addresses Megumi, asking for confirmation, “You said it wasn’t Reverse Cursed Energy?”

“No,” Megumi dutifully answers. “He said it was his technique. He didn’t specify what it was.” 

“What a versatile technique,” Gojo hums aloud, intrigued, leaning back on his stool as if it were a sofa, the wall behind him being the only thing keeping him upright. “Healing, shapeshifting, imploding a curse— What can’t he do?”

Next to Gojo, Yaga sits stiffly, his arms crossed as he looks at Megumi. “With your given profile description, it's the same curse that stole the Death Painting Wombs.” 

Right, Megumi thinks, perplexed, because, well… Isn't that such news when he remembers inviting the boy to the very place he stole from? Everything new Megumi learns about this stranger is throwing him off; from his heavy cursed energy and his light demeanor, to his severe crimes and his lack of hostility.

However, if there's one thing Megumi can say, it’s—

He was breathing. He felt warm. He’s—

“Not a curse. Just Cursed,” Megumi corrects. At Yaga’s inquiring glance, he expounds, “He may have oppressive cursed energy, but it’s comparable to Okkotsu-senpai’s— suffocating but not malicious.”

“Who the hell is that?” Kugisaki asks, her tone uninterested, but her curious look says otherwise.

“He’s a second year student currently living abroad,” Megumi briefly wonders when his senior would return.

“Heh, what are the odds that it's another case like Yuta’s?” Gojo muses, and despite his signature blindfold covering the upper half of his face, Megumi can practically see the mischievous curiosity in his teacher’s eyes.

“I heard him joke that his mother used to call him a curse,” Megumi offers a potential theory, and Kugisaki holds back a snort, while Itadori frowns.

“Mou, it’s not funny, Kugisaki,” Itadori lightly scolds.

It kinda is, Megumi thinks shamefully.

“It kinda is,” Kugisaki says shamelessly.

“Then why pose as a curse when I accused him?” Yaga cuts in before an argument could escalate, to which Ijichi interjects his thoughts into the conversation.

“I-I believe when presented the chance to be mistaken as a curse, he took it,” Ijichi timidly surmises. “After all, if he were categorized as one, we wouldn't try looking for identification.”

“I… suppose it would be a stretch for a curse to be that sentient anyways,” Yaga reluctantly agrees, but then Megumi sees the principal’s stoic expression minutely pinch at a thought, before smoothing it out again. 

Megumi briefly wonders what Yaga thought about. 

Or remembered.

“Oh-hoh~ It's not like you to make such an amateur mistake like that, principal,” Gojo teases, nudging the stern man.

“He has a very… contradictory presence,” Yaga grumbles, an eyebrow twitching.

“So he's, what? A Cursed curse-user?” Kugisaki leans forward, her head supported by a hand that’s propped on her crossed legs. 

Itadori raises his hand. “What does Cursed mean in this context?”

“Typically, Cursed humans are non-sorcerers—” At this, Ijichi expounds the meaning behind the terminology like a dutiful assistant manager, all the while Megumi tunes out the overly-familiar textbook explanation. Instead, he thinks of the boy with two-colored eyes and stitches on his face, who remains unnamed. 

He resolves to call the boy ‘Patches’.

( Laaame~, Megumi can almost hear Gojo’s unsolicited opinion over his nicknaming skills.)

Megumi scolds himself for not asking for Patches’ name, choosing instead to impulsively ask him to join Megumi’s school. He reasons to himself that the decision was made in a haste to save Patches.

On the chance he’s like Okkotsu, Megumi wants to help him lift his curse; just before the higher-ups could hear of him and order his execution because Megumi knows how the council will view Patches and his mysterious technique. Too unpredictable, too untraditional. Too dangerous if he's not on their side.

Yes, bringing him to Jujutsu High would alert them earlier, but at least he would be under Gojo’s protection. This is the best repayment Megumi can think of.

It’s multiple times better than being affiliated with a supposed curse-user.

Sasaki Ayame, Megumi remembers the woman. Ijichi did a background  research and found that she was a semi-grade two curse-user who deals in human trafficking and occasional commissioned hits. The last time her name has been mentioned in an official report, it was when she was suspected to be the culprit that a bunch of escaped human trafficking victims described to the Shizuoka police station. It doesn't help that those same victims also claimed that they were rescued by a boy with patchwork skin.

There's context missing there, Megumi speculates. The curse-user can't be the same person who also saved the detention center prisoners from a special grade cursed spirit. Especially with him knowing that Patches works with her.

Maybe the victims described the wrong suspect. Maybe Ijichi’s research was wrong; outdated.

After all, Sasaki Ayame didn't move like a semi-grade two sorcerer as the reports said.

Megumi doesn't even know where to begin in fitting Patches in all of this.

He agrees with Yaga’s opinion of Patches being contradictory— stolen the Death Paintings, yet voluntarily surrendered Sukuna’s finger which is arguably more powerful. He could have easily killed Yaga with his technique, yet he didn't even engage in a fight. He could have left him and Itadori, yet he chose to help and even went beyond to heal them.

When asked why he did the latter, he said that Itadori is his brother by association(?) because of… a pseudo-immortal relative…? It could be a humorous exaggeration for all Megumi knows, and of course, there's a chance that Patches could be lying. However, it brings Megumi back to his earlier questions, mainly:

What did he want to gain?

Patches is ironically a puzzle, rightfully represented by his patchwork skin, which makes Megumi question if it's naturally like that or worse… And—

A boyish laugh echoes in Megumi’s memory, your soul is wonderful!

What did he mean by that?

“Man, so what kinda curse could the person have for him to still be alive if all Cursed people usually end up dead?” Itadori asks, alerting Megumi back into the discussion.

“Well, the curse can vary. The curser doesn’t always want their victim dead,” Ijichi says as a matter of fact. However, his confidence turns into bewilderment when he continues, “Though, results other than death are unheard of, as curses evolve into lethal grades if left unattended for too long. The curser’s target tends to be the first victim.”

“Oh… Well, what if he really was a cursed spirit?” Itadori tilts his head.

Megumi resists placing a hand on any part of his face; partly because he should cut Itadori some slack, and partly because he doesn’t want the dried blood on his face to flake and make a mess.

“Don't be stupid,” Kugisaki chides Itadori for the both of them.

“I mean, cursed spirits come from humans’ emotions, right?” Itadori disregards Kugisaki’s admonishment, then proceeds to be stupid. “Maybe some humanity carries over and they become somewhat good cursed spirits. Y’know, think morally gray anti-villain tropes!”

Yaga accusingly glares at Gojo, “Are you actually teaching your students?”

Gojo sheepishly laughs, his hand scratching the back of his head, “Ehehe, of course I am! This is just my cute student being adorable!”

Eugh , Megumi sneers distastefully. Gojo shouldn't patronize any of us like that.

“But uh, for a short review of what I totally discussed before; Sorcery 101, the basics of basics,” Gojo addresses Itadori, his relaxed form leaning forward as he lets a grin form— a little carefree, a little bloodthirsty. The strongest sorcerer says it easily, cheerily, naturally; like how the grass is green, the sky is blue and, “The only good curse is a dead curse.” 

And Megumi acknowledges all of them as equally true.

Mahito thinks that Tokyo’s sewer system isn't really the most ideal place for a newborn to use their senses for the first time. On the other hand, he thinks that him being the first thing that the Death Paintings would see can make up for it.

Besides, it’s not safe to do their body transfigurations on the topside, on the off-chance that a stray sorcerer could catch them— worse, a canon sorcerer. Ugh, he has tested enough of his luck on Yaga and Fushiguro today; he doesn’t want to take a risk of encountering Gojo.

It would be on sight, Mahito internally shudders. Unironically, with the Six Eyes involved.

Scowling at the thought of Jujutsu High staff being on high alert due to his ‘devious lick’, he decides that it would just have to be his future-self’s problem. 

For now…

Mahito dramatically points onwards and exclaims, “Go, my rat army! Send those sorcerers in a wild goose chase!”

His innumerable curses-turned-rats climb out of the sewer ladder in droves, spreading out to the surface and leaving their residuals on where their tiny paws touch. Eventually, the critters will cover the majority of Tokyo with it in an hour or so. Mahito's not entirely worried; ordinary people should not be able to see them. He even instructed them to eliminate any low-grade curses they encounter!

While non-sorcerers would feel slightly gloomy if a rat were to linger in their space, Mahito’s transfigured curses are essentially harmless.

He knows there's no hiding his residue from the Six Eyes. The best he can do is at least cover his tracks with others’ cursed energy with hints of his own. 

Just like Toji’s strategy, Mahito recalls. You can't blind the Six Eyes in the dark, but you can render it useless in the light; overwhelm it. Overstimulate. Confuse the user.

If Mahito can't hide his cursed energy, he’ll just have to spread it everywhere. Make the world too bright for the Six Eyes to process and understand; turn Mahito’s cursed energy into white noise.

It's just stalling the inevitable, Mahito knows. But it should give him enough time to build a positive rep with the Jujutsu sorcerers before they could find him. Mahito will have better control of the situation with the sorcerers if he were to present himself to them first.

But that's not today.

Today, Mahito walks back deep into the sewers and observes his lined-up transfigured humans— his remaining three, now that Sasaki Ayame’s body and soul are damaged beyond repair. Despite being former criminals, these humans were transfigured slowly, less painful than the default as he learned from his experiments. He kept them (somewhat) alive to have access to their souls, just in case. Back then, he didn’t exactly know what for.

But when his gaze falls onto the Death Paintings' canisters nearby, he thanks his past-self for the foresight.

Mahito has yet to find other human vessels for the remaining Death Paintings. It wouldn't be safe to incarnate them now anyway, he reasons; not with his current living arrangements. He knows they won’t end up as special grades like the eldest three siblings. Their souls tell him so.

For now, the first three Death Paintings will have to do. That should be Choso, Eso and Kechizu, right?

Plus, with his Self-Binding Vow, he now has the ability to selectively choose which soul to touch when dealing with a vessel. Yeah, he can’t duplicate his soul anymore, but he thinks it’s not that useful anyway when his clone can’t use his technique. The pros outweigh the cons, and now nobody else is a more qualified person in this world when it comes to dealing with soul-body complications other than himself.

Yeah, okay, Mahito's got this.