Chapter Text
What is fate?
Is it a path etched in stone, an unrelenting force dragging us toward an inevitable end, no matter how we struggle?
Or is it something fragile, something we hold in our hands, shaping and twisting it as we see fit?
Yet, despite all the questions, one truth lingers in my mind. My fate is rotten, cursed to the very core...
December 24, 2017
The dim hallway stretched out ahead, cloaked in shadow, each step echoing ominously off the wooden floorboards. A figure stood at the end, cloaked in dark robes and deeply wounded, his face hidden by the dim light. His eyes, however, gleamed with an obsessive desire, a longing that consumed every fibre of his being.
The air was thick with tension, the kind that makes every breath feel heavier, every heartbeat louder. The man grinned, a dangerous gleam flickering in his eyes. "Amazing..." he muttered, his voice low, as if marvelling at something only he could see. His lips curled upward, a smile that held no warmth.
"Truly amazing," he repeated, his hand clutching his tattered robe. There was a shiver of madness in the way he spoke, a quiet conviction that sent a chill through the atmosphere. "A power that can change the world."
"If only I had Rika..." he whispered, his voice a murmur of regret and frustration. The weight of countless curses pressed on his shoulders, a burden he bore with an unnatural calm. "I wouldn't have to collect all these curses."
His thoughts drifted again, obsession gripping him tighter. His gaze became sharper, more focused. "Next time. Next time, she’ll be mine!" His voice rose slightly, his smile widening as if savouring the promise of what was to come. His words hung in the air, full of dangerous intent.
Then, a figure appeared from the shadows, stepping into the light with deliberate calm. His hair was white, eyes cold and unreadable, but the air around him crackled with power. He stood tall, his presence demanding attention without uttering a word. His name left the cloaked man’s lips in a soft, reverent whisper. "Satoru."
For a brief moment, silence stretched between them. The cloaked man’s grin grew wider as he took in the sight of the one he had awaited. His heart raced with anticipation. "You finally made it..."
The man staggered back, his body barely able to hold him upright as his back slammed into the cold wall of the hallway.
His breath came in shallow gasps, the weight of his injuries threatening to bring him to his knees. Yet, despite it all, he managed to push himself upright, his eyes never leaving Satoru. His grin, though weaker now, still held that dangerous glint.
"So... you'll be the one to take me down, huh?" he rasped, his voice hoarse but laced with defiance. A cough escaped him, but he forced himself to take a breath, gathering the last remnants of his strength.
"How's my family?" he asked, his voice low, almost fragile.
Satoru stood still, his cold, emotionless gaze fixed on the man. After a moment, he spoke, his voice calm, detached. "They all got away."
There was a beat of silence, the cloaked man's expression hard to read. Relief? Resignation? It was unclear.
Satoru’s eyes narrowed slightly, his tone cutting through the tension like a blade. "Kyoto was your doing too, wasn’t it?"
The man let out a long, tired sigh, his grin fading into a softer, more reflective expression. "Yeah," he muttered. "Unlike you, I'm a kind person."
He paused, his gaze steady on Satoru. "You sent those two brats knowing I’d defeat them... just so you could trigger Okkotsu’s growth."
Satoru remained still, his eyes narrowing slightly. His voice, though calm, carried an unshakable resolve. "It's called trust."
The man raised an eyebrow, surprised but intrigued by the choice of words. Satoru continued, his tone cool and unwavering. "People with beliefs like yours won’t kill a young sorcerer without a reason."
A dry chuckle escaped the cloaked man’s lips. "Trust, huh?" The word rolled off his tongue with a touch of disbelief, but beneath it was something almost nostalgic. Memories flickered through his mind, brief but vivid moments of him and Satoru, back when things were different.
His gaze softened for a brief moment, as if something deep within him had been stirred. "I didn’t realize..." he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. "I didn’t realize you still felt any connection with me."
Satoru’s eyes flickered with a distant memory, but his expression remained guarded. "You chose a different path, Suguru."
Suguru gave a tired smile, his voice filled with quiet regret. "We were naïve back then. Idealistic. I thought I could fix this broken world... but I was wrong."
Satoru’s gaze never wavered, though there was a flicker of emotion that passed through his eyes. "And now?"
Suguru let out a weak chuckle, his breath laboured. "Now? I’ve accepted it. I’ll always hate those monkeys... but it’s not like I hate everyone at Jujutsu High." He paused, his gaze turning distant. "It’s just that, in this world... I couldn’t truly be happy. Not from the bottom of my heart."
Satoru stepped closer, his presence commanding but laced with a rare gentleness. He stopped just in front of Suguru, looking down at the man who had once been his closest friend. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and in that gaze, there was an understanding only they could share.
"Suguru," Satoru said quietly, his voice softer than before, almost mournful.
Suguru’s eyes widened in surprise. The use of his name, so familiar, seemed to catch him off guard. He stared at Satoru, listening to what he wanted to say. Then, a small chuckle escaped his lips.
"You could at least curse me at the end," Suguru whispered, his voice tinged with amusement, but also sadness. He looked down, his grin fading slightly, as if he already knew this was the last conversation they’d ever have.
Satoru said nothing, his expression solemn as he watched his friend, knowing that the moment had come for them to part ways, not just in body, but in every sense.
And then, he was gone.
In that void, Suguru stood alone, suspended in darkness. His soul seemed adrift, untethered to any place, floating in the emptiness of his own making. There was no warmth, no light, no comfort. Only the stillness of his own thoughts.
"So this is finally the end..." Suguru murmured, his voice echoing in the blackness, a hollow sound that only he could hear. "The end of this cursed life."
He felt the weight of his choices, his actions, his regrets—all the pain and suffering he'd endured, all the bitterness he'd cultivated over the years. "Could someone like me finally find peace?" he mused aloud, though he knew there was no answer.
But as he drifted in the void, he found it hard to believe that peace was waiting for him. His life had never been a paradise, yet it hadn't been hell either. It had been a twisted, chaotic existence, filled with moments of doubt, pain, and fleeting flashes of what could have been.
"I’ve tasted both sides..." Suguru’s voice echoed again, quieter this time, as if he were speaking to the void itself. "And yet, I could hold on to none of them."
His hands curled into fists, the invisible weight of his thoughts pulling him deeper into the darkness. He could feel the curse of his existence weighing on him still. "Truly a cursed person, you were, Suguru Geto..." he muttered to himself.
Slowly, a bittersweet smile tugged at his lips, the kind of smile that carries the weight of every lost hope, every shattered dream.
He closed his eyes for the final time, accepting the end.
But then—BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Suguru’s eyes snapped open, and for a moment, there was only irritation. He could feel the heat rise in his chest as his hand reached out, hitting the clock alarm in frustration. “Damn it, too loud…” he muttered, his voice tinged with annoyance, his thoughts still groggy, as if he hadn’t fully woken from a dream.
The moment passed, and the familiar surroundings of his Jujutsu High dorm room came into view. Suguru’s eyes fluttered, still heavy with sleep, as he looked around. The room was plain, just like it had always been. The scent of books, ink, and the faint remnants of incense lingered in the air.
With a soft groan, he pushed himself up from the bed, his limbs sluggish and unsteady. Still half asleep, he stumbled over to the table beside the bed, his mind sluggish, grasping for clarity. His hand reached out automatically, finding a photograph that had sat there for years.
It was an old picture of him and his friends—Gojo, Shoko, Nanami, and Haibara—smiling and carefree. A moment from a different time, when life had seemed simpler, and the future was still full of possibilities. He stared at the photo for a long time, the familiar faces of his past looking back at him, frozen in time.
As his hand reached out to grab the photo frame, a sudden surge of clarity hit him like a bolt of lightning. He froze mid-motion, the photograph slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor.
"What…" what is going on?" he whispered to himself, his voice barely a rasp. His eyes darted around the room, scanning the familiar yet distant surroundings. The bare walls, the wooden furniture, the faint scent of incense—it was all too familiar, but something was off.
He stood motionless, the realization hitting him with crushing force. His breath quickened. “Why am I in my old room?” His eyes widened in disbelief as his mind raced to make sense of it. His old dorm room at Jujutsu High—the room he hadn’t seen in years.
No, it couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t.
His body moved on instinct, his heart pounding as he stumbled toward the desk, his hands shaking as they reached for the calendar pinned to the wall. His breath hitched as his eyes fell on the date.
December 25, 2005.
He stared at the calendar, unable to tear his gaze away, his mind struggling to process the impossible. It felt like a nightmare, an illusion, a cruel twist of fate.
“This can’t be real,” he muttered to himself, almost pleading.
A sudden bang echoed from the door. Suguru’s head whipped toward it, his chest tightening. The door flew open with a casual, forceful kick, and in the doorway stood none other than Satoru Gojo, his usual cocky smirk spread wide across his face.
"Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas!" Satoru’s voice was full of mischievous glee, his tone dripping with that same familiar arrogance, as if nothing had changed.
Behind him, Shoko entered, her expression decidedly less enthusiastic, her words coming out with a heavy sigh. "Yay..."
Suguru's heart raced as he stared at Satoru and Shoko, their youthful faces untouched by time, radiating the same exuberance and energy he remembered from his past. It felt surreal, almost as if he were looking at a snapshot from a dream—a moment that had long since faded into memory.
Suguru’s eyes widened in disbelief, his voice barely a whisper as the weight of realization sank in. "Did I truly get back in time... twelve years ago?"
The cycle of curses never breaks, no matter how much effort, power, or time is sacrificed to end them...