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“And… time!” Ieiri clicks a timer just as Yu shoves the last serving of rice into his mouth. His cheeks are already ballooned, verging on bursting from the seams. It’s a sign that he should stop, but he doesn’t.
Setting the bowl onto the table with a rambunctious clatter, he whips his head in Ieiri’s direction, his stare expectant. Ieiri looks down at the timer, smiles, and lifts it to show Yu. “One minute and thirty-one seconds.”
Yes! Yu pumps a fist into the air in victory. Yesterday, he had finished the same mountain of rice in a minute and fifty-eight seconds.
“Guess he beat his previous record,” Nanami observes by Yu’s side, head leaning on a hand. His face screams unimpressed, yet there’s a small smile curving his lips that implies otherwise.
“If he keeps at it, he might be able to make a new living in competitive eating,” Gojo comments across from where Yu sits. Then, he leans forward, wearing a cheeky grin. “Hey, Haibara! Why don’t you give up being a Jujutsu sorcerer to become a competitive eater?”
Haibara attempts to speak, but it’s a terrible decision he instantly regrets because it causes rice to slip down his throat, throwing him into a violent coughing fit. Ieiri spews a whine of disgust as she pushes away from the table that’s being sprayed by chewed bits of rice.
“Ew. If you’re going to choke to death, at least cover your mouth,” she complains.
Geto, who sits at Yu’s other side, pats Yu's back until he pushes all the rice down his throat. Geto glares at Gojo, though it's glazed with mirth. “You did that on purpose.”
“Did not! He chose to speak with his mouth full!” Gojo counters with an unconvincing pout. He totally did it on purpose.
With a long roll of his eyes, Nanami passes Yu a cup of water while Geto hands him a napkin to clean his face. Yu accepts both items with a gratuitous smile. “Thanks!”
Once cleaned up, Yu stands and grabs his empty bowl. His destination is the cafeteria, where he sets his eyes on a fresh, steaming batch of rice. He starts drooling from the mere sight of it.
“Wait, you’re going for seconds?” Ieiri asks, eyes wide with surprise. “Aren’t you full after eating all that rice?”
Yu turns to her. He tilts his head. “No?”
Ieiri blinks slowly, then pushes out an exasperated sigh that sounds like a wheeze. She shakes her head. “Ugh, boys. Your stomachs are bottomless pits. I’ll never understand it.”
Yu laughs. The male’s stomach is a mystery to him as it is to her. Besides, if anyone has an impressive stomach, it’s Geto. Speaking of—
Yu faces Geto. “Geto-senpai, you haven’t eaten any lunch. Would you like anything while I’m up?”
“Ah…” A furtive glance meets Yu before settling elsewhere. Yu barely catches a glimpse of Geto’s hand curling over his lower abdomen. “No, I think I’m good right now. Thank you, though.”
Yu nods, hiding his disappointment behind an accepting grin. He’d hoped Geto would say yes. If memory serves him well, Geto hadn’t eaten breakfast today either, assuring Yu that he was fine with just green tea. Geto’s lack of eating has become a pattern over the past year that’s getting increasingly more difficult to ignore, especially when Geto’s clothes fit more loosely than his preferred style of dress calls for.
There are plenty of reasons why Geto is not eating the way he used to, Yu wants to think. For one, he could be on a diet. Or, his tight schedule has made him accustomed to eating less. Even so, Yu can’t fight the gnawing feeling that Geto’s lack of eating and weight loss is indicative of a deeper problem with his health.
“Grab me some miso soup while you’re at it!” Gojo calls out not long after Yu walks away from the table.
“And some teriyaki chicken!” Ieiri chimes in.
Yu snaps out of his thoughts and turns to his senpais. He acknowledges their requests with a raised hand. “You got it!”
***
Suguru’s stomach clenches painfully as he retches into the toilet. Acidic spittle dribbles from his lips and drips into the water, causing a pale yellow to bloom. Having eaten nothing but a single cracker the entire day, it’s all that’s left in him.
The male communal bathroom echoes with the sounds of his disordered, heaving breaths. Drained, he sinks to his knees and rests his head atop the toilet seat. He closes his eyes and wills himself to take slow, steady breaths to help his nausea subside.
Suguru hates this. Hates his cursed technique, hates being a Jujutsu sorcerer, hates—
Breathe in. Suguru follows the command. Breathe out slowly. A bit shakier than he prefers, but he still succeeds.
You don’t actually believe any of that. You just feel like crap right now, but it will pass. It always does. Just keep breathing and let the feeling pass on its own.
These thoughts repeat like a mantra in his head, providing him a fragile line of hope that pulls him out of the venomous pools of his pessimism. It feels like an eternity has passed by the time his breathing evens out and his stomach stops spasming.
Suguru wipes spittle from his chin. He hopes no one has heard him. Given how few people are on campus, the probability is low.
Some people, like Satoru, have taken notice; of Suguru’s weight loss, that is. But, no one has responded the way Haibara has.
Recently, Haibara has been trying to encourage Suguru to eat more—subtle little coaxings disguised as innocent mistakes. Haibara may pass Suguru a granola bar with the excuse that he bought too many, or give Suguru a rice ball and claim he grabbed it from the cafeteria by accident. Haibara’s intentions are obvious, oftentimes to the point of giving Suguru secondhand embarrassment.
Still, Suguru finds the gestures endearing. To know that someone cares so much about him that they would go out of their way to ensure he is well-fed warms his heart. Which is why it’s painful for Suguru when he pushes away Haibara’s kindness.
It’s not that Suguru doesn’t want to eat. The physiological hunger is present, but the desire to eat and the pleasure that follows has all but vanished. Every time he swallows a curse, he remembers the way those monk—
Breathe.
—those people clapped around the corpse of a middle school girl, as if applauding a beautiful performance. He remembers their lying smiles, the stench of Amanai’s blood clinging to the air, the absence of life in Satoru’s eyes. Those memories had distorted his identity, blurred his sense of duty. Changed him forever.
Knowing that he has been putting his body on an altar for human embodiments of filth makes Suguru’s stomach turn, figuratively and literally.
Suguru doesn’t know exactly when it started happening, but at some point after Amanai’s death, the disgust he developed towards his duty as a Jujutsu sorcerer gradually seeped into his everyday life, tainting even the act of eating. Now, whenever he puts food in his mouth, all that assaults his taste buds are the blood-stained memories of an unforgettable summer. A measly cracker had turned his stomach, so needless to say, getting the sustenance he needs has been a daily challenge.
Summoning whatever strength remains in him, Suguru flushes the toilet, washes out his mouth at the sink, and drags himself out of the communal bathroom. He feels like a dead man walking on his way back to his dorm room where he intends to change his undershirt, having gotten it stained. May as well take a long nap while he’s there, but he can’t. Satoru and Shoko are waiting for him. He’d promised that he would join them in the gymnasium for a game of… Well, he can’t remember what kind of game. It doesn’t matter. Nowadays, moments where the three of them could be in one place were hard to come by, so if the opportunity came, he wouldn’t let it slip by. Being around his closest friends is probably the sole anchor tethering him to life.
When Suguru reaches his room, he pulls out a clean white button-up blouse from his drawer. He plucks away at the buttons of his soiled shirt, but his movements abruptly stop upon seeing the state of his upper body. He has gotten thinner, so much so that the lining of his ribcage is starting to protrude through his skin.
Suguru sighs.
Suguru used to think that being a Jujutsu sorcerer would eventually be the death of him. But, perhaps starving to death would be his true fate. He hopes so.
That thought is as bitter as the taste of bile lingering in his mouth.
***
“You wanna know if Suguru’s sick?” Gojo asks.
Yu nods. Allowing time for rationalization to quell his paranoia over Geto’s health hadn’t done the trick. He figures if anyone knows about the innerworks of Geto, it would be Geto’s best friend. “He always refuses to eat and I’ve noticed that he’s been losing weight. I’m worried that something is seriously wrong with him.”
With surprising nonchalance, Gojo shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs away Yu’s concern. “Suguru usually tells me that it’s the heat.”
“I dunno…” Yu shifts his balance between his feet, one of those nervous habits he hasn’t been able to escape from his childhood. “I just have this feeling it’s more than that.”
This time, Gojo takes a moment to delve into his own contemplation, filling the air with a droning hum. Eventually he emerges out of his contemplation with a different speculation. “Maybe he’s eating too many curse balls?”
“Curse balls…?” Yu’s eyes widen as understanding takes root. Oh! He’s talking about Geto-senpai’s cursed technique. “You think his cursed technique is the cause?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it is. It’s not uncommon to experience side effects from overusing your cursed technique, especially within a short time span. Take me for example.” Gojo points at his temple. “If I get overstimulated by Six Eyes, I get nasty migraines. I wouldn’t wish them on my worst enemy. That’s why I try to cover my eyes as much as possible.”
Yu rubs his chin, considering this new piece of information. Geto has been on a plethora of missions lately. Too many missions if one were to ask Yu. “That makes sense. I guess Geto-senpai could be having digestive issues because he’s absorbing too many curses in too little time.”
“It’s possible.” Gojo shrugs again. “But I wouldn’t overthink it. I doubt there’s anything seriously wrong with him.”
“How do you know?” Yu asks, remnants of unease murmuring in his heart.
Gojo’s smile is teeming with confidence. “Because if he’s going through something that even he can’t handle on his own, I know he’ll tell me about it. We’re best friends, after all.”
At once, Yu feels entirely stupid. Why is he doubting Gojo when the very reason he had approached him about Geto was because they were best friends?
Maybe Gojo is right; maybe Yu is just overthinking things. Yet, knowing that the constant absorbing of curses is wearing Geto thin does little to ease his concern. Instead, it makes Yu’s heart heavy with sympathy. Geto is so kind and selfless, stomaching those vile curses without a single regard for his own wellbeing. He shouldn’t have to pay the price in silence. There must be a way to help him reestablish a healthy relationship with eating.
Later that day, Yu seeks out Nanami for his opinions on the matter. Though, it only leads to both of them pulling out their hair on the steps that lead into the school’s courtyard.
“What’re we gonna do? If Geto-senpai keeps this up, he’ll waste away,” Yu bemoans, clutching his head between his knees.
“You’re being a bit over dramatic. But, I agree that Geto-senpai has seen better days,” Nanami says.
Yu pokes his head out. “We could talk to Yaga-sensei about giving Geto-senpai a break from missions. He’d understand.”
“Except the higher-ups wouldn’t. Any changes to a sorcerer’s availability has to be discussed with them. Since Geto-senpai is a special grade, I don’t see them giving him a break so easily.”
Yu groans and buries his head back into his knees. He’d forgotten about the higher-ups. “Crap, you’re right.” Back to square one, then. What a conundrum they have on their hands.
A hand gently rubs circles into Yu's back, a small offer of consolation. Yu mewls, leaning into the touch until he and Nanami are brushing shoulders. Suddenly, Nanami asks, “Why not cook him his favorite food? Isn’t it… uh, what’s his favorite food again?”
“Cold soba,” Yu responds without missing a beat. He pulls his head out of his knees again, giving the stone ground a hard stare. “But if he’s been refusing food for this long, I doubt he’ll eat anything I cook for… him…”
An epiphany lights up in Yu’s head. He straightens his body, gasps. Wait a minute… Cooking!
Yu grips Nanami’s shoulders and pulls him close. “Nanami, you’re a genius!”
Nanami blinks. “I am?”
Yu finds his phone, mind racing with an idea. He’s gonna need to hit the group chat, permission to use the communal kitchen, and a date with the grocery store.
***
Campus, Suguru notices, is conspicuously empty for a Saturday afternoon, even for a school that only has a handful of students. Since breakfast, he hasn’t passed by a single one of his friends, who normally fill the emptiness with their antics. Satoru, at the very least, should be blowing up a nearby building, and Suguru should be smelling the faint wisps of Shoko's cigarette. Instead, an eerie silence permeates everywhere. A silence he isn't used to.
Suguru sits under the shade of a canopy with a book to keep him company, trying not to think too deeply about his loneliness and all the sequestered nightmares that it's destined to dredge up. Where's the distracting loudness of Haibara when I need it?
Reading sometimes keeps his mind from tipping over into the embrace of his demons. However, he only gets past a couple pages before his stomach makes that familiar lurch, no doubt the lingering effects of losing this morning's breakfast. He gags, doubling over to wrap his arms around his abdomen. Thankfully, the sensation doesn't last long, allowing him to recover quickly.
Suguru closes his book and sighs. A tight grimace forms while massaging that sore spot in his abdomen. He really wishes Haibara were here right now.
Vrrrr—
Suguru pulls out his vibrating phone. Must be Satoru or Shoko, he thinks as he checks the sender, only to realize it’s the very person he’d just been yearning for:
Hey, senpai! Meet me at the entrance to the dorms as soon as you can! 😁
Suguru raises a brow at the message. Haibara rarely texts Suguru—at least, not directly. If Haibara does text Suguru, it’s typically through the group chat that consists of himself, Haibara, Satoru, Shoko, and Nanami.
As random as the message is, Suguru is not too surprised. Haibara is no stranger to inviting Suguru to things, and Suguru is no stranger to accepting his invitations. Over the past year, their relationship—once defined by one-sided reverence—leveled to something deeper, more personal. Haibara’s presence has become a form of therapy he has learned to crave, so the response is easy:
alright, be there soon
As Haibara requested, Suguru stands at the entrance that leads to the student dorms. Not long after he arrives, the entrance doors burst open.
“Geto-senpai!” Haibara exclaims cheerfully. “Sorry for the short notice. I’m glad you came, anyway!”
“Don’t worry about it,” Suguru smiles automatically. It’s impossible not to become infected by Haibara’s joyful energy.
Before Suguru can ask about what Haibara wants with him, Haibara latches a hand around his wrist. Suguru jolts. The grip is not too tight, but tense enough to carry the reverberation of Yu’s excitement.
Yu beams at Suguru. “Now, close your eyes and don’t open them until I say so!”
***
A sweet and savory aroma, underlined with the hints of a burnt pungency that warrants some concern, greets Suguru’s nose.
“Okay, you can open your eyes!” Haibara says.
Suguru opens his eyes and nearly reels back at what he sees. Satoru, Shoko, and Nanami sit on the ground of Haibara’s room, encircling an array of prepared meals placed on top of a cloth. Large bottles of soda and a stack of cups are to the side, along with utensils.
“Surprise!” they yell in unison.
Suguru stares at his friends, confused. “What’s the occasion?” he asks. He’s certain today isn’t his birthday.
Haibara jumps in front of him and widens his arms. “We welcome you to the ‘First Annual Tokyo Jujutsu High Cooking Competition’! We’ve all made our favorite food for you to judge. The ratings are on a scale from one to ten, with one being the worst and ten being the best!”
“Why am I the judge?”
“Who better to judge the taste of our food than the greatest curse swallower in the world?”
Suguru is the only curse swallower in the world, but he supposes that’s beside the point. He shifts his attention back to the food. They sure made a lot for a friendly competition.
Does Haibara expect me to eat all of this? His face pales, stomach twisting at the thought.
As if reading his apprehension, Haibara leans into Suguru's ear and whispers, “No pressure, senpai. Eat as much as you're comfortable with. You can just take a nibble of each if you like.”
Suguru swallows down vestiges of bile and nods.
“What’s Haibara whispering about?” Nanami asks, a tinge of suspicion in his tone.
Shoko folds her arms over her chest, clicking her tongue. “I call cheating. He’s trying to influence the judge’s opinions.”
“I would never deceive Geto-senpai like that!” Haibara whines.
Suguru chuckles, easing Haibara into the circle. He takes his own seat on the cushion situated at the front of the circle, which he assumes is meant for the judge. “No fighting, kids. Now, whose food am I supposed to try first?”
“Oh—me, me!” Satoru shoves his plate into Suguru’s face, carrying… Er…
“What on earth are those things?” Suguru scrutinizes the solid blobs of various sizes, though he has a feeling he doesn’t want to know.
Satoru releases a dramatic gasp, giving him a horror-struck look of offense. “Sugar cookies! Can’t you tell?”
Suguru narrows his eyes at them. Well, on closer inspection, they do give off the semblance of sugar cookies. But, why are they so flat? And tan? Aren't sugar cookies supposed to have a cream color?
Suguru flicks his gaze between the cookies and Satoru. Satoru bounces where he sits, waiting while donning an eager, bubbly smile. Suguru can tell Satoru is proud of his work, despite its… questionable appearance.
Breathe, he reminds himself, then he sinks his teeth into a small corner of the cookie. There’s a slight crunch and—
Suguru clasps a hand over his mouth.
—a ridiculous amount of sweetness that makes him choke.
“Oh god,” Suguru sputters between coughing fits, “What the he—”
“I told you six cups of sugar was too much,” Shoko says to Satoru. “Didn’t I tell him, Nanami?”
“Yes, you did,” Nanami nods.
“It can’t be that bad.” Satoru peers at Suguru. “Suguru, you good?”
Suguru responds with even more choking.
“Eh, he’s not a fan of sweets, anyway,” Satoru points out as if that’s a reasonable explanation for why he’s on the brink of death.
Amidst the back and forth between Satoru and Shoko, a palm lightly presses against the small of Suguru’s back. “How do you feel?” Haibara asks warily.
“Like I just poured a gallon of sugar into my mouth,” Suguru coughs out. And that had just been one bite. He can't imagine how he'll tolerate a whole cookie. No way he's going to find out for himself.
“0/10,” Suguru promptly declares. One would think Satoru were an abandoned puppy because he gives Suguru the most pathetic dewey-eyes he has ever seen, inspiring Suguru to begrudgingly reconsider his decision. “Fine. I'll give you a 1/10 for effort.”
Next is Shoko’s Karaage chicken, which looks promising until he finds the undersides charred black. One bite illuminates another problem with the chicken. The fried skin is over-salted and it’s weeping with so much oil that it melts upon contact with his tongue. The actual chicken is pretty decent, so he believes the dish is worthy of a 5/10.
Suguru proceeds to Nanami’s dish. To his relief, it's rather simple—a garlic bread sandwich containing lettuce, avocados, tomatoes, and slices of ham and cheese. It’s the most normal dish he has tasted so far, so he rates it an 8/10.
The finale brings Haibara’s dish as the last to be judged. Suguru already knows to expect rice, as that’s Haibara’s favorite food. However, he finds it odd that he doesn’t see any rice within the circle. He becomes more confused when Haibara gets up and runs to the door.
Turning over his shoulder, Haibara says, “Sorry senpai, but could you close your eyes again? I’ll be right out with the dish!”
Suguru eyes Haibara for a beat, but follows the request. After around a minute passes, Suguru hears the door open. Something clatters in front of him, and he is greeted by the scent of dashi and soy sauce.
With no warning, calloused fingers cup Suguru’s chin. The unexpected touch sends a shuddering wave across his body. He flinches when the fingers gently try to pry his jaw open. “Alright, say ‘ah’!” Haibara coos, his tone reminiscent of a mother feeding her baby.
Suguru ignores Satoru and Shoko’s muffled giggling as he follows his junior’s whims. He opens his mouth and is immediately overwhelmed by a cold, wet sensation on his tongue that doesn’t feel remotely like rice. He closes down to chew. Immediately, he recognizes the texture.
Suguru opens his eyes and looks down. A bowl rice sits on a platter in front of his lap, as well as a bowl of brown noodles that look just like—
“Cold soba, your favorite! I thought rice on its own would be boring for you, so I added this to make it a fuller meal.” A rosy glow emanates off Haibara’s cheeks, soft and pleasant. “So? How does it taste?”
The earthy flavor of the soba melds with the savory bitterness of the dipping sauce, which has Suguru close to groaning in pleasure. He reaps the succulent taste for as long as possible before swallowing.
It tastes…
It tastes like a memory that once felt faraway, of a simpler time before he was swallowed by the Jujutsu world. It reminds him of sweltering afternoons in the countryside, bundled up in his parents’ laps as they cooled their stomachs with his mother’s cold soba. Back then, he had just been a normal child who had yet to encounter the revolting taste of curses. Utterly carefree and naive to the secret world that belied his peace.
Against himself, a bleary smile arises.
The memories disperse with a weak headshake, bringing him back to the bedroom and the soba he’s supposed to rate. Turning to Haibara, he pets Haibara’s head and gives an honest answer. “It tastes like a 10/10.”
For the rest of the afternoon, everyone indulges in each other’s creations, their commentary clipped by bouts of laughter, sending a serenade of overflowing youth throughout the barren halls. Suguru doesn’t recognize how his body willfully moves to take another slurp of the soba, and another, and another. Suguru doesn’t see the pleased smile spread across Haibara’s face as he watches his senpai. The memories of blood and gunshots and clapping fail to toy with Suguru’s appetite. No—he’s simply caught in the rhythm of this serene moment, eating and laughing without a care for the world.
Thank you, everyone.
And thank you, Haibara, for reminding me that this idyllic peace is worth putting my body on the altar for, and that it can return during the darkest times, even if for a fleeting moment.