Chapter Text
The clearing was nearly silent, bar the sharp whisper of wind whistling throughout the ring-shaped crater wrought by Satoru Gojo’s cursed technique. The cursed swarm had dispersed after the brief yet savage attack on the young sorcerer just moments prior.
A deep exhale left the lips of a tall, broad figure; trunk-like muscular arms raised as the raven-haired assassin stared at his blood-soaked hands with a still expression. His lips parted slightly, as he took in the sight of the world’s most powerful sorcerer, the first to inherit both the fabled Six Eyes as well as Limitless in over five hundred years, laid flat on a bed of pulverised cobblestone—blood seeping into the cracks. Fatal lacerations marked his body all the way from his cranium, dragging down the frontside of his torso and the length of his leg. The mightiest sorcerer of the modern era, felled under the might of a single devastating assault.
The assault perpetrated by none other than the sorcerer killer himself, Toji Zenin.
Except He was not Toji Zenin, or Fushiguro, or whatever else he went by. The man who stood victorious over the honoured one may have been Toji a few seconds ago but right now? Now he was a teenager in a sorcerer killer’s body; who’d lived a completely ordinary life, in which a story about sorcerers fighting curses was just that; a story—only to find himself in the literal shoes of one of his favourite characters.
But the smell of blood permeated the air strongly, stinging his sensitive nose with its stench. His muscles, more muscles than he could have ever imagined on himself, pulsed with unimaginable strength; each beat of his heart sending a rush of blood through his body so powerful it almost made him sway on his feet. A chill brushed against his back, from the draft created by the massive crater surrounding him and the fallen Satoru Gojo at his feet.
He couldn’t pin any sort of memory of where he was, what he was doing, or what was going on right before the present time, right then. He couldn’t recall any vivid memories of the people he knew, and the details of his former life, or what on earth could have led up to this abrupt body swap.
A few seconds ago, he was not Toji.
But now, standing over the mangled “corpse” of Gojo Satoru, somehow, he was.
“Ehm,” He coughed, the noise coming out low and throaty. “Awkward!” He laughed, before spinning around to vomit into the crater left by Gojo’s Blue.
How did he get here? Placing a bloody hand against his forehead—the sticky mixture still warm against his skin—he tried to come up with any kind of explanation for his current situation. Nothing came to mind.
His eyes dragged back down to Gojo’s unmoving body. What the fuck was he supposed to do with this? Gojo wasn’t even actually dead, in a minute or few he’d be back up after discovering how to use Reverse Cursed Technique to regenerate from his wounds; then he’d go on to vaporise a third of Toji’s torso with his first ever Hollow Purple—
Ah, shit. He was Toji.
“FUCK!” He yelled, clutching his hair and throwing his head back and forth as he failed to cope with the situation. “NOW? OF ALL FUCKING TIMES?”
Why did he have to manifest himself into Toji’s body, on the eve of his fucking death!?
He spun his head left and right, surveying his surroundings with perfect, eagle-like vision as he scanned for any onlookers. Nobody saw his battle with Gojo, right? Surely he could just book it out of the premises, flee the country, and maybe Gojo wouldn’t chase him to the ends of the Earth?
Wait, fuck. Geto and Amanai saw him earlier.
But—if he didn’t go on to shoot the Star Plasma Vessel, Geto and Gojo would have no need to seek out his death, right? Surely Gojo would wake up from his london-style, stabbing-induced nap, realise it was all in good fun, and maybe forty years down the line he’ll find Toji in a suburban home somewhere back in North America where they’ll share a laugh over their friendly spar all those years back.
“I always believed in you, Satoru,” an older, more grisly Toji spoke, a wise smile on his face as he placed a hand on the shoulder of a matured Satoru Gojo. “I stabbed the everloving shit out of you that day to help you realise your fullest potential. I knew what you could’ve become. You know me, I’ve always looked out for what was best for you.”
Toji Fushiguro tilted his head back to look at the sky, a blank expression on his face. Then, he curled up, clutching his face with both hands. “HHAAAAHHH! I’M SO FUCKED!”
What a sorry sight it must’ve been, the mighty assassin who was the only being on Earth to defeat the honoured one, hands in his hair, crab walking circles around his fallen opponent as he tore his own hair out over his imminent doom.
Then, a thought came to him. He processed the constriction of the inventory curse against himself, coiled around his corso like a gross mix between a snake and a worm, its wretched face only inches from the side of his own. It made no noise, drew no breath, and its amphibian-like flesh hardly shifted against his own skin. It was as sickening as it was intriguing.
Morbid curiosity prompted him to put a hand underneath its maw, to which, almost as if it read his thoughts, it spat out a strange, two-pronged spearhead with a jagged blade, emanating an ominous power which distorted the air around it.
The Inverted Spear of Heaven, the weapon that put Gojo in this state to begin with.
He gripped the dagger in his left hand, appraising it closely, before taking another glance at Satoru Gojo.
He could kill honoured one right now, before he woke up.
It was stated in the manga that even Reverse Cursed Technique users cannot recover if their brain is fully destroyed. While Gojo may have survived a stab to his frontal lobe out of sheer, unfathomable luck, there would be no way for him to recover if Toji were to be more… Thorough.
The Inverted Spear of Heaven clattered to the ground, as Toji’s grip failed to hold onto it. What was he thinking? Was he actually considering murder? And murder of one of the story’s most important characters no less! But—what was the alternative, fighting a newly awakened Satoru Gojo that craved his death!?
Nah, he’d run.
After all, if there was anything the canon Toji Fushiguro was good at; it was running from his problems. Toji had half a mind to swipe the special grade spearhead off of the ground, offering it to his inventory curse which gobbled it up with a gooey squelch. Yuck. There was no fucking way he was putting this thing in his mouth. How the hell was he supposed to shrink it, anyway?
The weight coiled around his torso suddenly evaporated, as in an instant the curse shrunk into a strange, pebble-like form, which Toji caught in his hand before it could fall to the ground. Huh. Could it read his thoughts? How the fuck did that work?
Pocketing the inventory curse (cause ain’t no way he was swallowing that shit), Toji leapt off of the raised column of land spared from Satoru Gojo’s technique, superhuman muscles tensing as they lifted him several metres off the ground from a simple hop.
‘Holy shit,’ he thought. It was one thing to read and watch superpowered characters jump and run on the other side of a screen, but to first-hand feel the tremendous lift generated by his legs; the indescribable power thrumming throughout every one of his tremendous muscles, it was… something else.
He had been a frequent gym goer as well as an athlete in his past life. He had squatted weights on his shoulders that the larger majority of the population couldn’t even get off the ground.
This was on a whole other level, he realised as he landed roughly into the crater. Without a second thought, he sprung from the ground once again, a cloud of dust rising behind him as he sailed through the air with grace he’d never known before incarnating in Toji fucking Fushiguro’s body.
Another jump, and Toji was in the woods, the mangled mess of an honoured one left far behind him. No point in going after Amanai Riko and Geto Suguru after all, he was sure he’d lose that fight even if he tried; new body jitters and all. Besides; what was the point of the bounty if he was slated to die the same day?
…Maybe Geto wouldn’t go psycho this way? Who knows? But this monkey was getting the hell out of dodge!
He was taking this whole change in lifestyle surprisingly well, all things considered. As he sprinted through the woods that encompassed the entirety of Jujutsu Tech’s campus, he thought of the oddity regarding the gaps in his memory. He could recall certain aspects of his life, his personality, habits, hobbies and aspirations. But he could not put a face to any of the figures in his life. Did he even have a family? He… he couldn’t remember.
Regardless, the new Toji Fushiguro steeled himself. He had to hitch a ride out of the country as soon as possible… In a country he’s never been in and during a time he was but a glue-eating toddler, before at least. The country Japan… At some point in their lives, just about every teenager dreams of living there—er, here. A quick pat to his deep, really deep pockets, and he felt the outline of a modular cell phone customary of the mid 2000s.
He tugged the cellphone out of his pocket, finding no issue scouring its digital contents whilst moving at subsonic speeds through the forest. Huh. It must’ve been a burner phone, considering Toji only had one contact.
>>Shiu Kong
Wasn’t that the name of his liaison with the Time Vessel Association? Erm. Awkward. How was he supposed to tell him the mission was off?
Perhaps true to the real Toji’s character, the new Toji snapped the phone shut, slid the cell into his pocket and continued his mad dash - running away from ALL his problems. The wind beat at his face viciously as he weaved between thick shrubbery and trees. A bead of sweat travelled down from his hairline as he realised-
‘I have no idea where the fuck I’m going!’
Unfortunately, being lost wasn’t something he could run away from. How on earth was he supposed to find his way off this stupid mountain!?
He came to a total halt, his ensuing slide causing him to crash into a tree - snapping it under his bulk. The noise and impact prompted a shocked yell from his mouth, but his body remained totally undamaged as an obliterated tree trunk was sent hurtling down a creek.
Right, he had crazy strength. Couldn’t he just, jump, or something?
Toji lowered himself into a crouch, his powerful legs rippling as he sprung off the ground with so much force a vortex of dirt, grass and wood followed him all the way into the air.
“Whoa, shit!” He cried, losing aerial stability whilst 100 feet above the treeline. On one hand, he could finally see where he was; a long ways away was the courtyard entrance of Jujutsu Tech he’d come from—why on earth had he gone into the woods instead of just going back the regular way? Luckily, the road leading up the mountain was a winding path, and it was only a few short, super-powered strides away from his current position.
A rough landing later, Toji quickly barreled through what woodland remained between him and the paved road; before speeding down the mountainside at the speed of a car.
Absolute concentration.
Synapses fired at instantaneous speeds, bodily systems shutting down to preserve as much cognitive function as possible. He wasn’t sure how much of it was conscious effort, and what was sheer organic instinct; every cell in his body dedicated into preserving his life for milliseconds more as he raced to unlock the Reverse Cursed Technique.
He was in a strange state, mind detached from his physical self as his genius-level intellect grappled with every high level mathematical concept he could attribute to the only cursed technique that could save his life. With his frontal lobe perforated, there was no personality present left in his head—no coherent thought that could be translated into words; only a storm of incomprehensible equations and calculus as he ran his Limitless technique through any and every, and he meant, every, application possible.
And with the chill of death’s breath on the side of his face, its sickle carving itself underneath his neck - reaching for his soul, the remaining cognition that constituted Satoru Gojo’s consciousness reached the penultimate epiphany; a groundbreaking conclusion that revolutionised the usage of his hereditary technique.
The universe itself seemed to cheer Satoru Gojo, the shadow of the heavens upon the Earth, the honoured one in all his glory, as the formulae for Reverse Cursed Technique synthesized itself within his head. And then, on the needle-brink of death, Satoru Gojo pulled upon his immense Cursed Energy reserves and applied his newly manifested Positive Energy throughout every orifice in his body.
The technique rushed through his veins like fire, breathing life to a near-corpse. He felt coagulated blood be expelled from horrendous, fatal wounds; gouged flesh materialised from nothing and open wounds sealed themselves like invisible hands sewing a doll. Limbs that had already gone cold became flushed with heat, as the Positive Energy breathed new life and power into every cell in his body. His brain, which moments ago was shutting down, cortex by cortex, came alive with an overwhelmingly euphoric rush of hormones; inciting a chemical high so great Gojo felt he could break into a song.
He couldn’t help it. From his place on the ground, in a pool of his own blood, Gojo broke into an uncontrollable fit of giggles - eventually increasing into an uncontrollable fury of laughter. His throat grew hoarse with the harsh barking, a soreness which he immediately extinguished with another flex of his Reverse Cursed Technique. He laughed harder. He couldn’t stop laughing.
Then he felt a hand impact the side of his cheek.
“Satoru!” Strong hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him out of his drugged stupor. Above his fallen form, the broad figure of his best and only friend, Suguru Geto crouched, knees in the pool of blood left by the other’s injuries. Usually narrow eyes were blown wide with concern as they stared down into his own, rimmed with the slightest hint of tears. “Satoru, you- How, y-you!-”
Satoru snapped a hand out to grip Suguru by the cuff of his shirt, bringing him close as his face broke into a crazed expression—pupils so constricted his eyes became an ocean of soul-piercing blue.
“I figured it out, Suguru!” The honoured one squealed, dried blood crusting at the ends of his eerily wide grin. “On the verge of death- I did it! I uncovered the true essence of cursed energy!”
With that, Satoru released his friend, splashing back into his own blood as he rolled to and fro, delirious beyond reason as he giggled like a child in a puddle of his own gore.
“Satoru, get a hold of yourself! What happened!? Where is the assassin- How did he do this to you?!” Suguru pressed, grabbing a hold of Satoru once more to keep him still.
The Spirit Manipulation user fought off the dizzying sense of relief that flooded through him the moment Satoru sat up after minutes of having no pulse. The sight that greeted him and Riko when they returned from master Tengen’s underground premises was nothing short of horrifying. Suguru truly hadn’t thought a single force on the Earth would ever be mighty enough to even scratch Satoru Gojo, the man who could nullify all manners of physical damage with hardly a thought.
To find his best friend in a pool of his own blood, motionless and without a heartbeat—Suguru incapable of performing CPR due to Satoru’s chest being ripped open, it was a fear he hadn’t ever felt, even against the most fearsome of curses. And that was excluding the fact that the assassin who’d done this to the Satoru Gojo was still out there!
He had gulped, surveying the surroundings frantically as he regretted having brought Riko and her handler out from the catacombs. The pair had stood just behind him, both gone pale at the sight of what could only have been a corpse of the strongest sorcerer alive.
Until he woke up.
“Who? The black haired guy?” Gojo said with a dreamy smile, a flush overtaking his flesh which was paper pale just seconds ago. “Ahhh, I know! Him! Right, how could I forget! Him! Him!” He then broke out into another fit of manic giggles.
“Satoru!”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry Suguru, it's just everything…” Satoru’s head swayed backward, his eyes glittering like sapphire jewels as they caught the sun's rays. “Everything just feels so beautiful right now. I’m not even mad at him, isn’t that crazy?”
A firm hand grasped Satoru’s forearm, pulling him to his feet. “Focus, Satoru! He must be after Amanai, he could be anywhere—waiting to strike!”
“Suguru,” Satoru sniggered, “He’s like… Long gone, haha.”
His best friend could only stare back at him with bewilderment. “Gojo, what the fuck is wrong with you right now?”
“I was stabbed through the head twenty seven minutes ago! Wow! Twenty seven minutes!” Satoru swooned at his own accomplishments, continuing despite Suguru’s confusion. “Anyone else would have died, but not me! When he got past my Infinity—”
“—he what!?”
“—I refocused all my efforts solely on preserving my body and cracking the Reverse Cursed Technique. I really cut it close there, haha! I think I was a few seconds away from, like, total brain death!”
“Satoru, where is the assassin!?”
Another uncontrolled burst of laughter, “Suguru, he was after the bounty on my head! He thought he got me and left right after, I’m sure of it!”
“What makes you so sure?”
And then, for the first time in this brief yet shocking exchange, Satoru looked directly at the pair of women behind Suguru.
“I was stabbed unconscious a whole twenty seven minutes ago! If he was after the girl—hi Amanai!—those two woulda been dead!”
The words spilled out lighthearted and with a lilt of euphoria just like everything else that spewed from Gojo’s mouth post-resurrection, but the delivery froze Suguru and the two women behind him to their spots.
“W-what?” Suguru stammered, “No- Satoru, I was with them the whole time, he never would’ve gotten the chance-”
“Nope!” Satoru floated off the ground a little bit, blood dripping from his clothes, posing strangely in the air as he basked in the afternoon glow. “Sorry Suguru, but you wouldn’t stand a chance against that guy! He got one up on me, and you know how impossible that is!”
Suguru could only stare at him, mouth open in shock. Gojo let out another giggle. “He won’t be able to do it again though.”
“Y-you!” Riko Amanai stuttered, pointing a dainty finger towards Satoru, “You lost? Against him?”
Gojo spun lazily in the air, drawing out a long groan. “Ahhh, noo! Don’t say it like that, ugh, now I have to find him for a rematch!” Then, Satoru did a double take, finally realising something crucial as he appraised Amanai and Kuroi’s presence. He processed the sight for a second, grinning wide and bloody, before looking at Suguru. “So, no merger?”
Suguru failed to return the grin.
Memories flooded through Toji’s head, guiding him away from the private premises of Jujutsu Tech and into the greater Tokyo metropolitan area. The memories came at random intervals, small details on the former Toji’s life; his habits, lifestyle and flashes from his past. It felt like a timeline in his memory was slowly being filled in with an assortment of memories, coming in randomly one after the other. Nothing really all that useful of course, small shit like what he had for breakfast a few days, or weeks, or months(?) ago.
It was all so disorienting. At the very least, by some miracle, his bank ID and password came to him as well.
At an ATM, Toji ignored the stares of random passerby - likely because of his towering stature and his roughed up, slightly bloody clothing. Eh, he’d clean up at a hotel or something.
Finally gaining access to his account, Toji gave the number constituting his balance a hard stare.
“Oi, this… This has gotta be a joke…”
>>BALANCE: ¥ 4182.24
Wasn’t that like… only thirty dollars? The fuck?
“H-how am I so broke!?”
More onlookers stopped to look at him, but he could not find it himself to care, gazing at his bank balance like it was an enemy.
“Fuck,” He hissed, before withdrawing his card from the ATM.
He raised a finger to scratch at his head, pondering on what the hell to do now. Toji was a mercenary for hire, right? Was Kong his only contact? Surely not.
Something tickled the back of his mind, prompting him to activate the inventory curse and open his hand in front of its mouth expectantly. Lo’ and behold, the curse regurgitated a sleeker-looking cellphone into his palm.
Shrinking the creature and stuffing it into his pocket once more, he opened the secondary phone and found a more comprehensive list of contacts. Wow. How thoughtful of old Toji to helpfully label each and every contact to their uses and association with him. As he scrolled down the list his eyes passed over Tetsua Ikeda (shady pharmacist), and Nakoi Yasui (pachinko). His eyebrows raised to his hairline as he read Setsuna, no last name, followed by (gives crazy head).
“Eugh, Toji you fuckin’ unemployed bum,” He stuck his tongue out, “Come on, there’s gotta be someone related to work…”
>>Iwai Kichirou (Job Vendor)
The uncharacteristic capitalization of the summary for this contact outlined its importance relative to the others. Toji stood in place for a moment, tapping the cellphone against his forehead as he thought long and hard.
Was he really about to go carry out a job? Well, it wasn’t as if he had much choice- Toji’s mediocre balance wouldn’t last him the week- well, maybe it would, this was pre inflation after all…
Still, how was he meant to flee the country with four grand in yen? That was like, one night at the shoddiest hotel in the city!
He drew in a long sigh. There was really no other way, was there.
Huffing through his nose, he opened his text messages with this Kichirou, scrolling up and analysing the pattern of their conversations. Most interactions were opened up on Kichirou’s end, where he’d notify Toji of some nameless job opening, followed by a nonchalant acceptance form Toji’s side, then an archaic weblink to the information pertaining to the job. The exchanges were brief, with little to no conversation. It surprised Toji that the conversations were saved, he’d have thought that a threat to opsec or something.
A breath in. A breath out.
yo :[You]
Short, unprofessional, and laughingly casual, like the rest of Toji’ messages. He couldn’t really send anything else, in fear of setting off any kind of suspicion from possibly his only link to quick cash. He was just about to slide his phone back into his pocket, before it buzzed suddenly.
Huh, that was fast. Flipping the phone open again, he read the message.
[Iwai Kichirou (Job Vendor)]: I don’t think I remember the last time you messaged me first.
Toji’s adam’s apple bobbed as he waited a little longer for any follow up texts, but nothing came.
i need a job :[Toji]
[Iwai Kichirou (Job Vendor)]: So soon?
[Iwai Kichirou (Job Vendor)]: Did you already blow off your winnings from the last one?
Yeah. Yeah, he probably did.
smth like that :[Toji]
need work, today :[Toji]
A beat. He could see Kichirou typing, but a cold chill swept over him as he came to a frightening realisation. Frantically, he tagged on another message, perhaps too frantically.
no killing :[Toji]
The typing from the other end stopped, and Toji’s heart lurched into his throat. Ugh! What an idiot! He should’ve—shit, what kind of work was he supposed to do that didn’t involve murder?
The typing resumed, each second dragging out for a painfully long minute.
[Iwai Kichirou (Job Vendor)]: Killing? What on earth are you talking about?
W-what? That… that wasn’t what he was expecting.
Fuck, did he say the wrong thing? Did he misread this entire gimmick with the “Job Vendor”!?
[Iwai Kichirou (Job Vendor)]: Watch it over SMS. You’re acting really uncharacteristic today.
He was already fucking it up. Was it a bluff? It had to be, right? I-it wasn’t as if he could admit to murder over text message, shit. Fuck it; Toji needed work ASAP and can’t dawdle now. Any time today, Satoru Gojo would awaken and hunt him down. He needed money, quick. What was something Toji would say?
idgaf other job went south, gotta lay low, gimme something quick and easy :[Toji]
Typing…
[Iwai Kichirou (Job Vendor)]: Lucky for you, I have something.
The next message was a weblink, leading to an archaic website that looked like it was made in the 2000s, probably because it was. Thank God his cellphone had a web explorer application; no way in hell Toji owned any other sort of meaningful technology.
The website was plain and nondescript, no fancy front-end gui, just some convoluted script in the https link that probably prevented web crawling. In other words, untraceable.
Mostly. Toji probably didn’t give two shits about his web security.
Scrolling through the page on his frustrating small screen was annoying, but it only took him a few minutes to sparse through all the information on the page. Apparently he was meant to… What in the Kazuma Kiryu was this?
Repossess the one of a kind Maserati Birdcage from the Ryuu Estate.
The page listed details about the compound that the one of a kind Italian concept car was kept in, including guard rotations, numbers, camera locations and ground plans for the sprawling property. The car itself was kept in a large, luxurious warehouse to the side of the estate; furthest from the entry gates.
Was this not just a fucking Yakuza mission?
He rubbed a fist against his forehead, reading the address of the estate to the edges of Tokyo. Fuck. He did not expect this. Couldn’t he just beat some important person up?
Then his eyes bugged out upon seeing the price listed for a job well done.
>>¥ 7,000,000 minus damages
HOLY SHIT THAT was a LOT of fucking MONEY!
Without thinking, he tapped back to his conversation with Kichirou. He didn’t think for a moment that the mission described wasn’t typically like Toji would ever undertake himself; with all the discretion, stealth, and care that was mentioned in the website; the car itself had to be completely mint in order for Toji to collect the full reward after all. And in hindsight, the old Toji probably didn’t even know how to drive.
will be done in a couple of hours :[Toji]
>Seen by Iwai Kichirou (Job Vendor)
Toji just stood in shock for a few seconds, his mouth parting dumbly as he snapped the fliphone shut.
Well… shit. It looked like he had a sportscar to go steal. As he had literally nothing better to do—he immediately head in the direction of the place, before realising he had no idea where he was going. And google maps wasn’t a thing either. Shit; finding the place would be tougher than he thought…
…Hm. Some part of his brain itched. Was he forgetting something?
He thought long and hard, before shrugging. Whatever it was, surely it wasn’t more important than his continued survival.
Surely.