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The Tuesday sun bore down relentlessly on the earth. Itadori Yuuji burst into his room with a loud thud, collapsed onto his unmade bed, and fell asleep before his head could even touch the pillow. He had just returned from a long, perilous mission exorcising special-grade curses alongside the other first-years.
Only now did he finally have time to rest.
In truth, he’d barely slept the night before—having stayed up almost all night binge-watching How I Met Your Mother (suggested by Nobara). Lacking any sense of self-preservation, Yuuji had finished two full seasons in one sitting. He absolutely loved the show and was already emotionally invested, eagerly looking forward to discovering how it ended.
(He would be very disappointed.)
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·TIMESKIP·໒꒱ ────── · ·
A voice rang through his head.
It had only been about three hours since he’d fallen asleep, so Yuuji wasn’t entirely sure whether this was schizophrenia, an intruder, or a disturbingly realistic dream.
“Oi, brat!”
Oh. It was just Sukuna.
Yuuji chose to ignore the voice, as he usually did. Sukuna’s demon-uncle commentary generally amounted to nothing more than cursed tantrums, anyway. All Yuuji offered in response was a tired thought.
'Ugh… all of you old people are so noisy… Why can’t you just be nice for once and let me sleep?'
“You utterly despicable, absolutely loathsome, dim-witted IMBECILE,” Sukuna snapped. “I’m going to miss the next episode of Hell’s Kitchen if you don’t turn on that damned television RIGHT NOW!”
“It’s okaaaayyyyy...” Yuuji whined into his pillow. “You can watch it later. After I finish my nap.”
“NO. I must see whether Ariel wins or gets eliminated, you idiot sandwich child.”
“We talked about this, Sukuna,” Yuuji groaned. “You can’t go around calling people ‘idiot sandwiches’ all the time!”
“You don’t tell me what to do, brat.”
And so, through the unholy power of Gordon Ramsay and idiot sandwiches, Sukuna seized control of Yuuji’s body. As expected, the very first thing he did was grab the remote and turn on the television. He paused, glancing out the window at the peaceful city below.
“...I could probably kill that Gojo right now,” he mused.
Then he turned back to the screen. “But—I must know what happens to Ariel. I know she can still win.”
And so, he watched the episode with intense concentration.
Usually, when Sukuna took control of Yuuji’s body, he sought to destroy as many people as physically possible. Because, well... he could.
But not today.
Today, he had other plans.
To enjoy an episode of Hell’s Kitchen.
The finale.
The one where Mia and Ariel battled for the win.
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·TIMESKIP·໒꒱ ────── · ·
Around thirty-five minutes later, Gordon Ramsay’s voice rang out through the television.
“...The chef whose door opens will become the executive chef of the flagship Hell’s Kitchen restaurant at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas, with a salary of a quarter of a million dollars. On the count of three, I want you to turn your handles in.
One.
Two.
Three.”
Ariel’s door opened.
She stepped through—victorious.
The audience erupted into applause. So did Sukuna.
“YES!! ARIEL WON!” he cheered, his grin just as triumphant as hers on the screen—if not wider. Without another word, the King of Curses retreated back into Yuuji’s mind.
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·AFTERMATH·໒꒱ ────── · ·
Yuuji slowly regained consciousness, his mind immediately flooded with Sukuna’s memories of the finale.
“Ariel won?” he said aloud. “Aww... I was rooting for Mia.”
He glanced out the window—and froze.
The city was still intact.
“...He didn’t blow up the city,” the pink-haired boy murmured in disbelief.
“Thank Jennifer Lawrence.”