Chapter Text
“Were you always this weak, Mahito?”
The very barrier of his domain split apart in seconds, neat slices criss-crossing the solid spherical walls under his touch. Yuuji regarded the small, slumped curse with disdain, hood obscuring his vision.
It was Mahito. He deserved it. He’d killed Nanamin, permanently scarred Kugisaki, and killed millions. Yuuji was allowed to feel satisfied as he slowly split apart under his Dismantle. He was lucky, in fact, that he’d gotten a quick death.
He turned with a heavy sigh. Maru needed to talk to him, right? That was the whole point of killing Mahito. To eradicate curses as a whole.
He’d continue Tsukumo’s dream. What Gojo-sensei had been working towards. What Choso had died for.
He turned, expecting to see an awaiting Simurian, maybe the remnants of Mahito that Maru would have collected. Instead, –
His eyes widened. Air rushed past him, bringing faint scents of rich soil, trees, floating wafts of sweetness and sugar he hadn’t tasted on his tongue in years–
Yuuji’s hands came up instinctively to Cleave, cursed energy gathering around his fingertips. As soon as they coalesced into glowing spirals of energy, they dissipated, sucked into whatever void that was currently pulling him along.
It was over in seconds. Just as soon as he’d gotten his bearings, summoned a thick layer of cursed energy around him, he found himself gasping on a layer of soft grass. Something cold seeped into the back of his clothes, hitting his back and spreading its frosty touch over his skin.
Yuuji slowly pushed himself up. A bright, glaring light met his unshielded eyes, a brilliant white that slowly faded to cloud-dotted azure sky. His eyes adjusted quickly, and he pushed himself up further to take in his surroundings.
He was in a grassy field, he decided. His gaze swept around the area, taking in the occasional tree. Stone paths lined the fields in the distance, and if he squinted, he could see small dots of brown dotting the horizon.
Keeping his guard up, he stood to his feet. Looking down at himself, his clothes had drastically changed. Gone was his usual frayed hoodie, replaced with a newer, clean one. He clenched his fist. Smooth, unweathered skin met his nails, clean and unbroken.
“What the–?” Yuuji murmured, bringing his hand up to his eyes. Clean, uncalloused skin met his eyes, and he slowly brought his hand up to his face. He ran his fingers over the corner of his mouth, feeling the soft nicks there. So that hadn’t changed. His hand inched up to his forehead, feeling the unblemished skin.
The scar that had once stretched over his face was gone. The last time it hadn’t been there was when he was fifteen, in his first year of Jujutsu High. When the entire shitshow had started, and when Sukuna had been a threat to him. When was it? Sixty-eight years ago?
Well, there was nothing he could do right now except walk. So walk he did, heading towards the small brown specks on the horizon resolutely, every step sinking into the muddy ground. After a few minutes, he reached the stone-lined paths, and his breath caught as he stopped. And stared.
At the towering traditional buildings, worn wood peeling away after years of use. Vending machines tucked away in small corners, their selection pitiful as always. As always?
A familiar sight. But Jujutsu High was surely old and worn down after years, maybe even upgraded with the tech the new age provided. If anything, it seemed older than before, no wires littered on the engawa hanging out from the rooms. Sakura petals fluttered from the sky – was it spring?
Yuuji took a shaky step forward, legs almost failing him as he gazed at the buildings. Where..where was he? This was definitely not his Jujutsu High, nor did it look like something the modern age would have made.
“Hey!”
His gaze snapped to the voice, his cursed energy suppressing itself instantly as blood roared in his bloodstream. His muscles tense, his eyes snapped to the person–
A Jujutsu High uniform. Crow-black hair, a single thick lock falling over fox-like eyes. Yuuji recognized that visage, knew it, he’d stared at it for ages, but–
Was it Geto Suguru, or was it Kenjaku?
His eyes darted to the pale forehead. No stitches. No black lines dotting the uncreased skin. Which meant–
It wasn’t Kenjaku.
“Are you part of Jujutsu High?” Geto bounded over, glancing at his outfit curiously. “That’s not the uniform, but maybe you’re a new student? What’s your name?”
His tone was friendly, curious, but not threatening in the least. It was almost unbelievable, hearing this voice without the smooth, slow drawls that Kenjaku would purr. It wouldn’t hurt to figure out where, or when, this was, right? There was no way it was his time. Maybe an effect of his and Mahito’s techniques clashing.
“Itadori Yuuji,” he answered. He couldn’t think of a new name off the bat, and his name wasn’t tied to anything if this was when he thought it was. “Um, I’m not part of Jujutsu High, but I was hoping to speak with the principal? Yaga-sensei, maybe?”
Geto frowned, soft purple eyes raking over his slightly disheveled appearance. His eyes wandered to the twin crescent scars under his eyes, to the scar running over the corner of his mouth, and his mouth twisted in worry.
“Just..a run-in with a curse,” Yuuji scratched his head, waving it off. Geto nodded in understanding, smoothing over his face again. “I understand, Itadori-san,” he nodded. “Then, did you want to see Yaga-sensei, or the principal?”
Was Yaga not the principal? If that was the case, then either he’d gone way back in time, or he was dying and this was some kind of hallucination his mind had supplied. He decided to go with the former. “Whichever one’s available,” Yuuji settled on. “I wouldn’t want to impose, after all…”
He trailed off, watching Geto carefully. He’d prefer Yaga, of course, but he’d establish more trust with Geto if he pretended not to know much about jujutsu. Well, jujutsu before he’d been introduced to it had probably been different anyways, so he should probably stay alert.
“Well,” Geto hummed, turning and gesturing to Yuuji to follow, “Yaga-sensei should be in his office. Follow me, Itadori. I’ll lead you there.”
Yuuji jogged over, turning his head every way to take in the sights. The air was fresh, hitting his face as the spring wind whipped his hair around. He breathed in the sharp air, feeling like heaven after years of curse-infested air in Tokyo.
The path was the same, only it led to what used to be Gojo’s office rather than Yaga’s. Geto stayed silent the entire time, offering no interactions other than the occasional curious glance at Yuuji.
Yuuji appreciated it, in a sense. He might have lived for decades at the age of twenty, but that didn’t mean he needed time to process what the fuck was going on. The long walk gave him time to think about what had happened thus far.
So. To lay things out, he’d travelled back in time. Was he dead? Probably not, because he’d go to hell if whatever gods that watched over death decided to take a peek at what he’d been doing over the past couple years.
If Geto Suguru was alive, a teenager at Jujutsu High by the looks of it, without Kenjaku possessing him, then…was it safe to say it was around 2006? Him and Gojo-sensei had been around the same age, after all. But the question was…
“Geto-san?” He chanced.
“Yes, Itadori?” Geto answered back, turning his head to look at him as he pushed open the double doors, stepping onto the wood panels softly. Yuuji followed, a wave of nostalgia rushing over him as he glanced around the familiar rooms.
“What year are you in?” he asked curiously. “You seem so mature, but you’re in school, right?”
“This is my first year,” Geto told him. So, same age as him, he supposed. “We’ve only started school about two or so weeks ago, so if you want to join, you’re not behind at all,” he reassured Yuuji.
Well, wasn’t that a relief. “Are there any other students in your year, Geto-san?” he asked curiously, tilting his head. “Sorcerers are pretty rare, after all, right?”
Geto hummed, hands in his pockets as he walked further down the hallway, passing what looked like classrooms as he went in further. “There’re two others in my year,” he said after a bit.
“Ah.” Yuuji stared down at the floor for the rest of the way, mind racing. So, he was back in time. Unless this was a giant prank, which he sincerely doubted, considering nothing had been able to affect his appearance for the past few decades. But last he’d checked, Mahito’s technique had nothing to do with time. So, how the fuck had he gotten here?
“We’re here.”
Geto’s voice broke Yuuji out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see Geto stop in front of a clean, polished wood door. The plaque hanging from the front read “Yaga Masamichi”, and his heart picked up just the tiniest bit.
“Well, see you, Itadori,” Geto waved goodbye, ambling away with one last curious look. As soon as he turned the corner, Yuuji reached out a shaking hand, fingers curling around the cold metal knob.
He raised his hand to knock, rapping his knuckles smartly against the wood three times until he heard a called-out “Come in!” in a man’s deep voice. Breathing in deeply, he twisted the knob, opening the door slowly.
Yuuji’s eyes swept across the towers of papers leaning precariously on a wide walnut desk, over the pencils littering the surface, and–
His eyes met a much, much younger Yaga’s glasses, throat heavy as he stepped into the room silently. Yaga’s eyes took him in, stopping at the scar on his mouth momentarily, his expression unreadable.
“H-Hello,” he stammered out, nervous all of a sudden. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe in deeply. What was he so scared about? It wasn’t like he was in danger, or anything. He’d like to see the higher-ups try to kill him.
“And you are?” Yaga asked, tone all business as he leaned forward. He gestured to a chair in front of his desk, and Yuuji lowered himself into it hesitantly, folding his hands in his lap neatly.
“Itadori Yuuji, Yaga-sensei,” he introduced himself to the older man, tracing over the lines on his palm idly. “I…I’d like to apply for Jujutsu High, if that’s alright? I have experience fighting curses, and I think my fighting ability’s proficient enough, so you won’t have to worry about me–”
Yaga held up a tanned hand to stop him, and Yuuji cut himself off from his rambling with a snap of his mouth. “So, what you’re saying is, you’d like to go to Jujutsu High, Itadori?” he confirmed, reaching for some papers on his desk. “How’d you find out about this place, and who trained you? Any family I should know about? Do you have a cursed technique?”
Yuuji glanced down at the floor. “My sensei told me about this place,” he mumbled. Lies were always more convincing when they were the truth, after all. “My sensei trained me, my family all died from curses, and I have a cursed technique. Can I trust you, Yaga-sensei? Can you guarantee my safety?”
Yaga silently slid a sheet of paper in front of him, and Yuuji’s eyes flicked to the text written on it. His eyes widened, and he looked up at Yaga incredulously, failing to hide his emotions behind a facade from shock. “Are you for real, Yaga-sensei?”
“Of course, Itadori,” Yaga told him resolutely. “Jujutsu High offers a safe place for people no matter what. “The fact that you have a cursed technique just helps your already solid case, so I have no problem accepting you. You’re a first year, correct? Would you mind filling this in and showing me your technique?”
Yuuji picked up the pen, pulling the form towards him. It was simple. An acceptance form to Jujutsu High.
He filled it in silently, the only sound between them the scratching of his pen and Yaga’s occasional sip of coffee as he waited.
What’s your name? Itadori Yuuji.
How old are you? Fifteen years old.
Do you have a cursed technique? If so, what is it?
He paused at that, ticking the “Yes” option before hesitating at the blank lines given. What should he say? Blood Manipulation might jeopardize his non-existent relationship with the Kamo, while Shrine would jeopardize his future relationship with the higher-ups.
After a moment of contemplation, he decided to scribble down both. If they threatened him, he could just run away, couldn’t he? What could some stuffy elders do about it? He’d surpassed even Gojo in strength.
He moved on. Do you have any family members (alive)? No.
And so went the form, until the very last question. He paused, twirling the smooth pen in his hand as he sucked in. How to answer…?
Why do you want to be a jujutsu sorcerer?
His mind flashed to the very first time he’d been asked this question. It’d been years and years ago, yet he remembered every single detail. How Yaga-sensei’s cursed corpses had ruthlessly battered him for an answer. How he’d looked back, and decided on a goal right then and there.
But his goal had changed, hadn’t it? He was no longer that boy who’d been just introduced to the very concept of jujutsu. He no longer wanted to be a sorcerer just to help people. If he did, he would have killed all the curses in Tokyo without question, continuing the endless cycle of killing curses.
Curses were despicable. Kill them. They return, fueled with humanity’s negative emotions. Kill them again. An endless circle of kill, hate, and repeat. To help people, he couldn’t just kill every curse he came across. Yaga had spoken the truth so long ago.
He picked up his pen again, pressing it to the paper. His mind made up, he wrote his answer confidently, sliding the paper back to Yaga once he was done.
Yaga picked it up, eyes flicking over it silently. His eyebrows raised at a section, and he turned to Yuuji, a look of pure disbelief on his face. “Blood Manipulation and Shrine? Two techniques, and both being honoured ones at that?”
Yuuji nodded calmly, ignoring how Yaga let out a breathy sigh as he turned back to the form. “Show me later. Why can’t I get a normal student, for once?” he groaned, skimming over the paper again.
He reached the bottom. Yaga turned to Yuuji, an unreadable expression on his face as he lowered the form. “This is your goal, Itadori?”
Yuuji nodded firmly. “Yes, Yaga-sensei.”
Yaga searched his face for any sign of trickery, of wavering determination, but found none. He leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling before pulling himself up with a grunt. “Well, then, Itadori. Welcome to Jujutsu High.”
A soft smile spread across his face, and he closed his eyes as he dipped his head to Yaga. “It’s nice to be here, Yaga-sensei.”
Why do you want to be a jujutsu sorcerer?
I want to change the world. I want to stop the endless cycle the curses make for sorcerers, and carry the hard work on my shoulders. I want to repent for all the bad things I’ve done in life, and treat this as a second chance, because it’s a blessing and a curse, all wrapped in one. I want to eradicate curses from the world, and allow people to be free. I want for people to be able to die surrounded by people, by family, by friends. I want to be able to die a peaceful death. I want to make my “wants”, “wills”.