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Summary
“Did you kill them?”
Yuuji wiped the blood from his hands on his sleeve. “Yeah.”
His mother stepped closer, hollow eyes aglow interest. “And how did it feel?”
He shrugged. “Nothing, really.”
For a moment she studies him, then smiles and smooths his hair back like he’s still a little kid. “Good,” she says softly. “You’re learning.”
Yuuji doesn’t answer. He just stands there and lets her touch him, staring past her shoulder at the drying blood staining his hands, like rust sinking into metal.
Sick. He felt sick.
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(Or, Itadori Yuuji is raised by his mother. This changes things.)