Archive of Our Own

So, maybe Yuuji has been a little more reckless after his Gramps passed. But it’s not like he hasn’t taken a crowbar to the back of the head before, so how was he supposed to know that this time he wouldn’t just be able to stumble home and sleep it off?

His vision sways and darkens around the edges, but he still manages to get off two clean punches and a kick that sends the final thug careening into a nearby dumpster. The crook bounces off the metal with a hollow thud and lands in a pile of limbs on the ground. He doesn’t get up.

Die surrounded by people, Gramps had said.

Yuuji locks eyes with the terrified boy huddled with his back against the brick wall. The boy’s eyes are wide and dark behind the scattered curtain of his bangs. Technically, there were a lot of people around him, if you counted all the unconscious hoodlums. Probably not what his grandpa meant, but it’s not like the old man was around to scold him anymore.

It’s getting harder and harder to open his eyes again with every heavy blink. ‘Ah shit,’ Yuuji thinks, ‘this is probably going to mess this kid up.’

The darkness takes him.

—

There are voices around him. A low buzz that filters in gradually. Yuuji tenses, ready to come back up swinging in case he’s still surrounded. But something seems off about the whole situation . . .

For one, it doesn’t smell of aging garbage and mildew. Nor does the surface under his cheek feel very much like concrete. The material feels cool and smooth against his skin, plush, like the type of sheets he’s seen in movies or at fancy hotels. He opens his eyes and sits up in what he now realizes is a futon. The room is expansive and traditional; tatami mats, shoji, and heavy, carved wood furniture that screams expensive.

He’s surrounded by nearly half a dozen people in identical kimono. They’re fussing, hands fluttering over fabric bandages, washcloths, and a basin with pink tinged water. He raises a hand to the back of his head, and feels the criss-cross of bandages instead of the fuzz of his undercut.

The muted chatter of the attendants shudders into pin drop silence. As one, they turn their heads towards a person Yuuji’s just noticed standing in the corner of the room. The figure stands so still it’s eerie. Impassive eyes framed by a perfectly trimmed ivory bob watch him like he’s an animal in a cage.

 “You’re awake,” the person says.

“Yeah,” he responds slowly.

Did that kid bring Yuuji to his home to rest or something? And if so, how loaded was that guy?

“Where am I?” Yuuji tries next.

The attendants don’t do anything so uncouth as to gasp. But the atmosphere in the room abruptly shifts again. Yuuji can see wide eyes and parted mouths in the periphery of his vision. For some reason, he gets the feeling that he shouldn’t have said that.

“You’re home, Young Master Yuuji,” the person in the corner intones. Then, they glide out of the room.

The attendants around him begin to clean up their stations. One reaches over to check his bandages, fingers brisk but gentle as they run down the back of his head. Yuuji tries a smile at her, and receives a neutral-faced nod of acknowledgement.

“What happened?’ He asks the general swarm of people.

“You had a fall, Young Master. Please, rest now,” a voice offers. He can’t tell exactly which one spoke. The flock of servants face him in a line, bow in unison, and then troop out of the room as well. The door slides shut with a gentle thud, leaving Yuuji alone in this strange place.

A fall? Not a crowbar to the back of the head?

—

So it turns out, Yuuji’s not Yuuji.

Or rather, he’s supposed to be Itadori Yuuji—not Ryoumen Yuuji, the second son of the Ryoumen Dukedom—overseen by his elder brother, Ryoumen Sukuna. And yet. And yet, the servants here call him Young Master. They look at him and see Ryoumen Yuuji. And when Yuuji looks in the mirror, he sees a figure a little shorter than he was, cheeks rounder than he remembered, yet with the same pink hair and brown eyes. Ryoumen Yuuji, strangely, looks identical to Itadori Yuuji, if slightly younger.    

Itadori Yuuji is . . . likely dead. Had died in a dank alleyway, surrounded by unconscious thugs, watched by the terrified boy he had tried to save. He hadn’t been able to fulfill his Gramps’ last wish of dying surrounded by smiling faces after all.

And now Yuuji is here, in another world. In another body so close to his own it’s freaky. It’s like his manga, except it’s way more disconcerting when it happens to you.

—

Being a young master is lonely.

Yuuji thought it’d be awesome, now that he lived in a huge mansion with his own quarters (consisting of multiple rooms), had an army of servants nearby, and even acquired some brand new family.

It’s not. Not really. The rooms are fancy as hell, but in a way that kinda makes him nervous to touch anything too much. The servants always seem a little surprised when he says hi to them, and he hasn’t even seen his ‘brother’ once. He misses his worn sheets, soft and a little thin from being washed too many times. He misses his grandpa, though that’s a lost cause, even if he wasn’t in another world. He even kinda misses school, mostly his friends and upperclassmen.

The servants spazz out when he asks them if he can leave the estate, which Yuuji takes as a, “no.” So he’s been entertaining himself by talking at the servants who attend to him frequently enough to become familiar and poking at the books in their huge dusty, old library.

He can read the language, thankfully enough. If Yuuji had to learn it from scratch, he’s not sure how long it would’ve taken. But the books are booorringgg. Comics and manga aren’t a thing here. Just long, dense, dry tomes with way too many words crammed on a page.

He flips through enough to learn that he and Sukuna are the only two living  members of the Ryoumen family, and that the Ryoumen family is intimately associated with curses. There’s magic in this world, or sorcery rather, and monsters.

Each noble family practices their own special technique. The sort of stuff that would fit in being shouted out as an attack in a shounen. Yuuji does try to use one of the Ryoumen family’s special techniques once: He finds a quiet corner, focuses, says, “Dismantle!” and strains so hard he feels like something’s going to pop inside him. Nothing happens.

A head pokes out from around the corner, regarding him with an expression that’s half-confused, half-pitying. “Hey, Shimura-san,” Yuuji says, waving awkwardly. She’s one of the servants who attends to him regularly, which means he’s now going to have to look in her eyes knowing that she overheard him doing this. He should have gone further away before trying this.

And then one day—Sukuna summons him.

Yuuji meets his brother for the first time in Sukuna’s office. Or at least, the mountains of scrolls seem to indicate it’s an office, even if the paperwork is also accompanied by low-burning candles that drip crimson wax, the scent of ash and incense, and way more sake than Yuuji expected for someone who’s making decisions for an entire region of a kingdom. There are skulls on the bookshelves. Multiple skulls.

It’s all very sinister looking. Yuuji guesses they really are a curse family.  

Sukuna suits the setting, imposing even as he lounges behind his desk in loose robes. The attendant with a white bob is here too, standing perfectly silent and still in the corner of the room.  

“I hear you’ve suddenly sprouted an adventurous spirit,” Sukuna begins. His voice is a deep bass rumble that Yuuji can feel in his chest. Yuuji instinctively reaches up to touch the back of his head, but all he feels this time is the fuzz of his hair. The bandages had been off in a day. It seemed Ryoumen Yuuji had the same unusual constitution that Itadori Yuuji had.

“Uh yeah, I guess so,” Yuuji responds. He’s not sure exactly how Ryoumen Yuuji would have responded. Probably not the way that Itadori Yuuji would, if the servants’ reactions have been any indication.

Sukuna stands and makes his way around his desk to stand in front of Yuuji. Yuuji isn’t sure if it’s just the sheer breadth and height of the man, but Sukuna always seems to give the impression of looming.

Sukuna raises an arm, and Yuuji almost doesn’t see the blow coming.  

“Woah hey,” Yuuji blinks the hand a few inches away from his face, “That’s not cool.” His forearm stings where he intercepted Sukuna. Yuuji knows he's strong, unnaturally so, so Sukuna must also have the same sort of weirdo body Yuuji does to hit that hard and fast.

Sukuna stares down his nose at Yuuji for a long moment. His eyes, Yuuji notices, are the color of dried blood. Then, Sukuna drops his arm and returns to his seat at his desk as if nothing had happened.

“Uraume,” Sukuna orders.

The white haired attendant walks over to Yuuji. There's a small wooden box in Uraume’s hands, which they open to reveal a silver cuff with three ruby colored stones embedded in it.

“If you're too much of a fool to stay put, wear this. I’ll know if you do not.”

Yuuji takes the cuff and slides it onto his wrist. This was all kinda weird, but basically he had received permission to go outside now, right? Nice!

—

Their territory is surprisingly nice, for a region ruled by a family associated with curses. Yuuji thought that Ryoumen dukedom would be a land plagued by constant monster attacks, or that they would be stricken by terrible droughts for daring to use dark sorcery, but the citizens in the nearby town seem peaceful and prosperous.

It’s unusual then, that Yuuji sees a couple of small figures in threadbare clothes hovering at the edge of the market. He keeps seeing them, and it’s hard to ignore such a longing, hungry look on so young a face.

Yuuji approaches them for the first time armed with bribes, buns still steaming from the bakery. Yuuji offers one to the taller kid. The kid herds the smaller one behind his back and considers at Yuuji with wary eyes. They’re a little unusual—the kid’s eyes—fully black from pupil to sclera. But he’s still just a kid, and those strange eyes look starved. Yuuji tries not to stare. It’s probably something totally normal in this world, and he's just being rude.

“I’m Yuuji!” he starts.

“Eso,” the kids responds. He regards the bread in Yuuji’s outstretched hand and snatches it, splitting it in half and passing a portion to the other kid behind him. “And Kechizu.”

“Are you guys okay? The local temple runs an orphanage,” Yuuji offers.

Eso sneers at Yuuji, “They won’t accept us. We’re cursebloods. Bad omens.”

The Ryoumens were associated with curses too, right? “Oh cool. Me too, I think.”

Eso falters. Then he’s glaring at Yuuji, furious for some reason Yuuji can’t understand, “Kechizu, show him.”

The smaller kid reaches for the hood pulled low over his face and tugs it back with clumsy fingers. Kechizu looks . . . inhuman. His skin is a color Yuuji hadn’t realized people could have, features twisting together like melted crayons. With his face bared, Kechizu reaches for the back of Eso’s cloak, fingers tangling in the threadbare fabric.

“Onii-chan?” Kechizu asks in a faltering voice. Eso glowers down his nose at Yuuji, daring him to say something.

Kechizu looks hungry too. Yuuji reaches into his sack and pulls out another bun, offering it to the both of them.

“-dori. Itadori-kun, are you there?”

Yuuji startles to attention, eyes finally registering the familiar sight of the musty little utility room the Occult Club had used as their clubroom. Sasaki-senpai draws her hand back from where she had been waving it in front of his face.

“Jeez, are you feeling under the weather? Don’t catch whatever Iguchi-kun did. I thought idiots couldn’t catch colds, but somehow he managed it.” She turns her attention back to her handheld game console, and a familiar sight draws his attention to the console’s screen. Pink hair like his own, tall and broad with sharper features and crimson eyes.

It’s—“Sukuna?”

“Oh Itadori-kun, do you play this?”  

“No, he’s—” my brother now, Yuuji trails off. Because Yuuji wasn’t in this world anymore, was he?

“I thought I had finally found someone to talk to!” Senpai laments. “Everyone dismisses it because it’s just a dating sim, but the story is really good, you know!” Sasaki-senpai’s expression turns sly, “Itadori-kun, how about this,” she shoves the bag of chips next to her towards him, “I’ll give you these snacks, and I get to ramble about this for as long as they last, deal?”

That’s definitely Sukuna on the screen, flowing robes, black markings, and all.

“Deal,” Yuuji replies.

“Yay! Okay, right now I’m playing a new game plus for the Curseblood Fallen ending, which is the true ending. To get there you have to play through this guy’s, Ryoumen Sukuna’s route, even though he’s kind of a rude asshole.”

Yuuji munches on a chip and nods along. Sukuna did seem like an asshole.

“This whole route’s story actually revolves around Sukuna’s brother though, not Sukuna. It turns out that his brother isn’t his brother at all, but a vessel that their clan manufactured to contain the cursed spirit that Sukuna was originally born with.”

Wait . . . Sukuna’s little brother? That was him now, wasn’t it? Sukuna didn’t have any other little brothers, right? Yuuji splutters as fragments of chips go down the wrong pipe.

“Woah! Itadori-kun, you okay!?”

Yuuji thumps his chest until he’s no longer breathing in fried potato and gives his senpai two thumbs up. “Keep-keep going,” he rasps.

“Okaay . . . So, Sukuna was born with the cursed spirit because he had such a high affinity for cursed energy. But the Ryoumen clan didn’t want to lose such a promising sorcerer and heir, so instead they cut a deal with a witch for a vessel who could contain the spirit instead. So this whole route is about how the cursed spirit is released and is going to destroy the kingdom, and you have to fight it with the team of characters you assemble.”  

“And Yu-Sukuna’s little brother?”

“Oh he’s dead. That’s why the cursed spirit gets released.”

Which meant that Yuuji was going to die. Again.

“The fight’s supposed to be not that hard though, especially if you’re in new game plus and recruit both Gojo and Sukuna. Oh! Gojo’s route is the main route for this game, you’ve gotta see him, he’s so gorgeous!”  

Yuuji stares with unseeing eyes as his senpai flips through the gallery for him.

Yuuji wakes with a gasp and feels his heart thrumming wildly in his chest, alive. For now. The clubroom and his senpai are nowhere to be seen. Moonlight streams in through the shoji panels. The too plush sheets under his cheek and the rich, dark wood of the traditional furniture are familiar now.

Yuuji was going to die again. But maybe . . . this time, he could fulfill his grandpa’s final wish.

Yuuji has a bad feeling.

Eso and Kechizu hadn’t met him at the town square like usual. He hadn’t seen them anywhere, and there’s no way Yuuji would’ve missed them, he had gifted them their new cloaks himself.

Eventually, Yuuji gets desperate enough to venture down the alleyways, towards the parts of town that Eso and Kechizu tell him not to go. “Don’t follow us,” Eso had warned, “You’re the type of idiot who’ll get kidnapped, sold, and help them count the money.” But it’s not like Yuuji had a choice right now.

He doesn’t have to go far before he hears a commotion—the telltale sounds of a fight. “Onii-chan!” He hears Kechizu call, voice breaking and afraid, and Yuuji’s sprinting into the fray before he even realizes it.

Eso and Kechizu have done good work. The men around them look battered, the smell of fresh blood ripe in the air. Yuuji charges in low, tackling one off his feet and laying into his face with quick, sharp blows until the guy under him doesn’t open his eyes again. Yuuji doesn’t recognize these faces. They’re strangers. And stupid.

There’s the glint of metal, and Yuuji arranges his hands in a newly learned pose, eyes narrowed at the next man’s arms. Except, these are just people. He changes course, aims at the metal of the man’s sword instead, and Dismantle tidily splits the weapon in two. The blade clatters to the ground. The man is flummoxed as he abruptly realizes he’s only swinging a hilt.

But Yuuji’s moment of hesitation had cost him. There’s movement just at the edge of his peripheral vision—someone at his back. And even as Yuuji braces for the blow, memories flash behind his eyelids: The ringing of his ears as the crowbar had connected. The feeling of concrete and grit against his cheek as the world had been swallowed up by black.

Yuuji doesn’t want Eso and Kechizu to watch.

The blow never lands. There’s a choked gurgling instead, and the whump of a body collapsing onto the ground. Yuuji turns to look at his savior. A boy with haphazardly tied-up hair and tired violet eyes that pierce straight through him. Yuuji knows him, even though Yuuji's never met him, through Eso and Kechizu’s stories.  

“Choso,” Yuuji greets.

“Otouto,” Choso says back, deep and heartfelt.

“Yeah,” Yuuji nods, then pulls up short. Wait what? ‘Little brother?’ He glances at Eso and Kechizu, who are staring at him with expressions of dawning realization.

“I felt it here,” Choso says with a solemn hand over his heart, “when the blade was at your back. You are one of us. You are our little brother.”

Yuuji blinks, was this a metaphorical thing? Like, he became really close with Eso and Kechizu, so now he was Choso's little brother too? Still, Yuuji nods along. It was nice to have found people who accepted him so deeply.

“Call me onii-chan,” Choso continues, intently.

Okay then.

—

Yuuji’s heart thrums in his throat as he approaches Sukuna’s quarters.

‘Dearest brother-’

‘Hey Sukuna, I’ve been hanging out with this family of curseblood kids, but they suddenly disappeared. Could you please help me-’

‘So! The Ryoumen family are basically cursebloods, right? So these brothers I know are also cursebloods but they’ve gone missing-”

They would have told him. Eso, Kechizu, and Choso call him brother. They would have let Yuuji know if they were going anywhere, but the ramshackle room they call home had been bare of all of their belongings.

Yuuji knocks twice perfunctorily, and slides open the door to Sukuna’s office. “Suk- . . .” he trails off. Choso, Eso, and Kechizu look back at him. Because . . . they’re standing in Sukuna’s office.

“Otouto,” Choso greets. His hair is less haphazard than usual, and his clothes are different—cleaner and less worn.  

“Onii-chan,” Yuuji responds, so full of relief he says it without thinking.

“What. Did you just call him?” Sukuna snarls.

Yuuji’s blood turns to ice. “Nothing! Uhh . . . Suku-nii?” he tries. Except, Sukuna is already standing, fingers assuming a familiar position. “Kuna!” he yelps, “Don’t use Dismantle in your office!”

There’s motion at his side, and Yuuji turns to see streams of blood coalescing at Choso’s fingertips. “Choso, don’t!”

Yuuji whips his head back to see Sukuna open his mouth, and in a last ditch effort shouts, “Uraume-san will have to clean it up if you Dismantle this room!” Uraume blinks in the corner, but doesn’t protest Yuuji’s use of their name. It’s basically an agreement.

Sukuna releases a low, grumbly growl, but lowers his hands and settles back into his seat. Choso’s stream of blood doesn’t dissipate, but he doesn’t fire it either. Sukuna and Choso glare at each other from across the room.

“Choso,” Yuuji prods, and Choso releases his technique at last. Yuuji lets loose a sigh.  

“Your eyes aren’t bad, brat,” Sukuna comments, watching the blood disperse, “I may have more uses for them than expected.”

“Kuna, why are they here?”

“You’re fond of these mutts, aren’t you? They’re yours now. They’ll serve the Ryoumen family.”

Something’s been calling to him. Constant whispers in the depths of his mind. Following them isn’t even really a choice.

They lead Yuuji to a woman in a cave. She has short dark hair, and eyes the same warm brown as his. But looking into them makes every inch of Yuuji’s skin crawl with the urge to get away. She smiles at him and it doesn’t reach her flat, piercing eyes. The skin of her forehead is marred by grotesque scars.  

“My darling boy,” she greets him.

Yuuji takes a hesitant step back. There’s something wrong here. Wrong with this woman. Wrong with this cave. Her lips draw down, but like her smile, the expression doesn’t mar the perfect stillness of her eyes.

“Have you been led so astray you won’t even greet your own mother?”

“You’re my . . . mom?” Ryoumen’s Yuuji’s mother? But then, why were he and Sukuna listed as the only surviving Ryoumens?

“Yes, my darling boy. My beautiful, perfect vessel.”

Yuuji doesn’t blink, wouldn’t dare to in this moment. But the woman is abruptly right in front of him anyways, impossibly, inhumanly fast.

“You’re the witch.” The one the Ryoumens had cut a deal with to receive Yuuji as a vessel.

She hums a noise of agreement, “Yes, the mortals do call me that now, don’t they? The Witch of the South. But I don’t want to hear that from you, dear child. Call me Kaori. No, call me mom.”

“Kao-” Yuuji begins. A frigid hand lashes out and seizes his face, fingers like steel hooking behind his teeth and prying his jaw apart. Kaori’s fingers dig deep into the joints of his jaw until Yuuji has no choice but to keep his mouth open as she rolls a little orb of inky darkness onto his tongue.

Yuuji doesn’t want to swallow it down. But it’s like the orb liquefies and slinks down his throat with a mind of its own. The taste is foul. Acrid and bitter and so repulsive Yuuji’s not sure he’ll ever find the words to express how fucking awful it was.

He rips himself free of Kao-his mom’s ice cold grip and stumbles backwards, swallowing convulsively like it’ll make the taste in his mouth go away. He tries to get away, keeping his eyes on this terrifying woman, until his foot catches against some rocks and he collapses onto a stone bench.

Yuuji’s hand touches something soft and cool as he goes down, and he whips his head around to see a body. A whole dead body. The body’s eyes are closed serenely, hands neatly crossed over his chest. It’s a boy—probably not much older than Yuuji had been when he died for the first time.

The boy has a curtain of inky black hair, and refined features. He looks peaceful, like he’s a prince only slumbering in this witch’s cavern.

Yuuji has seen this face before, seen it on his senpai’s game console. Getou Suguru was a boy who had smiled pressed alongside the crown prince—the two a matched pair like the moon and the night sky. Then, he had disappeared.

This boy was Gojo Satoru’s great tragedy. The loss that had left the crown prince alone as the strongest. And now, Yuuji was looking at where exactly this boy had vanished.

“Don’t make me punish you again, darling boy,” the witch croons, making Yuuji remember that he has bigger problems than a corpse right now. “Call me mom.”

Yuuji opens his mouth and tries not to choke on the lingering rancid taste on his tongue, “Mom. What was that? And what are you doing with that body?”

“What I fed you was your fate, sweet child. And the body you see is my fate.”

Yuuji doesn’t like the implications of either of those statements. He makes a snap decision, “This body—I want it.”

Kaori’s eyebrows raise delicately in surprise, “My darling son is so spoiled. Then, Yuuji, what will you offer me in exchange?”  

Well, he was going to die anyways, right? “Me. My body. After I die, you can use my body instead.”

The Witch of the South bares her teeth. It is not a smile.

“I accept.”

And then she lunges for Yuuji’s head.

—

“Kuna!” Yuuji calls, as he bursts through the doors of Sukuna’s office, “I need your help with a body.”

Yuuji watches a deranged grin stretch across his brother’s features, and then Sukuna’s eyes catch on something on Yuuji’s face and the expression collapses into a thunderous frown. In a blink, Sukuna is in front of him glaring down at something on Yuuji’s cheeks, “Brat, what have you done?”

Yuuji wrinkles his nose, “Met my mom, I think. Anyways, I need a favor. Please Suku-nii.” Yuuji hitches up Geto Suguru’s corpse so he stops sliding off Yuuji’s shoulder. “Send this body to the palace.”

Sukuna glances at the corpse, then disregards it summarily, “Done. Brat, what do you mean you met your mother?” Sukuna seizes Yuuji’s wrist and shoves his sleeves up, breath hissing through his teeth when he sees all three crimson gems have shattered.

“You stupid fool, you should have died thrice over.” Yeah, Yuuji had gotten that impression when Kaori had tried to slice off his head. Repeatedly. More importantly, Sukuna hadn’t paused when Yuuji had said ‘my mom’ rather than ‘our mom.’

“You knew?” Yuuji asks.

Sukuna’s grip around his wrist turns bruising. Sukuna’s narrowed eyes stare at him from a face that looks so terribly much like Yuuji’s own. The family resemblance is undeniable, even though Yuuji knows now it’s all manufactured.

“You are Ryoumen Yuuji,” Sukuna says, in a tone that brooks no disagreement.

“Okay, Suku-nii.”  

It’s not until Yuuji returns to his chambers that he sees what Sukuna had been looking at on his face. There are scars under his eyes now, as if new eyes could open up there at any second. The same scars Sukuna has. Yuuji hadn’t had those before.

Uraume visits that night with a new silver cuff. Six ruby red gems gleam in the polished metal.

Crown Prince Gojo Satoru was, for the first time since becoming eligible, accepting courting gifts. According to Sukuna, Gojo should have been drowning in them year after year. But the Crown Prince was the greatest stubborn ass (Sukuna's words) to have ever been born in this kingdom, and he had managed to fend off the Council's hounding through sheer obstinacy. No one knew exactly why the Crown Prince had suddenly changed his mind.

Yuuji had been instructed to allow Uraume and Sukuna to handle it. And so Yuuji had. The Ryoumens had submitted to the palace some generic, middling gift just acceptable enough to not cause political friction.

Which is why the whole household goes into an uproar when a missive arrives declaring that the Crown Prince was visiting the Ryoumen dukedom for further discussions.

In person, the Crown Prince truly is a protagonist.

It had been one thing to see an impossibly beautiful face framed in a hazy aura and accented with sparkles on his senpai's console. Seeing him with Yuuji's own eyes, Gojo Satoru is graceful, willowy limbs and the air of someone who has always been the most important person in the room since the moment of their birth. He's painted in shades of ivory: pale skin on snowy hair, eyes bound in white cloth, and blindingly pristine, ornate clothing.

Sukuna had opinions on the Gojo clan's signature techniques being considered holy, as opposed to the Ryoumen's curse sorcery. Centuries of bullshit public image reform until it had stuck, Sukuna had complained. But Yuuji sees now how the reputation had been earned.

Gojo Satoru looks like an angel.

And the very first thing this angel says to Yuuji is, “Oh wow! You're full of filth!”

Yuuji tries to surreptitiously glance down at himself. His attendants had shoved him into the tub and scrubbed him from head to toe in preparation for this meeting, so Yuuji didn't think he was filthy. But he had managed to surprise himself before.

When Yuuji looks up, the Crown Prince has planted his chin on a hand to watch Yuuji with those bandaged eyes, a smirk playing at the edge of the Crown Prince's lips. It clicks. The Six Eyes! The Crown Prince was talking about Yuuji's very soul—was probably staring straight at it.

A chill trickles down Yuuji's spine as he wonders if the Prince can see all the way to the fact that he's an imposter in this world.

“You are Ryoumen Yuuji.”

Yuuji brushes the thought away.

“Ah yeah!” Yuuji agrees, “It's because I ate a cursed spirit.”

“Well wasn't that a stupid thing to do~” His Highness sing-songs.

Yuuji pouts, “I didn't really have a choice.”

At first, anyways. But, Yuuji thinks of Sukuna's grumpy face; of Choso, Eso, and Kechizu; even Uraume's steady presence. The cursed spirit Yuuji held could become one of these greatest demons this kingdom had ever faced. And all it would take to save an incomprehensible number of lives was for Yuuji to lay down his own while this cursed spirit was still nascent.

“Soo, would you do it again?”

“Yeah. I would.” It comes out without thought. Yuuji is almost surprised by the strength of the conviction that he feels well up inside him.

His Highness guffaws, “Wow! You're crazy! Totally an idiot!” The Crown Prince slouches back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other with a showy motion.

The Crown Prince was kind of a jerk, wasn't he? A stray thought flits at the edge of his memory. Yuuji frowns, “It can't be that strange. I'd eat anything to protect the ones I love. Wouldn't you?”

The Prince pauses, his gleeful smile dropping off his lips like a mask. “No. I wouldn't. I'm the strongest even without needing to do something like that. But I knew someone who would.”

Knew. Past tense. And Yuuji finally remembers—Getou Suguru—the boy Yuuji was familiar with only as a cool body draped over his shoulders.

“He was strong. One of the strongest. But he was crazy too. Do you know why, Yuuji?”

Now that Yuuji remembered Getou, it was hard not to reappraise Gojo Satoru as well. The Crown Prince's abrasive arrogance and perfectly cultivated image made it easy to overlook but—Gojo Satoru was as much a boy as Getou's corpse had been. As much of a boy as Yuuji had been when he had died. Gojo still had the fat of youth rounding out his cheeks.

The Prince continues on, not caring for Yuuji's response, “He wanted to purge every single demon in this world.”

It was crazy. Demons were as much a part of this world as floods or earthquakes. New demons were constantly being birthed from the natural fluctuations of magical energy. It would take changing the very fabric magic to cease the onslaught.

“And I will. I'll end every single one! Aren't I a great friend?”

Ah, Gojo Satoru was crazy too. But maybe that's what made him the strongest. Yuuji had no right to judge. Just like everyone else in this kingdom, Yuuji would be relying on Gojo's strength as well when the time came to slay the spirit residing within him.

“Yeah, you are,” Yuuji agrees, “I'll be cheering you on. Just be careful.”

“Be careful? Don't worry, I'm the strongest.”

“I know your Highness. But, still.” Yuuji insists.

The Crown Prince's expression shutters a little, head cocked to the side. Then a saccharine smile crosses his lips.

Between one blink and the next, Gojo is close. Far too close. Close enough for Yuuji to feel the warmth of the Prince's breath fluttering across his skin. Close enough that Yuuji has no choice but to look directly into the Prince's eyes.

Gojo's eyes are blue.

So terribly blue. A thousand, million shades of blue. Like someone folded up every shifting shade in the vast expanse of the sky and tucked them into the Prince’s irises, framed with a delicate fan of snowy lashes.

It almost mitigates the fact that his Highness is pointing the equivalent of a nuclear weapon at Yuuji.

When had Gojo moved? When had he shoved up his blindfold?

Yuuji settles back into his seat. He's glad that he hadn't followed through with his first instinct because clocking the Prince probably wouldn't have been good.

“Yuuuuji~” Gojo sing-songs, “You're so sweet. I hadn't realized the Ryoumens were capable of producing a boy as kind as you.”

They hadn't actually. But for the sake of family Yuuji gives a gamely try at defending their name, “Sukuna's not so bad! He's nice even though he's bad at it.”

Gojo lets loose another round of raucous laughter. When he's finished, he plants his chin on his palm and says, “Yuuji, let's get engaged!”

Yuuji doesn’t really have any objections. He was relying on Gojo in death, after all. Giving Gojo his life didn't seem that far-fetched. A part of him does wonder if he should check with Sukuna first.

But Yuuji must have thought for too long, because Gojo presses, “Yuuujiii, are you breaking my heart? Did you not mean the courting gift you sent me?”

Saying that Yuuji hadn't sent the courting gift was probably not the best course of action. Oh well, it'd probably be okay.

“Okay, your Highness-”

“Gojo.”

“Gojo-san, let's get engaged.”

“You're the best Yuuji!”

—

Sukuna Cleaves his office when he hears of the whole affair. So Yuuji guesses he should have asked after all.

But when Sukuna offers to break off the engagement, political strife with the royal family be damned, Yuuji says no.

Gojo had looked young. That boy with the sky in his eyes and the world on his shoulders. Yuuji wonders what the Prince had seen when he had brought the full brunt of his eyes to bare and looked, really looked, at Yuuji.

For as long as he was able, Yuuji didn't mind keeping Gojo company.

—

“Oh, woah.” Yuuji's finger is hovering an inch away from the spot of cream on Gojo's cheek. It's like there's an invisible forcefield stopping his hand from moving any closer. “Gojo-san, what's that?”

“It's Infinity! It's part of what makes me the strongest~ Nothing can touch me unless I want it to. Aren't I amazing, Yuuji?”

Gojo is always amazing, so Yuuji offers his easy agreement. Yuuji thinks that he might have seen something about this in the Ryoumen library, but it's pretty cool to feel it for himself.

The barrier drops away, and Yuuji is able to swipe away the bit of whipped cream on Gojo's cheek. He pops his finger into his mouth to clean it off.

There's a kinda weird squelching noise. And then, “Yuuuuuuujjiiiii,” Gojo calls in his most plaintive voice.

When Yuuji looks up there's whipped cream smeared all across Gojo's chin and cheeks. Yuuji can't tell if he took a bite, or dove face first into his cake.

“Gojo-san!?”

Gojo pouts. It looks absurd with all the frosting on his face. Still, self-induced or not, Yuuji obligingly reaches out.

—

There are whispers in the back of his mind. Yuuji knows how this goes by now. Except, this time when he wakes with a start, the moonlight is filtered through heavy curtains instead of the shoji of his bedroom.

Right, he's at the palace. Yuuji pants into the quiet of the night. And then there's a warm weight wrapping around his waist.

“Heavy,” Yuuji mumbles, though he's not really complaining. His hand automatically reaches down to twine into snowy white hair. Stroking it feels like what Yuuji imagines touching clouds would be like.

“Are you calling me fat? You're so cruel to your poor fiance,” Gojo whines. Yuuji pets him gently in apology. Yuuji has never really thought about it before, but the way Gojo can come to him so quickly. . .  

“Gojo-san, are our rooms connected?”

“What was that Yuuji? I couldn't quite understand who you were talking to~”

“Satoru-san, are our rooms connected?”

Yuuji feels Satoru nuzzle into his belly, “Isn't it only natural? We're engaged, after all.”

Yuuji thinks Sukuna would try to kill Satoru for this, actually. But that seems to be their default method of interaction, so Yuuji isn't too worried about it. When Yuuji glances down, two luminescent pools of blue blink back up at him innocently.

Satoru is trying to pull a coy expression, Yuuji is pretty sure. But in the darkness all Yuuji can make out are his eyes. They're pretty in the dark. Softly glowing, they kinda remind him of a—

“Nightlight,” Yuuji mumbles.

Oh, maybe Yuuji shouldn't have said that.

He can feel Satoru's face fluxing with emotion against his waist. But, Yuuji's safe and warm, and sleep pulls him under.

Yuuji introduces himself to Fushiguro Megumi with blood on his teeth.

It had been a perfectly nice, sunny blue morning, up until an impossible curtain had suddenly descended on this wing of the palace. Then, the windows had exploded inwards with demons. Meeting an ally had been a pleasant surprise, since few people willingly subjected themselves to Satoru’s presence, and fewer visited Satoru’s wing of the palace.

Fushiguro is undeniably cool. Quick to leap into action. Composed in the face of mortal danger. Yuuji can’t believe they’ve never hung out before! Especially since Fushiguro is Satoru’s (allegedly unwilling) ward.

When all is said and done with the demons, Yuuji asks the question that’s been plaguing his mind since the very moment he saw Fushiguro call his summons: “Can I pet your dogs?”

Fushiguro’s solemn face twitches. “They’re not dogs. They’re shadow summons.”

Yuuji looks at the black and white dogs sitting at Fushiguro’s feet. Their tongues have lolled out of their mouths, furry chests heaving from the recent exertion of fending off demons. Their fluffy tails wag furiously. All the wagging has swept little clean triangles in the shattered debris.  

“They look like dogs.”

“You almost just died,” Fushiguro says, with heartfelt exasperation.

Sure, Yuuji had shoved Fushiguro out of the way of a demon’s whip-like tail. And sure, that same whip-like tail almost bisected Yuuji clean in half. But, with a flash of crimson light, there had been a pool of blood at Yuuji’s feet and the protective cocoon of a ribcage around him, and the blow had never landed. Sukuna would be bitchy about the fact that Yuuji had shattered another gem on his cuff. But he’d get over that. Anyways, Yuuji doesn’t really get how that’s related to his request.

“Yeah. So, can I pet your dogs?”

The face of a dead man looks back at him.

“Getou Suguru,” Yuuji breathes, “You’re alive.”

Getou gives him a look of polite concern. “You must be mistaken, I’m not Getou Suguru. My name is Takada, I’m one of Ieri-Sensei’s apprentices. Have we met before?”

The doors open behind Getou, and out steps palace physician Ieri Shoko. Her tired eyes take in the scene before her—Yuuji’s wide-eyed shock and Getou’s bland, courteous expression. “Give it up, Getou,” Ieri advises, “He was the one that found your body.”

Yuuji’s mouth snaps close with a click. Ieri-sensei knew that he had been the one to find Getou’s body? How did she know that? Did Satoru know? Had Satoru known all this time that it had been Yuuji who had sent Getou’s body to the palace?

Ah. Yuuji hadn’t asked Sukuna to make sure that when Getou’s body was sent to the palace it couldn’t be traced back to them. That was probably his own oversight.

Well, Yuuji was a soul possessing a body that wasn’t truly his. Resurrection probably wasn’t that unusual in this world.

“It’s good to see you looking well, Getou-san,” Yuuji says.

—

Options are thin for socialization when you've recently been resurrected from the dead and only a select number of people know (Getou), or are forbidden from wandering the palace much beyond the crown prince's wing because you keep getting in life-threatening situations (Yuuji).

Anyways, Yuuji is pretty sure Getou is only having this conversation with him because Ieri-sensei insisted. Something gives him the impression that Getou isn’t a terribly social person. Getou’s smile is pleasant, but there’s an edge to it. Something plasticine and distant.

But it turns out the two of them have a lot in common.

“Oh, for real? I'll totally try the honey trick next time! The taste really does linger, it makes everything you eat afterwards super gross too.” Yuuji's almost excited for the next time he gets brain-whispered by his mom to consume the next glob of cursed spirit.

“Do you make it a habit of eating demonic spirits, Ryoumen-san?”

Yuuji shrugs, “Not really, but it’s not like I have much of a choice. I can deal with it.”

“Is that so?” Getou's mild expression doesn't shift, really. But he doesn't seem quite so distant anymore either.

—

“Yeah, dying sucks,” Yuuji commiserates. “You never really go how you expect to. Though, I guess people don’t usually think a ton about how they’re going to die. Or at least I didn’t. Resurrecting isn’t so bad though!”

“Speaking from personal experience as well?” Getou queries as he takes a sip from his teacup. His tone is deliberately casual.

Yuuji realizes what he’s been saying. Nearby, Ieri-sensei has stopped fiddling with her jar of pink fleshy bits. Her brown eyes are fixed on Yuuji, hazy behind smoke. “Oh uh, no. Just, uh hypothetically? You know.” Yuuji quickly picks up a pastry and takes a bite to shut himself up.

—

“-I’ll purge them all.”

And Yuuji had known that this was Getou's wish. Had heard Satoru parrot this exact phrase. But when he looks at Getou, moving and talking and alive, there's a part of Yuuji that can't help but remember that he had first met Getou unmoving and pale on a stone slab.

Yuuji's not sure how much of the thought shows on his face. But Getou seems to read something from Yuuji's expression.

Getou does not exude danger the same way Gojo does. Gojo likes to be loud and mocking and close when he eviscerates his prey. Sitting before Yuuji, Getou is quiet and composed. And yet, Yuuji knows that right now, Getou is dangerous.

Getou's eyes narrow, quick and vicious, “Don't you dare pity me. You barely know me.”

Getou’s not smiling anymore. But Yuuji thinks that this is the most honest Getou’s been in this entire conversation.

“You’re one of the strongest, but you’ve been hurt before.” Yuuji will never be able to forget the weight of this man’s corpse on his shoulders. “So I’ll worry for you anyways.”

Getou contemplates Yuuji from between his dark eyelashes, “You say some dangerous things, Ryoumen Yuuji.”

So the thing is: When Yuuji gets to the famed jujutsu academy, there’s more than one commoner attending, which totally contradicts what his senpai explained about the game. There’s a lot of commoners at the academy, actually. The school is anachronistically modern. It puts Yuuji at ease, almost like being back at school in his old world. So when Yuuji sees a girl standing around looking lost, he calls out to her without thinking, “Hey, you good? Do you know where to go?”

Her short auburn hair flares as she whips her head around to face him, “Shut it, potato face! Do I look lost?”

Yuuji blinks, “Yeah, kinda.”

Her mouth twists, shoulders hiked up around her ears, “I’ll be fine. I can figure out where I need to go.”

Yuuji tilts his head. Sure, she probably could, but she might be late to class. Or he could just, “I’m a first year. I can show you where the first year classes are, if you’re one too.”

“Okay, yeah if you keep insisting. My name is Kugisaki Nobara, I'm a first year. Thanks.”

“Ryoumen Yuuji,” he responds.

Kugisaki looks him up and down, one brow raising, “What's up with your uniform? Couldn't get the standard issue one?”

Theoretically, Yuuji probably could get standard academy uniforms just fine. But Satoru-san had spent time picking out these modifications just for Yuuji, so all he does is shrug. “I like it,” Yuuji offers.

“It suits you.”

Yuuji finds the correct direction and starts walking. He’s grateful Fushiguro dragged him to orientation yesterday so he actually knew where he was going.

They talk as they walk, “Where are you from, Ryoumen Yuuji?”

“Down south. Like wayyy down south.” All the way from the Southern dukedom, actually.

“Oh are you from out in the sticks too? I'm from the west countryside, but now that I'm finally in the capital I'm never leaving!”

“It'd be kinda nice to stay in the capital all the time, but my brother gets pissy if I don't go back home.”

“Oh, do you have siblings?”

At least one, even if not by blood. As for the others, also yes? No? Maybe? “It's complicated,” Yuuji decides to say.

Kugisaki shoots him a baffled look, and Yuuji can only sheepishly scratch his head with a grin. Something—or rather, someone catches Yuuji's eyes and he stumbles to a stop.

Passing by is a kid with one eye hidden behind the curtain of his bangs. Yuuji knows that face. That face had watched him as he died. This is the same boy who Yuuji had tried to protect in his last life. “How?” he breathes out, watching a ghost past him by.

A hand on his shoulder gently jostles him from his reverie. “Ryoumen Yuuji! Snap out of it! Hey, are you there?”

Yuuji resolves to find that boy later. He comes back to himself, “Yeah, I'm fine. Just thought-Thought I saw someone I knew.”

“Okay well, see them later, because we're gonna be late to class if we don't get a move on. Come on! You're supposed to be my guide, space case.”

And after all this time, Yuuji comes to a selfish realization.

He doesn’t want to die. He’s scared.

He doesn’t want to die.

He doesn’t want to leave behind everyone: The family that’s accepted him. The friends that he’s made. Even if he’d be able to fulfill his Gramp’s final wish now. Even if it would spare Sukuna Yuuji’s fate. Even if it would secure peace for Satoru’s kingdom. Yuuji is terribly selfish.

This world is, or was a game, so there was a part of him that hoped that maybe his curse could be solved with the ultimate power of love, or friendship, or something else silly like that. It turns out—the ultimate power in this world is powerful sorcery.

“You’re even stupider than I thought, brat.”

“Yuuji! You’re so cruel, trying to leave me a grieving widow before we even get married!”  

“I bear this strength to protect my little brothers.”

“Perhaps one resurrection is enough for a lifetime.”

“Ryoumen Yuuji. We’ll save you.”

“Where do you think you’re going, potato face?”

And these powerful sorcerers have no intention of letting him die either.