Chapter Text
Ryōmen Sukuna.
June 27th, 2018. Jujutsu High Basement
“Good morning.”
Those were the first words Yuji heard as consciousness slowly crept back into his mind.
When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself stripped down to a designer, soft white t-shirt, his familiar yellow hoodie nowhere to be seen. He was slumped in a heavy wooden chair, bathed in the dim, flickering glow of dozens of yellow candles. Plastered across every wall, pillar, and inch of the room were strange, weathered paper talismans inscribed with intricate kanji characters.
Lifting his head with a low groan, Yuji’s hazy vision locked onto a peculiar figure sitting directly in front of him.
The man ahead of him wore a black uniform that contrasted sharply with his wild, spiky white hair. Most striking of all was the black blindfold wrapped tightly around his face. Yuji could feel an intense gaze coming from him despite not being able to see his eyes. The stranger leaned forward casually, resting his chin on his folded arms over the back of his chair.
Yuji blinked, tasting a metallic hint of blood at the corner of his mouth. As his sight finally cleared, the man spoke again.
“So, which one of the two are you right now? Ryomen Sukuna or Itadori Yuuji?”
Yuji didn't recognize him at first, yet the blindfold and the white hair seemed… oddly familiar despite it coming from an apparent stranger. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the fog in his brain and look down at his clothes.
Soft white shirt, baggy black pants. Definitely not his. “Like it? Yuta wore the same before you. I just thought that since you too are in a pretty darn similar situation it would be funny.”
“Who's ‘Yuuta’? Wait... who are you?” Yuji asked, his voice rough and weak.
The man straightened up, adjusting his posture with a hint of theatrical formality before introducing himself.
“Satoru Gojo. I'm a teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu High School.”
“Jujutsu...?”
The word sparked a sudden rush of curiosity in Itadori’s head. Memories came crashing back in a violent wave, violently sharpening Yuji's focus. The curse. The rooftop. The finger. The wolf… the person… fighting alongside him.
“Fushiguro...! Where is he?!”
Yuji instinctively tried to leap out of the chair to confront Gojo, but his body jerked to a halt. Thick, heavy ropes wrapped tightly around his torso and limbs, anchoring him securely. He strained against them, but he couldn't move his arms, let alone shift the weight of the chair.
“What the hell is... this?”
A cold dread pooled in his stomach. He was trapped—not just by the ropes, but by the very room itself. The paper talismans surrounding him weren't just decorations; they felt heavy, humming with an invisible, oppressive weight meant to contain something dangerous. Meant to contain him. Or… something inside him. Some one.
Gojo relaxed his posture even more, letting his hands float idly in the air, a carefree smile never fading from his face.
“I wouldn’t be worrying about others right now, Itadori Yuuji.”
Yuji stared at the blindfolded man, a chaotic storm of fear, confusion, anxiety, and protective worry flickering through his eyes.
Gojo’s smile remained, but his voice carried a chilling, absolute certainty.
“Because it has been decided: you are to be secretly executed.”
June 25th, 2018. Wasuke Itadori’s House.
The sound of a phone ringing echoes throughout the small house, running and bumping through the quiet rooms as Yuji dials Sugisawa Hospital to check on his grandfather. The soft, warm glow of orange light spills across the old wooden interior, casting gentle shadows across the worn tatami mats.
Yuji stands by the low table, his fingers tense around the phone, each ring amplifying his anxiety.
After five rings, a nurse answers all the way from the hospital, her tone brisk yet not unkind.
“Sugisawa Hospital,” she says, her voice layered with the background hum of activity—distant footsteps, the faint clatter of medical carts.
Yuji hesitates, gathering his thoughts before speaking, his words edged with concern as he inquires about his guardian’s condition.
“This is Yuji Itadori. I called earlier. Sorry to keep bothering you guys, but… how’s my grandpa doing?”
The nurse pauses, momentarily puzzled, her brow furrowing as she searches her memory. “Huh? I thought they already told you.”
Nearby, other nurses glance over, curious. An older nurse, her mask resting under her chin, eyes crinkled with fatigue and experience, murmurs, “Mr. Itadori never uses his call button.”
A younger nurse, her mask properly in place, stands attentive, her curiosity piqued. “It’s kind of unsettling that he doesn’t,” she whispers, her voice barely rising above the gentle hum of the ward.
“Oh, never mind. Hold on a minute. I’ll go check myself,” says the nurse on the phone, her tone shifting as she sets the receiver down gently, not wanting to hang up on Yuji. The muffled sounds of the hospital drift through the line as she makes her way to Wasuke’s room. Her footsteps soft on the polished floor, just moped by a staff member.
Reaching the room, she enters quietly, hoping not to startle him. She speaks gently, aiming to avoid any irritation.
“Mr. Itadori, you have a call. It’s your grandson again—asking if you want him to bring you any flowe—”
Before she can finish, Wasuke interrupts, his voice gruff and stubborn, gripping his communicator tightly.
“Leave me alone! And tell him not to come!” He demands with fierce annoyance in his voice, harming it to a point he almost regrets. The anger’s so exaggerated it almost feels like he's faking it.
“He should go to his club, go to his club!”
The nurse, speaking from the nurse’s office, hears his voice so clearly through the intercom that she knows Yuji must have heard every word. With a resigned sigh, she returns to the phone.
Picking up the receiver, she addresses Yuji, her voice softer, tinged with understanding.
“Did you hear that, sweetie? Your grandpa doesn't wanna speak with you right now. I'll call you if there's any trouble, kay’?”
Yuji, his grip tightening, chooses to ignore her attempt at small talk. He responds simply, his tone subdued. “I heard. Thank you. I'll be going there tomorrow to eat and wash my clothes, okay?”
“Of course. Take care, Yuu-chan!”
He places the receiver back in its cradle, the warm orange light lingering over the quiet room, his concern hanging in the stillness.
A sudden rush of cold air sweeps across his skin, enveloping every inch. With his bare palm, he slams his hand onto the small table, instantly smashing it with the sheer force of his blow.
The receiver, an old photograph of him and his grandfather betting on a winning horse, and a flower pot tumble to the floor.
The flower pot shatters upon impact, scattering Daffodils, Daisies, Lotus, and Yuji's favorite—a Forget-Me-Not—alongside a splash of water on the wooden floor.
The water on the floor splashes softly as Yuji’s tears mix with it. His facial muscles tense, eyes squeezed shut in a desperate attempt to hold back the tears. He places a hand against the wall, leaning into it for support as more tears slip quietly down his cheeks, hardly escaping his eyelids.
“Why… why won't you just take your stupid medicines, grandpa?! You're so stupid! Rather die from lung cancer than… than…”
Yuji starts crying more intensely than before.
“Damn it!”
He glances up to his right, his eyes settling on a photograph of a man with pink hair and glasses, smiling warmly looking at the camera with tired eyes. In his arms is a baby, sharing the same vibrant hair color, though tinged with black at the sides—a contrast to the man's own. In the background, barely noticeable, a woman with a bob haircut and pale skin is captured just as she enters the hospital room where the picture was taken.
On the bottom of the frame, hisname and date of death is written.
“Jin Itadori. 1969-2003.”
Sugisawa Third Middle School, 12:45 AM.
Sugisawa Middle School’s building stood silent beneath the night sky. The rugby and soccer fields, the corridors, and the rooftop were all softly bathed in the gentle, silvery glow of the moon. Emerging from the shadows of the sixteen-meter-tall structure was a 16 year old high schooler, clad in a rough out black leather uniform adorned with two golden buttons black-striped buttons in the collar—the distinctive emblem of Jujutsu High.
Though not inside the building, he lingers dangerously close, with the rugby field clearly visible from his vantage point. The name of the school is etched into a nearby concrete wall, adorned with a layer of golden plastic that attempts to mimic the appearance of real gold. In the distance, the wail of sirens and the barking of two wolves echo outside the campus.
He soon notices an outdoor Stevenson hutch. “Really? They’re storing a special-grade cursed object here, in a place like this? Could they be any more careless?”
The Stevenson hutch is secured with a simple lock, easily opened. Yet, when he checks inside, the object he seeks is nowhere to be found. With great shock, he rapidly searches around the hutch, wondering if it may have fallen out somehow, but finds nothing—not even among the surrounding bushes. In vain, he opens and closes the box, half-hoping the item might miraculously appear, but his efforts yield no results.
Gojo burst out laughing, genuinely amused. “Really? That’s hilarious! Maybe the finger decided to take a nighttime stroll, eh, 'Fushiguro'? Or better yet, maybe a curse ate it and you’ll have to fight a finger bearer all over again.”
Megumi remained completely unfazed by his guardian’s antics. “Don’t call me ‘Fushiguro,’ Dad. It’s just a codename.”
Satoru, flashing his signature smug grin, shrugged. “Alrighty, Megumi. But whatever I call you, the house rule stands—you’re not going home until you find it, okay?”
With that, he hangs up. Megumi slips his phone into his pocket and zips it securely, preparing for a fight. “I’m seriously going to punch him,” he mutters.
June 26th, 2018. Sugisawa Middle School.
The same school where Megumi was trespassing was also the one attended by Itadori Yuji. Just a few weeks prior, a group of rugby players had fallen ill with a mysterious sickness, prompting the temporary closure of the field for investigation. As a result, many students who usually practiced sports had to find other ways to spend their time inside the school.
However, Yuji Itadori wasn't part of any sports club. Despite being well-known throughout the school for his incredible strength, he preferred to hang out with his friends, Sasaki Setsuko and Iguchi Taseki, often goofing around together and doing creepy stuff in their silly three-member club. Right now, they're playing Ouija—though, for some reason, in Japanese.
“Why do we have to play it in Japanese?” Iguchi asked, puzzled.
“Because we have to wait for Yuji to translate what it says, and that gives it more suspense!” Sasaki explained with a grin. All three placed their fingers on a coin marked with a torii gate. Itadori spoke to his friends with excitement.
“Alright, you guys know what to say, right?”
Both Sasaki and Iguchi nodded. Taking a deep breath, they all shouted together.
“SPIRIT GODS! SPIRIT GODS! WHICH CREATURE IS THE STUDENT COUNCIL PRESIDENT JUST BARELY WEAKER THAN?”
Moments later, their fingers began to move on their own, gliding to Japanese characters. “Ku,” Yuji read aloud. Then, “ri.” Next, “o.” And finally, “ne.”
After all the characters were put together, Yuji put his hand on his chin, heavily puzzled. But with encouragement from his friends, he pieced it together. “A SEA ANGEL’S TOUGHER?” he screamed. Instantly, the three of them burst into laughter.
That is, until the council president bursts onto the scene—a young person their age, fifteen years old, with straight black hair neatly brushed down and glasses perched on his nose. He throws the door open, but Yuji and his friends' laughter merely softens, never truly stopping.
“OCCULT CLUB!” The president shouts.
“Hey! President Plankton! What brings ya’ here?”
Without a word, the president slams a sheet of paper onto their desk, covering their Ouija board. The paper declares that since the Occult Club hasn’t conducted any activities as a research club, it must be disbanded. Yet, the Occult Club is prepared for this, naturally.
“You really shouldn’t underestimate our members, Mr. President.”
Sasaki adjusts her glasses and retrieves a book from a nearby shelf. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” the president asks, a mistake he’ll soon regret. Sasaki launches into her explanation about the rugby field closure. “You’re aware the school’s rugby field was shut down due to the illnesses, aren’t you?”
The president replies, unfazed. “Yes. Some students even had to be hospitalized.”
Sasaki points at the director with her index finger and raises her voice. “And you don’t find that concerning? These are tough rugby players!”
She slams her hand onto the book and opens to a specific page. “The players reported hearing strange sounds and voices from the field just before they fell ill.”
She dramatically gestures to a newspaper clipping inside the book. “And then, we discovered this article from thirty years ago. It details the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Yoshida, a construction worker last seen at Sugisawa during its building.”
The president grows irritated at Sasaki’s theatrics.
“Yoshida was desperate and turned to loan sharks, who pursued him relentlessly! Which means the mysterious disaster at the rugby field was caused by Yoshida’s vengeful spirit, whose body is buried there!”
Yuji and Iguchi cheer her on, shouting, “GO SASAKI!” even though they’re in the same room.
But, the president is not slow on cutting them out. “No, actually it was just ticks.”
That single sentence instantly shattered their entire mood, yet it still wasn’t enough. “Hard ticks, to be precise. Large, blood-sucking insects. If one bites you and transmits SFTS, it could be fatal, so you must be cautious.”
Sasaki is left utterly defeated by that argument. Itadori snatches the book and snaps it shut, poised to throw it at the president.
“SO WHAT IF IT WAS TICKS!? THE OCCULT CLUB IS INVESTIGATING OCCULT ACTIVITY, SO THIS STILL COUNTS AS AN ACTIVITY REPORT!”
The president covers his face with his palm, exasperated by Itadori Yuji’s ignorance.
“This isn’t some childish game! In fact, the biggest issue here is YOU, Itadori Yuji! You’re officially registered with the track and field team, not the occult club. That means this club doesn’t even have the three members required to be recognized as a club!”
Iguchi and Sasaki immediately turn to judge Itadori with their eyes. “You really did that?”
Yuji quickly defends himself. “I—I’m absolutely sure I wrote ‘Occult Club’!”
Suddenly, the coach responsible for all sports, including track and field, makes his entrance: Coach Takagi. “I’m the one who changed it!”
“Coach Takagi? Why?” the entire Occult Club asks in unison.
“Because! Track and field needs you, Yuji!”
Yuji shouts even louder at the coach, “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not joining the team!?”
Coach Takagi stands firm, arms crossed. “You are!”
“No, I’m not!”
Takagi tilts his head slightly, clearly eager for a challenge against Yuji. “But I’m not a tyrant. If you beat me in a competition, I’ll excuse you from joining the team.”
Yuji accepts the coach’s offer without hesitation. “That works! You’ve got yourself a deal!”
“Yay!”— Iguchi Takeshi, Sasaki Setsuko. 2018.
Outside School, Rugby Field.
Megumi wanders around the rugby field, still searching for whatever object draws him here. The presence lingers, woven through the school grounds. Distant birds whistle, their songs carried on the wind.
“What’s with this rugby field?”
The field is deserted, and everyone is actively pushing themselves away from it. At first, he didn't understand, but suddenly, a sensation pricks at his senses. He glances down, just in time to witness a strange blue monster emerging from the earth, scrambling up a nearby pole. It emits odd noises before settling atop the pole, almost like a dog claiming its territory.
Just that... without the pissing part.
“A low second-grade cursed spirit. Resting in that pole like if it paid rent.”
“It came from the ground, so there’s probably a body buried beneath. Even so, finding one out in the open field, and this powerful, is pretty rare. But with Sukuna’s finger influencing things, the usual chaos of schools, and a dead body, it makes sense such a strong curse would appear.”
Meanwhile, everyone else has gathered at the track field. Excitement buzzes over the upcoming match between Yuji and Takagi.
“Hey! Look! Coach Takagi and Yuji Itadori are going head-to-head!”
But Megumi pays little to no heed to the students’ excitement, his attention unwaveringly fixed on the cursed object. Resigned, he unzips his left pocket on his pants, and retrieves his phone, showing images of the box that Gojo sent him — a brown wooden box, scarred with burn marks and cuts, adorned with ancient kanji.
Dad
//
>>16:23: [Photo]
>> 16:23: btw box maaaay look dif k luv you!! ♥️♥️
Shut up. 16:24 <<
//
With the image of the cursed object’s storage lingering in his mind—or at least a vague impression of it—he zips up his pocket and slips his phone inside. As memories of the previous night resurface, he quietly wonders what could have happened for the finger to disappear from where it was supposed to be.
“This cursed object is such a hassle. Who could have moved it? Why? And where did they leave it?”
In a shock of realization, Megumi notices how no one spots an eye to the pole — the curse would be. With all eyes on the match and the curse exposed, Megumi lets out a quiet sigh and performs a swift hand movement, slicing the curse in half and dissolving it instantly.
A sudden shift in the air ripples from the spot, catching the students’ attention, but they dismiss it as nothing more than a burst of wind.
He starts to leave the school, but a brief glimpse at Yuji and Takagi’s match piques his curiosity, prompting him to linger a bit longer. Mixing himself along with the crowd as just another student, he takes a brief look at Itadori Yuji and Coach Takagi’s competition.
Takagi hurls a shot-put ball with all his might. It soars through the air far above the students heads and strikes the ground causing a small crater. A student holding a lengthy measuring tape shouts out the result from Takagi’s position to the shot-put balls’. “18.85 meters!”
The students are astonished by their coach’s performance—an elite, world-class throw. Their mouths unconsciously open and gasp for such display of physical prowess. Yet Itadori didn’t think of what was exactly so exciting or amazing about it. He's not really into shot-put or sports in general.
Despite the coach’s impressive feat, most students still place their bets on Yuji, calling his name with excitement. Sasaki and Iguchi watch from a short distance, away from the commotion. Sasaki is slightly weirded out, mostly puzzled by the overwhelming cheering and praise for Yuji. “What’s going on? Is Yuji really that popular?”
Iguchi leans in close, whispering into her ear. “It’s only a rumor, but I heard he conquered every stage of Ninja Warrior—and that he’s the reincarnation of both Mike Tyson and Jackie Chun.”
Sasaki quickly notes the inconsistency. “But neither of them are even dead yet.”
“He earned the nickname: ‘Tiger of Sugisawa West Middle’.”
“That’s lame.”
A student hands Yuji the shot-put metal ball with extreme care, yet Yuji's hand suddenly drops under because of its unexpected weight. Coach Takagi chuckles, thinking if Yuji struggles with the weight, victory is certain. But then, Yuji casually balances it as if it were just a regular baseball.
“So, uh… can I throw it however I want?”
Coach Takagi nods, smiling confidently. “Mm-hm! For this challenge, you can throw it any way you like. After all, I know this isn’t really your strong—”
And a baseball might be. Because Yuji hurls the metal sphere with a fast pitch, sending it floating in a straight line until it strikes the metal frame of the opposite goalpost with a resounding clang. The ball drops, and a student quickly measures the distance.
“30.12 meters! No wait, higher! Then that… we're out of tape.”
Gasps and cheers erupt as everyone celebrates Yuji Itadori’s throw. Yuji grins and does a small victory gesture.
“Yeah! I crushed it!”
Megumi watches Yuji’s throw, a flicker of amaze crossing his face at the display of superhuman strength.
“That guy’s unbelievable, he managed that shot without even using cursed energy. Does he have a Heavenly Restriction?”
The throw left Coach Takagi frozen solid, unable to move or speak. The students stared in disbelief; no ordinary person should have been capable of something like that. A few looked at Itadori with a flicker of fear, but the rest drowned it out with cheers — his reputation at school had just skyrocketed.
“Kinda more gorilla than tiger,” Sasaki remarked dryly.
After that inhuman display, Yuji just casually strolled over to his friends with his hands shoved in his pockets. With that same easy, bright smile plastered on his face like nothing had even happened.
“You'd do great on the track team, you know. You don't have to force yourself to stay in the Occult Club with us,” Sasaki said with a soft smile.
Yuji blinked at her, genuinely puzzled. “Huh? But you guys say you like scary stuff, and you never actually go to haunted places or sneak around school at night.”
Sasaki's cheeks flushed pink. She quickly looked away, muttering an excuse under her breath. “B-but we like being scared, okay?”
Yuji glanced between her and Iguchi, a flicker of concern crossing his eyes.
“Look, school rules say I have to be in a club anyway,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets and jerking his chin toward the field. In the background, a group of boys were busy taking pictures with the still completely petrified Coach Takagi, even balancing metal shot puts on his head. “I'd rather hang out inside with you guys than sweat to death in the sun with them.”
He grinned.
“Plus, you said I don't really have to do anything in the club. So it's basically free time.”
“Y-Yeah, I did say that,” Sasaki admitted, her face still pink.
“And I want to be home by four, so if you two don't mind, I'll stay.” Yuji added quickly, his own cheeks going a little red as he looked down. He shut his eyes, a little embarrassed. “I really like being in your club. It has a great vibe.”
For a second, Iguchi and Sasaki just stared at him — touched by how sincere he was — before they both broke into a laugh.
Yuji smiled back, but then his gaze drifted. At the edge of the field, Megumi was watching him. Intently. Silently. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.
That serious look lingered in Yuji's mind.
“Did I do something to upset him?”
Megumi had already started walking away from the field, hands in his pockets, his mind elsewhere entirely.
“I'll have to sneak into the building and check if a curse has already eaten the finger.”
Behind him, the Occult Club continued chatting without a care in the world, completely oblivious to the fact he was even leaving.
Or that is until suddenly, Sasaki's eyes went wide. “Oh, right! Group meeting!” she called out.
In an instant, the three of them huddled together, shoulders almost touching, forming a tight little circle — as if they were protecting some top-secret conspiracy.
“Itadori, did you check the Stevenson Screen like we told you?” Sasaki whispered, leaning in close.
“Mm-hm!” Yuji nodded.
“Great!” The two of them let out a hushed cheer, practically buzzing with excitement.
“So? What was inside?” Iguchi asked eagerly, eyes gleaming.
“Wait a sec,” Yuji said. Stepping away for a moment to retrieve his backpack. Then he unzipped it, and pulled out a pretty big box.
Ancient Japanese characters were carved across its surface, spelling out the name of an ancient legend foretold by them.
“両面 宿儺”
The text glowed a burnt-out, faint red — almost like dying embers — marred by old scorch marks and deep slashes, as if something had tried to claw its way out from the inside. It immediately caught Yuji's eye.
“Can you translate it, Yuji? You're kinda good at Japanese, aren't you?” Sasaki asked, completely oblivious to the fact that he was still a newbie.
“Uh, well… maybe… uhh…” Put on the spot, Yuji poured all of his focus into decoding the name.
“Uh… Ryō.”
“Men.”
“Suku.”
“Na.”
“So? What’s it say?” Iguchi leaned in.
“Sukuna of the Two Faces,” Yuji answered, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple from the sheer effort.
“What?! That sounds lame!” Sasaki complained.
“Well, uhh… it could also be just ‘Ryoumen Sukuna’.”
He took another glance at the box, turning it over in his hands, genuinely impressed by the craftsmanship. Despite its antiqueness and aside from the slashes, the wood was polished to a smooth sheen, its surface etched with intricate, swirling black patterns alongside the shadow of a four armed creature.
“Yeah, the design's pretty cool though. I was thinking about keeping it for myself —”
“WAIT! AT LEAST SHOW US WHAT'S INSIDE!” Sasaki and Iguchi shouted in unison, their voices bursting with impatient curiosity and a hint of nervous excitement.
Itadori recoiled at their scream, surprised by their demand. He paused for a moment, uneasy about uncovering whatever remained hiding inside it.
“Okay, okay — but keep it down, will you?” he whispered, scared for the possibility of anyone else finding out about their talisman/box-stealing shenanigans.
The box had an easy to open, simple lock. Sliding the wooden lock softly with his thumb, he cracked it open, the sound barely audible but somehow deafening in the tense silence that had settled over the group.
Fwoosh.
A rush of cold, foul air burst forth, as if the box had been holding its breath for centuries and could finally exhale. In an instant, the entire track field was flooded with a thick, suffocating pressure—a tangible, oppressive force that pressed down on their chests and made it difficult to breathe.
Inside the box, nestled atop faded paper adorned with talismans, lay a finger. Or rather, something shaped like a finger—but its elongated claw, unnatural thickness, and inhuman size suggested it was anything but.
Slightly far from school grounds, Megumi stopped, shocked from the sudden cursed energy rise coming from Sugisawa Middle.
“That must be Sukuna's cursed energy!”
His body pivots abruptly toward the school, sweat streaming down his face, anxiety etched across his features as he worries for the students inside.
“A cursed spirit… it must've eaten the finger just now… that cursed energy rise…”
“I'll definitely have to come back at night. If they see me go in now, they'll try to stop me. Question me. Or worse, follow me inside.”
“Even if that pink-haired guy has some kind of Heavenly Restriction, since he's probably relative to Maki in strength, he wouldn't last a second against that spirit. He'd just be dead weight.”
The thought of innocent bystanders getting involved sent a chill down his spine, but he knew he had no choice. He would have to wait, to bide his time until the cover of darkness gave him the freedom to act. Until then, all he could do was prepare for whatever horror awaited him inside the school at night.
“I won't let them get cursed… like how Tsumiki did.”
Sasaki and Iguchi gazed intently at the object in Yuji’s hand. Almost lured to it. But, their curiosity and attraction only comes from the fear and uneasiness it provokes in them. A morbid curiosity that makes them shiver but keeps them longing.
“Whoa… It’s kind of shaped like a finger… but, I mean, if it really is, why would anyone keep that inside a Stevenson Screen?” Iguchi muttered under his breath.
“No clue,” Yuji replied flatly, holding the potential finger of one of Japan’s most morbid legendary figures as if it were nothing more than mere trash. “But if you guys want it, take it. I just wanted the box, anyway.”
“Okay!”
Yuji tossed it to Sasaki in a swift motion. The object nearly slipped from her grasp before she managed to steady it.
“Let’s open it tonight at school! How does that sound?”
“Uh, I’ll be with my grandpa tonight, so you two go ahead without me. I don’t really care.”
Sasaki frowned. Itadori’s behavior was unsettling. He was the one who had stolen the finger in the first place, and he was usually the most enthusiastic about the paranormal occurrences the three of them chased. Now, he was acting completely out of character—almost as if he were terrified to even touch the object.
“Are you alright? You usually love creepy stuff as much as we do,” she said, studying him closely. “Why are you acting so strange about this?”
Yuji turned away, his expression darkening. A sudden shiver raced down his right arm, prompting him to grip it tightly.
“I don’t know…” he murmured, his voice barely audible.
“It just… gives me a bad feeling.”
The unease inside him intensified by the second. Desperate to look at anything other than the finger, he began scanning the school courtyard, deliberately avoiding his friends' eyes. As he glimpsed the school clock, the numbers finally registered in his mind. A sudden realization struck him like a lightning bolt.
4:33 PM.
Yuji’s eyes widened in sheer panic. “Oh, crap—Grandpa!”
Without wasting another second, he shoved the mysterious box deep into his backpack, zipped it shut in one swift motion, and turned to sprint away.
“Sorry, Sasaki! Sorry, Iguchi! I’ve gotta go!” he yelled over his shoulder, already dashing at full speed toward the hospital.
Iguchi blinked, watching Yuji vanish down the road in a literal blur. “I heard he can run 50 meters in three seconds.”
Sasaki’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “No way! That’s faster than my dad’s car!”