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Gojo Satoru
There were a lot of things on his mind. It was nothing unusual for him, considering his ability literally floods his brain with endless information like an overloaded computer. But even he could admit that the thoughts of the upcoming battle had left his mind in disarray, at least a little.
Satoru stopped in front of a dojo that dispersed light through the ajar door into the dark corridor. It was no one's surprise that there were still people training through midnight—many had to compensate for their lack of prowess in a battle of life or death. Inside the dojo, sitting cross-legged with his arms leaning back on the floor was the object of his fascination.
Yuuji was unique, unique in a way that only he managed to suppress the soul of Heian's strongest sorcerer. Unique in a way his soul moulded itself around another's as easily as breathing. Satoru had always been fascinated by it since the moment he met Yuuji. Considering Yuuji's previous status as a non-sorcerer, Satoru had employed his many sources to uncover the teen's background, but it led nowhere. His student was just a boy orphaned at an early age and left under the sole care of his grandfather. Thus, Satoru had given up under the assumption that Yuuji was a natural-born vessel.
That was where he had been dead wrong.
According to Yuuji's newly gained older brother—who Satoru hadn't come to trust, but his theory was sound—Kenjaku was Yuuji's creator. It was easy to assume a pact was made between those old freaks a thousand years ago. Judging from what Yuuta had disclosed, every reincarnated sorcerer was promised a vessel to participate in the culling game, but Kenjaku possibly had conceived Yuuji on his own for this purpose.
As revolting as it was, that was not what Satoru had been ruminating about. With his eyes, he could perceive his student's soul by itself, unlike when he had been fused with Sukuna. Presently, his soul was like a ring encircling a small vacant space. The death painting wombs Yuuji had consumed couldn't accommodate the space specifically made for Sukuna. His soul wasn’t incomplete, but appeared as such because of the absence of the other soul it had moulded around for months. Satoru wondered whether Yuuji could feel it—the state of his soul like a planet without the life it had fostered.
But Satoru opted for—
"Skipping sleep?"
His student, despite everything, still had the gleam in his eyes when his head pivoted to greet him. One arm lifted to hastily wipe his sweaty face before he beamed at his teacher. "Sensei! 'Was just training for a while." For an instant, Yuuji kept staring at him as if he were an unsolvable puzzle. Satoru tilted his own head, beckoning him to speak his mind. "It's just… Are you okay? I thought your eyes were sensitive, but you're no longer wearing your blindfold."
"Hm?" Satoru's muscle memory kicked in, causing him to reach for the right side of his head. "Eh, I don't mind. I stayed for 14 days without my technique, so it doesn't bother me anymore."
"Shouldn't it be the other way around? Shouldn't they be more sensitive because you haven't used it for days?"
"Ha. Actually, it feels fresher." His blue eyes skimmed over the entire room then landed on his student. "It's like I'm seeing everything much clearer for the first time in a while." Like you.
"I see." Yuuji didn't seem convinced, always the worrier.
"What about you?" Satoru plopped down on the cold floor, mimicking his student's posture. "Are you okay?"
Perhaps the question was a little too prodding. Yuuji regarded him curiously. "I'm fine," he added after a beat, "as one could be in my position."
"Hm."
Satoru thought of how to start the topic without being too direct. Maybe he could start with a little hint.
"How do you feel about your separation from Sukuna?"
Yuuji's whole body jerked as if he had been electrocuted—it was almost hilarious. His features were all scrunched up like a wrinkled paper; the only thing missing was a dramatic 'What?'
That wasn't subtle, Satoru sighed inwardly. "You know, given that you used to be his vessel, it must have had some kind of impact on you."
"Oh..." Yuuji murmured almost as if he had mistaken the content of his question. The teacher narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. "Well, right after he took over Fushiguro, I felt this sudden burst of strength. Okkotsu-senpai theorised that Sukuna might have hindered my potential."
Satoru had thought about it too. "Yuuta isn't wrong. Perhaps carrying another soul had put a burden on you, restricting your ability to grow further. But that's not what I'm asking about." To Yuuji's inclined head and fluttering eyes, Satoru revealed, "I meant your mental aspect, or to be more precise, your soul."
There it was again, that same fear reappearing in his student's eyes before he averted his gaze with a small frown. "What do you mean, sensei?"
"You ever feel like you're missing something, Yuuji?"
There was an almost inaudible sound of sucking teeth. "No. I'm alright, sensei." A placating smile quickly replaced the slight frown, which seemingly blinked out of existence. He sprang up and tittered, "I should go take a bath, you know, before I start stinking."
Oh, you are a terrible liar, Yuuji-kun.
"Mm. I see. Good job Samantha!" He waved at Yuuji, who then disappeared off to somewhere in such a hurry.
There was something, alright. But Satoru would rather not scare the poor kid about it. He helped plant a seed. Yuuji would have to figure it out by himself.
Itadori Yuuji
The teenager was panting the entire journey to his dorm room with only one thought in his mind: Did his teacher know?
Lately, he was feeling this sudden sense of emptiness brewing in his chest, slow and steady but escalating day by day. It didn't stop him from training and learning as many techniques as possible within the short period they were allowed before the battle. However, it affected him in other ways. He found himself unable to sleep, and even if he slept, his consciousness would surface between intervals. During the day, he'd be so lost in his own thoughts about practically nothing. One would say it was anxiety due to the impending battle that wasn't the case.
He was aware of the real cause; he didn't want to confront it. It didn't matter anyway; for the moment he closed his eyes, only one person was standing before him. He was becoming more and more ashamed of himself. His friend was gone; his body was now used as a second skin. Yet here was Yuuji, yearning for the very curse that brought about his and many others' suffering.
What a terrible friend he was.
At times, he pondered if Choso could tell what was going on whenever Yuuji came to find comfort on his shoulder. And often his robe would get stained with Yuuji's tears. His brother was so kind; he wouldn't ask why. He would only stroke his hair with the tenderness of a parent, even though it was a temporary solace that did nothing to keep his troubling thoughts away, nor fill the void.
Back then, Yuuji wasn't alone. Sukuna was planning to get away from him silent, but Yuuji still felt his presence, which his contradictory self didn't mind despite how much vitriol he had for that prick. But now there was nothing. No longer was there a heaviness nestled under his ribcage, nor a static noise resonating in his mind.
Yuuji just couldn't take the silence.
. . . . . .
"Are you serious? You cannot be thinking of going outside. And in the middle of the night at that. Why are you even going out?" Kusakabe-sensei asked, his tone as mild as usual but the wrinkle between his eyebrows suggested he was getting impatient.
"To get fresh air?" Yuuji haggled.
"You can get plenty here, Itadori."
"I'm not going to run away if that's what you're concered about." Yuuji laughed light-heartedly, which earned him a tired glare.
"That's not it, you idiot. The duel is in five days. It's not safe for you to go out and get yourself hurt. In case you've forgotten, you're a big part of the backup plan."
Before Yuuji could counterpoint, a disembodied voice invaded their conversation, belonging to someone they were both familiar with, "Oh, come on Kusakabe."
Yuuji instantly smiled, whereas Kusakabe let out an exasperated sigh while he dragged his hand across his face.
The white-haired man materialised next to Yuuji in a blink. "Just let him go. He's not a toddler."
Knowing Kusakabe, the man did not even bother arguing with him. "Whatever, he's your student." He immediately vanished, as if being near Gojo-sensei would make him physically implode.
His teacher let loose a big guffaw as he turned to Yuuji. "Who pissed in his cereal?"
Yuuji couldn't stop his smile from becoming wider. "Thank you, sensei."
His teacher automatically patted his head. "Just come back in one piece, yeah?"
The teen's eyes fluttered in confusion. Yuuji didn’t say anything, only responding with an earnest nod before leaving.
. . . . . .
The world appeared so insignificant from one of the tallest buildings in the metropolis. Yuuji was sitting on the parapet bordering the rooftop as he took in the view of the usually busy city that now seemed pleasantly serene if you were to ignore the reason behind it. The night breeze gracing Yuuji’s face still carried the coldness of December despite the lack of snow in huge cities like Shinjuku. If he were to close his eyes, Yuuji could picture his small hometown situated between layers and layers of snow. The likelihood that he would never be able to see that much snow again made his heart wrench.
The teenager subconsciously sensed a blurb of cursed energy approaching up towards the rooftop. He couldn't help the sigh that left his entire body. While it was endearing and comforting at times, Choso worried over him a little too much. He was ready to chide the older man when all of a sudden, a sense of apprehension washed over him the instant the rooftop steel gate creaked open.
"Long way from home?"
The turn Yuuji's head made hurt his neck, but he couldn't care less, for the sonorous voice was not what he had been prepared to hear, at least not that night.
Strange. Clad in a traditional black haori and a dark blue nagagi, Sukuna looked very strange in Fushiguro's body. He carried it unlike his friend, who was more reserved and sometimes awkward like any other teenager. Sukuna, on the other hand, was the epitome of terrifying elegance, equally matching his pride and power.
Above all, Yuuji still couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Sukuna's face was not a reflection of his own anymore. It was messing with his brain.
"Sukuna," he muttered his name and sucked the breath he had been holding. Yuuji got off the rooftop, and the initial shock wore off, replaced by an inexplicable fury. He demanded the man, "What are you doing here?"
"I could say the same for you, brat." The man gave him that infuriating sneer. It was wrong on his friend's face, Fushiguro never having smiled like that. Sukuna appraised him, then turned and sauntered to the edge of the building to gaze out into the lifeless city. "I'm here to scope things out, of course," Sukuna drawled. "To fillet the fish that is your teacher."
"Asshole," Yuuji snapped and bared his teeth like an animal. "He won't lose."
"Weak little maggots don't get to be so confident."
This time he held his tongue instead. Nothing would come out of arguing with someone who had no ounce of respect for people below him, and he was not entirely wrong. Yuuji had always been so powerless. If it weren't for that weakness, he wouldn't be here to witness his friend's body moving and talking wrongly and do nothing about it.
Sukuna took his silence as a cue to digress, still showing his back to Yuuji. "Knowing you, you're probably here feeling pity for yourself like the pathetic creature you are."
"That's not true."
"Oh, please." Sukuna finally whirled around, crossing not-his arms and tilting not-his head. "I know you. You're here reminiscing your childhood memories with the little time you have before your meager life inevitably snuffs out."
The teenager's lips twitched.
All four of Sukuna's red eyes crinkled into crescents. "Have I told you how painfully dull you are?"
Instead of looking away, Yuuji stood his ground, glaring daggers at the other. "Did you come all the way here to insult me?"
"Do not think too highly of yourself. It was a mere coincidence. As if I care about the likes of an empty vessel."
Yuuji held back a scream. "If you hate me so much, why didn't you just kill me back then?" Yuuji divulged in a fit of rage. "Why did you stop your servant? You could've laughed at my corpse all you wanted."
Sukuna's primary eyes constricted and his eyebrows creased in disdain. He closed the gap between them within mere seconds before grabbing Yuuji's throat and suspending him in the air. The warm fingers were anything but comforting when they thumbed over his veins threateningly.
Sukuna was eerily relaxed as he tilted his head. "Do you want to die that badly?"
He squeezed hard, not enough to crush his windpipe but enough to hurt like hell. Yuuji could feel the tiny crevices opening up on his skin and the warm sensation of the liquid beginning to coat his neck and trickle under his hoodie. Yuuji's arms hung lamely at his sides, not intending to pry the crushing hand from his throat.
Sukuna was serious. But Yuuji also knew how far his threats went. The teen continued to taunt him. "Why stop here? Why not just kill me and be done with it?" The question was made purely out of spiteful desperation.
"Do you feel the void too?" Yuuji blurted, and was immediately shocked by his own action.
It was never his goal to expose his wretched heart to this cursed being that only relished in others' agony. But he had reached a point of no return despite his brain blaring alarmingly to stop him from spilling his guts out. He had always been foolishly honest.
When the hold on his throat briefly slackened, he rasped, "Do you not feel empty after you left me? You were supposed to be with me; die with me."
He felt pathetic saying it in front of his friend's hijacked body—even if Fushiguro couldn't hear him—but he only desired the truth, anything that could prove he wasn't the only one feeling this way, anything to soothe that unwanted ache in his heart.
There was an inconspicuous moment where the man's pupils had widened a milimetre before returning to the eerie calmness. For a second, for that minuscule period of time, Yuuji's stupid, naive heart hoped there was something in this curse that understood his soul until Sukuna dropped Yuuji unceremoniously on the cement ground. He instinctively reached for his throat that was screaming for relief as he watched the man go through a fit of laughter, loud and boisterous.
Sukuna shook his head fervently before he remarked, "You are dumber than I thought." He peered down at Yuuji with vicious mirth in his eyes. "Tell me, would a confined beast miss its cage?"
Yuuji didn't utter a word. He was still reeling from the disappointment.
"That's what I thought. The only reason I left you alive so far is that watching you suffer is an immense pleasure of mine, the only thing you're good for. Ah, I suppose you were useful for a temporary container. I'll admit that." He chuckled.
When Yuuji's attention strayed, his hand came to intercept his mandible, cupping its entirety as Sukuna tugged Yuuji to face him—with the gentleness that betrayed the sorcerer's next words. "You will watch as everyone you love dies before you. Your teacher, the half-curse you call your brother and your seniors. They will all die, and you'll wish it had been you first. You will die when I say so and even then, I assure you, your death won't be swift. I will make you regret not having killed yourself sooner."
There was a sickening possessiveness and cruelty in his words, a mockery of what Yuuji desired from him. Swatting the hand away, Yuuji spat, "Of course, you wouldn't get it." As he got up, he let out a bitter laugh that was more akin to a cry. "Why the hell did I even bother?"
Perhaps, it was not unbelievable that Sukuna hadn't felt anything after they separated. This was, after all, the very curse that threw away his heart like it was trash, yet it still yearned for him.
Pathetic indeed.
The teen didn't stay for long; he had enough dignity to not be pushed around. Once the sun rose over the horizon, Yuuji quietly slipped into the infirmary when everyone was still sleeping. Just as he thought, Ieiri-sensei was awake as she relied too much on caffeine. She hadn't asked him the reason for his visit nor had she pried what caused the criss-cross cuts on his neck. Only the buzzing sound of fluorescent light filled the silence between them as she healed him.
Before he could get up from his seat, Ieiri-sensei stopped him with a tap on the wrist and handed him a cigarette.
"You look like you need it," she remarked casually, like she wasn't giving a cigarette to a minor. As if she heard his thought, she reasoned, "It's not like you can be affected. It will at least take your mind off some things."
Yuuji thanked her. He knew how smoking worked. A middle-school classmate sneaked in a carton he had stolen from his father and urged Yuuji to try it out as well. They ended up getting caught by a teacher and Yuuji got an earful from his grandfather. But back then he couldn't tell why he never felt the nicotine kick in like everyone had hyped.
In an secluded area away from everyone, Yuuji puffed in the smoke. The bitterness of it made his thoughts numb. The void too was pushed to the back of his mind.
Ryoumen Sukuna
In front of him, several plates had slices of meat—adequate to feed an entire family—that were meticulously arranged in a visually striking manner and the taste was immaculate as well. It was something only his devoted servant could contrive, although his mind had not been in the right place to enjoy it. He absentmindedly dragged his chopsticks around the plate.
Naturally, his servant couldn't help their curiosity. "Is the food not up to your palate, Sukuna-sama?"
"No. It's exquisite as usual."
After a moment of silence, Uraume spoke up again, "Forgive me if I'm overstepping, what ails your mind?"
Sukuna was also contemplating it since the dawn.
"Uraume, you can leave."
With his secondary eyes, he could see them bow. "As you wish, Sukuna-sama."
He pushed the plate away, having had enough of staring at the food despite not touching it. His hand opted for the ochoko of sake instead. His mind was still preoccupied with what had transpired last night. It was indeed a coincidence that Sukuna had ended up in the same place as the brat. He could not answer the reason behind it. He only felt the pull of his soul towards a building and there he was—the brat. He had looked as miserable as always, though spotting his bandaged ear that Sukuna had mutilated made him preen a little. The brat' visible disbelief when he recognised his friend's face was delectable as well.
Ever since Sukuna had equipped his new vessel, he had never felt freer. To be able to walk again and have control over his body without a pestering time limit and an even more pestering brat was a privilege he had missed these past months. However, for every action there was an equal and opposite reaction; every victory had its price.
The brat had called it a void. As much as Sukuna hated to admit, he too had perceived the abnormality within himself. It had not been there at the moment of their separation, but what came afterwards his brawl with the brat and the heavenly restricted woman when there was no heat of battle to distract the feeling that persisted even now. Nothing could explain missing something you never wanted. His soul was missing his jailer. Somehow, the brat still wriggled his way into his thoughts, even after their severance. The bane of his existence.
Fushiguro Megumi's body was indubitably foreign to Sukuna's soul—perhaps it would stop feeling that way once he would undergo a complete reincarnation—whereas the brat's body had felt like his own, literally tailored to carry him, like a picture frame fitting for his soul. Was that why it longed to dwell inside the brat's once again? A truly despicable feeling. It made him sound too weak, too human. Sukuna had never been a human, even at the moment he ripped himself out of his mother's womb.
The brat was the root of this plague. Sukuna should've plucked it long ago; that simpleton was surprisingly right for once. But then where would be the fun when Sukuna would finally massacre everyone the brat had loved before his eyes? Where would Sukuna get to relish in his suffering, more fulfilling than the meat on his plate?
Sukuna peered deeply at his right forefinger as he moved his thumb over the cut that still hadn't healed.
There was only one person who had solution to this conundrum.
. . . . . .
Apart from Sukuna and his servant, the Kamo estate appeared soulless—the members possibly had fled or been killed. They found the millenia-old sorcerer in the Kamo's clan archive, sitting sideways on the corner of a vermillion-lacquered low-writing table and reading a withered book that looked like it was minutes from falling apart. When he noticed them, he greeted them out of fake surprise, "Ah, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Sukuna had no patience to engage with Kenjaku's foolery and went straight to the point. "Tell me everything you know about the vessel."
The man's eyebrows went up and a vexing smile slowly formed on his visage. "Which one?"
Sukuna clicked his tongue. "The brat."
Kenjaku appeared mindful as he placed the book on the table and turned his body towards them. "And here I thought you two were missing my company," he pouted, sighing dramatically. "You have some nerve to ask this after jumping to a different body. You know how hard it was to carry a pregnancy to term? The many kicks that I had to endure from that little monster!?"
Sukuna closed his primary eyes, exhaling a deep sigh knowing that this conversation would be a long one. Behind him, his servant made a sound of distaste. "Er! Enough of your disgusting rambling and answer Sukuna-sama properly."
Kenjaku chuckled at the response he wanted. "I cannot say everything, you know. That's like a chef exposing his sacred recipe! But I suppose I can fill in a few details.
"The vessel was conceived like any other normal child but of course I needed some additional ingredients to construct an unbreakable body while it still stayed in my womb. When the babe was one month-old, it was ready to swallow your finger." Kenjaku made a thoughtful hum as he gazed up at the wooden ceiling, as if reminiscing something. "Although he did bleed a little, he took you in just fine. There were many prototypes that had failed to meet the standard. So in a way, Itadori Yuuji was a miracle. A miracle with a side effect, but a miracle nevertheless."
Kenjaku being the self-absorbed knave he was, was quiet momentarily before Uraume hissed out of impatience. Only then he continued, "He was never meant to have that much control. That resilient soul of his was a by-product I hadn't accounted for."
Sukuna scowled, not trusting anything coming out of the corpse. "You expect me to believe that? That you somehow had no hands in this?" Because in no world did Kenjaku scheme without weighing his personal gain.
The man wagged his head. "Whether you believe it or not, it's not my problem. I had expected that level of suppression when it showed no change after swallowing the first finger. But as I've mentioned, it is difficult producing a vessel that could not only withstand your poison but also be fully compatible with your soul. So once I confirmed his soul had no resistance to merging with yours, I carried on as intended. By the way, you never mentioned you wanted a vessel you can control. It's not my fault you couldn't suppress him."
The air inside the chamber dropped further down in celcius in contrast to the winter breeze outside and with it carrying the crisp sound of frosty rage. "You impudent-"
"Uraume." He held up a hand to cease them. Of course, Sukuna was not the only one that could find a loophole in a binding vow, but it didn't lessen the urge to cleave the brain into two not with Shrine but his own hands.
Kenjaku's grin stretched in satisfied glee. He made a thoughtful hum as he tapped his with his right index finger. "But it's a good thing, no? You get to reincarnate in a world brimmed with great sorcery and perhaps even more promising than our era. In a way that thing helped pave your way to your current vessel."
Sukuna's tongue ran across his upper teeth as he mused over Kenjaku's answer. There should be more to his secrecy. "Is there all there is to it?"
Kenjaku nodded. "Yes. Why so many questions? I thought you didn't care about the brat?" The snarky emphasis made Sukuna's eyebrow twitch.
"I do not." He turned and before he reached the doorway, he left Kenjaku one last warning. "Our binding vow is the only reason I'm leaving you alive for your major oversight. Enjoy your life while it lasts."
A by-product—a joke that did not amuse him one bit. Sukuna refused to believe the deceptive trailings of the fox, but really what Kenjaku would've profited out of imprisoning Sukuna for a few months; he couldn't think of any.
The sorcerer stewed over the hypothetical scenario where the brat was unable to suppress his soul. Would his soul have sunk to a deeper abyss, far beyond his current vessel? Would Sukuna then have been able to kill him without any lingering thought? Would these repulsive feelings have had no way to form in the first place?
"Of course, you wouldn't get it."
That accusation irked Sukuna more than anything.