Chapter Text
What was he living for anymore?
What was the meaning of all of this? What was the purpose to life?
His feet trudged through familiar streets; a hood draped over his head. He’d been here before, time and time again, yet only now could he bring himself to love every detail of this place. A bitumen road, wide and stuffed with cars of all kinds, leading between bustling houses and lively people.
A single swing of cleave cut the buildings in half. Buildings erupted into fire, sinking into a ground of lava as people were dragged, kicking and screaming, into the depths of hell. Men, women, children. His old friends, his family.
Everyone.
And all he could do is watch.
It was bittersweet. Everyone was alive – almost like he was granted a do over. Hah, almost like one of those old manga he used to read. Back when he had dreams of grand stories and fighting.
It’d be fun they said.
He’d be a hero they said.
Well, they were wrong.
Jujutsu sorcerers were not heroes – he’d learnt that time and time again.
To be honest, he didn’t know what had happened. He’d been in a fight with- ugh, who was it? A curse – that’s right. It’d been a special grade. Obviously not something to be worried about, right?
Well, apparently, this curse had come from the fear people had of time. The fear of time moving too quickly, everyone aging and dying in an unstoppable flow, nothing able to stop it’s gradual fleeting - almost like the wind. Yuuji could understand that. Though, apparently this concept came with a well-known, yet extraordinarily rare, cursed technique. He'd never seen anything like it throughout his time as a jujutsu sorcerer. Curses had been developing though, most having techniques of their own by now (or, then? In the future). Techniques like Jogo’s fire, or Mahito’s Idle Transfiguration.
Ugh, the name felt like tar on his tongue.
The curse’s technique must’ve been time travel, as the curse seemed to be moving through time to keep away from him; disappearing for a moment before appearing nearby a few seconds later. Sometimes there'd be two or even three of it, standing side by side in the fight - able to fight together with itself from a different time. Obviously, it was still no drama to kill, but it must have had a kill switch – something that triggered when it died.
And so, here he was. Wandering the streets of 2018. He’d figured out by now it was before the Shibuya Incident, clearly, as the city wasn’t... y’know... gone; though he wasn’t sure exactly when.
He’d been here about five days. With no family or friends here, that wouldn’t freak out to see his 70-whatever-year-old self, he was just left wandering. So, he did just that - wander.
Memories swept by in visions and harsh nightmares, so he steered clear of Jujutsu tech. If it was bad enough out here, then it’d be worse in there. Everything there was a reminder of the past (future?). Of his failings. Of their deaths... Plus, he didn’t want to freak people out.
Instead, he found a new goal: kill all the curses he can. He’d find Mahito and Kenjaku; he’d kill them. Slowly. Painfully. He’d let them taste a sliver of the anguish they’d put him and his friends through.
Block, kick, punch, evade.
Block, kick, punch, evade.
He’d kill all the curses he can.
Then, he’d go after Sukuna.
It was no doubt that his younger counterpart, if he still existed, had eaten the first finger. It was the first thing he’d checked, the place where they’d found the finger. He even went so far as to ask at the hospital if his friend was out. Takeshi Iguchi. He’d almost forgotten his name. In fact, the only way he did know was a short trip to the school one night to see who was attending on the computers. Iguchi had been in hospital, and back out, so Sukuna had been consumed.
Great. Just more work, and less time for him. He really needed to know the date because - stupid him - he forgot to check it when he was on the computers. And then the school had put better security on the computers after realising someone unauthorised had logged in during closed hours. The warm evenings told him it wasn’t Autumn yet, or at the least, that they weren’t far in, which meant he did have some time. Some.
Purple blood had soaked his clothes, though it wasn't visible to the human eye, so it wasn’t his biggest concern. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to this kind of thing.
He couldn’t afford to sleep. He tried, but nightmares plagued his sleep, the same ones that had haunted him for over 60 years, coming back louder than they had before. Terrifying, loud, taunting – even his immortality and insane cursed energy levels couldn’t save him from them. So instead, RCT became his best friend.
It didn’t heal the ever-darkening bags under his eyes, nor the pale and gaunt image that painted his skin, but it did the job. Not like he didn’t look good for his age anyways.
It took both everything in him, and nothing at all to not go back to Jujutsu Tech.
He wanted to see his friends, his sensei. He wanted to go watch movies with them, eat stupidly expensive meals with them, maybe even an ice-cream, or go on easy missions that they’d bicker and gossip about afterwards. He missed them.
Though with that, with seeing them, would come an onslaught of questions he didn’t know how to answer, whether he told them who he was or not. For all he knew, it might mess up the timeline and put them all in danger sooner. Kugisaki was still alive in his timeline; he’d like to keep it that way.
But most of all, he didn’t want to face them again. He didn’t want to see the look in their eyes as they saw what their friend had become. What their upbeat, happy-go-lucky friend had gone through to become so uncaring and cold. He didn’t want to face the pain of them dying again. He couldn’t do that again.
It didn’t matter if he needed them. They needed him to stay away and do his part to prevent their deaths, he was sure of it. So that’s what he’d do.
He could do that.
For them.