Chapter Text
Yuuji felt a tightening in his chest while being held by a creature, something slimy and rotting and gross, no amount of years the finger clinging to his teeth had been rotting for could compare to the repulsion that he felt at the curse which hurt his friends and is, by expansion, trying to win by hurting him too.
The struggle was a blur, a huge chunk of nothing, Yuuji's mind was singlehandedly focused on what Fushiguro said—cursed energy rivals cursed energy, is that not it? His mind already decided what he needs to do.
“There is a way to save everyone!” everything got Incredibly silent when he snapped his neck up, effectively throwing the finger in the air. “I just need some cursed energy, right, Fushiguro?!” he'd shouted, barely managing to catch a gasped, choked noise Fushiguro made in response, then shouted another—horror dawning on his face from the corner of Yuuji's eye when he swallowed the finger whole.
The nail scraped against his throat, bringing loose tears to the corner of his eyes. It went in, then he felt it disintegrate bit by bit. Feeling his food digest was maybe once an interesting idea to explore in terms of sci-fi and what it could be like, but experiencing it was a whole other thing.
He didn't let it get in the way of what should be his main focus.
Megumi knew one thing, one thing for sure. This kid, bright and full of enthusiasm despite everything in the world, the very knowledgeable of his world, crumbling to pieces before him; he did not deserve to die.
Yet, pathetically, he remained frozen. Frozen as Yuuji consumed the finger, every second felt like an hour as his brain overanalyzed every movement.
Ryoumen Sukuna's finger has one in a million chance not to destroy him whole, melt his insides from inside out.
When that silver of chance entails the reincarnation of Ryoumen Sukuna, it doesn't feel feastable. Megumi feels sick to his stomach, yet he stays frozen.
Frozen, frozen, frozen. The useless Megumi Fushiguro stood frozen as Yuuji went limp, lifeless—
His heart stuttered when he sensed the increase of cursed energy from Yuuji, it sprang outwards as Yuuji's entire being exploded out of the curse's grasp, falling not too far from it and still landing on his feet so graciously.
It makes Megumi wonder if he'd imagined a flicker of death on the boy, then again...
Ah, right. Sukuna.
He stiffens further, throat increasingly dry as the curse is defeated in the matter of seconds, and...
Yuuji's body fell.
Despite his better wants, he only moves to a fighting stance, untrusting of the lack of movement. Even if the cursed energy slowly dwindled back inside, even as the boy didn't seem to breathe for agonizing minutes before Satoru showed up, he didn't check nor offer comfort—there wouldn't be the boy who mellowed his anger without effort, there wouldn't be anything of the sort.
That scares him.
Whether Yuuji is dead, or if his body is no longer his, there won't be a Yuuji To look forward to.
And that scares him.
“What's the situation?”
Megumi turned to look over at the white haired sorcerer, standing with such casualness Megumi would've punched his face in if he wasn't actually fond of the man.
He tilted his head at Megumi's solemn expression. A little awkwardly, though well aware that the strongest isn't awkward, just incapable of picking up social cues, he waved at Megumi. “Hi! I wasn't planning on showing up but...” he leaned in to inspect Megumi's face, side of it bleeding consistently.
Shoko is special with the way she utilizes reverse cursed technique, Satoru pouts at the reminder he can't use it on Megumi. “You got kind of roughed up, kid.”
Megumi half expected him to start taking pictures, however something in his expression made Satoru carefully turn to the scene of crime...
“Eh? What happened here?” he drew out the eh, stretching out a busy hand, holding aforementioned bag, for Megumi to hold. “Here, hold this.”
Megumi's fingers flexed around the thin plastic, discreetly glancing into the bag, finding many questions he wants to ask but little will to set them up.
His knees tremble with wear, swooning slightly but still managing to stay on his feet. An occasional buckle of knees got overrun by adrenaline, snapping him back up.
Satoru walked over to the limp body, pulling down his blindfold as he bent over to inspect it. His eyes practically shine in the dark, becoming a beacon Megumi often saw when hurrying to grab a glass of water during his many nights spent with Satoru—he should've refused that offer to be under his care if only to avoid getting spooked by two glowing orbs staring at him from the kitchen's doorway.
Megumi shivered at the memory.
“Is this...” Satoru began, lifting Yuuji's arm before letting it fall back on the ground, already having his answer to the unspoken question; Megumi's input is something he looks for, and Megumi doesn't mind it. It's familiar, unlike these feelings he's sick of.
“He swallowed the special-grade cursed object.” Megumi's sentence was unfinished, every bit of it made it so that Satoru could easily tell he was holding back.
Relief flooded his face when Satoru poked further, “What do you think we should do, hm? He's not dead, and, additionally...” Satoru trailed off, glancing back at the body from where he loomed over it. “Funny thing, they combined neatly! There's a shot at this, you know, in theory—”
“Under Jujutsu law, Yuuji is definitely a vessel for Sukuna and must die.” He let his gaze fall to the pink hair, small injuries on a soft, relaxed face. Yuuji's mouth was slightly open, more asleep than unconscious due to an overwhelming power short circuiting his brain. “However,” Satoru perks up at the words, Megumi continues, “I don't want him to die. I want you to save him, if there is something of him to save when he wakes up.” He hastily finishes, out of breath despite not having said much.
“Personal?” Satoru teases, finally picking up Yuuji from the filthy ground, putting him over his shoulder akin to a bag of potatoes.
Megumi closes his eyes, nodding. He feels so dizzy. “Yes.”
Liquid, cold and of metallic taste, swirled around him.
A paw—hand?—reached up to rub at his cheek, only to be poked by five flexible, clawed digits.
He flinched, pulling the paw—hand, most certainly hand—away from his face, eyes already trying to adjust to the dark. His vision grew tenfold, but his ability to see through the dark grew dimmer, something he hasn't felt in ages. A decade. Looking at this new limb, a clawed hand... That's not quite human, he thinks, unsure of how to feel.
A squeeze of the hand proved it real, if the wetness that clung to his body—and clothes!—hadn't already. There were two black bands around the wrist, making him recall the many stripes he had in the previous life he lead. But, this body was undeniable human and adult, this isn't reincarnation. Not the kind he knows.
Who...where?
He isn't new to this by any means, he knows he's going to get an answer eventually, he's only unsettled at the fact there's no scientific explanation for where he's at.
A shallow pool of water stained with blood, spanning over and over... The only surface free of it had bones, plenty bones and things he couldn't name. A throne, sharp and intimidating, lay in the middle of a space so closed off yet so large...he grinded his teeth when he growled, loving the way his vocal cords made a nostalgic part of his brain purr.
“Personal?”
“Yes.”
He spun around to look for the source of the people speaking, finding nothing, because the voices were echoing off the walls, not coming from any specific direction.
Where, where, where...
He sat up on his knees, joints cracking pleasantly. He's wearing a kimino, white in a sort of tinted way, probably stained if he had to guess—he hasn't worn clothes in so long, the fabric against pure skin made his body seek out that comforting texture—with a yellow scarf, followed by a pretty cute bow of the same color—he did miss accessories, they're making him feel pretty—and finishing it off with vertical sharp lines of gold circling the fabric around his shoulders and torso.
A faint reminder, hmmm? How cute.
He really, really missed this.
Getting up on two feet, he stumbled and fell at first. Grunting in frustration when his legs didn't work like they used to.
The second time he kept a slow rise, and a slightly faster move to take a step forward.
“So, what's in the bag?”
“Oh, I was beginning to think you'd never ask! There's...”
The shrill voice didn't stop speaking.
They fell face first at the sudden interruption of silence, and hissed at nothing.
The voices were probably hallucinations and he's going insane, but they're making him pissed and if only he could maul them, right here and then.
Being human now, it would make others frown at him for thinking such violence. That's one con he can think at the top of his head.
What an interesting priority to mourn.
Maybe I've lost my humanity more than I thought, he sourly added to his spinning frustrations.
He can't begin explaining the sensations, but he instinctively managed to shut out the noise threatening to spring forth a headache, quickly taking his attention back on learning to walk.
Baby steps, he gave himself a pat on the back when he managed to walk three steps to the throne before it was too much for his legs. He didn't stop involuntarily, this time he lowered himself with movements he's long forgotten to do without second thought, shuddering a breath of relief when he sat on an area no longer occupied by water.
The stench of blood messed with his brain, it's a pain that he's stuck with it, and with no animals to hunt...
I'm human now, he scolds himself, finding the emotions overwhelming. I'll buy, not hunt.
If I get out of here was left unthought.
Back then, it felt easier to let things pass due to his circumstances. Things that mattered before didn't give him worry, but once life turned around once more they became the thing that's bothering him most. Not even claustrophobia could itch him into a corner to cower in fear.
He sat and listened to the voices, playing with the weird tugs and thumps his brain and heart provided.
This doesn't feel...real, does it?
And the thoughts came again.
Where, where, where...
His second worry on the list might be objectively the worst.
He let out a sharp sigh, of course it won't be easy. It wasn't the first time, either.
The voices, though irritating, distracted him.
The shrill one specifically made his canines itch to bite, but it also stirred a strange sort of familiarity that would've made his ears flick back in bafflement.
He absentmindedly played with his kimino for a little, soon bringing a hand up to itch at his face only to discover a set of two eyes on one side of his face.
Quickly enough, he found he has four eyes in total.
That was familiar, and it wasn't the thought of a spider that triggered such emotion.
Everything felt familiar yet distant, he curses his past life for this dilemma.
Over time, pulling and prodding at a bond that he uncovered in the depths of his soul—a melting and blended thing that feels like a heartburn whenever he tries to tug from it with his pure will of mind—his lower set of eyes flutter then widen, sensations of light blinding them.
The light didn't come from the area he resides in, caged like...pftt, a tiger.
For an abrupt change in sight, his eyes adapted mere immediately to such harshness, squinting through it and finding himself in a room so...god, why is everything yellow?
He is acutely aware of both worlds he's seeing.
A pretty man sits on a chair, the movements and changing of his ability to view the area weren't his own, making it painfully clear that he is not human as he so hopefully assumed.
What is he then?
He's not an animal, not any longer.
What is he, if he's not able to have his own body?
He doubts this place he sits in is connected to the world he sees through the eyes.
He doubts he has powers to view the world from random points, out of random people's eyes.
It doesn't help that the shrill voice he's been hearing is coming from that same pretty man staring straight to his soul despite a blindfold hiding his eyes.
And the body, in fact, is sending him signals that its talking, and he hears it talk.
“Satoru Gojo, I'm head of the first years at Jujutsu Tech! You've met Fushiguro, my student, but let's drop that—which one of the two are you?” The man's aura is strange, in a way.
“You're Fushiguro's sense? Where is.. What the hell is this?!”
He can't tell if this...
Hold on, hold on, wait a minute.
Satoru Gojo, as in, the Satoru Gojo of Jujutsu Kaisen the fucking anime he watched for only one whole season before dying the day after and getting reincarnated for the first time?!
Any previous daze about his identity was set back a notch, he'll get to that later, he's in Jujutsu Kaisen.
That's not real!? At all!
One; sure, he's known about reincarnation before which wasn't real either, but at least he reincarnated as another creature in the world he was already familiar with.
Two; Jujutsu Kaisen was not, in fact, a world he's familiar with. He'd go as far as to say he doesn't think any of it makes sense, let alone if it's liveable in.
The where, where, where became how, how, how.
And the pretty man did become way more tolerable, knowing he's safe and friendly even if annoying... But it doesn't change the fact that...
Oh! He's Sukuna. He forgot, he's Ryoumen Sukuna, king of curses, except he's not.
He doesn't remember his real name, he hasn't used it in so long, it's the first time he's had one in a decade.
He doesn't mind it, but the title comes with the price of no body and, even worse, everybody sees him as Satan!
Suddenly living as a tiger, starving and narrowly avoiding everything nature throws at him, seems better than this nonsense.
He mourns that he's no longer a human, he was looking forward to experiencing real food again.
Raw meat was, fortunately, pleasant for his odd tastebuds, but he still had the memories to miss the salty taste of chips and the sweet tingle of chocolate milk.
He's a curse, he's stuck, and he didn't even get to check if he has abilities intact.
Using them in the domain came up, but he set that aside, too, in favor of listening to the conversation at hand.
He's already missed a large portion....
His ears did perk up at one thing:
“Ah, let's not dwell on that until later, you'll have time to decide~ I kind of need to know, anything off with your body?” Satoru's position in the chair couldn't be any less professional—by contrasting Nanami so badly, it made sense he had no respect for the six eyes user.
Yuuji Itadori, sadly involved in this whole mess, was a bundle of emotions that now-Sukuna couldn't name yet, unused to such things. He took a pause, before tilting his head back and forth as though he's balancing sensations in his head.
Sukuna prodded once at the connection he feels being tentatively, like hands holding porcelain glass, searched by the boy.
Yuuji's own soul, Sukuna's connection making it impossible to ignore, startled at the reciprocation of contact, but outwardly made no show of his shock.
Hmmm...
Sukuna let his tongue taste the next sentence, coughing into his hand to clear any cobwebs blocking clear speech, then decided to test out his most important not so human but it still counts as a human thing quality; speech.
“I'd be scared too if I had, like, basically a ghost living inside me.” he shrugged, fond of how everything moved more fluidly than his previous body could. In a way, he's stuck between both worlds he touched, never seeming to find a place where his preferences rest. It's one of many things he suffered as a tiger, and one he continues to suffer as a curse in a previously fictional world.
These words, spoken aloud to no one in particular, made Yuuji blurt out a few things: “Okay, he's definitely there, I can hear him speak to me. Uh, other than that...I'm good?” the boy meekly offered his soon-to-be-sensei.
Sukuna stared at the view—specifically Yuuji's view—blankly, mind stilling at the prospect of accidentally broadcasting his thoughts (words, but, that's semantics) quite easily.
At least it didn't come with a side effect of “everything you think,” instead it's more of a “everything you say.”
He wouldn't be able to censor his thoughts, he has too many things to think about right now.
Thanks, whatever god out there, for giving me freedom of speech in my own head, he nods with a serious expression making a knot of his brows.
He needs to figure out a few things, but this could work out.
And, to top it off, he doesn't really care if he lives or dies, nor does he care if the characters—real and breathing humans—live or die. Not particularly.
...
Well, that would be a lie.
Yikes.