Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What comes after death is notorious for being beyond comprehension. The general consensus on death, however, is that it is the absence of life and the failure of vital systems. Everyone that is born will die, and everything must come to an end. So is the way of life and the natural order. But death is simply a concept, something to acknowledge but never understand—at least, not until you yourself are at death’s door.

Satoru Gojo is not a spiritual man by any means. He is logical, and he is calculating, simply because that was who he was raised to be. His cursed technique requires him to calculate large, specific numbers, all to work as wanted. He is a smooth, well-oiled machine, endlessly utilizing specific formulas to maintain a guise of surety and otherworldliness. Satoru worked for everything he has achieved, spending a countless amount of time mastering his techniques to reach up and claim the title of strongest. He’d even found comfort within his methods, knowing exact causes and effects and expecting no surprises. Every action is predictable, and he can adjust the values as needed to produce an ideal output. 

And yet, for all that he prides himself on logic, he’s only human. Attachments, desires, and emotions crept up on him like a disease: debilitating, ever-present, and an ache that will never go away. For the sky is blue, the grass is green, and Satoru Gojo cares far too much for his own good.

He is not allowed love and dreams, because he is the strongest, and that is all he will ever be in the eyes of others. But all it took was a boy telling him that he deserved to have all these things and more. He’s allowed to be a person. How sad it is to have to wait for someone to give permission for you to live.

And so, he started to take back his life. As a teenager, Satoru found out he loved most pastries, though he preferred those with chocolate filling; he enjoyed going to the beach, feeling the wind in his hair and the spray of water against his skin; but most importantly, he learned how to connect with people. At first, it had been in his own twisted way, foundations built on teasing words and grudging respect, until it evolved into something more—and he has none other to blame than Suguru Geto. 

Oh, Suguru. 

Somehow, it always comes back to Suguru. How pathetic is that? Over a decade since that cursed day, and it still hangs over Satoru like a dark cloud. The way his hands had curled instinctively to launch an attack, but he’d just… frozen, like an invisible force was holding him back. His fingers twitched, and cursed energy thrummed in his veins, but he simply couldn’t do it. All Satoru could do was watch as Suguru walked away, the blood roaring in his ears.

Then there was the declaration of war and final words, uttered so abruptly he could hardly believe he’d said them. Suguru had looked stunned and then laughed, incredulous. You should at least curse me a little at the end, he’d replied. He was dying, and even then Satoru had been unable to voice words that now tasted like ash on his tongue. Suguru’s eyes had closed, a mute acceptance; he ended it with the flick of a finger. 

Satoru Gojo is not a spiritual man. He has never believed that there is an afterlife, nor pondered what awaits him after death. Although, holding Suguru’s gaze for one final time, he couldn’t help but wonder. Will he be waiting for me on the other side? 

Some people say that when your death is approaching, you can sense it. A shift in the air, an unshakable certainty tugging at your gut. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, you feel the goosebumps on your skin, and you think, Yes, this is it.

Satoru is in Shinjuku, amidst a sea of destruction as a result of him and Sukuna’s battle. Logically, he is the victor. He landed the final blow, and he’s the only one with enough cursed energy to use RCT and his technique. And yet. As real as the snowflakes beginning to fall through the air, he senses it. Growing anticipation makes his stomach churn, and he realizes, I’m going to die.

It happens too fast for him to react. One second he’s staring forward, and the next he’s lying on the ground, snowflakes dancing in the grey, cloud-filled sky. Satoru doesn’t feel much of anything now. Such an injury prevents him from doing so. He may be the strongest, but he cannot overcome being sliced in two.

Satoru is not a logical man, despite what he wants to believe. A logical man would realize dwelling on Suguru was irrational, and his yearning would only bring more suffering. A logical man would not, when faced with death, find his thoughts wandering back to Suguru. In his last moments, numb to everything else, Satoru Gojo hopes. He wants that which he cannot have. He wishes now, more than ever, for a second chance. He does not believe in an afterlife, but even so, he longs to reunite with Suguru.

If death is the failure of vital systems, then it refers to the collapse of the physical body. But what happens to the spirit? Through lingering feelings, hope transcends mind and body and becomes something more.

There is nothing, and then there is light.

The next thing Satoru sees is a pen and an eraser sailing toward his face. Stunned and disoriented, he isn’t able to regulate Infinity, and the pen nicks him on the cheek, with the eraser bouncing off his head. Despite the objects having done minimal damage, blood begins to gush down his face.

Faintly, he can hear a voice say his name—not Gojo, but Satoru—and wouldn’t that be funny if it was Suguru asking if he was alright? He stumbles back, but unexpectedly, strong hands steady him. Through a haze of pain, he looks up, and what he sees makes him freeze.

Suguru is standing in front of him, holding him up by the shoulders. “Satoru—Satoru, are you alright? Shoko, what’s wrong with him?”

Despite hardly being able to think straight, his instincts scream at him that something isn’t right. Suguru is not supposed to be here—he’s dead, and Satoru had killed him. He tries to speak, but out comes an incoherent jumble of sounds, and he cuts himself off when he tastes the metallic pang of blood in his mouth.

“I told you he was going to fry his brain someday! Give him here,” Shoko demands, and he doesn’t even have the ability to protest when he gets handed over, as his consciousness slips away.

Satoru does not have the privilege of waking up slowly. He wakes up in a panic, shooting up so quickly he nearly falls over. His heart pounds in his chest, so intense he swears he can feel it reverberating through his very being. His fingers tremble, his head aches from a migraine like no other, and his cursed energy is going haywire. It’s so prominent; the snap and crackle of it is near deafening.

He can’t lower his guard just yet—the last thing he remembers is dying. Plain as day, standing across from Sukuna, he vividly recalls getting sliced in half. It’s a terrible feeling, that all-encompassing numbness, the thrum of finality. There was no coming back, but somehow, he’s here. Although… he’s not sure where here is. His Six Eyes is still recalibrating, adjusting to the environment around him. It doesn’t help not having his blindfold; his throbbing migraine is a testament to that. 

How did they save me? He thinks, incredulous. Although his thoughts are still hazy, he recalls the last resort plan he’d made with Yuta, the body swap. Would that not be the next step if Sukuna had managed to recover from his last-ditch effort? Why am I alive?

Satoru swallows thickly, his eyes squeezing tightly shut. The world is too bright, and it hurts to keep his eyes open. He stays like that for a few moments before forcing himself to open them again, just to see what’s under his shirt. When he lifts it, there’s… nothing. No scars, no markings of any sort that allude to the fact he was slashed in half. With that, an inherent feeling of wrongness clouds his senses. Wait a minute. Why the hell am I smaller?

It takes some time to register, but he’s right. His legs and arms don’t seem to be the right length; in fact, he feels thinner, not bearing the muscles he had gained into adulthood. It’s only when you’re inactive for long periods of time that you begin to lose your muscle mass. But it doesn’t explain why Satoru’s body feels like it did when he was a teenager—more lanky than muscular, his limbs awkward lengths, because he hadn’t grown into his body yet. What the hell?

“So,” a voice drawls, “you’re finally awake.”

Satoru nearly jumps out of his skin, his hands twitching and ready to charge up an attack with Blue. As his vision comes into focus, he moves his hands away. That’s Shoko’s voice.

“Wow, okay. Don’t vaporize me, or I’ll come back as a ghost and haunt you,” she scoffs, and he hears her enter the room and walk towards him. “How are you feeling?”

Finally able to see her, his thoughts grind to a halt. She’s raising a brow, staring at him expectantly. His gaze searches for eye bags that aren’t there, trying to detect an air of indifference only perfected after countless tragedies. He instead sees a younger version of Shoko, all bright eyes and sarcasm incarnate. She only looked like this in…?

Oh.

It hits him all at once, the inconsistencies coming together to form a nearly inconceivable picture. My body looks like a teenager’s, and Shoko looks like a teenager, too. I am very much not sliced in half. This is the infirmary, and I’m at Jujutsu Tech. 

Jesus Christ, am I dreaming? Or, like, actually dead?

Upon witnessing the myriad of emotions flickering across Satoru’s face, Shoko frowns, her lightheartedness replaced by concern. “...Are you okay? You’re kind of freaking me out. Mind saying something so I know your brain didn’t turn to mush?”

Satoru stares at her dumbly, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. For a few moments, his thoughts race until a memory resurfaces. He remembers how he’d been about to showcase automatic Infinity, letting Shoko and Suguru throw objects at him to demonstrate. But then, Infinity sputtered and dispersed, the objects hitting him directly. 

…That’s not how it went. 

Because Infinity was supposed to trigger to prevent the contact, and Shoko was supposed to comment that he’d fry his brain if he always left it active. Instead, he’d simply lost control, and his mind… Maybe it did turn to mush.

It would certainly explain the blood that had gushed down Satoru’s face and the back of his throat, leaving a disgusting, lingering metallic taste. Just like the battle in Shinjuku. It was an uncomfortable thought, knowing he had pushed himself so far, he’d been destroying his brain and continually healing it with RCT. It resulted in some severe brain bleeding, which in turn made for a nasty nosebleed. But it was worth it if it meant Satoru could get rid of Sukuna once and for all. And where did that get me?

He collects himself, taking a few moments to remember how to speak again. Finally, he mumbles something that vaguely sounds like, “What?”

“Welcome back to the land of the living, idiot. Mind telling me what went wrong?”

Satoru blinks, uncomprehending. His mind is slow to process the question, and even slower to try and piece together what’s happening. He feels like a thick fog has enveloped his brain, and he has to blindly stumble through it to even begin formulating an answer. Instead, he just stares at her, and her brow furrows. “...Um, hello?” She presses.

Realizing that Shoko’s thought train will switch back to his brain-is-mush theory, he tries to figure out a way to make his confusion known. Instead he trails off with, “I don’t…”

It’s frustrating. Satoru’s head feels like it’s splitting in two, memories of his fight and memories of now rushing to the forefront of his mind. And what the hell does now even mean? He thinks back to the pen and the eraser. It switches between them hitting him and them bouncing off an invisible barrier—Infinity. It takes another moment before it clicks, and he inhales so sharply it’s like he was punched in the gut. The fog clears, and he’s facing the fact that it’s August of 2007, and something is very, very wrong. 

Eloquently, he manages, “What the fuck.”

“Yeah, I think that’s pretty fitting for the situation,” Shoko snorts. “Are you ready to talk about your technique without the brain bleed?”

Satoru can’t say he’s surprised. It’s the result of overusing his technique in Shinjuku, for instance. He considers his next words carefully, only to say, “I miscalculated.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Shoko scoffs. “Seriously, it’s like something exploded. Your cursed energy went batshit crazy, and you passed right out. I don’t know, it was almost like you were… experiencing too much input, or something? But take your usual strain and multiply it by one hundred.”

“Oh,” Satoru says, because there’s not much else to say to that. She’s right, actually. He remembers the calm before the storm, the violent awareness, and most of all, the wrongness. He wasn’t supposed to be there, and then the realization hit all at once, like being in the direct path of Hollow Purple. Satoru had been dying in one moment and at Jujutsu Tech the next, and his brain couldn’t handle that rush of information. Even now, there’s a disconnect, and he feels thousands of miles away. Drifting, floating, processing. Because his Six Eyes tell him that he died, but that it is also 2007, and Shibuya and Shinjuku haven't happened yet.

Where does that leave him, then? Was it all a hallucination or a vivid dream about the future? It’s the logical conclusion, one that someone could easily reach. But it doesn’t make sense.

“You should at least curse me a little at the end.”

There is no way Satoru could imagine that; not in a million years.

“How long was I out?” He asks.

“About a day. You’re lucky I was right there, because a normal person would’ve gone into a coma. And even if they woke up, they’d be left with severe cognitive and neurological impairment,” Shoko chides. “Your RCT wasn’t cutting it. Remember? Energy going haywire? Your brain was so overwhelmed, it couldn’t even begin to heal itself properly.”

Going off of his vague recollection of the event, he lets out an annoyed groan. “I’ve mastered Infinity on the bare minimum, I swear. What are you going to do, ban me from using the technique?”

“Well, no,” she replies, and she finally flops into the chair by his cot. “It’s not a problem stemming from you, from what I can tell. I don’t know what happened the other day, but something else overwhelmed your senses, and it wasn’t your technique. It wasn’t something that Geto and I could pick up, either.”

“What, you think it affected me because of the Six Eyes?” He inquires. Shoko was about halfway there, and it was a reasonable guess. Then again, no one really jumps to time travel as the answer. And yet, it fits. Despite its absurdity, there’s no other reason why Satoru is once more seventeen, with the knowledge of the next eleven years, nor an explanation as to why or how—it just is. And he’s certainly not about to take this for granted; there is so much he needs to do. But first…

“Do you have something I can cover my eyes with?” He asks hopefully. “Because this migraine is killing me.”

Chapter Text

Suguru Geto can vividly recall the first time he’d eaten a curse. He was a young child then, trying his best to help his mother with cooking dinner. He doesn’t remember when it started, but in the days prior to that evening, he began to see monsters—small, grotesque, and undetected by those around him. Once, Suguru asked his father if he saw the monsters too, but he’d just laughed and assured him that monsters didn’t exist. But right there had stood a small, disgusting lump of a creature that hissed threateningly if Suguru came too close. Eventually, it began to follow him around the house, mumbling things that sounded like stress and not enough. 

That very evening, in the kitchen, Suguru watched the creature drag itself across the floor, having doubled in size since the first time he’d seen it. It approached him with its beady eyes and teeth and inspired such fear that he simply acted. He crushed the monster under his foot, which was followed by a brief flash of light. Surprised, he stepped back, only to spot a small, black orb in place of the monster. Crouching down, Suguru picked up the orb, rolling it around in his hand. It was perfectly smooth and pulsed with energy. Before he could process what he was doing, he lifted it to his mouth and then swallowed it.

He immediately gagged, the vile taste invading his senses as he fell back onto the floor. As young as he was, Suguru didn’t know what else to do but cry, unable to rid himself of the absolutely disgusting aftertaste. His mother, having had her view of him obstructed by a table, rushed over to him when she heard his sobs, spotting her child practically choking on his tears.

Afterward, he came down with a fever like no other, and was bedridden for days. But all throughout, he thought about that monster, the black orb, and the misery that came with consuming it. Unbeknownst to his younger self, he wouldn’t be able to escape it. A sensation no one could ever understand, like ingesting a rag used to wipe up shit and vomit. Most people have usually offered sympathetic words, or neglected to acknowledge it entirely. That’s what he was used to—at least, until Satoru came along.

In their first year at Jujutsu Tech, they were both sent on a mission. One that Suguru would never forget, simply because it was the catalyst that kick-started their friendship—in which Satoru had shown he was more than his facade, and met Suguru halfway. 

“Hey, Geto, you left this behind.”

Gojo tosses an orb to him, and Suguru easily catches it, raising a brow. “Is this a higher-grade curse that I didn’t absorb?”

“It’s a Grade Two, but probably still worth something,” he replies, slipping his hands into his pockets. “What, isn’t the more the better for your technique?”

Suguru tries to smile, but it comes out as a wince instead. It’s difficult to soldier through this conversation while he’s already feeling queasy from consuming a curse. “Well… yes.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Gojo prompts.

“...Have you ever eaten a dirty cloth, Gojo?”

He flinches back. “What?”

“Not just that—let’s say it was used to wipe up piss, or vomit, or some other gross thing. Sounds disgusting, right?”

Gojo gawks at him incredulously. “Obviously! What are you on about?”

“Now you know what it’s like to swallow a curse.”

It’s silent for a few excruciating moments. Suguru can’t see Gojo’s eyes through his glasses, but from the way his face twists, it’s evident he’s caught off guard. Then, wordlessly, he starts digging through his pockets. Suguru, taken aback, doesn’t move a muscle until Gojo extends a hand, which holds a few lemon-flavored hard candies.

“Here, take them.”

“...Huh?”

“It’s all I have right now, but they might help with the taste,” Gojo continues, and turns his head to avert his gaze, an instinctual action that serves no purpose while he’s wearing those glasses. “I can probably get some more if you want a specific flavor.”

Suguru blinks, dumbfounded. Impatiently, Gojo reaches for his hand and places the candies in his palm. The physical contact jerks Suguru out of his daze, and his mind hones in on a few details—the way Gojo’s hand had felt against his, how warm it was, and the sincerity behind the simple action. For some odd reason, his face begins to feel hot.

“Uh, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Suguru manages. He quickly swallows the orb, followed by the hard candies. Though they don’t completely quell the sickness in his gut, they make the curse go down a little easier. Afterwards, he adds, “Thank you, Gojo. It helped.”

“Satoru.”

“What?”

“Call me Satoru,” he repeats. “Gojo is just the name of a stupid clan. If you’re going to thank me, at least use my name.”

His mouth twitches upward into an amused smile. “Well, Satoru,” he says, “thank you.”

It was a fond memory, one that stuck with him throughout the years. Regardless of Satoru’s intervention, however, it will ultimately be Suguru’s burden to bear. An endless cycle of exorcising, consuming, and repeating.

He’s tired—excruciatingly so. Suguru has been tired ever since the Sorcerer Killer, when he saw Amanai get shot, and when he was told Satoru was dead. He got struck down, bleeding and mourning, because his best friend was dead, and he thought he was going to die, too. Until Satoru came back due to RCT, and blew a hole through the man with what he called Hollow Purple. He’s been tired since he saw Satoru holding Amanai’s dead body, asking Suguru if they should just kill everyone that was there. Even during that fall evening with those lemon-flavored hard candies, it was there, waiting to consume him in its entirety. It’s a crippling fatigue, dragging at his every thought and step, not wavering since that wretched mission went wrong. 

Satoru is on top of the world. He is the strongest, because he’s improved so much that Suguru can never catch up. They’re no longer sharing that title now; he’s trailing a long ways away, witnessing greatness in the ever-distant horizon. For one, they aren’t as close as they used to be. Satoru is being worked to his wits’ end by the higher-ups now that his potential is fully realized; he’s practically drowning in missions. Speaking of…

Suguru sends a few offensive cursed spirits toward the Grade One, balancing on his stingray curse. It didn’t take long to figure out the Grade One cursed spirit had a sort of seismic sense. It attacked him first, easily detecting any sort of movement he made while in contact with the ground. Leading it out into a more open area, all he had to do was ride on top of the stingray curse, and the Grade One was unable to detect him. His lips curl up into a smirk, relishing its enraged shriek as it gets attacked. It’s an ugly thing—vaguely humanoid, with melting flesh and a sickly purple tint to its skin. The danger, however, comes from its technique: earthquakes. All it takes is a moment of contact with the ground, and it gets triggered. 

A curse lands next to the Grade One and then jumps up, all in order to activate the technique. Once triggered, it succeeds in unbalancing even its own user, in which Suguru commands his released curses to attack all at once. The last sound the Grade One makes is a horrifying gurgling, abruptly cut off as it’s exorcised. All that remains is a small black orb, dropping to the ground with a light clink.

Suguru makes the stingray curse descend, stepping off of it once they’re low enough to the ground. He unsummons his curses and reaches down to grab the black orb, quick to swallow it. Even though his face screws up in disgust and nausea rolls in his gut, it’s a taste he’s used to by now—it’ll be gone within the hour.

…Yes, there are missions that Suguru needs to do, because Satoru is out of commission from a brain bleed, caused by something only the Six Eyes could be affected by. He’d been alright one minute and collapsed the next, blood coming out of his nose and mouth. He hadn’t felt panic like that since a year ago, when he saw Satoru’s battered form, soaked with so much of his own blood it made him dizzy. There was so much, I nearly vomited—

It’s fine. He’s fine. 

Exorcise. Consume. Repeat.

The words loop in his head, whispered like a desperate prayer. It’s all he knows, and all he ever will do. 

Exorcise. Consume. Repeat.

God, he’s so tired.

A sudden ringing startles him out of his thoughts, and he opens his phone to answer the incoming call. “...Hello?”

“Yo, Geto, Mr. Infallible-but-actually-fallible is awake,” Shoko greets. “He’s okay, but he was kind of out of it for a minute. Other than that, he’s back to—dude, what are you doing?”

“Covering my eyes!” He hears Satoru shout in the background of the call.

“Your glasses are right there.”

“They’re not as good as this!”

“You look like you’re about to play that one American birthday party game… Pin the head on the donkey, or something?”

“Wow, Shoko, you’re so mean to your beloved, injured friend—”

“I healed you, idiot. You’re fine. That doesn’t explain you ripping apart one of your shirts to make a blindfold!”

“Nah, it’s in style right now. You wouldn’t get it, Shoko!”

Suguru chuckles, feeling some of the tension melt out of his body. “From what I hear, he’s better, huh? Still no clue what caused the brain bleed?”

He hears shuffling on the other end of the line before Shoko replies, “No, unfortunately. I checked with Yaga-sensei, and there was no suspicious activity around the barriers; the only disturbance came from Gojo when his cursed energy went crazy.”

“So, it’s either something so imperceptible it passed undetected through Tengen’s barriers, or something already on school grounds?” Suguru inquires. This serves to confuse him even more, because what could the trigger possibly be?

“Honestly…” Shoko trails off, hesitant. “My first thought was that he overused his technique when I sensed the damage. Except, there was this insane overload of energy. It quite literally fried his brain, and bam, bleeding. The thing is… I’ve never seen an attack like this, Geto. It looks as though he absorbed cursed energy. Like, so much that his brain gave out on him, because it wasn’t made to handle that much. However… The brain is really tricky, and it’s hard to tell. For all I know, it was just a freak accident because his control slipped.”

“Maybe it was,” he agrees, even as the information settles uncomfortably in his stomach. “I’ll be back in about an hour. Just give me a second to wrap things up here.”

“Man, I need a cigarette,” she grumbles, and hangs up.

Shaking his head, he slips his phone back into his pocket. Freak accident, huh? …Maybe I need a cigarette, too.

—

“You look ridiculous.” 

Satoru simply grins as he lounges on the cot. The familiar pressure of the blindfold snug against his head has drastically helped his migraine, so at least the room doesn’t feel like it’s spinning anymore. “Nah, this is great. I should get a blindfold tailored, or something. It’s way better than the glasses.”

“You look like a weird-ass manga protagonist,” Shoko retorts.  

“I look cool,” he corrects and moves to hang half of his body upside-down over the side of the cot.

“Only a loser like you would think that it looks cool,” she shoots back after she takes off her gloves. “Anyway, you’re good to go, but Yaga-sensei took you off missions for the next few days. He said that he doesn’t want to risk it, and honestly, I don’t blame him. A normal person would be in a coma.”

“Are you kidding?” Satoru exclaims. “I’m fine, Shoko; I don’t even have a migraine anymore!”

If he wants to change things, he can’t afford to be benched. He can acknowledge it’s for his own good; he probably scared the shit out of them and added onto Yaga’s eternal headache. But Satoru’s the strongest; he doesn’t need to be coddled.

He huffs, mouth twisting into a pout. “Ugh. Are you sure you can’t talk to Yaga-sensei and tell him that his beloved student is doing just fine, and is ready to go on missions? Pretty please?”

“Dude, no. Do it yourself,” Shoko says dryly as she cracks her knuckles. “Besides, I need a smoke. I’ve been too busy looking after your sorry ass.”

“You’re so mean,” he complains, but he doesn’t really mean it. “I’ll go find him, then. Do you think if I ask him really nicely, he’ll say yes? Maybe I could buy a nice pair of sunglasses as a bribe…”

“What a way to get him to yell at you,” a voice cuts in wryly. “I think you should grovel while bowing on the ground. Maybe he’ll have mercy.”

Satoru’s heart skips a beat, because he knows that voice. It’s the voice of the person who’d been his companion for three years, who’d left him in Shinjuku, whose appearance had made him lower his guard and therefore his Infinity, which allowed Kenjaku to seal him. Suguru. It’s Suguru.

He’s so startled, he loses his balance and falls off the cot. Suguru stands in the doorway, looking increasingly amused as he directs his comment to Shoko. “Part of me thought you were kidding when you said he made his own blindfold.”

He knows he should say something. A sharp counter, or maybe a joke about fashion taste. But he’s rendered speechless, left blindsided and awed and thinking, okay, this is real now. Because he’s faced with the Suguru who hasn’t reached the end of his rope, who is questioning but still complying. There’s still time. I can change things.

“Hi, Suguru,” he chirps, and if his voice cracks a bit, he refuses to acknowledge it, because he’s had to deal with so much in the span of an hour, he’s giving himself a pass. Even so, he’s kind of tempted to bash his head against the wall with how awkward his greeting comes out. Then, Suguru’s previous words finally register in his head, and he squawks in indignation. “I’m not going to beg!”

“Honestly, I don’t think he’s going to let you go on missions for now, no matter how much you pester him,” Shoko muses. “You just about gave everyone a heart attack. I think he’s scared you’re going to start bleeding again if you use your technique too soon.”

“Did you guys forget I have RCT?” Satoru complains. “If I can heal from being sliced open—”

He thinks of his final moments in Shinjuku, and his words die in his throat. Eventually, he manages a small shrug. “I’ll be fine.”

“Since when were you so eager to return to missions?” Suguru asks with a frown. “You always complain. And they’re working you to the bone, Satoru! The higher-ups dumped your backlog of missions onto me and a few other sorcerers, and it’s a lot, even for us.”

“That’s exactly why,” he says seriously, finally getting back to his feet. “For most missions, I just need to send out a Blue or two, and it’s over; then I can go right to the next one. It takes way longer if you’re not—”

“Not what?” Suguru interrupts tiredly. “Not strong like you?”

He doesn’t even say it angrily. It’s more of a statement than a question, like he’s acknowledged the gap and figures he can never catch up. Satoru looks at him then—really looks at him—and sees just how exhausted Suguru looks. There are dark bags under his eyes, with something like finality in his gaze. It goes beyond physical exhaustion, too; it runs bone-deep.

I knew even before, but I didn’t do anything until it was too late.

“Not what I was going to say,” he settles on. “I meant, if you’re not able to fast-travel, or whatever. Transportation time adds up!”

Suguru shoots him an almost disbelieving look. “You’re acting so weird.”

Oh, crap. What did I mess up on now? “Well, try having a brain bleed, Suguru, then you can talk,” he retorts, grabbing his glasses from the nearby counter and swapping out the blindfold. “Anyways, I’m starving. Are you in the mood for crepes?”

“I’m not really—” he begins to decline, but Satoru steps forward, grabs him by the hand, and warps them to Tokyo. 

Unfortunately, he’d forgotten to account for the eleven-year difference in time, which meant instead of popping up next to his favorite sweets shop, he instead appears next to an empty building marked for sale or rent. He barely has enough time to mourn it before he sees Suguru double over, face faintly green. “Fuck, Satoru, don’t do that without warning me!”

“Crap, sorry,” he apologizes, patting Suguru’s back half-heartedly. “I hope I still have my wallet, ‘cause it’d be real embarrassing if it’s in the infirmary—”

“Satoru.”

Suguru waves him away and pushes himself back up. “Hold on for a second. Why are you trying so hard to get everything back to normal? You had a major injury, and Shoko’s right—you should stay away from missions for a few days. You don’t have to throw yourself back into the fray to compensate for one day of being injured.”

He’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. I don’t care about the injury, and I don’t care about making up for it. I care about the fact that I got thrown eleven years into the past, and now it’s up to me to make sure the world doesn’t get screwed over. I care that I have to face the man I killed with my own two hands. Satoru’s amazed by the sheer absurdity of the situation. I don’t care about proving myself, but that’s what they think now, isn’t it?

He’s partly right, though; Satoru does want to get back to doing missions, if only to have more control over the rapidly approaching disasters. For he knows that when his guard is let down, he'll get hit head-on by those very tragedies. I’m not letting it happen again.

Distantly, he recalls a quiet moment in Shibuya, when his world tilted on its axis. Then, mere hours ago, feeling so strongly his incoming demise, but hesitating regardless. Two times too many. I refuse to let that be the reason I fail, if it comes to pass.

“It’s not because of that,” he replies. “I just…”

Well, what?

“...Okay, it is,” he lies instead. 

“You don’t have to be the strongest on your own,” Suguru insists. “Don’t you remember what we said? We’re the strongest. Let me and everyone else help you.”

Suguru can be very convincing. He has this way with words, an ability to connect with people and see them eye-to-eye. Even now, part of Satoru desperately wishes to take him at face value, because that’s what is easy and familiar. Even so, he also knows this:

Suguru is a hypocrite.

He’s hypocritical in what he says and what he believes in. He’s a hypocrite with his ideals, his worldview, and his relationships. Suguru’s entire campaign against non-sorcerers had been rooted in hypocrisy, simply because he was never being true to himself.

Still, it’s not to say Satoru is very different. In fact, Satoru is a hypocrite, too. He’s hypocritical in the way he views Suguru, having pledged to do better, to save him—yet when faced with an opportunity, he stalls, he hesitates, and he falls back into old patterns.

“You’re too good, Suguru,” he chirps. “If you want to help out so much… do me a favor, and wait while I go get my wallet? ‘Cause I’m like ninety-five percent sure it’s either in the infirmary or my dorm, and I need crepes.”

Suguru holds his gaze a few moments longer, an almost sad look on his face. Satoru is certain he’ll say something more—he’ll call me out on my bullshit, probably—but Suguru just shakes his head. “Of course sweets are one of the first things you think about after waking up. Hurry up, then we’ll go find somewhere to buy you some crepes. Happy?”

“Very!” He grins, then warps away with a clap of his hands.

Chapter Text

Satoru has changed—there’s no denying it. Both he and Suguru have adjusted due to the Star Plasma Vessel mission, of course, but after sustaining the brain bleed… Satoru is distant, skittish, and most of all, awkward. Not that he wasn’t before, as most teenagers are, but with the way he interacts with their friends now, it’s like he’s meeting them for the first time: in short, he seems utterly unused to it. 

Suguru doesn’t comment on it. He’s not sure how to approach it, because he’s unsettled, if anything. Ever since he walked into the infirmary and laid eyes on Satoru, who proceeded to fall off the cot and crash to the ground, he’s picked up on a subtle feeling of wrongness—of Satoru looking at him as though he could see right through him. Like he could spot the ugly, festering emptiness that is threatening to swallow Suguru whole; the pain and the sadness and the despair, all swirling uncomfortably in his gut and making his chest tighten when he thinks about it too hard.

Being perceived to that extent rattled Suguru, even if it was just a lingering stare. After thinking about it further, the notion is rather dramatic—he’s likely overthinking it. Keyword, likely.

Unfortunately, he hasn’t had much time to process the switch. In the few weeks since then, everyone has been swarmed with missions. Even though Satoru had to have intervened at some point and lessened their workloads, it hasn’t been enough to combat the onslaught of curses. Their number of sorcerers is already small, and even though they’re fairly efficient, more curses just keep popping up faster than they can deal with them.

I’ve just been… exorcising and consuming them, again and again.

Exorcise. Consume. Repeat.

And for whom?

Since the Star Plasma Vessel mission, the question has been torturing him. When he witnessed the members of the Time Vessel Association clapping as Satoru carried Amanai’s corpse, he realized that what he saw was not unusual at all, given the group’s beliefs. I knew that and did nothing, in spite of how horrible it was.

In fact, Satoru was the one who asked him, in complete seriousness, if they should kill the members right then and there. Suguru had considered—admittedly, he’d been tempted. He’d run through the various ways the two of them could kill them: quickly and all at once with Satoru’s technique, or slowly and painfully with his curses. Why shouldn’t we?

As Suguru had studied Satoru’s form, his stomach lurched. Satoru’s gaze was lined with a raw, jagged grief, akin to the rough, uneven scarring that was a shock against previously untouched skin. His uniform was tattered, having been damaged when Fushiguro had torn through his body, and was stained by his dried blood. 

The more he thought about it, however, the more it made Suguru feel sick. Ruining himself was one thing, but ruining Satoru was another. Why should he be dragged down with him?

Seeing the numbness in Satoru’s expression was what ultimately snapped him out of it. Eventually he responded with, “There’s no point to that.”

If anything, he said it to convince himself. But that had been enough, and so Satoru did nothing. 

Now, Suguru runs a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. A distant part of him is still insisting, Don’t falter. As someone that is strong, you have certain obligations. But anger and grief rear their ugly heads, and truly, he wants to despise non-sorcerers. Why should he endlessly perform his duty and protect those who will never understand their hardships?

He doesn’t have much time to stew in his resentment, for a cheery voice cuts through the silence, accompanied by approaching footsteps. “Hello, Geto-san!”

Lifting his head, he meets Haibara’s gaze. The second-year gives him a small wave before he pauses in front of the nearby vending machine. Suguru musters a half-hearted smile and asks, “Do you want a drink?”

He startles, surprised by the offer, before smiling brightly. “Yeah, sure! Cola, please!”

Suguru gets to his feet and buys him a can of Coca-Cola. When they sit down side-by-side, Haibara immediately breaks into excitable chatter. “I’ve been practicing with my technique a lot more, and it’s been going great! And my next mission tomorrow is a Grade Two, and it’s gonna be super far out—all the way in Osaka!”

“Really?” he muses. “Do bring souvenirs, then.”

“Of course!” Haibara promises. “Do you prefer food that’s sweet or salty?”

Right now, souvenirs are the last thing on his mind. Immediately, he mentally kicks himself for the thought. Haibara doesn’t deserve a rude response, especially when he’s offering to do something for me. “I’ll go for something sweet. I’ll probably share what you get me with Satoru, in all honesty.”

As the conversation dies down, however, Suguru can’t help himself, and so he asks his question. “Haibara,” he starts, “do you think… you’re able to keep being a sorcerer? Is it not difficult for you?”

Haibara blinks, surprised. “Um… I’m not really the type of person to think that deeply about anything, but…” he trails off for a moment, contemplative. “It feels right to do my best in the things I’m able to do!”

Suguru purses his lips before he turns his head away. “I see.”

“What about you, Geto-san?” He questions. “You’re a Special Grade! It’s got to be easier for you, right?”

He laughs, but it’s a harsh and bitter sound. “It should be, huh?”

Haibara’s expression falls, and he eyes Suguru carefully. “Are you sure you’re alright, Geto-san?” 

Suguru has to force down the words that immediately come to mind. No, I’m not alright. I’m tired, because what’s the point in protecting people who don’t know what sorcerers go through, who live ignorantly and arrogantly? All the while, we’re working under decrepit assholes who don’t give two shits about us either. His eyes sting, and his mouth turns dry. What’s the point?

Since Suguru chooses to stay silent, Haibara begins talking once more. “Okay, I was definitely wrong about that. Special Grades take the more difficult missions, like Gojo-san has been doing lately. Right after he recovered from his injury, he’s been going on them non-stop. It’s kind of scary,” he admits. “Because I feel super far away, and he’s just on another level.”

Don’t I know it, Suguru thinks. He’s being worked like the higher-ups’ dog.

“Honestly, Geto-san, you feel kind of distant, too. You’re really powerful, and you and Gojo-san are the strongest. But I’ve always looked up to you, you know,” Haibara comments. Suguru finally turns back to face him, a query on his lips, but is interrupted. “So I’m not going to let the distance put me down. I’m going to master my technique and get so strong that you and Gojo-san will have no choice but to acknowledge me, because I’ll be right there with you guys!” 

It’s hard to stay angry when faced with Haibara’s optimism. He smiles—small, but genuine—and replies, “Then I’ll be waiting.”

Directly outside the building, however, a very different conversation is taking place. Satoru finds himself facing Yuki Tsukumo, who takes off her helmet and steps away from her motorcycle. “Ah, Gojo-kun!” She says cheerily, leaving her helmet on the seat as she walks up to him. “You’re just who I was looking for.”

“Really,” he mutters, almost sarcastically. It’s not a question—he knew she’d be here, and it’s difficult to muster any enthusiasm. He’s sitting on the front steps, his shoulders hunched forward. 

Tsukumo pays no mind to his tone. It’s a bit admirable, admittedly, how she just brushes over his dryness. She merely places a hand on her hip with a smile on her face. “What kind of girl is your type?”

Satoru blinks and then lets out a snort. When he doesn’t immediately respond, she just takes a seat right next to him. Frankly, he’s glad he managed to get here in time. In any case, all it took was some prodding to get Nanami to tell him where Suguru was, which made it easy to wait outside for Tsukumo.

Before, Suguru only offhandedly mentioned that Tsukumo had stopped by. Now Satoru knows that the conversation they had was part of what kick-started his grand mission to kill non-sorcerers. After all, Satoru’s distinctly aware of her objective, which is to eradicate all cursed energy from the world. A more difficult, but far more ethical alternative to Suguru’s goal. 

“Aren't you going to respond to my question?” She muses.

“How about you tell me who you are first?” Satoru counters. “Stranger danger and all that.”

“Funny,” she chuckles. “I’m a Special Grade, Yuki Tsukumo. Have you heard of me?”

At that, he can’t help letting out an amused huff. He’s heard the higher-ups shit on her long before ever meeting her. When she sees his reaction, Tsumoko perks up, grinning. “I bet you have, by the sound of it. What is it that people say… oh, yeah! I’m the Special Grade that doesn’t go on any missions, and fucks around traveling.”

Satoru arches a brow. She’s a…character, for sure. Quickly thereafter, he struggles to keep his lips from twitching up into a smile. Okay, that’s hypocritical. If Shoko were here, she’d probably say I’m worse. He realizes he’s been quiet for too long and responds, “Yeah, I’ve heard some things while at Jujutsu Tech.”

“Figures. You know, Gojo-kun… I don’t like the school too much. Mostly, it’s because our goals don’t align.” Tsukumo puts her arms behind her, leaning back. “Everyone here wants to manage the symptoms, but I want to treat the cause.”

Satoru frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to endlessly hunt curses, because let’s be real—it’s never going to make a difference. Even if you kill every single curse on the planet right this instant, more will begin to form immediately. You could annihilate Japan with your technique, and it still wouldn’t work because of the nature of Tengen’s barriers. It’d just make stronger curses pop up worldwide.”

Despite his lack of immediate response, Tsukumo continues. “So, let me give you a quick lesson, Gojo-kun. What are curses?”

“Negative energy,” Satoru says immediately.

“Well… yes, but more specifically, they’re excess cursed energy that leaks from humans. It’s what accumulates to form cursed spirits. So, knowing that, there are two ways to create a world where curses don’t form in the first place.” Tsukumo counts them off on her fingers. “First, to make all of humanity lose their cursed energy, and second, to make all of humanity be able to control their cursed energy. I prefer the first one—and there’s even a model case, which is someone you know very well.”

Satoru, stupidly, almost asks if she means Maki. After he was unsealed, he learned she finally reached her full potential with her Heavenly Restriction, and discarded all of her cursed energy. It takes him a moment to remember which Zen’in she’s referring to, and he scowls. “Toji Fushiguro, huh?”

“...Oh, he changed his name? I thought it was Toji Zen’in. Whatever. Regardless, I’ve seen some cases where the Heavenly Restriction curse gives sorcerers the same amount of cursed energy as a regular civilian, but he was the only case of someone who had absolutely zero cursed energy.” She leans forward, propping her head up with her arms. “Even though he had no cursed energy, he could detect cursed spirits with his senses. Because he completely gave up cursed energy, his body ended up becoming resistant to curses instead.”

Well, damn. “Yeah, I figured,” he mutters. “Even with the Six Eyes, I didn’t see him coming.”

“By the way, don’t feel ashamed that he got the jump on you at first, because he’s literally a superhuman. I wanted to study him, but he turned me down. Too bad he’s gone. Since there aren’t enough Heavenly Restriction cases to research, I’m focusing on making humanity control their cursed energy.”

Satoru gives her a strange look. “That’s pretty inefficient, isn’t it? Got any bright ideas for making civilians get a hold on their cursed energy?”

“No,” Tsukumo admits, “but I’ll figure something out. Why do you think I’ve been traveling around so much? I’m doing research!”

“Oh, really? What was it that you said… you’re the Special Grade that fucked off and started traveling?”

She chuckles, waving a dismissive hand. “Please, that’s just what the higher-ups think. They’re too busy with the sticks up their asses to even consider the remote possibility I’m trying to help.”

He laughs, his face splitting into a grin. “Man, tell me about it. They need a reality check.”

“Don’t I know it,” Tsukumo replies dryly. She’s quiet for the next few moments, contemplative. Then she follows up with, “Gojo-kun. Did you know that sorcerers don’t create cursed spirits?”

Satoru goes completely still. Her words affect him similarly to having a bucket of ice water dumped right over his head—a biting chill runs down his spine, and he swallows roughly. It’s a sobering feeling, mostly. Satoru’s fairly certain now that this was where Suguru’s ideology was born. Slowly, he says, “...We have control over cursed energy, so we don’t leak excess negative energy that generates cursed spirits.”

“Yep! Specifically, we have our cursed energy flow within our bodies. To put it bluntly… if all of humanity were sorcerers, no curses would be born.”

Oh.

This was the turning point, the moment where Suguru ran through all the methods and blurted out the one that came to him first. Satoru’s lips are moving before he can process it, forming words that seem to just slip off his tongue. “Then shouldn’t we just kill all non-sorcerers?”

Tsukumo stares at him with an indecipherable look on her face, and the seconds drag on painfully slowly. Eventually, she manages, “...That’s a decent plan. More specifically, it’s the easiest way to do it. If you start killing them off, it’s possible they’ll awaken cursed techniques to survive. Y’know, like evolving, so to speak, by using a sense of fear and danger.” She hesitates, gazing at him curiously. “I’m not that insane, but are you?”

“Nah. It’d take a crazier man than me to try and pull that off.” Not a crazier one, he thinks. Just an angrier one. “And I don’t hate non-sorcerers, anyways.” 

If she’d had this conversation with Suguru, it would’ve been part of what inevitably pushed him over the edge. It was something that he’d hidden from everyone the first time around, until finally snapping and wiping out his village. Man, am I glad I got here first.

Tsukumo stands up, flashing him a smile. “Well, see you around. I wanted to meet Geto-kun as well, but I guess that’s not happening. As for the three of us Special Grades… let’s get along, yeah?”

Satoru gets to his feet as well, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ll tell Suguru you were here.”

Tsukumo heads over to her motorcycle and starts it up, putting on her helmet. Before she drives away, she pauses, as if remembering something. “One last thing. You don’t have to worry about the Star Plasma Vessel, because Tengen-sama is stable. Either they had a vessel on standby, or a new vessel was already born.”

On that note, she sets off. Satoru watches her go, and he can’t help letting out a weary exhale. Having achieved what he set out to do, he warps away to tackle his next mission, regret weighing heavy in his chest.

Chapter Text

“Ugh, it’s so hot,” Satoru whines dramatically, burying his face in a pillow. He’s lounging in the common room alongside Suguru, hiding from the brutal outdoor heat.

“Complaining isn’t going to cool you down any faster,” Suguru points out, tossing him a water bottle. He’s sitting in one of the two lounge chairs, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Also, if you’re that hot, change out of your uniform. It’s definitely not helping.”

“Nah. The higher-ups are probably going to make me go on another mission, and I don’t want to have to leave when I’m all comfortable,” he grumbles before sitting up and cracking the seal on the bottle, then takes a few swigs. “Making anyone go out in this heat is a crime.”

“What, are you mad because you burn in the sun?”

“Ha, ha. So funny. Really, I’m speechless,” he says sarcastically. “Like you haven’t told me that a million times before.”

Suguru smirks, amusement glittering in his eyes. “It is funny.”

Satoru sputters, offended. “I only got sunburnt once, and you’ve never let me forget it!”

“That’s because you looked like a konbini popsicle. Why would I ever let you live that down?”

“Su-gu-ru,” he gasps, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead. “You wound me. You and Nanami both!”

As the words leave his mouth, however, Satoru pauses. For some unknown reason, his brain hyperfocuses on his mention of Nanami. In fact, he feels uneasy. Instinctively, as his gaze sweeps across the room, he notices what has been nagging at him. “…Hey, where are Nanami and Haibara? I can’t sense their cursed energy.”

Suguru leans back, placing his hands on the armrests. “They’re on a mission; Haibara mentioned it yesterday. A Grade Two, I think? He promised to bring souvenirs, if you’re wondering.”

Satoru’s smile drops. “Where’s the mission?”

“What?”

“Where?”

Suguru stares at him incredulously but still answers. “I remember him saying it was in Osaka, but… Satoru, what the hell is going on?”

Satoru doesn’t respond in favor of trying to recall the mission details desperately. Shit! It was some sort of open area, wasn’t it? Like a park? Abruptly, the memory comes to him. He’d arrived in Osaka some time after being informed that Nanami and Haibara’s mission had gone wrong, having been the first to volunteer to finish it. Hell, he didn’t even spare a glance at the plum blossom trees lining the path he took, completely numb.

Plum blossom trees? …Kozen Park. They’re at Kozen Park. God, he’s been so stupid. Why wasn’t I keeping track of the missions? He’s known that this was coming up, the Grade Two mission that ended up being a Grade One. But I didn’t know it was this soon.

“I’ll be back,” Satoru promises. He only has time to see Suguru’s mouth open before he warps away. He appears directly inside the park, his eyes quickly adjusting to the sudden darkness. Okay, there’s already a veil… Now, where are they?

Hearing a sudden commotion, Satoru whirls around to see a plum blossom tree being ripped from its roots by strings of cursed energy, and thrown at two distant figures. He doesn’t hesitate and fires up Blue in order to pull the tree toward him, then to destroy it. On the other side of the field are Haibara and Nanami, both injured but alive, so he propels himself forward with his technique to reach them.

“Gojo-senpai?” Haibara exclaims. “How’d you get here?!”

“Don’t worry about that,” he says quickly. “More importantly, this curse isn’t a Grade Two, so let me handle it!”

Several strings of cursed energy fly toward them, a few others grabbing various objects and debris. Satoru repels them with a well-aimed Red and scans the area. I remember this now. It’s a long-ranged technique, where the curse can string things along like a puppeteer. It was some gross-ass spider, wasn’t it?

He eventually spots it on a bridge and scowls. The curse is incredibly ugly, deformed, and patchy, with a weird grey coloring. It has way too many eyes, and is also missing two legs. It’s easy to see the strings of cursed energy connected to it, as it tries to wrap the area in its cursed energy web. 

Flinging himself forward with Blue, he lands on the edge of the bridge, facing it directly. “You’re really fucking ugly, aren’t you?” He taunts. “Come on, I thought you wanted to attack me!”

Seemingly understanding him, the curse lets out an enraged shriek, and a wave of strings comes flying at him. Satoru easily jumps out of the way, sending a Red at the exposed curse, only for its extended strings to come forward and create a barrier that makes his own attack bounce back at him. It’s relatively easy to dodge using Blue, but it distracts him long enough for the curse to fling more debris toward Haibara and Nanami. Satoru nearly has a heart attack as he sends another Blue to drag the rubble away, so he calls out, “Just go! If you stay, you’ll get hit!”

Without hesitation, Haibara grabs Nanami to make a break for the edge of the veil. Once they’re out of range, Satoru turns his attention back to the curse, a manic grin on his face. “Finally, no distractions. It’s just you and me.”

The Grade One throws more strings at him, but its attacks are getting predictable. Once I get close, it’ll put up that barrier. But in the meantime, it’ll use its strings so it doesn’t have to resort to that. All I have to do is catch it off guard.

Satoru uses Blue to warp behind the curse and powers up a Red to hit it directly. The force of the attack makes the bridge give out beneath them, so he flings himself back with Blue to land on solid ground. He watches, satisfied, as the curse dissolves before it’s even fully submerged in the water. Good riddance.

Unfortunately, most of the nearby area is in shambles. Numerous amounts of debris are scattered across the area, and several of the plum blossom trees have been uprooted or reduced to splinters by his technique. I don’t think Yaga-sensei will ever let me hear the end of this…

He makes his way to the edge of the veil and steps through it. Just outside, Haibara and Nanami are sitting by the entrance of the park, trying to catch their breath. Both have various scrapes and bruises, but Haibara has a particularly large cut on his face, and Nanami is clutching his head, gritting his teeth. Haibara is the first to notice Satoru and starts to speak, only to be distracted by Nanami turning around and vomiting.

Satoru winces, and Haibara half-heartedly pats Nanami’s back. “He got hit in the head by some debris,” he says quietly. “I don’t think he’s okay.”

“That’s a nasty cut on your face too,” he points out. “It’s not worth risking a long train ride back to the school. You should get seen at a hospital here.”

“What about the curse? Are you okay?” Haibara questions, eyes round with alarm.

Satoru scoffs. “It wasn’t any match for me. Besides, that’s the last thing you should be worrying about. When I showed up, you guys almost got crushed.”

“Well… yeah. Me and Nanami didn’t expect the curse to be so strong,” Haibara responds, a frown on his face. “It should’ve been a Grade Two, but I think it was more of a Grade One. Nanami couldn’t even get close enough to use his cursed technique!”

Should’ve been a Grade Two, huh… “Based on the mission details, there’s no way the curse would’ve been anything lower than a Grade One,” Satoru says darkly. What the hell were those old geezers thinking, sending them on this mission? Did they want to kill them off?

“Um… are you alright, Gojo-senpai?” Haibara asks hesitantly.

“I’m fine,” he replies quickly. “I’ll call a driver to take you guys to a hospital, so just stay here. I have to deal with some things first.”

He moves out of earshot before he takes out his phone. Immediately, Satoru notices he has several missed calls from Suguru, and two from Yaga. He’s greeted with another incoming call from Yaga, so he answers and puts the phone up to his ear. 

“Satoru, where the hell are you?”

“Hi, Yaga-sensei!” He chirps. “Great weather in Osaka, you know. Decided to drop by Kozen Park to see how my kohais are doing, only to watch them nearly get crushed by a cursed spirit.”

“...What?”

His tone becomes serious. “The mission wasn’t a Grade Two. Judging by the details, it couldn’t have been anything lower than a Grade One.”

“How do you know that? Nanami-kun and Haibara-kun were the only ones given the mission information,” Yaga says bluntly. “Suguru-kun told me that you just vanished.”

“...I got bored and was looking through the mission assignments,” he lies. “You know the higher-ups have been throwing stuff at me left and right, so I was just checking them in advance. It’s pretty easy to do it, you know? Everything’s all in one place!”

“And you just so happened to remember the exact details?”

“I’m not the strongest for nothing,” he shoots back. “I have a good memory, too!”

Through the line, he hears Yaga’s long-suffering sigh. “How are the two of them doing?”

“They’re pretty banged up, and I’m ninety-five percent sure Nanami has a concussion,” he admits. “Yaga-sensei, this is the kind of mission that I or Suguru should’ve taken. Why were they the ones it was assigned to?”

“...I don’t know, Satoru; I’ll try and find out. Can they handle the train ride back to the school?”

Maybe Haibara could, but Nanami? “Yeah, no, a driver needs to take them to a hospital here,” he insists. “Can you send for one? I have something else I need to do.”

“Don’t do anything reckless,” Yaga warns.

“You know me, Yaga-sensei, I’m anything but reckless,” he says lightly, and hangs up. Despite his tone, the event is starting to weigh uncomfortably heavy on his shoulders. Satoru’s thoughts wander back to a different timeline, one where he saw Haibara’s mangled corpse, covered only by a thin white sheet. It wasn’t the first time he’d experienced death, but it still felt like a punch to the gut. 

Loss, for that matter, is as much a part of Satoru as his technique is. He knows it as an inevitability, something that he cannot tame—and he’s had so much ripped out of his hands, it’s hard to believe otherwise. But with a second chance comes the naive hope that he can do better. 

He didn’t lose anything today—not yet. But he knows, feels it bone-deep, to the depths of his soul, reaching deeper and deeper until it’s intertwined with his very being. Loss is coming. Satoru doesn’t know what form it’ll take this time, but no action is without consequences. He tipped the scale by preventing Haibara’s death, and the universe is sure to retaliate just as strongly to right the imbalance. 

I don’t care, he thinks, watching Nanami and Haibara a short distance away. If I have to be the one to shoulder the pain, so be it. They shouldn’t suffer due to tragedies that I can prevent. That’s simply how it’s always been. Satoru Gojo will take on the world, if only to minimize the struggle for his friends and students. He’ll be the monster if the need arises—and it already has. In the time before his fight with Sukuna, he took dealing with the higher-ups into his own hands. 

The blood is everywhere. It’s across the floor and walls in splatters, with various sprays across the collapsed screens. The mutilated corpses of the higher-ups are spread throughout the room—disfigured, ravaged. Satoru stands alone, blood on his hands, his clothes, and his face. Staring at the gruesome scene, he hardly blinks, and his breath comes shallow. Here, he’d become the monster—all so the aftermath of Shibuya would never occur again. 

“Stop trying to be the monster all on your own,” Yuta had said, shortly beforehand.

But what other choice is there for me?

With a clap of his hands, he warps back to Jujutsu High, scanning for Suguru’s cursed energy signature. He eventually finds him pacing in his dorm room, phone to his ear. When he opens the door, Suguru whirls around, the distressed look on his face morphing into one of frustration.

“Satoru, what the hell? Where were you?” He demands. “What’s happening with Nanami and Haibara? Why didn’t you respond to my damn calls?”

“It was the stupid higher-ups,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “They sent them on a mission meant for Grade Ones or higher. With the information they were given, there’s no way it being a Grade Two made sense.”

Suguru’s irritation ebbs away, his brows furrowing in concern. “Are they okay? What happened to the curse?”

“I exorcised it,” Satoru replies tiredly, shoulders slumping. “They’re a bit banged up; otherwise, fine. I was almost too late.”

Suguru stays silent for a few moments, an unreadable glint in his eyes. “How did you know something was up?”

“Huh? Oh, I was browsing through mission assignments earlier, just to see what I might have to deal with next. Their mission sounded familiar, and I realized it didn’t add up.”

“Right,” Suguru mutters. “Of course.”

Satoru raises a brow, internally cringing at his lies. “Something wrong?”

“...It’s nothing.”

He maintains eye contact, unconvinced, but eventually relents, leaving the dorm room. He pretends not to notice Suguru’s gaze boring into his back, trailing after him until he’s out of sight.

Chapter Text

Mission Summary - September 17th, 2007:

Exorcise the presumed Grade One cursed spirit that is thought to be causing mysterious disappearances and deaths in ■■ city’s ■■■ prefecture (formerly known as ■■■ village).

—

There was once a time when Suguru might’ve been excited to go on a mission that brings him to his hometown. Now, however, he views the mission report with resentment, because it is yet another curse to absorb, one more obstacle down the never-ending road of sorcery. Even so, it’s easier to blindly perform one’s duty than it is to confront the bigger picture of it all, so he perseveres. 

Suguru doesn’t even pull out his uniform for this. The sun has already set, and he can’t be bothered, especially when no one will see him. He takes a train as far as the line goes, then sets out on one of his cursed spirits to cover the rest of the distance. It isn’t entirely necessary, but he’d rather get everything over with quickly. 

By the time he arrives, it is well and truly nighttime. Suguru disembarks in a forest clearing, a short distance from the village. He examines his surroundings, trying to detect traces the curse might’ve left behind. Instead, he’s greeted with silence—all-encompassing, stifling silence. Suguru listens more closely, straining his ears, but there’s nothing. Not even the crickets are making noise. It’s as though the entire forest is watching, holding its breath.

Wait a minute. That’s not right.

He reacts quickly, making a hand sign. The curse explodes out of the trees, and it’s a writhing, disgusting thing. Its teeth gleam in the moonlight, bared and sharp as it lets out a low, guttural snarl. Before he leaps out of the way, Suguru summons a few lower-grade cursed spirits of his. The offending curse, however, is hardly fazed, knocking them away with ease. It makes another dive at him, wild and angry. 

I don’t think it even has a cursed technique. So, Suguru simply summons one of his Grade One cursed spirits. It lunges at the attacking curse, tearing through it as though it’s paper. He eyes the scene detachedly, unsummoning his cursed spirits once he sees a black orb drop to the ground. He contemplates it for a few moments before he turns on his heel to leave. It’s not worth it.

Suguru walks on the outskirts of the village, trying to find a better place to summon a cursed spirit to head off. Before he does, he hears a distant voice. “Hey, you! Are you here to help with the disappearance case?”

He stops in his tracks, glancing toward where the voice had come from. There’s a man standing there, face pulled tightly into a scowl. Suguru approaches him, feigning a patient smile. “Yes, I am. I already—”

“Okay, then follow me. Amaya-san, I found help!” the man calls, and an elderly woman steps out of her house, a gleam of relief in her eyes. “Oh, finally. Come with us. When you see, you’ll understand,” she urges. Despite his attempts at protesting, Suguru is guided into a nondescript building. The sight he’s greeted with, however, takes a few moments to register, and his heart drops. He lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply. Suguru’s next words are uttered quietly, disbelievingly. “What is this?”

On the other end of the room is a cage. A wooden cage, with two young girls, beaten and bruised and terrified, staring right back up at him. The villagers who led him there exchange a confused glance before the man speaks up. “What do you mean? These are the two responsible for the incidents. They have strange abilities and attack the villagers! They’re a threat!”

The elderly woman—or rather, Amaya—nods, an ugly sneer on her face. “My grandson nearly died because of them.”

There’s a flash of anger in the blonde-haired girl’s eyes, and she tries to speak. “That’s because he—”

“Be quiet, you monsters!” The man yells, shutting down her attempt to defend herself. “I don’t want to hear another word from you!”

“Your parents were exactly the same,” Amaya mutters, shaking her head. “I knew we should’ve killed you freaks when you were born.”

“Do what we called you here to do!” The man demands, turning to him. “Take care of the problem. Permanently.”

Suguru doesn’t deign to respond. The blood roars in his ears, so loud it drowns out the voices of the villagers behind him. His heart pounds, and he lowers his hand to clench his fists so tightly they shake. Rage—ugly, twisted rage—courses through his veins, his fury so potent it threatens to suffocate him. 

Exorcise. Consume. Repeat.

Non-sorcerers will never understand what sorcerers endure, what sacrifices they have to make. Mission upon mission, they face the vilest products of humanity’s negative emotions, and with every fight, they lose more and more of themselves. Their innocence, their happiness, their ability to smile from the bottom of their hearts. 

What’s the point?

Why should he continue down this path? Why should he risk his life, day after day, for people who can never comprehend their struggle, what they go through in order to save the lives of non-sorcerers? When faced with this ugly truth, why do they instead turn against children, young girls with cursed energy who will one day perform the same duty?

What’s the point in protecting the weak, who will never grasp the extent of our suffering? Since Amanai, Suguru has been tortured by the why. Why does he continually exorcise curses, consuming them with his technique? The Time Vessel Association had seen her death, had seen their suffering, and rejoiced. In fact, they had been the cause.

No, not the Time Vessel Association—non-sorcerers. It was non-sorcerers that killed her. He remembers a man with no cursed energy, who put the bullet in Amanai’s head, who slaughtered Satoru like he was livestock. Who struck Suguru down, shattered his worldview, and said he was blessed.

Now, standing in this small room, the ugly truth has come to light in the form of bloodied children and unforgiving villagers. Suddenly it’s just Suguru and the cage and two traumatized little girls, who look at him as though he’ll hurt them next. His vision blurs, and he knows that it could’ve just as easily been him in that cage, doomed to face the wrath of the ignorant, to be dealt an unfair judgement by the hand of God for the sin of existence.

In this world, there is no God. There is just mankind—ugly, violent, disgusting mankind, ignorant and selfish and arrogant, who’d rather destroy itself than coexist. Mankind, who thinks of the unnatural as deplorable and abhorrent, who shuns the abnormal, who is blinded by contempt for itself. These villagers see these girls as impure and believe they should be killed for being born different—

For being born better.

Suguru takes a deep breath and waits one moment, then two. A smile creeps up on his face—faint, strained, and angry. Anger has become a fire that is smoldering uncomfortably in his veins, searing his nerves, and burning away the part of him that’s still resisting. He opens his mouth, and—

“We’re the strongest, remember?”

Satoru’s voice reverberates through his mind, making him jolt. His stomach lurches, and suddenly, he can’t breathe. He becomes very conscious of the villagers behind him, muttering and expectant, and his head spins.

Suguru immediately whirls around and stumbles out of the building, moving until he’s out of sight, at the edges of the forest. When he reaches to grab his phone from his pocket, his hands are shaking so badly he almost drops it. With trembling fingers, he dials a familiar number, bringing the phone to his ear. His breathing is rapid and shallow, utter fury threatening to destroy the last scraps of his resolve.

A few moments go by until a familiar voice breaks the silence from the other end of the line. “Hey, Suguru, what’s up?”

Satoru sounds so unconcerned, so blissfully unaware. Suguru thinks of those two girls, of the bruises and dried blood, and nearly crushes the phone in his grip. When he doesn’t immediately respond, he hears shuffling, and Satoru’s tone shifts. “Suguru, where are you? What’s wrong?”

They wanted me to kill those girls, who are children that can’t be older than four or five.

“Satoru, I’m about to slaughter this entire village; I’m not fucking kidding,” he blurts out. “There—there’s these girls, with cursed energy… The villagers beat them and locked them up in a cage. A goddamn cage! They told me to kill them!”

“Suguru, listen to me—don’t you dare do anything,” Satoru demands, and he hears a burst of static.

Suguru’s eyes are stinging as he chokes out, “...They told me to get rid of the problem, Satoru. Permanently.”

Not a second later, Satoru appears a few feet away, a wild look in his eyes, still holding his phone. His glasses are pushed up against his forehead, and in his other hand, he grips a crumpled file. Are those… mission details? Did he steal that from Yaga’s office?

In the midst of his internal turmoil, Suguru can’t help but feel a twinge of admiration. In the blink of an eye, Satoru was able to find the coordinates of his village. The moment Suguru needed him, he was there. But all of that is washed away in an instant as he realizes he’s left the girls at the villagers’ mercy. He meets Satoru’s gaze, frantic, before he turns around and runs back to the building.

Suguru crashes through the doorway, spotting the man standing right in front of the cage, gripping the blonde-haired girl’s arm so tightly she lets out a pained cry. Amaya is yelling, but the words don’t register as he raises his hand to summon one of his curses—

And then Satoru grabs his arm. His touch is fleeting, but it’s enough to make him hesitate.

“Let me handle this,” he says quietly, and the notion is startling enough to throw Suguru out of his blind rage. …What is he going to do?

Satoru walks up to the man, places a hand on his shoulder, and squeezes. “What do you think you’re doing?” He asks. It’s slow, deliberate—almost dangerous. The man jumps, releasing his grip on the girl’s arm in order to face Satoru. “Who are you? What do you think you’re doing, interfering in this? These girls are cursed—if he isn’t going to do anything, then I’ll take care of this myself.”

His words nearly push Suguru over the edge. He tenses, ready to act, but Satoru glances back at him, fixing him with a knowing look. He turns back to the man, plastering a painfully fake smile on his face. “Well, why do you think I was called in? Unlock the cage, and we’ll deal with them properly.”

His heart leaps to his throat. Satoru, what the fuck are you doing?

The man considers the situation and exchanges another look with the elderly woman. She briefly studies Satoru, then shrugs. The man reaches into his pocket and takes out a key, passing it over to him. “Take care of it quickly,” he warns before he grabs the elderly woman by the hand and leaves. 

Satoru waits to confirm they’re gone before he moves to unlock the cage, and crouches down to be at eye-level with the girls. They flinch away, and the blonde-haired girl shifts to shield the other girl from view. “Don’t hurt my sister.”

“I’m not going to hurt you or your sister, kid,” Satoru says sincerely, and Suguru is caught off guard by his switch in demeanor. “I just needed an excuse to get those bastards away from you.”

“Satoru, language,” Suguru scolds automatically. “They’re children.”

“...My bad. Anyways,” he continues, redirecting his attention to the girls, “What are your guys’ names?”

The blonde-haired girl considers them before she relents. “I’m Nanako… and my sister is Mimiko.”

“Well, Nanako and Mimiko, you have options. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, but you can see things, right? That no one else in the village can?”

“Yeah,” Mimiko murmurs, finally breaking her silence. “No one trusted us.”

“Well, you’re not crazy. What creatures you might see every so often are called cursed spirits. You guys also have cursed energy. Everyone has it, but certain people, like us—sorcerers—have significantly more of it than the average civilian. That allows us to detect cursed spirits and even exorcise them.” Satoru leans back on the balls of his feet, a faint smile on his face. “When you have cursed energy, and especially cursed techniques, you have the chance to do something about the cursed spirits and stop them from doing harm. Which brings me to what your choices may be.”

Suguru gauges the girls’ reaction. They look hesitant but intrigued, so Satoru proceeds. “One, I can get you guys out of here, find you a place to stay, and you can live a normal life. Or, you can become sorcerers like us and help exorcise curses that endanger people across all of Japan. Though I have to say, being a sorcerer is dangerous. You’re constantly putting yourself at risk to save others.”

Mimiko adopts an uncertain look on her face, and Nanako frowns. “I don’t know. I just want me and my sister to be safe from bad people.” Hearing her words, his heart twists painfully in his chest. She looks from Suguru to Satoru, wary. “What makes sure that… no one will hurt us? And treat us like the villagers did?”

Satoru sighs. “There’s no way I can promise that you won’t get hurt, because curses are dangerous. But non-sorcerers don’t understand what it’s like to see curses—they can sense it, you know, that there’s something just a little off about you. They don’t know what, but they feel it.” He shrugs. “Undeniably, it sucks. But if you become a sorcerer, you’ll be around people who don’t ridicule you for being different. Everyone is their own sort of weird or off-kilter. Ask Suguru over here; he knows how I act firsthand.”

He can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. “Off-kilter” is putting it lightly, Suguru wants to say, but the words catch on the tip of his tongue when he refocuses on the girls. Mimiko’s throat bobs, and Nanako rests a reassuring hand on her leg. Then, with more surety than he expected, she states, “We’ll… become sorcerers.”

Satoru grins. It’s not cocky, like a look he’d wear when facing a curse—rather, it’s something softer, more genuine. He stands up, offering a hand. Nanako is quick to accept, and he helps her up, with her aiding Mimiko all the while. When he walks over to Suguru, they follow close behind, tentative hope sparking in their gazes. And oh, does his anger resurge; he’s entirely outraged at their circumstances. Regardless of their suffering, they still have hope… they’re just children! 

Satoru notices and flashes the girls a confident smile. “Wait for us at the door, okay? We’ll leave here in just a moment.”

They scurry on out, leaving enough distance for them to have a hushed conversation. Satoru’s expression turns serious, and he fixes Suguru with a knowing look. “Don’t do anything to the villagers. We’ll figure it out when we get back to Jujutsu Tech.”

“You’re just going to let them go, after what they did?” Suguru hisses. “Are you crazy?”

“Believe me, I’m furious—this kind of thing is unforgivable. But killing them is even worse, especially when most of the villagers had no hand in it.” A beat, and Satoru presses on, something more desperate in his voice. “Please, Suguru. Let’s just take them away from here.”

As Satoru gazes at him, the spark of emotion in his eyes speaks of a distant pain, one Suguru doesn’t know. In fact, despite how strange it is, as they face each other, hackles raised, he can’t help but get the feeling Satoru isn’t even talking about him. He swallows roughly, then dips his head in acquiescence. “Fine.”

It’s an uneasy agreement, but an agreement nonetheless. He goes with Satoru, and they lead the girls away from the village. But he can’t help but wonder, idly—what if he hadn’t called and handled the situation as he saw fit in the moment? Would I have regretted it?

Admittedly, he isn’t sure. The thought should terrify him, shouldn’t it? Even so, he remains silent, stewing in his resentment.

Chapter Text

There’s a saying in Jujutsu society, one that Yaga had instilled in them long ago—no sorcerer dies without regret. They tend to die young, and when they do, they pass on with unfinished business. Satoru has seen many sorcerers face this end, and it’s always held firm.

Suddenly, however, it was him that would be the sorcerer to die young. In the time leading up to his fight against Sukuna, he never let his students glimpse his apprehension, but made preparations in advance. Satoru wrote letters, he consulted Shoko, and he made a plan with Yuta—it being the body swap, as a last-ditch effort in case the worst happened.

Though the true certainty of his death came moments before, a part of him had always known. It followed him like a shadow, something akin to guilt twisting uncomfortably in his gut when his students talked about him so confidently. Gojo-sensei will win, they’d say. He’s the strongest. 

But he wasn’t—not where it mattered, at least. If I really was the strongest, then I would’ve been competent enough to save Suguru. I would’ve prevented the tragedies that made him into an angry, bitter man, mad at the world, at the system that failed him, and at those who refused to do better.

I wouldn’t have been sealed or let Suguru’s voice make me hesitate. I would’ve been able to save Megumi and stop Sukuna from transferring vessels. I’d have held up the world with my own two hands, if it meant my students could be just that—students. Not sorcerers who had to mobilize in order to save the world, but simply the teenagers that they are. 

Satoru’s main teaching ideology had always been as such: No one is allowed to take youth away from young people, and no one should have to face what he had with Amanai, Haibara, and Suguru—most of all, the feelings of helplessness and guilt. He's well aware it’s an idealistic wish. Their profession is a dangerous one, and tragedy is nearly inevitable. Even so, he'd tried. Satoru intercepted Megumi's sale to the Zen'in Clan and prevented Yuta and Yuji's executions. He took on an absurd number of missions, learning to live with the workload. Hell, he even hid away Sukuna's last finger.

It wasn't enough. If it were, Satoru wouldn't be here, forced to relive the last ten years of his life. One man alone cannot stand against the corruption of Jujutsu society, deep-rooted as it is. It was exactly why he'd been deliberate in how he trained his students, all to pick up where he left off, to create a better world for future generations. And yet, no matter how much faith Satoru has in their abilities, how it ended will always weigh heavy in his chest.

How it ended—the thought is an unpleasant one. As Satoru’s battle with Sukuna had approached, he'd had a fair amount of time to think. Mostly, it was about how the fight might conclude, and it wasn't likely to be in his favor. His presence in the past is a testament to the outcome, after all.

Despite this, his thoughts had wandered, straying dangerously into something like reminiscence. For there was once a time, a kinder one—before Shibuya and Sukuna's incarnation. Before Fushiguro, before Amanai. Before he had been forced to confront the truth of their corrupt system, and before Suguru had no longer been able to endure.

In those three years, the blue spring of his youth, he had truly lived for the first time. When Satoru thinks of before, he thinks of a night in 2006, shortly before being assigned the Star Plasma Vessel mission. He and Suguru had formed a routine wherein Satoru would come to his dorm, and they'd simply talk. Their conversations mostly consisted of idle chatter, whether it be about their respective interests or sorcery. Throughout all of them, one particular instance had stayed with him.

"—Honestly, it's so stupid. How do they expect me to master my technique if they don't even have all of the damn records? Oh, Gojo-san, why can you only use Blue? Well, Gojo-san is a bit stuck, because you dimwits expect me to know everything!"

Suguru frowns. "I'm glad I wasn't born in a clan, if that's what you're dealing with."

"Okay, village boy, good for you," Satoru grumbles. "I need to master my technique. I'll mess around with it a bit more tomorrow and see if I make any breakthroughs."

Suguru gives him a weird look. "…You know, you don't need to master it right away. How does your technique even work again? Oh, yeah. You manipulate space at an atomic level. Isn't it a bit overkill to force a sixteen-year-old to master that kind of technique immediately? You're already really strong with Blue. I say, take things at your own pace. Maybe something will trigger the breakthrough in the future. If that happens, you can't really rush it, you know?"

Satoru blinks. "Well, I still have to—"

"Have to what? Satoru, you're the first Six Eyes and Limitless user in, like, four hundred years. They can't make you do shit. The Gojo Clan is just sitting on their asses in their estate, trying to control you from a distance. I thought you came here to escape them."

He glares at Suguru. "They're not controlling me, Suguru! I can do what I want."

"Really? Then why are you treating your improvement like an obligation?" Suguru challenges. "You're your own person, with wants and limits. Why should you disregard them to listen to some old geezers?"

Having been lounging on Suguru's bed mere moments prior, they're now sitting up and facing each other, their respective frustrations flaring. How they went from a regular conversation to bordering on an argument, Satoru has no idea.

"I'm not obeying them like some dog, Suguru! Get it through your head that I want to improve, too. Maybe I'm pissed that I can only use one part of my technique. Then what?"

"Then I'd tell you that you're doing fine. Satoru, you're incredible, even if you can only use Blue right now. I'm serious. You're the only one who understands what it's like to be one of the strongest. You understand me. Don't think of yourself as incompetent because you can't learn everything immediately."

Though Suguru continues on, his mind stalls. Satoru, you're incredible. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, speechless. You understand me.

His own face betrays him, even with his glasses on, as he turns red. Satoru can feel the flush blooming across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Embarrassed, he turns his head, cursing his racing heart. Just a few words, and I can't say anything? What am I, a compliment-deprived moron?

Satoru exhales softly, calming himself down before he turns back to Suguru. "…Thank you." He forces the words out, because they threaten to ruin his composure again. "You're right."

Suguru's brows shoot up, but he doesn't call out his sudden acquiescence. Instead, he smiles that stupid, close-eyed smile, the one that makes Satoru's heart do cartwheels in his chest, all because of how soft the expression looks. Damn you, Suguru Geto, he curses.

The realization came far too late, but Satoru Gojo first fell in love at sixteen years old with a boy who gave as good as he got, who looked at Satoru with something other than contempt or fear—rather, understanding. Suguru looked, and he saw him, the way he did that very night.

One year later, he left and took a part of Satoru with him. Though he was well and truly killed in Shinjuku eleven years later, part of Satoru had died the day Suguru walked away, the moment he’d discarded his ideals and called him arrogant, when he spat upon the very philosophy previously held close to his heart. Only then, standing alone, had he comprehended the extent of his feelings.

Although in the end, Satoru… didn’t do anything.

Even so, his body reacted before he fully processed it. He flinched back, like a wounded animal recoiling into itself, his fingers twisting instinctively to use his technique. Emotion overrode logic, and then he simply froze, heart pounding and cursed energy crackling, until Suguru was gone. 

That moment would haunt Satoru throughout the years. Rather, Suguru haunted him, in the glimpse of a black haired man disappearing in a crowd, or with the traces of his cursed energy. Each time, the memory flashed in his mind, and Satoru felt the same kind of helplessness from that dreaded day.

Every so often, when new information about Suguru's activities arose, the higher-ups would push harder for his execution. Satoru would listen, but he could never bring himself to carry it out. More logically, it was because of the chaos that it'd cause in Jujutsu society. But first and foremost, Suguru was his one and only. In those three years, he'd been Satoru's entire world. Two stars, two lost souls who had found solace in each other's presence.

The interesting thing about stars, however, is that no matter how bright or beautiful, they all die violently, destined to tragic ends.

Suguru fought, and he was desperate. By the time he declared war upon Jujutsu society, he wholeheartedly believed in his own twisted form of justice. Satoru found him leaning against a wall in the aftermath of the battle, and even with his life in Satoru's hands, Suguru held true to his beliefs. His warped, callous beliefs, so far from those of the boy he'd met over a decade ago.

Despite all of this, Satoru trusted him. Someone with Suguru's ideals wouldn't kill a young sorcerer without reason, which is why he sent Yuta to fight him. Regardless of the betrayal, Satoru's trust in Suguru was resolute. His love is similar to his trust—unwavering, all-withstanding. When he stood as Suguru's executioner, he mourned, and he loved. Satoru loved and hated and felt everything in between.

You should at least curse me a little in the end.

Satoru's love was a curse in and of itself. Suguru fought violently, only to die quickly, not feeling a thing at all. How funny to think he died in the same, tragic way, only a year later.

Yes, Satoru's love is a curse, but one upon himself. He alone was the reason he was sent back years in time, with an opportunity to do things right. In short: a binding vow, a pact made with jujutsu that creates conditions for oneself or agreements with others. In fact, they're considered a crucial part of sorcery because of the benefits someone might receive. Satoru himself had utilized them in his fight against Sukuna to alter his domain's parameters. And yet.

Making a binding vow with yourself can be almost instinctive, so long as the intent is there. Except, there's a catch—the penalty of breaking a binding vow with oneself is the loss of whatever was gained through the contract. Satoru's binding vow has given him a second chance, the ability to reunite with Suguru—so if he fails, what faces him? Death?

The realization had come to him the moment he'd gotten the call. Immediately, he'd known something was terribly wrong. Though he'd responded casually, the worry settled in the pit of his stomach, his suspicions confirmed when Suguru remained silent. Then—Satoru, I'm about to slaughter this entire village.

He'd barely managed to choke out, Suguru, don't you dare do anything, before he warped to Yaga's office. He moved impossibly quickly, all in order to find the mission file. In just a few moments, he'd secured it, taken note of the location, done the math, and warped to the village.

The moment he'd come face-to-face with Suguru, he felt it—a twinge on his forehead; a pulse of cursed energy. A shiver ran down his spine, the dots connecting in his mind. If I fail here, and Suguru annihilates this village, I'll break the binding vow. The sensation was a warning to tread carefully.

And so, when Suguru ran to the building, Satoru was right behind him, even grabbing his arm in order to stop him from using his technique. Let me handle this, he'd said, in fear of what might happen otherwise. Apparently, it'd been startling enough to make Suguru hesitate, which was exactly what he needed.

Satoru managed to deal with the situation accordingly. He played into the villager's wishes just enough to free the girls without them being present. Then, he spoke with them, laid out their options, and came to an agreement. Admittedly, he got a major sense of déjà vu from the entire ordeal, considering how much it resembled his first exchange with Megumi.

In managing to save the girls, he was able to talk down Suguru for the time being, under the condition of discussing it further when they got back to Jujutsu Tech. The idea left a bad taste in Satoru's mouth, considering the last time they had a conversation like this, Suguru had left for good.

Not this time. He repeats the words in his head like a mantra, and they linger on the tip of his tongue. Things will go differently.

He spares a glance at Suguru, studying the look on his face. A spark of anger lingers in his eyes, refusing to be extinguished. Even so, Satoru refuses to lose hope. I won't let you do this again.

Chapter Text

"Hey, Shoko," Satoru greets, none too casually. "Nice night we're having, huh?"

Shoko's gaze flits from the two of them and then to the small forms ducking behind their legs. Shaking her head, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Guys, please tell me there aren’t two small children cowering behind you, and that I’m just hallucinating.”

“You’re hallucinating,” Satoru replies immediately, as if he can't resist making the joke. Suguru glares at him out of the corner of his eye before refocusing his attention. “No, you’re not. Shoko, this is Nanako and Mimiko. Nanako and Mimiko, Shoko. Now, where’s Yaga-sensei?”

Shoko stares at him incredulously. “What the hell happened on that mission, Geto?"

“Later, Shoko,” Satoru interrupts. On the way back, he’d put on his glasses, and now they rest a bit lower than normal on the bridge of his nose. It allows them to glimpse the intensity in his expression as he continues apologetically. “I need to sort out things with Yaga-sensei first.”

Momentarily caught off guard, her eyebrows shoot up, but then she gives a small shrug. “Whatever, go ahead. It’s not like I’m stopping you. I think he's in his office, last I checked. You'd be lucky if he's still there. It's late, you know."

Satoru flashes her a grin, albeit strained, before warping away. Now that he's gone, the girls inch further away from Shoko, with Mimiko clinging onto his pant leg. Suguru sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Keep it together. You can't lose your composure right now. "Do you mind checking them over, Shoko? They need healing."

"Yeah, sure, if they let me. I mean, just look." She nods at how they hide behind Suguru, peering at her suspiciously. "If they're scared, I would rather not force them."

That's fair. "Nanako, Mimiko," he begins, turning to look behind him and meet their gazes. "This is my and Satoru's friend, Shoko. She's a doctor, and we both trust her a lot. She can help fix your injuries, if you want."

Nanako glances over at Mimiko, a silent question in her eyes. After a few moments, Mimiko nods, and Nanako looks back up at him. "She… won't hurt us?"

"Kid, my job is to do the literal opposite," Shoko interjects, an easy smile on her face. "What do you say we get you guys fixed up, yeah? Maybe a shower and some clean clothes?"

They stop hiding behind Suguru, stepping into view next to him. Upon hearing Shoko's words, they look relieved.Mimiko's lip wobbles, but despite that, she doesn't cry. His heart breaks a little at the scene, but he lets them go with Shoko without objection.

"…Geto-senpai? What's going on?"

Suguru nearly jumps at the sudden voice. Haibara has appeared behind him, Nanami in tow. He's rubbing his eyes, as if he was just roused from a slumber. His new scar stretches across his face when he smiles lopsidedly, eyes twinkling with curiosity. Suguru regards the damaged skin, and the sight is enough to put another crack in his composure. He exhales softly. Keep playing along, just a little more. "I found two girls that have cursed energy, Nanako and Mimiko. Their situation was… bad."

Nanami frowns, and Haibara's smile falls. It's all too common—the abundance of negative energy from sorcerers tends to push regular people away or unsettle them. In this case, it led to the neglect and mistreatment of the girls.

"How are they?" Nanami questions.

"Shoko took them to get healed and cleaned up," Suguru responds, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "Satoru is talking with Yaga-sensei right now."

"That's horrible," Haibara murmurs. "If that were my sister… Geto-senpai, is there anything we can do?"

"I'm not sure," he replies weakly. In all honesty, his thoughts are elsewhere—that village, those stifling walls. The cage. Consequently, it's excruciatingly difficult to center himself and focus. In his peripheral vision, he can see that they're talking, but sounds refuse to filter into something coherent within his mind. The room is too big and small at the same time, and he's drifting, floating, millions of miles away.

Once more, it is Satoru's touch that snaps Suguru out of a daze. When he comes to, Haibara and Nanami are gone, and Satoru is resting a warm hand on his arm. A quick glance tells him that he's in his dorm room, somehow. "Shoko healed Nanako and Mimiko, and helped them clean up," he says. His eyes are now fully hidden behind his glasses, making it hard to read his expression. "Haibara and Nanami volunteered to stay with the girls until they're able to sleep. They're in the other room."

Good.

"I talked to Yaga-sensei, and he'll let them stay here until he can figure things out. It's over now, Suguru."

Is it, though? The thought is a hysterical one, and he fights to keep his face from twisting into an ugly sneer. Those villagers walk free, unpunished and unassuming. How is it over when they're unchecked, fully able to continue harming the innocent? Who is to say this won't repeat with another sorcerer child? Ignoring an issue doesn't solve it.

"Suguru—"

A question surfaces from the very recesses of his mind; simple in phrasing, but infinitely more impactful.

Who are you, Suguru Geto?

A fundamental truth about human nature is the inherent duality within each individual. This, in itself, is what allows the capacity for both good and evil. No one is born being one or the other but is given a choice. The most impact that someone can have on their or someone else's actions is by making a conscious decision, most commonly, to improve or to worsen. There's always a choice, no matter your position. With that, Suguru finds he is at a crossroads and is torn.

What is your duty?

He's always believed that sorcerers have a duty to protect the weak, those who cannot help themselves. Suguru has abided by this ideal flawlessly and did what was asked of him without hesitating. Inevitably, he has lost more and more of himself to the unending cycle of sorcery and exorcising.

Where does your heart lie?

The answer does not come to him in words, but in memories. A sunset and lemon candies, bright eyes, a sobering touch; adrenaline-filled missions, and quiet nights. Alongside Satoru, he is complete, two pieces of a whole. Suguru Geto fell in love, fifteen and naive, but free.

Why do you remain complicit in a cycle of suffering?

Simply put, compliance is the easier, less painful alternative to rebellion.

…Is it truly?

"—Suguru, are you alright?"

Acceptance comes easily when his composure crumbles. Suguru's gaze snaps back to Satoru, and something inside him cracks. Shatters, almost, like a piece of fragile ceramic facing its inevitable destruction. Similar to the time he'd broken his mother's fine china, the crash reverberates in his ears—an audible indicator of collapse, the culmination of wear and tear across the years.

His next words come abruptly. "What's the point?"

Suguru continues, too fast for Satoru to react.

"I don't understand why we keep doing this. Why did we leave those animals alive, knowing what they did to the girls? Am I just expected to forget this ever happened? Because that's the thing, isn't it—just because you magically saved the day, it means everything's okay now."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't you remember Haibara and Nanami's mission? They almost died. The higher-ups are still the ones that sent them in the first place. Now, it's this mission, too. Why the fuck should I keep doing this, Satoru? Why should I keep pretending I don't see you being complicit in this shitty system—hell, even losing yourself in it? Are you satisfied, knowing we're meant to die early, pointless deaths?"

"Where did you get that from?" Satoru sputters. "No, of course not! I'm pissed that both missions went the way they did, and the higher-ups were clearly at fault with Haibara and Nanami. Believe me, I'd be more than happy if they all fell in a ditch and died somewhere. How am I being complicit?"

"You ignore things and expect they'll change. You've lied to my face, and you hardly confide in anyone anymore. The only thing you're consistent in is your missions, because that's all you can do, right? You're the so-called strongest, just accepting that you're stuck in your position. Well, you’re not invincible, Satoru. You want people to believe that you are, but you’re just like everyone else. It’s shitty, isn’t it?” Suguru lets out a harsh laugh. "Being too weak to make a difference."

And, just to make it sting:

"I wish I didn't call you."

Utter silence. The color leaves Satoru's face, and he lets out a noise like the air's been sucked out of his lungs. In one quick motion, he rips off his glasses, holding them so tightly in his hand that they emit a threatening creak. Varying emotions flicker across his face—frustration, distress—but most of all, desperation. He's desperate.

The resentful part of Suguru wants to walk away, to let the chasm between them widen beyond all hope of mending. It craves letting his anger fester, to therefore drown in it. Not to mention, logically, someone in his position should've already left without a second glance. A logical man would look Satoru in the eyes—his beautiful, red-rimmed eyes—and refuse to let them damage his resolve. Instead, Suguru hesitates, and he lingers. Because he is like a moth to a flame, a fly to amber, a lamb to slaughter. Satoru is the sun, and Suguru is a planet, tied to him by gravity and an orbit. There will always be Suguru and Satoru, just as there will always be light and shadow, yin and yang, and matter and antimatter.

Given some time to formulate a response, Satoru retorts, "Suguru… your parents live in that village. Don't tell me you were going to kill them!"

It's horrible and it's barbaric, but—

He's right.

Satoru is right, for if he hadn't made the call, Suguru would've gone through with it. It would've been so easy to burn it all down, fury making him numb to anything else. Only in the aftermath would he have realized, and then he'd move on. Ultimately, there is no redemption for those who take the lives of others.

“Why should non-sorcerers be punished for being born? I don’t know why you’d ever think this is right! We protect those who can’t protect themselves, because that’s the right thing to do. You don’t need to go so damn far just to fix things!"

Suguru tries to speak but is promptly cut off. “Why should someone’s fate be dictated for them just because of who they were born as?” Satoru hisses. "If you had killed those villagers, you wouldn't be any better than the higher-ups; you'd be worse. You don't change things through committing mass murder!"

His newfound uncertainty is like a plague. It creeps in slowly, but once it takes hold, it is suffocating. Seeds of doubt have been sown, and hesitation makes his breath stutter. Had this been anyone else, Suguru wouldn't have paid any mind to an attempt to dissuade him. And yet, it's Satoru. The world stops to listen, and so does Suguru, despite his better judgment. He always does.

"I'm not this invincible, all-powerful sorcerer. I definitely can't fix all of Jujutsu society's issues single-handedly, but that doesn't mean I agree with how things have happened! I don't expect you to pretend nothing ever happened, either. What happened to Amanai still keeps me up at night, believe me. You're allowed to not be okay, too. Hell, I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to step away from Jujutsu society. But this revenge against the villagers, and then non-sorcerers as a whole, will kill you."

Satoru slips his glasses in his pocket, and all that is left is a soul being laid bare for Suguru to see. "You are and have been my reason to keep going, no matter what we've had to endure. So come back to me, Suguru.” He holds out his hand: an olive branch, a second chance.

Can we start over? Can we still fix this?

Is there anything worth saving in him? He who stands at the edge of a precipice, wherein he contemplates the worst?

Suguru, your parents live in that village.

As his anger wanes, guilt and shame surface. His mother, who'd held him when he cried and helped raise him back up when he stumbled. His father, who'd been his biggest advocate, was so proud he'd found a purpose in helping others. Suguru had been so close to killing them both, burning away the memories, the experiences, and their love for him.

…Love.

What is love to you, Suguru Geto?

Love is a profound and complex emotion, in that it can signify passion and romance or commitment and friendship. Love is a chemical reaction, the release of specific hormones and neurotransmitters, such as dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin. Love is the sea, a vast and immeasurable tide. Love is your parents' trust and belief in your ability to excel, and love is noticing the small changes in your friend's demeanor. Love is the skip of a heartbeat, a fleeting touch, or a near imperceptible sensation on your cheek, akin to a feather-light kiss.

Suguru's love is hypocritical, and it persists against all odds. Love is to believe, and love is to try. Though it cannot solve all problems, it is a stepping stone and a catalyst for change.

A beat. Finally, Suguru takes the offered hand, choking out, “Satoru, I’m tired.”

A few words are all he can muster, and by no means convey the extent of his dilemma, but it's enough. Satoru wastes no time in pulling him in for a tight hug. “I know, and that’s fine. Just… no crazy ideas, yeah?”

"Okay,” Suguru agrees, and even though his weariness remains, he relaxes in the warm embrace. “Okay."

What is love?

Love, to him, is Satoru.

Chapter Text

ELEVEN YEARS LATER

June 2018

—

"…So, on a scale of one to ten, how bad is the situation?"

Megumi lets out an exasperated sigh, gesturing toward Yuji. "Where does Sukuna incarnating land on your scale?" He snarks.

"Like a three, or something. The aforementioned Sukuna isn't currently present, is he?" Satoru retorts. "Mind filling me in on what happened?"

Megumi stares at him, incredulous. "Are you just glossing over the part where I said this is Sukuna's vessel?"

"Well, I know that he's a vessel, but I need to hear how it happened."

"I ate a finger," Yuji offers, raising a hand.

"Yeah, I know that already. But why?" Satoru stresses. He, of course, doesn't need to know, but still needs to keep up the pretense of being in the dark about things.

"I went with Fushiguro to try and get the finger back—"

"He followed me inside the school when I told him to stay put—"

"Well, I was the one that saved you!"

"When a stronger curse attacked us because it was attracted to the finger, Itadori ate it."

"You said I needed cursed energy to exorcise a curse!" Yuji counters, offended.

"Yeah, but a sane person doesn't eat Sukuna's finger to get it, idiot!" Megumi sputters.

Satoru snorts, growing increasingly more amused. He's missed Yuji, and seeing him and Megumi fall right back into their original dynamic is a relief. "I think I've gotten the general picture. So, he's not trying to overtake you? No side effects?"

Yuji shrugs. "I mean, yeah, I feel fine. But he's really annoying—he keeps yelling in my head."

"Well, congratulations! You've got full control. Unfortunately, I still have to follow protocol, so…" He steps forward, and with a flick of his finger while channeling Blue, Yuji gets knocked out. Satoru's quick to catch him and hoists him up to prevent him from dangling.

"What did you do? Is he okay?" Megumi utters, his jaw dropping.

“I just knocked him out; he’s totally fine,” Satoru assures him. “Now, if he wakes up and isn’t possessed, he might have potential as a vessel. So, a question for you—what do I do with him?”

Megumi hesitates, seemingly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. After a few moments, he steels his nerves and states, “He should be executed, but… I don’t want him to die."

Satoru adjusts his one-handed hold on Yuji before inquiring, “Is this a personal request?”

“Yes, it is. Please do something about this."

"You got it!" Satoru chirps, with an exaggerated salute. "Just a word of warning. The higher-ups will probably be pissed, and if he doesn't want to become a student at Jujutsu Tech, then I can't keep a proper eye on him. The higher-ups will likely set an execution order for him, too."

"I don't care," Megumi insists. "He's a good person. Itadori doesn't deserve to die just because he wanted to save people."

He's a good person, huh? Satoru smiles because, frankly, the sentiment is endearing. Only a few hours of knowing him, and Megumi's certain about Yuji's character. Funny how across timelines, some things don't change.

"I'll do my best," Satoru promises. He takes a moment longer to examine Megumi, just in case—he's certainly banged up, but doesn't look horrible. Even so, he considers the situation a moment longer before offering his free hand to Megumi. "Want me to take you back to the school?"

He immediately opens his mouth as if to object, hesitates, and then nods. Megumi gets to his feet, and once he takes his hand, Satoru warps them to the front of the school. "Go get Shoko to look you over, yeah? I'll be back later."

Without waiting for a response, he teleports to the basement of the school and sets Yuji up in a chair, just as he had before. After Satoru makes sure that Yuji won't topple over while unconscious, he lets out a heavy sigh, knowing he has to face the inevitable—that is, the higher-ups. Over the years, Satoru has tried his hardest to minimize their negative impact—and it's worked, somewhat. He knows what they're going to do before they do it. Even so, there are certain things Satoru can't avoid. It's not like he can drag Yuji onto campus and pretend like everything is just fine. In fact, they've likely already sounded the alarm, having sensed Sukuna's cursed energy within Tengen's barriers. That means the higher-ups from Jujutsu Headquarters must be mobilizing and preparing to demand an audience.

Just like clockwork, his phone rings. Satoru glances at the caller ID before snorting and shaking his head. Instead, he warps outside of the meeting room, unsurprised to see Yaga waiting there. "Satoru, what the hell?" He shouts. "Why is Sukuna's cursed energy signature here, and why did it appear the same time you came back on campus?"

"Don't be so angry, Yaga; you'll give yourself gray hairs!" Satoru chirps, leaning back on the balls of his feet. "Would I really be so calm if Sukuna incarnated?"

"Knowing you, yes!" Yaga snaps back. "Are you going to explain?"

"It'd be unnecessary, especially if those old geezers are coming here," he points out. "I don't want to repeat myself, you know."

"God, you're insufferable," Yaga mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine."

It takes another hour, but finally, Satoru is called in. The room is dimly lit, illuminated only by candles. Six screens surround him, and the faint smell of incense makes his nose itch. Satoru would rather be anywhere else, but unfortunately, his hopes are for naught when a man's voice floats through his screen. "Satoru Gojo. What is the meaning of this?"

"Of what?" Satoru asks innocently.

"Do not act like a fool!" The man hisses. "Why has such a potent amount of Ryōmen Sukuna's cursed energy been sensed within the school's barriers? Did Megumi Fushiguro fail to retrieve the finger?"

"…In a sense. A non-sorcerer by the name of Yuji Itadori consumed it and survived."

"What?" Another man roars, his cursed energy flaring behind his screen. "Are you insinuating that—"

"I'm not insinuating anything," Satoru interrupts sharply. "I'm directly telling you that a fifteen-year-old consumed Ryōmen Sukuna's finger and maintained full control. That's all there is to it." This is not the worst-case scenario, so no need to get your dick in a twist.

"This is—do you not realize the implications? Ryōmen Sukuna has incarnated! How do you expect a non-sorcerer to contain him? He needs to be executed immediately!" A third voice yells. "Neutralize the threat as soon as possible!"

"Are you so much of a fool to believe that a mere child could contain the King of Curses?" Another voice inquires condescendingly. "If you refuse to act, you will doom us all! This is an order—kill Yuji Itadori."

"How about… no," Satoru responds icily. "I think you're too caught up in your fear to realize something. If Yuji Itadori can control Sukuna, he can ingest all of the fingers, which means he eliminates the threat entirely. You know just as well as I do that the fingers were barely able to be sealed. If you kill him now, you achieve nothing. Who's to say this won't be repeated in another one hundred years?"

The resounding silence in the room tells him all he needs to know. Cowards, all of them. Absolutely pathetic. Speaking with such disregard about Yuji's potential death leaves a bad taste in Satoru's mouth, but if he can reach the same terms as before, it'll be worth it. "If you're still so determined to kill him, then by all means, suspend his execution sentence. You'll get what you want in the end."

A short pause. Finally, from one of the screens behind him, a voice bites out, "Yuji Itadori's execution sentence will be suspended until he consumes the twentieth finger. Until then, he must become a sorcerer, or he will face immediate death."

There we go. Satoru grins triumphantly, despite the underlying threat in the response. They want to keep him under direct supervision, but unfortunately for them, that works out better for me.

"Consider it done," he says, and doesn't bother giving a polite bow before he leaves. The higher-ups don't deserve his respect, and never will. He spots Yaga, who has been waiting outside of the room with furrowed brows, and Satoru merely flashes him a smile. "See? The world isn't ending!"

"That was fast," Yaga concedes. "So? Are you going to explain how this warranted an emergency meeting?"

"You were right earlier. Sukuna did incarnate, but in the body of a boy named Itadori Yuji. Although, he's completely unable to overtake him. It's fascinating, really."

"What?"

"I've got to go—this is technically my overtime, you know?" Satoru jokes, even though they both know full well he is always on call. Most Jujutsu sorcerers are. "See you later!"

"Don't you dare—"

With that, Satoru warps away. When he appears in their bedroom, Suguru takes one look at him, and recognition flickers in his gaze. "It happened?"

"Yeah," Satoru murmurs. He presses his hands against his temples, letting out a long exhale. "I thought about preventing it, Suguru, I really did. I could've come up with a reason to accompany Megumi and stopped Yuji from ever having to eat the finger. He wouldn't live the life of a sorcerer, in that case."

Suguru sets down what he'd been reading—probably some more texts to aid in his research with Tsukumo—and meets his gaze, amber eyes piercing. "If you'd stopped it, then it'd put Kenjaku on your trail. You need to be careful, 'Toru."

He discards his blindfold before he trudges over to the bed, collapsing into Suguru's lap. He closes his eyes, heaving a sigh. "I know. With what I've already changed, he's probably suspicious. Interfering with Yuji would be crossing the line, I think."

"Right… because it was his plan to have Sukuna incarnate."

"Gold star for you," he chirps. Suguru begins to run a gentle hand through his hair, and Satoru leans into the touch, practically melting into it. "I hope I'm doing the right thing. I can't let things go wrong again."

"So far, they haven't," Suguru points out. "Originally, I wasn't here, and neither was Haibara. You've done so well."

Satoru cracks open an eye, practically preening at the praise. "Yeah?"

Using his other hand, Suguru's fingers ghost over his cheek, an amused smile on his face. "Don't let it get to your head."

Suguru's eyes are bright, illuminated by the soft light of their bedside lamp. Due to the angle, they appear a tender honey-brown. Satoru will never be ashamed to admit he could get lost within them, and how Suguru looks at him with fondness, rather than that cold indifference from all those years ago. His one and only, his Suguru.

It wasn't just Satoru doomed to be alone, a world away from his comrades as the sole strongest. Though Suguru had stepped away from Jujutsu Society once graduating, he remained by Satoru in spite of it. He stayed.

Satoru smiles, closing his eyes. "How's your research going?"

"Slow," Suguru admits. "Ideally, I and Tsukomo would be able to partner up with someone that has a complete Heavenly Restriction, but there's no one that does. It's not like they grow on trees. Instead, I was just looking through a bunch of entries on old artifacts and cursed tools."

"Find anything useful?"

"No. It's strange, to be honest. You mentioned something before, right? The Prison Realm? I've found almost nothing about it. If I didn't know better, I'd be convinced it was just a legend."

"I thought it was, too," Satoru mutters. "Then Kenjaku got the jump on me in Shibuya and sealed me away."

"Do you still think he'll try and seal you?" Suguru asks seriously. Satoru takes that as a cue to sit up so that they can talk face-to-face.

"Ideally, yeah. If he wants the Culling Games to happen, he needs me out of the picture." He shrugs. "I don't see how he'd be able to do it, though. Things are different from last time."

"That doesn't mean you should underestimate him," Suguru points out. "If he was able to put together such an elaborate scheme the first time around, who says he doesn't have a backup plan for this?"

"He probably does, but the difference is that both of us know he's going to make a move. I doubt things will get as bad as they were before."

Suguru snorts, shaking his head. "That sort of overconfidence is going to jinx us both."

"It's not overconfidence if it's true," Satoru shoots back. "What can one guy do against the strongest sorcerers?"

"He's over one thousand years old."

"Why would a decrepit old man be able to lay a finger on the two of us?"

Suguru lets out a startled laugh. "You just explained how he did."

"Because you were dead, and I wasn't," Satoru retorts. "That's a pretty obvious difference, isn't it?"

A beat, and they stare at each other. With just a few words, the mood shifts from something lighthearted to heavy, and he feels a twinge of regret for spoiling it. "I was just trying to say that we've set up something better than before."

"I know, Satoru."

"Even so… I have to keep a close eye on the higher-ups. Last time, they tried pulling some bullshit with the first-years and sent them on a mission that was clearly above their pay grade. Yuji died there, Suguru! I had to see his corpse in Shoko's morgue!"

"So I've been told," he muses, but his gaze darkens. It's a dangerous look, one that makes Satoru hesitate. "What happens when they inevitably send you overseas?"

"I'll try to get Nanami and Haibara to look after them, but the higher-ups might override their interference. It's just an all-around mess," Satoru grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can hear it now—they'll say something like, two Grade Ones are unnecessary for a mission of this caliber. Well, they can take their mission and shove it up—"

"I can do it."

Satoru pauses. He gawks at Suguru, hardly able to comprehend the words he's just heard. "What?"

"I can look after them," Suguru clarifies, tilting his head slightly. The action causes a few loose strands of hair to spill across his face, so he has to brush them aside. "When they send you off, you can make me your stand-in."

He blinks at him dumbly, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. It's a good plan—Suguru will most certainly protect his students, and he's strong enough to do so with ease. The insinuation is what has stolen Satoru's breath. "You'd go back?"

"For you, Satoru," Suguru begins, leaning forward, "I'd do anything." His lips curl into a smile as the words leave his mouth. It's soft, reassuring, and makes Satoru's heart skip a beat.

"Thank you," he says earnestly. Satoru leans in for a kiss and means for it to be short and sweet—at least, until Suguru deepens it by pulling him in with a hand on the back of his head. He's positively addicting, and Satoru would love nothing more than to be peppered by his kisses, soft and rough alike. Unfortunately, he can't afford to stay, so he pulls away after a few moments. "I need to head back to the school and be there when Yuji wakes up," he explains apologetically. "I'll try to come back soon."

"Go," Suguru urges. "You've got this."

Satoru breaks out into a cheeky grin—crooked and genuine, unlike those uncanny, too-perfect ones he flashes whenever he can't muster something real. "Not even a goodbye kiss?"

"You'll survive without one," Suguru retorts in fond exasperation. Satoru laughs and reaches for his blindfold, fastening it around his head before getting off of the bed.

"See you later," he says. It's not a goodbye; but rather, a promise. For in every universe, in every lifetime, Satoru will always find his way back to Suguru. Their two souls, bound by something deeper than mortal emotions, will never stay apart for long. There is no Satoru without Suguru, just as there are no tides without the moon and no life without death. That is how it has been, and how it always will be.