Chapter Text
After two weeks, Megumi can say it with absolute certainty – Midoriya keeps watching his divine dogs.
He’s subtle about it, but Megumi’s noticed how every time he summons his dogs around Midoriya, the curse’s focus turns to them. His gaze doesn’t linger – that would be too obvious – but he takes enough glances for Megumi to know they’re still on his mind.
Take now for example. Megumi’s on the training field after another day of class. Midoriya’s made a habit to trail after him and watch, scribbling things on a special notebook Megumi never sees him use in class. Midoriya offers ideas or asks questions about Megumi’s cursed technique. Megumi answers what he can, and tests out what he can’t.
He can store things in his own shadow, the weight of said things being distributed evenly across his body. Megumi wouldn’t have even thought to try if it hadn’t been for Midoriya’s suggestion.
He’d looked so happy when Megumi tested it out, too, like he wasn’t used to people listening to him. Given Midoriya’s… situation, that’s most likely the case.
When everyday non-sorcerers can shapeshift or breathe fire, no one bats an eye when Megumi’s running around with his divine dogs. And on the off chance the law does get involved, he had a “Quirk” license that was given to him when he was promoted to grade 2. In reality, if someone X-rayed his foot they’d find it looks just the same as Midoriya’s.
He remembers those two years between his diagnosis and when Gojo stopped him on the street with annoyance. His classmates seemed to think that not having a Quirk meant he’d just roll over if they did things like break his crayons or steal his food. He’s sure he would have been expelled if they ever managed to get his father in for a conference.
After Gojo, things got a bit easier. There was a reprieve between school and jujutsu society. In one world, people try to treat him like the scum on their shoe – try , Megumi always corrects them of that notion . In the other, he would have been the next clan head had Gojo not stuck his nose in and snatched Megumi up.
Quirks, techniques, Megumi doesn’t see how it matters. There’s a baseline level of decency you afford people if you’re not looking for a fight. Megumi had been willing to fight back, Midoriya hadn’t. Not to say that absolves his bullies of guilt.
Megumi sighs and signals for his dogs to stay where they are. He walks over to Midoriya. “You’ve been staring at my divine dogs.”
Midoriya jumps, “Er…m-maybe?” He doesn’t even try to lie.
“Why?” He asks it out of genuine curiosity. Midoriya shows no bloodlust to them, and even if he was hiding it, the divine dogs are much better at sensing those things than Megumi. White and Black have been alert around Midoriya, but they’ve never so much as growled in his direction yet.
“I, uh.” The ears on Midoriya’s hoodie droop as he looks down at the ground. “I…want to pet them? I– I just– My apartment had a no animals policy, and mom,” his throat gets caught on that word, Megumi doesn’t judge, ”mom’s allergic. But I, um, I always wanted one.”
Midoriya Izuku, special grade cursed spirit, wants…to pet Megumi’s divine dogs. “They’re shikigami, not pets.” He has to think like that. Because one day or another he’s going to lose one or both of them on some kind of mission. The distance is safer, it won’t hurt so much when that day comes.
He watches Midoriya wilt and feels something distantly related to a guilty conscience. With a sigh, Megumi turns around and lets out a sharp whistle.
Black and White perk up and trot over, their fur bouncing out of time with their gait. The golden-hour sunlight makes White shine and Black appear as a warm dark-gray. They stop at Megumi’s feet, sitting down.
“A-are you sure?”
Megumi resists the urge to sigh. “I wouldn’t have called them over if I wasn’t.”
“R-right.” Midoriya crouches, his mouth set in a nervous line. The dogs watch him with their uncanny yellow eyes, noses twitching. He holds out a hand, his palm turned downwards for them to sniff.
Were it any other curse White would have bitten their arm off already, but here, Megumi’s divine dog sticks his snout out and presses a cold nose to Midoriya’s hand.
With White’s seal of approval, Black surges forward, knocking Midoriya down and licking at any exposed skin. White, hating to be left out, barks, hopping around to butt his nose in when Black leaves an opening. Midoriya’s hood gets taken off by a stray excited snout, but he’s too busy with the shikigami to care. His hands burrow into Black’s fur, scratching vigorously. They could turn into vicious claws at any moment, rip his shikigami to shreds, but they don’t. They stay regular, human hands.
Black’s back leg begins to thump and Midoriya laughs. He looks up to Megumi, delight shining in his eyes. “I thought that only happened on TV.” He reaches for White and tries to recreate it, making sounds of awe when he succeeds. “What are their names?”
“They’re shikigami,” Megumi repeats, “they don’t have any.” He just calls them Black and White to avoid confusion. When he was younger he had names for them, but it’s been so long he can’t recall what they were. Maybe he should be sad about that, but it’s just another facet of life as a sorcerer. There’s no point being upset over things he can’t change.
Midoriya’s mood dampens. “Oh.” Black licks his chin and he brightens back up, burying his face into the dog’s fur.
“It’s okay,” He whispers into Black’s scruff. It’s not something Megumi’s meant to hear, but he does anyway. “I’m a curse, too. And I have a name. I’ll think of something.” White has finally settled down, resting his head on Midoriya’s lap. Midoriya rubs the ridge of White’s snout, right between his eyes. White does nothing but close them and lean into it with a pleased grumble. “I’ll think of one for you, too.”
It’s unsettling how easy it is to forget that he’s a curse – something formed from hate, sorrow, misery, and fear – when he smiles so brightly while petting two dogs.
—---
It’s been a month since Katsuki and Izu-chan became his students. Satoru’s proud to note the leaps and bounds they’ve made since then. It took a bit of time – and swearing, lots of swearing, Satoru should invest in a swear jar – but Katsuki’s doesn’t spark his palms nearly as often. He keeps up his sparring with Maki, he doesn’t outright tell Panda to “fuck off” if he tries to strike up a conversation. Toge seems to be the one he can tolerate the most, which isn’t surprising at all.
He’s a far cry from when he tried to jam Izu-chan’s claws into his neck.
Man, that hadn’t been fun. Izu-chan was a wreck, too shaken to speak much less manifest. Satoru talked about anything and everything, pretending that nothing was wrong while he watched Izu-chan settle into something more physical.
Izu-chan manifested in his human form, inky black tears pouring down his face. He told Satoru everything in broken sentences, and wow, Satoru really hadn't clocked Bakugou as the type to try and commit suicide.
He called Shoko and got her to agree to do a checkup on the bullshit excuse of a baseline examination. Maki made that pointless by splitting Katsuki’s lip – in a truly stunning maneuver too, Satoru’s so proud. Shoko corroborated Izu-chan’s story and told Satoru to keep an eye out. So he did. There are certain signs that sorcerers show before they throw themselves into the mouth of a curse, Satoru’s seen enough of them to pick up a few. Katsuki shows none.
Satoru doesn’t stop looking.
He didn’t look at Suguru, didn't see the signs. People think he never makes mistakes, but in reality he just makes sure he doesn’t make the same ones twice.
Katsuki started making a real change after the visit to his parents house. Satoru thought their house was a nice place, in an equally nice neighborhood and notably lacking in curses. Izu-chan took his job very seriously while Katsuki still lived here.
The Bakugous were as expected: confused, concerned, maybe even a little scared for their boy. Good. That means they care. No one had even been scared for Satoru. Of him? Sure. People can only stare so long into his eyes before looking away, but he has a feeling that even if he took the blindfold off Bakugou Mitsuki would have met him head on. A mother’s love, Satoru’s told there’s nothing like it.
Katsuki stopped arguing every little issue and started following instructions after that. He did it with an attitude, but Satoru’s not fragile enough to be hurt by a few muttered – sometimes yelled – insults.
Katsuki wasn’t the only one who changed after that day. Izu-chan was a mess on the drive back to campus, Satoru couldn’t look his way without suffering a headache. He’s no stranger to grief, but it came off of Izu-chan in ten-meter waves. So Satoru did what he did best, he talked. Stupid little questions that would pull Izu-chan out of his own head.
Not to say Satoru got nothing out of it – he learned a lot about his cute little student. He likes savory food, but makes an exception for candy like sour patch watermelon. He liked to go out and watch hero fights in person instead of on TV. He used to have whole notebooks dedicated to Quirk analysis. Hypotheses, suspected strengths and weaknesses. Izu-chan could have made it big as a Quirk consultant if he hadn’t killed himself.
Now though, his prospects are just as promising, if not more so. A special grade curse with human-level intelligence and born out of the need to protect. If Satoru plays it right (and the meddling geezers keep their noses out of it) jujutsu society could have a sorcerer that won’t age, can instantly regenerate from what would be fatal wounds to a human, and has the instinctive urge to seek other curses out and eradicate them. A frontline version of Master Tengen.
But first he has to get Izu-chan to start acting like a kid, not some scared critter hiding under the porch. It's harder than Satoru makes it look. Izu-chan holds himself at a distance considered polite, but not close enough for someone to reach out and touch him. Every time Satoru breaches that space he gets tense, and maybe Satoru could approach it more carefully, but he ends up tossing caution to the wind like usual and decides exposure therapy is the best way to go.
Those first few times Izu-chan literally shocked him – a jolt of cursed energy that traveled up Satoru's arm and made his fingers tingle. Limitless would get rid of that problem, but Izu-chan’s already so touch-starved. A few shocks are worth it when Satoru pats him on the back one week in and Izu-chan doesn't send a spark through him on reflex.
Some stuff is out of his control – not much is, but it does happen. Making friends comes naturally to Satoru, he has such a winning personality he just can't keep them away, and he’d actually puke if he ever said something as cheesy as "just be yourself” unironically.
Turns out he didn't have to be very worried. Izu-chan became close with Megumi – something not even the six eyes could have predicted. The two of them go to the training grounds every day after class and practice Izu-chan’s theories. Megumi’s improved quickly in only a couple of weeks and he’s only getting better.
Katsuki, on the other hand…
“Fuck this, I’m done!”
Satoru lets the broken piece of wood go against his infinity, falling to the ground with a soft plop. The other piece sits in Katsuki’s hand, still smoldering. The lingering humidity from the rain yesterday clings to the air, dragging everything down with it. Normal students tend to take the day off on the weekends, but none of Satoru’s students could ever be considered “normal” – even by jujutsu standards.
“You know, you’re lucky these are cheap.” Satoru nudges the grade 4 cursed tool – or what remains of it – with his shoe. “I don’t think you have the funds to replace a grade 1.” Satoru’s footing the bill anyway, not that his angry little student knows that.
“I can’t use any of these!” Katsuki tosses the piece in his hand to the ground with a snarl. Sweat drips off his brow as he wipes his hands on his workout pants. “They just absorb my sweat and blow up.”
“Which is why I told you to stop using your Quirk while training.”
Katsuki’s eye twitches – it might become chronic, his student should really get that looked at before he turns out like Yaga. “You think it’s easy? I’ve been using it my whole fuckin’ life! How about you try not putting up that stupid barrier you got, huh?”
Oh, wow, so many memories of Suguru and Shoko tossing things at him. Satoru shoves those back down in the “do not open” box and idles forward, walking a circle around Katsuki. “That would be fun,” he says, “but this isn’t about me.” He watches Katsuki’s eye twitch, followed by a small crackle of sparks across his palms. “Sorcerers have to control their cursed energy output no matter what they’re feeling. Surely you can do that with a couple of sparks.”
Katsuki does have a point, though. His sweat is what’s explosive, if a cursed tool gets saturated in the stuff, any number of things could make it go off like a new years firework. Gloves could help, but they’d make him unwieldy and awkward with weapons that need fine motor skills.
Katsuki looks like he’d be the brute-force kind of fighter, but there’s actually a brain in that skull of his. He has a good sense of physics and aerodynamics to fully utilize his Quirk and take to the air like he did in the entrance exam. Explosion intensity, direction, his current position, he’s thinking about all of that plus whatever his opponent might do next.
It’s somewhat like Limitless, if you swap aerodynamics for space-time and quantum theory.
“Don’t fear, my angry student, I have an idea!” He conveniently ignores the grumbled “fantastic” from Katsuki and starts heading to the armory. He’d say ‘follow me’, but then Katsuki would refuse just to be contrary.
“Oi, where the fuck are you going?” Satoru can hear the scuff of his student’s shoes as he follows, dragging his feet every step of the way.
“You’ll see.”
The armory is just as Satoru remembers: a touch dusty, saturated in cursed energy, and with thick chains wrapped around the door handles. The last time he was here was last year, with Yuuta. Satoru takes out the key and gets to work. Letting the chains fall to the floor, he throws the doors open and steps in. Hmm. Swords, swords, more swords. A few naginatas. The wooden staffs are almost as abundant as the swords. There has to be something…
Satoru crows when he finds it. “Here,” he hands it to Kastuki, who takes it with a reluctant face so he can inspect it for himself. “I mean, it’s no Chain of a Thousand Miles – I broke that years ago – but a kusari’s perfect for you! The metal won’t absorb any sweat, and with your understanding of aerodynamics, I bet you can figure it out quickly.” Satoru pats himself on the back for a job well done.
Katsuki steps outside, giving the chain a few experimental swings. He lets it lash out, striking the air in front of him some distance away. There’s a shift in Katsuki’s posture, his back goes just a little bit straighter, his shoulders just a touch more set. Teaching has its ups and down, but moments like these – when something clicks in his student’s head and they have a clear goal in mind– remind him why it’s worth it.
Katsuki’s pride won’t let him be caught dead thanking Satoru for something, but there’s a light in his eye, one that promises hell, Satoru can’t wait to see what he does with it.
“It’s fucking shabby, but I can work with this.”
—--
The sea urchin is just asking for a fight at this point.
He’s been asking for it since the first day of class. Sitting in the desk furthest from Deku and daring him to say anything about it. Katsuki would love to show him what-for, but Gojo’s a fucking magician with how he appears out of thin air whenever Katsuki’s palms even spark a little. So he sits in his seat and tries not to gag at the sight in front of him.
Gojo left the room a while ago, claiming he was going to grab some snacks. In the meanwhile, he told them to have a free study period. There’s not a lot to go over. Seriously, what kind of school doesn’t even cover math? A bullshit one. This one. Katsuki’s going to have to ask his mom for some textbooks at this rate, he refuses to be anything but ahead of his classes when he goes back to Yuuei.
If.
When.
Deku’s scooched his desk right next to Fushiguro’s, tapping a pen on the notebook Katsuki left for him. They’ve been doing this a lot lately, Deku’s a dog with a bone when he has a new Quirk – technique, whatever – to think about. Fushiguro’s shikigami sit at the foot of their desks, the dark one nudging Deku’s thigh for head scratches.
“Look, Kacchan! A puppy!” Deku runs to the lady walking a fucking goliath of a dog. The slobbery thing’s shoulder reachers the top of Deku’s head. It gets excited and knocks him over in three seconds flat, but he’s too busy giggling past the massive tongue licking his face.
He’s been staring at the same sentence for five minutes. The lead of his pencil creaks as he presses down on the paper.
“-- so the ritual doesn’t count if you have help? Can you re-do a ritual if you fail it?”
“If I fail it, then I'm dead.” Fushiguro says matter-of-factly. “I don’t imagine it matters at that point.”
“Well, yeah,” Deku says, “but think about it like a video game? Maybe? You learn the attack patterns and what it can do, that way when you go in alone you aren’t in the dark?”
Deku brought a game console to school once. Katsuki laughed when one kid “tripped” and spilled juice all over it.
Fushiguro makes a sound in his throat. “I’m not sure. Gojo might know more about it than me.”
Deku scribbles that down, too. He hops from one person to the next like some kind of groupie. It’s disgusting. Katsuki scowls and presses his pencil down harder.
“Also, um…” Deku’s voice falls a few pitches, Katsuki can hear it, but only barely. “Do you think Kacchan would want to train after class, too?”
Fushiguro huffs, “if you’re asking if he can come along, the answer’s no.” Katsuki doesn’t have to strain to hear it, he said it full volume.
The lead snaps. “You got a fuckin problem, urchin?” Katsuki demands.
Fushiguro meets his glare with cold eyes. The shikigami at his feet start to growl. “Would it matter if I did?
”Uh,” Deku looks between them, his stupid hoodie-ears flopping around. “Maybe we should–”
“‘Course it fucking matters. You’ve been acting all high and mighty when we both know I could kick your ass any day of the week.” Fushiguro’s always been looking at him like that – like he has Katsuki all figured out. He doesn’t know shit .
The white shikigami gets up, raising its hackles and snarling. Gojo’s voice replays in Katsuki’s head. One shikigami user, and it’s curtains. Fuck that, and fuck him. Katsuki just has to take the user out and the shikigami go away.
Deku’s frantic now, waving his hands around like that might – what? Distract them? “Guys, p-please. You shouldn’t be fighting–”
“Do you ever shut the fuck up, Deku?” Katsuki regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth.
Deku flinches back like he’d been hit, his form glitching at the edges. He looks down at his hands and stays quiet, trying to press his hands into his pants to hide how they shake.
Katsuki sees the first flicker of something besides indifference in Fushiguro’s face. Anger. Katsuki’s finally cracked that shitty mask, but he feels no sense of victory. “I guess some things don’t change.” Fushiguro stares him dead in the eye, daring him to try something, “You’ll always be a bully, Bakugou Katsuki.”
Katsuki snarls and leaps out of his seat. He needs to fight, he needs to blow off some steam and try to forget the shattered expression on Deku– Midoriya’s face. “You–!”
Fushiguro stands fast enough to skid his chair back. It doesn’t matter. Electricity buzzes in the air, and then Midoriya’s there, facing Katsuki head-on with his arms thrown out as he puts himself between Katsuki and the motherfucker who’s been asking for it since they got on this stupid campus. His eyes glow under the hood, bright with–
They’ve been here before, Katsuki realizes. Midoriya standing between him and some other idiot, terrified but still getting in the way because this isn’t right, Kacchan! You’re– you’re being mean! You’re being a–
There’s a whoosh of displaced air, and then Gojo’s standing in front of them. He’s still got that god awful blindfold on, but Katsuki can feel him taking in the scene. “Well,” he says, and he’s gearing up for something dramatic, Katsuki can tell, “I’m gone for twenty minutes and you’re only picking a fight now?” He drops the bag he was carrying and ruffles Katsuki’s head hard enough to make it dip. “I’ll be honest, I thought I’d come back to chaos, but good on you for proving me wrong!” Katsuki snarls and steps out of the idiot’s reach.
Midoriya drops the human-wall routine and goes ramrod straight. “Mr. Gojo! We were just…um…” Any other day and watching him flounder for an explanation would have been funny. Now? It’s painful.
Gojo ruffles the top of his head, too, but much softer. “Nah, I think I already know what happened.”
Fushiguro doesn’t even blink. “Think what you want.” He says, “Nothing happened, so there’s nothing to punish.”
“Maybe. But wouldn’t you know it, the library’s looking a little out of order lately.” He makes a grand gesture, moving his arms dramatically before he points at both Katsuki and Fushiguro. “Why don’t you two go and sort it out? Katsuki, you can pick out a few books to read while you're at it. Isn’t your amazing sensei so thoughtful?”
More like full of shit. Katsuki makes eye contact with Fushiguro and for once it looks like they’re sharing the same thought.
Midoriya raises his hand, “Should I help them, too…?”
“Nope!” Gojo chirps, going back to the bag he dropped on the floor and rummaging through it. He tosses something at Midoriya, who catches it with a tiny yelp. It’s a bag of sour patch watermelon. “I got all these sweets, I can’t possibly eat them by myself!”
“Are you sure–?”
“Izu-chan,” Katsuki twitches at the nickname, “your sensei is very sure.” He gives a thumbs up, beaming. “You’ve been working so hard, anyways. Think of it as a reward!” Midoriya doesn’t look all that convinced, but he couldn’t stand up against a wet paper towel, what chance does he have at standing up against Gojo ?
So that’s how Katsuki ends up here: standing in front of a library that looks like it has more dust than actual books with Fushiguro right next to him. He doesn't say anything, but Katsuki can see his opinion written all over his face.
“This will go faster if we split up.” Fushiguro starts walking toward the bookshelves. “I’ll take one side, you take the other. We won’t even have to look at each other that way.” And because Katsuki’s opinion is worth dogwater, apparently, he doesn’t wait for a reply. Stuck-up bitch.
There's only two schools for jujutsu, based on the few things Katsuki’s read. So naturally there are a metric fuck-ton of books to sort through. He seethes through his nose and gets started, From the looks of it, everything’s sorted by author name, with a few being obviously out of place. He takes those off the shelf and starts a pile.
Some books look more recently used than others, a bit less dusty and are usually the ones that are out of place. He picks up The History of Cursed Tools and sets it aside for himself. Across the library, there’s a dull thump, followed by a muddled swear. Katsuki snorts and moves on.
He keeps going like that, pulling out the books that are missorted and putting them in one pile and sometimes putting something that sounds promising off to the side for himself. He does this up until something snags his attention and holds it.
It’s easily the dustiest book here, with binding that’s falling apart and pages aged yellow from time. Katsuki runs his hand across the cover, wiping away the dust so he can read: The Golden Age of Jujutsu . He takes it off the shelf and checks the index. Couple of big-name clans – some minor clans, too – but what stands out to him is the name Ryoumen Sukuna. Where some of the chapters only take up maybe ten or thirteen pages, this one’s almost one-fifth of the damn book.
Katsuki puts it in his “to read” pile and finishes sorting his half of the library. The name lingers in his mind the entire time. Some of the clans in that book are older than dirt, with sorcerers strong enough to beat up grade 1 curses like they’re cannon fodder. So who the hell is Ryoumen Sukuna, and what could he have done to have one-fifth of a book focusing on it?
He leaves once he finishes, carrying the stack of his chosen reading back to his room. He passes the classroom, hearing the sound of his teacher groaning, along with the distinct crinkle of candy wrappers.
“Izu-chaaaan, I ate too many sweets…” and then there’s another groan.
The so-called “strongest”, everyone. Katsuki can’t believe they let an overgrown ten year old teach.
Katsuki doesn’t run into anyone on his way back to his room. He sets his pile down to the side of his desk and picks out The Golden Age of Jujutsu. He skims the sections about clans – he already knows the big three – and goes right into the section dedicated to one Ryoumen Sukuna. Katsuki reads deep into the night, only taking a break to go and get dinner. He feels Midoriya pause outside his door. Whatever he was thinking of doing, he decides against it, going to his own room for the night. Katsuki sinks back into his seat – he didn’t realize he’d been tense in the first place – and goes back to reading.
He went in expecting this Sukuna guy to be some kind of All Might figure, the irrefutable strongest of his time. Well, he was right about one of those things. Mass-murder and cannibalism are definitely not things people think when they picture All Might, and he did all of that before he became a curse.
Villains, they always have some kind of end goal in mind, even if it’s something stupid like getting filthy rich. Sukuna… didn’t have one, none that Katsuki can make sense of. He lived how he wanted, and fuck anyone who tried to tell him no. Katsuki could have respected that if the man didn’t eat a kid alive for insulting him, among many other atrocities listed in gruesome detail on the pages . Sorcerers, non-sorcerers, it didn’t matter, Sukuna slaughtered them all.
The text in this book speaks of someone so fundamentally fucked up that jujutsu society still can’t even exorcise his mummified fingers. This person – Katsuki hesitates to even call him that – existed. And even though he died, he’s not gone.
Just like another person Katsuki knows.
—------
This place is huge. That's the first thought that enters Yuuji's mind when he sets foot on Jujutsu Tech's campus. Green, too. Yuuji can’t look anywhere without spotting at least one tree or bush. It reminds him of all those camping trips Gramps took him on when he was little. He acted all grumpy about it, but he still taught Yuuji how to bait a hook and do bird calls with his hands.
He likes these memories. The ones where Gramps is up and about, running after Yuuji to get him out of some mess or the other. He's gotten into a pretty big mess now – his biggest yet – but Gramps is bone dust and ash now. He won't be much help.
For the first time in his life, Yuuji's really on his own. He smothers the twinge of grief and looks around some more, oohing and aahing.
“I know, right?” Gojo walks beside him, wearing the exact same smile he had when welcoming Yuuji to his own execution. So far Yuuji thinks he’s weird, but in a fun way. Gojo didn’t have to let him gather his Gramps’ ashes, so he’s definitely not a bad guy. “You’ll have to take the entrance exam, but other than that, welcome to Jujutsu Tech – where you’ll learn everything there is about being a sorcerer!” It sounds like something out of a shounen manga, Yuuji grins.
“What a depressing place.” He feels the skin under his eye peel back – oh, gross – and a numb feeling just under it. “You sorcerers have fallen so far. I could wipe this place from existence and your ancestors would be grateful.”
Yuuji slaps himself on the cheek, Sukuna bites him and goes back to wherever he goes when he’s not body-snatching. “Sorry, sensei. He comes out sometimes.”
“Not a problem, Yuuji.” Gojo looks ahead and brightens, “Hey! You two! Class was canceled today, where are you off to?”
Yuuji spots who he’s talking to: two figures crossing the courtyard. They look his age, one being blond and the other wearing a funny-looking hood. Maybe he has a mutant Quirk? Yuuji’s seen some kids use masks or hoodies to cover up like that. Hoodie-guy has a notebook in his hands while blond-guy’s got a chain wrapped up and stored on his hip, a weighted end dangling freely. Yuuji thinks he spots a flash of red on the hoodie-guy's face, but the hood covers most of it so it’s hard to say.
“None of your business, troll doll.” Blond-guy calls over his shoulder. “Just cause the urchin’s on bedrest doesn’t mean I’m sittin’ on my ass today.”
“We’re going to test some of my theories.” Hoodie-guy says, looking their way. Yeah, that was red Yuuji saw before, there’s a tiny trail of blood going from his mouth to his chin.
“Let me introduce you to your future classmates,” Gojo says. He points a finger at blond-guy, “That’s Bakugou Katsuki, he was a non-sorcerer like you a few months ago, so you’re basically on the same boat!”
Bakugou huffs.
Gojo’s finger then points to hoodie-guy. “And that’s Izu-chan!”
“Midoriya Izuku.” Hoodie-guy – Midoriya– corrects, bowing. Both Bakugou and Izuku look at him like they’re expecting something. Yuuji’s not sure what they’re looking for. Their names sound kinda familiar, but no lightbulbs are going off.
“My name’s Itadori Yuuji,” he gives Midoriya a bow in return, “I like girls like Jennifer Lawrence.”
Midoriya stammers, “e-eh?” The exposed parts of his face start to turn pink.
Bakugou makes a disgusted noise in his throat like Yuuji admitted to something like being into feet. “Who the fuck cares about that?”
Yuuji’s about to say who wouldn’t be into a girl like that when he feels the skin under his eye peel back again.
Sukuna’s tone is low, steeped in a cold kind of malice that freezes everyone but Gojo in place. “It seems curses have fallen as well if there’s one walking around like a mongrel on a leash–”
Yuuji has no idea what Sukuna’s talking about, but he slaps his cheek again anyway. Harder. His skin radiates heat, throbbing in tune with his heart, but Sukuna’s gone. “Sorry. He’s really pissy today.” He suppresses a wince when Sukuna starts yelling in his head. Yuuji will start taking him seriously when he stops acting like a middle aged lady who didn't get a discount.
Gojo puts a hand on Yuuji’s shoulder, “as much fun as this is, Yuuji here has an entrance exam to complete.” It’s the first solid contact Yuuji’s had in… a long time. He gives his friends high-fives and stuff like that, but those are quick things. An open-palm touch is different. It’s closer, more comforting. Yuuji relaxes into the touch as Gojo waves Bakugou and Midoriya away with a hand. “Now run along, dear students!” Gojo says. “Don’t blow up the training grounds! It gets deducted from my paycheck!”
Bakugou’s eye twitches as he turns to walk off in the direction he was heading before they stopped to talk. Midoriya hesitates, biting his lip – which he really shouldn’t do, he’s already bleeding. Is no one gonna mention that?
“For your exam,” Midoriya says, “try ducking.” Then he scurries off.
“What–?”
Gojo laughs, cutting him off before he can finish his question. “Don’t worry about it too much. You’re pretty sturdy, from what I’ve seen.” That doesn’t answer Yuuji’s question, it doesn’t make him any less worried, either. Gojo starts moving towards the main building again and he has no choice but to follow.
Right outside the door to the principal’s office, Gojo asks him, "one of those students was a curse, can you guess which one?"
Wait, really? Neither of them looked anything like the curses Yuuji saw at school. Midoriya was injured, yeah, but he also looks like the kinda guy who cries when there’s a cockroach in his room. Bakugou looks way scarier, and he was a lot ruder.
Yuuji guesses. Gojo’s smile stretches a little further, just enough to cross into manic.
He doesn’t remember Midoriya’s advice to duck until a cutely-ugly green bear punts him across the room.