Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Satoru is the first to move, the first to brush off his stupor at this frankly odd situation.

He wastes no time in bounding towards the child like an overexcited dog, dropping down to crouch right in front of Yūji with a wide, relieved grin. Even crouched, he’s taller than Yūji— just barely.

If Yūji is surprised by the speed and instant proximity between them, he doesn’t let it show.

Satoru thinks he sees relief in Yūji’s gaze too, hidden behind the hesitance as he slowly scans Satoru, like he can’t wrap his head around this.

Yūji’s eyebrows furrow, eyes trailing over Satoru’s face as if he can’t believe what he’s looking at, even up close without any distance between them.

Honestly, it should be Satoru in such disbelief.

Yūji is a literal child, Satoru is just a bit younger.

He really hasn’t changed much physically besides growing a bit taller and filling out a little. He’d grown into his gangly limbs by the time he’d graduated, for the most part at least, but besides that, you’d be able to easily pick him out in any photo.

He’s not exactly ordinary, is he?

He’s distinct with his stunning looks, snow-white hair and unforgettably unique Six-Eyes.

Yūji had clearly recognized him near instantly.

“You’re here,” Satoru chirps again, hands catching Yūji’s small wrists. His hands are tiny in Satoru’s own. Yūji’s entire hands, wrist and all, fit in Satoru’s palms. “How are you here? I thought— hn, well, I’m not sure what I thought, but this is still a surprise, Yūji-kun!”

“I came here to—” the child stutters, teeth clamping down hard on his bottom lip before he wilts nervously, “I don’t know. I just- everything's- this is all—”

Yūji sucks in a shaky breath, “I don’t know.”

“I see,” Satoru hums back brightly. He lets one of Yūji’s hands go to pat the top of pale pink hair, smile brightening at how soft the boy’s hair is. “I get it! Yūji-kun came to find me, didn’t he? What a smart Yūji! I’m so proud!”

“I came to find someone,” Yūji corrects with a light snort. “I just happened to find you first, Sensei. I wasn’t sure if you’d even... after the- the—”

The Prison Realm.

Yūji doesn’t need to say it.

“Well,” Satoru quirks his head dismissively, hoping to convey that that’s a topic not for right now, “I’m here even after that. And so are you! Wow! I missed Yūji-kun so much! I hope Yūji missed me too! Sweet, sweet Yūji coming to find me! Knew exactly where to go! You look so different! Little Yūji is so cute! And this—”

Satoru’s hand drops from Yūji’s head to cup his jaw gently, thumb stroking just under the side of his eye where tiny little scars settle. The sight of it confuses him more than he’d care to admit, because those little slits are definitely the scars of Sukuna’s eyes.

Despite not sensing an ounce of cursed energy from Yūji, he’s still obviously been claimed by Sukuna.

There’s no chance Yūji has eaten a finger yet, the first contact he makes with Sukuna is towards the end of middle school, years from now, so this must’ve transferred over with Yūji’s consciousness or whatever the hell had put them back in their younger bodies.

Maybe it’s an essence of the Sukuna from the place they’d come from that had tagged along.

Without the fingers, he’d be nothing here yet.

Nothing but a whisper of Sukuna’s former glory.

Maybe a tiny bit of him resided, mingled together with Yūji’s own soul and consciousness when he’d found himself back in his child body. There was a good chance the Heian curse user was here now, dormant and powerless despite claiming Yūji’s body as his vessel once again, but it was unlikely he had any power.

His fingers are all still sealed away with talismans, the majority of Sukuna’s soul, the Sukuna from this time period’s soul, lying in wait with them.

Hm.

“—this is different.”

Yūji sucks in a shaky inhale, trying to tug out of Satoru’s grip to look away guiltily.

“Don’t worry, Yūji-kun!” Satoru beams gently, grip tightening gently, assuring, on the boy’s jaw as he speaks, hoping his student finds the hidden message that he doesn’t see anything sinister with Six-Eyes just yet. “It’s really not a problem, okay? Don’t sweat it.”

Yūji swallows, scanning Satoru’s eyes sharply before a wave of relief crashes over his auburn irises. Yūji ducks his head in a light nod, voice nothing but a whisper, “okay.”

Satoru tries not to revel in how tiny Yūji’s face is in his palm.

Yūji offers a tiny smile in return, and Satoru can’t help but gush, standing up just enough to bury his face in Yūji’s hair as he hugs him without thought. Infinity flickers off willingly, and Yūji’s soft hair tickles Satoru’s lips and chin as he traps the child in the embrace.

Yūji had been the most accepting of physical touch of Satoru’s bunch of first years— Megumi had always been a prickly child and Kugisaki made her distaste obvious unless Satoru was bribing her with sweets, meals out or use of his credit cards which were just as limitless as his technique.

He never minded— to each their own, right?

Different relationships for different kids.

He knew Kugisaki liked him well enough, all of that aside.

And even Megumi showed his affection in his own little prickly way.

All his students liked him in their own ways, no matter how snippy, curt or annoyed they seemed with him at times. And even if they don’t like him, he knows they all respect him. He’s the powerhouse of the Jujutsu Sorcery world— they all trust him to protect them, even if they’re not all his number one fans.

Satoru knows he’s an acquired taste that can, and will, overwhelm people. He also knows he has a lot of people who don’t particularly like him. He knows he pisses people off, thrives on egging people on and riling them up. It’s simply easier to make enemies than friends for the strongest, yet all his students respected him, at least a little.

Even Maki and Megumi, who’d been the two hardest to convince.

Yūji though, took everything in stride, matching people’s energies in such a people-pleasing kind of way that bordered on unhealthy. Kindhearted and genuine. Yūji had never been afraid to launch at Satoru for a hug or nuzzle up to him in excitement, and it was just so natural for Satoru to let him.

And when there wasn’t a trace of Sukuna’s energy spiking up around the boy, Yūji was one of the few people Satoru willingly lowered Infinity for.

A refreshing reaction.

Maybe because Yūji knew nothing about the Jujutsu world and the pedestal Satoru had been perched on all his life when the kid had swallowed that finger. Yūji’s first impression of him was Satoru kicking Sukuna’s ass and then bargaining for Yūji’s life to the higherups.

Sticking his neck out for Yūji’s sake and managing to get his execution postponed.

Satoru knew Yūji looked up to him, adored him and trusted him wholeheartedly, which he knows he doesn’t always deserve. He’d never had a student possess such a deep-seated respect for him in a way that was just so different to everyone else acknowledging Satoru as the strongest.

People had always respected Satoru for his power, but Yūji respected Satoru for Satoru.

The kid knew nothing about Jujutsu. Yūji saw people, and he saw strength as different things. Satoru had impressed him when they’d first met, Yūji didn’t know what he was truly capable of— that Satoru had the world of Jujutsu falling to its knees in his presence.

Yūji’s adoration was for him, not for what he could do; though the power Satoru had was an added bonus that constantly amazed the kid.

It was something Satoru had always adored about the kid.

Yūji just had something about him that made people like him.

Now, child Yūji just melts completely into the embrace as if he’s desperate for it. Satoru’s not used to a tiny body molding against his own, grabbing tightly at whatever he can reach. Little hands clutch at Satoru’s uniform, and Yūji lets out another shaky breath against Satoru’s chest.

Satoru lets his own body lose some of the tension, maybe an attempt at comforting Yūji, he’s not sure.

Maybe he’s just as desperate to embrace his student after everything. After not knowing what was going on out in the real world with them, unsure if any of them were even alive. To know that Yūji was okay. That he was alive.

Satoru didn’t know anything about what happened after he was sealed, but now he knew Yūji was alive. In the very least, someone was alive too. Alive and here.

At the end of the day, he might be glad to be back here, to see Suguru, and Shoko, Nanami and Haibara, Yaga, even, but he’s genuinely relieved to have Yūji here too. To not be alone in this.

To have something from there.

Something that made that place real.

Someone clears their throat behind them, and Satoru jerks to his feet when he remembers Suguru, Shoko and Yaga are all here witnessing this odd reunion between Satoru and his student, eleven odd years before they’re even due to meet.

Despite rising so fast, Satoru keeps a steadying hand on Yūji’s shoulder. Satoru feels Yūji’s body stiffen up with tension under his palm, Yūji quite clearly also having forgotten they weren’t alone.

Satoru spins to face everyone, easily nudging Yūji behind him as he moves. He gives a reassuring squeeze to the boy’s shoulder before pulling away. Yūji is half hidden behind his tall figure, though Satoru’s sure he’s peeking out in his own attempt to understand all this.

Satoru’s intent on being a human buffer while he processes what the hell he’s looking at right now.

Satoru’s nose scrunches up as he glares daggers at the gawking group. His arms lift to cross tersely over his chest, tongue clicking and face settling into irritation at the fact they’re staring as he regards them all carefully.

He doesn’t take kindly to being gawked at. Not like this. Not in the fun way.

“What’s everyone staring for?” Satoru quips in annoyance, gaze flicking over Yaga, Shoko and then finally Suguru where his eyes linger. “None of you ever seen a toddler before? Colour me surprised.”

“Hey, I’m four!” Yūji squeaks. “Not a toddler.”

Satoru waves a dismissive hand that has Yūji’s composure bristling in ire as his shoulders slump with what is undeniably a pout. Adorable. Yūji-kun is cute.

“Us?” Suguru is the first to speak, baffled and looking completely startled, “when the hell have you seen a toddler before? You don’t even like kids. Who is that, Satoru?”

“He’s four,” Satoru rebuts, just to piss Suguru off. Suguru’s eyes narrow dangerously before flicking fast down to Yūji’s half hidden frame before his gaze jumps back to Satoru. “Sheesh, Suguru, insensitive much? Yūji-kun is obviously four. Asshole.”

Suguru’s eye twitches.

“Gojō,” Yaga’s voice interrupts, deathly calm. “Watch your language around children. Now, do you mind explaining to me why there’s a child who you personally know here right now? A child who seems to know you quite well? Why is he here? How did he even get here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Satoru’s attention flicks up to his Sensei, lips curling in a menacing grin, “my Yūji-kun came to find me! One would think you’d be better at eavesdropping, old man. What? Thought I didn’t notice? And Yūji-kun kindly admitted that he was coming to find me! And I think we can all tell how he managed past the barriers, huh?”

Satoru then pauses, turning back to look down at Yūji, “but that is a good question. How did Yūji-kun get here? I’m curious too.”

“Uhm, the bullet train?” Yūji cocks an eyebrow when he catches Satoru’s eyes. “How else?”

Satoru nods as if that makes perfect sense.

And it does, sorta. Maybe.

If Yūji wasn’t a child riding across Tokyo alone, it would have made sense, at least. Sendai to Tokyo wasn’t a super long ride by train, no more than a couple hours at least, but it was still long enough. And, as far as Satoru knew, the trip wasn’t exactly cheap. When he’d sent Megumi to Sendai for Sukuna's finger, Satoru’s pretty sure the train ticket had cost somewhere around 10,000 yen.

Still, “bullet train,” Satoru parrots in agreement because it’s an answer even if it barely makes sense, offering Yūji an assuring nod before looking back at Yaga with a lull of his head, “obviously. How else would Yūji-kun get here, Sensei? Use your brain.”

The man narrows his eyes sharply.

Satoru honestly doesn’t care.

“I’m sorry,” Shoko clears her throat, sounding slightly winded, “what the fuck is happening here?”

Satoru glances at her before looking at Yaga, “what no language reprimand for Shoko? Fuck’s way more colourful than asshole, isn’t it, Sensei? So, that’s the kind of words you want little Yūji-kun learning?”

He’s ignored. Ouch.

Satoru’s cheeks puff out in annoyance at the fact they all seem to brush over his whining. Because c’mon, seriously? No reaction to that? From anyone? Not even Yūji? That little traitor.

Yūji stills behind Satoru before he shuffles out further.

Satoru remains quiet as Yūji settles at his side; a tiny fist grasps his school pants as if he’s afraid Satoru will disappear as soon as he’s not watching him.

Satoru sets a hand on top of the kid’s head, just resting it there.

Yūji either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind.

The child’s wide eyes fall onto Shoko; recognition intense in his little gaze. It’s no surprise he recognizes her— Shoko hasn’t changed much over the years either. She’s aged a bit, sure, grew her hair out a little too, lost far too much sleep and it shows, but she still looks relatively the same.

And she’s got the same personality and bedside manners too.

Then, the boy looks towards Yaga.

He stares for a second longer before he seems to piece together who he’s looking at.

Yūji’s head cocks, scanning the man up and down as his brow furrows.

Yaga does look different, though he sounds the same. His hair is shorter, and he’s not quite as softened yet. He’s still a hardass veteran Sorcerer who’d see more than his share of the shitty world they live in, but he’s slowly but surely been softening around the edges as time goes on.

He’s a completely different man to the teacher Satoru remembers greeting him on his first day at Jujutsu Tech— all sharp features and thinly veiled annoyance at Satoru’s antics and rich boy mannerisms.

Satoru doesn’t know if Panda exists at this point yet, but that’s when the man really started softening around the edges. Parenthood, and watching the three of them fall apart before his eyes had done things to that man that Satoru had never understood.

Maybe that’s why he’s been so lenient with Satoru over the years.

Lastly, Yūji’s gaze flicks to Suguru.

And he tenses sharply when recognition lights up in his gaze.

Satoru’s never seen Yūji’s gaze harden like that, not unless he was looking at curses threatening to hurt his friends, and he doubts many four-year-olds would be able to glare with such ire.

Ah.

So, the kid had met Not-Suguru too then.

That figures.

He never would’ve met the actual Suguru— this Suguru. He was dead long before Yūji ate that finger. Nearly an entire year. And the most he’d hear about Suguru would be if the second-years or Megumi, who’d heard it from the grapevine, shared a retelling of the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons fiasco.

So that’s... not great.

He supposed he should’ve expected it, for Yūji and the other students to have encountered Not-Suguru as well. There’d obviously been a trap placed for him, but their only goal couldn’t have been to imprison the Six-Eyes. And if they knew about his imprisonment, which Yūji obviously does, Satoru knows they’d all be trying to get him back; probably tracking Not-Suguru down.

Not-Suguru had been strong, effortlessly using Suguru’s corpse and cursed technique to his advantage. Satoru can only imagine what Yūji would’ve seen out there with a brute like Not-Suguru running around without him around.

At this point, Yūji probably knows more about what that specific future holds considering Satoru had been caged up the Prison Realm the entire time. He almost doesn’t even want to ask.

He doesn’t like the darkness in Yūji’s usually bright eyes.

And if by the way Yūji’s so obviously gearing up to launch an attack at Suguru like a tiny ball of negative energy and genuine, unadulterated fury, it’s probably nothing good that happens over there.

“That guy is—” Satoru claps a hand over Yūji’s mouth, effectively silencing the malice trickling into the child’s dark tone. He snakes his other arm around Yūji’s waist, hiking him up off the ground as if he weighs nothing, an easier position to keep his hand over Yūji’s mouth without having to be bent over.

Yūji hangs from his arms, squirming faintly as sharp eyes flick from Suguru to glare up at Satoru.

“Ah, ah, ah, Yūji-kun!” Satoru warns lowly to just Yūji, “don’t be hasty now. You’re different and so are they. Don’t forget. Look really closely, okay? You trust your Sensei, don’t you?”

Yūji glares up at him, and for half a second, Satoru thinks Yūji might bite his hand like a rabid little dog. He debates activating Infinity again, but then the tiny student wilts in defeat.

The boy’s wild eyes trek to Suguru and Satoru can see Yūji’s gaze draw a line across Suguru’s forehead, back and forth, temple to temple, just like Satoru had been doing since waking up in this impossible situation. Satoru knows he doesn’t find that gross, distinguishing incision.

Behind his hand, Yūji’s mouth presses in a straight line at what he finds, until finally, Yūji’s head is bowing in the slightest of nods.

“Quiet for now,” Satoru reminds under his breath, finally pulling his hand away and repositing the kid so he’s more supported. He makes sure his hold has Yūji facing the other direction, chin settled on Satoru’s shoulder, but teeth still gritted in frustration.

Still, he can practically feel Yūji glaring daggers at nothing over his shoulder, the tension not easing at all even though he can’t see his target anymore. The expression fixed on the child’s face is hard. It’s not a look on the kid Satoru is used to seeing.

Thankfully, no one’s seemed to notice Yūji’s unease towards Suguru directly, all too focused on the fact that he, Gojō Satoru, is holding a seemingly random child.

Satoru knows he needs to deescalate and get them far away as soon as possible if he wants to avoid a four-year-old Yūji trying to take on Suguru. Or this whole— our consciousnesses are from a horrible, terrible future alternate timeline where we’ve all fucked up horrendously and the world is coming to an end— thing coming to light.

Probably best to keep that on the downlow for now anyways.

At least until Satoru knows what the fuck is going on.

Which is unfortunate, because he’d honestly love to see Suguru try to fend off a furious little ankle biter of an Itadori Yūji. Suguru would have no idea what to do with that, and it’s an amusing thought.

Yūji might be small, but he is trained to fight, and by Satoru and his star pupils, no less. Something tells Satoru that he might be a scrappy little fighter without Sakuna’s influence and power.

He has half a mind to just release the kid and see what happens but decides better of it.

For now.

Satoru hums lightly at the amusing thought before focusing back on the matter at hand.

It’s easy nestling a small body into his own— he's not completely unfamiliar with it though it does feel foreign. Foreign in a way that balances tippingly between remembering feeling like this at some point, distantly remembering holding someone small like this, but also like it hasn’t happened yet.

It’s a whiplash kind of feeling Satoru doesn’t like very much.

Megumi had been around this age as well when he’d met the kid. Yūji and Megumi were vastly different children, and Megumi was fiercely independent and hesitant about Satoru butting into their lives for the longest time, but there were still a couple instances where Satoru had gotten the privilege to carry the adorable little urchin just like this.

That though... hasn’t happened yet despite Satoru’s misleading memories.

Yūji settles into the embrace a lot easier than Megumi ever had.

Yūji is a bit bigger than Megumi too, even being younger than when Satoru meets the Fushiguro siblings, but he still slots perfectly into Satoru’s hold, legs hooking around Satoru’s hip, while a little arm clings to his shoulder for support. Yūji’s clearly making an effort not to look at the others, whether because of lack of impulse control, trust in Satoru or genuine unrestrainable anger, he’s not sure.

It’s just so trusting of a position— Satoru knows very well Yūji could be squirming and kicking to be put down. Many a times had Megumi pushed desperately against Satoru’s shoulder and rammed his head up into Satoru’s chin to be set back on the ground.

Yūji has no reason to trust seventeen-year-old Satoru, but he does.

“Well,” Satoru clicks his tongue, offering his friends and teacher a toothy smile that might be a bit too bright considering they’re all looking at him as if he’d grown a second head, “if that’s everything...? I’m going to get Yūji-kun home! I’ll be back! Don’t wait up!”

Without waiting for a response, Satoru warps himself and his students out of Tengen’s barriers and away from the school. Far away from the prying eyes of the people from Satoru’s past— or... maybe present? It’s messy, he’s not sure.

Yūji’s arms wrap around his neck faintly, tightening when Satoru’s feet hit the ground and he’s jostled a bit. Satoru takes a couple quick steps, falling into step with the foot traffic they’d arrived in before he lowers Yūji to the ground as he keeps walking.

The small boy stumbles to right his footing before letting himself be swept along with the traffic and Satoru’s long steps as he maneuvers the crowd easily.

Satoru lets Infinity blanket both of them just so no one runs into or accidentally pushes into either of them. If Yūji notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Come,” Satoru urges, his fingertips settling between Yūji’s shoulder blades to guide him along. He’s slower as a child. Satoru thinks if he wasn’t touching Yūji, he might just lose him in the crowd. “I know a great spot for some hot chocolate. And there’s amazing sweets too! Have you ever had a black sesame macaron? Or there’s a lot of other flavors too! I think you’ll like it, Yūji-kun! My treat, of course, considering you’re... well.”

Satoru just barely sees Yūji’s cheeks puff up in offense.

Still, the child doesn’t dispute, so Satoru leads the way to the café he’d recently tried with Suguru after escaping their assistant and absolutely loved. Satoru had returned to the dorms with a whole box of nearly four dozen macarons (not accounting for what Satoru had snacked on, on the drive back to Jujutsu Tech) and other sweet treats to share with Shoko and their underclassmen.

The little bakery is still on the newer side when they get to it.

Satoru pauses outside the door as Yūji stares up in wonder, “I’ve never seen this bakery before, Sensei.”

“It closed when you were still a kid, I believe,” Satoru tells him under his breath as he pushes the door open, “rising prices, rising economy. Turns out my patronage wasn’t even enough to keep the place afloat. Life happens. It sucks though, this place was so good! Really though, who knew the general population couldn’t afford a couple dozen ¥650 macarons every couple of days. Outrageous! If I’d have known they weren’t making good money I would’ve invested, or at least hired the baker as a personal pâtissier. Missed opportunity.”

“Sensei,” Yūji’s lips curl up in a light smile, “¥650 for how many?”

“For one, why?” Satoru cocks his head down at the surprised looking child.

Yūji’s head quirks upwards in awe before shaking his head, “Sensei, that’s a lot of money for a macaron— let alone a couple dozen of them. Every couple of days. I didn’t know desserts could be so much, and aren’t macarons small? I knew you were rich, but that’s... wow.”

“Is it?” Satoru hums, “oh well. Support local businesses! If you want great quality, you pay the price for it. Trust your Sensei, Yūji-kun, these will be the absolute best macarons you’ll ever have! You’ll see, it’s worth it! Besides, the price hasn’t risen yet! Still completely affordable, don’t worry.”

“Your definition of affordable is very different from mine, I think, Sensei.”

Satoru laughs at that, “don’t worry about the prices, Yūji-kun. I told you I was paying— be more like Kugisaki, take your Sensei’s generosity in stride! What’s the point of having a black card if you’re not swiping it like crazy? Yūji-kun wouldn’t believe the benefits his Sensei gets for spending money!”

Yūji stills abruptly as the words leave Satoru’s mouth.

The child’s head lowers, pink hair curtaining his eyes as his hands tighten into fists at his side, shaking faintly. Actually, his whole tiny body is shaking as if trying to regulate emotions far too big for his little figure. It’s not the first time he’d seen Yūji possess such raw emotions, but there’s something different about it this time, and he doesn’t think it’s the pint-sized body.

Satoru slowly eases back into place beside the kid, sending a weary smile and a wave of acknowledgment to the woman waiting for them behind the counter.

“Yūji-kun?”

“I’m fine,” Yūji forces out, forcing his body to relax. When he looks up at Satoru, his eyes are glossed over with unshed tears and he’s offering a shaky smile, “sorry. I’m fine. I just... I’m sorry, Sensei.”

Yūji brings his palms up to press deeply into his eyes, sniffling back tears as he does so.

What had Satoru said?

He’d just been talking about money, why would that upset Yūji—

Kugisaki.

He’d mentioned Kugisaki, hadn’t he? An innocent little comment. A playful little thing that he’s just so used to teasing about. It was true; Kugisaki had no qualms about taking Satoru’s card and going wild in any shopping center. She was more than happy to let him pay for meals out, or accept the treats he brought back from missions abroad.

It had never been a problem before, he’d tease Kugisaki herself about being a mooch, and she’d just grin deviously and hold her hand out for a credit card which he’d pass over with dramatic, feigned bemoaning.

Everyone knew he was impossibly wealthy and most expected it of him, not that he minded.

He liked a lavish lifestyle the most of anyone, and it was nice to share it with others.

He was limitlessly wealthy and nothing these kids could do would ever make a dent in his accounts. He liked waving money around, and Kugisaki liked to be a part of it, or be on the receiving end of it. It was a respectable quirk of hers— she knew what she wanted and went for it.

He’d mentioned Kugisaki innocently and Yūji had reacted as if Satoru was speaking of... of the dead.

A ghost of the past. A recent ghost that still haunts Yūji, like how Suguru had haunted Satoru since Christmas eve last year when he’d had to kill his best friend. How Amanai Riko’s death would keep him up at night late into his early twenties, and sometimes even now, whenever he had even just a moment to himself to sleep through the higher-ups working him like a dog.

Oh.

Oh no.

Something unpleasant coils in Satoru’s stomach. Anxiety, he thinks. Not a feeling he really knows. He doesn’t get anxious. Or maybe it’s genuine fear at the thought of the kids he’d grown to adore dying. Yūji hadn’t explicitly said it, but sometimes actions speak louder than words.

Maybe being a teacher had made him weak, or maybe it was his students who’d done that. He’d watched the same thing happen to Yaga, but it still surprises him just how much he’d liked getting to know those kids.

It hits him like a truck that he honestly has no idea what could’ve happened out there after Not-Suguru had sealed him away in the Prison Realm. It had been a thought in the back of his mind, sure, endless ‘what ifs’ circulating in his head, but there had been no definitive answer.

He’d been hanging onto hope, too prideful of the fact that he knows how powerful those kids are, each and every one of them. Prideful in the way he knows he’d taught them well. He’d been hoping deep in the pits of his mind that they’d prevail, somehow, even without him there to protect them.

He’d had no definitive answer before, but now, looking down at Yūji, stood frozen, fisting away tears before they can fall, Satoru thinks he does have a definitive answer.

And not one that’ll bode overly well in their favor, he thinks grimly.

They’re powerful young Sorcerers, but they’re still kids.

And they’re fighting curses and curse users who’re equally as powerful.

Once again, if Satoru had gotten bested by them, however cheap that trick was, it wouldn’t be impossible that the students and everyone else fighting that war could’ve been as well.

The unpleasant coil in his stomach settles like a rock.

Satoru sucks in a slow breath, schooling his features into an easy smile as he stands back to his full height.

He plucks Yūji up off the floor without a thought, not giving the kid an option to refuse, not that he thinks Yūji would. The boy curls into Satoru’s neck, little face buried in the junction between his shoulder and neck.

It’s a little unexpected, but Satoru takes it in stride.

He wonders aimlessly as he marches up to the counter if maybe it’s the child-like instincts taking over in distress and urging Yūji to act like this, or if the kid’s just really needing a hug, or something.

“Hi!” Satoru chirps to the barista, smooth mask slipping into place despite the churning of his stomach, “I need two dozen macarons— surprise me, just make sure there’s a couple black sesame in there too. Ooh, and those strawberry ones look good too! I’d also like two hot chocolates, a medium and a large. Make the large with three shots of mocha syrup and both with lots of whipped cream. To go please.”

“Of course,” the barista nods quickly, “was that everything?”

Satoru scans the display case thoughtfully, “throw in a couple matcha cookies too. Oh! And a few of those cute iced brownies! That’s everything, thanks.”

The barista rattles out a total that Satoru doesn’t care to listen to, swiping his card without a thought. He slips his card back into his wallet and tugs out a couple ¥10,000 notes, passing one to the awestruck cashier who holds it like Satoru had passed her an active mine instead of a tip and slipping the other in tip jar on the counter.

“A-are you sure, sir?” The barista says weakly, staring down at the banknote before wide eyes lift to Satoru’s own, still hidden behind his sunglasses. “This is a lot—”

“Wouldn’t have given it to you if I wasn’t,” Satoru hums as he slips his wallet into his pocket and hoists Yūji’s slipping body back up. “Keep it. It would hurt my feelings if you didn’t accept the gift!”

The woman nods dumbly before setting to work.

It looks like she’s here alone, unless there’s someone else in the back, which is unlikely.

She boxes up the macarons, brownies and cookies first, passing them over the display case before getting to work on the hot chocolates. She kindly gives Satoru a drink tray, pressing both hot chocolates into it and setting it carefully on top of the box of treats for easier carrying.

He manages to slip a hand under the box of desserts, still holding Yūji up with his other arm. Thankfully the kid had arranged himself, so he was partially supporting himself as well, making this so much easier.

“Hold on tight, Yūji-kun,” he mutters to the kid as the woman turns her back to them for just a second. Yūji’s arm tightens around his neck faintly and then Satoru’s warping them out of the café without another word.

The best place to talk, Satoru decides, is away from everyone.

He doesn’t want to discuss an alternate timeline, perhaps this timeline’s failure of an upcoming future, around anyone who could possibly hear it. That’s one way to freak out a bunch of non-sorcerers.

Hell, he’s sure it would freak sorcerers out too.

Satoru warps them up into the sky above Tokyo, settling them easily on a little ledge of Infinity he creates under them. It’s the most secluded place he can think of, and he knows no one will be able to follow them up here. None of his friends, teachers (if they’re even looking) and certainly not any normies.

Being the strongest and most powerful had its perks.

There’s an unfamiliar yet completely familiar spike in his own cursed energy, and it takes him a second longer to realize this wasn’t something he could quite do before at this age, as easily as it had happened.

His hands shake faintly, as if running on too much caffeine. Too much energy that his body doesn’t know what to do with. He’d never felt quite like this when using his cursed energy, maybe too much for this point in time. For this body.

He’d done it so naturally, so used to using Limitless that the math behind it came without a thought anymore. Using his technique was second nature to him; running Infinity near constantly and warping for easy travel. That’s not something he should be capable of right now.

Satoru just... knew what he was doing.

Maybe... had his cursed energy come back with him?

Hadn’t Suguru been saying something about a bomb of cursed energy going off in reverse? His cursed energy and consciousness from another point in time reabsorbing into his younger body, maybe? Like Yūji had unintentionally brought Sukuna?

It buzzes under his skin, power this younger body isn’t used to, but he knows himself capable of using. Relies on it like second nature, even in his younger body.

The math is precisely calculated, comes naturally as if it’s been the usual for over a decade. He’d been quick to alter his equations for account for Yūji too, and there’d been no problem; the power he’d been oh-so used to all these years flutters through his body.

He’d long since mastered his techniques, and his domain.

It’s weird to be in a body that’s not familiar with everything he knows how to do. His mind and consciousness are familiar with this extent of energy, even if his body isn’t.

It’s like his body is trying to play catch-up to the consciousness it had gained. Hm.

That’ll take some getting used to.

Satoru shifts his hold on the baked goods and drinks, lowering Yūji to his perch of Infinity with just one arm. For a moment, Yūji looks down and then clings hard before his feet can hit the solidity of Infinity. Satoru snickers until the boy himself seems to realize it’s okay.

Yūji lets out a shaky laugh, looking up at Satoru with a crooked, embarrassed smile.

Satoru’s brought back to the first time he’d offered Yūji the impossible— stood in the middle of a lake, walking on water. Satoru had committed the awe in Yūji’s expression to memory, pleased to be able to show off to someone new how powerful he truly was.

The kid lets himself be lowered after that, fixing his shirt which had ridden up.

“So,” Satoru starts conversationally when his attention catches the school shirt, “you skipping school, Yūji-kun? I’m sure they’re losing their minds over a missing ankle biter. Four, you said? Yikes, I wonder how many of your teachers are pulling their hair out as we speak. Y’know, you’ll definitely be a missing kid by this evening if I don’t get you back soon.”

“I had more important things to be worried about!” Yūji defends with a huff, cheeks puffing out as he wilts faintly. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I... wasn’t thinking, I guess.”

He doesn’t look like he’s done, so Satoru stays quiet.

“I just... I don’t know what happened. B-but I’m not supposed to be here, Sensei! Not like this! I woke up as a four-year-old! A-and I’m supposed to be... b-back there. I left. But I don’t... I don’t understand. I don’t know how. I don’t understand, but I need to! I need to understand this!”

Yūji wheezes lightly, overcome by desperation, “I thought... I thought maybe you’d be at the school, maybe, I’d hoped you’d be there, Sensei. Or... or maybe Ieiri-Sensei, or even Yaga-Sensei. Someone. I hoped someone I know might be at the school, and might be able to help me figure this out because this is- it's- it’s—”

“Completely bonkers,” Satoru offers with a crooked grin. He passes Yūji the medium hot chocolate, then plops down on the blanket of Infinity as he sips his own drink. Perfectly sweet.

The kid watches him for a long second before moving to sit beside him uneasily.

Yūji offers a tiny nod of agreement.

“I get that,” Satoru assures offhandedly, “don’t worry. I woke up in the same boat. It’s been three days for me here, same for you?”

“I think so,” Yūji’s head bows in another nod. “My grandpa said I had a super bad fever for a while— collapsed at school, I think? I don’t remember much of it. He had to come get me and carry me home. They finally allowed me back today when the fever truly broke and I...”

Yūji chews at his bottom lip, “I knew I had to get to the school. I looked up bullet train tickets on my grandpa’s computer while he was in the shower this morning, and I took, borrowed, some money from Grandpa’s wallet to cover the costs. I take the train to school alone everyday while Grandpa goes to work to support us— I bought a ticket to Tokyo instead of across town to school. I wanted— needed— answers...”

Yūji clears his throat, gaze focused intently on the plastic lid on his hot chocolate, “I walked from the train station to Jujutsu Tech and the barriers... I thought maybe you guys would’ve sensed Sukuna passing the barriers, but maybe not. I haven’t heard anything from him since I got here but the scars... He’s gone quiet like this before, it always feels like he’s scheming when he goes radio silent, and I don’t want him to hurt anyone...”

“Firstly, I didn’t know Yūji-kun was a thief in his youth!” Satoru lets out a low whistle, teasing gently, hopeful to ease the suffocating tension, because he can’t stand serious, “I never would’ve guessed. Sweet, kind Yūji-kun swiping cash from his grandfather. A delinquent in the making.”

“I was desperate!” Yūji whines, sounding the most like a child Satoru’s heard yet. “I’ll pay him back! I just needed to make sure this is really real— Grandpa wouldn’t understand any of this if I asked! I don’t understand any of this! Grandpa’s supposed to be... h-he died, Sensei, but he’s here again and I’m four suddenly and I just don’t understand anything. Please be serious, Sensei, I-I'm freaking out here!”

“Sorry,” Satoru winces. “I know. I’ll be serious."

Satoru's hands tighten faintly on the paper cup on his hands as he considers every bit of information Six-Eyes is providing him at this very second. He clears his throat lightly, "...you don’t have any cursed energy, you know.”

“I—” Yūji swallows thickly, “I don’t? But his marks...”

“None, sorry,” Satoru shakes his head. “I’d know, Yūji-kun. I’m quite familiar with Sukuna’s energy. And you got through Tengen’s barriers without detection too. Only someone without cursed energy can do that. I don’t know what to tell you, honestly. I don’t understand either. One second, I’m in the Prison Realm and the next I’m... well, here.”

Yūji stays quiet, and Satoru takes a long second to mull over his thoughts.

“If I’m understanding this all correctly though... I think when this, whatever this is, happened, parts of us came back. I don’t sense any of Sukuna’s energy, but he’s obviously marked your body as his vessel, even if he’s not active yet. It’s not insane to theorize that maybe an essence of him came back with your consciousness. The two of you were pretty intertwined— hence why I couldn’t exercise him without killing you along the way.”

Satoru rubs at his chin, humming to himself thoughtfully, “my friend said he sensed greater cursed energy around me when I passed out the day my consciousness returned to my younger body. I’m stronger than what I was at this age originally, and you... you have Sukuna’s mark without ingesting one of his fingers. It’s obvious our consciousnesses are older, and I believe the energies that came back overwhelmed our younger bodies. There’s no other explanation for both of us passing out three days ago, probably at the exact same time, when we ended up here, and both of us running high fevers.”

Satoru hums thoughtfully again, mostly to himself, before letting his attention flick down to Yūji’s wide, intent eyes. Yūji is obviously hanging onto every word he’s saying, taking it all in and mulling over it himself. Always attentive about curses and the likes.

It sounds like honest to God cinematic bullshit, but it’s real.

There’re very few explanations to something like this.

The kid still looks worried.

“Look, he could very well be dormant inside you right now, lying in wait until a finger comes along again, or perhaps your younger body isn’t up to his standards yet.” Satoru stretches his legs out, flipping open the box to grab a macaron. “He’s a vain man, Yūji-kun, he was already unhappy in the body of a teenager. Sukuna is a powerful being, he’s probably able to wall himself off if he is in that noggin of yours, energy included. Does anything feel weird? Like it shouldn’t be there?”

“He did always call me brat,” Yūji frowns thoughtfully. “I... don’t remember how it feels to be four, Sensei. I can’t tell if anything feels different. It all feels different from how I was before I woke up here.”

Another hum from the teenager, blue eyes scanning the child from behind dark glasses.

“Four is pretty young, I suppose,” Satoru agrees with a tilt of his head. “Either way, the fingers are what gave Sukuna his power. He was dormant until you ate the first one, right? Maybe not connected to you directly, but dormant all the same. This is basically the same, right? Even if he’s staked claim on you already, you haven’t eaten one yet. You never provided the power he’d need to be reincarnated in this particular body yet.”

Satoru pauses, attention flicking up to study the sky overhead thoughtfully. “You don’t have to eat another finger if you don’t want. From my understanding, he’s not capable of hurting anyone without his power. He’s powerless, Yūji.”

“But what if—”

“I’m very in tune to Sukuna’s cursed energy,” Satoru offers with a crooked grin, attention angling back down to the kid, “I’ll know the second that bastard tries anything and I’ll be there. A surge of strong, ancient-like cursed energy will get noticed, Yūji-kun. And if he does wake up and starts talking to you, you come straight to me. I’ll keep him in check, don’t you worry. You trust your Sensei, don’t you?”

“I trust you, Sensei,” Yūji mutters dutifully.

“Good,” Satoru nods, selecting a strawberry cream macaron, a flavor he’s seen Yūji enjoy before, and pops it into the kid’s hand. Yūji stares down at it, studies the pastel dessert before taking a small bite.

Satoru hums, pleased as Yūji swallows the bite.

He must like it, because he takes another, slightly larger, bite of the dessert.

Satoru selects another macaron from the box, a black sesame one despite those being for Suguru, for himself and takes a bite too. He eats half in one bite.

Satoru hums again at the flavors, eyes flicking back to Yūji, “you’ve got to remember, Yūji, this is all in theory. I don’t really understand either, but I am very aware of Sukuna. I did my research before pleading for Yūji-kun's life, and I’ve memorized his cursed energy. You’ll be safe.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“Everyone else will be safe,” Satoru reiterates with a shrug. “And you will be too.”

A beat passes— Yūji sips at his hot chocolate with eyes directed down through Infinity guiltily, while Satoru chews and swallows the second half of the delicious macaron.

“Now,” Satoru hums, licking at his finger where some of the filling sticks. “How’s about you catch me up. What happened after I was sealed— how'd we end up here? Am I going to have a tiny Maki, or a tiny Fushiguro trespassing over the barrier too? A teeny tiny Inumaki or Okkotsu, maybe? I don’t know about Panda yet, but he wouldn’t need to sneak around the school anyways.”

Satoru carefully avoids saying Kugisaki’s name, but it doesn’t seem to help at all.

Yūji’s face drops, just like it had in the café, hands curling into fists and tightening until the skin on his hands bleaches to a bone white, absolutely demolishing the remainder of his macaron he’d had in his hand as he goes.

Tears well in Yūji’s eyes, and that sick feeling is back in Satoru’s chest as he scans the younger hesitantly. This can’t be good.

Satoru doesn’t dare reach for another macaron; thinks he might actually throw up if he does. Uncertainty prickles uncomfortably along his skin, a dark weight dropping in his stomach.

“I tried so hard,” Yūji whispers brokenly, head bowing down. “I tried my hardest, Sensei. I tried my hardest, but it wasn’t good enough. I w-watched as they... as everyone— I-I wasn’t strong enough. They... I let them die. I let them all die.”

It feels like all the air gets tugged from his lungs, “what?”

“They’re dead!” Yūji heaves out, choking on his own shaky breaths. “N-Nanamin, and Kugisaki. T-they... I-I watched as they... and-and Fushiguro. My Senpais. Yaga-Sensei. My brother. Todo-senpai. The rest of the Kyoto students, the Kyoto teachers. Everyone, Sensei, I let them... they all died, and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t help any of them. I couldn’t stop it and you were locked away, and Sukuna he— I was weak. We lost, and I— I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even get you out of the Prison Realm.”

Yūji buries his face in his hands, curling in on himself as he sobs brokenly.

“I let them die.” He repeats through tears. “I let them all die, and then I was weak— Sukuna he-he—”

“He took control?” Satoru asks calmly, trying to keep the tremor from his own voice as he wills his shaky hands to stop. The shaky breath Yūji forces out is answer enough. “Yūji, what happened?”

“He intended to kill you,” Yūji whispers into his hands. “Everyone else was gone and it was just... I was so desperate to get you out, Sensei. I had that stupid Prison Realm and just— I needed you to be alive even if everyone else was already... but I was weak.”

There’s such grief in the child’s voice.

Grief that has no right coming from Yūji’s soft little child voice.

“I couldn’t open the gate, I tried e-everything, but Sukuna... he could. He knew how it worked; I think. He told me he was going to slaughter you and make me watch. Like I’d watched everyone else... ‘what’ll be left to fight me for, huh, brat?’ th-that’s what he said to me! He’s the worst! I hate him, Sensei! A-and those curse users, they fed him fingers. Made him stronger and then asked for his help and he— he killed them too. I watched. There was so much death. He was so strong. He’d planned to slaughter you the second you were released, and I couldn’t stop him—”

--

“Domain Expansion: Malevolent Shrine.”

“Domain Expansion: Unlimited Void.”

--

The thought’s hazy at best, but it's there in the recesses of his mind.

He just barely remembers the gates opening after who knows how long— light shining on his face like freedom— and then he’d seen Yūji’s face, but no... that wasn’t right. It was Sukuna. Lines of ancient black ink running boldly over Yūji’s young face and chest, and eyes too dark to be Satoru’s bright student.

It had to have been Sukuna.

And then Yūji’s lips had curled up into a venomous grin, muttering a low but powerful: Domain Expansion: Malevolent Shrine as his hands contorted along with the sign for the domain.

It had been all he could do to counter with his own domain.

The words Domain Expansion: Unlimited Void falling from his lips in no less than a heartbeat as his fingers crossed in call of the domain. It had been sheer adrenaline; the only defense Satoru could think to do. He’d reacted without a thought— Six-Eyes blaring in sensory overload as he’d stumbled from the radio silence from his cursed energy in the Prison Realm to a glaringly loud fight.

Sukuna was strong, the strongest he’d been yet and still not even at the peak of his power yet, but... Satoru was also strong.

“There was a domain clash,” Satoru blinks owlishly, words heavy on his tongue as he processes that. Sukuna would’ve had to be strong at that point for their domains to clash so violently. “I used Unlimited Void to counteract.”

Yūji chews at his lip, nodding slowly as he fists at his eyes, “you were both so strong. He... was up to fifteen fingers, Sensei. I don’t remember what happened after that, but I woke up to my Grandpa waking me up for school after being sick with a fever for a few days and Sukuna was... there, but not there, and I... I knew I had to find someone who’d understand. I knew it couldn’t have been a dream— a-a nightmare. It all happened. I lost everything, Sensei.”

“I... see,” Satoru finally breathes out.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t think there even is anything to say.

Dead.

They were all dead in another timeline. In the timeline that Satoru and Yūji belong in. The place that they’d come from three days ago after a war had been lost and they’d been the only two remaining of the lot of sorcerers, apparently.

It was the future of this timeline unless something changes.

Everyone worth fighting for is dead.

Everyone he was supposed to protect is dead.

Not-Suguru had won the game after locking away the strongest player, Sukuna was starting to overpower Yūji; gaining strength and opportunity from weakness a teenager would be prone to in such a situation, and everyone they knew and loved was dead.

What was left in that world?

What was left to go back for?

If Sukuna had really been as despicable— as coldblooded and murderous— as Yūji says, not even Yūji would be safe to go back to that time should they try to return. They’d want him executed. Immediately. Not even Satoru could talk his way out of that.

They’d want Satoru to kill him, just as he’d promised when pleading for Yūji’s life.

The threat Sukuna poses now would outweigh the gains of keeping Yūji around to keep disposing of fingers. They’d get rid of fifteen of Sukuna’s fingers along with an innocent teenaged vessel.

The higher-ups would be all over that, if any of the old bastards were even alive still.

Yūji would die too, and Satoru would have no one left.

It’s wrong.

It’s all wrong.

How had everything gone so, so wrong?

“I should’ve been stronger,” Yūji sobs brokenly, tearing Satoru from the brewing thoughts. “I should’ve done more. ’m sorry, Sensei, ‘m so sorry. It’s all my fault. Their deaths are on my hands. I was weak—”

“It’s not your fault.”

The boy freezes.

Satoru tugs his glasses off to rub at his eyes.

He’s not crying— but his eyes ache in what he knows is a threat of tears. He presses the pads of his finger and thumb into his eyes to stem the pressure building. He doesn’t want to cry in front of Yūji.

He doesn’t share the same grief here. Not in the sense Yūji does.

He hadn’t been through what Yūji had, hadn’t seen what Yūji had seen during that war.

Yūji needs a pillar right now.

Satoru will process all of this later.

Alone in his room where no one will see him crying over the loss of people he hasn’t grown to love yet. Students who hadn’t worn down his walls yet, students who were just children right now wherever they happened to be, and friends who’d yet to stick around despite how much Satoru knows he can be.

Blue eyes flick down to study the child, unsurprised to find watery, reddened auburn staring back at him. Yūji’s looking at him like he’s waiting for Satoru to yell or get mad. To be upset and take it out on him. Maybe Yūji’s expecting disappointment from him, expecting Satoru to blame him entirely for the absolute trainwreck that was their timeline.

It’s not going to happen.

If Satoru blames anyone for this, it’s himself.

One of them is supposed to be the strongest sorcerer alive, and it’s not Yūji.

Yūji’s eyes are puffy, cheeks tear stained.

He looks so broken.

Satoru can only imagine what he must be going through.

Satoru’s biggest loss had been Amanai and Kuroi, then Suguru— both when he’d defected and when Satoru had finally had to kill him. Different kinds of losses, but still losses all the same. They both still tore holes in his heart that it never truly felt like he recovered from.

Yūji had lost everyone.

One after the next until there was no one left to try to save. Watched as they were knocked down like dominos, and he’d been unable to do anything to prevent it. A losing battle from the start. He had even been caged within his own body for some of it, forced to watch from his own eyes as someone else took control and did horrendous things using his own hands.

Facing death is the cruelest lesson you learn as a Sorcerer, not death for yourself, but death for others, and Yūji had learned it tenfold, all at once. That’s something that’ll haunt Yūji for the rest of his life, and Satoru is sure of it.

It might not have happened here, but that doesn’t change the fact that it had happened. That very real people, very real friends, had seen such gruesome ends. That Yūji had been witness to it all.

Satoru had never felt greater sympathy for anyone.

For a second, Satoru doesn’t even think the child is breathing as they stare at one another.

“W-what?” It’s so weak.

“Not your fault,” Satoru forces himself to look away.

He leans back on his arms, forcing a quiet breath in through his nose, and out through his mouth twice in an attempt to regulate his hammering heart before glancing back down into wide, disbelieving eyes.

This was always something he’d never liked about being a teacher.

Something he’d never been particularly good at, not that he’d ever admit it aloud.

Emotions were messy.

Teenager’s emotions were messy. They were unpredictable, and he wasn’t foolish enough to think he understood them. He’d barely understood when he was a teenager himself; his own messy emotions that he chose to repress instead of try to understand.

Sometimes he wonders how things would’ve changed if he’d processed his emotions instead of shoving them down. If he’d learned how to see others struggling and known to help before it got bad enough that they burst at the seams.

Satoru could try all he might, but he knew he wasn’t the best at consoling people.

Satoru didn’t like problems that couldn’t be solved with throwing some money at it, or with sheer strength and power alone. Problems like that made him feel human. Human and weak.

Curses were easy to take care of.

People were less so.

He’d learned that the hard way after Amanai’s death, and Suguru’s spiraling mental health. He hadn’t known what to do with those things. Hadn’t done anything besides pretend everything was how it had been before. He’d been a dumb, self-centered teenager, high off his own newfound power.

Hadn’t even really noticed until it was too late, as horrible as it sounded.

He’d never been good at this, not when it really mattered all those years ago.

When he’d repressed Amanai and Kuroi’s deaths, pretending it didn’t bother him. Trekking on and accepting mission after mission just to keep himself distracted from their failure.

When he hadn’t known what to do with Suguru’s crippling guilt, the genuine confusion that washed over him like a tugging undercurrent as he questioned what he was really fighting for. The festering of hate that he’d chosen to cling to like a life preserver to keep his head above water winning over in the end.

What would've changed if Satoru had actually been there to dive in and save his drowning friend?

He hadn’t even known what to do with watching Shoko lose both of her best friends for different reasons. Hadn’t known how to broach the subject of Suguru spiraling downwards on those few occasions he and Suguru had crossed paths between that last mission together and Suguru defecting.

He’d made mistakes.

But he’s older now. Wiser.

And Yūji is his student.

Satoru had promised the higher-ups he’d be responsible for Yūji, and maybe that claim has tilted somewhere along the line at this point, morphed into something entirely different, but he’s going to be responsible for Yūji.

Sukuna or not, Yūji was someone Satoru intended to protect.

Even now.

Gojō Satoru does not go back on his word.

“You’re not the only sorcerer who was there, Yūji,” Satoru reminds without looking down. He doesn’t want to see Yūji’s teary face. “We all lost. As a team. As a society of powerful sorcerers. It wasn’t one person’s failure, it was everyone’s. Go team, right?”

“But I— a-and Sukuna, he—”

“You fought,” Satoru says quietly. “Until the end. You fought hard. You fought until the end, and your actions and reactions now tell me as much. I can see it in your eyes. You gave it your all. I’m proud of you, okay? You tried. You suffered through so much and kept trying. Kept caring. It was a losing fight from the beginning.”

“I should’ve tried harder,” Yūji whimpers in reply. “I could’ve done more— helped more. How many of my friends wouldn’t have died if I was better...?”

“It’s not your fault,” Satoru says again, sharper this time. “It’ll never be your fault. You are a student, Yūji, a first year. Just fifteen years old. Responsibility like that should’ve never fallen onto you. On to any of you. You shouldn’t have even been a part of that fight— none of you should’ve, but we were desperate, and you’re all strong. I should’ve been there. It was my fault, Yūji, not yours.”

“It’s not your fault,” Yūji shakes his head vehemently, “you were imprisoned in that cursed object—”

“That’s exactly why it’s my fault,” Satoru shrugs, finally letting his gaze tip sideways. “I’m the strongest, and it still tricked me. I wasn’t fast enough to put the pieces together, and I fell for a trap. I’m the strongest sorcerer to date, and that thing knew it. They wanted me gone and I was the idiot who let it happen. If anyone’s to blame, Yūji, it’s your Sensei.”

“But you were tricked—”

“That doesn’t plead my case.”

“But Sensei—”

“Let me accept blame, Yūji.” Satoru squints at the child vibrating with sheer emotion. “This isn’t yours to bear alone, you know. We both left that place. You may have watched the destruction, but I let it happen. And I’m the adult here, not you. I’m your Sensei. I let this happen. You’re wallowing in guilt for things out of your control. It wasn’t your fault; you tried your best—”

“My best wasn’t good enough!” Yūji shouts desperately, like Satoru doesn’t understand.

“And neither was mine.”

The child stills at that, head slowly turning to Satoru.

The older wants to look away, but he can’t. He lets his gaze meet Yūji’s and offers a tiny half smile. Maybe it’s a sad smile, or grim even, but it’s honest. It’s truthful.

Yūji takes the expression in with furrowed brows.

“We made wrong choices,” Satoru continues. “Everyone did. We lost. People died. Our friends died. That happens, you know? That’s a byproduct of war. You can’t change that, what happened to them. Those specific versions of themselves. They died, Yūji. They fought noble fights to the end, I’m sure, but they are gone. None of us were strong enough. That timeline is probably burning to the ground as we speak. We failed, Yūji. I failed.”

“B-but shouldn’t we...” Yūji lets the thought peter off, looking away shamefully. “We have to go back.”

“For what?” Satoru shakes his head, eyes drifting to sky sullenly. “Who is there to save anymore?”

The question is rhetorical.

They both know there’s no one left. Yūji had seen, and Satoru believes him.

Satoru continues sharply, “do you see any point in trying to save something already crumbling to ashes, Yūji, because I don’t. I’ve worked my ass off for people who don’t give a shit about me. You’ve worked your ass off for people who have tried time and time again to execute you, even going as far as to do it without my knowledge, behind my back.”

Satoru is quiet for a long second, reining in the emotion festering in his chest.

“My friends and students died. I wasn’t there to help them. Everyone who I care about there is no longer there for me to care about. There’s no one left over there I want to fight for. The ending to that timeline is unfortunate. It’s devastating, don’t get me wrong, but there’s nothing left that I want to save. Nothing I’m willing to go back for.”

“Sensei...”

“I want to be selfish,” Satoru admits like it's a secret. “I want to make a selfish decision for the people I love. I’ve made the wrong choices. I’ve been ignorant to things. But for some reason, we’re back. We’ve been given another chance. The future that we came from isn’t worth saving. But there are people here we can save. Aren’t there people you want to save, Yūji-kun?”

Yūji’s gaze drifts to Satoru’s face before he looks away guiltily.

“There are people I want to save,” Satoru lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’ll do better this time around. I’m a selfish man, Yūji-kun. I messed up, and I want to change that. I want to fix it. I can change that now. I want to make a better future for Kugisaki, and Fushiguro. For Nanami. And the second years. For the friends I failed before I even grew up. For everyone I failed the first time. For... for you, Yūji.”

“You never failed me, Sensei,” Yūji’s voice is so soft.

Satoru can’t help but laugh.

“I’ll still do better,” Satoru assures, reaching over to pat Yūji’s fluffy hair. “Whether you eat that finger eleven years from now, or not. You get to decide for yourself what you want to do this time, and I’ll fight harder for you. And don’t worry about Sukuna. We already knew he was a colossal asshole. Sukuna’s actions aren’t your own, Yūji. A vessel will lose control eventually, no matter how strong you are; you played no part in anything Sukuna did. I don’t blame you for anything.”

Yūji doesn’t say anything, just stares down at the hot chocolate his tiny hands are curled around. His hands are still sticky with macaron, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Can we really be that selfish?” Yūji asks quietly. “Is that allowed?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”

The boy cracks a smile, but it doesn’t linger.

“Everyone we lost is alive right now,” Satoru finally admits. “Megumi, Nobara. Megumi’s sister, Tsumiki. You saw Ieiri and Yaga back at the school. That other guy is my best friend, and he’s here too. The second-year students. Your grandfather. The Kyoto kids and staff—”

“Junpei,” Yūji adds quietly. “And Choso, too.”

Neither are names Satoru knows, but they obviously mean a lot to Yūji.

One of the names he can faintly remember Nanami telling him about; a friend Yūji had lost while working missions with the ex-salaryman. The other, he’s completely unsure about.

“Junpei and Choso,” Satoru agrees readily. “They’re alive, and they’ll eventually find their way into our lives, and if not, we’ll find them. Trust in that. This ragtag group is meant to be, I think, it just doesn’t have to end up the same way it did.”

“I want to do better for them,” Yūji admits quietly.

“I know,” Satoru bows his head. “And you will. Y’know, they say you’re never supposed to meddle with milestone events if you ever end up in the past like this. You know, those old movies? I think there was a couple in that stack of ‘em you watched. Something about it possibly changing the future, all that dramatic shit. I was never one for rules at this age though.”

“I don't think you’re ever one for rules, Sensei.”

“Right you are, Yūji-kun!” Satoru laughs openly, verging on manically, “which means I don’t give a shit if I fuck up the future we’re from. I want to fuck it up. I will fuck it up. For the better. It’ll be better this time. I promise you.”

“It’ll be better,” Yūji repeats as if it’s a mantra. “I trust Sensei.”

Satoru smiles honestly at the boy, “I won’t let you down again.”

Yūji is quiet for a moment, he sips at probably cold hot chocolate as he absently brushes the sticky smear of pink macaron onto his shorts. Satoru sips at his own cold drink too, closing the lid of the pastry box as he does.

Yūji whipping to face Satoru has the teenager startling.

“Wait, wait, hold on a second, that other guy is your best friend?” Yūji jerks up as if the words finally register in his head, “the one who was with you and Ieiri-sensei? Sensei, that guy was the one who—”

“I’m aware,” Satoru cuts Yūji off with a heaving sigh, flapping a dismissive hand. “I told you, they’re different, remember? The guy you just met is called Getō Suguru. He’s my classmate. My best friend. We’re partners in crime, the Strongest Duo the Jujutsu world has ever seen—”

“Sensei,” Yūji’s nose wrinkles distastefully. “That’s the guy who imprisoned you. He turned the world against each other. He’s the reason so many people died—”

“No, the Getō you met was basically just a puppet. A vessel. Definitely not my Suguru.”

“How can you be so sure—”

“Getō’s dead.”

Yūji’s mouth drops into an ‘o’ shape, wide eyes locked on Satoru.

He’s aware of the look, even though he’s purposely looking anywhere but at Yūji.

Satoru hopes his expression doesn’t twist, he’d never been good at keeping a straight face when talking about Suguru, after he’d left, or after he’d died.

Try as he might, it was a wound that had never really healed.

“Look... the Suguru you saw today, the real Getō Suguru, died, Yūji,” Satoru makes sure to keep any emotion from his voice, despite the image of Suguru’s one-armed, bleeding body, and the honest smile he’d shot in Satoru’s direction at the very end. “Back when your senpais were still first years. I had to kill him myself. I know he’s dead, but his body... that was really him. His body and cursed technique, at least.”

Satoru finally lets his attention cock down to face the kid.

Yūji doesn’t say anything.

“This Suguru is innocent. He hasn’t... he’s not bad. And he won’t be, if I can help it. He did do bad things, sure, but I never believed he was bad. Delusional sometimes, sure. Misguided, of course. A little dark, definitely. But not inherently bad. Shit happened, but he’s a good guy, Yūji, the best guy. Far better than I am. He went through some stuff, and it... it changed him. How he viewed stuff. I’ll save him this time, before he can spiral again. You’ll like him if you give him a chance, okay?”

“But...”

“I know,” Satoru winces.

He knows he’s asking a lot.

Suguru’s body is at the center of the boy’s trauma; sealing Satoru away, killing people and probably being a giant asshole about it too, starting a war that had taken so many lives.

“But it wasn’t really him. Just like Sukuna isn’t you,” Yūji’s eyes flutter closed as he processes the comparison unsurely. “The thing that trapped me in the Prison Realm was using his corpse as bait. A nasty little trick only a coward would pull. It’s able to possess corpses and wield their techniques, I think. I don’t know for sure; we didn’t exactly have long to chat before he closed the gate on me.”

“So the stitches then?” Yūji scratches at his own forehead lightly. “On the forehead? I wasn’t really sure, but you said to look, and that’s... that’s the only difference I really noticed. When I saw him in our, er, world, he had stitches across his forehead.”

“Yeah,” Satoru nods slowly, thoughtfully. “As far as I can tell. As long as you don’t see any stitches, it’s fine. And if you do, ever, see stitches like those on anyone, you leave immediately and find me, okay? Do not engage. Seriously. Especially without having any cursed energy. And preferrably not before you at least hit double digits, ‘kay? ‘kay.”

“Right,” Yūji nods sharply, only looking slightly put out. After a second, the kid wilts a little, chewing on the inside of his cheek almost nervously. “He... he was very strong. Is he... always that strong, do you think?”

“No, I think he's a slimy weasel who stole someone else’s strength because he lacked his own.”

Satoru snaps the words out angrily before he can think better of it.

He lets the tension melt from his frame when the sharpness catches up to him, eyes flicking down to a wide-eyed Yūji, “it... I don’t know for sure, but I think it’s a cursed technique. Whatever it is might not be physically strong alone, but it’s smart. That’s just as dangerous. Be careful.”

“I will,” Yūji blinks slowly before letting out a nervous laugh at the malice in his Sensei’s tone. “So, your friend... Getō-san, right? He’s strong then? If... if that thing who possessed him was using his strength, I mean.”

“Almost as strong as me!” Satoru puffs his chest up proudly, letting Yūji change the conversation topic. “We’re not the Strongest Duo for nothing, Yūji-kun! Ever wondered if anyone was strong enough to stand beside your amazing Sensei? Well, Suguru is the one! Two powerful Special Grades! You might’ve seen that thing using Suguru’s technique, but it’s called Cursed Spirit Manipulation. He’s got a whole bunch of curses under his thumb! Even a dragon! You’ll love it, Yūji-kun, I’m tellin’ ya!”

Yūji offers a small smile, “sounds super awesome, Sensei.”

“It is!” Satoru cheers. “My Yūji-kun will be so amazed by my Suguru! You’re very alike, you know! Both have an acquired taste for cursed things. Suguru will finally have someone to complain to, someone who’ll understand his woes— well, in about ten or eleven years, at least. If you choose to go down that road again. Or if we tell him at some point, I suppose.”

Yūji lets out a laugh, something that Satoru can only describe as a child-like giggle, and it's a sound Satoru wants to keep hearing. He wants to keep Yūji happy. He wants things to change for Yūji too.

He wants to do so much better this time around.

Better for Suguru, for Shoko. For Nanami and Haibara. For Yaga, who Satoru knows will become a pillar of support for him in upcoming years. Better for Yūta, Maki, Toge and Panda. Way better for Megumi and Tsumiki. And better for Kugisaki and of course Yūji too.

It’s still surreal to him that Yūji’s here too.

Satoru’s honestly so glad to have someone from that timeline with him. Someone to provide answers, and to remind him of all he needs to accomplish this time around.

He will change it.

And it’ll all start with Suguru.

“Welp!” Satoru hums finally, stretching out his back before pushing himself to his feet.

He hooks his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, clapping his hands together gleefully as he glances down at Yūji over the rim of said glasses. Yūji glances up at the cheerful drawl.

Satoru offers a crooked smile when he meets the kid’s eyes again, “time to get the missing ankle-biter back to school. How good are you at working the waterworks, huh? Think we can get away with a missing little Yūji-kun took a wrong train and dashingly handsome Gojō Satoru found, rescued and returned him safely?”

“Really?” Yūji cocks an eyebrow as he rises to his feet. “You want me to cry? I don’t know if anyone will believe I bought a ticket to Tokyo and accidentally ended up here. It was expensive. I don’t know how I’m going to pay grandpa back. Or... or explain this when he asks.”

“Well,” Satoru clicks his tongue with a teasing smile, “it’s that or I get arrested for kidnapping. Do you want to have to visit your poor Sensei behind bars, Yūji-kun? Do you know what they do to pretty faces like mine in prison, Yūji? You want your amazing, wonderful Sensei to suffer? And you know we don’t have to tell them where I actually found you, right? We’ll leave Tokyo out entirely. Warping you back will save you another two hours travel time too— we'll say I found you at a station in Sendai, lost.”

Satoru grin sharply, “a simple mistake for a little guy like you. I doubt they’ll question it too much.”

Yūji snickers into his hand, “I guess I could cry if you think it’ll work.”

“Nawh!” Satoru playfully swoons, as he fishes into his pocket to pull out his wallet. “Now Yūji-kun is his Sensei’s hero! It’ll definitely work— but, on a completely unrelated note, Yūji-kun's senseis are women, right?”

Yūji cocks a suspicious eyebrow, “yes, why?”

“No reason!” Satoru chirps with a laugh, flashing a bright smile as Yūji’s suspicious expression deepens faintly, scanning Satoru’s face. “Don’t worry about.”

Satoru snickers to himself as he continues with what he’d been doing; tugging out a couple more yen notes, enough to cover paying back Yūji’s grandfather, as well as pocket change— more than enough for Yūji to make another impromptu trip to Tokyo if he needs it.

He passes the bills to a confused looking child.

“For your debt,” Satoru explains cheekily, patting Yūji’s head. “And in the future, steal money from me instead, yeah? Or ask. I’m not stingy. I'm sure your grandfather will notice money going missing like that if you keep it up. A ticket to Tokyo is expensive, isn’t it? Me, though, you could rob me blind, and I probably wouldn’t notice. I mean, I’ve probably got accounts I don’t even know about. Say the word, and Yūji-kun will have it!”

Yūji puffs his cheeks out fondly but does slip off his backpack to tuck the money into one of the pockets inside for safe keeping. “Thank you, Sensei.”

Finally, Satoru bends down to pick up the box of leftover desserts. He takes both their empty cups as well, before holding his other hand out for Yūji to hold so he can wrap them back to Sendai, fingers wiggling promptingly.

Yūji offers a sheepish smile as his tiny hand settles in Satoru’s bigger.

Satoru lets his hand curl around the smaller one entirely, giving a light squeeze.

“Hey,” Satoru says suddenly, watching Yūji’s face carefully as the boy looks up to regard him. “Will you do your favorite Sensei a huge but super easy favor, Yūji-kun?”

Yūji’s head tilts in question.

“Enjoy being a kid for a while, okay? Don’t be worried about all this stuff, because your Sensei will take care of it all until you make it back to the ripe age of fifteen. Just because you know this all exists, curses and sorcery and stuff, doesn’t mean you need to go chasing it. Be a normal kid. Enjoy being little again. Stay safe, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Yūji agrees after a second, “I’ll try, Sensei.”

“Good boy,” Satoru smiles brightly. “Now hold tight!”

It’s easy enough to convince Yūji’s preschool teachers that he’d gotten on the wrong train that morning and had been too shy to mention it to anyone, only to end up on the opposite side of Sendai.

Satoru explains on with a feigned sympathetic air about how he’d found Yūji sobbing outside the train station on the other side of Sendai and had kindly skipped his own afternoon classes to help the child get back. He feels Yūji glaring into him and his dramatics, but the teachers don’t seem to notice.

Satoru gets a kick out of Yūji’s annoyance and getting to tease the boy indirectly for being a child.

‘I was afraid someone would be missing him terribly!’ Satoru had lifted a hand to his heart solemnly, ‘I really just wanted to make sure little Yūji-kun got back safe and sound, Ma’am, poor thing was terrified! I couldn’t just walk away, it felt like my duty to escort the little guy back!’

They swoon, despite being older than him. He’s used to it.

He’s always been popular with ladies— boyish good looks getting him far, pretty eyes he can flash when things are looking down and he knows how to work a charming personality too when it’ll benefit him. They call him sweet and gentle. Tell him that he’s kind soul and that he’s so thoughtful for making sure Yūji got back safe, and that Yūji is lucky that he found him instead of someone else.

Yūji very nearly snorts out in disbelief but manages to pass it off as a pathetic sounding sniffle.

Satoru finds himself grinning teasingly down at the child when they happen to glance at each other. Yūji looks completely unimpressed but cracks a small smile when Satoru grins down.

They thank him profusely, arching in bows of gratitude.

He doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash behind his glasses at the gesture.

He had probably saved their asses; they should be grateful.

It’s nearly time for school to be letting out, and they hadn’t had the kid all day.

He’s pretty sure guardians and parents phone in to let the teaching staff know if kids won’t be showing up, so Yūji had just not shown up and they did virtually nothing about it. He knows Japan’s big on independence in their youth, not that his helicopter clan would’ve ever considered such a thing, but a kid not showing up is concerning, isn’t it?

Either way, there would’ve been a huge panic if anyone actually communicated.

Satoru wonders if Yūji’s grandfather even knows he’s been missing all day, or if the kid’s school was keeping it hush until they had to contact the boy’s guardian and the police to report him missing. The kid had mentioned his grandfather was at work, so he's not sure if they would've tried to reach him to question the child's whereabouts.

Satoru sees Yūji roll his eyes at this whole exchange out of the corner of his eye, but when the boy’s teachers glance down, his wide eyes are wet with unshed tears and his bottom lip wobbles.

He’s quite the little actor.

Satoru’s eyes shine behind his glasses as he bites back a laugh.

They part ways with a wave between them, Yūji into the school as his teachers lecture him gently, and Satoru watching until the coast was clear to warp away. He wishes Yaga would lecture him gently like that for skipping classes too, but he’s sure he’d going to get a smack on the head instead.

He’d prefer the smack to a lengthy lecture, honestly.

He doesn’t go back yet.

Can’t seem to force himself to bite the bullet just yet.

He needs a second to think now that Yūji’s returned to his rightful place in this timeline. He leaves Satoru alone with his thoughts and man does he have a lot to be thinking about.

Satoru doesn’t return to the school for a couple more hours.

Doesn’t want to see Suguru yet, doesn’t want to fight with Suguru anymore. He’s still processing that fight they’d had before Yūji showed up. He honestly doesn’t want to start up where they left off.

It pissed him off to no end that Suguru just assumed Satoru wasn’t in over his head with all this when his friend didn’t even know the tip of the iceberg on this one.

Suguru had always had a knack for getting under his skin though.

And really, he wants just a second alone to process all this.

He wants to take a second to mourn those he’d lost in another timeline, versions of these people that he may or may not ever see again depending on how this all turns out in the end. To mull over everything that took place while he’d been rotting away in the Prison Realm, everything Yūji had told him.

And even to compare how they’d both come into this world. Similarities, difference. How the domain clash could’ve played a roll— the possibility that his domain might’ve been the reason they’re back nearly eleven years in the past.

Something like Limitless was infinitely powerful, and Satoru doesn’t think there's a dual Six-Eyes and Limitless inheritor out there that has ever reached the techniques entire potential. It’s too vast, too many infinite numbers. There truly is no limit.

But still, was the concept of time travel even possible?

He’d barely dabbled with the thought in all his twenty-eight years. Time travel was nothing but a theory he'd think of late at night when he couldn’t fall asleep, not something he’d cared to invest time in when there wasn’t a sure outcome of success.

Yūji’s visit had definitely answered some questions he’d had, but now he has even more and there’s no answers in sight. It’s a lot to think about. A lot to consider.

Yūji had brought more questions than answers.

When evening draws closer, Satoru finally bites the bullet and warps himself back to Jujutsu Tech.

He drops himself in the middle of the kitchen to drop the pastries off with intentions of disappearing into his dorm for the night, but instead, he finds himself frozen like a deer in the headlights when he catches sight of Shoko and Suguru standing leaned against the counter, nursing boring bowls of steaming rice.

On the bright side, they both look equally as surprised to see him.

“Satoru?” Shoko cocks an eyebrow at his sudden appearance. She scans him curiously, head to toe and then right back up. Her lips purse, brow furrowing when her dark eyes steady on his black out glasses.

For a long second, the three of them just stare at one another.

It takes Satoru an embarrassingly long second to realize they look so surprised because at this point in this timeline, he’s not great at warping. He’d told them that the numbers were precise, that any miscalculation could be catastrophic and dangerous.

The fluidity of it had come along with reaching the peak of his power— when he’d finally grasped reversed curse technique. Which... had not happened yet. Another secret he’s keeping close to his chest. He had not awakened his full potential yet; shouldn’t be able to use his techniques as flawlessly yet.

And he’d just warped in.

And he’d warped out earlier too, with Yūji.

Ah.

That explains it.

Of course they’d look so shocked. This was power that he’d learned over years and years of hard work and trauma, only to grace his younger self with now.

Satoru himself had struggled, but now he was gifting this version of himself all his hard work and strength. Lucky younger bastard. It’s a good thing Satoru’s here too, or he’d be genuinely pissed off an alternate of himself got it so much easier.

That also begs the question of if they did possess their alternate younger selves? It sorta just feels like his original timeline is a mere distant memory, a dream, that, of course, was accompanied by influxes of power and cursed energy. He really did feel young, and it was easy being seventeen. Natural.

Perhaps they’d merged with their younger selves?

Only time would tell at this point.

“Since when could you warp so easily?” Comes Suguru’s surprised voice.

Satoru forces his gaze over, blinking slowly behind his glasses as he forces himself back to the situation at hand. Right. This weird standoff thing they’ve got going on.

He really needs to get over this ‘head in the clouds’ thing, or he’s gonna get himself into trouble.

“Since I’ve been working on it. What, you never noticed?” Satoru answers defensively. “I must be real good at coming and going if you’ve never noticed. Practice makes perfect and all that jazz, right? I thought you paid more attention to me, Sugu-chan! I’m hurt! You’re telling me you have better things to do than watch me all day? Unbelieveable!”

Suguru’s eyebrows furrow faintly in irritation, “okay, but... don’t you think it was a little risky warping someone else when you’re still learning? I mean, you can barely warp yourself across the schoolyard without exhausting your cursed energy, Satoru. Why the hell would you think it’s a good idea to take a kid with you?”

Suguru pauses, gaze dropping to the box still in Satoru’s hand before his expression morphs to a deadpan. “And did you seriously use that kid as an excuse to skip school to get treats? Yaga’s gonna lose it if he finds out.”

“Yaga can kindly kiss my ass,” Satoru snaps back, rolling his shoulder as he sneers back at Suguru, “y’know, you're being very hostile for someone who I got a treat for. Where’s the ‘thanks for thinking of us, Satoru! You're the best!’, huh?”

Satoru makes a show of setting the box on the counter, flipping it open to expose the treats inside.

He’d thought of all of his friends when selecting— strawberry for Yūji, rich chocolate brownies for Shoko, not-so-sweet black sesame for Suguru, Nanami likes bordering-on-bitter matcha, that weirdo, and Haibara loves macarons just as much as Satoru does. His order checked all the boxes.

There was a method to his madness.

He debates taking another macaron before leaving the rest to be scavenged through, but his stomach is still unsettled and in knots after that conversation with Yūji.

Guilt twists like a dagger and grief settles in his stomach like a bottomless pit.

It’s his biggest failure yet— one he’ll never be able to forgive himself for. He might be getting a second chance to change things, but that doesn’t erase the first failure. He’ll never forgive himself, and deep down, he hopes Yūji never forgives him either.

“Look,” Satoru sighs tiredly when neither of them speak, fight draining out of him. He brings a hand up to card his fingers through his hair, looking away. “I’m really not in the mood for another lecture, Suguru. My math was correct, and we both survived. Go me! No spliced grade-schoolers. Relax. Now, I got black sesame macarons just for you, Sugu-chan. And iced brownies for my dear Shoko. And all the other macarons flavors too— go nuts. I don’t care. I’m not hungry, so if that’s all, I’m going to bed—”

“Hang on,” Shoko interrupts, setting her bowl on the counter to set her hand on her hips disapprovingly. “Satoru, wait. Are we just- you're honestly not going to tell us who the hell that kid is? This is so fucked up, Satoru. What the hell? Why was a kid coming looking for you? Who was he?”

“Oh...” Satoru pauses apprehensively, turning back to stare directly at the two of them as he musters up a serious expression, “he’s my son.”

Suguru promptly chokes on the bite of rice he’d just shoved in his mouth and Shoko’s arms fall to her sides as her eyes bulge out of her head in shock.

Just the reactions Satoru was going for.