Chapter Text
Yuuji was never given the chance to properly digest the grotesque puppeteering of his Sensei’s dead body.
He was fighting Sukuna with everything he had, every skill that he had honed and fine-tuned in the month leading up to the battle, breaking his body a little more everyday then building it back up piece by piece with the collective hands of all those who were teaching him to be greater, stronger.
Yuuji had lived in his anger, his ceaseless rage, for so long now that he didn’t let the overwhelming feeling of Choso’s death cloud his judgment, his goal. With his fingers clawed into the flesh of Sukuna’s chest, blood pouring from the wound and sliding down his wrist, he figured this was finally the end. His thoughts were racing, various plans to rip Fushiguro’s soul from Sukuna’s body and save him (despite the horrifying thought of the other boy being so crushed that he didn’t even wish to live anymore) a never-ending, perhaps too optimistic blur in his mind. There were thoughts, as well, of every possible way to make Sukuna’s death as painful and final as possible, but those were secondary to saving his family.
Suddenly, though, everything quieted as the very world around them seemed to pause.
Silence reigned as Sukuna was suddenly distracted from expanding his domain, his focus turning to the dust clouds that swarmed the rubble around them. Even Todo seemed to be holding his breath in the sudden stillness of the world, his constant thrum of powerful cursed energy silencing to a dull roar.
It broke with–
“So that’s how you want to play?”
A harsh jab to the jaw had Yuuji crashing face-first onto the ground. A familiar maniacal laugh bounced from the crumbling walls, and—
“My apologies! It seems I’ve underestimated you!”
A ringing in his ears as the slicing chill of his Reversed Cursed Technique curled around his broken jaw and nose.
“I didn’t think you were capable of going this far…”
What? His Soul Dismantle? But he had used that since the start of the fight. What could he–
“...Okkotsu Yuuta!”
Yuuji’s attention snapped to where Sukuna was looking so fast that he felt a twinge in his neck. He barely had time to process the achingly familiar blue eyes and white hair of his Sensei, altered by his forehead being marred with the ugly, dread-inducing stitches before his rage consumed him. How dare he—
He heard twin voices too-calmly state, “Domain Expansion,” before the world went black.
—
The silence was loud in the darkness that Yuuji found himself in. At first, it was so reminiscent of Gojo’s Domain that Yuuji was certain that his upperclassman had succeeded in the battle that was two Expansions at once–even though just thinking about what Okkotsu had done made Yuuji wish he could punch the older boy so hard that he’d pop right out of Gojo’s body and his soul would split clean from his physical form.
The thought dissipated, though, when he realized that his body felt like a comet racing through space. It seemed like there should have been flames surrounding him, an object hurtling closer to the Earth as it breached the heavy layers of the atmosphere. But when he opened his eyes, Yuuji only saw a darkness so black it was almost purple.
All he could do was acknowledge that he was racing away from the death and despair of the world he had become accustomed to and towards an unfathomable unknown, nothing to guide his way save for the ever-present loss and grief in his chest and the brief flares of that burning presence of rage that came and went the longer he spent traveling in the strange limbo he was caught in. Yuuji’s mind was utterly and blissfully blank, seemingly unable to process the strangeness of what was happening to him. Because of this, he really had no idea how long he spent in that state.
What should have felt like years only felt like the absence of them. A paradoxical black hole of time that slipped through his scarred fingers like sand in an hourglass. The farther he traveled, the more it seemed like time was being swallowed up by an imaginary force, hating the taste and spitting Yuuji out as a result.
It eventually came to an inevitable precipice, his body slowing, though moving in incremental fits and stops–as if whatever force was doing this to him couldn’t decide when it wanted to end Yuuji’s time in the darkness. His body didn’t slow again, rather stopping and leaving him with a jarring sense of unease, the first new emotion that he had felt since the absence of time began.
He hung there in a suspended state of indecision before gravity abruptly engaged again, and his consciousness was lost to what should have been a terrifying free-fall, hurtling through what seemingly was time and space.
—
When Yuuji came back to himself, it was to soreness and the familiar feeling of aching bones. Deep exhaustion settled into his very being, and it was a conscious effort to open his eyes. He expected to see ruined buildings and a hovering, perfectly shaped black sphere of a Domain, but was instead greeted with the sight of a dumpster and two golden-green eyes belonging to a starved-looking cat. Instinct kicked in before he had any thoughts as to where he was, and he stayed completely and utterly still. His eyes were locked with the cat’s, and he waited a beat before slowly blinking in the way Fushiguro had told him to.
“It’s a way to show cats respect, y’know? Showing them trust.”
He waited minutes, hours, an eternity, before the cat’s pupils expanded from their harsh slits and it gently hopped down from its perch on the dumpster. Yuuji watched as it made its way towards him, and he pushed himself into a seated position to greet it. He held his hand out for the cat to sniff, waiting until it pushed its forehead against his knuckles in a demand for pets. Looking around, he realized he was in an alleyway, the ground underneath him shoddily paved cement and the walls that boxed him in made from sturdy brick. Yuuji’s gaze drifted to the end of the alley, meeting gentle sunlight and the sight of people passing by.
His shock was dulled by the comforting presence of the cat, who was now in his lap, kneading too-sharp claws into the soft flesh of his clothed thigh. How were there people just casually strolling along the streets? Why was the familiar sound of rumbling car engines sounding in his ears? Where were the curses? Where was Sukuna?
It dawned on him with an unsettling ease.
Yuuji was dead. He had to be.
That was just so not fair. His life had been taken from him before he could right his wrongs, before he could properly mourn his friends, before he could save Fushiguro, before he could give that piece of shit Okkotsu a piece of his mind–
He got to his feet, the cat meowing angrily at being displaced right before it could get comfortable. Yuuji stood there a moment, watching as it, no she, it was definitely a girl cat, weaved her way in figure eights through his legs, rubbing her small head against his claves in what Yuuji could only assume was a plea to not leave.
Fuck it. He was dead, right?
He ignored how the thought added fuel to the insatiable, burning rage that was in the pit of his stomach.
“Okay, c’mon,” he mumbled to her, bending down to scoop her up into his arms. “You can come with me,” he hesitated over what to call his new friend, but a twinge in his heart had him associating the cat’s eye color with familiar, forest green ones and decided before he could think better of it, “Gumi.” She seemed to like her new name as he gently scratched her chin, purring with a vigor that he supposed only a half-starved, attention-seeking alleycat could.
Opening the first couple buttons of his uniform, he tucked Gumi inside, making sure her head rested comfortably on the seam of the now-open collar. He lightly stroked the fur between her eyes and felt her purrs against his chest, easing the ache that he refused to acknowledge for now.
Yuuji made his way out of the alley, squinting his eyes against the waning sunlight that greeted him there. The street he found himself on was familiar in a way he couldn’t place, so he picked a random direction and walked that way, no destination in mind. The street was lined with various vendors and food stalls, the smell nauseating in a way that Yuuji had never expected food to be. There were also way too many people, crowding here and there, trying to walk past as politely as they could, speaking at various, too loud or too soft volumes.
The last time Yuuji experienced a crowd like this one was before the Culling Games, though he refused to think about the events that had happened before. It was overwhelming being around so many people again, and all he could think was, is this heaven? He hadn’t ever put much thought into what happens after humans die, but he was sure he had never thought it would be so…mundane. It seemed like Yuuji was on a normal market street in Tokyo, full of people he had never met and food he had never had the opportunity to try. He had expected more white, fluffy clouds, had expected to be greeted with open arms by the people he loved, by his family.
Instead he had been greeted by a cat and a smelly alleyway.
Nobara (never just Kugiski, because even now, months later, Yuuji cannot, will not, accept that they had known each other for such little time that he was never granted the opportunity to call his best friend by her first name) had loved markets like these. They would go on off weekends, taking Sensei’s card and dragging Fushiguro (only ever Fushiguro, because Yuuji knows, despite even in death, that if he had the will, he was going to save the other boy and forcibly grant them enough time together that Yuuji would be given the gift of his first name) along with them to go gorge themselves on cool, tasty city food.
The visits were often during stolen time between missions, where the city lights would be dim and the sun would cast picturesque beams over the three of them, making Nobara’s hair shine a brighter strawberry blonde and highlighting Fushiguro’s face enough for his rare, but real, smile to be visible. They would go from stall to stall, Yuuji holding onto Fushiguro’s shirtsleeve and Nobara paving the way, guiding the boys with a confidence that someone from the country should not have had in a city like Tokyo. He and the shorter girl would bicker over where to go next, teasing Fushiguro in moments where they mutually felt like he may have been missing out in the conversation. The more trips they made, the more they came to understand that the quiet boy liked being exactly that; he liked watching his friends find their way through their new world, liked being able to be there to be along for the ride.
Where was Nobara now? Where was everyone he had lost? Grandpa, Gojo, Choso, Nanamin?
Yuuji went to rub his closed fist against his chest at the ache that his memories brought up there, but was met with the soft body of Gumi. She let out a quiet mrrow? and he lightly apologized by clicking his tongue and smoothing down exposed whiskers.
He navigated through the throngs of people, content to meander his way out of the path of others. His gaze lingered on a ramen stall and Yuuji felt his chest give another twinge at the memory of Choso carefully preparing him a bowl for the–though they didn’t know it at the time–last meal they would ever share together. The smell of it made him nauseous, now.
Turning away, he bumped into a man who was slightly shorter than him.
“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Yuuji apologized, bowing slightly at the waist. He was honestly surprised that he could tangibly touch someone else in this weird heaven of his.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the man responded, waving his hands in front of his chest as if he was more worried about having caused Yuuji trouble than the other way around.
“It was my mistake,” Yuuji responded, “What’re you selling? I’ll buy one to make it up to you.” How? he thought to himself. You don’t have any money, idiot.
The man smiled warmly at Yuuji before his attention was caught by Gumi. His smile morphed into something akin to an expression of amused disbelief before he responded, “I sell newspapers and souvenirs. Let me pet that kitty of yours, and I’ll give you a newspaper for free, young man.”
Yuuji felt a small smile– when was the last time he smiled –appear on his face, lightly tugging at the patch of indented skin that the wound to his mouth had left.
“You have a deal, sir,” he said, leaning his chest closer to the older man in order to allow for small, wrinkled hands to lightly graze the soft top of Gumi’s head. What a simple life to live, Yuuji considered. To be old and happy, manning a small newspaper stand and petting cute cats that happen along his way.
After a moment, the hand left Gumi and grabbed the closest newspaper. He handed it to Yuuji, expression soft as he took in the jagged scars that lined a too-young face. “Here you are,” the man said lightly. “Thank you for letting an old man pet your cat.”
Yuuji carefully took the paper from him, smiling back and bowing slightly again. “Have a nice day,” he said as he departed, baffled once again at the oddly normal setting he had found himself in.
He didn’t look at the newspaper until he had walked enough of a distance to find a bench. The sunlight had left by then and the city lights flickered to life one by one, lining the still-crowded streets as businessmen made their way to small eateries and mothers carried sleeping children in their arms to take home after a long day. Once he finally did take a look at the paper, Yuuji was glad he was sitting down.
The date was June 20, 2006.
Two months before Gojo killed Fushiguro Toji.
—
“You’re not very arrogant, are you, Yuuji?” Gojo asks, feet swinging back and forth over the edge of the picnic table he’s sitting on top of.
Yuuji just finished first in one of the many non-cursed energy focused exercises that the students have to do every day, despite boasts from Maki and over-confident rambles from Panda. He hadn’t even really tried, if he was being honest to himself; Yuuji had just missed the exhilarating feeling of doing something physical for fun, the way he used to before curses came into his life. Since he had won, he’s been granted the ‘pleasure’ (as Gojo called it) of being able to sit out with his Sensei on the sidelines while the rest of the students try, unsuccessfully, to take down Maki.
Yuuji hums, folding his arms on the table and placing his chin on them, eyes tracking the lightning-fast movements of a girl who should’ve been ranked at Grade 1.
“I’m plenty confident,” he decides on replying, because it’s true. Though he’s leagues behind everyone else in terms of shaman knowledge, there is something that he’s yet to be proven to be beatable at, which is normal physical strength tests. He had always been that way–a step above everyone else in physical ability. Yuuji had never really put much thought into why he can do the things that he can do, always attributing it to his ‘go-get-’em attitude’ or whatever various coaches and teachers have told him in the past.
Gojo clicks his tongue, head tilting towards his student in a way that suggests his gaze had moved to Yuuji, though the boy couldn’t tell past the blindfold Gojo always wore.
“Confidence and arrogance are often confused,” he says, counting off the words with two raised fingers. “But they are far from the same thing.”
Yuuji shrugs, a small frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. He understands the concept just fine, but it just confuses him as to why Sensei is even talking about it in the first place. “I know that.”
“And I know you know that. But you could be laughing in all their faces right now, what with being blessed with hanging out with your favorite Sensei while they all have to go against that beast, Maki! You could’ve shoved hers and Panda’s words back in their faces when you won the race, but you didn’t.”
Yuuji scrunches his eyebrows in confusion and turns to look at Gojo, his cheek pillowed in the crook of his arm. “Why would I do that? I know I won and they know I won. What’s the point of saying ‘Hey look at me! I beat you all, aren’t I just so great!’?” he responds, rolling his eyes. “I always got so annoyed with the kids who used to do that at school. Just take your win!”
Gojo huffs a laugh and reaches over to ruffle Yuuji’s sweaty hair. “Exactly my point, Yuuji. I bet you don’t even know how emotionally mature that is, do you?” Yuuji opens his mouth to respond, probably something like I’m plenty emotionally mature! I’m the maturest! The maturest!, but Gojo keeps going before he can say anything. “It took me a long time to learn that. A long time.” The second part is said with a heavy sigh, one that has Yuuji paying even closer attention to his Sensei’s words.
It seems like there’s an unfathomable weight on Gojo’s shoulders, his whole body slumping with the force of it–though, if Yuuji really thinks about it, it seems as if there always is. Though it may not look like it to others, that weight, that enormously suffocating task that had been thrust upon a child, is an eerily familiar one to Yuuji. While Gojo might be Atlas, bearing the weight of the entire shaman world from the moment he was born–to his own distaste and detriment–, Yuuji was Hercules, jumping through hoops and completing tasks that were supposed to guarantee his death, just to prove he’s worthy of living.
The two of them never really talk about it, but they understand each other, in that way. It’s the promise of the extension of an execution sentence. It’s carrying around eye drops in the pockets of all of Yuuji's clothes. It’s the not-asked for sweets that appear in the dorm kitchens every time the younger boy has to swallow a human finger. It’s the knowledge that Yuuji reminds Gojo of someone he knew in his youth, the knowledge that Gojo reminds Yuuji of someone he can’t even picture the face of anymore.
“What do you mean?” Yuuji asks, breaking the silence.
Gojo rolls his head, stretching out the muscles of his neck as if he, too, can sense that the load he carries had just seemed to get all the heavier. He purses his lips for a moment, considering. He decides, “Has Megumi told you anything about his father?”
The topic change makes Yuuji blink. “A little? I guess? I know,” he pauses, glancing at his Sensei to gauge how he should say what he wants to say next, “that you had to kill him. Though that’s all he said.” He turns back to look at the boy in question, watching as Fushiguro pulls a weapon from a black spot in the ground. “I trust that you had a good reason, though. From what I’ve gathered, he wasn’t a good dad.”
“You’re good with people, Yuuji.”
He shrugs. Yuuji can feel Gojo watching him, but he really has nothing to say to a compliment like that. Nanamin had told him the same thing, once, and Yuuji hadn’t known what to say then, either.
Gojo lets it drop. “Well, when I was a beautiful, youthful, 16-year-old punk, there was this girl called Riko…”
—
Yuuji’s heart dropped to his stomach and he could only stare at the newspaper in his hands, the thin paper crinkling in his too-strong grip.
What the fuck.
He felt his entire center of gravity shift. Why of all places would he show up here in death? He, of course, knew the significance of the year, but it had no huge impact on his individual life, certainly not enough of one to warrant him being trapped in the year for his own slice of heaven. Was this even heaven? Yuuji knew, without a doubt, that he was certainly dead, because what other possible explanation could there have been for being displaced across the span of entire years mid-battle, if it wasn’t that he had finally kicked the bucket?
Maybe he had just gone crazy, or maybe that friendly old man only sold out-of-date newspapers. Maybe this wasn’t even heaven, but was, in fact, Yuuji’s own personal hell. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had ended up in such a place, not with the blood of thousands still staining his hands and buried under his fingernails. But that wouldn’t have made sense either. Was 2006 really so awful for him as a child that it warranted being trapped in a bubble of that time? He can’t imagine that it was all that horrible–he was only three years old.
Gumi meowed at him, trying to claw her way out of her little makeshift carrier.
“Ah, sorry, Gumi,” Yuuji whispered, letting go of the paper in order to gently lift the cat out of his shirt. He set her down and watched as she carefully crossed a small distance to a nearby bush, where she crouched down and tensed her hindlegs, intently watching the thick brush for some unknown presence that Yuuji couldn’t see.
He was grateful for the distraction. Running his fingers through unkempt hair, he supposed that it didn’t really matter where he was–heaven, hell, some sort of strange purgatory where he was going to be able to watch the tragic events of this year take place in real time. Death was death–there wasn’t a human alive that knew completely and totally what happens after they die, there were only different faiths and the beliefs of fools to guide the way.
Gumi suddenly hopped away from the bush as it started to unexpectedly shake and rustle. Immediately tense, Yuuji stood up and subconsciously took a battle-ready stance. Living in a constant state of fear and anxiety, always looking over his shoulder and never trusting a single person he came across for months at a time, had taken a toll on him. He didn’t think he’d ever be the same after the Games, his awareness for battle becoming an ever-present itch that refused to be scratched no matter how vigilant he stayed. Yuuji wished, suddenly, that he had a weapon, though the desire surprised him. He hadn’t used a weapon in so long that he had almost forgotten what the feel of worn leather was like in his calloused hands. Every fight since he had gained full awareness of souls had been done with just his fists, and he learned to face the pain of split knuckles and broken bones with the grace of someone who probably should’ve known better.
The sound of leaves rustling stilled as the bush stopped shaking, and in its silence a lone, small figure rolled out from behind short branches. It was an ugly little thing, something that resembled a fox’s head with small protrusions of needle-like legs that stemmed from the thing’s neck. It reeked of cursed energy, and the first thought that Yuuji had, beyond the instinctual disgust that such a creature provoked in him, was huh, I guess I’m meant to fight curses even in death.
In a blink of an eye, the thing was dead. All it took was Yuuji bracing his foot in cursed energy before stomping on the fox with full force, splattering his non-uniform (why was he still wearing his uniform?) regulated shoes and startling Gumi from where she was poised in a defensive position behind the bench.
It would make sense, Yuuji supposed as he slid his foot against the grass, trying to clean his shoe, that his own personal hell would have him still required to hunt curses. He stopped, holding still as he cast his mind as far into himself as he could, scrunching his eyebrows together with the force of his concentration. When he was alive, Yuuji would do this process in order to gaze into the section of his brain that Sukuna occupied.
Whenever he did so, he was always greeted with the smell before anything else. It was always an assault on his senses, the impossible stench of stomach bile and rotting corpses that rose from the murky depths of the King of Curses’ strange little home inside of Yuuji. He would then feel the heat of the place, almost blistering as he became more corporeal within his own mind. He had never really understood how it worked, this world of Sukuna’s. He could feel, smell, and taste everything that the horrible place had to offer, and he could even make contact with Sukuna himself, though it was often through means of the curse kicking the shit out of Yuuji.
But when he did so now, there was…nothing. Nothing besides his own thoughts and memories, and even those were hazy in the way that his attempts at introspection usually were. Or had been, at least, before everything that had happened.
So. No Sukuna, though Yuuji still had the abilities he had trained to achieve. No destruction around him, though Yuuji still had gashes and scars and new, healing tissue on every part of his body. No grime, though Yuuji definitely had had no opportunity to shower since being killed.
Huh.
—
Later that night, as he slept curled up behind the very same dumpster he had woken up to, Gumi dozing in his arms, he dreamt of blood.
He dreamt of familiar faces, marred and scarred and burned and broken, telling him to inform the world that life wasn’t so bad, telling him that the mess that he himself had created was being left in his hands.
He dreamt of fire, and the heat of an insane inferno of a battle, trapped in his own mind as he watched his hands slaughter thousands in mere seconds.
He dreamt of that infinite darkness, so black it was purple. Of racing towards an unknown and the hidden satisfaction of being dead.
Of a voice, so quiet it was almost lost in the screams of the dying people of Shibuya, saying, “Fix what has been broken.”
—
There was one time that the three of them had gotten caught in the rain. They had been on their way to a mission, Ijichi dropping them off about a mile away from the abandoned building they were supposed to be headed to, unable to cross the rickety bridge that was the only way in or out of the closed-off area. Each of them had been tired down to their very bones, classes running late and training running even later. They hadn’t even had time to eat dinner before they were called out to that weird, remote part of the outskirts of Tokyo.
They had just piled out of the car (it racing away with a surprising speed) and started the semi-long walk to the house, Nobara mumbling about how it always rained when she washed her hair this was just her luck –when, before they could even make it to the bridge, Gojo called Fushiguro. The grumpy boy answered with no more than a hum, putting it on speaker for the other two to hear.
“Hello, my beautiful students!” his voice was too cheerful, out of place in the gray, misty light that was almost oppressive in its silence. “Turns out the curse is way too powerful for you guys, and we don’t want another Detention Center Incident, do we?” Tactless as always, the teacher’s words made Fushiguro flinch on instinct. Yuuji watched his face, though his friend refused to make eye contact, staring at his phone in such a way that suggested he wished he could make the thing explode with his mind. “Anyway, Ijichi-kun is gonna turn around as soon as I call him”--of course Gojo hadn’t called their only ride first–”so don’t fret! I’ll see you later!” Gojo’s contact faded from the screen as he hung up.
“Fucking great,” Nobara hissed, pawing at her hair as it slowly got more and more soaked by the rain.
Yuuji examined his friends, both of whom were silently seething at the annoyance of being called out to a mission only to be left stranded in the pouring rain on an empty road, miles away from any form of life besides the cursed house a bridge away. He wasn’t too bothered himself, always a fan of the rain despite his otherwise usual sunny demeanor. Rain reminded him of home, summer months spent inside with his grandfather, humoring him as he complained that the weather made his old bones creak and groan. Of days spent playing with his friends in the grassy fields a mile away from their middle school, splashing in puddles and shaking their hair at each other like dogs.
He stood there for a moment, face upturned to the sky and a light smile on his lips, eyes closed as he felt the drops caress his skin. Yuuji breathed in deep, the scent of rain and grass and mist and a juxtaposing muggy cold filling his lungs in a way that made him ache for a simpler life.
He was jarred out of his reverie by a sudden splash of water against his calves. He looked down, smiling wide as he caught Nobara angling her foot to splash him with another puddle.
“Whaddya look so happy for, huh?” she sneered, though the effect was ruined by the humor in her eyes. Yuuji supposed that she had a similar type of fun in her youth, and promptly beat her to it, slamming his foot against the small pool of water the three of them were stood over. He didn’t angle his spray at all and managed to hit all three of them, and there was a moment of stillness before all hell broke loose.
It had been so fun, losing themselves like that. It had turned into an all-out water fight, one that even Fushiguro had been dragged into, though his grumbling was far from convincing as he managed to find increasingly clever ways to get his friends as soaked as possible. They had played around like kids again, uncaring of the cold and dreary setting of the endless plains of grass they were surrounded by, running around, dodging each other and grabbing arms and backs of shirts and just, generally, goofing off.
It had also been the first time that Nobara and Yuuji had seen Fushiguro laugh. The boy’s eyes and nose had scrunched up, lines forming at the corners of his mouth when it spread into a wide, open-mouthed smile. His tongue had placed itself against the side of his teeth, a habit he hadn’t been aware of and thus making Yuuji all the more fond of him for it. The sound of it was like music to the other two’s ears, and they had made a brief moment of eye contact, nodding in a more serious way than the situation had called for before doing everything in their power to make Fushiguro laugh as much as humanly possible before their ride came back.
—
The memory only appeared as Yuuji slowly awoke to light raindrops, and a furious burning of grief left an ache in his chest at the thought of it. He wished he had dreamed of it instead.
It became clear to him why he had remembered such a fond moment as he dragged himself to full consciousness, gently pulling Gumi closer to his chest as the soft rain began to pick up. Yuuji watched it for a while, letting the cat doze for some time in his arms, tracking the way that drops gathered onto corners of the buildings that made up the alleyway. His eyes followed the way they slowly dropped from such a height, splashing to the ground with a finality that left Yuuji feeling slightly nostalgic.
He and Gumi were in relative shelter, conveniently resting underneath a fire escape and avoiding the worst of it, but it still made Yuuji realize the situation that he was in. He no longer really cared to fully know if he was alive or dead, in heaven or in hell. All he knew was that he was back in an undestroyed Tokyo, 15 years old in a year when he was supposed to be 3, and stuck in the rain because he was, effectively, homeless. He sighed as the unfairness of it all reared its ugly head once more.
Yuuji had spent a lot of time in the past few months thinking about how unfair his life had become. Before finding that stupid finger, he had never been left wanting for anything. He had never known his parents, so he had never had to mourn or miss them. He lived in a peaceful apartment with his grandfather (before he had been moved to living in the hospital full-time), never missing meals or any sort of necessities. He had friends, an education, potential future prospects for a career in professional sports.
Now all he had was determination and the spite to keep living despite the odds. Everyone, everyone, he cared about had been taken from him in one way or another. His grandfather had cursed him in death, a last minute plea that led to the series of events that Yuuji found himself in now, though he could never find it within himself to blame Itadori Wasuke for it. The second closest thing that he had to a father (because Wasuke was a lot of things, had done a lot for Yuuji, had certainly done a lot of parenting for him, but more than anything, he had been like a grumpy older roommate that kept him fed and clothed), Nanamin, had been brutally murdered right in front of his eyes, and he, too, had cursed Yuuji in death. Both of his best friends had been ripped straight from his trembling hands, and no amount of childish holding on could save either of them. Gojo, the first person that had decided to take a chance on Yuuji when he just as easily could have killed him the moment he realized Sukuna had taken over his body, had been killed by the very same curse, and it was all Yuuji’s fault. Not to mention Choso, who Yuuji had only just started holding a brotherly affection for, which he knew had meant everything to the older man.
Yuuji’s hands were stained a bloody red, his face and body were marred by deep, ugly scars, and his soul was cracking underneath the weight of it all. And all there was to show for it was a half-starved alleycat and a case of impossible time travel. He hadn’t managed to save a single person he had sought out to save. Hadn’t managed to win the single most important war in modern shaman history. Hadn’t managed to rid the world of curses or give any one person who deserved it a meaningful death.
Itadori Yuuji was a failure, and all he had was rage and grief living in his veins.
—
In the coming days, Yuuji had made his way back to the newspaper man, whose name, he learned, was Izumi Tooru. He had double-checked that it was, in fact, 2006, and inadvertently gotten a job out of it.
He was little more than a delivery boy, but he was able to leave Gumi with Izumi during the day and received homemade bentos from the older man’s wife every day as payment. Yuuji didn’t know why Izumi decided to take such pity on him, but he did suppose it was quite obvious that he had been living on the streets.
Yuuji had shown up one day, prepared to make the usual trade of Gumi for a fresh stack of newspapers, when a pile of new, though dusty-smelling, clothes were thrust into his hands instead and directions were given to the nearest public bath with a stern look and a couple hundred yen shoved into his palm.
It was a useful gift in more ways than one. Now that Yuuji had two outfits, he was free to kill as many fucking curses as he could get his hands on, uncaring of the blood and gore that splattered his fraying school uniform.
As he had settled in the fact that he really didn’t care if he was alive or dead, actually in 2006 or in a strange pocket dimension, he realized he was going to do what he did best. Decided, in the off chance that this really, truly, and actually was the year 2006, that he might as well get a head-start on the only feasible goal that his youthful mind had gotten set on before anything else: to rid the world of curses. It also didn’t hurt that it was a damn good way to keep his mind occupied and keep his body too exhausted to do much else besides sleep and take care of Gumi–
–who had, Yuuji supposed, become his cat somewhere along the way.