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Japan is busy. It’s tourist season, large brimmed hats and little plastic fans everywhere, phones and flashing camera lights clutched in sticky hands. You hate the sweaty heat of the crowds, but it does nothing to detract from the excitement of your trip. You’re happy to be in Japan. After all, you never had the chance to visit back in your last life, so of course you had jumped at the chance to come.
There’s a red-cheeked child in a stroller that you nearly run over when you go to readjust the bags over your shoulder. It’s time to get out of here. You try to push through the throngs of people, walking until you finally exit the thick of it. Here, it’s a little quieter, a restaurant district maybe. Sweet shops and izakayas replacing the claw machines and cutesy merchandise.
Your shoelace has come undone. You stoop to retie it, shopping bags sliding awkwardly down your shoulder. It’s as you’re popping back up to keep walking when a guy across the street catches your eye.
He’s tall. Spiky white hair, tufting upwards in a truly outrageous updo. It’s either a wig or an awful lot of hair product. You can’t say for sure. He’s wearing a matching dark jacket and pants set— something about it is strangely familiar. And paired with the black blindfold over his eyes—
Anime fans are beyond popular in this area, so seeing a cosplayer is no real surprise. The question is, which one? You rifle through various anime that this guy could potentially be cosplaying for, but it’s the blindfold that makes it all click into place.
You don’t watch anime anymore, too many unreleased twist endings already ruined from binge-watching them late at night during your previous life. But that doesn’t mean you don’t remember the hit shonen from back in the day. The hit character that had spurred on the adoration of millions of fans.
So even though you’re no longer an anime fan, you still have plenty of experience with cosplayers. You’ve seen quite a few, from the inexperienced beginners to the social media stars. So that’s how you’re able to judge that, this guy?
He’s like if anime Gojo and the hottest K-pop star had a baby.
Also, he’s just— such a perfect Gojo. The hair, the outfit… and it’s all extremely high quality too. Super impressive. Worthy of praise, most definitely. You’d 100% cast him as a live-action Gojo.
You wave at him from across the sidewalk and yell something at him, paired with a big thumbs up.
“Jujutsu Kaisen!” You grin at him widely. “Gojo!”
Not the classiest of interactions, but it’s not like you can speak Japanese. You did your best.
The cosplayer turns slowly in your direction, a gleaming white-toothed smirk spreading across the lower half of his face. He starts walking across the street towards you, unknown words spoken in your direction. Incomprehensible, but the tone is clear. Teasing. Confident.
You smile hastily, and give your most commonly used phrase. Your pronunciation is atrocious, but there’s not much you can do about that. Maybe you should have stuck with the Duolingo. It’s not your fault that owl gives you the heebie jeebies.
“Sumimasen! Uh… Nihongo ga… wakarimasen—”
The man hmm’s, stepping firmly onto the sidewalk. “English?”
English! Yes. You nod desperately.
“I wasn’t aware I had such a following from all the way across the sea!” He has his hands shoved in his pockets, looking over you with a cocky tilt to his head. “I shouldn’t be surprised though— I do have fans everywhere I go, after all.”
You laugh. The sheer presence to this guy. You never considered what meeting Gojo in real life would be like, but he’s certainly bringing the experience to life. You double your commitment. If you ever ran into a casting director, you’d definitely recommend this man.
“Well?” He pushes, eager expression fixed on you. “How’s my international fan base?”
Back in your day, Jujutsu Kaisen had been an international sensation. You can still remember the funko pops, the T-shirts, the countless Instagram reels. You hadn’t realized that it was getting big again, but you’re not exactly in touch with the fan base these days. Maybe it’s only been recently released.
“Ah, well, everyone loves Gojo,” you say lightly.
He puffs up. “That’s what I like to hear!”
Your lips press together, hiding another smile as you scan him over again. He really is good. The posture, the stance— And his outfit is amazing. Clearly not just the polyester knockoffs you can order from Amazon— it’s the real deal. You wonder if he sewed it himself.
“Like what you see?”
You laugh again.
“Come on,” the man says, egging you on. “I can see that look in your eyes. Don’t be shy! What’s caught your attention? My handsome face? My gorgeous, silky hair?”
His hair is pretty amazing. “It looks really good,” you agree. “Where’d you get your wig?”
There’s a long moment of silence.
Once a solid ten seconds have gone by without any indication of a response, you start to get the feeling that you’ve said something wrong. Awkward.
“Sorry, is that… not a wig? Did you dye it?”
“…this is my natural hair.”
Oh. Oh. So like, premature greying? He’s relatively young, and his hair is nearly snow-white. That’s unfortunate. And now you just feel bad. At least it’s great for cosplaying, you suppose. He could play all the white-haired anime boys.
“Well, it still looks great!” You say hastily. “Very…” Your hand gestures vaguely. “Well styled! I didn’t know actual hair could do that. Super impressive.”
There’s another moment of silence. The cosplayer stares you down through his blindfold.
“You know,” he finally says bluntly. “This is not how I thought this conversation would go.”
“Sorry,” you tell him automatically. You’re not even sure why you’re apologizing.
He waves a hand. “No, no, but— seriously. You thought my hair was a wig?”
You shrug helplessly.
The cosplayer huffs and runs a hand through his — admittedly gorgeous — hair. “Wow. Okay. I guess I need to take more overseas missions.”
As awkward as this conversation is, he’s a pretty funny guy, at least. You pull out your phone. “Hey, are you on social media?”
He straightens up slightly, regaining his cocky smirk. “You asking for my number? I don’t give that to just anyone, you know. But I guess I could make an exception for a cute thing like you, even if you did insult my hair.”
“I didn’t insult it,” you protest. “I said it looked great!” You hand him your phone, Instagram page open. “I don’t actually follow a ton of cosplayers, but yours is super high quality, so I’d totally love to see your other work—"
There’s an audible cracking noise as the crack in your screen protector grows by at least two inches.
Your eyes widen. “My phone!” You yelp in alarm.
“…you think I’m a cosplayer.”
His tone is so flat and dull, that you pause in your fretting to stare up at him in confusion.
He is a cosplayer, right? What else could he possibly be? Nobody went around wearing a blindfold in public unless they were blind. Oh shoot, have you been mistaking a random blind man for a Gojo cosplayer this whole time? No, that couldn’t be it. He responded to you calling him Gojo, after all, and that’s definitely the Jujutsu High uniform…
“You are a Gojo cosplayer, right?” You say slowly.
“…I’m not a Gojo cosplayer.”
And now you’re just confused. You tell him so.
He looks vaguely distressed. “Why would you think that I’m a Gojo cosplayer?”
“Because!” You wave wildly at— him.
He looks at you incredulously. “What’s that supposed to mean? You do know who I am, right?”
“Gojo!” You repeat, and snatch your phone back—
Your hand does not make contact.
It must be a— a trick of the light. Or maybe you’re just tired from your long day of travel. You reach out again, and this time you connect, koi fish cased phone returning safely to the palm of your hand.
You eye him for a second, before typing pointedly into the search engine: Satoru Gojo.
You’re expecting a fan article to come up. Anime screenshots, fanart, cosplays. What you find instead is… a news article about the heir to some ultra-rich mega-corporation. A shitty low-quality headshot on a badly coded website for something called Tokyo Metropolitan Technical College.
An uncomfortable twisting feeling is starting to build in your gut.
You delete that search and type Jujutsu Kaisen into the search bar instead.
Ju-jitsu, the Wikipedia article reads, is a family of martial arts and a system of close combat—
You lock your phone. The twisting feeling grows.
The cosplayer— Gojo— Faux-jo— is still staring down at you. You swallow.
“This might be a weird question, but can I… see your eyes?”
He pauses, smirk starting to creep back over his face. “Anything for such a dedicated fan,” he purrs.
A long, slim index finger comes up to hook loosely at the edge of his blindfold. Slowly, inexorably, he drags it down, revealing a single, piercing blue eye.
Those are not contacts.
It’s like the ocean. The sky. No, that’s not right. It’s an endless tapestry of stars, the burning gaze of omnipotence, the personification of enlightenment. Of power. It’s like the personal attention of the eternal heavens themselves.
Your eyes are wide. It’s possible you’ve stopped breathing. It’s only as he slides the blindfold back in place that you start breathing normally again.
“—real deal right here!” Gojo— Gojo Satoru himself— is saying. “I have to say, I didn’t realize I had cosplayers! I’ll have to go check them out sometime!”
You nod dazedly. Your head is full of white noise. If someone were to read your mind right at this moment, they would hear the ongoing sound of panicked screaming and a whole lot of swirling question marks. JJK? Gojo?? Isekai???
The fact that you’ve been reborn into a new life is something that you’ve long come to terms with. The possibility that you’ve spent your whole life as a reincarnation in a shonen anime is something completely different.
Gojo stops his chattering to loom down into your space, face inches away from yours. “You okay?” He drawls.
“Yep!” You squeak.
“Uh-huh. Very convincing.”
You open your mouth to assure him that you are definitely, perfectly fine, and not currently freaking out due to being face to face with a goddamn real live anime character, oh my fucking god—
The only thing that escapes your mouth is a high-pitched, strangled squeak.
You silently pray to whatever force that reincarnated you to strike you down, right here and now.
Gojo’s smirk widens. “Don’t worry. I get that a lot.”
Not helpful, Gojo! What are you even supposed to do? Attempt to gracefully exit the conversation? Ask for his autograph? Flop on the ground and writhe around like a fish?
You decide to take the easy way out. “Uh… so I actually have a Pokémon cafe reservation, um…” You jab your thumb awkwardly over your shoulder.
“Ah, I see how it is.” Gojo nods knowledgeably. “You prefer your little Pokémon over conversation with yours truly? I think I’m offended. C’mon, if you’re going to ditch me, it should at least be for Digimon instead.”
Your smile resembles more of a grimace at this point. You need to extricate yourself from this situation, stat. “It was, uh. Cool to meet you? Thanks for—” giving me an existential crisis— “this. Yeah.”
“Anytime,” Gojo says, drawing out the word. You nearly shudder.
“Well.” You readjust your shopping bags. “Great. Bye.” Striding away, you resolve to never again return to Japan. God. “I can’t believe I ever used to draw Gojo fanart,” you mumble under your breath.
From behind you, you can hear the sound of full-blown laughter chasing your steps down the street.
Never again.