Chapter Text
"I'm gonna kill Masamichi for making me do this," Fumiko muttered, fingers locked tight around the steering wheel as she swung the car around another bend. The engine whined in protest. You were somewhere in the outskirts now, where Tokyo's sprawl finally gave up and let the mountains take over.
You gripped the door handle and watched the trees thicken outside your window. "Right? I'm not even ready for this. Like, at all." Your voice cracked halfway through, which - yeah. Really selling the confidence there. First day at Jujutsu High. Fuck.
The road ended without ceremony. Fumiko jerked the car into park, half on gravel, half on a patch of grass that looked like it might've been sacred ground. Oopsie Daisy. She shoved her door open and hauled herself out with a grunt.
You followed, slinging your bag over one shoulder. The puffy jacket you were wearing made it immediately slide right back off. You yanked it up. It slid down again.
Ugh.
The torii gates caught your eye first - dozens of them, maybe more, stacked one after another up the mountain like a tower of red arches. The paint had faded and peeled on the older ones, but they still formed this endless tunnel climbing into the forest. Between them, ancient stone steps, worn smooth in the centers from centuries of footsteps, disappeared into shadow and leaves. The trees packed in so tight around the path that the sky barely existed. Jujutsu High was somewhere up there, hidden completely by the canopy and the climb ahead.
"Can't drive up there," Fumiko said, nodding at the stairs. "We walk."
You stared up at the endless red gates vanishing into the canopy. The steps looked like they went on forever.
"Oh cool. Yeah. Love stairs." Your bag slid off your shoulder again. You didn't bother fixing it this time.
Fumiko was already climbing. Her pace was quick - way too quick for someone seven or eight months pregnant - and you had to actually jog to keep up. Your bag kept sliding off your shoulder. Your thighs started burning after the first two minutes.
Wait. Hold on.
Weren't you supposed to be more athletic here? This body belonged to a sorcerer. Someone who fought curses. Someone who should be able to handle some fucking stairs. What the hell was your 2006-self doing with all that free time? Because it clearly wasn't cardio. Or leg day. Or any day, apparently. This was humiliating.
"So," you gasped between breaths, "you were a student here too?"
"Yep." She didn't look back. Didn’t even sound winded. "Sorceress. Late 80s. Jujutsu High was the worst. And the best. Mostly the worst."
That tracked.
"Made good money though." She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Spent most of it on antidepressants and whatever dopamine I could get my hands on. Designer clothes, alcohol, daifuku - whatever shut my brain up after a mission."
"Wow. Sounds like the dream."
Fumiko snorted. "Being a sorcerer? It's shared misery with people you can barely stand. Crying together in the back of some beat-up van because you both nearly died and have to do it again next week. You get close real fast that way."
Oh.
That... actually explained a lot about Gojo and Geto's whole deal. You weren't that close with your friends back home, but then again, you'd never been in a life-or-death situation with any of them. The closest you'd gotten was that one time your friend almost crashed her car and you all screamed for like five seconds. Somehow you didn't think that counted.
"Well, that's real promising," you wheezed.
She glanced back, something almost amused in her eyes. "You'll be fine. You've got the right energy for this kind of stupid."
Did you though? Did you really? Sure, you had energy for stupid decisions - plenty of it - but this particular flavor of stupid felt out of your league.
The stairs kept going. Your calves were burning now.
"Just don't try to be a hero." Her voice dropped. "With your amnesia, you might even get dropped a grade or two. Honestly? That's probably for the best." She paused, one hand braced against a tree trunk. "Those semi-special-grade kids - Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru? They're ticking time bombs. Always pushed onto missions way above their paygrade. It's a miracle they're still walking around."
Noted. Don't be a hero. You could barely handle these stairs. Being a hero was not on the agenda.
You swallowed hard, whispering, "Oh... you mean those two?" Your eyes darted around like saying their names out loud might actually summon them. Speak of the devil, and all that.
"Gojo Satoru's in your year. And Geto Suguru. The one with the cursed spirit manipulation." She said it casually, like she was listing off lunch options. "They're both semi-special grade."
You nodded slowly, trying to look normal about it.
"If Gojo ever took an interest in someone, the Zen'in would back off that Naoya arrangement so fast you'd get whiplash," she continued, eyes fixed on the path ahead. "The clans are scared shitless of the Gojo family. He refuses every matchmaking offer they throw at him, but if he ever actually chose someone?" She shrugged. "They'd mobilize. That's how these things work."
You stared at her. She was out of her mind. You genuinely preferred it when she was pissed off at you. First Aika at the host club, now Fumiko with this?
"Yeah, no. I'm not getting married and having eight clan heirs for the higher-ups. Absolutely not." You shook your head so hard your neck cracked. “No ma’am, no ma’am.”
Fumiko laughed, but it died in her throat.
You gave her a confused but then looked at what she was looking.
Yaga stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed over his chest.
But that wasn't what made you freeze.
Next to him, on the ground, was a panda.
A whole ass panda.
Small, round, with perfect black patches around his eyes. He was on all fours, completely focused on a tiny red Lightning McQueen car, pushing it back and forth with one paw. The little plastic wheels made a soft scraping sound against the stone.
You stopped walking.
"Fumiko," Yaga said.
"Masamichi," she replied.
You didn't process whatever weird sexual tension history was happening between them because your brain was stuck on a loop. Panda. That's a panda. A real - no, not real - a panda.
You pointed, hand shaking slightly. "Is that a panda?"
They both looked.
"That's Baby Panda," Yaga said, his voice flat but something almost fond in the way he glanced down. "Cursed corpse. Don't let the size fool you."
The panda turned his head. Looked directly at you.
And waved.
"Panda is panda," he said, voice high and squeaky but dead serious.
Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
This was insane. You'd watched the anime. Read the manga. But seeing him here, in person, waving at you with his little paw - your brain couldn't compute it. Maybe it was because pandas were your favorite animal since you were, like, five. Maybe it was because he was so stupidly cute you wanted to cry. Either way, you were having a moment.
And then your brain caught up. This adorable thing was eventually going to grow up and ask Okkotsu Yuta ‘ass or tits.’ Nu-uh. That was supposed to be Yuki's job!
"Can I..." You crouched down, hands already reaching out before you could stop yourself. "Can I hold him?"
Fumiko made a noise that might've been a laugh. Baby Panda sat back on his haunches, studying you with an expression that was way too serious for something so round.
"Yes, you may," he said.
You blinked. "Did a panda just give me permission?"
But you were already kneeling, arms out. Baby Panda waddled forward - actually waddled, like his legs were too short for his body - and climbed into your lap. His weight was real. Warm, even though he shouldn't have been. The fabric of his body was softer than anything you'd ever touched.
You looked down at him.
He looked up at you.
This. This was the best moment of your entire life. Well, lives. Both of them. 2024 you and 2006 you were in complete agreement on this one.
You could feel tears prickling at your eyes.
Fumiko and Yaga drifted into some low conversation behind you, voices dropping to that serious adult tone that meant they were talking about things you probably weren't supposed to hear.
You didn't care. Your entire focus had narrowed down to the fluffy legend currently sitting in your lap.
Baby Panda's tiny paws scrabbled at your pullover, claws catching on the fabric. You reached down and tickled his belly. He made this soft, squeaky noise that shot straight through your chest and detonated your heart into a million pieces.
God, he was so cute. Shame he was destined to become a useless nepo baby who busted out random Spanish. (He only did it once, but still.) Like, dude, nobody cares if you can say "hola" - get your ass to Shinjuku and fight Sukuna already.
Yaga started walking, and you followed, Baby Panda still cradled in your arms.
Jujutsu High spread out around you - this weird fusion of ancient temple architecture and modern training facilities, all of it half-swallowed by trees and moss.
Fumiko trailed behind, eyes moving over the buildings with this expression you couldn't quite read. Nostalgia, maybe. Or irritation. Probably both.
"Hasn't changed," Yaga said.
"The barriers are stronger now." Fumiko's voice was flat. "Back then, curses used to slip through every other week. We'd wake up to alerts at 3 AM."
"Administration got their act together after that incident in '85."
"You mean after half the first-years almost died because someone fucked up the patrol schedule."
Yaga snorted at that.
They kept going as you walked, the conversation flowing with the kind of rhythm that came from knowing someone too long. The training field opened up to your right - rows of straw dummies, every single one split clean down the middle. Someone had been practicing. Someone good. You looked at the bisected dummies and felt your stomach drop. Yeah, no. You were so fucked.
"That's where Kento broke three of my ribs," Fumiko said, nodding toward the far corner.
Yaga glanced over. "You tried to use a first-grade technique without proper form. What did you expect?"
"I expected my teacher to step in before my lungs collapsed."
"You told us you had it handled."
"I was seventeen and trying to impress you guys, obviously I didn't have it handled." She said it deadpan, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Yaga just shook his head.
The main building loomed ahead, all dark wood and stone. Yaga gestured as you walked. "Main building. Classrooms are on the second and third floors. Faculty offices on the first. You'll spend most of your time here." He paused. "The dorms are separate. We'll get there."
Fumiko's hand rested on her stomach. "How many students now?"
"Three in the current second-year class. Your girl makes four if she doesn't wash out."
"She won't."
"You sound confident."
"You've seen her technique." Fumiko's eyes flicked toward you for half a second, then away. "She'll survive. The cursed energy issue complicates things, but she'll figure it out. Staying sane's the real question."Yaga made a sound in his throat that could've been agreement.
Cursed energy issue?
You spoke up before you could spiral about whatever the hell that meant. "So like... was this place a nightmare, or do you actually miss it?"
Look at you, getting all philosophical and deflective.
Fumiko's eyes lifted to the buildings, tracing the rooflines and the cracks in the stone. "Good question."
You mentally patted yourself on the back, too busy feeling smug to actually listen to whatever she said next.
She was quiet for a moment. "It's where I learned what I was capable of.” Her voice dropped. "It's where I watched people die because they weren't fast enough, weren't strong enough. And it's where I made enough money to get out."
Yaga's expression didn't change. "Jujutsu High doesn't care about your potential or your bloodline. It cares if you can do the job. Everything else is noise."
Considering Gojo canonically ran on three hours of sleep and was constantly getting thrown at impossible missions, you actually believed him.
You didn't feel like getting lectured by ominous boomers today, so you pivoted hard. "Can I see the dorms?"
Baby Panda had gone completely limp in your arms.
Yaga looked at you, then at the panda cradled against your chest, and something that might've been amusement flickered across his face. "This way."
Fumiko raised an eyebrow. "You're really going to carry it the whole time?"
You looked down. Panda yawned, showing tiny teeth, and burrowed deeper into your arms.
"Yeah."
Yaga huffed. "He doesn't usually take to people like that. Don't drop him."
This was even better than when that one aggressive chihuahua at your neighbor's house didn't bark at you. Infinitely better. This might actually be the peak of your entire existence.
You followed Yaga through the dorm hallways, passing door after door. Each one looked identical except for the small things - scratches in the wood, a dent here, a faded sticker there.
"Shoko Ieiri," Yaga said, tapping a door with his knuckles. "Second-year. You'll probably see her in the infirmary more than class."
A few doors down, he stopped again. "Geto Suguru."
Then at the end of the hall, he nodded toward the last room. "Gojo Satoru."
He didn't elaborate. Didn't need to. The name just hung there in the air like a warning label.
You stared at the three doors. Shoko. Geto. Gojo.
You were going to live next to them. Actually share a hallway with the people who were supposed to be anime characters, not your future neighbors who you'd probably run into while brushing your teeth at 1 AM. Your brain still hadn't processed this.
Yaga opened another door across the hall.
The room was aggressively empty. Bed. Desk. Closet. Window. That was it.
You turned and handed Baby Panda back to Yaga like you were returning a library book you'd gotten too attached to. Your arms immediately felt wrong without his weight.
Fumiko's expression shifted completely. Her eyes went wide, and for a second she looked younger. "Wait. This was my room."
She walked right in without asking, eyes already scanning the walls. "I used to draw on these when I couldn't sleep. Drove the staff nuts." Her fingers traced along the windowsill. "Wonder if they ever painted over it."
Yaga followed her inside, Panda tucked against his chest. The air between them changed - got thicker with things unsaid.
They started talking, voices dropping low.
You stood in the doorway for approximately five seconds before realizing you were the most unwelcome third wheel in the history of third wheels.
So you left. Backed out of that room like you were retreating from a crime scene, desperate for air that wasn't drowning in other people's history.
Their voices faded as you found a bench outside and collapsed onto it. The wind hit your face.
New school. New people. New life.
You felt like some random extra who got thrown into season five of a show you'd never even watched. And, uh, you had the sinking feeling that the fans of said show would fucking hate you on top of everything else.
Pulling out your phone, you stared at the screen. Aika's message blinked back at you: im h0m3.
Your thumb hovered over the call button, and immediately your brain launched into its usual death spiral. What if she was busy? What if she thought you were annoying? What if this was the call that made her realize you were a Stage 5 Clinger and she needed to ghost you for her own safety? She was a hostess, after all. What if she had PTSD from dealing with annoying people who did NOT get the hint? Aika had mentioned something about hostesses having to text clients outside of work to make sure they'd come back to the club, to build that connection or whatever. She probably dealt with desperate, lonely people all day. Your neediness would just be more of the same - except worse, because you weren't even paying her. And it wasn't her fault you didn't emotionally connect with your friends in your past life and were now desperately searching for your platonic soulmate in 2006 Japan.
You really didn't want to risk it. Aika was literally your only friend in this entire timeline. Your one (1) social connection. The single person standing between you and becoming that girl who goes to the movies alone and pretends she's totally fine with it. If you scared her off by being too clingy too fast, you'd be spending the rest of your teenage existence in crushing solitude, and that was a level of pathetic you genuinely weren't ready to experience. Not again.
So before your anxiety could spiral into a full meltdown, you just hit call.
One ring. Then her voice came through, bright and loud.
"Oh hiiii!"
"Hi, sorry if-"
"Nah, girl, I'm just doin' my makeup for work, but like, I don't mind chattin' if you worried 'bout that!"
"Oh, so I'm not interrupting?"
"Ugh, don't sweat it, babe! I start work at 4, so we got plenty of time to yak. You good?"
"Well, I'm checking out my new school, but my dorm room's empty as fuck. You free these days or...?" You trailed off, not trying to sound too needy.
"Oh, work's from 4 to 2, but like, tomorrow morning? Totally free! I usually take a lil' nap before though."
You furrowed your brow. "Wait, so when exactly are you free?"
"From like 10 to 1, all yours, girl!" Aika laughed. "Sooo, how's school? Met those two guys yet?"
"Not yet," you said, eyes darting around. "They're on some mission or something. All three classmates."
Before you could say more, a voice yelled from somewhere nearby, "Hiiii!"
Aika gasped, giggling on the other end. "Ooooh, am I interruptin' something? I'll bounce, k?" Then - click - she hung up.
Girl, what the hell?!
She wanted to get rid of you!
You looked up just as two teenage boys strolled toward you. One had a bowl cut, dark hair, thin eyebrows, and wide chocolate-brown eyes. His Jujutsu High uniform was standard, but his jacket was cropped and flapping open. Next to him was a blonde guy sporting a haircut so specific it screamed "emo early 2000s".
The blonde was clearly trying to hold the dark-haired one back, but the other just bounced forward like a puppy off its leash, practically skipping your way. You blinked, caught off guard. Then it clicked.
Haibara and Nanami.
You almost couldn't believe you were seeing them live and in person - two names that, until now, had just existed in manga panels and anime scenes.
"Hi, are you the last Majiwara?" the dark-haired one chirped, way too casual for a question that should've been way, way more intense.
Nanami hissed from behind, clearly mortified. You got it. If you were actually the person they thought you were - someone who'd just lost their entire family - you'd probably be pissed.
But lucky for them, you felt absolutely zero connection to your now-dead clan.
You fought down a laugh at Nanami's haircut and locked eyes with Haibara. "The one and only," you said, voice smooth like you'd been waiting for this moment all day.
Haibara's grin vanished instantly, and behind him, Nanami started muttering quick apologies for his friend's outburst. Well, so your clan was kind of a big deal. Cool, news to you.
"I don't mind, really," you shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Makes me feel like some shounen protagonist with a tragic backstory and all that jazz. So, who are you two?"
"I'm Yu Haibara," he said, giving a polite bow. Then, like second-guessing himself, he added, "Nice to meet you, Majiwara-san...?"
He looked at you with such sincerity that it was almost painful like he was expecting you to confirm some grand heroic lineage or something. You could practically feel Nanami silently pleading for this interaction to end already.
You snorted, half-amused. "Just first name is fine with me. I kind of lied when I said I didn't mind it at all. Getting reminded of what happened every single time someone calls me that kinda sucks, you know?" You paused, watching Haibara's face drop slightly, and Nanami glance away like he wanted to vanish. "Nice to meet you two, by the way," you added casually, before deciding to really lean into it. If they were gonna bring up your mysterious dead clan, might as well make it awkward for them! Mwahahaha.
You threw in a bit of a dramatic sigh, just to mess with them. Trauma dumping for something that didn't even happen to you was probably a new low, but hey, when in Rome. Still, you weren't lying about preferring to be called by your first name. The last name? That just wasn't you. It wasn't your last name.
Haibara's eyes lit up. "Got it!" he yelled enthusiastically, flashing you a thumbs-up that was almost too much energy for you to handle. Meanwhile, Nanami, who looked like he wanted to sink into the ground at his friend's over-the-top antics, blushed deeply and cleared his throat.
"Nanami Kento. Also a first year," he murmured, giving a small bow. You couldn't help but grin - what a cutie patootie!
"I'm a second year, though I have no idea how I'll manage with my amnesia and... well, with classmates like you guys. Everyone here is sooo cool," you sighed dramatically.
Haibara gasped, eyes wide. Nanami just stared.
"No way! The rumors were true?! You have amnesia and don't remember anything about your dead clan? Damn, you're like a real-life Sasuke - except worse!"
You snorted. "Yeah, maybe. But I wouldn't call myself Sasuke-level. His clan was wiped out by his brother. I'm not sure mine got the 'family drama' memo... unless-" You paused, eyes widening in mock horror. "Please don't tell me my sibling killed everyone and now I have to go on some epic vengeance quest!"
Haibara practically flailed, waving his hands. "No, no, no! That's not it! No vengeance quests here! You're safe!" He scratched the back of his head, a bit awkward. "And don't sweat it too much - Geto's super duper talented and really chill. He'll definitely have your back."
"I've heard some interesting things about Gojo," you said, noticing Nanami visibly shudder at the name. "But on the bright side, I've only heard good things about Geto. Honestly, I'm looking forward to meeting him."
"He's the coolest, you'll see! And he's got this awesome dragon too!" Haibara practically bounced with excitement. Meanwhile, Nanami, clearly checked out of the convo, pulled out his iPod and slipped on his earphones, mentally clocking out.
"With how much you're hyping him up, I might have to join the Geto fan club. Who else is in it?"
Haibara grinned. "Oh, so far I'm president, Gojo-san's vice president, Kento's a member," he elbowed Nanami, who now stared dramatically at the sky with his earphones in, pretending not to care. "And Ieri-san! You're welcome to join anytime!"
You chuckled, wondering if this fan club was a joke or real. Either way, Geto sounded like he had a cult following… pun intended,
"You better let me be vice president," you teased, shooting Haibara a mock glare. He laughed.
"Anyway," you shifted gears, "would you two mind helping me with a package? Well, half of it at least. I'll bring the other half tomorrow."
You mostly looked at Haibara - Nanami was still off in his own world. Haibara immediately brightened, eager to help.
"Yeah, of course! Whatever you need!" He was already moving toward you, ready to help before he even knew what he was helping with.
You dug through your jeans pockets and finally fished out the car key. Nanami, looking vaguely resigned to his fate, pulled out one earphone and trailed after you both without a word.
Climbing back down the stairs gave you a chance to actually look at the torii gates properly this time, all that red wood framing the stone steps, the forest thick on both sides. Haibara kept up a steady stream of chatter the whole way down - telling you about what they did at Jujutsu High, his most recent mission involving a curse that had been haunting a convenience store, how training worked, all of it spilling out with this unbothered enthusiasm.
When you finally reached the car and popped the trunk, Haibara's smile faltered.
His eyes went wide as he took in the absolute mountain of bags crammed inside.
"Oh. Uh." He scratched the back of his head, laughing nervously. "I thought you said this was just half?"
Nanami, on the other hand, frowned, already counting the number of bags like he was calculating whether or not this was physically possible. His disapproving silence spoke volumes.
You whined dramatically, "Yeah, I knooow, but it's not that much. I only had, like, 30 minutes to pack all of this. I still have most of my makeup, shoes, and books left." You waved your hand dismissively.
Haibara blinked at you, then the luggage, looking slightly overwhelmed. Nanami just pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to mentally prepare himself for what was ahead.
"When I came here, I had one bag with me and a dream!" Haibara replied with a wide grin, trying to lighten the mood as he picked up one of your bags.
Nanami raised an eyebrow at him. "That's... inspiring," he deadpanned, grabbing a bag himself, though you could tell he was silently questioning how he got roped into this.
You blinked at Haibara, then sized him up, squinting a bit. "You use 3-in-1 shampoo, don't you?"
Haibara's face lit up in surprise, "4-in-1 actually! But how'd you know?"
You closed your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. Before you could respond, Nanami slapped the back of his head with a sigh, clearly embarrassed for his friend.
You grabbed the lightest bag and set off, making multiple trips that felt endless. It was ridiculous how many times you had to go back and forth, especially since your tiny dorm barely had room for all your stuff - and that wasn't even all of it! Each trip felt like a workout, and you couldn't help but wonder how you'd manage once everything was finally settled in.
With that, you waved goodbye to the boys, who were both dripping with sweat from hauling your stuff. "See you tomorrow!" you called out, grinning at their exhausted faces.