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It was just a passing thought.
The brain tended to do wild things under pressure, and seventy-two hours of back-to-back missions without rest was above the limit of most humans. He wasn’t even sure if he had stopped to eat, or drink, or piss. People had died for less. So really, Satoru couldn’t be blamed for having a moment of weakness.
I wish I were injured.
Nothing too crazy. An injury just a little too deep to be healed in one session with Shoko. Just enough to give him a well earned medical leave. One, maybe two days of uninterrupted sleep. The dream. It happened sometimes, rarely, when the injured Sorcerer somehow managed to escape the clutches of death.
He let the thought linger a little. What a happy little fantasy. He’d be injured, people would probably be surprised, maybe fuss a little around him, who knows? Yaga would give him some light scolding. Then he’d be told he did a good job and could take a day off. Yeeey! He’d get a cool scar, a permanent reminder on his flesh that he was human and fallible, and people would say, “Oh! You work so hard, Satoru!” and he’d finally be relatable to them.
Then he remembered.
Satoru ran RCT twenty-four seven. Nothing could injure him to the point he needed Shoko. Nothing would justify it. It would rightfully look like he did this to himself. He would stop looking like an eccentric and start looking dangerously unstable, and that was definitely not an impression he wanted to give.
So he gave up the little fantasy and blew the rest of the curses up.
***
The thought came back. Three hours of sleep every night left him cranky when he couldn’t catch up some more hours by taking a few short naps at school.
“Gojo-sensei, aren’t you getting lazy? Stop leaving us hanging when we’re out on missions!”
And he loved his students to bits, but really, he thought he deserved a little more respect than that! He was not getting lazy! But he couldn’t be mad at them. This time, Maki had almost been injured, so really, they were right to be mad. So he stopped napping between classes and missions, when his students were out in the field, just in case they needed him. He couldn’t sleep through a call ever again.
An injury. One grave enough to put him to rest. Just a little rest.
***
There was no injury that could put him out of commission. The only thing that could was death.
Oh, what a thought.
***
The thought came on and off.
Whenever too many missions were coming at him.
Whenever he had to give up more of the little sleep he usually got.
Whenever he missed a deadline.
Whenever he had to suffer through endless streams of reproaches and reprimands, interminable meetings, only to get back home (and yet still at work; a dorm room in the school grounds because he had no other home) to stacks of homework to grade, classes to prepare and more reports to write.
Just a little injury. Just enough to kill me. Then I’d get some rest.
Ah… The thoughts had crossed a line this time, didn’t they?
Better put the lid back on.
***
But the lid couldn’t be put back on. No more than Pandora’s box could be closed. The thought became a permanent fixture.
Oh, that curse’s hits are rather strong, if I made a mistake and dropped infinity it could kill me in one hit.
I’m flying rather high. So high. I better not fall.
Wow, there are so many people at the station. Everyone is pushing. Accidents can happen in a blink.
Satoru didn’t want to die. No, he really didn’t! But he wanted a little sleep. He was only human. He wished they’d understand it. But no, there was work to do, and really, Satoru had always delivered. It would be odd if he were to have a sudden drop in performance. Really, nothing would justify it.
He’d thought about it in passing, failing a mission just once, see what would happen. But no. The thought of Haibara someone he cared for dying because of his absence was already bad enough. Someone dying because he actively let it happen for his selfish wants would be unbearable. So really, he had decided long ago, if he didn’t take a mission, it was because he couldn’t.
In theory, if the work was getting too much, he could still drop his classes. Satoru knew he was not really made to be a teacher, anyway. Many people thought so, said so, sometimes to his face, usually in his back—that’s when he knew they were really thinking it. He could probably do more missions and get more sleep if he dropped classes. Everyone would be glad for it.
Never. I would rather die.
His students. His children. They were what he was doing all of this for. He couldn’t lose sight of this, or he would become crazy. Or crazier.
They were the only thing that was worth it.
He clung to it like a lifeline.
***
Suguru, what have you planned? Declaring war… Do you think you can beat me?
Satoru thought about it for the entire week from when Suguru declared war to his night parade of a hundred demons. He was really curious about what Suguru had planned for him. Surely, Suguru wouldn’t have declared war without a real plan? What had he prepared to defeat him? What would put him out of commission? Something to imprison him? To injure him? To kill him?
Would you kill me, Suguru?
It would be fine if Suguru killed him, he thought. Suguru was their enemy, but not really. Suguru was doing this for Sorcerers after all. That’s what his entire fucked up ideology was about. Suguru would take care of Satoru’s students. He’d see that they’d be safe. That they’d live a good life. Was it naive of him? Maybe. Still, Satoru wanted to trust him.
But Satoru lived to be disappointed.
Suguru looked resigned. Almost happy in death. A little too happy. It couldn’t have been because of his half-assed, too late (you’re always too late) confession.
Were you tired, Suguru? Did you doubt yourself? Did you want to die? Did you leave me for all those years, start a cult, gain followers, people who believed in you, in your vision for the world, only for in the end use me to run away from your responsibilities?
Maybe Satoru was projecting. But even if it were true, he would forgive him. He could never hate Suguru—not even for this.
***
Satoru really didn’t want to die, but sometimes, it was difficult to remember it.
He didn’t remember coming to this place. He probably scared Megumi. Why did he come here? He’d never been that close to him, especially not after Tsumiki... Megumi had cussed him out that day and told him to never come back under their roof.
I’m really going crazy. What was I thinking? Trying to get comfort from a kid? Tell him my life sucks and he’s the only person left that’s actually close to me?
He’d caught himself just before knocking on the door. He teleported away in shame when he heard Megumi move inside the little apartment. The kid had probably been woken up by Satoru’s erratic cursed energy.
***
Months passed in a blink. Each day looked the same.
The thoughts came and went. They never lingered too long. Satoru learned to live with them.
They were just intrusive thoughts. Nothing serious. Everyone got those.
He wasn’t depressed. He wasn’t suicidal.
He had something to live for—to strive for.
He had a future to fight for.
And yet.
“Sorry, I ate that thing.”
“...For real?”
“For real”
Satoru examined the kid from every angle. It was true. Sukuna was in him. Incarnated.
The King of Curses.
And for a wild second, Satoru felt hope.
Finally.
Something that could kill him.
But as the subconscious feeling emerged into his conscious thoughts, the massive weight of guilt crushed him.
What… am I thinking?
Was he serious?
Ha. Haha. No, of course not!
I’m not suicidal.
“What should we do with him, Megumi?”
What the fuck are you doing, Satoru? You have to execute Sukuna.
No, Itadori was just a kid. Just like Yuta, it would be unfair to kill him for something that wasn’t his fault.
“I don’t want him to die.”
Ah, thank you Megumi, for being such a good kid.
Did you let him choose your fate? A chance to get yourself killed?
Satoru wasn’t this selfish, this cruel. No, he really wanted to save Yuji. He wasn’t going to kill him because he got scared of dying for a second.
Scared? Don’t lie. It wasn’t fear.
No. It wasn’t. After all, he’d just tested it. Sukuna didn’t stand a chance against him. Even with all twenty fingers…
Satoru would win.