Chapter Text
Lately, everything had been… quiet. Suspiciously quiet.
Satoru leaned back in his chair, letting it tilt just slightly as he stared up at the ceiling, the late afternoon light stretching across the room in long, lazy lines. Missions came and went. Reports were filed. Students trained, improved, complained. Nothing exploded. Nothing derailed. Nothing forced his hand.
It almost felt wrong. At least, it had been that way since Itadori Yuuji’s case. His newest student. Sukuna’s vessel.
The thought lingered for a moment, heavier than it should have been. Last year hadn’t been like this at all. Yuta had arrived quiet, fragile, barely holding himself together—and by the end of it, he had become something else entirely. Strong. Reliable. Useful. And, of course, there had been Suguru.
Satoru’s expression didn’t change, but something in his gaze sharpened for just a second before smoothing over again. That whole situation had been… eventful. Yuta was fine now, off in Africa, growing stronger on his own terms. Satoru had half a mind to call him back, if only to put that strength to good use.
'Payback time,' he thought, a faint smirk ghosting across his lips.
This year, though, had settled into something quieter. When Itadori Yuuji first showed up—reckless enough to swallow Sukuna’s finger without hesitation—Satoru hadn’t expected much. Maybe a bit of chaos. Maybe a bit of potential. Maybe another problem to manage. What he hadn’t expected was this.
Consistency.
Yuuji went on missions and completed them. He learned quickly, adapted even faster. He listened—when it mattered—and pushed forward without hesitation.
Sukuna, for all his reputation, had remained completely silent. Not a whisper. Not a struggle. Seven fingers down, and still nothing.
It should have been reassuring. Instead, it felt… off. Sukuna wasn’t something that simply stayed quiet. Not something that behaved. A being like that didn’t just sit back and accept being contained. Imagine being a thousand year old ancient curse inside a teenager body. Even the sanest, most well behaved monk would spiral.
And yet, that was exactly what was happening. Perfect vessel. Perfect cage.
Satoru’s fingers tapped idly against the desk, his gaze unfocused. That part unsettled him more than anything else. Still, there was a more immediate problem.
At some point—inevitably—he would have to kill the boy. The thought came easily. Too easily. It had been decided the moment Yuuji swallowed that first finger. The higher-ups had made sure of that. Satoru exhaled slowly, the faintest crease forming between his brows.
Yuuji hadn’t asked for any of this. None of them ever did. Wrong place, wrong moment, wrong kind of potential. That was all it took.
Amanai Riko flickered through his mind—bright, smiling, already gone at such a young age.
His jaw tightened slightly.
No.
Not like that again.
If he could delay it, he would. Stretch it out. Bend the rules as far as they would go, maybe even further. He wasn’t about to let them pin everything on him. The death of a fifteen-year-old kid without pushing back.
Fifteen.
Too young.
But then again, weren’t they all? Sorcerers didn’t exactly get the luxury of growing old. His thoughts drifted, shifting toward something else again.
Megumi wasn’t the type to attach himself to people. If anything, he kept his distance on purpose. Even happiness, for him, came from quiet isolation rather than connection.
And yet, somehow, Yuuji had slipped past all of that.
They were almost inseparable now. Satoru tilted his head slightly, watching the thought form and settle. It reminded him, in a way, of Tsumiki—but not quite. This was different. Less stable. More fragile. Like Megumi had replaced one anchor with another, except this one wasn’t guaranteed to last long.
Sukuna’s vessel. A ticking clock.
Satoru didn’t know how many fingers it would take before things changed. Before Sukuna pushed back. Before control slipped.
Before Yuuji—He cut the thought short. They all died young anyway. That was the rule. Getting attached only made it worse. He knew that.
Leant his lesson with Suguru.
Nanami did with Haibara.
A quiet breath left him, almost a laugh. Nanami, of all people, had taken the risk again. Getting attached all over. It hadn’t been obvious at first, but Satoru had noticed. The way Nanami chose to accompany Yuuji on missions. The way his tone shifted, just slightly, around the boy. Subtle, but there. Like something old resurfacing. Like Haibara, all over again. Satoru closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. He didn’t know when those two had become acquainted. He surely did not introduce them, and Yaga told him he didn't either.
“You really get around,” he muttered under his breath.
Yuuji had a way of filling spaces people didn’t even realize were empty. Megumi. Nanami. Even Nobara, in her own way.
And Satoru—
He paused there, just for a fraction of a second. Then scoffed lightly. He was just… entertaining. That was all.
Easy to be around. Quick to adapt. Willing to follow along with Satoru’s ideas without overthinking them. That kind of energy was rare, sure, but not unique. It couldn’t be. There had to be others like him.
…Right?
Satoru’s fingers stilled. None of his other students had ever quite matched that. The thought lingered longer than he liked, before he dismissed it entirely.
Irrelevant.
Yuuji wasn’t anything special. Just another kid caught in something bigger than him. Just another sorcerer who would burn out too early.
Just another—
His lips pressed into a thin line.
“Yeah.”
The higher-ups, at least, didn’t seem too concerned yet. There had been that half-hearted attempt during the Goodwill Event, but it had been sloppy. Predictable. Easy to shut down before it turned into anything serious. More of a test than anything else.
A weak one.
Yuuji had handled himself just fine. Satoru had ended it before it escalated. Still, this kind of calm never lasted. Not in their world. Something was coming. It always was.
Satoru leaned back again, letting his gaze drift toward the ceiling once more, a slow, almost amused smile forming on his lips.
“Well,” he murmured softly. “Guess I’ll just enjoy it while it lasts.”
It was December 7th, 2018.
His birthday.
Usually, it was simple. Predictable. He’d drop by Shoko’s infirmary, lean against the doorframe like he owned the place, and announce something along the lines of “Let’s go celebrate me.” She’d sigh, pretend to be annoyed, and then follow anyway. They’d go out for drinks—well, she would drink. He’d sit there, watch, pay for everything, and enjoy the company more than anything else.
It was easy. Comfortable.
And if he happened to be sent on a mission that day instead, well—he never complained. Birthdays weren’t exactly sacred in their line of work.
This year, though? No mission. No interruptions. It was Ijichi's silent present to him. Just free time. He was thankfull, but not really. At least a mission would have busied him.
Satoru had been on his way to Shoko’s infirmary, hands tucked lazily in his pockets, already thinking about where they could go, when a voice cut through his thoughts.
“Sensei!”
He stopped, turning halfway, already knowing who it was before he even looked. The Six Eyes didn’t leave much room for surprise.
“Yuuji-kun.”
“Yo! Happy birthday!”
Bright. Immediate. Genuine. Satoru blinked once, then smiled.
“Thanks.” There it was again—that warmth Yuuji carried so effortlessly. Like sunlight you didn’t ask for but didn’t mind standing in. 'What a nice boy,' Satoru thought, amused. 'Golden retriever energy.'
And Satoru liked dogs.
“Any plans?” Yuuji asked, rocking slightly on his heels.
Satoru tilted his head, considering. He had plans. Shoko. Drinks. Routine.
But—
“None,” he said instead. “Any suggestions?”
Yuuji’s face lit up instantly. “Actually, yeah! Wouldn’t want my favorite sensei to be alone on his birthday.”
Satoru grinned, easy and teasing. “Absolutely, Yuuji-kun~ That’s why you’re my favorite student~”
He caught it—the slight scratch at the back of Yuuji’s neck, the faint pink dusting his cheeks.
Ah. Interesting. 'Do we have a crush?' Satoru wondered, amused more than anything else.
Not that it mattered. If anything, it made things entertaining at least. “So,” he said, pushing off the wall, “where are we heading, Yuuji-kun?”
“Just follow me, sensei.”
And he did. They walked. A lot.
Yuuji talked the entire time—about nothing, about everything, about things that barely connected but somehow still flowed. Satoru didn’t catch half of it, not really. Something about a TV show, then food, then a random story about Megumi, then back to something else entirely.
It didn’t matter. Yuuji’s voice was… nice. Alive. Unfiltered. Easy.
Satoru found himself smiling without really thinking about it. A nice change from the constant weight of meetings, expectations, old farts talking about things they barely understood. This was light. They eventually stopped in front of an arcade.
Satoru raised a brow. “Interesting choice.”
He liked arcades. Well—he used to. They got boring fast when you won everything on the right amount of tries. Still maybe showing off a little wouldn’t hurt.
“First stop, sensei,” Yuuji said, turning to him with a grin. “Are you any good at these?”
Satoru shrugged lightly. “I'm not too bad.”
A complete lie.
Yuuji grinned wider. “Then I’ll show you a trick or two sensei. My first birthday present.”
Satoru huffed a quiet laugh and followed him inside. The real surprise came quickly. Yuuji went straight for a claw machine. A Digimon plushie. Was it a coincidence that Yuuji knew his favorite show?
He played mentally the game, it would take Satoru five tries.
Yuuji got it in four. “I got lucky,” Yuuji said, handing it to him. “Thought it’d take five.”
Satoru stared at the plush for a second, then at Yuuji. That wasn’t luck. That was skill.
“…Huh.”
He had underestimated him. For the next few machines, it was the same story. Yuuji consistently beat his expected attempts by one.
Satoru clapped slowly, a genuine grin tugging at his lips. “Very impressive, Yuuji.” He shifted the growing pile of prizes in his arms.
“But maybe we should stop before we can’t carry anything anymore?”
“You should try too, sensei. Just for fun, win me something.” Satoru hummed.
“Alright. What do you want?”
Yuuji tilted his head. “What would you like me to have, Gojo-sensei?”
That—made him pause. What would suit Yuuji? He didn’t know the boy that well. Not really. His gaze drifted across the machines until it landed on one.
A white cat plush.
With sunglasses. Satoru snorted softly.
“Yeah. That one.” Yuuji said. Satoru didn’t talk, his eyes just landed on that aprticular plushie because it looked like a cat version of him. He didn’t expect Yuuji to follow his gaze.
It took him four tries. Exactly four.
When he handed it to Yuuji, the boy’s face lit up like he’d just been given something priceless. And for a second—just a second—Satoru felt something warm settle in his chest.
Unexpected.
“Let’s go to the next stop!” Yuuji said, already moving.
And Satoru followed again. More walking. More talking. Endless energy on the pink haired side. Satoru didn’t mind. He didn’t feel like talking anyway, with Shoko he would have done the talk. This felt easier somehow.
They stopped in front of a movie theater.
“There’s a rerun of Léon,” Yuuji said. “I like that movie.”
Satoru nodded.
“Wouldn’t mind rewatching it.” So they did, together.
Sat side by side in the dark, sharing overly sweet caramel popcorn. Satoru found himself glancing at Yuuji more than the screen. Focused. Quiet. Completely absorbed in the movie.
Not once did he look away. Satoru leaned back slightly, eyes drifting between the screen and the boy beside him.
The story played out—familiar, predictable.
A girl. A man. Protection. Teaching and training. Something deeper. Something blurred.
Satoru’s gaze lingered on Yuuji. 'Is this intentional?' he wondered.
He wasn’t stupid. If there was a message, he’d catch it. By the time the credits rolled, he had already decided to ask. Direct. Simple.
“Do you have a crush on me, Yuuji-kun?” Yuuji blinked.
“…Uuuuh. Was it that obvious, sensei?” he said, scratching his cheek. “Promise I won’t bother you with it ...if you don't want me to.”
No panic. No drama. Just… honesty. Satoru tilted his head slightly, studying him. “I can’t really ignore it now that I know, I think we should stop right n...” he said.
“Aaaah, too bad,” Yuuji sighed dramatically. “Guess I’ll go to that new bakery alone. They’ve got the best sweets in Tokyo. Shame.”
Satoru scoffed lightly. “If it’s just cake, I don’t see the problem with continuing.”
Yuuji laughed. Just like that. No tension. No expectation. Like his feelings were simply… there. Not something to demand. Just something he offered freely.
Satoru wasn’t used to freeby in life, there was always a catch.
They walked again.
The coffee shop was warm, bright, filled with the smell of sugar and butter. Everything Satoru loved and ran on. Yuuji talked to the waitress, without hesitation, started ordering. Everything.
Literally everything.
Satoru raised a brow. “Yuuji-kun?”
“We should try them all, sensei.”
Of course. Satoru laughed under his breath, watching him. His birthday had started like any other.
And yet—As he sat there, surrounded by too many cakes and one very bright, very honest boy—It felt… different. Better, maybe. He didn’t think too much about why.
He noted the address somewhere high on his mental list. The cakes alone deserved it. Each one had been better than the last—balanced, rich without being overwhelming, just sweet enough without crossing the line into excess. Satoru leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly against the table as he watched Yuuji happily working through yet another slice like it was a personal mission.
“You’ve got taste,” he admitted, almost to himself.
Yuuji just grinned, like it wasn’t anything special. Satoru huffed softly.
Yeah. Definitely worth remembering.
When it came time to leave, Satoru stood, stretching lazily. “I’ll get it,” he said, already heading toward the counter.
Old habit.
He slipped his hands into his pockets, putting on his usual easy smile as he approached.
Except—“It’s already paid for, sir.”
Satoru blinked.
“…When?”
The cashier looked mildly confused. “When he made the reservation.”
Satoru frowned slightly. “We didn’t order then.”
“He ordered every cake on the menu back then, sir, he just confirmed his order again at the beginning.”
Ah.
Of course he did. Satoru stood there for a second longer than necessary, processing that. “And the drinks?”
The cashier nodded. “Specified as well.”
Satoru exhaled through his nose, a quiet, almost amused sound.
'Of course he knew. The boy got a crush. And is a stalker as well.'
He didn’t ask how. Didn’t dig into it. It wasn’t… unsettling. If anything, it felt—
He turned away before finishing that thought.
“Thanks,” he said lightly, heading back. Yuuji was waiting outside, hands tucked into his jacket, rocking slightly on his heels again.
“Did you enjoy today, sensei?”
Satoru stopped in front of him, studying him for a second. Bright eyes. Easy smile. No expectation behind it.
“Very much,” he said honestly. “Thanks, Yuuji-kun.”
And then, almost as an afterthought—
“But you shouldn’t have a crush on me, okay?”
Yuuji didn’t even hesitate. “Then you should stop being awesome, sensei.”
Satoru stilled. Just for a second. That—hit differently. Not because of the words themselves. He was praised all the time.
The strongest. The honored one. The pride of the clan. It was constant. Background noise.
But this wasn’t that. There was no weight to it. No expectation. No pressure attached.
Just… simple. Sincere.
Satoru tilted his head slightly, something unreadable flickering behind his glasses.
“…Alright then,” he said, voice lighter than he felt. “Describe three of your favorite things about me, Yuuji-kun.”
Yuuji didn’t even need to think. “You’re fun to be around,” he said immediately. “You’re the best at everything. And you care about your students. Like, a lot.”
No hesitation. No embellishment. Just truth, as he saw it. Satoru stared at him for a second, then broke into a grin.
“You really are my favorite student, Yuuji!”
Yuuji laughed, rubbing the back of his neck again. “See you tomorrow, sensei. We’ve got class.” He waved, turning toward the dorms with his cat plushie in his other hand. “Happy birthday again!”
Satoru lifted a hand in return, watching him go. He stood there a moment longer than necessary.
Yuuji reached the dorm entrance, already being greeted—no, intercepted—by Megumi, who looked like he had a hundred questions ready. Satoru could almost read the exchange from a distance.
Where were you? And what are you hiding in this bag?
Yuuji just grinned.
Secret.
Megumi’s expression flattened immediately.
“Idiot,” he mouthed.
Satoru snorted under his breath. Some things didn’t change. He slipped his hands back into his pockets, turning away at last.
The night air was cool, quiet. For once, there was no mission waiting. No report to file. No weight pressing down on his shoulders the moment the day ended.
Just—A birthday.
His birthday. He thought as he lifted the bag full of many plushies.
Satoru exhaled slowly, a faint smile lingering on his lips. “That was nice.” For once, it didn’t feel like something borrowed. Didn’t feel like a break between responsibilities. It felt like his. And, annoyingly enough, he knew exactly who to blame for that. Didn’t change the fact that Yuuji was nothing special. A thousand girls or men with a crush on him would have done as much.
December 24th had a way of settling into his bones whether he acknowledged it or not.
Satoru had never been the sentimental type. Dates didn’t usually matter to him—time blurred easily when you lived the way he did, moving from mission to mission, from fight to fight, always ahead of everyone else.
A year.
A full year since he had killed Suguru. The thought didn’t come with the same sharp edge it once had. It wasn’t a fresh wound anymore. It was worse than that—something dulled, buried just deep enough that he could function around it. Teach. Joke. Exist.
But it never really left. And maybe that was why his feet had carried him, almost unconsciously, to Shoko’s infirmary.
If anyone could meet him in that silence without asking for explanations, it was her. He didn’t bother knocking. He pushed the door open like he always did, stepping into the familiar scent of antiseptic and smoke. Shoko was there, as expected, leaning back in her chair, cigarette already lit, like she had nowhere else to be and no reason to pretend otherwise.
He started talking about Suguru, and how he wished they had a body to mourn.
“You’re late,” she said casually, not even looking at him.
Satoru paused.
“Late for what?”
She took her time answering, exhaling slowly, the smoke curling between them like something alive. “We found the body on November 1st.”
For a second, Satoru didn’t react.
Then his brows drew together, just slightly. “What? And you're telling me now?”
This time she looked at him. “It was… odd.”
The word didn’t sit right. Satoru’s jaw tightened, something cold slipping into place behind his usual ease.
“What do you mean November, Shoko?” he asked, his voice quieter now, sharper in a way that rarely surfaced. “He died last December.”
“I don’t have an answer for you,” she replied, as if that settled it. “I found him here coming back from a night out half-dead. Very drunk. I thought I imagined it.”
A hollow laugh escaped him, brief and humorless. “Corpses don’t just get up and move.” He knew what he had done. He remembered it clearly. The weight of it, the finality. “I’m sure I killed him back then.”
Shoko shrugged lightly, tapping ash into the tray like they were discussing something trivial. “I told you. If you want answers, you’re asking the wrong person. I don’t think anyone has them, except the person who brought the body.”
A beat passed.
“I’m not doing a memorial either. If that’s why you came. I'm busy.”
Of course she wasn’t going again, what a good friend she was. Satoru clicked his tongue, irritation flickering—but it wasn’t really directed at her. It was at the situation. At the gap between what he knew and what he was being told.
“Yeah. Figures.” There was nothing else to say. So he left.
The hallway outside felt quieter than it should have been, though he couldn’t tell if that was real or just his perception shifting. His thoughts weren’t settled. They rarely were on days like this.
He didn’t expect to run into anyone, it was christmas eve. But then he saw them. His students.
Megumi stood close to Yuuji, not touching him, not obviously hovering—but close enough that the intent was clear if you knew what to look for. Protective, in that quiet, stubborn way of his. Kugisaki was talking—complaining, probably—her voice carrying just enough to fill the space.
And Yuuji—
Satoru slowed without meaning to. Yuuji was smiling. But it didn’t reach his eyes.
It was the kind of smile people wore when they didn’t want to be asked questions. The kind in those low cost commercials. Too practiced. Too quick. Something placed over whatever was really there.
Satoru knew that look. He wore it often enough. He could have kept walking. Should have, probably. Instead, his steps shifted direction before he made a conscious decision.
“Yo.”
Kugisaki’s reaction was immediate. “Oh, not you. We already see you enough in class.”
Satoru placed a hand dramatically over his chest, feigning injury. “That hurts, Nobara-chan~. Truly.” His gaze slid past her easily. “But don’t worry, I’m not here for you.”
It landed on Yuuji. “Got a minute?”
Megumi’s posture changed instantly—subtle, but there. A slight shift, a narrowing of the eyes. Defensive. Satoru almost smirked.
Relax.
“He’ll be back in five,” he added lightly, already turning away as if the decision had been made.
Yuuji followed after a brief hesitation. They didn’t go far. Just enough distance to put space between them and the others. Enough that voices wouldn’t carry.
Satoru stopped and turned, studying him properly now.
“What’s up?”
Yuuji blinked, caught off guard. “Eh? Sensei, I don’t—”
“Cut it,” Satoru interrupted, not unkindly but without room for deflection. “You don’t look like yourself.” He tilted his head slightly. “Sick? Sukuna bothering you?”
Yuuji shook his head, gaze dropping for a moment like he was debating how much to say. “No. It’s just…” He exhaled, shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Today’s kind of a bad day.”
Satoru didn’t respond. Didn’t offer an out. He simply waited. Yuuji noticed and sighed.
“I lost someone important on Christmas Eve,” he admitted after a moment, voice quieter now, stripped of its usual brightness. “A long time ago.” The smile came back but weaker this time, barely holding. “So I get like this around this time. It’s nothing serious. You’ve got your own stuff to deal with today anyway—”
He stopped abruptly. Too abruptly. Satoru’s attention sharpened immediately.
“How do you know?”
The question landed softer than expected, but it carried weight. Yuuji froze. Just for a fraction of a second. But Satoru didn’t miss things like that. Not with the Six Eyes.
He tilted his head again, this time slower, more deliberate, studying him like he was something new. Because suddenly—This wasn’t just about a bad day. Or a coincidence.
“Yuuji,” he said quietly. Something didn’t line up. Not with the way Yuuji had cut himself off. There was a thread there. Thin. Barely visible. But Satoru could feel it.
“What aren’t you telling me?”