Chapter Text
Yuuji found him in late october.
Not by chance. Never by chance anymore. He had a list in his head—names, faces, outcomes. People he refused to lose or let suffer again. People who had slipped through his fingers the first time, buried under consequences and timing and things he hadn’t understood.
Higuruma Hiromi was one of them.
The setting, however, was… not what anyone would call dignified. Yuuji found him in front of a courthouse. Arguing.
With a vending machine.
“I already paid,” Higuruma was saying, voice calm but carrying the kind of restrained intensity that made passersby hesitate. “You are, by definition, obligated to deliver the product.”
The vending machine, unsurprisingly, did not respond.
Yuuji stopped a few steps away. Laughing softly. His future friend was like that. They had been close, going out for drinks from time to time, and Higuruma had told him about his story. He also told him how he could have solved the case that made him loose his way. And Yuuji was thankfull that despite not being the smartest, he had a good memory.
“This is theft,” Higuruma continued, adjusting his tie slightly, as if addressing an actual courtroom. “A breach of contract. A failure to uphold—”
Yuuji walked up and kicked the machine. The can dropped.
Higuruma looked at it. Then at Yuuji. Then back at the can.
“That was illegal,” he said.
Yuuji grinned. “Yeah, but it worked.”
“That is not a valid legal defense.”
“Sure it is,” Yuuji said easily, picking up the can and handing it to him. “You paid. You get your drink. Justice restored.”
Higuruma stared at him for a long second.
Then—unexpectedly—he let out a small breath. Not quite a laugh, but close.
“You’re either very stupid,” he said, “or operating under a completely different framework.”
“Both?” Yuuji offered, followed by his brightest smile.
That earned him a proper look this time.
Measured and observant. As expected from Higuruma. “Who are you?”
Yuuji didn’t answer right away. Because for a moment—just a moment—he wasn’t looking at the man in front of him. He was looking at everything that came after and his friend had told him.
The courtroom. The weight Higuruma carried alone until it crushed him into something else. He had read his soul. Yuuji tightened his grip in his pocket slightly.
Not this time.
“Itadori Yuuji,” he said finally, smiling like it was nothing. “And you’re Higuruma, right? Lawyer. A really good one if not the best they say.”
Higuruma’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. “I don’t recall telling you that.”
“You didn’t.”
“Shouldn’t even be talking to a minor—”
He interrupted. “I'm from the future and I need your help.”
Higuruma didn’t react immediately. Yuuji knew he had the instinct. The one that made him see through people's lie. “With what?”
Yuuji tilted his head, thinking about how much he could say. How much he should say. “Saving people,” he answered.
Higuruma studied him again—longer this time. “And you still expect me to agree. And to believe you.”
“Yep. I know you. You were my friend. Can still be.”
The man took a moment to think, and came to one conclusion. “If I determine that what you’re asking violates my principles,” Higuruma continued, voice steady, “I walk away. No argument.”
Yuuji didn’t even hesitate. “Deal. So let's start with that case of yours....” Higuruma blinked again. Yuuji’s smile softened just slightly. He had known the man was a walking lying detector, so he'd believe him anyways in the end.
That made Higuruma go quiet. For a second, something unreadable passed through his expression.
Higuruma has historically relied on his intuition and comprehensive data analysis. However, in this particular moment, with this kid or man, his instincts unequivocally indicated that such measures were unnecessary.
“Sensei.”
Yuuji’s voice was quiet when he stepped into the room, softer than usual, like he was afraid even sound might break something fragile. He had found him. Just like last time. Curled up in that same half-sitting position, head tilted slightly back against the wall, body stilled in a way that wasn’t quite rest. Not really. Sleep didn’t sit easily on him—it never had. It clung to him instead, uneven, shallow… haunted.
Last time, Yuuji hadn’t noticed. Not the small tremor running through his frame. Not the tightness in his shoulders. Not the way his fingers curled faintly, like he was holding onto something that wasn’t there anymore.
Last time, he hadn’t known where to look. This time—he saw everything. And it hurt. He had come alone on purpose.
No witnesses. No Nobara or Megumi this time.
Because this moment didn’t belong to anyone else. Because Satoru… like this… wasn’t something the world deserved to see.
Slowly, his teacher stirred. His hand moved to his blindfold, lifting it just enough—Just enough to reveal one eye.
Blue deep and sorrowful.
But not the kind of blue people admired. Not bright. Not sharp. Not endless. This one was… tired. Swollen. Red-rimmed. Like he hadn’t just been sleeping—But breaking.
Yuuji’s chest tightened so violently it almost knocked the air out of him. He missed him. He missed him. His Satoru.
He missed the past. The version of himself that hadn’t shattered yet. The version of the world that hadn’t been taken from him. The version he could hug when it wasn’t alright.
Yuuji knew that look. He had seen it before.
Lived it. Carried it. And he swore—right then, right there—that he would fix it. He would give him something better than this. He would give him everything. Because if there was one thing Yuuji was certain of—It was that Satoru deserved to be happy. Even if it cost him everything. He will bring him his best friend's body.
Even if it meant breaking himself all over again. Satoru lowered the blindfold again almost immediately, like the moment of honesty had been a mistake.
Like it had never happened.
“Yo, Yuuji-kun,” he said, voice slipping easily back into something lighter, something careless. That fake mask. “What brings you here?”
Yuuji stepped closer. “I… we're going to hang out with Nobara and Megumi later, want to come?” he said softly. “Are you okay, sensei?”
“Yeah,” Satoru replied without hesitation. He would have usually said no and joked aprund. But he doupted his teacher was in a state to go far with his pretend. Then, tilting his head slightly—“Are you?”
Yuuji smiled. But it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not so much.” 'Because you’re lying. Because you’re hurting. Because I can see it. Because I love you.'
“Want to talk about it with your sensei~?” Satoru continued, leaning back just slightly, grin slipping back into place like armor. “I’m a great listener, you know. You can count on me, Yuuji-kun.”
Yuuji let out a small breath. And then—He lied. “I just… miss my grandpa,” he said, gaze lowering slightly with this half truth. “I didn’t get to say goodbye properly. I wish he knew how I felt.” That part wasn’t a lie. Not really. “But… the past is the past,” he continued, forcing a soft smile. “I’m trying to move on. Not let it define me. There’s still… a lot of beautiful things out there.”
His voice was steady. His expression almost convincing. But beneath it—Something else lingered. Something heavier. A message he didn’t dare say out loud.
'Please understand. You're not alone. I'm here.'
Satoru watched him for a moment. Then he scoffed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, Yuuji-kun, I'll be honest,” he began, tone shifting—more grounded now, more real than his usual teasing. "I have no pity for your ol'man.”
Yuuji looked up.
“You have no idea how lucky your grandpa was,” Satoru continued. “Having you as a grandson? That’s basically winning at life.”
Yuuji blinked. Caught off guard.
“You stayed with him until the end,” Satoru went on, voice steady. “Who does that? Most kids your age would’ve been out with friends, ignoring everything else. But you? You showed up. Every day.” A small smile tugged at his lips. “You did your best,” he said simply. “And trust me—he knew. That old geezer definitely knew how much you loved him.” Yuuji’s chest tightened. “Be proud of yourself, okay?”
For a second—Just a second—Yuuji thought his heart might actually give out. Heat rushed to his face, sudden and overwhelming, and he looked away quickly, flustered in a way he hadn’t felt in years.
“I...thank you, I wish you were as kind to yourself as you are to me...” he muttered, voice softer now. “You’re… really the best. This... means a lot.” Gojo had a file on everyone; he knew each of his students' pasts like the palm of his hand. He memorized them and, of course, formed his own opinions.
Satoru grinned immediately, the moment snapping back into something lighter. “Of course I am,” he said, smug and bright. “The strongest. The very best.” Then, softer—“You can count on me, Yuuji-kun.”
That was all it took. Because beneath everything, the grief, the lies, the weight of everything he carried—Yuuji loved him.
Not in a simple way. Not in something easy or light. He loved him in a way that ached. In a way that made him want to rewrite the world itself just to see him smile without that hidden sadness behind it. In a way that made him stay quiet—Even now, even when he wanted to reach out, even when every part of him screamed to tell him the truth.
His Satoru.
"So, about hanging out..."
"Another day maybe Yuuji-kun, pinky promise~."
October 31, 2018, Shibuya.
Halloween came anyway. Some things were set too deeply in motion to simply disappear, no matter how much Yuuji had already changed. The plan to seal still existed—fragile now, incomplete without all the pieces it once had, but dangerous all the same.
Jogo.
Hanami.
Dagon.
The Prison Realm.
And Suguru Geto's face.
It had been enough before. Yuuji wasn’t going to let it be enough again.
He arrived first. Shibuya Station stretched out before him, already wrong in that familiar way—civilians unaware, barriers quietly forming, the tension of something about to snap hanging in the air.
He stood there for a moment, breathing it in, letting memory and reality blur together until they became the same thing. He remembered everything. The screams. The chaos. The moment it all slipped beyond saving.
Not this time.
His Satoru would arrive in half an hour. That was all Yuuji needed.
So he moved following the smell of cursed energy.
He didn’t give them time to gather, to coordinate, to build the trap. He hunted them guided by his gut feeling, that was sharper than any plan. Yuuji threw fists first, then thought. That was the best way to go against his mother. Not overthinking. Because in smarts he was a thousand years late.
Jogo was absent again. In goodwill too. Satoru might have already killed him this time.
Instead, there was another presence. Unexpected.
Hajime Kashimo.
He had seen him in shinjuku the day they fought for the future. Hakari had talked about fighting him once. He saw Sukuna kill him with a single blow though like he was nothing.
His eyes continued to travel. They landed on two high school girls. He had seen them through Sukuna's eyes once. Before he killed them.
'Useless trash.'
Yuuji rolled his eyes at his uncle's comment. Really poor girls. He didn’t want to let his Satoru see any of their faces though. So he had to act fast.
He charged without warning, Hanami fell first.
Then Dagon before he could even raise a challenge.
It took less than a second—like with Mahito. Clean. Absolute. Two disasters erased before they could even begin with two hand movements.
Silence swallowed the station.
Kashimo stood up, observing. Measuring. And now talking. “Ryoumen Sukuna. Fight me.”
“Definitly not Sukuna. Itadori Yuuji here. I’ll let you fight him,” Yuuji replied calmly. “But not now. Got some stuff to do before.”
“What makes you think I care?” Kashimo’s grin sharpened. “I want this fight now, I have waited centuries. So fight.”
“I wasn't the one who promised you anything, besides you waited centuries, you can keep waiting a few more hours. If we fight now, you’ll fight me, not him. That I promise.” Yuuji said. “And you’ll die.”
Kashimo’s eyes gleamed. The man didn't seem to understand at all. Did he even listen? “Get him out.” he shouted.
"Well, well. I heard a familiar name." They were interrupted. At the far end of the platform, Kenjaku stood still, watching.
The girls tensed immediately, hate burning in their gaze. “Hello dear,” Kenjaku said, a slow smile spreading across a stolen face, “this is unexpected.” Yuuji didn’t move. “You’ve grown, my dear son,” Kenjaku continued, studying him with open fascination. “Far beyond what I anticipated. It’s almost… touching.”
“You’re early,” Yuuji said flatly.
“And you’re not supposed to know that.” Kenjaku sounded pleased. Curious. “Tell me Yuuji,” he stepped forward slightly, “what exactly did you become?”
Yuuji felt it—that shift. From pawn… to something worth watching. Disgust curled in his chest. Behind it, Sukuna stirred, amused.
“I became someone who stops you, mommy dearest.”
Kenjaku laughed—openly, genuinely amused, like Yuuji had just offered him something entertaining rather than threatening. “Oh, you also know about me, I like that. Something tells me you're also behind the little inconveniences I encountered. I can't wait to unravel that mind of yours, I want to know everything about you my cute little Yuuji.”
“Shut up,” Kashimo cut in, voice sharp with irritation. “We were about to fight.”
Kenjaku didn’t even look at him. Not even a flicker of attention. “Silence.”
The word landed—and the world followed.
Gravity warped. It didn’t just press down—it collapsed, slamming Kashimo into the ground with brutal force. The floor cracked beneath him, tiles splintering outward in jagged lines. The air itself felt heavier, thicker, suffocating, like the station had suddenly sunk underwater.
“We're having a family reunion. And it's my favorite son there. My dear son Yuuji.” That was the problem. For all his centuries of planning, all his careful manipulations, all his control—this was new.
A lovely variable in the shape of his son.
Something he wanted to observe. To understand. To dissect.
Yuuji didn’t let him. He moved. No warning. No wasted motion. He wanted to do it as fast and clean as possible like it had been the case for Hanami and Dagon.
Kenjaku reacted on instinct. Cursed energy flared violently—threads, bindings, layered techniques snapping into place in a split second, reaching for Yuuji, trying to slow him, trap him, redirect him with anti-gravity—Too slow.
Yuuji got caught in it but not without having thrown his techniques already.
His hand struck—And the sound wasn’t right. It didn’t hit. It rippled his head.
Kenjaku’s smile faltered. It took him half a second to try and fix it, sew it back. Half a second of his technique's interruption. Enough for Yuuji to be already there as if he had teleported. Something in his expression tightened—not fear, not yet—but recognition. Yuuji’s fingers dug in—not into muscle, not into bone, but into the cursed presence layered beneath the body.
“Caught you mom.”
The world seemed to hesitate. Then it broke. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t elegant. It was violent. A tearing force ripped through the space between soul and vessel, cursed energy convulsing outward as something was dragged out that was never meant to be pulled so abruptly. The air screamed, pressure snapping, reality distorting around the point of contact.
Kenjaku was forced out—ripped from Geto’s body before he could even fully process what was happening. For a fraction of a second—He looked surprised.
Yuuji didn’t give him a second more. The seal activated instantly. A cursed vessel snapped open in Yuuji’s other hand, layered with bindings prepared long before this moment—tight, absolute, merciless. Kenjaku was swallowed whole, compressed, locked down before he could expand, before he could adapt. Yuuji was glad his mother didn't seem to want to kill him. Or he would have had a harder time. Time he didn't have because there were only seven minutes left before Satoru comes down.
Silence crashed down just as suddenly as the chaos had risen. The gravity lifted. Kashimo straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck—eyes sharp, electric, fixed on Yuuji now with something new. Not just irritation. Interest.
Behind him, the twin girls stood frozen, their expressions blank with shock.
Six minutes.
It had happened too fast. Too clean. Yuuji stood at the center of it all, breathing steady, the small sealed container resting quietly in his palm. He carefully retrieved the prison realm from the floor and placed it in his right pocket, and the container on his left.
'Not bad vessel,' Sukuna murmured from within, voice low, edged with something that almost sounded like approval.
Yuuji let out a soft breath—something close to a laugh. His uncle was proud for trapping his in-law…That felt strange.
His gaze dropped. To the body lying at his feet. Still. Empty. But no longer stolen.
Carefully—almost gently—Yuuji bent down and lifted Geto’s body into his arms. There was nothing rushed in the motion anymore. The violence from seconds ago—the tearing, the precision, the overwhelming force—was gone, replaced by something quiet. Respectful. He adjusted his grip slightly, making sure the body was supported properly, like it still mattered how he was handled. Like he wasn’t just a vessel that had been discarded. It was his beloved teacher's best friend. Someone who had mattered. It will be his present to him.
Five minutes.
“Oi.” Kashimo’s voice cracked through the silence, sharp and impatient. “We have a fight. Don’t run away like a coward.”
Yuuji didn’t even look back.
“Mister…” The hesitation in the voice made him pause instead. One of the girls stepped forward slightly, fingers tightening in her sleeve, eyes flickering between Yuuji and the body he carried. “Thank you for freeing Geto-sama… but… where are you taking his body?”
For the first time since it ended, Yuuji turned. His gaze moved between the girls —taking them in properly now. Their stance. Their age. The way they looked at the body, not with fear.
“You’re sorcerers, right?” he asked quietly. “Still in high school.” They didn’t answer, but they didn’t deny it either. Yuuji shifted Geto’s weight slightly in his arms before continuing, tone steady, almost gentle. “I’m bringing him back to his friends. They deserve to mourn him properly.”
A small pause.
Four minutes.
“Was he important?”
The other girl’s jaw tightened. Her voice, when it came out, was strained. “He was our everything.”
The blond lowered her head slightly, fingers trembling. “He took care of us,” the brown haired girl added, quieter now. “Until… that thing took him away.”
Yuuji nodded once. No pity in his expression—just understanding. He freed one hand long enough to pull out his phone, tapping quickly before holding it out to them.
“Give me your numbers.” They blinked, caught off guard—but obeyed. Yuuji saved them, then sent a quick message so they’d have his.
Three minutes.
“Call me if you need anything,” he said. “He was your mentor. You’re still underage… you might need a legal guardian.”
That seemed to hit them harder than anything else. For a second, they just stared at him—like they didn’t quite understand what kind of person would say that after what they had just witnessed.
Then, quietly, they bowed.
Behind him lightning raged—“This impatient trash…” The voice that slipped out wasn’t entirely his. Low. Amused. Sukuna. “You’ll get your fight, I will be happy to crush you.”
“Then get out here!” Kashimo snapped immediately, grin already creeping back, sharp and eager.
Two minutes.
Yuuji exhaled softly, shifting his hold on Geto again as if the conversation bored him.
“I have two things to do first,” Yuuji replied, almost lazily. “Follow if you want your fight.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned—and walked. With each step, his cursed energy folded inward, controlled with unnatural precision. Residuals vanished. The traces of his battle, of his techniques, of his presence—erased one by one like they had never existed.
One minute.
By the time he reached the end of the platform, it was as if nothing had happened at all.
Behind him, Kashimo clicked his tongue.
He followed anyway.
Zero.
Later, Gojo Satoru arrived in Shibuya, still not entirely sure why he had been called in. An hour ago there had been calls from normies to 'hurry up and bring Gojo Satoru'. He felt flattered truly.
There was a barrier hanging over the area and the faint residuals of special-grade curses lingering deep within the metro platforms, aside from that, there was nothing out of place. No panic, no destruction. Only weak grade one curses around.
He had some cleaning up to do.