Chapter Text
Yuuta receives the missive after lunch, his cup of tea barely cooling before a servant of the Gojo clan appears before him. There’s been an incident in Shinjuku. A large amount of cursed energy was felt materializing from thin air, scaring away the curses within a hundred meter radius. He’s the only available Special Grade sorcerer at hand.
Reports claim that the burst of cursed energy was reminiscent of the incident more than a decade ago. It’s this that has him rushing to grab his katana and sending out orders to delegate afternoon plans for the next day—not that he has much of those these days, apart from clan meetings and the occasional catching up he does with old school friends. Life as the strongest sorcerer affords him little time for leisure, and he wonders, as he often finds himself doing for the past few years, how Gojo-sensei ever managed it.
He’s not sure what he expects when he arrives at the scene. It might be a remnant from one of Kenjaku’s old experiments and cursed objects, but that was usually more Yuuji’s avenue than his. Perhaps a new disaster curse has been born, though he’d have heard of a casualty count if that was the case.
The barrier specialists pay him no mind as he passes through, busy with securing the perimeter and attempting to limit the discharge of cursed energy to the surroundings. It’s the sorcerers who greet him when he arrives a few meters away from the strange phenomenon. They look young, definitely not old enough to have experienced the Culling Games, though most telling is the way they shift in awe at the sight of him.
He gets a rundown of what’s been happening. The cloud appeared without warning a few minutes past ten in the morning. They’ve confirmed that no one was around the area when it happened, and that this doesn’t seem to be the prelude to the birth of a curse. It is, they say, more like the work of a cursed technique.
And who better than Yuuta to deal with unknown cursed techniques?
Regardless of whether this is the work of a curse or something else, he approaches the cloud of cursed energy with caution. Purple light crackles, not dissimilar to a storm cloud. He doesn’t fail to take note that the spot it appeared in is the same spot Gojo-sensei died. The memory brings a faint pang to his heart, but he breathes deep and weathers through it. He can’t afford to be distracted at a time like this. His hand rests on the hilt of his katana, ready to draw his blade at the slightest hint of danger.
He’s unsure whether it’s his own cursed energy or simply a case of wrong timing, but it seems to react when he gets within a few feet of it. Dust and debris get picked up by the resulting shockwave, forcing him to squint as he shield his eyes with one arm. His grip on the katana tightens when something moves inside the gathering of cursed energy. He lowers his stance, body tense as he prepares to subjugate whatever it is.
And then a hand shoots out of the dense mass of cursed energy, followed by—
Yuuta’s grip slackens.
A girl?
You stumble, blinking rapidly and squinting against the glare of the sun. The only thing stopping him from cutting you down where you stand is the familiar uniform you’re wearing. The button representing Jujutsu High glints from where it’s pinned to your collar. Are you… a student? How did a student get caught up in all of this?
As if on cue, the cloud of cursed energy disperses the moment you step out of it. It happens so rapidly, it’s as if it was never there at all, leaving only the faintest of residuals.
You seem to recover from the disorientation. He appraises you as you dust off your uniform. There isn’t a hint of injury to be seen in you, and you look oddly composed for someone who just stepped out of a mass of cursed energy he would’ve likened to a disaster curse.
Your head suddenly snaps up, and he’s unprepared for the way your eyes brighten with familiarity—no, not just familiarity. Your entire face lights up at the sight of him, like you’re… happy to see him.
“Yuuta!” you exclaim. You close the distance, either ignorant or uncaring of the wreckage around you, and then you wrap your arms around his waist in an embrace.
He freezes, fingers clenching and unclenching against the handle of his katana as he debates what to do. Should he push you away? You seem to know who he is, but it isn’t all that surprising considering the reputation he’s built up. He’s not unused to random people coming up to him for a chance to speak with the strongest sorcerer. What’s new is the fact that you’re so cheerful about it. And you’re hugging him. That’s… that’s definitely new.
You pull away, a furrow to your brows as you study his chest.
“What are you wearing?” You pinch the fabric between your fingers while your other hand lays flat on his chest. The traditional attire he’s taken to wearing since he took up the mantle of the Gojo clan head crinkles beneath your touch.
He grabs both of your wrists, trying to put some much needed distance between you. You’re a little too… touchy.
“I’m sorry, but this is a bit inappropriate…” He falters when you look up, meeting his bewildered gaze, and that’s when your eyes widen with horror.
“Your forehead!” Your hands slip from his hold, grabbing his face and touching the scar circling his forehead. “What happened? Why do you have a scar like Kenjaku?”
A decade ago he would have been flat-footed by someone asking such a thing, but it’s been years since he last looked in a mirror and cringed at the reminder of what he had to do in the battle against Sukuna. The only thing he feels now is confusion. The fight in Shinjuku was broadcast throughout the country, and even now it can be viewed by anyone with enough resources. Yuuta would think your ignorance a result of being new to the jujutsu world, were it not for the fact that you recognized him—and by his face too. Most people usually tell it’s him by the scars on his forehead.
“It’s an old scar I got from a fight years ago.” Yuuta tries for a disarming smile. “But enough about me. Can I ask for your name? I usually try to keep track of the students enrolled in Jujutsu High, but I’m afraid I’ve been too busy lately.”
He sees the lines of your shoulders go rigid. Your eyes seem to pierce through him, darting across his face and studying him with a focus he doesn’t know how to interpret. The crease between your brows deepen, and your lips pull down into a frown. You take one, two, three steps back.
“Who… are you?”
There’s a wariness in your voice that he easily picks up on. He thought you recognized him. Is your disorientation returning? Perhaps he should take you back to the school to get checked on. He removes his hand from the katana to show that he means no harm.
“You said my name earlier, remember? I’m Okkotsu Yuuta—”
“No, you’re not,” you cut him off, hands balling into fists by your side. The warmth you looked at him with earlier is gone. “You’re not Yuuta. Who the hell are you?”
But he is…?
“You must be confused,” he tells you, spreading his arms non-threateningly. “I’m not sure how you came out of that mass of cursed energy, but it might have done something to you. Come with me. We can help you.”
You don’t seem to have heard him. “I know you’re not Kenjaku. That bastard is dead. But your forehead…” You study him, moving your gaze across his face and studying the loose stance he’s adopted to avoid scaring you. “Your face is the same, but you don’t seem to know me. This is… what’s going on?”
He sympathizes with your confusion. Whatever happened while you were stuck in that cloud of cursed energy must have done something to your head. Maybe your mind tricked you into creating false memories, and Yuuta, being the first person you made contact with, was the easiest target. He’s never heard of a cursed technique capable of altering memories. If that’s what’s been done to you, then it’s all the more imperative that he gets to the bottom of this.
“You were stuck for an indeterminable amount of time in an unknown cursed energy phenomenon. It might have done something to your mind. Let me help you.” He tries to take a step closer to you, but the next question you pose stops him short.
“Are you really Yuuta? Your cursed energy is the same, but…” The clear heartbreak on your face tugs at something in his chest. “Why don’t you recognize me?”
Yuuta steels himself. Perhaps he’s been going about this the wrong way.
“Can you tell me why you think I should recognize you?” he asks softly.
That doesn’t seem to be the right decision, because you only grow angry with him. The ground next to your feet cracks from the pressure exuded by your cursed energy. It has him tensing, preparing to jump back if you decide to attack, but you remain in place, glaring at him with hurt-filled eyes.
“Are you really asking me why my own boyfriend doesn’t recognize me?”
Your… huh?!
“I’m sorry—boyfriend?!” Yuuta nearly chokes on thin air.
Him. Somebody’s boyfriend. Not just somebody, at that, but a Jujutsu High student. Oh no, how old even are you? He has to clear this misunderstanding before you go around spreading the lie that thirty-year-old Okkotsu Yuuta, Special Grade sorcerer and Gojo clan head, is dating a Jujutsu High student. His friends are never going to let him hear the end of it. Never mind the fact that Yuuta isn’t someone who actively dates others.
You look increasingly upset with his reaction.
He raises his hands placatingly. “I think you are very, very confused, and it’s best if we operate under the assumption that your memories are unreliable after what happened to you.”
Please don’t go around saying he’s your boyfriend…!
“My memories.” You cross your arms, a frown pulling at your lips. And then you look at him, seeming to eye the wide set of his shoulders and the katana tied to his belt. “Yuuta… how old are you?”
He blinks, surprised by such an innocuous question. He supposes his age isn’t that much of a common knowledge. Perhaps reminding you of the gap between your ages will remove the strange notion of him being your… boyfriend… in your head.
“I’m thirty.”
“Thirty—” You rear back in shock, the hostility around you dissipating as you stare at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. “But that’s impossible. You can’t be thirty. You’re supposed to be eighteen, like me, you’re not… that’s not…”
He waits for you to gather yourself, cataloguing your age in his head. So you’re eighteen. That’s at least one weight off his chest. It’s not that much better than you being underage, but at least he’s not at risk of being arrested (though no one would be brave enough to make an attempt) if you ever tell someone that Yuuta’s your… boyfriend. Of course, it would be better to clear this misunderstanding up before it ever gets to that point!
You start mumbling to yourself, and he has to strain his hearing to catch what you’re saying.
“No way. This is impossible. Have I traveled to the future? But that doesn’t explain why Yuuta doesn’t…” Your eyes snap to him, an intensity to them that has him tensing in anticipation. “Yuuta, how many students were in your class?”
He feels a little unsure by your strange questions, but he answers you all the same. He hopes it’ll jog your memory, even if he’s unsure how knowing how many people were in his class can help.
“There were four of us. Me, Zenin Maki, Inumaki Toge, and Panda.”
“I see.” You clasp your chin with one hand, looking deep in thought. And then, you throw him in for another loop. “So I don’t exist in this world.”
He frowns. You sound so sure of yourself, whatever technique was used on you must be strong. You eye him without hostility now, though whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing remains to be seen. The corners of your lips turn up.
“I can tell you’re confused,” you say, to which Yuuta wants to reply that of the two of you, it’s you who’s confused. You then sigh, crossing your arms with a look of consternation. “This is going to sound strange, but you need to listen.”
And then you launch into an explanation about the mission you were in before you arrived in this place—or rather, this world, if your words are to be believed. You claim that you were dealing with an unknown curse user whose ability could distort the space around him, a somewhat bastardized version of Gojo-sensei’s Limitless. The real kicker is when you tell him that you’re from the year 2019, not 2031. It seems that you traveled from an alternate universe and leapt through time.
It’s a bit… convoluted. He has a hard time wrapping his head around a dimension traveler, much less one from more than a decade ago. You say you’re a third year student at Jujutsu High’s Tokyo campus, but Yuuta knows all five students from that current class and you’re not one of them. Your statement about not existing in this world is beginning to sound more plausible, but he remains doubtful.
Then there’s the issue of his supposed relationship with you, but, ah, it’d be more fitting to refer to it as his alternate self’s relationship with you—his alternate self who’s eighteen and in a far more appropriate age group to date a high schooler like you.
“I think his technique reacted with one of the cursed objects Kenjaku left behind. I don’t know the specifics of it, but it either unlocked another aspect of his technique or enhanced it to such an extent that it sent me to another universe and point in time,” you theorize.
Yuuta unwillingly finds himself agreeing with you. Even now, they have yet to unearth the true extent of Kenjaku’s experiments. It isn’t such a leap in logic to assume that he had something like that hanging around. Though, considering the fact that you’re from 2019, it’s likely that Yuuji has already destroyed whatever cursed object was responsible for sending you here. If he wants a chance of returning you back to your rightful universe and time, then there’s really only one lead the two of you can chase.
“If the curse user you fought exists in this world, then…” Yuuta trails off, meeting your eyes, and for the briefest of moments, it feels like the two of you are in sync.
“He might be the key to sending me back,” you finish with a grin.
He finds himself smiling back. He really shouldn’t go along with your explanation this easily, but right now it’s the only working theory he has about you. If it turns out that your memory really was altered and you’re a simple Jujutsu High student who was caught up in all of this, then Yuuta will simply change tactics and try his best to help you.
The proper thing to do would be to leave you in the custody of Jujutsu High officials while Yuuta does his own private investigation on the matter. He already has people looking into your background, though he won’t receive the full report until tomorrow at the earliest. You are, however, proving to be very stubborn.
“I’m not leaving you alone,” you say with all the authority of a teenager unused to hearing the word ‘no.’
It’s how he finds himself in a conundrum. He brought you to Jujutsu High’s Tokyo campus to send in his report and check the records to see if you were enrolled or not (you aren’t, he checked up until the year 2000). He even called ahead for someone to prepare one of the empty dorm rooms for you to use while he works on finding a way to bring you back home, but here you are at the entrance of the school, having followed him in secret until he sensed your muted presence by the bushes.
“It’s safer for you to stay here at school. I’m not sure what policies remain during your time, but here, this kind of mission isn’t suitable for students your age,” he explains patiently. It’s one of the things he and his friends are most proud of. No child will have to experience the kind of horrors they saw when they were students.
You remain unmoved, crossing your arms with a frown. “I can handle myself. I’ve faced worse things than some weakling with a knockoff version of Limitless.”
That gives him pause. He supposes it shouldn’t be so surprising to hear you say that. If the events in your world closely mirrored his, then it stands to reason that you also experienced what Kenjaku unleashed into the world and the battle with Ryoumen Sukuna. Worse still, since only a year would’ve passed in your eyes. He suddenly finds himself wondering if things played out differently in your world, or if fate truly was set in stone.
He must’ve been quiet for too long, because you exhale deeply through your nose before grabbing his hand and dragging him with you.
He quickly snatches his hand back like he’s been burned. “This really isn’t appropriate…!”
For the first time in a long while, Yuuta feels flustered. It’s not the hand holding that has him acting like one of the conservative elders in the Gojo clan, but the knowledge that in a different world, the two of you would’ve been… together. And you’re far too young.
“Don’t tell me you’re shy,” you say, looking amused, but then something seems to occur to you. “Oh, I don’t exist here. Are you… with someone else?”
Anyone in his position might have lied and kept a professional distance, but he finds himself being moved by the look in your eyes.
“No, I’m not with anyone,” he answers softly. He then clears his throat and looks away, suddenly feeling awkward. “I still think it’s best if you remain here. It’ll be a familiar sight at least.”
Rather than acquiescing, you sidle up next to him and loop your arm around his. “I’m already with the most familiar sight there is.”
Ah, thats…
Yuuta feels flustered all over again. He tries to pull his arm away, but you remain clinging onto him with an iron handed grip. It feels like a stone statue has been carved around his arm. He doesn’t use cursed energy for fear of hurting you. All he can do is stand stiffly and wonder what kind of scene the two of you paint.
“Are you okay?” You peer up at him, your bottom lip jutting out in concern. Your fingers find the fabric of his sleeve. “Sorry. I can let go if you’re uncomfortable.”
He feels his resolve crumble the longer you spend watching him with wide, sad eyes. He tries to put himself in your shoes, thrust into a different time in a world where he doesn’t exist and his companion is someone who looks at him as though he’s a stranger. Once he puts it that way, all the fight in him leaves.
“We’ll be traveling to the Gojo clan compound in Kyoto. It’s a few hours’ drive.” He tries for a smile, though he fears it’s a little strained. “You can tell me all about your world during the car ride.”
Yuuta avoids you for the next two days, busying himself with clan matters and looking into your background. So far, the only lead he’s found is an obituary for a seven-year-old girl with the same name as you who died in a car accident back in 2009. It seems that you did exist in his world, but you died early. He doesn’t know how to feel about this, but more than that, he doesn’t know how to tell someone that an alternate version of them died young.
He knows you’ve been trying to catch up with him, accosting the servants of the Gojo clan and asking them to tell you his whereabouts. They report this to him with bemusement, asking if they want him to confine you somewhere more secluded. He shuts this down quickly. You’re a guest, not a prisoner. Perhaps it’s this fact that makes him lower his guard around you.
On the third day since your arrival in this world, somehow, against all logic and his attempts to put distance now that he’s in familiar territory, he finds himself having dinner with you.
“Here, Yuuta, have some more.” You heap more rice and place meat after meat of the deboned fish on top of his plate, eyeing him so expectantly that he’s left with no choice but to continue eating despite how full he feels. “You look thinner at thirty than you do at eighteen. Have you been eating well? Nevermind, here.”
He feels himself whither when he sees you reaching for the pot of rice situated in the middle of the table.
“T-This is enough! I’ve just been so busy, sometimes I forget to eat,” he says in a haste. It feels like his stomach is about to burst from the amount of food you’ve piled on his plate.
You glare at him disapprovingly. “Even if you’re busy, you shouldn’t skip meals.”
He wilts, feeling like a child that’s being scolded despite the fact that he’s more than a decade older than you. You don’t go for the rice pot anymore though, so he feels a little better about finishing his food.
He studies you as you eat. You seem at ease now despite the unfamiliar surroundings. He recalls the stance you fell into when you thought he was a threat, something familiar about it nags at his brain. He never got the chance to ask what grade you were assigned in your world, but if he had to guess… definitely nothing short of a Grade One.
Idly, he wonders what kind of person you really are, and how you and the Yuuta from your world got together. He can’t imagine it for himself.
Everything felt too raw after he released Rika from her curse, and after the fight with Geto Suguru, it was a race to prove himself and catch up to his peers and regain his title of Special Grade. Before he knew it, he was being sent to Africa and, later, it was nothing but one fight after another, from the Culling Games to Kenjaku to Sukuna. And then, well, he put his all into making Gojo-sensei’s dreams a reality. There never seemed to be the right time for romance, and Yuuta isn’t someone who sought something like that of his own volition. The clan elders tried setting up betrothals, but even if he isn’t out there chasing romance, he still dreams of marrying someone he truly loves and not just because of duty.
You blink at him, noticing his stare. “Is there something on my face?”
“Uh.” Yuuta scrambles to find an excuse. Luckily, you have a piece of rice stuck to the corner of your lips. He reaches out and plucks it with his fingers. “There’s rice…!”
You hum, looking at the single grain of rice disinterestedly. And then—
His soul nearly jumps out of his body when you lean in and take the piece of rice into your mouth. Your lips close around the tips of his fingers, tongue darting over his skin for a brief, debilitating moment.
“Thanks.” You lean back and resume eating.
Yuuta takes his hand back in jerky motions, closing his hand into a fist and hiding it in his lap. He glances at his reflection from a cup to check whether he’s, gods forbid, blushing. He isn’t, thankfully, but his chest feels jittery with nerves.
Ever since the misunderstanding-that-wasn’t-a-misunderstanding-after-all about the two of you being in a relationship in your universe, Yuuta feels like he’s constantly walking on shaky legs when he’s with you. He should be better than this. You’re effectively a stranger to him—a stranger with an uncanny ability to bulldoze past his defenses like it’s a well-practiced act, but a stranger nonetheless.
Is it curiosity? The idea that somewhere out there in a world inaccessible to him, there exists another Yuuta that managed to find love again in a way he was never able to? Or the simple fact that he could’ve had something like this for himself if he’d looked past his duties and allowed himself a bit of selfishness?
He supposes there’s no point in thinking himself in circles. The time for it has long passed, and he harbors no regrets for how his life has turned out.
“What’s wrong?”
He looks up, startled by the suddenness of your question. “Nothing’s wrong. Why do you ask?”
“You look like you’re thinking very hard about something,” you say, smiling fondly. “It’s the same look my Yuuta gets when he’s in one of his moods.”
Your Yuuta. Even the way you talk about him is laced with so much affection.
“Haha, is that so? What kind of mood is it?” It’s not something gloomy, is it? He’d hate to make you think he disliked your presence, even if he finds it difficult how to act around you.
“It’s like when he thinks too much about something that it ends up depressing him.” You lean on the table with an absentminded expression, drawing circles on the wood with a finger. “He’s gotten better since we were in middle school, and it became less frequent when we got together, but sometimes I catch him watching from afar with the same look on his face…”
You look downcast, the smile from earlier replaced by a somberness in your eyes. Yuuta hesitates for only a second before placing his hand on the table, just shy of touching your hand.
“I’ll… I’ll make sure you get back to your world,” he promises, unsure how else to comfort you. You must miss him—your Yuuta, that is. It’s been three days after all, alone in an unknown world while the only person you’re remotely familiar with did his best to avoid you. He feels a pang of guilt hit him.
Unlike Yuuta, you don’t seem to have any reservations about grabbing his hand. He watches in trepidation as you lace your fingers together, your other hand coming up to trace the faded scars on the back of his hand.
“My Yuuta doesn’t have as many scars as you,” you murmur. “You must’ve had a more difficult life.”
“I wouldn’t call it difficult,” he defends as he takes his hand back gently. He recalls the years he spent in Jujutsu High, of his rocky beginning and the responsibilities he’s had to carry in the years after. “It certainly wasn’t easy, but it helped that I had my friends to support me through most of it.”
“Are you happy?”
“Huh?”
You stare at him, your gaze oddly intense. “Taking on Gojo-sensei’s role as the strongest—are you happy with it?”
It’s something people used to ask him a lot back then; his friends calling him to check up on how he is and whether he’s okay with handling the load Gojo-sensei left behind, his underclassmen taking him out for spontaneous trips and asking if there’s anything else they can do for him. He appreciates them all, and he understands where their concerns came from, but he’s long accepted that this is a burden he’s unwilling to share with them. He wants them to live happy, carefree lives, or as much as they can as jujutsu sorcerers.
Similarly, he doesn’t want you to worry when you’re already dealing with a lot, though he knows you only worry because you see him as an extension of the Yuuta you care for so much. So he smiles and says, “Yes, I’m happy.”
He expects to see the same acceptance most people don after he reassures them that he’s fine, but he finds none of that. Instead, you look dissatisfied with him, a crease forming between your brows and a displeased twist to your mouth that has him expecting the worst.
But then you sigh, tension seeping out of you. “Even though you’re older, you’re still the same.”
He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He knows even less what to do when you suddenly reach out and enclose his hand between yours.
“Okay, I’ve decided.” There’s a determined tilt to your chin, your fingers tight around his. “I’ll take care of you for as long as I’m here.”
Yuuta can’t quite believe the situation he’s found himself in. Him, the esteemed Gojo clan head, having a teenager promise to take care of him when it should be the other way around. He tries to pull his hand away, but it’s like attempting to break free from shackles made of steel.
Baffled, he voices the only question he can. “Why?”
“Because you’re Yuuta. Even if you’re old and wrinkly or from an entirely different world than mine, I want you to be happy.”
It feels like a heavy weight drops in his stomach, his insides twisting uncomfortably the more time he spends in your presence. You’re supposed to be the one confused and disoriented, but hearing the things you say so casually makes it seem like he’s the one who stepped out of a cursed energy portal and into a different universe.
He looks away, trying to make light of the situation. “I’m not that old or wrinkly…”
“You’re thirty. That’s, like, super old.”
A laugh bubbles past his lips. He feels you squeeze his hand tighter. There’s a soft smile on your lips, and he thinks, guiltily, that he wouldn’t mind you staying a while.