Chapter Text
Sugisawa Municipal High School, with all its barren structures and its prison-like windows, looked exactly like the kind of place that would usually turn into a breeding ground for curses. It was easy for Megumi to say he wasn’t particularly impressed—it reminded him too much of the middle school he’d only recently left. A dull place full of entitled people, a lot of minor curses, and not much else.
Though his old school didn’t have an eerie rugby field that oozed cursed energy, at least.
“What is up with this field?” Megumi muttered to himself, as he gazed at the grade two cursed spirit lingering at the top of the goalpost. The cursed spirit alone couldn’t be responsible for all of the negative energy rolling off of the field in waves. He briefly entertained the idea of a body being buried here, though why a body would be buried under a rugby field escaped him.
It could have been where the special grade cursed object was kept previously, but the area was so widespread it was hard to say…
Megumi turned away with a sigh. Conjecture was about as helpful to him as this rugby field was. And this cursed spirit. And everything, basically, because this place radiated so much cursed energy it was nigh impossible to actually pinpoint anything within it.
He should evacuate the school, exorcise the cursed spirit, and go through the school just to make sure he cleaned out every nook and cranny before this curse infestation killed someone—
“Hurry up!” someone shouted, jostling Megumi slightly as he ran past him on the stairs. “This way!”
“What for?” another student asked, jogging past Megumi as well. He was as invisible to them as the curse on the rugby field, though not literally—he was just another person they didn’t know in a school full of people they didn’t know.
“Takagi-sensei is taking on Itadori Yuuji from West Junior High!” the first student responded, still setting a brisk pace toward wherever he was going.
Curiously, his friend picked up the pace at this. “No way! What sport?”
“Shot put!” the first responded, right before he turned a corner and disappeared into a sea of other students, his friend not far behind him.
Megumi paused for only a moment before turning that direction too—not because he cared about a teacher challenging a student to a game, but because if he didn’t think about it too hard there was an acute source of cursed energy radiating from that direction. Not that it was particularly concerning given the way cursed energy hung everywhere like humidity in this school, sticking to his skin and leaving a bad taste in his mouth, but still.
Megumi’s more sedate pace towards the display meant that he missed the teacher’s throw, though he heard the whispers from the surrounding crowd. One group excitedly repeated the teacher’s score (“Woah, fourteen meters!” one girl exclaimed. Next to her, another girl said, “Takagi-sensei’s still got it.” Beside her, a third girl said, with a touch of hysteria that tended to accompany a crush, “What are you going to do, Itadori-kun?”) —while another group furiously whispered about the student.
“Is Itadori famous?” one girl asked a guy standing beside her, keeping her voice low as if she was embarrassed to not already know the answer herself.
Megumi snorted. As if students typically gathered to see some jock having a sports contest with his coach if he wasn’t famous, to some extent. Or at least wildly popular.
“It’s all hearsay,” her friend responded in an excited tone, “but I hear he won ‘Ninja Warrior.’ That, or he’s the reincarnation of Croatian fighter Mirko Cro Crop.”
“He’s still alive though!” the girl hissed back. “Why would anyone think that makes sense?”
You know what, Megumi actually liked her. She reminded him a bit of Zen’in-senpai. Too grounded to put up with other people’s bullshit or pay attention to the rumor mill.
Megumi stepped back and to the side, finally getting a good look at the person they called Itadori. He tossed the ball in his hand a little absently, though Megumi was admittedly a little more focused on the fact that his hair was pink.
Megumi raised one eyebrow judgmentally. It had to be some kind of popularity ploy, he decided. Pop stars had pink hair, so this guy tried it out because he thought it would make him seem cooler to the girls in his school. Typical, popular kid behavior.
Quite abruptly, Megumi was no longer focusing on the pinkness of Itadori’s hair. The reason? Itadori had just thrown the ball so hard and so far that it left a sizable dent in the solid metal post several meters away.
Forget the girl, Megumi thought, blinking at the damage. This is the person I should be comparing to Zen’in-senpai.
Itadori pumped a fist in the air, a jubilant grin slapped on his face. “Alright, I win!” he declared, picking up a bag and turning away in the universal signal of ‘we’re done here’ with way too much nonchalance for someone being watched by over half of the student body.
And then, because Megumi’s expectations hadn’t been tested thoroughly enough already, Itadori walked over to the two people standing beside Megumi—the two weedy, nerdy people who were decidedly not any of the dozens of doe-eyed girls batting their lashes at Itadori in the surrounding area—and greeted them like friends.
“Itadori,” the girl said, though she didn’t finish whatever thought it was that she started to have.
“You know,” the boy started, but he seemed equally as unable to scrounge up a response.
“What is it?” Itadori asked, looking a mix of perplexed and concerned.
“You don’t have to stay in our club!” the girl blurted out. “You clearly belong on the track and field team!”
“Or any team really!” the guy added. “So long as it’s a sport!”
“Slow down, guys,” Itadori said, with a soft laugh. “I mean, I chose the Occult Research Club, didn’t I?”
“But—”
“Trust me, I have my reasons,” Itadori continued. “Besides, you guys need me! Not just because you need three people to operate as a club. You also need me to be a buffer for the scary stuff, even though you love it.”
“That's because it’s not as much fun if you aren’t frightened,” the girl muttered in protest.
“The point is, I’d like to stay in your club if you’d have me,” Itadori said, sounding unbearably earnest. “I’ve started to think of you two as friends, and besides…it’s not like there are that many clubs that would let me get home before five, and with—” He cut himself off abruptly, suddenly looking a little pale.
Megumi raised an eyebrow, though neither of the other two seemed to notice Itadori’s sudden silence.
“Yeah, you can stay. Only because it means that much to you,” the guy said, still smiling happily at the praise he had been lathered in.
“Of course you’re welcome,” the girl added, in the same tone of voice. “Doesn’t matter to us.”
Megumi didn’t have a reason to keep eavesdropping, not really, but for some reason Itadori was still holding his attention. Maybe it was the effect Itadori had with his words—the way no one seemed truly capable of staying upset with him for any reason, because of the complete lack of ego that Itadori displayed. Or maybe it was the look on his face, the panicked, pinched expression that reminded him so much of Tsumiki when—
Megumi cut that thought off before it could develop. It wasn’t hard, considering Itadori shouted in alarm at almost the exact same time. “Is it already 4:30? I have to go!”
He dashed past Megumi, clipping him on the shoulder on his way. Everything slowed to a stop for a moment, Megumi’s ears ringing with the echo of insanely powerful cursed energy so strong he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it was coming from Itadori before.
“Hey, you—!” Megumi turned to shout, but Itadori only waved at him in apology for bumping into him without stopping or turning to look. A few instinctual, stumbled steps after him, and Megumi pulled himself to a forced halt, rubbing at the shoulder Itadori had clocked. He was too fast—there was no way Megumi would be able to catch up to him on foot, so he might as well not waste the energy.
“Crap,” he muttered, because this—this was definitely not going to plan.
Itadori had the special grade cursed object.
Having felt it once already, it wasn’t too hard to track the cursed object to Sugisawa Hospital. There was some meandering involved—Gojo still had Ijichi with him, running whatever meaningless errands Gojo was wasting everyone’s time with—which meant Megumi was left to navigate his way there on foot, with only the traces of cursed energy to guide him to his destination.
That was why the sun was setting when Megumi finally arrived, casting the mostly empty waiting room he followed the cursed object to in brilliantly golden light.
Itadori stood at a desk with a nurse, seemingly filling out forms. Their voices were soft, but Megumi caught traces of their conversation anyway as he approached slowly, footsteps carefully muffled.
“—sure you’re okay?” the nurse asked in a soft, pitying sort of voice.
“It’s kind of my first time experiencing something like this,” Yuuji murmured. “And my grandfather wouldn’t want me to be sad, so…” His back was to Megumi, so Megumi couldn’t see his face, though he did see Itadori’s shoulders tense oddly. “It’s not like I’m alone, either, not that you’d know it. Where is he—I told him earlier today—”
“Itadori Yuuji, right?” Megumi interrupted him, too frustrated from the meandering journey over here and the urgency to resolve this before anyone died to be delicate.
“Who are you?” Itadori asked, all of his open and earnest body language from earlier closing off into tense wariness. It was peculiar how his change in demeanor changed him, shaping him into someone that almost seemed dangerous instead of someone that was wholesome if a little aloof. “I’m in mourning…”
A pang of regret spiked through Megumi, but he swallowed it down thickly. “I’m from Jujutsu High. Sorry, but we don’t have time. The cursed object you’re holding is incredibly dangerous—I need you to hand it over to me.”
Itadori glanced at the nurse quickly, before glancing at Megumi and back again. “Is there anything else?” he asked her, and Megumi tried to suppress the irritated twitch he felt at being brushed aside.
“No, that’s everything,” she responded in an equally low voice. “I’m sorry for your loss. If your—”
“Thanks,” Itadori said, so quickly he cut her off. He shuffled the papers into one pile and handed them off to her. She gave him a skeptical look but left to go file them or whatever it was she was going to do with them. Megumi realized that all of this was done so quickly for his sake when a moment later, Itadori’s full attention fell back on him. He jerked his chin in a wordless ‘let’s talk somewhere a little more private’ gesture, and though the situation was no less urgent, Megumi at least agreed that not having this conversation right in front of a hospital desk was probably for the best.
“What’s a…cursed object?” Itadori asked, dipping his head towards Megumi in a way that was almost conspiratorial.
Megumi sighed, consenting to this not going nearly as smoothly as he hoped, and pulled up the image of the cursed object that he had saved on his phone.
“This. You have it, right?”
“Hm?” Itadori leaned closer to his phone, squinting at the screen. Megumi caught a whiff of flowers off him when he leaned in—another illogical, contradictory detail to add to a long list of illogical, contradictory details. “Oh, yeah. I found it.”
Itadori leaned away, fixing Megumi with a hefty look. He looked suddenly older, wearier, more serious than he had before. “Look. I don’t really mind giving it to you, but my fellow club members wanted to look at it. So…I’d at least like an explanation.”
Megumi sighed, tucking his phone away in a pocket and leaning against the nearby wall. An explanation…well, he was probably owed that, at least, not that he’d really believe it. With how this day had been going, Megumi half expected Itadori to think he was trying to pull a weird prank on him.
“Nationally, the number of unexplained deaths and disappearances exceeds ten thousand each year,” Megumi started, looking up at the lights above him instead of at Itadori. He tried not to think about the time Gojo strode into view and uprooted his life like Megumi was about to do to this kid who played sports and had unexpected friends and…had just lost someone in this hospital. “The majority are the result of negative energy flowing out of a person. That becomes what we call a curse.”
“We?” Itadori interrupted, his brow furrowed. “A…curse?”
Suddenly furious at this colossal waste of time, Megumi snapped, “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not, I just—”
“Easy, dude,” Itadori said, raising both hands in the universal sign for surrender. “I never said I didn’t believe you, I was just asking for…I don’t know, man. A description, or something.”
Megumi stared at him blankly. Like he would believe Megumi, when he couldn’t see them himself. The pity was almost worse than the disbelief.
Except Megumi still needed that cursed object.
“Big ugly monsters,” he said, a touch sardonically. “With ugly teeth and too many eyes, usually all slimy and fat.” Itadori blinked, and Megumi scoffed, turning away from him before he could see his pity again. “Anyway, they gather in places where negative feelings are common. Prisons, schools, whatever. It’s pretty common practice to put a talisman in these areas to keep them away. That’s what you have.”
“Shouldn’t a talisman be…I don’t know. Good?”
Megumi huffed. “It’s treating poison with poison. Take something even more vile than the average curse and stick it somewhere where a lot of them gather and it’ll act like insect repellant—none of the lesser curses would want to tangle with something bigger and meaner than them. This only works because the object is sealed so thoroughly. When the seal starts to weaken, the opposite becomes true—instead of keeping curses away, it draws them closer.”
“So you think this one is…coming apart?” Itadori asked, tilting his head to the side.
“Not just that,” Megumi said, straightening up and fixing Itadori with a hard look. “The talisman placed at your school is significantly more dangerous than the average cursed object. It’s a special grade—there is no higher class of danger. Now…hand it over before someone dies.”
Itadori stared at him for a moment longer, before reaching behind him to pull a box out of his backpack. “Like I said.” He tossed it carelessly over, and Megumi’s relief at having it in his hands was so strong he could almost taste it. “I don’t care. But you should explain it to my friends since they wanted to—”
Megumi slid the lid of the box open and his blood ran ice cold.
What I followed all the way here was just the lingering traces of cursed energy from the box?!
“Where is it?” Megumi demanded, gathering a fistful of Itadori’s stupid mustard yellow hoodie and dragging him closer.
“Shit, man, quit with the manhandling! You’re almost as bad as—”
“Where are the contents of this box?!” Megumi interrupted furiously.
“I was trying to tell you,” Itadori said, his eyes wide even as he placed a hand on Megumi’s wrist in an attempt to pry him off. “The other members of the Occult Research Club have it.”
Megumi tightened his grip on Itadori’s hoodie. “Where do they live?”
“Somewhere in the Izumi district,” Itadori said, before he went a little slack. Only because he was so close could Megumi see when his eyes filled with horror.
“What?” Megumi asked, already feeling a familiar spike of horror-nervousness himself. “What’s with that face?”
“They said they were going to sneak into the school to open it tonight,” Itadori breathed, his grip on Megumi’s wrist tightening. “You don’t think—”
“They’re going to die,” Megumi said, finally releasing Itadori’s hood. “They’re going to—if that seal comes off, your friends are—”
Itadori hadn’t let go of his wrist, despite the fact that Megumi had let go of his hood, and now he was staring heavily, his grip slowly tightening bit by bit.
“I believe you,” he said, like Megumi had asked him to, like it mattered if he believed Megumi or not. Maybe it did, a traitorous part of his mind whispered.
“That doesn’t matter,” Megumi said anyway.
Itadori didn’t say anything, but he did finally release Megumi’s wrist.
“Let’s go,” he said, and for some reason, Megumi couldn’t correct him. Megumi was going to go, Itadori was going to stay—or better yet, go home—and yet, Megumi’s mouth didn’t cooperate when he asked it to speak. “I know a shortcut.”
“Lead the way,” Megumi said, his words unhindered so long as he acquiesced to this nonsensical boy who might be leading them both to death.
And then, against all reason, he followed that nonsensical boy anyway.
“These curses,” Itadori began, almost conversational despite the dead sprint he was moving at. “How long have you been able to see them?”
Megumi wheezed. He huffed. He felt like he was dying. “Does it matter?” he asked, temperamental and very tired of running in the dark to save people that were probably already dead.
“I mean,” Itadori began, as easily as if he was reclining on a beach and sipping a cool beverage instead of sprinting to save his friends, “I guess not. I’m just…” And then he mumbled something that Megumi largely didn’t understand, other than the word ‘validation’ being thrown in there somewhere.
“I thought you believed me,” Megumi said. He was mostly joking, not that Itadori could tell with all the wheezing and dying and Megumi’s general lack of inflection even on the best of days.
“I do!” Itadori immediately defended. “I just—I wanted to—wait a minute!” He turned his head to Megumi, eyes almost accusing. “This seal—can it even be removed by a regular person?”
“No,” Megumi said. “At least not normally. But this one is so old that the seal is practically just paper. Even someone without any cursed energy could peel it off.”
“Cursed energy…” Itadori repeated. “Like—like being stupid strong or something? Stronger than a normal human would be?”
“You don’t have cursed energy,” Megumi said quickly. “The strength thing is abnormal, sure, but whatever it is—it’s something else.”
“No, I know,” Itadori said quickly. “I was just, uh…asking for someone else.”
Megumi rolled his eyes at that, but didn’t bother to respond…especially considering they had made it to the school already.
Itadori came to an abrupt stop, all of his limbs freezing so suddenly it was like he had met Medusa’s gaze. “What’s this feeling?” he asked. “The pressure, it’s like…”
“Malignant cursed energy,” Megumi answered, already surveying the school. This situation was a lot worse than he wanted it to be. Should he call Gojo? No. He wasn’t a little kid anymore. He didn’t need Gojo Satoru of all people to swoop in and save him. He needed to minimize casualties as much as possible, though, which meant it was time to say goodbye to Itadori.
“You stay here,” Megumi said, straightening and adjusting his collar. “Tell me where the club room is.”
“Hold on!” Itadori said, suddenly jerking towards him. “You can’t go in there alone. This is bad, right?”
“You’re only going to get in the way, Itadori,” Megumi said, and then regretted it slightly when he saw the look on Itadori’s face. Hard edges and steel, like he was about to rush in there anyway, regardless of who told him no. “Listen, I know they’re your friends. But if you want there to be any chance of them surviving this, you need to stay here.”
“At least give me your phone so I can call someone for help.” Megumi’s face darkened, and Itadori seemed to recognize it was a hard no, since he didn’t push it. “Or your name?”
“...Fushiguro,” Megumi said, because it really was the least he could do, and then he climbed the steps leading to the high school’s main entrance alone.
The school was haunting in the darkness, composed entirely of too long shadows and the heavy weight of curses. It was also eerily silent, though that wasn’t anything uncommon with these cursed sites—instinct tended to encourage people to be quiet and hide, if they managed to escape the initial attack.
He found the club room, despite the lack of directions, and to his horror, he didn’t find anyone in it. They must have already left—curses and Occult Research club members alike—which was bad news for him. And them, really. Even for Itadori, who hadn’t gone home when Megumi left, who was waiting outside for friends that would probably never be saved.
Just when he was about to go looking for a cursed spirit, the cursed spirit found him, dropping from the ceiling with more force than was really natural for something that had just appeared from nothing. It was weak, incredibly so, nothing more than a hand attached to a stumpy little leg with way more eyes than were needed or logical. Megumi skittered out of the way all the same, his hands already coming up to form a familiar shape.
“Divine Dogs,” he said, as they were already forming out of the shadows around him, liquid darkness drooping off of them as they developed. “Go and feast.”
The curse was no match for the Divine Dogs. The whole ordeal was done and over within only a few seconds, the curse was exorcized as soon as the Divine Dogs sank their teeth into it. It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, because as soon as Megumi turned another corner, two more curses appeared. They were taken care of as easily as the first was, but that was the end of his smooth sailing.
The next curse was clearly the one that was causing the majority of the trouble here. It was big and ugly—like he’d said to Itadori—tiny little arms crawling all over its body. It was holding both of the people Itadori had been talking to on the field earlier—the girl with the glasses and the guy with the weirdly large lips—and its goal was clear. Consume them both and the finger all at once. And a good portion of the consuming on all accounts was already done.
He was too late. His first solo mission, and two people were going to die on his watch.
The window broke.
The window broke because Itadori was literally leaping through it, they were on the fourth floor, what the fuck—
“Itadori?!” Megumi shouted, and it somehow managed to be a question, a reprimand, and a thanks all at once.
Itadori slammed foot first into the curse—clearly able to see it despite being completely incapable before—and grabbed both of his friends by their shirts, hauling them swiftly out of the curse’s hold and down the hall. Not towards Megumi, but around the corner. Still safe, but not as safe as they could have been.
Well. It was about time to stop standing here and looking stupid.
Megumi surged forward, knocking the curse back against the wall with ease, a blast of cursed energy exorcizing it into a steaming puddle of goo. He breathed out a sigh of relief—it was a good thing Itadori came when he did, as embarrassing as it was to be saved by a non-sorcerer. Especially a non-sorcerer he had already told to not get involved multiple times.
But, then again, Itadori had just saved two lives while Megumi had stood there and watched, so…
“Normally I’d be mad,” he admitted, because that was true, “but good job.”
“Seriously?” Itadori asked, incredulous. “I just saved your life, dude. You could say thanks.”
“You saved their lives,” Megumi corrected, nodding towards Itadori’s club members. “I was fine.”
“Whatever,” Itadori said, with an air of fondness that was…detectable, but confusing. “What are those things eating the, uh, curse?”
“You can see them?” Megumi asked, glancing back at his Divine Dogs himself. “It’s not unheard of, necessarily. Sometimes, when exceptionally frightened or in special places, people can see curses when they wouldn’t normally be able to.”
“That makes sense,” Itadori said. Megumi noticed with a peculiar flare of emotion that he was still carrying the girl—maybe they were closer than what they seemed initially. “I’ve never seen ghosts before, now that I think about it.”
Something was off, though, about how he said it.
“Not scared?” Megumi guessed, because…he didn’t actually seem to be. He wasn’t trembling or even frowning. If anything he seemed almost happy.
“I mean, I was!” Itadori defended, though he wasn’t able to hide his smile when he glanced at Megumi that time. “It’s just—I know it’s crazy, but…I’m glad I’m seeing that thing, even if it’s only for now. It’s long enough to be real.”
“And that’s a good thing?” Megumi questioned, incredulous.
Itadori laughed. “No. Yes. Yes and no. It doesn’t really matter, I guess, unless you want an asshole for a friend.”
“...What?”
Itadori sobered suddenly, adjusting his grip on his club member. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, as something small and brown fell out of his friend’s pocket and landed on the ground. Itadori leaned to pick it up, effortlessly, as if he wasn’t holding an entire human being with one arm. “This must be—”
“The special grade cursed object,” Megumi finished, watching the finger out of the corner of his eye. He could feel it already, wave after wave of negative energy, more powerful than anything he had ever encountered before. “Ryoumen Sukuna’s finger.”
“Sukuna?” Itadori repeated, in a startled way.
Megumi sighed, tired already of explaining everything to him, and held out his hand. “Just give it to me already, Itadori.”
“No. I mean, yes, I will. Just that name, it’s—”
There was a new feeling of cursed energy, and Megumi flicked his eyes upwards just in time to see the curse drooping from the ceiling over Itadori’s head. He forgot about the finger for just a moment, seeing only a future where this weird, overly considerate kid who had just lost…someone—he’d said he was in mourning at the hospital, anyway—died because he got caught in Megumi’s mess. He reacted on instinct to that thought, even though he could have grabbed the finger—should have grabbed the finger—and lunged forward, shoving Itadori out of the way with all the strength he could muster.
“Run!” he shouted, his Divine Dogs following the command before he even gave it to Itadori, racing past and grabbing the other student on their way. The curse landed on top of Megumi—solely on top of Megumi—and he felt his head slam hard against the ground right before the cool vileness of the curse’s fingers wrapped around his torso, lifting him up into the air.
“Fushiguro!” Itadori shouted, as if he’d known Megumi for years, as if it would help, and Megumi wrestled with his body to raise his hands, folding them into another familiar shape so he could call for Nue. The curse didn’t seem to like this, though, considering it was at that moment that the curse decided to throw Megumi against the nearest wall, as hard as it could.
Dazed and distracted as he slid down the wall, Megumi finally managed to put together that it was the curse from the rugby field. The grade two.
“Hey!” Itadori shouted, right as the curse slammed into Megumi, sending them both careening through the wall Megumi had landed against. He landed without even a bit of grace, slamming onto the roof of a nearby building and then collapsing backwards from there. His head was spinning—or more accurately the sky was spinning when he tried to look at it—and he felt something hot and sticky on his face. Blood, probably, though it was hard to say where it was coming from.
Fuck. He needed to—he needed to fight—
Megumi dragged himself most of the way upright, trying to bring his hands together into the call for Nue. He was struggling, though, the muscle memory that was normally so easy to call on faltering.
The curse landed on the roof beside him, big and ugly and no real trouble at all, except Megumi had been playing hero instead of being smart, and now he was going to die to a fucking grade two—
There was something yellow falling from the sky, wasn’t there?
No, not something. Some one. Itadori.
He slammed into the curse with a kick, sending it careening backwards even if he couldn’t manage to exorcise it. Itadori landed on his feet beside Megumi, looking back for only a moment before fixating back on the curse. It was like that moment with the nurse earlier—he was clearing out distractions so he could give Megumi his full attention again.
What a fucking joke.
“You good?” Itadori half-yelled, half-asked.
“Why the hell,” Megumi said, stabilizing himself with his hands, “are you so fucking strong?”
Itadori laughed. “Call it a curse if you want. Fushiguro, you okay?”
“I thought I told you to run away,” Megumi said, instead of answering.
“Forget that, man,” Itadori said. “You think I’d leave you now? I’d never forgive myself.”
“Itadori,” Megumi said, because this was stupid. He was stupid. That curse was more than recovered from that measly little kick Itadori aimed at it, and Itadori still had the finger.
“Don’t worry, Fushiguro,” Itadori said, even though he looked plenty worried himself, and slammed his fist into the curse. It knocked it back again, but predictably didn’t do much else. The curse retaliated, slamming into Itadori with an unholy screech and sending him sprawling on the patch of pavement beside Megumi.
“You can’t exorcise it,” Megumi told him. “Only a curse can kill a curse.”
“You could have told me sooner,” Itadori grumbled, as he picked himself up onto his hands and knees.
“I told you to run, didn’t I?” Megumi snapped. Then, “Itadori, watch out!”
The warning wasn’t any good, though. Itadori managed to roll to the side, but that only meant he rolled into the second hand instead of the one reaching for him. Megumi stumbled towards him but lost his balance, tipping over before he could even make contact. The curse reeled back, Itadori in hand—and the finger— its jaws parting and its teeth flashing as it apparently got the same idea the curse inside had…a two for one kind of deal.
“The finger!” Itadori yelled, though he was looking at Megumi. “Why does it want to eat the finger?”
“It—” Megumi tripped over his words, struck by the sudden instinct to not answer Itadori’s question but not knowing why he shouldn’t. “It’s a powerful cursed object, if it managed to consume it, then its power would…”
“Grow?” Itadori guessed, eying the finger in his hand strangely now. “So if the problem is me not having cursed energy or whatever, then what I need to do is…get some?”
“No,” Megumi said, realizing all at once what he meant to do. “Don’t you dare. Itadori, you’ll die. I swear you’ll die. Just—just toss it—the curse will follow the finger—”
“Don’t lie to me, Fushiguro,” Itadori said, though there was a forgiving gleam in his eye. “I’ve already been caught, so I’m dead either way, right?”
“Itadori, you dumbass—” But Itadori had already tossed the finger up, up, up into the air, opening his mouth wide so he could catch it…
…only for the finger to bounce off his chin, off the curse’s arm, and onto the roof below them. It rolled, rolling and rolling all the way to the edge of the roof, too far for Megumi to grab it. The curse paused for a moment, clearly debating the merits of finishing Itadori off or grabbing the finger, when a hand appeared at the edge of the roof, followed by the toe of a boot followed by—by—
This concussion must be worse than I thought, was Megumi’s first thought, when he realized he was hallucinating a second Itadori standing on the roof. But—no. No, this Itadori was dressed very differently, with his combat boots and ripped jeans, and his hair—despite also being pink, for some godforsaken reason—was swept back. Megumi could only stare as the second Itadori stooped, nonchalant, and picked up the finger that everyone and their grandmother had just been squabbling over.
All of this was not nearly as weird as what came next.
“Sukuna!” Itadori—the first Itadori—shouted. “You asswipe!”
Sukuna? Megumi’s thoughts repeated dumbly. As in…?
“What?” the second Itadori said in a voice that was eerily similar to his Itadori’s just…like what his Itadori would probably sound like if he had a cold. His eyes flicked coolly up to survey the scene, and he clicked his tongue as if disapproving of what he found there. “Yuuji.”
“Don’t just ‘what, Yuuji’ me!” Itadori the First cried, squirming in outrage in the curse’s grasp now. The curse, at least, seemed just as dumbfounded as Megumi was for the time being. “Grandpa died, fuckface! He died, and I was the only one there! I had to do paperwork, Sukuna!”
“I’m more concerned with the…” Itadori the Second started to say, his eyes on the curse, before they flicked down to the cursed object in his hand. “Is this a finger?” he asked, seemingly unbothered by the curse holding his—the first Itadori.
Which Megumi knew he must see, because unlike the first Itadori, the second was wrapped in cursed energy. So much so that it was hard to believe a thousand sorcerers hadn’t already showed up on his doorstep to recruit him. He might have been more powerful than Megumi, even, and Megumi was self-aware enough to know he wasn’t exactly weak.
Unfortunately, though, the question seemed to only serve to remind the curse of its purpose there, and it once again resumed trying to eat Itadori. The Itadori it had already caught, anyway.
“Give it to me!” Itadori the First shouted. “I need to eat it!”
“The finger?” Itadori the Second asked, wrinkling his nose. “The human finger that was just rolling around on the ground ?”
“I have to!” Itadori the First insisted, planting one sneaker on the teeth of the curse and desperately trying to keep himself out of its mouth while also trying to pry its fingers off of his waist. “It’s either I eat it, or this thing does!”
“It looks like that thing is a little preoccupied with eating you,” Itadori the Second said, in a neutral tone. “Hang on. You can see it?”
“Fushiguro says,” Itadori the First huffed, while trying to kick the curse’s teeth in and somehow, impressively, kind of succeeding at it despite not having cursed energy, “That it happens sometimes when you’re scared or—what? Facing death? In a special place? I don’t remember—I was more focused on the fucking monster trying to eat my friends.”
“You have friends ?” Itadori the Second asked, sounding disingenuous in a way that Megumi had previously only thought Gojo capable of. “And who is Fushiguro?”
“Club members!” Itadori the First corrected, in the sort of tone that people usually used when they were conceding to an argument they really didn’t want to lose. He didn’t answer the second question.
“That’s more like the Yuuji I know,” Itadori the Second said. “I told you joining an Occult Research club was a bad idea.”
“Not all of us are heartless bastards who can just—” Itadori the First took a break to actually kick one of the curse’s teeth out, causing the thing to screech in pain. “—skive off school and ignore their dying grandfather—”
“ Yuuji ,” Itadori the Second said, in a lilting drawl that had to mean something. “I’m experiencing the strangest urge to consume filthy human remains just to spite you for saying that.”
Which reminded Megumi—he had an actual job to be doing here instead of witnessing this—whatever this was.
“Don’t you dare!” Itadori the First shouted, at the same time that Megumi finally managed to put his fingers together in the correct formation and actually summon Nue.
Nue flew towards where the curse was holding Itadori—the preferable Itadori—talons extended towards the curse’s fingers. Nue was enough to send the arm up in smoke on the first run if not exorcise the curse entirely, and Itadori yelped as he was dropped suddenly, his ankle twisting in a way that could not be good as he landed awkwardly on the ground. With Itadori no longer distracting the curse, it now turned its full attention towards the other Itadori—the one still holding the finger.
“Oh,” Sukuna said, a sadistic grin sliding across his face. “You do want the finger, don’t you? Hey, Yuuji,” he added, turning to look at the Itadori on the ground. “What does eating the finger do? Make you god?”
“No,” Itadori said, in a way that made it very obvious to everyone on the roof that he was lying.
“Cool,” the other Itadori said, before holding the finger up like he was making a toast. “Fuck you very much.”
“Sukuna,” Itadori said, his eyes going wide in response. “Don’t do it just because—”
“It’s like you said, brother,” the Itadori that apparently shared a name with the King of Curses said. “It’s eat or be eaten, right?”
And before Megumi could so much as blink, Itadori Sukuna had tipped his head back and swallowed the finger of Ryoumen Sukuna.
“No!” Megumi shouted, though he wasn’t sure what it would accomplish.
Normally, anyone human—even a jujutsu sorcerer—would explode on contact if they ate one of Sukuna’s fingers, their body destroying itself in a horrific way as it tried to expel the curse in its system. But there was a chance, a one in a million chance, that instead…
Tattoos manifested themselves on Sukuna’s skin, appearing as lazily as ink drifting in water. His nails—already painted black—lengthened, looking more like claws than fingernails. The curse didn’t pause in its charge, even as Sukuna held out one arm, flicking it out of existence with barely a movement at all.
There were two courses of action here—attempt to fight the King of fucking Curses, or grab the Itadori that was crumpled on the ground and staring at his—fuck but they had to be brothers, didn’t they? Even twins, maybe—with wide eyes and run for it.
Megumi got as far as hauling a shocked Itadori to his feet by the fistful of yellow fabric of his hoodie and slinging a hasty arm around his waist before Sukuna breathed in deeply, the eyes that appeared on his cheeks rolling as they opened.
“Oh, what a time to be alive,” he said, his already gravelly voice somehow raspier.
Sukuna had been reincarnated.
“I’ve never felt this much power,” Sukuna continued, flexing his fingers. He climbed up on the edge of the roof, cackling as he spread his arms wide. “Imagine what I could do, who I could do…”
Megumi tightened his grip on Itadori’s hoodie. He had to do something while Sukuna was distracted—exorcise him, ideally—but his tongue was once again sticking to the roof of his mouth. Maybe it was the fact that Sukuna looked so much like the Itadori Megumi had spent the better part of an evening fighting evil with, or the fact that Sukuna was Itadori’s brother and there was something exceptionally cruel about killing someone’s brother in front of them.
Itadori collected a fistful of Megumi’s jacket where it fell at his waist, bracing and grounding all at once, both supporting Megumi and using Megumi for support.
“Sukuna!” he shouted dauntlessly, and Megumi almost slapped him. “Cut it out already!”
Sukuna paid him no heed, tearing his shirt over his head and throwing it on the ground. He was sculpted, more sculpted than any teenager that looked the same age as him had any right to be. “I could kill so many things—”
“Sukuna!” Itadori yelled, with more force. “You suck!”
It was this that managed to catch Sukuna’s attention, and Megumi wasn’t certain if he wanted to slap Itadori and throw him to the wolves or call Nue back to fly them both out of there as fast as possible.
“Excuse you?” Sukuna said. “I just saved your life, dumbass. A little groveling is in order, don’t you think?”
Itadori huffed, leaning more of his body weight against Megumi. He was weakening, it seemed—the extent of his injuries might be worse than what they looked to be. “Don’t worry about him, Fushiguro,” he muttered. “He’s always been an asshat. The tattoos and extra eyes are new, though.”
“Fushiguro?” Sukuna echoed, flicking his gaze over to Megumi. He licked his lips in a way that seemed entirely too seductive for Megumi’s comfort level, his expression tipping into something that could only be described as a leer. “Oh, you’re a pretty one, aren’t you?”
Beside him, Itadori let out a long sigh.
“You,” Megumi said, fumbling for words and trying to disguise it with an awkward pause, “are no longer human.”
“Hm?” Sukuna questioned.
“What?” Itadori added.
The words were coming a lot easier now. “Under Jujutsu Regulations, I will exorcise the curse known as Ryoumen Sukuna!”
He let go of Itadori’s hoodie, freeing up his hands and giving him an opportunity to summon a shikigami. Which one, though?
“Fushiguro, wait!” Itadori shouted, moving surprisingly quickly despite his previous lethargy to lower Megumi’s hands.
At the same time, Sukuna said, “I don’t give a fuck about any regulations, pretty boy. Look at me—hotness like this can’t be regulated. Yuuji, your arm candy is absolutely out of line—”
“My what?” Itadori spluttered.
“So, he’s not taken then? Oh, good for me—”
“Can you—can you not think about sex for one second—”
“What else am I supposed to think about when you’re the one bringing attractive little twinks to fights and—”
Which was an embarrassing enough thing to hear said, for not just Megumi but literally everyone involved except maybe Sukuna, and to make matters worse, it was also, naturally, the precise moment that Gojo’s voice—because even his voice was as inconvenient as the rest of him—appeared right by Megumi’s ear to say, “What’s the situation?”
“Gojo-sensei,” Megumi said in surprise, before immediately regretting it, because any show of genuine emotion was something Gojo could relentlessly tease him about for the next three to six months. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to come,” Gojo said, taking one hand out of his pocket to greet Megumi. “But then the higher ups heard about a special grade cursed object going missing and got involved, so I agreed to come along if I got time to see the sights first—wow, you are seriously messed up.” A phone was in Gojo’s hand faster than Megumi could blink, or protest, or do anything at all, and he quickly and infuriatingly snapped both a picture of Megumi and a picture of a wide-eyed Itadori, who he was still somewhat supporting. “Imagine if the second years saw you like this! So. Did you find it?”
“You,” Sukuna announced, pointing a clawed finger at Gojo, “look like a fucking Q-tip.”
“At least I don’t look like cotton candy,” Gojo said amicably.
“Because looking like a twig is so much better,” Sukuna said. “Bet I could snap you in half if I wanted to. Break you like a fucking Kit-Kat—”
“Sukuna,” Itadori said, voice wavering in a placating way. “Don’t make things worse.”
“Oh! Look at you!” Gojo said, looking between them. “Twins? Are you twins? I bet you’re twins.”
“Um…sorry, but can you even see?” Itadori asked. “You’re wearing a blindfold…”
Gojo laughed like Itadori had just told a great joke. “Don’t sweat the small stuff, friend of Megumi’s. Speaking of, what’s your name?”
“Itadori Yuuji.”
“So, Yuuji-kun and you are…?”
“I’m not telling you my name,” Sukuna said, folding his arms over his chest. “You haven’t earned it.”
“He’s Sukuna,” Itadori said.
“Do you want to fucking die?” Sukuna said, turning to glare at Itadori too.
“He ate the cursed object,” Megumi said, gesturing to Sukuna.
“Ryoumen Sukuna?” Gojo asked, appearing, for once, bewildered.
“Ryoumen? Where did that come from?” Sukuna barked a high, slightly deranged laugh. “You just asked if we’re twins. Obviously my name is Itadori Sukuna.”
“What is even happening,” Itadori muttered, in a vaguely distressed way.
“And you…ate Sukuna’s finger?”
“I didn’t eat my own fucking finger?” Sukuna said, raising his eyebrow. “Fucking—what?”
“Sukuna,” Itadori said, in a pleading way. “The finger. It belonged to some scary guy a thousand years ago. His name was Sukuna too.”
Sukuna shuddered. “Do not ever, and I mean ever, explain something to me again. The indecency. Me. Needing an explanation from you. You, who’s dumber than a box of rocks.”
“Even rocks have feelings, Sukuna!” Itadori protested, his face screwing up in protest.
“No they do not,” Sukuna said. “Idiot—woah! Personal space, asshole!”
This last part was directed to Gojo, who had swooped in to study Sukuna more closely.
“He definitely ate the finger,” Gojo confirmed.
“Why would anyone lie about that?” Sukuna asked, glaring at him. “It’s not exactly something to be proud of. Or maybe it is? Not everyone would eat nasty, thousand year old fingers just to spite their brother. I have nerve.”
“Oh my god, Sukuna,” Itadori whined. “It was not that important to me.”
“It seemed pretty important when you were over there screaming your head off about it.”
“Feeling any murderous urges?” Gojo asked.
“Towards you? Definitely.”
“Hm,” Gojo said.
“Murderous urges are normal for Sukuna,” Itadori said, like he was trying to be helpful. “He’s—he’s good, okay? He’s my brother, I know him better than anyone. He’s an asshole—he’s always been an asshole—and he didn’t come to the hospital even though he knew our grandfather was dying. And he tries to pretend like he’s bad by—by flirting with everyone and vandalizing school property and starting fights—but he’s good. Okay?”
Itadori looked at Megumi then, earnestness and genuinity swimming in his brown eyes like fish in a pond. This wasn’t just a plea to Gojo, it was a plea to him, too. Don’t kill my brother just because he ate the finger. Whatever you expected to happen isn’t happening. He’s good, okay?
Megumi looked away quickly. “You can’t deny that feeling murderous urges towards you isn’t exactly out of the ordinary, Gojo-sensei.”
“Is that so?” Sukuna said, almost immediately turning his sly grin back on Megumi. “Defending me already, Megumi? I can already tell—you’re going to be a fun one.”
Megumi twitched. “I take it back.”
Gojo laughed, but carried on with his interrogation. “Is your hair naturally pink, Sukuna?”
“Do you really think anyone would dye their hair pink?”
“Hey!” Itadori cried. “Don’t insult the hair! The hair is our winning feature!”
“And your eyes,” Gojo continued. “Naturally red?”
“No? They’re red?”
“You also have four of them,” Itadori contributed helpfully.
Dumbassery apparently ran in the family, because this prompted Sukuna to poke at his own eyeball, hiding out on one of his cheeks. He flinched away with an overly dramatic, “What the fuck?”
“You’re a sorcerer?” Gojo asked.
“No,” Sukuna responded, still a little surly over the eye poking thing.
“He is,” Itadori said, with sudden and surprising force.
“Shut your mouth,” Sukuna snapped, an edge of ferocity in his voice that was so primal Megumi almost took a step back.
“I don’t know what a sorcerer is, but he sees them,” Itadori continued. “Curses, cursed spirits, whatever. He sees them like Fushiguro. He always has.”
“You aren’t helping,” Sukuna snapped.
Something clicked for Megumi. Itadori’s expression when he saw the cursed spirit, the glee, pure and unfiltered. It wasn’t because he was enjoying himself—it was because he was finally seeing something that his brother had probably been telling him about since the day he was born.
He really was like Zen’in Maki, in a very different kind of way.
“So you aren’t a vessel, at least not how I would ordinarily think of a vessel,” Gojo concluded. “And you aren’t Ryoumen Sukuna either. So…what are you?”
“I already told you—” Sukuna snarled, right when Gojo pressed two fingers to his forehead. Sukuna paused for only a moment before his eyes rolled back into his head, and he tipped forward into Gojo’s arms, the tattoos fading from his body as he did.
He looked so peaceful all of a sudden, with his eyes closed and his expression wiped.
Itadori took a stumbling step forward, before tripping over his bad ankle. “What did you do to him?” he demanded, right before Gojo turned around and pressed two fingers to his forehead too. Megumi was left to catch Itadori since Gojo was still holding up Sukuna, wheezing as Itadori’s full body-weight landed in his arms. What did this kid eat , honestly—
“I only knocked them out,” Gojo said, half-turning to look at Megumi instead. “It’s strange—both of them are. But…if Sukuna here wakes up as himself instead of Ryoumen Sukuna…he might have potential.”
“And Itadori?” Megumi asked. “What happens to him?”
“That depends, largely, on what happens to Sukuna,” Gojo said.
“Itadori doesn’t have any cursed energy,” Megumi said.
“Oh? He does where I’m standing,” Gojo said, casual as could be.
Megumi glanced down at the boy in his arms, blinking as he realized—there was something there. Something that hadn’t been there before—a slow trickle, a change, a sign that his life would never be the same again.
“Question for you, Megumi,” Gojo said, hefting Sukuna upright. “What do you think I should do with this one?”
Megumi had known Itadori Yuuji for less than a day. In less than a day he’d seen him turn down popularity in favor of helping a small time club. He’d seen him race to a hospital to visit a dying grandfather, and then immediately take time out of his mourning period to talk to Megumi about a cursed object. He led Megumi back to his friends, fought curses for them, saved Megumi even though Megumi was the one that had been too useless to do it right the first time.
He was kind, brave, and selfless. He’d defended his brother to the end, even as they fought one another. If Sukuna were to die now…what would that do to him? What kind of person would that make him into?
Surely not a better one.
“Regardless of whether he’s a vessel or not, Sukuna consumed a special grade cursed object. Regulations would mandate he dies, no matter what, and even if they didn’t, the elders would never let a sorcerer that already bears so much apparent resemblance to Ryoumen Sukuna himself survive, regardless of how good he was or wasn’t.” Megumi took a deep breath, lifting his chin to look Gojo in the eyes, even with the blindfold as a buffer. “But I don’t want him to die.”
Gojo was silent for a moment, even though his lips had stretched into a smile. It was rare, really, for Gojo to come anywhere close to resembling genuine emotion, and yet in this moment…in this moment, Megumi knew he was dealing with the real Gojo.
“Is that a personal opinion?” Gojo asked, with his genuine, sad little smile.
“Yes, it’s a personal opinion,” Megumi returned. “Please save him.”
A dip of the chin, a moment where he turned his face to the right, and Gojo said, “Alright.” A moment later, the mask had slipped back over his face, and he was suddenly back to the Gojo Megumi always hated the most. “A request from a dear student? Leave it to me!”
But.
“Thank you,” Megumi said.
For all the masks he wore, Gojo was rarely ever a liar.