Chapter Text
Something smells.
There’s…laughter.
Why do you feel so heavy?
“...light…best in…esh…”
Someone there?
“...curse…fle…so…ring…”
Something rips.
“Where…peop…the women?!”
What?
“...wonderful era…”
Era?
“Women…children…crawl…rywhere like…”
You focus on the voice.
“Marvelous!”
How? Why?
“It’ll be a massacre!”
You reach out and blindly try to grab the person…creature? Thing? Doesn’t matter right now, you keep reaching and reaching until you feel something utterly wrong and dark in front of you and yank it back away from the forefront. The distant laughter cuts off and suddenly—
You blink at your top-half exposed body. You immediately wrap your arms around yourself and turn away—
You then pivot in the opposite direction because there’s someone else here!
“What the fuck?” You hiss under your breath, face burning with embarrassment. Someone else is here with you on this— what is this? The rooftop? — and probably— no, most definitely seen your breasts—!
“Don’t move,” You freeze at the serious voice behind you, male by the sounds of it. Well, doesn’t that paint a pretty picture of the situation you find yourself in. “You’re no longer human. Under Jujutsu regulations, Itadori Yuuji, I will exorcise you as a curse!”
Heh…?
You stiffly turn around and over your shoulder to see your kidnapper— that is a child. That is a stupidly spikey black-haired child, a bleeding teenager, who’s glaring at you with true fear in his eyes. He’s also wearing some strange dark clothes and is kneeling on one leg, fists clenched reaching out at you. When you include whatever the fuck he just spouted at you a second ago, you would’ve surmised he was a very passionate cosplayer or something instead of your kidnapper. His fucking shadow doing a very weird, ink-like, rippling dance around him says otherwise. But nevermind any of that, he is still bleeding .
“What the fuck,” You whisper with absolute stress in your voice as you tentatively turn around to properly face him. You’re still covering your chest. “Dude, we need to get you to an ER.”
Then something seems to…retreat inside your body. Very confused and very concerned, you take a glance at yourself and see black markings disappearing from your bod— this is not your body. This is— wha— this is not your body.
“What the fuck…” At this point, you’re a broken recorder. But can anyone blame you? You’re in someone else’s body and it’s not the same fucking gender. And you feel like you’re suffocating under a certain heavy gaze you cannot see.
You take another glance at the boy in front of you and, yep, his shadow is still being weird, and he’s still in that weird position, and why the fuck do you feel like you’ve seen all of this before?
“What’s the situation?”
…
Holy shit, you seriously got fucking iseki-ed .
“Gojo-sensei?!” The boy, Megumi , your mind supplies, drops his hands followed by his shadow dispersing as he whirls around to look at fucking Gojo Satoru. I mean, seriously, who can forget that iconic white hair and blindfold combo?! “Why are you here?”
“Hey~!” Gojo waves at his student with an easy grin, “I wasn’t planning on coming but man, you’re all roughed up. The second-years are gonna love this.” And then proceeds to publicly humiliate Megumi as he spams the button on his phone, the camera flashing and the snapshot sounds growing rapidly.
Hello? Sir? The child is bleeding. Please take him to that lady doctor of yours already. You internally plead as you blankly stare at the scene in front of you.
“The higher-ups wouldn’t shut up about a missing special-grade cursed object while I was sightseeing so I stopped by,” The man-child finally relents as he scrolls down the screen on his phone instead (the heathen uses light mode) before glancing back at Megumi. “So, did you find it?”
Here you go, say the line, “Um,” you raise your a hand, garnering Gojo’s attention before continuing, “I ate it…sorry?” Nailed it.
A beat.
“For real?” If the situation wasn’t so bizarre right now and you didn’t feel like you were being watched, you would’ve burst out laughing at the obvious disbelief in Gojo’s voice and that frozen smile of his.
“For real,” you and Megumi both simultaneously answer.
Then Gojo is suddenly very close to you, startling you back as you take a step away from him and your— no, Yuuji’s arms tighten around his chest. You tense under the other’s stare. “Damn, it really did combine with you,” Gojo chuckles as he leans away from your space, “That’s hilarious.”
You beg to differ, sir. The child that’s maybe gone and you possibly indirectly killed (you’ll deal with that later) ate a crusty, mummified finger and now you’re dealing with the consequences.
“Anything off with your body?”
This is not your body. You give him a shake of the head as in ‘no’.
“Can you swap out with Sukuna?”
Your unwanted roommate seemed to perk up and you furrowed your brows at Gojo. “Why?”
“I wanna test something,” You sent the man-child an annoyed glare for his vague reply and he chuckled as he waved a hand, “How well can you control the curse?”
That just makes you frown even deeper. You understand what he’s doing but the problem is you’re not Itadori Yuuji. If you swap out— whenever you figure out how to, that’s another problem fuck— you could lose control of this body and let what basically amounts to the fucking devil run berserk.
“Just give us ten seconds,” Gojo’s confident voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you see him stretching, preparing for the small clash. “Once that time is up, come back to us.”
He says that so easily. “But…”
“Don’t worry, I’m the strongest,” You give the cocky man a dry stare as that manga panel of his dead expression on a Twitter post pops up in your brain. Again, the curse inside you perks up but this time—
Brat, let me out.
You sharply inhale as that baritone voice resonates in your— it’s not yours— head, malicious blood lust oozing from Sukuna. It’s suffocating.
Do not make me repeat myself.
Your frown turns into a blank expression as you feel sparks of anger making their appearance under all of your fears and that overwhelming dark miasma. His condescending tone pisses you off.
…You’ll lose anyway. You mentally retort.
Then you relinquish your control over this body— it was uncannily easy, almost as natural as breathing— and fall back. That malicious aura comes to the forefront as you settle in the back of your mind and watch the show.
It was…chaotic, destructive, so disorienting. The fight between Gojo and Sukuna first shown on screen is nothing compared to real life. You can only watch in awe and terror as the latter sweeps a large wave of debris at Gojo before it’s revealed he’s unscathed. All of that in almost ten seconds…that does not bode well for the future battles you’ll be facing.
Just as it was easy to give up your control, taking it back from Sukuna was a breeze. Guess it doesn’t matter if the soul is different. As long as there’s a warden and they have the keycard, they’ll keep watch over the cell which, in this case, is this stupidly strong body.
“I’m never doing that again,” You proclaim as soon as you return to control.
The man-child just laughs as he drops his handsign and the debris falls. “That’s fair. But now, we have confirmation you can really control it! Yay~!”
While that’s a reassuring statement to hear— however temporary— you can’t help but send him a dry stare. This guy is in his late twenties, right? Can’t he act like it a little more?
“Now then~” He strides towards you with an easy grin, two fingers sticking out and reaching for the forehead.
In response, you take a few steps back from him, expression wary as you ask, “What are you doing?”
“Knocking you unconscious,” he bluntly replied.
You slowly blink at him, feeling a headache blossoming. In your peripheral vision, you spy Megumi giving you a commiserative look. “Can you not?”
“No,” he beams.
And then your eyes roll back as you lose consciousness.
Ah…he got me by the neck.
“Morning~”
You blearily blink your eyes open, finding yourself staring at unfamiliar shoes and pants. This is not what you wore last night.
Alarmed, you shot up in your seat, only you didn’t make it that far as your arms were restrained by thick ropes from behind. Taking in your surroundings, the room alone is alighted by golden lanterns, letting you see the many stripes of paper— talismans and seals, you figured— covering the walls. You see your kidnapper has quite the taste for dramatics.
Speaking of your kidnapper, he’s cosplaying as Gojo Satoru? What? Why?
“What’s with that face?” he asks, that smile never faltering.
“Where the hell am I?” You reply, lightly tugging the ropes again. Damn it, they're tight.
“Hm~, I’ll answer that later. But first, it’s been decided that you’ll be secretly executed, Itadori Yuuji.”
You frown. He’s really into roleplay, huh?
It was when he was recapping, you taking note of the little differences in the story, and your memories from yesterday did you realize, no, this is real. You’ve truly been iseki-ed into the JJK world and transmigrated as fucking Itadori Yuuji. (And you almost outed yourself.)
Fuck.
“Anywho, I got your sentence suspended so no execution for you yet,” Gojo— the real fucking Gojo Satoru, what the fuck? — breezily informed like it’s no big deal to him. It probably isn't.
“Suspended, huh?” You reply for the sake of speeding up this exposition scene, “You guys need me for something.”
“Bingo! One point to you!” Gojo holds up one finger with a grin. You just blankly stare at his display. Seeing your lack of reaction, he moves on and pulls that damn crusty finger out of his pocket. Is that sanitary? “Let me explain from the top. There are twenty of these bad boys. We only possessed six of them while you had eaten one.”
“Twenty?” You blink. That’s how many you’ll need to swallow? Was this in the anime? “Did Sukuna have four arms?”
“Ey! Another point for you!” He cheers as he tosses the cursed item up in the air. Then, when it’s in range of his hand, he blasts the finger into the wall next to you guys. What? You stare at the power display where it's embedded, some seals and a chuck of the wall burning. Gojo continues to do exposition, explaining your situation with your unwanted roommate. “So now you have two options before you.”
You lean away again as Gojo comes into your personal space along with that disgusting finger. This guy has no sense of personal boundaries, huh?
“Either you die right now or you die later after finding and absorbing all of Sukuna’s fingers. So which will it be?”
“Third option,” you promptly answered.
A brief moment of silence before Gojo is snickering at you. “Pfffhehehehe! Sorry, kid, but there’s no third option.”
“Damn it,” you groused.
His laughter slightly increased in volume as he played with the cursed finger. “You’re a riot. But there’s no need to rush. Take your time in choosing your personal hell.”
“Well, I don't want to die,” your gaze darts to the side, “Not yet anyway.”
“Hmm, I don't think anyone wants to die this early in their lives besides a few outliers,” he idly remarks.
Glancing back at him, you inclined your the head a little as you asked, “Not even you?”
“Especially not me,” he grins as he strides around and to your back before beginning to undo your bindings, “The world will be so saddened by my death. No one can get enough of my gorgeous face.”
While the ropes loosen behind you, a snort escapes your— not yours, damn it— lips. The man has no idea how right he is.
However, that smile fell when that manga panel appeared in your head again.
Damn it. I have my work cut out for me.
You lightly knock on the wall, garnering the girl’s— Sasaki-senpei’s attention.
“Itadori.” You internally cringe. Man, you need to get used to that quickly.
Your gaze lands on the unconscious child on the hospital bed as soon as you step into the room. Bandages cover almost all of his head bar the bottom half of his facial features. “How’s Iguchi-senpei doing?” The unfamiliar yet familiar name slips from the lips so easily and it still baffles you that you’re speaking Japanese so fluently. You tightly clench the fists in the hoodie’s pockets.
“The doctor said he’s stable but he hasn’t woken up yet…” A sniffle and then Sasaki’s face is flush red with tears, her slouched position crumbling even further. “I’m sorry, I…If I hadn’t dragged him into that mess last night then…then none of this would’ve happened— those monsters wouldn’t have appeared and— and…you probably don’t believe me but…”
Grabbing the conveniently placed box of tissues near you, you give it to her. Then you turn away to give her some sense of privacy as she blows her stuffy nose and wipes her tears away. “Sasaki-senpai, have you eaten yet?”
“Wha…?”
You glance back at her as you ask once again, “Have you eaten yet?”
She slowly shakes her head. “N-no, I haven’t.”
“Get some takeout then. Maybe the smell of junk food left on you will get Senpei to wake up faster.” You try a small joke as you take the box of tissues back from a confused Sasaki. “Indulge yourself. You have a rough night as much as he did. A special doctor will come here tomorrow to heal him up so don’t beat yourself too much for what happened.
“Itadori?”
“Sorry, I have some business to attend to,” Then you quickly make your way out of the stifling room and wave her goodbye.
As soon as you’re back in the empty hallways, you let out a heavy sigh. Talking to strangers is hard enough but when you technically know that person from an outside perspective it’s a hell lot more awkward. And that’s excluding your unwanted roommate witnessing it all. Fucking hell, why do you gotta be such a socially inept loser?
You dig into the pocket and pull out Yuuji’s phone. Thanks to his memories, decoding the passcode was easy, and you begin scrolling through media while ignoring the weak curses surrounding within the hospital. You slowly make your way out of the stifling building, your mind racing with unease.
“You’re a strong kid, so help others.”
Staring down at a deceased person’s ashes and bones is quite the experience. While there is a faint sense of disgust, morbid curiosity is at the forefront of your feelings accompanied by deep sorrow. Walfs of incense fill the air as you take in the charred bits of the bones, the imperfections of the skull as flashes of images of Ojii Wasuke overlap your vision.
The elderly man had sharp features on his wrinkly face, contrasting Yuuji’s softer ones. However, they both carry warmth in their eyes— albeit, Wasuke was more subtle. Nonetheless, he was a tough yet caring individual. It’s obvious he cherished his grandson from the moment he was born and took him in when his parents passed away. He also taught Yuuji many lessons that increased his independence, such as cooking, all while doing part-time jobs to sustain their lives. And he was a lonely man.
Unlike Yuuji, you’re not that close with your grandpa. While he watched over you, your little sister, and your little cousin during your childhood, those old memories correlating to him are fuzzy. You know he tried to teach you Vietnamese, and he even tried to teach you English and math. But…that’s all there is.
Unlike Yuuji, you share no fond memories with your grandpa. You didn’t go crawfish hunting with him nor did you try to bake him a surprise birthday cake.
And unlike Yuuji, you didn’t cry when the news of his death came during your middle school years. You can’t even remember how he died. Does that make you a bad granddaughter? Probably, maybe…you don’t know.
What you do know is that the feeling of grief is unbearably heavy. And yet, when it’s not truly coming from you, it feels so hollow.
Wasuke isn’t your grandpa and you’re not Yuuji.
“You’re a strong kid, so help others.”
You pursed your— not yours— lips as that phrase echoes in your mind once again. Then you quietly sigh as you let memories of past cremations Yuuji attended for Wasuke’s friends and relatives guide you through the process. It’s almost instinctual as you begin from the feet. How many times did this body have to do this? How many funerals did Yuuji witness? Did he attend to his parent’s cremation, too?
You gently, quietly place the cap on the urn and seal it shut before turning to your quiet spectator near the doors. It turns out Gojo can read the room and keep his eccentric self in check when it’s necessary. Perhaps you judged him too quickly both on screen and now.
“So, have you decided what you want to do?” he asked, his tone much softer you noted.
You immediately averted your eyes to land on Wasuke’s picture, indecision gnawing your insides. It would be so easy to take the first option. While you still have a healthy dose of fear regarding death, it’ll be done quickly and painlessly since it’s an execution. Or, at least, you hope so.
But aren’t those higher-ups and elders like, the absolute worst? They have no problem sentencing an innocent child to death for their peace of mind so what’s stopping them from torturing one as well?
There’s also the problem of you being iseki-ed here. If you die, what would happen? If Yuuji dies— no matter if he’s now just a lingering presence in this world— what the hell would happen?
No one knows, especially not you, the one with the lousy amount of foreknowledge here.
Even so, why are you hesitating?
You already know what option you want and should pick. You’re just procrastinating at this point, you lazy piece of shit.
Then again…
That weird bangs kid turning into a distorted creature, Nanami and Nobara’s death on screen, that one manga panel of a ruined wasteland in the large city, Gojo… Can you handle— no, can you prevent any of those upcoming events?
You don’t know.
“You’re a strong kid, so help others.”
“Oi.”
You’re startled out of your thoughts as long slender fingers grab a hold of your the wrist and pry the fingers from your mouth. Gojo isn’t smiling anymore.
“No biting your nails,” he quietly chastised you.
You freeze at the sudden proximity between you guys before your gaze darts to your fingernails to see the tips slightly red as saliva slowly dries. You quickly pull the hand back from him and hide it in the hoodie’s pocket as you lower your head in shame.
You haven’t bitten your nails since high school. Fuck, you hate this.
“Sorry,” you meekly say.
“Don’t worry,” he easily replied as he leaned away and waved his hand in a gesture like he could swipe that awkward moment out of the air, “If anything, I’m sorry for putting you on the spot in the morgue. My bad.”
“It’s okay.”
“Thanks, but seriously, what are you gonna do, Yuuji?” He inclines his head, almost like a curious cat, “I know I said there’s no need to rush but those annoying elders will lose what little amount of patience they have left in those withering bones soon.”
Right, you shouldn’t diddle-daddle anymore. At least, not with this sort of shitty situation.
What was it that Nanami said? ‘Jujutsu sorcerer is shit!’ Well, yes, there’s that, but also— ‘I have no regrets.’
Regrets.
Wasn’t there something about sorcerers who should aim to live life with as few regrets as possible so they don’t come back as vengeful curse spirits?
Regrets.
So then, which option will you regret the least?
…
“...Gojo-san, do you still have that finger?”
When the cursed item comes into view, you can’t help but cringe at the disgusting sight again. You tentatively take it out of Gojo’s hand and just, stare at it. How the hell did Yuuji swallow this entire thing?
You take a deep breath before slowly inserting the abomination into the mouth— the ridiculously sharp nail pokes the back of your throat and you choke. The damn thing fell into the palm of the hand, getting saliva on it while you’re having a coughing fit. After an embarrassingly long time, you wipe your drool away and slowly turn to an unnervingly quiet Gojo as you ask, “Can I get some water…?”
As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, with your— fucking damn it— hands covering your face, you slide against the door and loudly groan until your bottom hits the floor.
And then you groan even more as you press the palms against the eyes and wallow in your misery where you sat for a moment.
A beat.
Then another.
Finally, you force yourself back on your feet and start packing. As you head for Yuuji’s room, memories flash in your mind and the feeling of nostalgia is nauseating. You feel like you’re intruding on something sacred, something absolutely sentimental. And you fucking are.
This isn’t your home. These are not your memories. You’ve experienced none of these.
You grit your teeth as you harshly stuff piles and piles of hoodies— why are there so many of them??— into your traveling bag and pointedly ignore that damn fucking Jennifer Lawrence poster.
Should I burn that? You muse.
An unbelievable amount of horror and distress surges inside you at that notion. Irritation rising, it was easy to shove aside those ridiculous feelings towards a single poster.
Fine, I won’t burn it but I’m not bringing it with me.
You move on to the bathroom and gather the necessary toiletries. Then you pause in your tracks of leaving the room when you lock eyes with unfamiliar yet familiar golden ones in the mirror.
You look young. Yuuji looks young. This appearance really hammers home that you’re in the body of a literal shonen protagonist, that this is the body of a literal fifteen-year-old.
Deep sympathy takes hold of you as you can only imagine the horror the kid would’ve gone through if you weren’t here in his place. Maybe it’s a good thing he’s gone. Or, well, his conscious isn’t at the forefront at least? In any case, he won’t experience the literal shitshow in the future.
Then again, why did it have to be you?
Did you fucking die?
Why the fuck are you here?!
Why are you Itadori Yuuji?!
“Cease your pathetic display.”
You freeze as that baritone voice rings in the air, a single red eye and mouth appearing under one of your eyes, and that baleful and spiteful aura shrouds your senses. Holy shit, this is weird.
“While your control of your facial expressions is quite impressive, your thoughts are very loud.”
Dread digs into you as quiet realization dawns on you. “You mean…”
Dark amusement emanates from him, you can practically feel it upon your skin as he answers, “Yes, I’m aware you’re a displaced soul.”
Well, fuck. The main villain knows your secret and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet. Way to go, idiot.
Then again, you didn’t really try to hide it. And the possibility of Sukuna being able to go through your memories was there. The question of you doing the same goes unanswered though since you can feel some kind of mental barrier between the two of you inside your mind. Still, you can feel him up there. And, well, what’s there to make excuses anymore? Might as well do what you’ve always done and roll with the punches.
“No one will believe you,” you say as you push past the stifling aura, leaving the bathroom, and hurrying along. Gojo is right outside the Itadori’s home, you remind yourself. “No one will trust you enough to listen.”
“How audacious of you,” Sukuna chuckles, “We shall see, interloper.”
Then he retreats to his own mind and you tentatively raise a shaky hand and check that spot of skin. The extra eye and mouth have disappeared.
Your anxiety didn’t dissipate as you quickly leave behind the former Itadori’s home.