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The hum of cursed energy pulses differently here. No longer a charged undercurrent but something soft. Gentle, even.
The usual hotspots---schools and hospitals---are clear. The passing civilians, unburdened by the low-hanging fruit of spirits. Yet the architecture is not so removed from Japan. The signages read nihongo, and he even frequents a branch of the wayside dessert shop.
Hm. Satoru Gojo tips the hourglass in his hand. The sand, still falling, remains static, as though he'd never tilted it. Hm. His gaze drifts back to the shop, a notice proclaiming "Free wifi!" tacked up on the window. Now it would be remiss of him not to go.
Inside, easy chatter and raucous laughter suffuse the air with warmth. Busy, but not so much so that a line waits for Satoru. The girl manning the register takes a good long look at him, eyes glinting beneath the overhead lights. As they ought to do when Satoru's in the room. He saunters past the self-serve kiosks, grinning amicably as he peruses the selection of treats.
"New menu?"
"Just the usual." Their usual, which costs twice more than that of another establishment. Tourist trap? It's no skin off his nose though, like Satoru's a cheapskate. He settles on a parfait of layered ice cream, crowned with fruit.
The girl rings him up and he learns his month-old credit card's expired overnight. Despite the hiccup, his purchase goes through. Satoru seats himself in an isolated booth, pulling his phone from his pocket to find he still hasn't got reception. So he turns his attention to the little table tent containing all the secrets of the universe. Though really, he's only after just the one.
Today's date.
Cursed energy like his is a beacon, doubly so in this world with no space for Satoru Gojo, but it seems no one's been dispatched to investigate. Blessing upon blessing, or maybe jujutsu society has simply fallen so low. He wanders aimlessly, catalogs that which is new and that which is old. The hourglass is a substantial weight beneath the fold of his clothes.
Cursed energy like his is a beacon, making it all the more surprising when it is matched.
Satoru runs. Runs like he did back then, chasing a silhouette slipping like sand between fingers. Not knowing where this road leads, not caring. Because he's felt that cursed energy before, brief as it'd been. And like him, it shouldn't exist here.
He chases it into a grocery store and at the end of the road is---
Yuji.
Yuji Itadori, his student, but worn and weathered and his expression---shutters.
"Senpai. C'mon," he says, voice laced with something fragile. "That's too far."
"Is he a sorcerer?" The second voice gives him pause. Satoru traces it back to a kid: rosy hair and matching eyes framed by square rims. Looks a lot like Yuji actually, color aside, and even that could be explained by simple genetics. "An enemy?"
"A friend." Yuji corrects, but then he takes the kid into his arms, planting him on his hip.
"Both? How can it be both?" Okay. Time to put a pin on that. Satoru doesn't appreciate being sidelined, and man can children ask.
"'Senpai?'" He echoes. "And you used to be the most polite of the bunch, Yuji-kun."
"Whatever game you're playing, it won't work. I'm not giving him up."
Satoru backs off at his tone. He's never known Yuji to be wary, has never had to try hard to convince him of anything. It speaks something into existence---a reminder that Satoru doesn't know this older Yuji.
But he was there when his fifteen year old self performed the funeral rites for his grandfather, wearing grief openly enough for Satoru to recognize it now.
Oh.
Satoru, being the strongest, has only reckoned with death once. Perhaps he should've given more thought to how his might affect the people around him. It doesn't matter in this present, he knows. He hurt Yuji regardless.
"You can't trust what you're seeing is real." Satoru lowers his blindfold, leaving it to rest at the hollow of his throat. Imploring Yuji to look, really look. "I get it. So I'll say it straight."
"I time traveled."
Severely unimpressed. An expected reaction. But damn the kid's got that deadpan stare down like Megumi made miniature. Even more curious however is what the unveiled Six Eyes reveal.
Yuji worries his lip, visibly turning the idea over in his head.
"Okay. Okay," having reached some consensus, he hangs on a breath to ready an outpouring of words---
"Is he stupid?"
---that are brushed aside in favor of a hissed, "Sukuna!"
There it is.
"Time travel's not real." Tiny Sukuna barrels on with all the assurance of a five year old. All the emotional depth of one too, oblivious to the panic flitting across Yuji's face.
"Says who?" Indulgent Satoru asks.
"Says science."
"Sure," Not his niche, but he's heard forward motion via time dilation is possible. However his being here is... "But jujutsu's capable of that and more."
Satoru holds out his hand, palm forward, and watches with glee as Sukuna looks to Yuji first. For approval. That could very well be the most intriguing detail about the future, granted no other surprises come up. The King of Curses: no longer a threat to contend with, merely his student's charge.
Yuji green-lights the interaction. And when Sukuna raises a hand to meet his, Infinity acts as intended.
"Woah," he murmurs, pushing with all of his (negligible) might. Awed by the repulsion in a way Megumi hadn't been. Though he was probably the outlier, jaded at six.
"Uh, do you mind?" Someone cuts in, gesturing towards the produce they're barred from. Right.
Appropriately apologetic, they move down the aisle, the rattle of the cart a stark mundanity amidst the day's quirks. Sukuna kicks his feet once, twice, in a universal put-down motion.
"There's a park nearby," Yuji offers. "We're just about done here anyways." Not true, going by the scant few items jostling about.
Sukuna bunches Yuji's shirt into a fist. "It's gotta playground?"
"It should have one."
"You, mister," The little king deigns to address him. "Say yes."
Where does the youth find the audacity? Oh well. He's not in the business of sliming kids who only go up to his hips.
Besides...
"Alright, squirt."
He wants to talk to Yuji too.
"Let's go!"
Yuji sets Sukuna down as soon as he checked out. Immediately, the aspiring track star makes for a big break, only to stumble at his leash's limited reach. It seems that, despite the years, pulling his punches has done nothing to temper Yuji's grip.
"So? Is this you humoring your dear teacher?" Satoru asks with a dip of his head. Poor Yuji, who has an inch over Satoru, has to hunch over to accommodate Sukuna. But looking down to meet his student's eyes is a merciful return to form. Satoru is man enough to admit the extra inch was disconcerting.
"It's like you said. Jujutsu's done a lot of weird---" Yuji's teeth click shut with an audible clack. "I can't say I saw it coming. But if it was always within the realm of possibility, should I even be surprised?"
He grins. "I still wanna know how it happened though."
"Yeah, yeah, you'll get your answers," glacing pointedly at Sukuna, Satoru adds, "Just as I hope to get mine."
Yuji dons a neutral countenance as he leads them around the bend. Way to go, Satoru. Alas, his curiosity can't be helped. With Yuji's newfound dedication to his task, as well as their brisk pace, it isn't long before the park comes into view.
There in the heart of humanity's hustle and bustle lie sprawling verdant fields, save for a grassless expanse on which the playground sits. Dappled pink carpet the walkways owing to the cherry blossoms in full bloom.
"Don't go where I can't see you." Yuji says as they situate themselves on a nearby bench. "I mean it."
"Mhm," Sukuna mumbles, body pitching forward like the playground is its own magnetic force. They've already lost him.
"Sukuna."
"I'll be good." Which is an absurd idea. Satoru would sooner believe it in terms of proficiency than any degree of troublemaking tendencies. And that goes for any kid---which Sukuna is now. Crazy.
Hardly convinced but unable to refute, Yuji leaves him to terrorize the locals.
"Should I look out for incoming paper cuts?" Satoru teases, as if pint-sized Dismantles would make it past Infinity. "He's got his technique now, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Any misfires?"
Something between a sigh and a chuckle is pulled from his throat. "Oh, several. But they're far less destructive these days."
A technique like that, Satoru figures that's as good as it'll get. "You still let him loose on the playground."
"What? Have you no faith in me, sensei?"
"Plenty, actually," he replies, the words as real as they come. "He can't ask for a better teacher when you've got it too. I wonder, does that make you the original bearer to Sukuna-kun?"
"Well, I'm not gonna go blabbing about his infamy just yet."
"His name's literally Sukuna."
"It's different on paper." Satoru waits, and waits, but Yuji offers nothing more. In the ensuing quiet, he finds himself tracing the scar that cuts between his eyes and the tear at his lip. Memory seared in skin. Skin that is otherwise unblemished.
How old are you? His tongue burns with the need to know, for Yuji suddenly seems both aged and ageless.
"Why'd you do it?" Satoru asks instead.
"Call him 'Sukuna'?"
"Tie yourself to him again." He corrects, though he wonders if the name was a slip-up that stuck.
Yuji fixes his gaze onto the playground. At Sukuna, who's monopolized the swings and the attention of his fellow tykes through sheer charisma. They've made a game of weaving in and out of the sure-hit zones in lieu of taking the swing for themselves. Goaded by Sukuna, no doubt.
"Gramps said I was the same way," Yuji shares, soft and slow. "That I'd have a gaggle of kids with me wherever I went."
"I didn't mean to take him in, but I figured I must've cursed him. How else could I explain it? Finding him in a damn locker¹." He drags a hand down his face. "If nothing else, I can keep him from that path."
Heavy is the weight behind those words. Satoru fears unpacking it, if he even has a place to. Rather than think himself into a spiral however, he latches onto the bit he can parse. "You recognized him almost instantly."
"'Course. I know his soul as well as my own. Once a vessel, always a vessel." A contemplative look dawns on Yuji. "What am I doing right now?"
At Satoru's silence, he says, "Er, in your time."
Oh. "Watching movies in my basement." And since Yuji's put enough of himself out there, Satoru finally reveals his ticket here (and home, he hopes).
The hourglass is deceptively simple in make; a cheap wooden thing worth little more than a cursory glance. "The curse was what drew our attention but I bet it was this that the old coots were after."
"It bypassed Infinity?" Yuji asks, eyes tracking the gravity-defying sand.
"Beyond getting me here, I doubt it's capable of any outward harm."
Yuji straightens up. "Definitely worth their scrutiny. But I wouldn't say that until after all the sand's fallen."
"Jujutsu functions on equivalent exchange. It should send me back."
"And if it doesn't? Gojo-sensei, you really ought to worry more."
Satoru sniffs. "You sound just like Yaga."
"Because I've become a sensible adult. Unlike you."
"Wah! So mean!"
And Yuji smiles. Really smiles. Exactly as he did back then.
So of course this very touching moment gets interrupted by Sukuna. He clambers up between them to deliver a message of utmost importance: "I'm hungry."
"You always are." Yuji pokes his belly, prompting giggles from the kid. "That's where all my hard-earned cash goes."
Satoru's fingers twitch. "What're you feeling then? My treat."
"Burgers," Sukuna answers, without missing a beat.
"He might actually make a dent in your wallet." Yuji comments. Something like pride colors his tone.
"You're right. Maybe we should starve him so he stays small and cute forever."
A despair-stricken wail pierces the air. "No!"
"It's not funny," Sukuna insists at their tittering. "Stop laughing!" Satoru is sure that, had he not been seated, he would be stomping his feet too.
Yuji presses his upturned lips to the apple of his cheeks. Much to Sukuna's dismay, but the boy does not pull away, contrary to his expectations. He might scowl to the high heavens yet he soaks up affection (like a proper tsundere) in a way that distances him from the man he once was.
It was one of the few things Satoru knew with absolute certainty: the sky is blue, the grass is green, nothing is forever, and the King of Curses does not love. Then again, didn't he contradict himself right there? If change is constant, is it so surprising he be subject to its machinations?
Yes, he thinks, ruffling those rosy locks like he would Megumi. Sukuna allows that, too, even as his glare becomes positively venomous. Surprising, but not unwelcome.
"Itadori-san!" A voice calls out from behind the counter of this humble burger joint. It's discreet, tucked between subway lines, but with seemingly loyal customers that make location a non-issue.
The girl, twelve, thirteen tops, waits until after they approach to greet kindly, "Sukuna-kun. I see you've brought a friend! Ma's out back; we'll be sure to leave a good first impression. Let me know when you're ready."
"Thanks, Michi-mouse." Michi-mouse sticks out her tongue as she leaves for a side door. Satoru skims the menu, deciding on something basic. Out of no offense, merely unfavorable preferences.
"Sometimes I leave Sukuna with Michiko and Sato-san," Yuji explains shortly after.
"And when he comes back, he suddenly has extra pocket change to splurge on the kids."
"Busted." Michiko stage whispers to Sukuna.
"But if it's to make them happy, I can't find fault in that," Sato-san bows. "Pleasure to meet you."
Satoru returns her bow with his own and a smile. "Satoru Gojo."
"Dine-in?" She asks Yuji. Seemingly just to be polite, taking his addition to mean so. The rest of the exchange happens as it would elsewhere.
They rattle off their orders, Satoru pays, then Sato-san invites them to sit. It's all Satoru's done today: sit and eat. An itinerary so lax it would send the higher-ups into an early grave. Oh, what he'd give to see that.
Michiko stops by thrice. The first, to hand Sukuna a sheet of paper and crayons because five year olds need enrichment like that. The second, to deliver their meals (he refuses to believe Sukuna's kid stomach can handle two triple-tiered burgers; that's just greedy, man). And the third, in the quiet lull of closing time, to ask a nuke of a question.
"So what's your cursed technique?"
Satoru chokes on his spit.
"Eh?" She frowns. "I didn't just break some sorcerer code of conduct, did I?"
He's tempted to throw his blindfold up. His eyes can't have deceived him.
"You're good. Gojo-sensei's just been isolated for a while. But next time, remember to not ask outright. It could draw unwanted attention." Would it have killed Yuji to tell him these normies were in the know? Or is this the new world order?
He doesn't get to dwell for long. There's a newfound awe to Michiko's glittering gaze as she says, "Itadori-san's teacher... You must be super strong then!"
Aha! Familiar ground. Satoru beams bright and true, jostling the table in his haste to flex his bicep. "The strongest!"
Yuji shoots him a sideways glare, three-fingered hand curled over Sukuna's head. His deep breaths fan Yuji's stomach as he lays on his lap, tuckered out from the day's momentum. Satoru has no clue where his glasses have gone. Yuji must've pocketed them.
"Your technique!" Michiko squeals, bouncing on her feet. "Can I see it? ...Will I be able to see it?"
"Oh, you'll see it alright."
"Sensei, I'm not paying a property damage fine."
"How lowly you think of me! That's your second offense, Yuji-kun!"
Satoru stands and, using the space, hovers off the ground. See, today he is no threat to the surrounding infrastructure. He extends a hand towards Michiko, guiding her up onto his feet before tracing gentle arcs across the air.
The pleasing chime of her laughter accompanies their mimicry waltz. From the corner of his eye, Satoru spies a pensive frown on Sato-san's face.
"Ma! Look!"
"Didn't I say not to bother our customers?"
"Ma," she whines.
"It's no problem, Sato-san." Satoru rushes to her defense, touching down. "Consider it thanks for our extended stay."
"It is getting pretty late. We should start heading home. Get this one to a proper bed."
Sato-san sighs. "Thank you, too, for humoring her."
Satoru thinks that's the end of it. But at the doorway, when it's just the two of them, she adds, "Though I wish you wouldn't overwork yourself so much."
He pauses, moving to say it really was nothing. The words die on his tongue.
"From one worker to another, you learn to recognize the strain. You also understand there is little you can do about it. I hope today managed to ease it, even slightly."
"It has."
"Then I am glad. Take care, Gojo-san."
Satoru jogs the couple paces Yuji's taken. Beyond hearing range, he says, "Damingly perceptive, isn't she?" as he shakes the hourglass free from its confines.
And she is. Otherworldly sight and still Satoru is outclassed. Fortunately, she will be lacking in opportunities to pick his brain. Yuji must sense this too, if his sudden slump is any indication.
He sighs. "I know. I'd miss me too."
Yuji snorts. "Stop inflating your ego when I can't throw hands."
"You implying I can't catch 'em? Bold words."
A flash of white---an elbow---connects with his side, ripping a yowl from Satoru and an eyeroll from Yuji. When he retracts his arm, the movement draws attention to his fist, or rather, the paper clutched in it.
On it are three figures: two bearing blots of pink for hair and one of white outlined with black. It's them. On the bench in the park. Their afternoon preserved in crayon. Satoru glances at Sukuna, drooling into Yuji's shoulder, his heart fit to burst.
"Gojo-sensei?" And then again, with mounting horror, "Gojo-sensei!"
Wondering what has Yuji so panicked, Satoru scans his surroundings before realizing it might have to do with him. He turns that assessment onto himself, reaching for his face. His hand comes away grainy.
"Time's up," Satoru spells out for them both. Panic twists his student's features, panic where there should be acceptance. It must look horrible. "I swear it doesn't hurt."
Yuji grits his teeth.
"Yuji---"
"It never gets easy, okay?" A barbed delivery of a whisper. "Fuck. Sensei, there's so much I wanted to tell you. So much."
"...But I can't risk it, y'know?" Yuji adjusts the cradle of his arms, hooking his chin over Sukuna's head. He takes a deep breath then says resolutely, "If it has to happen the way it happened for me to have what I do now---"
"Yuji. You don't have to explain yourself." Satoru smiles, hoping he's not so lost to the sand. "You don't need to defend yourself---not with me, you hear? I don't care about the what if or what was. I'll give everything for your future. For this one, in particular."
Yuji doesn't cry, but it's a close thing; brows creased and jaw tight. He tries for a smile too, lips shaped around the words thank you.
It's the last sight Satoru sees.
When he comes to, he feels like he's had the sweetest dream.