It all started on that late evening.
You were chilling in your dorm room, flipping through the heavy Encyclopedia of Water-Based Curses balanced on your knee. The leather binding creaked faintly as you turned each crinkled page, scanning the elaborate illustrations of snarling curses and lengthy descriptions of their vicious powers. Your third bottle of mint chocolate milk sat sweating on the desk, the sugary scent mingling with old paper and worn wood polish.
Yes. That's your definition of chill. After all, you were a jujutsu sorcerer – any evening NOT spent fighting actual curses or running for your dear life absolutely qualified as chill.
You enjoyed learning new things. You adored a quiet room. It was shaping up to be an excellent evening. Just as you were starting to relax, sinking into that delightful solitude…
Gojo Satoru abruptly popped into your room. Literally. No knocking, as usual. Screw that man, his teleporting, and his blatant disregard for common courtesy, not to mention basic human decency.
A subtle displacement of air was your only warning. One moment, peaceful stillness; the next, a towering figure in a crisp black outfit and gravity-defying white hair was beaming down at you, his sudden presence nearly causing your heart to perform an unscheduled ejection from your ribcage.
"Spices!" he declared, with that signature bubbly enthusiasm that never failed to make you cringe. "I'm going to Sendai. I'll swing by Kikusuian while I'm there. Want anything?"
How typical that he'd invite himself in via interdimensional travel and then offer to buy you treats as if that somehow made up for the near-death experience he'd just inflicted.
You grimaced at the snarling water curse in the encyclopedia, its gruesome illustration doing little to improve your mood.
Spices.
That stupid nickname had haunted you since your first month at the school, after Gojo overheard a particularly colorful outburst—a masterpiece of creative cursing, if you did say so yourself.
It wasn't your fault. Learning about this entire jujutsu world that you hadn't even known existed until Gojo decided to grace you with his presence. The stress of training, of being in a new place with so many new people, the sheer weirdness of it all. You'd been running on fumes—a frayed, glittering wire of raw nerves.
But did the revered Gojo Satoru cut you any slack? Of course not. He latched onto your "spicy" language with delight, bestowing the nickname with the self-satisfied air of a monarch knighting a valiant hamster.
Seriously? You might be a little bit impulsive with your choice of language on occasion. But most of the time, you were the picture of decency and good manners. Gojo had started it. Hakari and Kirara had adopted it with glee. And the rest, as they say, was history. Your real name faded into obscurity, replaced by that infernal title. Even your underclassmen called you Spices.
Spices-senpai. The indignity of it all. Now only Principal Yaga used your actual given name. And it was all Gojo's fault.
Oblivious as always to your sour reaction, Gojo leaned casually against your desk, cheerfully babbling on about his upcoming pilgrimage to the promised land of sugary delights. "How about I grab us your favorite—those Kikufuku mochi? The edamame ones, right? With the sweet cream filling?"
You leveled an unimpressed look in his direction. "You mean your favorite," you corrected flatly.
Gojo laughed, waving a dismissive hand. The motion sent a waft of his expensive cologne your way – spicy oud mingling with bright bergamot. Not unpleasant, but still… Gojo.
"Details, details," he grinned. "We both know I have impeccable taste."
You barely refrained from rolling your eyes, knowing it would only encourage his antics. Arguing with Gojo was as productive as yelling at a brick wall. Still, you weren't one to turn down free food just to prove a point.
Sighing in resignation, you conceded. "Thanks, sensei."
It's a truth universally acknowledged, that Gojo Satoru was a glutton for anything sweet, and possessed a shameless propensity for pilfering snacks from anyone within a five-meter radius.
So the moments he plopped down next to you, you immediately scooted your mint chocolate milk to the far side of the desk, well out of reach of his grabby paws. The man might have just offered to buy you expensive mochi, but you would NOT sacrifice your mint chocolate milk to his bottomless pit of a stomach. Never your mint chocolate milk. Over your dead body.
Gojo noticed the defensive maneuver and pouted at you, lashes fluttering like he thought it made him cuter. "You have so little faith in me, my dearest student," he lamented dramatically, clutching at his chest as if wounded.
The best defense, as they say, is a good offense. Keeping a suspicious glare locked on his every movement, you chugged the entire bottle in one go, maintaining fierce eye contact all the while.
He chuckled, clearly amused. "As territorial as a dragon with its hoard, aren't you, Spices?" he teased.
You merely burped, unrepentant. When it came to food, you would defend what was yours against moochers at all costs. And Gojo knew better than to test you. You were, undoubtedly, his most spoiled student.
As you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, you fixed the infuriating man with a shrewd look.
"Why are you going to Sendai at this hour?" you pressed.
Surely not just to buy you—or rather, himself—his favorite mochi? Even Gojo wasn't that much of a sugar fiend. Well, maybe he was, but there had to be more to it than a sudden craving for edamame-flavored goodness.
Gojo shrugged, casually draping his body across your bed. His weight made the old mattress springs creak in protest.
"I do miss those Kikufuku," he sighed wistfully. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "But I should also probably check on Megumi while I'm there. His mission got a bit… messy, apparently."
That got your attention. You straightened up, thoughts of sweets forgotten.
"Megumi? What mission?"
"No big deal," Gojo said airily, examining his nails with a studied nonchalance that you found immediately suspect. "Just a collection mission. Easy breezy."
Your eyes narrowed in suspicion. Something wasn't right. "Collect what?"
"One of the fingers," he replied casually
It took you a second to process which 'finger' he meant. When it finally clicked, your blood ran cold. You nearly crushed the empty milk bottle in your fist. You were pretty sure you actually felt several tiny blood vessels popping in your brain.
"You sent a FIRST YEAR to collect one of Sukuna's fucking fingers? Alone?!" you exploded, your voice rising several octaves.
Gojo reached out and flicked the tip of your angrily flushed nose in rebuke. A maddeningly patronizing gesture.
"Language, Spices." He chided in a sing-song voice.
As if THAT would distract you. You were far too incensed to even consider rein in your temper.
"Are you insane?!" you snapped, smacking his hand away. "I should have gone with him. Anything Sukuna-related is NOT a one-man job!"
You hadn't known Fushiguro Megumi for very long—half a year at best—but you'd already grown unexpectedly fond of the prickly boy. That little sea urchin, with his aloof glare and standoffish body language, always so irritated with the world. A tiny ball of teenage angst wrapped in designer gloom.
He definitely hadn't seemed to like you much in the beginning… if he liked anyone at all, come to think of it. He had that palpable "leave me alone" vibe. Spiky hair hiding his face, arms habitually crossed in an invisible barrier, one-word answers (if you were lucky) to all attempts at small talk. Anyone else would have taken the hint after a few cold shoulders and kept their distance.
But not you.
There was a wariness there, a carefully contained fragility that resonated with your own. You recognized that cold glare all too well, having worn it like armor yourself once upon a time, back before Gojo had broken through your walls with his irritating persistence and relentless cheerfulness.
You saw Megumi for what he was: A boy thrown headfirst into the cruel world of jujutsu sorcery, clinging desperately to whatever semblance of control he could find. You could relate, all too painfully.
So you persisted. Offering your quiet presence like a comforting blanket, you'd hover at the edges of Megumi's personal bubble – reading nearby, snacking, giving him the space he clearly craved without leaving completely. Never demanding his attention, just gently, stubbornly existing in his peripheral vision.
During meal times, you'd add an extra pudding cup to your tray, then silently offload it into Megumi's as you slid in beside him, chattering lightly about Gojo's latest antics as you ate. In the library, you'd claim the seat beside him without a fuss, the two of you reading in a comfortable silence broken only by the occasional turn of a page.
Now and then, you'd simply occupy the space beside him whenever Megumi sought out an empty, tucked-away corner of the school, tapping idly at your phone screen to give him a sense of company without expectation of interaction.
Then, one day, between brutal training sessions, a miracle occurred. Megumi fell into step beside you and, without a word, held out an ice-cold bottle of mint chocolate milk. Your absolute favorite.
From that small olive branch onward, a new ease settled into your interactions. His initial rejection of the pudding cups turned into tentative acceptance turned into quietly waiting for them every day. The irritated eye-rolls that once greeted your appearance in the library softened into furtive peeks over book spines to check if you'd come to keep him company.
He held himself stiffly at first, poised for flight, when you claimed the armchair adjacent to his in the common room. But little by little, his guard came down. He started relaxing into your presence, occasionally even contributing a few words to your idle chatter about curse techniques and mission reports.
Most times, the two of you still spent stretches together in a comfortable silence rather than actual conversation. But the quietness itself somehow felt warmer now, more intimate than isolating. And every so often, when he thought you weren't paying attention, you'd notice the flicker of a barely-there smile softening the sharp angles of Megumi's face in response to something you'd said. In those fleeting moments, a fierce wave of affection and protectiveness would swell in your chest, bright and warm and almost overwhelming.
Megumi and you were good friends. The thought of him going on such a dangerous mission alone, when you were lounging around in pajamas, squeezed your heart painfully.
You bit your lip, mind racing over all the ways such a seemingly simple mission could go sideways. Cursed spirits were notoriously unpredictable at the best of times. And anything remotely connected to the King of Curses himself...
"Stop overthinking," Gojo said, reaching over to ruffle your hair. "Or you'll go bald. Megumi's a second-grade sorcerer. He's fine."
You swatted his hand away with more force than strictly necessary. "I'm a second-grade sorcerer, too!" you burst out, exasperated. "Two second grades are better than one, last time I checked basic math."
Finally sensing your genuine distress beneath the sharp words, Gojo held up both hands in a placating gesture.
"Alright, alright," he chuckled. "No need to get upset with your dear sensei. Just wait right here, and I'll bring you back your two favorite things: Megumi, and Kikufuku mochi!"
Before you could lob another heated reply his way, Gojo vanished in a warp of distorted air. You stared hard at the now empty space where he'd been just a second before, anxiety and a suffocating sense of helplessness churning sickly in your gut.
You fell back onto your bed in frustration. Well, there went any hope of a relaxing evening with your water curses. You wouldn't be able to concentrate on reading a single damn paragraph now, not until Gojo brought Megumi back in one piece.
Logically, you knew as long as Gojo was there, everything should be fine. The man was invincible for a reason. No curse, no matter how powerful, stood a chance against him.
And yet, you couldn't help the irrational foreboding swirling in your chest. It felt like a swarm of angry bees buzzing just beneath your skin. You shook your head sharply, as if the physical gesture could somehow dispel the dark premonition crawling up your spine. Gojo would fix this. He had to.
In the meantime, all you could do was wait, thoughts spinning uselessly… and try in vain to ignore the cold lead ball of fear sinking deeper and deeper into your stomach with each endless, crawling minute.
Little did you know how right you were to be afraid. At that very moment, things in Sendai had just taken a very, very bad turn.
***
A buzz from your phone jolted you from restless dreams sometime later. Blearily, you pawed for the device, squinting against the sudden onslaught of bright light from the screen.
A text from Gojo. Your heart lurched. You tapped it open.
And nearly hurled your phone across the room.
Because there, on the screen, in full glorious HD, was an image of a bloodied, beaten-up Megumi, clutching his blood-soaked middle with one arm.
The accompanying message only added insult to injury:
From: Dumbass Sensei
Spices!
Look!
Maki gonna love dis
(˵ ͠ಥ‿ ͠ಥ˵)
For one suspended second, you gaped at the photo in abject horror. Then outrage flooded in. Whelp. This time you were absolutely certain you'd blown at least one major artery in your brain. And possibly ruptured your spleen.
Jamming one finger on Gojo's grinning contact photo, you practically vibrated with fury as you smacked the phone to your ear. He picked up after the first ring.
This wasn't Gojo's first rodeo. He knew better than to have his phone anywhere near his eardrum when facing the full force of your wrath. It didn't help much, though. Your voice thundered out of the phone loud enough to make his speaker crackle in protest.
"Gojo-sensei! W H A T T H E A C T U A L F U C K—"
You heard Gojo make a tutting sound on the other end. "Mind your language, Spices," he chided. "The children are listening."
He called you Spices. You were going to live up to the damn name.
"What the FUCK happened to Megumi?!" you barked back, completely unconcerned with the children and their delicate ears.
The screen shook as Gojo flipped to video mode, pointing the camera at a battered-looking Megumi.
"Say hello to your favorite senpai, Megumi!" he prompted cheerfully.
Now you could see Megumi sitting on the floor of something that looked like… the rooftop of a building? A very messy rooftop, at that.
"Senpai," Megumi mumbled, waving weakly at the camera, still a young man of few words, even on the brink of death
You gripped the phone with white knuckles, urgently scanning him through the screen. He was indeed bloody and banged up, but by some miracle, still alive. Hearing Megumi's voice, exhausted but steady, had you breathing a small sigh of relief. Your volume softened from the thundering tirade.
"Are you alright, Gumi?" you asked urgently. "What on earth happened?"
Megumi sighed, even more deeply than you just had. "I'll live…" he muttered, then added after a beat, "I… found the finger."
That sounded like good news? Maybe?
Except for Gojo's infuriating giggles behind the camera. You knew that laugh. It meant he was up to no good. Big, world-ending, no good.
"But…?" you prodded, bracing yourself for the inevitable twist.
Megumi buried his head in his hands, his hair seemed even spikier somehow. "But an idiot went and ate it," he groaned into his palms. "And… now I don't know what to do."
The camera spun dizzyingly, and Gojo, ever helpful, provided the necessary narration. "This idiot, in particular."
The idiot in question—a half-naked boy with alarmingly pink cropped hair—was covered in nasty gashes and what looked like burn marks, but he still managed to bow politely in your direction.
"I'm Itadori Yuji!" he announced brightly. "Nice to meet you, Spices-senpai!"
Spices-senpai?
You pinched the bridge of your nose. So, he was really an idiot. A polite idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.
Despite knowing perfectly well that Idiot Yuji couldn't actually see you, his bright eagerness still prompted you to bow back a little as you introduced your name, the real one. If this disaster boy was going to be involved in your life now, he might as well get things right from the start.
That's when the full absurdity finally sunk in. You squinted at your screen to get a better look at Yuji, morbidly fascinated.
"So…" you began slowly, just to be perfectly clear on this utter nonsense. "You really ate Sukuna's finger?"
A delicate pink blush bloomed across Yuji's nose as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"Um, yes?" he offered with an apologetic wince. "It… seemed like a good idea at the time? I'm very sorry! I didn't mean to cause you guys all this trouble…"
You barely suppressed an incredulous laugh. This boy was either the unluckiest human alive, or possessed the world's most defective set of survival instincts. Either way, he was a walking, talking, finger-eating disaster zone.
There were about a hundred urgent, sensible questions jostling for dominance in your brain at that moment. Things like potential contamination, curse manifestation, what consuming an ancient mummified body part might do to a regular living human. Or at the very least – why, for the love of all that's holy, had he stuffed the wretched thing in his mouth like a chicken nugget in the first place.
But the burning question that slipped out was, "What did it taste like?"
Yuji blinked, blindsided by the odd question. In the background, Megumi looked torn between incredulity and resignation at your eccentric priorities. It was a familiar expression, one that frequently appeared whenever your boundless curiosity eclipsed more… conventional concerns.
"Senpai, seriously ?" he muttered, scrubbing a tired hand down his face.
Gojo's amused giggles erupted into full-bellied laughter, causing the camera to shake so violently that you almost lost sight of poor, bewildered Yuji.
"No, really!" you insisted, deadly serious. "The books never describe these things! They censor all the good stuff. I need the raw data! Tell me everything, Yuji!"
Yuji scratched his chin, thoughtfully, looking increasingly like the embodiment of the word "idiot". "Well…," he began hesitantly. "I wasn't really paying that close attention to the flavor, to be honest. But… I guess, kinda like… chewing on an old leather seat from a school bus? A little stale and… salty?"
You distinctly heard Megumi grumble, "How do you even know what bus seat leather tastes like—?" before tuning him out entirely.
This. Was. Groundbreaking.
You grabbed your bullet journal, clicking open the pen, and scribbling down every word at lightning speed. You were, and had always been, a mind of relentless curiosity. Sometimes too curious for your own good, as Megumi liked to point out. But this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you weren't about to waste it.
Your inner researcher was firing on all cylinders. Who cared if it was unconventional data gathering? No one in recorded history had a first-hand account of munching on the King of Curses before. This was pioneering work. History in the making!
"Did you chew at all? What was the texture like going down?" you rapid-fired, pen posed eagerly over your notebook. "How long before you felt the effects kick in? Any immediate side effects? Gastrointestinal distress?"
Bless him, Yuji very patiently answered your barrage of questions in thorough detail.
"Well, I swallowed it whole, so I can't really comment on the texture. It kinda… felt like a thick, smooshy stick going down? Got briefly stuck in my throat, too. Then, for a minute, I felt like… how do I put this…" he paused, searching for the right words. "Like I was thrown straight into a bonfire. Everything went red hot. And this weird… energy flooded through my veins. My body started moving on its own. It was kinda freaky, actually. Then, it was like my mind cleared up, and I sort of… snapped back."
"He also sprouted two extra eyes," Megumi added in a flat, helpfully descriptive tone, "And some crazy tattoos all over. Also ripped his shirt clean off for no apparent reason."
"Ohh…" you murmured, nodding as you meticulously documented every detail. "Fascinating. So, he's like… another personality? You know, like dissociative identity disorder? Were you conscious at all when Sukuna was in control?"
Yuji winced. "I… guess so? Even now, I can still kinda hear him… screaming obscenities at me in my head. It's a little distracting, to be honest."
Multiple personalities, altered physiology, internal power struggles for bodily autonomy… This case study was rapidly exceeding all your wildest expectations. It was research gold!
You were about to ask Yuji more insightful questions about the lingering aftertaste of ancient evil when Gojo breezily cut you off.
"Calm down, Spices," he said, his tone infuriatingly casual given the circumstances. "While this has been quite educational, we do have more pressing matters at hand." He turned to Yuji. "Hey, Itadori. Think you can let Sukuna take over for a bit?"
"Oh, yeah, probably…" Yuji replied.
With that, Gojo casually tossed his phone and the bag of mochi at Megumi, and began stretching, limbering up like he was about to engage in a friendly game of badminton rather than… whatever this was.
"Give me ten seconds with him once he's out," Gojo instructed. "Then take back control. Can't have him rearrange the local geography too much."
"I dunno about this…" Yuji mumbled, paling slightly. Not that you could see clearly, since Megumi was still fumbling with Gojo's phone and the massive bag of Kikufuku mochi.
Gojo's airy dismissal of your academic curiosity made you scowl. And his blasé attitude about unleashing a world-ending entity on a populated area was just plain reckless.
"That's dangerous, sensei!" you bristled. "We don't know how any of this works yet. What if he can't take back control? And Megumi, for the love of all that's holy, hold the phone steady! I'm about to get motion sickness from all your fumbling!"
Megumi complied, finally managed to steady the video feed, though not without an aggrieved huff at your bossiness. You chose to ignore his grumble about you being both demanding and insufferable. You were demanding, and he was being insufferable. There were indeed more pressing issues at hand. Like, the potential arrival of an extremely homicidal ancient curse.
Gojo flashed you his trademark cocky grin, unbothered by your valid concerns. "Don't worry," he said, with the kind of confidence that only a truly overpowered individual could possess. "I'm the strongest!"
Then, he turned that smirk your way. "You want to see it, too, don't you, Spices?" he needled teasingly. "I can hear the questions bubbling away in that overactive little brain of yours."
You bit your lips. He wasn't wrong. You did want to see it. You always wanted to know, to see, to understand. It was a fundamental part of your being. And if things got out of hand, Gojo could handle it. He always could. But then you glanced at the nervous boy on the screen, looking so small and afraid, your heart constricted. He was just a kid.
"My questions don't mean shit, sensei!" you snapped back at Gojo. "Yuji's safety is way more important!"
Gojo merely wagged his finger at you, obviously intent on doing exactly what he wanted, regardless of your objections.
"Hey," he turned to Megumi, ignoring your outburst entirely. "Make sure your senpai has a good view."
And that's how you came to witness the legendary Ryomen Sukuna in the flesh. Or, rather, Yuji's flesh. Still a chilling sight, even through a phone screen. Megumi hadn't exaggerated about the extra eyes and flashy tattoos. They were… a lot. You hastily hit the record button.
The camera whipped sharply as Megumi turned to yell something at Gojo. Too late. Sukuna already launched himself at the Strongest sorcerer with the speed and ferocity of a rabid badger. The difference between Yuji and Sukuna was striking. Where Yuji had been cheerful and… idiotic, this ancient creature was all blistering rage and chaos bottled into a deceivingly small, human-shaped container. Crimson flickered across those four malevolent eyes, the black markings swirling and shifting like living things. Even through the phone, you could feel the dark energy crackling, smell the acrid tang of ozone in the air.
Gojo easily sidestepped Sukuna's attack, his smirk widening with predatory glee. "I've got my two favorite students watching," he taunted. "So, I hope you don't mind if I… show off a little."
And show off, he did.
Their brief but destructive clash was hard to follow on screen – just blurry glimpses of Sukuna's wild strikes and Gojo's graceful counters between bursts of flying debris. Megumi cursed up a storm in the background, his hands trembling as he clung to Gojo's phone and his precious mochi, valiantly trying to provide you with a stable viewing angle of the carnage.
You were glued to the screen, heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird.
Ten seconds ran out.
Yuji blinked back into control, looking rather dumbfounded by the sheer scale of the destruction surrounding him.
"Uh…," he stammered, blinking owlishly. "Everything… okay?"
You were finally able to let out the breath you were holding. He was back. He was alright.
Gojo chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair. "What a surprise," he said, sounding genuinely impressed. "You really can control it."
With that, he tapped Yuji on the forehead, knocking him out cold.
"What did you do?!" Megumi exclaimed, his voice was strained with nervousness.
Gojo grunted a little as he hefted the unconscious Yuji on his shoulder. "Knocked him out for transport, obviously." He shifted Yuji's weight, wincing slightly. "Damn, this kid's heavier than he looks. What are they feeding him, bricks? Okay, your senpai still there?"
Megumi raised the phone higher in response.
"Good," Gojo said, adjusting his grip on Yuji. "Question for you two. What do we do with this ticking time bomb?"
That question marked the pivotal moment when everything officially went to shit.
It was such a simple question. By all the rules and regulations of the jujutsu world, Itadori Yuji should be executed. Plain and simple. No mitigating circumstances. No discussion necessary. You and Megumi shouldn't have even hesitated. This was the way of your world. Rules were in place for a reason, and when those rules were broken, people died. It was a cold, brutal fact that you'd both accepted long ago.
Your chest felt so tight, you could barely draw a breath. Who were you to decide that a person—a boy, really—had to die?
"He saved my life, senpai," Megumi spoke, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. "He ate that finger to save me… because I wasn't strong enough to do my job. I know he should be executed. But… I don't want to let him die."
"Is that a personal opinion, Megumi?" Gojo asked, one corner of his lips curving upward in a way that made it impossible to tell if he was amused or something else.
Megumi lifted his chin. "Yes," he said, meeting Gojo's gaze head-on. "It's a personal opinion. Please, sensei. Do something about it."
Gojo leaned closer into the phone screen, his attention shifting to you. "How about you? What do you think, Spices?"
You weren't even there when it all went down. Hell, you were technically, physically still not even there right now. In the safety of your dorm room, miles away from the storm, what right did you have to an opinion? And yet…
"I'm with Megumi," you stated, with the conviction of someone knowingly giving the wrong answer on a very important exam. An exam with potentially world-altering consequences.
Yes, in the grand scheme of things, it was a spectacularly bad idea to let Sukuna's vessel live. And taking on this kind of responsibility was wildly out of character for you. You were a background character, after all. Not a main player. You weren't supposed to be making life-or-death decisions.
"You sure?" Gojo pressed, his tone oddly serious now. "If he ends up, you know, destroying the world or something, you'll be held responsible. Both of you."
"Don't drag someone who's on a video call into this, Gojo-sensei," Megumi interjected sharply, always quick to defend you. "I will take full responsibility for Itadori. Alone."
"Eh," you said with a laugh that was a little too high-pitched, a little too nervous. "If something goes wrong and Sukuna busts out later, we'll just exorcise him. You and I make a pretty good team. It'll be fine, Gumi."
You were a perfectly normal, average jujutsu sorcerer. All you ever wanted was to graduate, land a stable job, save up and retire early – a long, uneventful life of comfortable obscurity. Not a glorious blaze of self-sacrifice against a world-ending demon king.
A long life was highly unlikely if you ended up having to fight Ryomen-fucking-Sukuna. Even in your wildest, most delusional fever dreams, you would never believe for a second that your "excellent teamwork" with Megumi would be enough to take down the King of Curses.
But would you be able to live with yourself, knowing you let an innocent kid die because he made the mistake of being kind and selfless? Knowing you could have done something to help, but didn't?
"Spices, this isn't a joke!" Megumi hissed at you. Then, he switched to your actual name, the one he rarely used. "Stay out of this. You could die!"
You merely smiled at him. "I know," you said softly. "And I'm still with you."
What's the worst that could happen anyway? Sukuna could take over someday. You and Megumi would rush in, bright and shiny and utterly useless against his overwhelming power. You'd be brutally murdered in a matter of seconds. And then… it wouldn't be your problem anymore, would it?
No big deal.
You shrugged, mentally flipping a coin and watching it land on chaos, oblivious to the monumental weight of the decision you'd just made. You had just, in a fit of reckless compassion, bound your fate to the King of Curses for the rest of your life. A decision that would soon lead to immeasurable pain, unimaginable suffering, and heart-wrenching loss. But for now… for tonight… Yuji would live.
In the present, though, that seemed to settle the matter. While Megumi was still glaring at you with that half-angry half-grateful look in his eyes, mumbling about you having way too many loose screws rattling around in your head, Gojo snapped his fingers cheerfully.
"A request from my two precious students!" he beamed. "How could I possibly refuse? Consider it done! Leave everything to me!"
You exhaled in relief, tension seeping out of your limbs as you flopped dramatically onto your back. Gojo would make it happen. He always did. Crisis averted.
Then a sudden thought entered your mind.
"Gojo-sensei," you piped up. "You're still bringing me the Kikufuku mochi, right?"
"Of course!" he laughed. "Our mochi takes priority."
Then, he ended the single most traumatizing video call of your life.