Chapter Text
Itadori Yuuji is alone.
He hasn’t been alone since the day Gramps died. Hasn’t felt like this since the day Gramps died, since Junpei was murdered, since Nanamin and Nobara-
The point is that he is alone. He does not like being alone, because Yuuji is weak. Choso kept him from being alone in the ruins of Shibuya, before they encountered Okkotsu senpai. Before Yuuji reunited with the survivors. Before everything got worse, worse, worse, woRS-
Ah, but, maybe it’s kind of funny.
It’s 2005, and he’s in a back alley in fucking Shibuya. Gojo Sensei is probably in his first year by now. He doesn’t know shit about Gojo sensei’s past, yet somehow here he is.
The moron is left to pick up the pieces, and Yuuji has next to no clue what they are.
Fuck.
Yuuji has to sit down for a second, no biggie. Just gotta sit down, that’s fine. There’s just a pile of pictures he never took in his hands, and he’s in a time he shouldn’t be in. A pile of pictures that don’t exist, a pile of pictures he never took.
But they’re in his hands, and Nanamin smiles back at him with Yuuji smiling as well. His hands clench, claws almost ruining Nanamin’s face. He holds onto the delicate pictures, shaking something violent. None of these pictures ever happened, he’s never met Nanamin while out of uniform. Never never never never never never-
He lets go, stops shaking. Yuuji can’t ruin this, not when it’s pictures of him, Nanamin, Choso, Gramps… Even if they shouldn’t exist, they’re all he has left. That’s all he has.
It’s 2005, and Gojo sensei should be a first year at Jujutsu Tech. It’s 2005, maybe Yuuji can stop things from going to shit.
It’s 2005. He needs to do something stupid.
-
That something stupid is called going to Jujutsu Tech by foot.
He just- shows up and tells Principal, or rather sensei now, Yaga that he has no paperwork but he’s willing to become a sorcerer. He’s willing, even if Yaga is reluctant.
“Why do you want to enroll here? You don’t feel very human,”the higher ups could decide to execute you despite your status as a child. Yuuji knows, he’s lived through it after all.
“Because——“ Everyone is dead because of Yuuji and Sukuna. Everyone is dead but he can change things. He can change things because no one could before. No one knows what he does and Yuuji can change something, Yuuji can be useful for once in his miserable life. He smiles, reminiscing Nanamin’s blunt and honest words. “——sorcery is shit. Life is also shit, but out of the two I’d rather be stuck exorcising spirits because I’m good at it.”
“And you’re aware that this means you can die at any moment? That you will witness others die as well? Living is something you can learn with time.” Yaga sighs, “But sorcery requires that you adapt or die. You may be good now, but what about later? Curses won’t wait for you to rest, they won’t wait for you to grow more.”
“Yeah, but that’s fine.” Because there will be no way for him to die right now. He refuses to die until he has been useful, until he’s finally fixed something. And when he does, Yuuji will drag down each and every one of his enemies down with him. “We all die eventually.”
He’s given up on the idea of a proper death too long ago.
Yaga is quiet for a moment, then two, before Yuuji is left wondering if the man is having a stroke. The answer comes in the form of Yaga nodding, face stern but understanding.
“Then, Igarashi, welcome to Jujutsu Tech.”
The world keeps moving on, as if accepting his new role. Whatever it is, Yuuji doesn’t care. Not yet, not until he can do something right. Not until he can figure out the pictures that don’t exist and how he’s here.
For now, Yaga helps him forge official paperwork to mark his existence. If the man is suspicious, Yuuji knows he will only brush it off. Igarashi Yuuji, 15 years old and the first of the Tokyo branch’s four first years. Igarashi Yuuji whose birthday is October 31, 1989.
Igarashi Yuuji and a stack of pictures that didn’t exist four hours ago. The memories that are supposed to come with pictures don’t exist. So Yuuji settles in his dorm room with his meager belongings and keeps the photos in a drawer. When his first paycheck comes, he will make an album like he did in his own time.
“Nanamin, I think I’m going to have to pass the baton back to you when I’m done.”