Awakening

He remembered dying.

It had been unmistakable, cold death.

That hole in his chest-he remembered how it felt, remembered the salty, metallic taste of blood rising in his throat, remembered how the edges of his vision had darkened little by little.

He also remembered smiling.

At the very last moment, he had smiled. At last, he no longer had to think. No more thinking about those non-sorcerers, those monkeys, that utopia he could never achieve. Death was an end, and an end was a blessing.

Then he woke up.

Suguru Geto snapped his eyes open, gasping for breath.

The ceiling.

A white ceiling, wooden beams. The room was small, with an old poster on the wall of some band he had liked in high school, its corners already curling. The window was half-open, and the breeze made the curtains sway gently.

He recognized this room.

The student dormitory at Jujutsu High.

No.

What about everything after I turned nineteen? No, my memories are a mess. I was twenty-seven when I died. No, twenty-six? Twenty-seven? The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons was on December 24, 2017, and I was born on February 3, 1990, so that makes twenty-seven. Yes, twenty-seven.

Twenty-seven-year-old Suguru Geto had died at the hands of twenty-seven-year-old Satoru Gojo.

Then he had returned here.

Seventeen. It was August 15, 2007, and he was back.

Suguru Geto slowly sat up, feeling every muscle in his body protest. Perhaps it was because he had awakened from the state called "death," but there seemed to be a membrane between his soul and his body, a filter of unreality over all his senses.

He lowered his head and looked at his hands.

Clean. Young. Unscarred. His nails were neatly trimmed. A small, thin callus marked the web between his right thumb and forefinger, left by years of gripping a blade. Right, although [Cursed Spirit Manipulation] did not require hand-to-hand combat, he had never skipped a combat class at Jujutsu High. Satoru Gojo always told him it was "unnecessary," that his Cursed Technique was already strong enough, but he had kept training anyway.

Because hand-to-hand combat was his only way to catch up to that genius.

But he had never caught up.

Not once.

Suguru Geto closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The air smelled of dust and the cotton stuffing in his bedding. Those scents were so real that he almost believed his earlier memories were the nightmare instead: the twenty-seven-year-old Curse User, the leader of the Time Vessel Association, the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons on the streets of Shinjuku. None of it had been real, just a long dream brought on by too much stress.

But his soul knew it was no dream.

The hole in his chest was gone, yet he could still feel where it had been. Like phantom limb pain, a hollow that did not exist in his flesh but was etched deep into his soul.

Then there had been darkness, a black vortex, an endless void.

"Satoru..."

The name left his lips tasting bitter. Suguru Geto lowered his hands, his eyes so dry they ached. He did not cry. The moment he had decided to become a Curse User, he had cast away his tears along with this body.

Yet now, inside this seventeen-year-old shell, something frozen for years was beginning to shatter.

And then there had been this dorm room.

"Geto! What are you dragging your feet for? We're going to be late!"

A voice came from outside, slightly muffled through the wooden door, but that tone, that cadence, that way of drawing out every word-Suguru Geto's heart gave a sudden jolt.

Satoru Gojo.

Seventeen-year-old Satoru Gojo, who had lived through the Star Plasma Vessel Incident, lost Riko Amanai, awakened Reverse Cursed Technique, and was becoming "the strongest."

"Did you hear me, Geto? Shoko's already left! If you don't get up, I'll-I'll kick the door down! I'm really going to do it!"

The lock clicked as Suguru Geto unlocked it from inside.

He stood inside the doorway, and Satoru Gojo stood outside.

Seventeen-year-old Satoru Gojo wore a black Jujutsu High uniform, the top two buttons of his shirt undone to expose his collarbones. A pair of round sunglasses covered his Six Eyes. The eyes behind them were hidden, but his expression was already different from a year ago. Something had been added to that face.

Something deeper, kept hidden. It was the mark left by loss. A smile still hung at the corners of his mouth, but it was no longer a purely carefree smile. Something more complicated lay within it, as if he were saying, "I'm fine," or perhaps, "Don't ask."

Those eyes were fixed on Suguru Geto now.

"Yo, finally decided to get up?" Satoru Gojo tilted his head, his tone as flippant and punchable as ever. "You look awful. Had a nightmare?"

Suguru Geto said nothing.

"Hey, Geto?" Satoru Gojo waved a hand in front of his face. "Gone stupid? Seriously, did a nap fry your brain? Shoko! Come take a look! Something's wrong with Geto!"

"Shut up, Satoru."

Suguru Geto finally spoke. His voice was a little hoarse, as though he had not spoken in a long time, but his tone was too calm for someone who had just had a nightmare. He stepped aside from the doorway, walked back into the room, and picked up the uniform jacket draped over his chair. His movements were natural and fluid, as though nothing had happened.

Satoru Gojo leaned against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets, watching him with his head tilted. His sunglasses slipped down slightly, and the Six Eyes briefly swept over Suguru Geto before he quickly pushed them back up, hiding his eyes again.

"Come on, come on. Shoko's waiting for us in the cafeteria. I think there's saury for breakfast today. If you're late, there'll only be bones left."

"Since when do you care whether Shoko's waiting?" Suguru Geto asked as he buttoned his jacket.

"I just don't want her getting bored all alone!"

"You're just afraid she'll eat your share, too."

Satoru Gojo froze for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Hahaha! You're fine after all, Geto! Still know how to give me grief! All right, all right, let's go!"

He turned and walked away, his steps as light as a child's. But Suguru Geto noticed that his footing was steadier than before. It was no longer that casual, flighty gait that looked as though he might trip at any moment, but a powerful, controlled steadiness, ready to explode into motion.

That was Satoru Gojo after his awakening.

Suguru Geto remembered that final scene.

Shinjuku, the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, rivers of blood. Satoru Gojo stood before him. He heard what Satoru Gojo said, and he smiled. Then he closed his eyes.

Now he had opened them again.

The corridor was short, the walk from the dormitory to the cafeteria barely two minutes. Suguru Geto walked very slowly. Satoru Gojo occasionally turned back to hurry him along, but slowed his own pace to match. Someone was training in the distance; he could hear wooden swords clashing and the low hum of Cursed Energy being released.

It was all too familiar.

So familiar that Suguru Geto's stomach began to cramp.