I woke up. My heart pounded like a drum. Sweat soaked my body. Nausea churned. The ceiling warped and twisted. No—the distortion was in my head. Itadori Yuuji pushed himself upright. He looked at his hands. No blood. No wounds. Five fingers. All there. His breath stopped. (Kugisaki...) The image was burned into his brain. One eye crushed to pulp. Mahito's hand covering half her face. That moment. He hadn't made it in time. (Nanami-san...) His upper body alone had fallen to the floor. Smoke still rising. He'd fought, and fought, and still died. A man who lived straight, and died straight. "Ugh... ah..." A strange noise crawled out of his throat. He was going to vomit. But his stomach was empty. Nothing but watery acid spreading through his mouth. Fire blazed inside his skull. Shibuya burning. Sukuna laughing. Using his body, his hands, to burn hundreds of people to death. That bastard enjoying it. With his mouth, his voice—*Feels good, doesn't it*— "Stop... stop it..." His voice shook. He clenched his teeth. A grinding sound. This was memory. A dream he'd just had. But it was too vivid. The smell, the heat, the impact—he remembered all of it. Impossible. This was— Because it was— "—Oi, Itadori! How long are you gonna sleep, idiot!" A voice flew through the wall. A girl's voice. Angry. Absolutely furious. "If I miss breakfast because of you, you're gonna pay! Five minutes—get down here or I'm kicking the door in!" —Kugisaki Nobara's voice. Yuuji froze. Kugisaki's voice. Alive. (Of course she is.) A calm voice spoke inside him. This was weeks before that day. She wasn't dead yet. Hadn't met Mahito. Her face hadn't been destroyed. Alive. She was... alive. "...Haha." A laugh escaped. Then tears came. Sudden. He didn't understand it himself. He was happy, but terrified, and crying. "Itadori!" Another voice. Male this time. Calm. Slightly annoyed. "Breakfast is getting cold." —Fushiguro Megumi. The one whose body Sukuna stole. (No. Not yet.) Yuuji rubbed his eyes. His palm came away wet. The tears wouldn't stop. But neither would the laughter. Thank god. Thank god. Everyone was here. Right here. Open the door, and the usual morning would be waiting. Kugisaki angry, Fushiguro exasperated, and Gojo-sensei probably saying something stupid with a coffee milk in hand. The usual morning—one that was never supposed to come again. (I came back.) He had all the memories. Memories of the future. Who would die, when, where, how. The enemy's techniques, their numbers, their weaknesses. (This time, I'll protect them.) Absolutely. Everyone. Gojo-sensei, Nanami-san, Kugisaki, Fushiguro. This time, he'd make it in time. Yuuji lifted his head. In that instant— Deep inside his body—a laugh echoed. *Show me something interesting, Itadori Yuuji.* A chill froze his spine. No. That voice didn't come from outside. It came from within. Inside him. He knew this voice well. —Ryomen Sukuna. The King of Curses from a thousand years ago. A special-grade cursed object split into twenty fingers. Because he'd swallowed one, the curse now lived inside his body. Usually it just lounged around looking bored. But not now. Now, that voice held delight. "You..." Yuuji's voice scraped out. The mental world—the innate domain. Sukuna's presence was there. Usually he just sprawled across his throne of bones, but now he was definitely sitting up, looking this way. *What is that carved into your soul?* Four red eyes gleamed in the darkness. *The flow of time is warped in reverse. Like a fish swimming upstream.* —He knew. Yuuji's entire body went cold in an instant. This thing couldn't read his memories. But it had sensed the change in his soul. That alone was enough for it to notice. That he'd come back from the future. (He knows.) Cold sweat trickled down his forehead. *Don't be afraid. I'm merely entertained.* Sukuna's voice was low, rumbling deep in his throat. *The more you struggle—what do you think will happen? Changing history means exactly that. New gaps will open. New distortions will form. How that plays out... won't it be a spectacle?* "I will never let you have your way." "Impossible." He laughed. *The more you change history, the more my amusement grows. For example—your racing heart right now. Those eyes gazing into the distance. What are you thinking? Who are you trying to protect? Even this very moment, as you think those thoughts, you are my entertainment.* He was scared. Simply, purely scared. Sukuna was powerful. Not just a curse. A monster that a thousand years ago, every sorcerer of the age combined couldn't bring down. That thing was inside his body, and now it knew his secret, and it was enjoying itself. (But.) But that didn't matter. "Laugh all you want." Yuuji clenched his teeth. "I'll protect them. Everyone. I won't let you, or that fake, do a damn thing." Sukuna didn't answer. Only the faint impression of a smirk remained. Then his presence vanished. He'd returned to his throne of bones, as always. But today, his sleeping face seemed to be laughing. His heart still hammered. Yuuji got out of bed. He threw on the standard-issue black student uniform. Birdsong drifted through the window. An ordinary morning. A morning where no one was dead. —Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College. Known as Jujutsu High. Not a normal school. A training institution for sorcerers who exorcise the "curses" born from human negativity. Officially registered as a religious school, but in reality, a full combat organization. He'd heard there were only about four hundred sorcerers in the entire country. Yuuji's first-year class had just three. He'd come back to this place. "Too slow!" The moment he reached the dining hall, Kugisaki's voice hit him. Her short hair swaying, she glared at him. Upturned eyes carrying a fierce, competitive light. About 160 centimeters tall. Small, but her movements were all the quicker for it. "The miso soup's cold because of you. What are you gonna do about it?" "...Sorry." Yuuji said it quietly. (Alive.) She was angry. Complaining. Tapping her chopsticks straight, sipping her miso soup. Ordinary. This was an ordinary morning. "You look pale." Fushiguro spoke this time. Dark, unruly hair. Calm eyes. He wasn't the type to show much emotion. But now, his brow was faintly furrowed, his gaze fixed on Yuuji's face. "Didn't sleep?" "...Bad dreams. That's all." Yuuji tried to smile. It didn't work. His facial muscles refused to cooperate. Kugisaki suddenly stopped her chopsticks. "—What? Something happen?" A worried voice. That was who she was. Usually rough, quick to anger, quick to kick. But when a comrade looked off, she noticed. She asked. That kindness—Mahito's hand had reached for it. "Nothing." Yuuji forced a smile. (It's not nothing.) There was so much he wanted to say. You're going to die soon. Fushiguro's body will be stolen. Gojo-sensei will be sealed. He knew all of it. But—he couldn't say it. What would happen if he did? Who would believe him? Saying he came back from the future would just make him sound insane. And if history changed. Sukuna would enjoy that change. That's what he'd said. (So I have to keep it secret.) These memories were his alone. "Weirdo." Kugisaki said it with exasperation, and went back to her miso soup. But Yuuji noticed—her eyes had lingered on his face for just a moment. She wouldn't press further. She understood that kind of distance. Thank you, he thought. —Today was still far earlier than he realized. Breakfast ended. He left the dining hall. A lanky shadow walked toward him down the corridor. White hair. Black blindfold. "Yo, Yuuji." A playful voice. Gojo Satoru. Teacher at Jujutsu High, his homeroom instructor, and—the strongest sorcerer of the modern era. Special grade. Limitless cursed technique. The Six Eyes. A ridiculous person whose mere existence shifted the power balance of the jujutsu world. Coffee milk carton in hand, he waved with his usual light demeanor. "Good morning, Gojo-sensei." Yuuji bowed his head. "Morning. Energetic as ever, huh—" Gojo started to say. Then— He stopped. More precisely, his Six Eyes did. It was just an instant. But Yuuji understood. The eyes beneath the blindfold—those special eyes that glowed blue—had looked through Yuuji's body, all the way to its depths. The smile vanished from Gojo's face. (What is this?) Gojo held his breath. The Six Eyes perceived the flow of cursed energy at an atomic level. And yet, now, at the bottom of Yuuji's soul—there was a faint distortion, crackling and churning. The flow of his cursed energy wavered in the opposite direction of the time axis. As if carved into his soul—like the trail left by a fish swimming upstream. "—Yuuji." Gojo's voice dropped, suddenly low. "Wh-what is it?" Yuuji looked up at him, a question mark on his face. "...Nothing." That voice held no amusement at all. This wasn't the usual joking Gojo Satoru. He was definitely on guard. That "something" carved into Yuuji's soul—he had seen through it. "Don't worry about it. Coffee milk's good, by the way." His playful voice returned. But his eyes were different. Even after Yuuji passed by, Gojo stared at his back for several seconds. —The seed of doubt was sown here. Unaware, Yuuji walked on down the corridor. Only his footsteps faded into the distance.