Chapter Text
Chapter 1
He knew something was wrong.
That gnawing feeling had been clawing at his mind since the moment their rematch began—an uneasy whisper in the back of his instincts.
Logic screamed at him to run. There was no payment waiting at the end of this fight. No reward. The smartest choice would have been to vanish, disappear into the shadows as he always did.
But he didn’t.
Standing before him was the pinnacle of jujutsu—the one the Zenin family would have wanted as their own, the kind they would have welcomed with open arms. Not like him. To the Zenin, and to all of them, he was nothing but a talentless monkey.
That truth had defined his entire existence.
He killed sorcerer after sorcerer—not out of hatred, but out of desperation. Desperation to prove that even someone without gifts could stand tall against the so-called talented. A meaningless purpose, in the end. A life spent living to kill, killing to soothe his fractured pride. But no matter how many he took down, it was never enough to even convince himself that he was anything more.
So what was it all for then?
As Toji Fushiguro’s gaze drifted down to the gaping hole tearing through his upper body, he felt…nothing.
Just emptiness.
What was it all for? He had given up on that petty, useless pride once before. Had chosen to leave it all behind—to start over, to build a family, to live a normal life like any other non-sorcerer.
And for a time, he was happy.
‘I thought you abandoned that pride’, he thought bitterly as he stared at his one remaining hand, stained with his own blood. ‘I thought you chose to live without respecting yourself or anyone else.’
A voice drifted into his dying mind.
“Toji-kun…”
He grinned faintly, eyes clouded with a sad nostalgia.
It was her voice—his late wife, the only person who ever saw and treated him as something more than a monkey. She was the reason he dared to turn his back on the jujutsu world that raised him, the reason he stopped hating himself long enough to live.
But fate was never kind.
It hadn’t been kind at his birth. It wasn’t kind to love either, taking her away far too soon.
And soon after, he found himself swallowed back into the world he tried to leave behind.
And where had that gotten him?
Missing a limb.
Bleeding out.
Coughing blood.
Dying—and wondering what it was all for.
He had abandoned his son, even planning to sell him to the Zenin. He had returned to the meaningless, brutal existence he swore to escape. All for pride.
‘What a pain,’ he chuckled to himself.
He raised his head toward the man responsible for turning his insides to soup.
Satoru Gojo stood over him, white hair shining like a ghost in the sunlight. His face was calm—no hatred, no anger. Strange, considering all Toji had done to his friends.
"Any last words?" Gojo asked quietly.
The courtesy disgusted him.
“No,” he replied flatly.
What was there to say? Sorry? Tell my son I love him? What difference could words make? It was his choice to leave him behind. He chose to leave behind the product of his and his wife’s love. It was all for the best, anyway. His son was far better off without him.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
He remembered the last time he saw his boy.
It wasn’t a visit full of warmth, just a quiet check-in long after the abandonment. He expected to find the child laughing and playing with friends, but instead saw a small boy—alone, eyes cast down, swallowed by silence.
The same silence and isolation Toji had known as a child.
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
His heart hammered weakly, clinging onto its final stretches of life. And he chose a lie as his final word.
No.
No…
With a dragging breath, he spoke softly, “In two or three years, my child will be sold to the Zenin family… Do as you wish.”
He didn’t know why—maybe death had softened him and made him naive. Maybe desperation clouded his mind. Yet, it was his last gamble. Maybe Gojo would do nothing, or worse. But maybe, just maybe, his son could be spared.
‘Hope…’
That was all he had left. It was all he had left
And with his final breath, Toji Fushiguro passed.
Only one regret haunted him – not seeing his son one last time.
Toji didn’t think he’d find himself back in the world of jujutsu. In fact, he was sure he was dead.
Yet, here he was.
It felt like a fever dream. He could see, smell, feel, move. But he didn’t feel complete, as if he wasn’t fully in control of his body. Without conscious thought, his body fought opponent after opponent. He didn’t recognize their faces—his limbs moved by pure instinct alone.
He had just taken down another one, rushing reflexively toward the next target. The target tried to fight back, but Toji dodged every blow with effortless precision.
The target fled again, and Toji’s fury ignited as he gave chase. The pursuit led them into a narrow alleyway, where he finally trapped the target.
His assassin’s senses surged back—the single-minded killing intent, the unstoppable force. He sprinted toward the target to finish the job.
Then, inches from the target’s face, recognition struck him.
It was a kid.
His kid.
He was about to kill his own son.
The horrifying thought shattered his trance. Forcing control over his limbs, he leapt away from the boy—though the dark desire to kill still simmered beneath the surface.
He was in control now.
With clearer vision, Toji studied the boy before him. He had grown. Taller than before, no doubt. His own blood.
Questions flooded Toji’s mind.
How many years had passed?
Was he happy?
Did he have friends?
He wanted to rush forward, to hug the boy, to apologize for every mistake—
Then pain gripped him.
His body rebelled—the muscle and bone fighting against his will.
‘Whatever did that old hag do to me…’ he gritted through clenched teeth. It was strong magic, and only a matter of time before it broke his control.
He wasn’t going to hurt his son.
But there was one thing he needed to know.
“You... what’s your name?” Toji asked quietly.
His son looked surprised, eyes wide – no doubt confused at the situation he found himself in.
“Uh... Fushiguro,” the boy answered.
A faint smile cracked Toji’s lips.
“Not Zenin, huh…”
Raising the sharpened staff in his hand, without hesitation, Toji drove it into his own skull.
There were countless things he wanted to say—things he wanted to do if he ever saw his son again. But none of it mattered now. For the boy, who had surely grown used to life without a father, knowing his dad stood before him would be nothing but a burden. Probably forgotten, or better off without the memory.
If removing even a single obstacle from his son’s path meant sacrificing himself, Toji would do it without hesitation.
‘You look like you’re doing well…’ he thought solemnly before whispering, “I’m glad.”
Toji Fushiguro’s last gamble had paid off.
He stole one final glance at his son—his blessing—a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips before his body went limp.
He had died once more.
But this time, he had seen his son.
He could finally rest.
Everything went black.
He felt weightless—falling through an endless void without ground, air, or time.
‘Is this heaven?’
Then, with a sudden jolt, his eyes snapped open.
“What the fuck?” Was an apt response to his predicament as Toji found himself quickly descending from the sky.
A city rushed up to meet him—gleaming skyscrapers rose like glass and steel monoliths stretching into the fading heavens. This wasn’t the Japan he knew. It was different.
Toji’s hands shot out instinctively, clutching the cold edge of a building to break his fall. His feet landed lightly on a crowded sidewalk, slipping silently into the throng of strangers.
His sharp gaze scanned the streets.
Most of the faces appeared ordinary, except for some.
A man’s skin cracked and shifted like drying cement, each step sending faint tremors through the ground.
Nearby, a child’s limbs stretched and twisted in unnatural, rubber-like sweeps as they snatched a drifting leaf midair.
Every other passerby bore a trace of power, yet there was no sign of cursed energy anywhere.
‘Weird.’ Toji’s eyes sharpened as his gaze caught flickering billboards high above, each depicting brightly costumed figures with exaggerated smiles—like they were some kind of superhero.
Without hesitation, Toji slipped away from the bustling crowd and into a shadowed alley, seeking solitude to gather his thoughts.
He watched, cautious and critical, absorbing the strange new world.
It felt both oddly familiar and utterly alien.
‘Where the hell am I?’