Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
「極楽も 地獄もさきは 有明の 月ぞ心に かかる雲なき」- 上杉 謙信
“No matter where I go, to heaven or hell, because I feel my clear mind as the moon over cloudless sky.” - Uesugi Kenshin
Yuuji Itadori has just come to accept that his life will be ordinary when extraordinary things begin to happen. And like many of the extraordinary things to come, it starts with his grandfather, Wasuke Itadori.
“Look into the right pocket of my vest, other there,” Wasuke says.
Yuuji turns away from the vase of chrysanthemums and lilies on the window sill that he’s just arranged. He bought them on his way to the hospital, right after school. They are yellow and white but the sunlight of twilight gives them an orange hue. Yuuji doesn’t know much about flowers, but every time he comes to the hospital he brings with him a fresh bouquet. Wasuke always chides him for it and Yuuji always says that it’s for the nurses even though the nurses only come into the room when it’s strictly necessary. It’s not that they don’t care about Grandpa, it’s more that Grandpa doesn’t care for their presence. Yuuji always has to apologise for Wasuke’s rudeness and attitude.
He picks the vest and fishes out a small omamori from it. It’s a small pouch of red silk that looks old and used. A string that probably used to be white and is now brown keeps it tightly closed, and golden letters that spell yakuyoke charm, a protection against evil, adorns its front. It looks like the one attached to his phone, or the one by the doors of their home, or any omamori he’s ever seen in his life. They are supposed to bring luck and fortune, or grant a wish or, in this case, protect one against malevolent spirits.
Yuuji doesn’t know how effective they are but as far as he can remember, his Grandpa has always made sure to write some ofuda to stick on walls around the house or get him some omamori to hang on his things. He never leaves their home without one.
“It’s for you. Inside is a number. You’ll have to call it when I pass,” he says matter-of-factly. Yuuji startles and looks over at his Grandpa.
“Don’t say things like that, old man,” he scolds and rolls his eyes. Wasuke doesn’t seem to be joking however and looks at him sharply. Yuuji feels like he is seeing something more in him and he squirms under the scrutiny. He looks away, brushes his short strawberry pink hair back and gives a grin. “Thanks though,” he says, showing the omamori, and shoves it in the pocket of his hoodie. It weighs like a final wish.
He wonders whose number it is as he doesn’t recall his Grandpa having many friends, and as far as he knows they don’t have any other family member. It’s him and Wasuke. It’s been so for a long time.
“There’s something I want to tell you before the end. It’s about your parents,” Wasuke says. Yuuji looks at him and doesn’t like how this whole conversation is turning.
“I’m not interested,” Yuuji wrinkles his nose. He knows it’s not his parents’ number. They both died when he wasn’t even old enough to remember their faces. They don’t talk about them. Wasuke has scarcely given him any detail about how they died or who they were, and Yuuji has never asked. As far as he’s concerned, his only parent is right in front of him, in a hospital bed, being as grumpy and stubborn as ever. Yuuji only knows one way to deal with such grumpiness and stubbornness, and it is to be just as grumpy and stubborn.
He goes back to the window to check on the flowers again, ending there any conversation about his parents. Wasuke doesn’t insist either and Yuuji hears him shuffling in his bed.
Ever since Wasuke has been admitted to the hospital, Yuuji doesn’t know how to deal with it all. They’ve both talked about the end casually as if it isn’t something serious enough to give it weight, and joking about it might lighten its relevance. Yuuji is used to the back and forth that makes the air around them both awkward with the knowledge of what’s to come and heavy with the denial of it.
“Yuuji,” Wasuke calls again in a tone that is solemn enough to make Yuuji look over. His Grandpa has turned to his side, away from him, curled up in the same way Yuuji has seen him do for years when the old man is ready for sleep. “Call the number,” he says, final. And then he dies.
It’s a Friday evening, Yuuji is fifteen, the moon is starting to peak onto the world in a cloudless sky.
“Grandpa?” He calls still and silence answers quite nothing.
__________
The next few hours are a daze. The hospital is not busy and yet he feels as if he can’t catch his breath. He starts with packing up Grandpa’s things in the room. He had been here a few months and yet all of his things amount to a single medium-sized bag. There are just a few clothes and a journal. Yuuji’s never read it. Well, Wasuke’d never let him. He doesn’t dare look inside and zips the bag quickly.
Then there is the paperwork. There is something numbing about it, as Yuuji isn’t one to think much to begin with, but the process of it all dulls whatever confusion and introspection he might have. He fills the forms thoroughly but most of them remain blank. He has no relatives to list.
“Thank you for everything,” he says and gives the nurse the last sheet of paper.
“That’s all of the paperwork,” she says. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Her voice is compassionate and soft and he’s touched that she cares even a little bit.
“Well, it’s my first time dealing with something like this,” he says. “It doesn’t feel real yet.” It reminds him of those paranormal documentaries he’s seen on YouTube, when people describe out of body experiences. And yet he can’t ignore the reality of how his heart is constricted with grief. He doesn’t want to cry more but there are tears at the edge of his voice. He knows though that Wasuke wouldn’t want him to be mopey about it all.
“Take a moment for yourself, Itadori-san,” she says, as if she’s read through him, and nods over to the sitting area. “I’ll process this and I’ll call you soon. Have a seat.”
He does as she says and settles in the empty waiting room.
There is no one else around and the silence makes his thoughts loud. It is strange to think that Grandpa is gone just like that. Yuuji doesn’t have anyone to call and tell about it. He’s started making some friends in high school but their acquaintance is still too shallow for him to burden them with grief and mourning.
“Itadori-san,” the nurse calls him again not even a few minutes after she’s left and beckons him to follow her into an office.
The room she brings him into has no window, and several stations are clustered at the centre. It looks like the teachers’ office at his high school, he thinks. He wonders if all adults all work in those open spaces for which the definition of open seems to equal being stuck in a closed space where everyone can see your business.
She makes him sit and gives him a small sympathetic smile. “You’re fifteen,” she states. “I’ve checked with the family records but you don’t have any other guardian.”
“I can take care of myself. I’ve been taking care of myself since Grandpa had been admitted.”
“I know, but this is quite different. I’m afraid I’ll have to call the child guidance centre for you Itadori-san.”
“I’m not a child,” Yuuji scowls at her and pouts quite spectacularly. His eyes are red and sore from crying earlier and he still has a bit of snot on his face.
She gives him another indulgent smile and Yuuji wonders how many times she has done this before to have little to no reaction to his (not) tantrum other than indulgence. He searches for another tissue to wipe the tears that are threatening to fall and his fingers brush the omamori.
“I have guardians,” he says suddenly, like an epiphany. It is a lie, but if it gets him out of here and away from a foster home for the night, then it’s probably a really good idea. He brandishes the omamori and quickly opens the small pouch. A business card falls on his open palm.
It is a simple white card, expensively thick, with black elegant digits that form a number. There is no name on it. He stares at it for a moment and then hands it over to the nurse.
She seems perplexed but once again indulges him and picks up the landline.
Here goes nothing, Yuuji thinks. Maybe it is just the number of his Grandpa’s favourite ramen restaurant or something and he wanted Yuuji to get some food after he dies. Not that Yuuji is incapable of getting his own food. He isn’t a child. He has been taking care of himself for several months now and even when Grandpa still lived with him, Yuuji had been fairly independent.
“Moshi moshi, this is Sugisawa Hospital and I’m with Yuuji Itadori-san,” the nurse says into the phone. Yuuji can’t hear whatever is said on the other side. “I — oh, it cut,” the nurse frowns at the receiver and looks over at Yuuji, who in turn looks as confused as she is.
“Try again?” He says, feeling his luck depleting as the seconds pass.
Thankfully she complies.
Yuuji wonders if he’s really going to a foster home tonight. He’s vaguely thought about the idea before, which was probably normal for an orphan, but he’s never really looked it up. He’s had his Grandpa after all so the idea of the government being in charge of him is new and he doesn’t think he likes it very much.
The nurse looks at him and shakes her head. She hangs up. “I’m sorry, Itadori-san. It went straight to voicemail,” she says and hands him back the card, her indulgence morphing into something that looks like pity. Yuuji feels his stomach sink and his throat knots painfully. He still takes back the card and puts it back in its pouch, wondering what kind of curse his Grandpa has left him with and then immediately regrets such thoughts.
“What now?” If his voice breaks and he sniffles a bit, she doesn’t remark on it.
“I’ll call the child guidance centre. You can go and wait in the waiting room.”
He wants to protest, but Yuuji’s always been quite obedient in the face of adults. Yet, he feels like the floor is going to swallow him as he makes his way back to where he was sitting before and pulls his knees to his chest.
__________
“Itadori-san?” A voice calls him and Yuuji wakes from his slumber on the plush but uncomfortable couch of the waiting room. His arse is sore and he has a dull ache at the base of his neck. He doesn’t know how much time has passed but it doesn’t feel like he’s fallen asleep for a long time.
“Yes?” He answers, trying to be as perky as he could and respectful of the adult before him. It is the same nurse from earlier and he looks at the tag on her uniform for the first time.
“Your guardian is here for you,” Nurse Kawa says and beckons him back to her office. Yuuji stares after her for a few seconds, as his sleepy brain tries to catch up with what’s just been said.
I don’t have a guardian, Yuuji thinks. Do I have a guardian?
He follows quickly after Nurse Kawa who is waiting for him by the door. He looks inside and the office is just the same except for a man (a monk?) in full kesa and yukata robes who looks back at him with a small knowing smile. Yuuji has no idea who the man is, and he certainly doesn’t look like one of the suit-clad government workers he’s expected from the child guidance centre.
“Yuuji-kun,” the man says, standing. He’s tall and some of his long hair is pulled back from his face. He has fine handsome traits that make him look warm and friendly but his dark eyes are calculating.
“That’s me,” Yuuji says instantly, and then thinks that perhaps he should have denied it. But the way the man said his name felt practised and familiar as if they’ve met before. Yuuji looks over at Nurse Kawa in confusion but she just seems relieved that he isn’t under her responsibility anymore.
The man walks forward and dips his head at her. “Thank you. I’ll bring him home now,” the man says and puts his arm on his shoulder and with surprising strength that Yuuji can’t resist, pulls him along the hallway toward the elevator. His grip doesn’t look forced, his fingers barely dipping in the fabric of Yuuji’s hoodie, and yet something seems to be both propelling him to walk along and pushing him from behind.
He vaguely hears Nurse Kawa bidding them a good night. Yuuji wants to look back at her and tell her that he doesn’t know this man, and he doesn’t know what the hell is going on either, but before he realises it, the doors of the hospital close behind them and suddenly they are outside. It all happens so fast and Yuuji’s head is spinning and he sort of feels like retching. Bile is piling up bitterly in his throat and then descends as fast. Weren’t they on the second floor about five seconds ago?
The man has let go of him and is now standing a couple of meters away, lighting up a thin cigarette. The dim rays of the crescent moon and the neon lights of the street lamps reflect on his dark hair, half of it pulled in a bun, and the other half falling down to his hips.
“We didn’t expect the call,” he says without looking at Yuuji. His voice is light and warm. “We didn’t even think old Itadori-san kept the charm,” he releases a cloud of smoke into the chilly air of the night and turns to smile at Yuuji as if he has known the teen for years. “You don’t remember me, do you? I suppose you don’t. You were so young, back then,” he chuckles.
Before Yuuji can answer, the sound of sirens coming interrupts them. The man looks to the general direction of the sound, narrowing his eyes as if he could see through the darkness, and makes a displeased noise. He releases the barely-smoked cigarette from his fingers and crushes the butt under his zori sandals.
“Ah, we need to go, Yuuji-kun,” he laments.
“Go where? Who are you? What’s going on?”
The man smiles again, the same kind of knowing smile from the nurses’ office, and before Yuuji knows it, he’s in front of him, in his personal space. His brain just has enough time to register a smell of copper and rust. The air becomes thick as if he’s being hugged by a cumulus. There is a tap on his forehead and then, Yuuji is gone.
__________
When Yuuji wakes, a man is sitting in front of him. He has what looks like a blindfold on his fac. He’s smiling in a way that makes Yuuji thinks of the Cheshire Cat from the Disney movie he saw the other day. He’s dress in a black yukata with purple undertones, contrasting with a shock of thick white hair pulled back in a way that reminds Yuuji of the people in mangas.
The base of Yuuji’s neck hurts more than before but he still tilts his head to look around. He’s in a small room, in what looked like a traditional house. The fusuma are closed and there is no other decoration other than a large talisman on the wall across from Yuuji.
“Ohayou,” the man says. Yuuji looks back at him with a clearer mind and tries to piece together everything that’s happened to him since … since when? The man said ohayou, so it must be the early morning, Yuuji thinks. The man doesn’t wait for him to get his thoughts together though. “I’m Gojo Satoru. The attendant for new orphans at Master Tengen’s Home for Peculiar Children,” the man says cheerfully.