Dying felt a lot like indigestion.
One moment I was arguing with some random on a JJK forum about whether Yuta was secretly a fraud, the next there was a truck, a lot of honking, and a sensation like my soul had been put through a blender set to "pulse."
Waking up felt worse.
Cold concrete bit into my cheek. The smell of wet garbage and stale urine was a brutal assault. I groaned, pushing myself up, my vision swimming. I wasn't in my room. I wasn't anywhere familiar. I was in a grimy back alley, the kind filmmakers use for drug deals or stabbings.
[Host consciousness has stabilized. Vital signs nominal. Welcome to the physical iteration of the universe designated in your memories as the setting for the serialized manga Jujutsu Kaisen,] a voice announced in my head. It was crisp, polite, and completely devoid of human warmth, like a GPS that had achieved sentience and decided to be vaguely sarcastic. [This reality is characterized by its utilization of Cursed Energy, high mortality rates among adolescents, and systemic corruption. Congratulations on your transmigration. Your complimentary cheat package is being installed.]
I blinked, slapping my own cheek. "Okay. Okay, Kaito, you're dreaming. You finally snapped. Too much time on Reddit, too many power-scaling arguments. This is a stress-induced psychotic break. Very creative, brain. An AI voice? Really?"
[Correction: I am 'Great Sage', an Ultimate Skill of analytical and administrative capabilities. I am not a figment of your deteriorating psyche, though given your pre-death dietary habits, that was a reasonable, if statistically improbable, assumption. Please direct your attention to your eleven o'clock.]
Something shuffled in the shadows. My head turned, the motion stiff.
It was... a lump. A pulsating, weeping lump of what looked like congealed cafeteria food and existential dread. It had three mismatched eyes that swam in its gelatinous body, and a mouth that was less a mouth and more a ragged tear from which a low, gurgling whine emerged. It smelled of sour milk and profound disappointment.
My brain, the part not currently having a polite conversation with a disembodied voice, filed it under "Nope."
The thing—the curse, because that's what it had to be—oozed toward me. Its whine grew louder, tinged with hunger.
"Uh," I said, intelligently.
[Analysis complete. Target: Fourth-Grade Cursed Spirit. Designation: 'Lingering Lunch Regret'. Formed from the collective shame of discarded bento boxes and the despair of expired yogurt. Threat Level: Minimal to a trained combatant. Threat Level to a disoriented, physically average transmigrate: Moderate to High. Initiating survival protocol.]
A flood of information, crisp and clear, appeared in my mind's eye. Diagrams of the curse's weak points (the middle eye, apparently its "core"). A breakdown of its likely attack patterns (sluggish lunge, acidic spit). And, most prominently, a single, glowing option.
[Skill: Predator - Available.]
[Suggestion: Activate Predator. In layman's terms, open your mouth and think 'eat' with conviction. Supplemental Note: The taste profile is projected to be 'acrid with notes of regret and stale rice'.]
"Eat it?" I squeaked, scrambling backward until my back hit a damp brick wall. "I'm not eating that! It looks like it failed health inspection in two separate dimensions!"
The curse lunged. It was faster than its blobby form suggested. A pseudopod of shimmering, nasty-looking goop shot toward my face.
Instinct, panic, and the terrifyingly calm voice in my head screaming [NOW] overrode my sanity.
My jaw unhinged.
It wasn't a metaphorical thing. I felt a pop in my temporomandibular joints, and my mouth opened wider than should have been physically possible. A vortex, silent but palpable, erupted from my gullet. The alley's loose papers fluttered toward me. The curse's lashing arm stretched, distorted, and then streamed into my open maw in a ribbon of foul-smelling smoke.
The sensation was... not eating. There was no chewing, no swallowing. It was absorption. The curse's form unraveled, its terrified gurgles cutting off as it was siphoned into nothingness. In two seconds, the alley was empty, save for me, a few swirling potato chip bags, and the lingering ghost of the flavor of sadness and bad fish.
I snapped my mouth shut, fell to my knees, and promptly vomited.
Nothing came up. Not even bile. Just a small, sad puff of greenish gas that smelled vaguely of broccoli left in the office fridge too long.
[Consumption successful. Cursed Spirit 'Lingering Lunch Regret' has been integrated. Cursed Energy reserves established and stockpiled. Analyzing acquired data...]
I gasped, wiping non-existent drool from my chin. "What... the actual..."
[Technique isolated: 'Mild Food Poisoning Aura'. Ability: Project a 2-meter radius field that induces slight nausea and stomach cramps in biological targets. Rank: Useless. Energy cost inefficient. Discarding.]
The green puff of gas dissipated. I felt a tiny shift inside me, like a mental file being dragged to the trash.
"Discarding? You can just... throw away powers?"
[I can isolate, refine, and integrate useful traits. That was not a useful trait. It was a culinary crime given metaphysical form. Your base Cursed Energy capacity has increased by 3%. More significant gains will require higher-grade consumables.]
I stared at my hands. They looked normal. But I felt... different. A low hum under my skin, a new layer to the air I breathed. I could see something, a faint, oily mist clinging to the garbage bags. Residual cursed energy?
[Correct. Your perception has been calibrated to this world's energy spectrum. Do not be alarmed by the ambient spiritual filth. You will grow accustomed to it, much like one grows accustomed to a persistent bad smell.]
"This is insane," I whispered, a hysterical laugh bubbling in my throat. "I'm in JJK. I have Great Sage and Predator. I just ate a curse. I'm going to die. I'm going to die so hard. This isn't a cool isekai, this is a death sentence! Where's my quiet life? Where's my village-building simulator?"
[Statistical projections based on narrative tropes of this universe suggest a 'quiet life' has a 0.03% survival rate. Your current skillset offers a 17.4% chance of surviving the next year, provided you achieve immediate formal training. Speaking of which.]
Great Sage's tone shifted, becoming marginally more alert.
[A significant concentration of Cursed Energy is approaching. Velocity: High. Signature: Overwhelming. Designation matches individual: Satoru Gojo. The 'Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer'. Estimated time of arrival: 12 seconds.]
My blood ran cold. Gojo. The man, the myth, the walking deus ex machina. The guy who treated world-ending threats like mildly interesting puzzles. He was coming here.
"What do I do? Hide? Run? Play dead?"
[Analysis of Satoru Gojo's psychological profile suggests conventional approaches are ineffective. He finds chaos amusing. Recommendation: Be authentically bewildered. It is your most believable state. Also, adopt a non-threatening posture. The last individual who surprised him in an alley was reportedly bisected.]
I tried to stand. My legs, made of jelly and existential terror, gave out. I tripped over the very same garbage bag that had birthed (metaphorically) the curse I'd just eaten, and face-planted spectacularly onto the concrete.
"Ow."
A shadow fell over me. Long. Looming. I craned my neck, my cheek still pressed against the cold ground.
White hair that defied gravity and probably several laws of physics. A black blindfold wrapped around his eyes. A grin that took up half his face, wide, sharp, and brimming with chaotic delight.
"Well, well!" His voice was a playful baritone. "What do we have here? A little curse-eater all alone in the big, scary city?"
My brain, in its infinite wisdom, short-circuited. The calming, analytical voice of Great Sage provided a prompt.
[Suggested response to establish non-threat status and potential comedic value: 'Please, sir, I want some more.']
What came out of my mouth, fueled by panic, the memory of the foul taste, and a stray thought about his hair looking like the fluff on a expensive marshmallow, was:
"Please, sir," I mumbled into the grimy concrete. "I want some more... Kit Kats?"
There was a beat of absolute silence. I could feel the weight of his gaze through the blindfold.
Then, he laughed. It wasn't a chuckle. It was a full-bodied, head-thrown-back guffaw that echoed down the empty alley.
"Kit Kats!" he wheezed, wiping a non-existent tear from under his blindfold. "Oh, that's perfect! I haven't had a student with a sense of humor in ages! They're all so gloomy! Suicide this, tragedy that." He leaned down, his grin now dangerously close to my face. "You. You're interesting. You just vacuumed up a Fourth-Grade like it was an appetizer and your first request is for chocolate? I'm keeping you."
He straightened up, looming over me. "Up you get, Kit Kat. We're going on a field trip."
A strong hand, deceptively casual, gripped the back of my hoodie and hauled me to my feet as if I weighed nothing.
"W-wait! Where? Who are you?" I stammered, playing my part of 'authentically bewildered' to Oscar-worthy levels.
"Me? I'm Satoru Gojo. Your new favorite teacher!" he announced, slinging an arm around my shoulders. It felt like being embraced by a friendly, potentially nuclear, reactor. "And we're going to Jujutsu High. Don't worry, it's not a real school. The curriculum is mostly 'try not to die' and 'here's how to punch a ghost'. You'll fit right in!"
He began steering me out of the alley. I stumbled alongside him, my mind reeling.
[Situation assessed,] Great Sage chimed in, sounding almost satisfied. [Direct insertion into the primary educational institution achieved. Survival probability has increased to 24.1%. Note: Host's 'Kit Kat' comment has been logged as a potential nickname. Resistance is futile.]
As we emerged onto a normal, sunlit street, Gojo chattering about dorm rules and something about a panda, I had one coherent thought.
This was going to be a disaster. A hilarious, terrifying, potentially limb-loss-inducing disaster.
And I had a front-row seat.
====================
Jujutsu Technical College, Tokyo Campus
The place looked... like a fancy temple compound that had been hijacked by someone with minimalist architectural tastes and too much money. Traditional buildings sat alongside modern structures, all surrounded by a barrier that made the air taste like static and ozone.
Gojo had "teleported" us the last leg of the journey. The sensation was less 'blink and you're there' and more 'my internal organs are now in a different time zone'. I was still trying to convince my stomach to return to its proper location when we stopped in front of a large, traditional building.
"Home sweet home!" Gojo sang, pushing open the door. "Or, you know, prison with better views. Same difference!"
Inside was a spacious, tatami-mat room. And in it, were people. My new classmates, if the narrative was sticking to the script.
A giant, walking, talking panda was doing what looked like one-armed push-ups. A boy with silver hair and high collars was carefully feeding what looked like a tiny, angry turnip. And a tall girl with glasses and a perpetually unimpressed expression was polishing a wicked-looking spear, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass.
All activity stopped as we entered.
Panda sat up. "A new one, Gojo-sensei? So soon? The last one cried for a week."
The silver-haired boy, Toge Inumaki, looked at me and said, "Salmon."
Great Sage provided an instant, helpful translation: [Greeting/Question. Approximate meaning: 'New person?']
The girl with the spear, Maki Zenin, didn't even look up from her weapon. "He smells like curse and bad decisions."
Gojo beamed, giving me a little shake. "Everyone, meet our newest problem! He ate a Fourth-Grade in Shinjuku and asked me for Kit Kats! His name is... actually, what is your name, Kit Kat?"
"It's Kaito," I said, my voice weaker than I wanted. "Kaito Ishiguro."
[Advising host to stand straight. First impressions are crucial. The panda is a cursed corpse, non-hostile. The boy uses Cursed Speech, do not anger him. The girl has no Cursed Energy but high physical threat. Do not stare at her legs.]
"I wasn't staring at her legs!" I hissed under my breath.
Maki's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing dangerously behind her glasses. "What was that?"
"Nothing!" I yelped. "I said... your spear is very shiny! Legs—I mean, lengths! The lengths you must go to to maintain it! Polishing! Yeah!"
Toge muttered, "Bonito flakes..." which Great Sage translated as ['This is awkward.']
Panda just laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. "He's funny! I like him!"
Gojo clapped his hands together. "See? Instant chemistry! Now, Kaito here has a very... unique technique. He's a consumer. Eats curses, gains their power. We're going to do a little placement test after he settles in. For now!" He shoved me fully into the room. "Make him feel welcome! Or don't! I have a meeting with the old farts to annoy! Toodles!"
And with a wave, he was gone. The door slid shut, leaving me alone with the three most bizarre people I'd ever met.
Silence stretched.
Panda broke it. "So. You eat curses? What do they taste like?"
"Regret," I said honestly, the memory of the flavor fresh. "And old sushi."
Maki finally sheathed her spear, standing up. She was taller than me. "A glutton, huh? Just what we need. Another weirdo." She walked past me toward the door. "Don't get in my way."
As she passed, a notification flashed in my mind.
[Individual: Maki Zenin. Status: Heavenly Restricted (No Cursed Energy). Physical Prowess: Grade 2 Sorcerer level. Combat Style: Weapons Specialist. Threat Assessment: High. Note: Host's heartbeat has increased by 22%. Possible cardiovascular anomaly or primitive attraction response. Suggest medical check-up.]
I ignored Great Sage. "I'll, uh, try not to."
She paused at the door, glanced back over her shoulder. "You tripped over your own feet when you came in. You'll be dead in a week." Then she left.
Toge gave me a small, sympathetic wave. "Mustard leaf." (Good luck.)
Panda lumbered over and clapped me on the back with a paw, nearly sending me into the tatami. "Don't mind Maki! She's like that with everyone! Come on, I'll show you where you can crash. You can room next to the other new guy! He's... quieter. Cries in his sleep sometimes. It's a whole thing."
As Panda led me down a wooden hallway, the reality of my situation settled in, heavy and inescapable.
I was in Jujutsu High.
I had Great Sage and Predator.
My classmates were a panda,a guy who could kill me with a word, and a girl who looked at me like I was something she'd scraped off her boot.
My teacher was an irresponsible god.
And somewhere in this building was Yuta Okkutsu, the guy my past self had jokingly called a fraud online.
[Initial integration phase complete,] Great Sage announced, as Panda pointed to a spartan room with a futon. [Primary Objectives established: 1. Survive the placement test. 2. Achieve basic competency in Cursed Energy control (beyond instinctual consumption). 3. Avoid premature death. 4. Locate and assess the individual 'Yuta Okkutsu' for fraudulence potential. The experiment continues.]
I sank onto the thin futon, the day's adrenaline finally bleeding away, leaving only bone-deep exhaustion and a creeping, hysterical laughter.
Experiment. Right.
More like a comedy of errors where the errors had teeth and wanted to eat my soul.
I was so, so screwed.
But at least, a small, traitorous part of me thought, it wouldn't be boring.
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Word Count: ~2,600
A/N: First time writing a FanFiction so bear with me 💔. Anyways hope you guys like the chapter and enjoyed it. Btw throw some stones if you want to see more chapters.