Chapter Text
The last thing Gojo remembers is a flash of light. He admits it. He was careless. He guesses Sukuna had one more trick up his sleeve to finish him off.
To be fair, he wasn’t in his best condition anymore. His mind was slipping into delirium. He can’t even recall the last time he had a nosebleed before this fight with Sukuna. He had completely exhausted his Limitless, and he could feel the burning throb pulsing in his head as he let out his final Purple. The next second, he dropped his infinity. And just like that, he was hit.
Squelch.
A squelch echoed in the air, one that he’s heard so many times whenever he dismantles a curse. But this time, it was him. His vision blurred. His ears rang, And, oddly, in that moment, he saw the lower half of his body standing a meter away from him. He thought it was gruesome. And he feels a little sorry for leaving such a horrendous scene.
Gojo thought how ironic it was that his technique was called “Limitless.”
Limitless. Until he cracked. Limitless. Until he let go.
Of course it wasn’t. Who was he kidding? In the end, he was still just a man. No matter what they called him—the strongest, the “Buddha with blue eyes”—at day’s end that was all he ever was. Human.
But he didn’t regret a thing. He did what he could. He fought until his last breath.
And he had fun.
Sukuna was the only being he ever went all-out against. Finally, he faced someone he thought might understand the loneliness of being the strongest. And, in classic Gojo fashion, he went out with a bang.
Winning by dying and winning even if you die are two different things.
He remembers saying those words to Megumi. And now, he catches himself wondering: which one did he actually do back then? He wants to believe it was the latter, that it meant something, but there's this uncomfortable heaviness churning in his stomach that suggests otherwise.
Still, Gojo doesn’t dwell on it. As he said, he doesn’t regret a damn thing. Gojo Satoru doesn’t do regret. He just moves forward. The students he gathered and fostered will carry the baton. The legacy continues through them.
He doesn’t regret it.
Not one bit.
...He doesn’t.
Yet, that sensation in his stomach tightens tenfold.
Then come the faces of his students. Kids, really. Still too young to carry that much darkness in their hearts.
Megumi, the boy he took in. Tsumiki, Megumi’s sister, whom he still hasn’t given a proper burial. Those two siblings and their ambiguous relationship with him... What even was he to them? A benefactor? A guardian? A father figure? Scratch that last one. He sure as hell never acted like a father.
Gojo gulps, feeling his throat start to close.
Yuji. That relentless ball of sunshine.
Nobara, who reminds him so much of his younger self, it’s almost unnerving.
Yuta... that boy is far too gentle for his own good.
Maki. He chuckles at the thought. She’s tough as nails on the outside, but he knows better. She’s sensitive. Emotional.
Toge... that poor boy can’t even communicate properly.
But, before Gojo can get another thought in edgewise, he hears a clang of metal.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Pained groans fill the air as he hears bodies drop in a consecutive manner.
Gojo opens his exhausted eyes. A thick fog dulls his thoughts, dragging his mind through the haze. As his vision focuses, he strangely finds himself in the arms of a black-haired swordsman. Just as he tries to grasp the situation, he watches the swordsman swing his weapon one more time, cutting the last person standing.
At this moment, Gojo’s breath hitches.
He feels the urgency to get away and attempts to wriggle his body out of the swordsman’s arms, only to find out that his body isn’t what it used to be. His gaze wanders to his hands and his eyes widen.
Small.
Small, small hands that remind him of Megumi’s when he first met him. Or was it even smaller?
He eventually stops. Shiver crawls down his spine at his realization.
“Oh, you’re awake? ”
Gojo hears the voice above him. As he lifts his head, his eyes lock with a pair of deep, unreadable dark ones.
“Good morning.”
His voice sounds unnervingly soft, like a father gently waking up his son. It’s as if he didn’t just level a group of people.
Gojo just freezes. The only coherent thought in his mind?
What in the actual fuck?