hello (from the other side)

by sourplumsaway

Summary:

Believe it or not, there exists a world where Getou Suguru is hailed as ‘The Strongest’.

Technically, he WAS the strongest – one-half of the strongest duo, that is. He keeps forgetting that a lot, what with Gojo Satoru’s blinding brilliance, but thankfully Satoru is here to remind him of that fact.

Correction: the version of Gojo Satoru who defects.

(Alternatively: on the night before the parade of a hundred demons, a different version of Gojo Satoru pops into Tokyo. The original one is nowhere to be found, and only Getou Suguru do anything about it.)

Notes:

some reminders before we go:
-the story follows canon timeline up to the night parade, and diverges from there
-author has only watched the anime so forgive me if i don't know some stuff from the manga just yet but i promise i'm getting there just let me recover from shibuya thursdays
-wasn't really planning on going back to fic writing but i was eating a cheese stick and it struck me and before i know it we're here
-i just wanna explore their characters, remember this is just fanfic

that said, enjoy! thank you so much for taking the time to check this out <3

Chapter 1: It starts with Zero (literally)

There’s so much to unpack between Satoru and Suguru. 

Aside from the knick-knacks that they gave each other throughout the years, the shared burdens, secrets, and kisses – this is the one topic that Jujutsu Society doesn’t dare breach, even when Getou Suguru showed up in Jujutsu Tech clad in full monk attire, a smile with too many teeth, and a declaration of war. No one asks why he does what he does. No one prods where he went and hid for over a decade, undetected.

No one mentions it when The Strongest, Gojo Satoru, suddenly loses his flair for dramatics. A solemn stance, a grave expression. Almost as if he’s already mourning the man in front of him, long before he’s carried out the execution. 

There’s so much to unpack with what used to be the strongest duo. 

This is why, for all intents and purposes, it is probably better to deconstruct both men separately. Perhaps, if there existed future studies on the events leading up to the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, the assassination of Riko Amanai, Shibuya Incident, and many more, they would benefit more by considering Gojo Satoru and Suguru Getou as actors completely divorced from each other. Perhaps it would be easier to understand and lay out their motivations. Perhaps, for the sake of argument, the chain of events would make sense.   

This is just that: 

Getou Suguru, a man gifted with curse manipulation. 

Gojo Satoru, a man gifted with Six-Eyes and Limitless. 

And then, for some reason, under circumstances that neither science nor sorcery can explain, an anomaly: 

Gojo Satoru – at least, a version of him that would kill anyone weaker than him. 

And finally, Getou Suguru – at least, a version of him that stays to become a teacher in Jujutsu High. 

There’s little to unpack as long as you ignore that the two are intrinsically, irrevocably, and hopelessly interconnected. 

 

Notes:

i just realized the fic title is an adele lyric i can't unhear it in my mind

Chapter 2: The night before the night parade of hundred demons

Summary:

There's the Night Parade of Hundred Demons.

This is...the night before that.

It’s Shoko who breaks the news. 

 

That night, Suguru makes sure that his plans are spotless. He does all the things that every man insane enough to upend society as we know it: he meets with his associates, meditates to ensure that his curses are in tip-top shape, runs through the step-by-step plan and contingencies one more time, and tucks his daughters to bed. He does his homework and his preparations – his stellar record at Jujutsu High should attest to that – so long as one ignores what happened in his later years. 

 

(He’d hardly consider doling out justice against monkeys as delinquency or inappropriate behavior, but he supposed school policies no longer apply once you defect. And it IS defection, no matter how much the higher-ups liked to enforce that goddamn execution order as if Suguru operated and adhered to the rules of their rotten society.

 

It’s not bad if you recognize that it has to be done. 

 

It’s not rule-breaking if the rules don’t even make sense.) 

 

He’s almost finished tucking Mimiko and Nanako to sleep, putting their phones away to make sure that they get a good night’s sleep before the Big Day. He remembers getting sentimental – look at his kids joining him on missions now – except there’s a tinge of anxiety and dread too, knowing that he won’t be there to protect them. Surely Satoru wouldn’t think of harming kids when Suguru had explicitly acknowledged them as his own the moment he declared war. To anyone else, it would’ve been an outright revelation of weakness, as anything associated with Suguru can and will be used against him. 

 

(On some nights, Suguru wonders if that’s the reason why Satoru has been tasked to be his executioner. Maybe they were betting that Suguru would let Satoru do it. 

 

On some nights, Suguru thinks he will.) 

 

While it’s a fact that Satoru and Suguru are now on opposite ends of the chessboard, he trusts that Satoru wouldn’t hurt the kids – not after Riko. Satoru may be a bastard at times, but he still has a heart underneath that Infinity of his. 

 

And speaking of the blue-eyed devil – he feels his phone vibrate against his clothes. He sighs. There’s no else who would think of calling him this time. Only one person stupid enough to still bombard Suguru in his old number, from stupid memes to voice messages and strange lists as if Suguru’s messenger was some notes app. 

 

“Satoru…” he starts. 

 

“Getou.” A familiar voice whispered on the other end of the line – Shoko. 

 

“What—” he stutters, a little surprised. He clears his throat and aims for a take two. He could simply address her as a friend, because she never stopped being one, but Suguru needed to stay in character. He needs to get in the zone . “Shoko! For what reason are you calling me on the night before the Big Day—”

 

“Where is he.” Shoko’s voice snaps, angry in a way that she hasn’t been in a long time. 

 

“Huh?” 

 

“Satoru. Where is he?” 

 

At the mention of that person’s name, Suguru stills. 

 

“What do you mean, where is he? How am I supposed to know?” 

 

“So he’s not with you?” Shoko tries again, still suspicious. 

 

Wow. 

 

“What the fuck–why would he be here? I know we have history, but even Satoru isn’t stupid enough– I’m not stupid enough–”

 

“Well, for your information, there’s a hollow purple-sized crater in the school right now.” 

 

 Suguru blinks. 

 

“Excuse me?” 

 

“I said,” Shoko repeats, “ there’s a hollow purple-sized crater in the school right now.” 

 

***

 

True enough, there IS a hollow purple-sized crater in the school. 

 

It’s as if the finger of God scratched the surrounding forest within Jujutsu High, sparing no thought of the damage it wreaked or how utterly devastating it is to cut down that many trees.  Suguru stands in the wake of what’s obviously Satoru’s cursed technique – and one of the strongest at that. The sorcerers are scouring the area for any potential curses – any kind of threat that would warrant Satoru using this much firepower – while Shoko and Suguru watch in the corner, hidden from the mess of it all. 

 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Shoko grumbles. “We just had our last briefing for tomorrow. He was making calls to make sure everyone was on board, even the Zen’ins. He even pulled me aside for contingencies. Then he said he’s going to meditate—” 

 

Suguru tries not to smile at the similarity of their schedules. Even apart, it seems, the two of them operated as a set. 

 

Shoko takes a stick out of her pockets, lights it up, and takes a long, good hit. She purposefully blows the puff of smoke in Suguru’s face. 

 

“—point is, it doesn’t make sense. Why the fuck would the strongest go batshit on the night before an important day? He didn’t show any signs of being possessed, or being ill, so I know he’s perfectly sane before we left. He almost hit the dorms, you know?” 

 

Suguru knows a thing or two about going batshit. Perhaps that’s why Shoko asked him for help, of all people. 

 

“Do you want me to give an analysis or something?” He asks genuinely. Because he would. There’s a lot of contributing factors to going batshit, like for example, being treated like a commodity in a rotten, exploitative system, being burnt out for having so many of your friends dying, swallowing curses and feelings, and more. 

 

But then again, Satoru operated on a scale beyond comprehension, so who knows? Maybe he wanted a show of power? A reminder for the higher-ups that while he’s fighting on their side, he’s still not their bitch? 

 

Or maybe…

 

“You think he wants to stall?” Shoko arrives at the same conclusion as Suguru. It makes sense. You can’t fight a battle you’re not guaranteed to win, and anywhere Satoru stood was basically a cheat. Forget domain expansions. They had the strongest on THEIR team. 

 

“It’s possible,” Suguru put a thumb over his lips. “But I’m not postponing, if that’s what you're asking. Even without Satoru, I’m doing it.” 

 

Shoko takes another long drag. “I know. I wasn’t about to ask, anyway.” 

 

“Good.” 

 

“Even though I should kill you right now, and you’ll probably kill my colleagues tomorrow, I wouldn’t ask. You wouldn’t indulge anyway.”

 

“...yeah.” 

 

“You know, we discussed the possibility. Of Satoru executing you.” 

 

 Suguru keeps his gaze forward. Schools his face to a mask of placid, almost serene expression. “What did he say?” 

 

“Even if he doesn’t want to, he’d probably do it. For you.” 

 

Suguru laughs at that. The sound is brittle, cutting through his chest and out of his mouth like dry ice, but he manages to get it out. Somehow. “So cold, talking about me like I’m already a dead man. Have you both forgotten that I’m also special grade?” 

 

He almost says ‘one half of the strongest duo’, but he doesn’t bother. It’s all Satoru anyways.

 

But Shoko being Shoko, she sees through it anyway. Really, she’s so perceptive sometimes that Suguru wonders if she also has the Six Eyes. 

 

“You’re only a dead man because you’ve always wanted to die, stupid. In another life, you’d probably stand eye-to-eye with Gojo and give him a run for his money. And that’s like, a LOT of money.” 

 

Suguru smiles. “Yeah, he IS rich as fuck.” 

 

“So fucking loaded,” Shoko hisses out. “He doesn’t even know how to use it.” 

 

The two take a moment to reminisce about Satoru’s questionable financial choices, most of which bordered on his inability to put money where it needs to be. As a cult leader, Suguru understood now more than ever how money makes the world go ‘round – and Shoko, being an overworked doctor, understood more than ever how Satoru’s wealth could be used for better medical equipment and higher wages.  

 

They engage in short discussion about just that, with Shoko complaining about the medical wing being understaffed and Suguru sharing anecdotes of the most outlandish donations his templed had seen, until another possibility hits them: 

 

What if Satoru’s been kidnapped for ransom money? 

 

***

 

“It’s not kidnapping,” Shoko confirms over call. It’s almost 3AM, and Suguru sits at his prayer mat, a picture-perfect image of reverence and faith. He’s not worried over Satoru’s disappearance. How could he – this is Gojo Satoru we’re talking about here. The Strongest, the Honored One, bearer of Limitless and Six-Eyes…blah, blah, blah. 

 

The same man who got skewered by Toji Fushiguro when they were teens. The same man who, in a moment of complete apathy, asked Suguru for permission to murder monkeys. 

 

If I said yes, Suguru wonders, would things have been different? 

 

“Any other leads?” Sugaru asks anyway. He tucks the phone between his ears and the junction of his shoulders, as his hands move to light incense. For the calming scent, of course. He’s not praying. 

 

Suguru eats curses. If God or gods existed, he’d probably eat them too. 

 

“There’s…nothing,” a thin layer of hopelessness coats Shoko’s voice. “It’s like he disappeared off the planet. No cursed energy, no footage, hell, not even a–” her voice catches. 

 

Suguru frowns. “Not even what?” 

 

He hears Shoko take a deep breath. “...not even a body.” 

 

Suguru laughs at that. He pictures Gojo Satoru, dead, leaving behind a husk of meat and bones like those monkeys. Impossible. Death may have been able to touch him, but it couldn't keep him at all – considering how the first time didn’t stick. If anything, Satoru would probably turn into a special grade curse, and in another life, perhaps a more forgiving one, Suguru could eat him whole and keep him by his side forever. 

 

Hm. An appealing thought. 

 

“Stop joking around, Suguru!” Shoko snapped. “This is serious!” 

 

Oops, so maybe he’d said that part aloud. 

 

“Who says I’m not?” He shot back. “With Satoru, anything is possible. Maybe he’s off discovering new techniques to kill me. Or maybe it’s another breakthrough. Who knows, maybe he’s gone off to become God, like Tengen-sama.” 

 

He doesn’t know how to explain it, but he could feel Shoko glaring at him at the other end of the line. 

 

“The higher-ups are already saying that he switched sides.” 

 

Now THAT’S hilarious. “Pfft, Satoru switches sometimes, but not like that.”

 

“Fuck you, Getou Suguru.” 

 

“Sorry,” he stifles another round of laughter. “Only one person gets to do that.” 

 

And then Shoko is screeching, muttering expletive curses and wishing that the night parade would just come already, so she could come to the frontlines herself and clock Suguru in the face. Satoru is missing, there’s a war coming up later, and the two of them are bantering over their missing friend like, well, old friends. It’s ridiculous. 

 

But then again, even more ridiculous is the insinuation that something remotely concerning could happen to one Gojo Satoru, who barely let even rain touch his skin. Sure, there was a time when Suguru was a level above rain, but if Suguru couldn't touch him now, then no one could. He may be missing, but he couldn't be dead. Impossible. 

 

“Is that Shoko?” A voice asks. 

 

Suguru almost drops his phone. 

 

Shoko hears it, and she gasps so loud that it’s heard all the way through Suguru’s speakers. 

 

“Is that–” 

 

“Satoru,” he whispers. 

 

Baby blue eyes stare at him, bereft of their bandages. This Satoru wears an open yukata , airy and glistening under the candlelight. Suguru tries not to stare at his bestfriend’s (former) and lover’s (former) exposed chest. His hair is longer. Then he smiles, so much like Satoru yet unfamiliar at the same time. Suguru wonders if this is how the sorcerer felt when he first saw Suguru don his monk robes. 

 

“Suguru,” not-Satoru breathes out, awestruck. “You’re still as beautiful as ever.” 

 

Goddamn.

What does a man say to that?

Notes:

i published this fic with nothing but cheese stix, some feelings, and a vague vibe. i can't promise when the next update's gonna be, but it IS coming, and for the record i sat my ass down on word at 8:45 and it's 10:40 where I'm at right now as i'm writing this so anything's possible

even the decision to publish was a split-sec decision i'm running on pure instinct rn

that said, thank you for reading! sending lots of love wherever y'all are

satosugu got y'all in a grip like sugu's arm to kenjaku and honestly same i don't even wanna fight it anymore

Chapter 3: Therapy for the wicked

Summary:

Suguru learns more about Not-Satoru and the other constants in their relationship.

Satoru is a loudmouth, but he has this thing where his cursed energy speaks for him before he says anything remotely stupid or brash. 

 

It’s audacious and arrogant, much like its owner, but it’s all warranted privileges given all the work that Satoru has put into mastering his techniques. Sure, at first Suguru thought that the other man had it easy, being born into a prominent clan and all. The same way Satoru once thought that all Suguru had going for himself was to swallow balls (an innuendo that young Suguru kicked Satoru in the face for), the two of them had come to respect each other for the merit that their strengths are earned, not merely given. 

 

They earned it fair and square, paid for by blood, sweat, tears. With each harrowing mission, each sacrifice, and every bit of their hope for the world going down the drain, they clawed for it. They have the right to step into any room like they own it. Special grades – no, the mere fact that they were sorcerers demanded it.  

 

The person in front of Suguru is, however, a stranger to these things. His cursed energy may bubble and simmer as brashly all the same, he may wear the same crooked grin, bear the same baby blues and that pretty face that Suguru Just. Can’t. Stop. Looking at – still. His soul knows. The thousand curses that reside within his body knows. 

 

“You’re not Satoru,” he says. It should feel strange – like saying the sky is green and water is dry. But not-Satoru confirms this fact by pulling Geto’s phone off the floor with cursed energy, bringing the gadget to his hands like vacuum sucking in some dirt, and crushing the thing with his bare hands. 

 

My phone! Suguru inwardly wails. The real Satoru would never, EVER, think about destroying that precious thing, not when it has Suguru’s old number. 

 

The person in front of him blinks. It takes Suguru a split-second that not-Satoru is actually batting his eyelashes. 

 

“You wound me, Suguru,” he says, letting the crushed bits fall into the floor. “Only one man can be this pretty.” 

 

True and false, a thought sneaks its way to Suguru’s mind. Gojo Satoru is the prettiest, but this person is not…he can’t be– 

 

Out of instinct, Suguru deflects the remark with the ease of a seasoned ping-pong athlete. 

 

“That title is already taken,” Suguru spreads out his hands, gesturing to himself. 

 

It feels like a dream – with Suguru suddenly tapping into his own vanity – and for one moment he wonders if he’d fallen asleep. Maybe someone had slipped something into his drink. Maybe it’s a curse he ate. Pre-battle jitters, perhaps, even though Suguru hasn’t had one of those since that night he massacred an entire village. 

 

Satoru laughs at him. It’s a bright, clear sound that sounds like the boy Suguru loves…and at the same time, something remotely akin to a madman. There’s a light in his eyes that can’t be from the Six Eyes. It’s something unrestrained, almost manic, achingly close to the version of Satoru that held Riko Amanai’s dead body and appeared as if he couldn’t possibly give any more fucks. 

 

“I see,” Satoru agrees, once he’d calmed down. “You’d claim the title of the strongest, of course you’d take that from me too.” 

 

The strongest? 

 

Suguru leans forward, unsure if he’d heard the man correctly. “Um, pardon?” 

 

Satoru takes a step closer. With that one step, the atmosphere of the room shifts from a place of meditation to a maelstrom of cursed energy. Suguru feels it, like hot air chafing at his skin, and it’s nothing like how standing in the same room with Gojo Satoru used to feel like. Even with infinity , even with all that power caged within that lanky man, Suguru has never felt so…oppressed. 

 

Even at his worst, Satoru’s cursed energy melded with Suguru’s in sync, the light to his shadow. Always, always making room for Suguru. It’s open, as if it’s the closest Gojo Satoru would ever get to baring himself to the world with open arms and saying, ‘here. Come closer’. 

 

This one is neither welcoming nor offensive. It simply is, heavy like the weight of a dying star. A one, last show of brilliance to hide that it’s dying.  

 

“Surely you kept your edge, don’t you, Suguru?” Satoru says. “I know this isn’t my world, but I’ve never known a weak version of you. It’d be a shame if you prove to be an anomaly.” 

 

But Suguru’s ears are ringing, and his mind had long fixated on that one, damning phrase: 

 

This isn’t my world. 

 

THIS isn’t my world. 

 

This ISN’T my world. 

 

This isn’t MY world. 

 

THIS ISN’T MY WORLD. 

 

“Where’s my Satoru?” Suguru stands up, meeting this stranger eye-to-eye. 

 

Something in not-Satoru’s eyes darken. “Tch. Now you call me yours.” 

 

There’s some story behind that, Suguru notes. But now isn’t the time. 

 

“I’m not talking about you, ” Suguru clarifies. “I’m looking for the Gojo Satoru of this world, who clearly existed right before you came here.”  

 

Not-Satoru sticks a finger in his ear, scratching for some ear wax, a gesture so uncouth and juvenile that Suguru almost cringes. It goes against everything that Satoru stands for, from manners to bloodline to the sheer pride that comes with being the prettiest. 

 

 “Fuck if I know.” 

 

Suguru wants to kill him already. 

 

“What brings you here, then?” He tries. In the past, confrontations like these either ended in two ways: one, with banter turning into daggers and saying stupid shit that they can’t take back, and two, fucking. Also while saying stupid shit they can’t take back. And while that may be awesome in foresight, it’d be counterproductive in hindsight. Suguru can already imagine the mess it’d make. 

 

Not-Satoru folds his arms behind his back. He doesn’t answer Suguru’s question, but when he speaks, there’s a hint of nostalgia in his tone, kind of like how Satoru sounded whenever he beguiles Suguru with what-if scenarios of their failed romance.  

 

“Honestly, I have no idea.” Satoru admits. 

 

Even another version of you clings to me. 

 

Something at Suguru’s chest softens. “I take it you were the one that released hollow purple at the school?” 

 

Not-Satoru sighs. “I needed to check if my CTs still work.” 

 

By unleashing hollow purple? That’s fucked up. But what does Suguru know – perhaps this version is stronger, if the strongest could even get better. It feels a tad bit unfair and a little exciting to think about. 

 

Suguru thinks back on the damage. He hates Jujutsu High and everything it stands for, sure. But in the end, that place sheltered sorcerers. People like Suguru and Satoru. 

 

“You almost killed your students,” Suguru says patiently. “It’s gonna be a bitch to explain to the higher-ups.”  

 

Now this catches Not-Satoru’s attention. “Students?” 

 

He says the word the same way Suguru would say monkeys. 

 

“Yes, students, ” Suguru repeats. “Young sorcerers. You just took a new one actually – Okkotsu Yuuta. I tried to get him to join me, but it seems he’s pretty attached to you already.” 

 

Not-Satoru’s scowl deepens. “That’s fucking crazy. He hates me.”  

 

Oh. Oh fuck. 

 

It hits Suguru then, that this Not-Satoru has actually seen some shit that only alternate universe travellers would know. Here, at this very moment, his own Satoru’s what-if scenarios can be corroborated against someone who has actually seen a different reality play out, with different choices and endings. 

 

Who knows? Maybe in another universe, the real Satoru had mused, you and I made it work. 

 

Satoru is still missing. He could only imagine what Shoko thinks after their call being mysteriously – dramatically – being cut off, right after she heard the voice of her supposedly missing friend. Suguru has plans – he has curses to unleash, monkeys to kill, and a special grade curse to obtain.

 

He’s also really, really curious. 

 

“Ne, Satoru.” 

 

“Hm?” 

 

He dangles the offer like a piece of candy. “What do you say about staying here a little bit? Just for a little chat?” 

 

***

Suguru learns three things from the first few minutes of their conversation: 

 

One, this Satoru is NOT a teacher at Jujutsu High; 

 

Two, he’s much stronger than this world’s Satoru;

 

And finally, despite all that, Not-Satoru claims that he’s still not the Strongest in their world. 

 

“That’s kind of your thing,” Not-Satoru says, as light as a breeze. He sits on the mat across from Suguru, indulging with some leftover mochi and tea in their pantry. Good thing he always stocked up for the twins. This Satoru shares the same sweet tooth as his, a little detail that should not be comforting but it somehow is. 

 

“What do you mean,” Suguru follows-up with a question, “about my thing?”

This Satoru also claims that Suguru beat him to the top. Inconceivable. 

 

“You know, your thing, ” Not-Satoru repeats, as if that answered everything. “Really, I don’t know how you do it, Suguru. If I were you, forced to swallow curses all day, I’d lose it, really. Kill a village or two. Start a cult.”

 

Suguru gulps. This is bait, right? It has to be a bait. Like hell he’d believe that an alternative version of Satoru pops in just the night before Suguru changes the trajectory of everyone’s lives forever. This man must’ve known that he wouldn’t listen to this world’s Satoru, so now another version filled in to try and attempt the impossible. Maybe they thought they could mock Suguru’s life choices until he called off the war. 

 

Stupid. As if Suguru would fall for this shit. Of all the things that Suguru lacked, he never fell short of commitment and willpower. He doesn’t go back on his word. 

 

You turned your back on your friend, though, a little voice in his head supplies. 

 

Because Satoru is part of Jujutsu Society! Which Suguru vehemently hates! 

 

You could’ve found another way. 

 

Bullshit. There’s no such thing as the path of least resistance. They’re doomed from the very start–

 

“I actually did those things, though.” Not-Satoru supplements, unaware how he’d just cut through Suguru’s internal conflict. “It’s fun, being worshipped. You should try it, Suguru.” 

 

“You’re fucking with me,” Suguru deadpanned. 

 

 But Satoru only leaned back and spread his hands, a mock rendition of Suguru’s ‘I’m the prettiest’. “‘ Throughout heavens and earth, I alone am the honoured one.’ What’s there not to worship?” 

 

He looks totally proud of himself, but all Suguru feels is a roiling, almost brutal curdling of his stomach. He thinks about everything he did for the cult, from dirty work to dirty teachings, and remembers how it’s no different from the curses he swallows – save for the fact that this time, he’s spitting them out.   He imagines Satoru – sweet, sweet Satoru donning the same robes and entertaining the same guests. 

 

“Wow, you’re really angry,” Not-Satoru observes. 

 

“I’m not angry.” I’m heartbroken. 

 

“Don’t worry, Suguru,” he assures, “We’ve both made our choices. In my world, you’ve chosen to give birth to a new generation of sorcerers, and I’ve chosen to cull the weak. It’s pretty much commensalism.” 

 

“Do not refer to our relationship as some sort of biological interaction.” 

 

“Okay, then how about this: we do no harm to each other, but we take no shit.” 

 

“That’s even worse!” 

 

 Not-Satoru laughs. “Nothing really ever satisfies you, huh?” 

  

And therein lies the problem. 

 

Sitting across a different version of Satoru, Suguru finds that he couldn’t care less about the physics or techniques that made it happen. He’s made his peace with his losses – he knew that there was no other way but to tread this path of bones and curses. Pave the way for a better future by tearing down the present. Suguru couldn’t imagine a version of himself that doesn’t wake up to the truth of this world, a version of himself that doesn’t rebel, a version of him that will take the status quo lying down. 

 

It’s just as baffling as the idea of Satoru abandoning the mantle of the Strongest. If Gojo Satoru wasn’t the Strongest, if Getou Suguru wasn’t a monkey-killing curse user, then what are they? 

 

“What happened to Riko Amanai over there?” He finds himself asking. 

 

“Dead,” Not-Satoru pops the word like a piece of candy. 

 

“What happened to me?” 

 

“You almost died.” 

 

“What happened to you?” 

 

“I lived.”  He spreads out his hands as if to say, 'see?' 

 

Suguru put a palm over his face. This is going nowhere and everywhere all at once. 

 

“Alright,” he relents, “how about this one: can you go back?” 

 

Not-Satoru doesn't even hesitate. “Of course. How do you think I got here in the first place?” 

 

“Then go back. Please .” Suguru still has a war to wage and plans to execute, thank you very much. 

 

The smile melts off Not-Satoru’s face. 

 

“Now why would I do that?” 

 

Suguru’s temple pulses. Why, why, why? Why does he have to be so damn difficult? First, Gojo Satoru pesters Suguru with arguments, and pokes holes with his logic in an attempt to tear down something that Suguru decided to stake his life for. Then, the bastard disappears on the night before they finally settle things. And then, if that isn’t enough, an alternate version of him pops up to tell Suguru that Oh, Suguru, actually I’ve done the same things I used to judge you for! 

 

(So maybe the word ‘judge’ is a stretch. In his own way, Satoru tried to understand. Over the past decade, Suguru has an inkling that he could see why Suguru did the things he did, albeit the questionable methods. They’ve long hurtled past the borders of morality and settled where their duo thrived best – empathy. Clutching onto their shared titles like a lifeline. Sharing the weight, even though their paths have long diverged. 

 

Still one half of the same whole, despite standing on opposite ends.) 

 

“We’re not together in this world, Satoru,” Suguru explains as best as he can. “We’ll fight later – and I mean, literally later – and only one of us will walk out of it alive. If, by some miracle, we don’t clash, you’re bound to kill me eventually. It can’t be better than your world.”  

 

Doomed no matter what. Hah. That’s sort of romantic, in its own way. 

 

Not-Satoru’s eyes bore through him, and for once, Suguru allows himself to meet them. Like a madman daring to face a tsunami head-on, he holds Satoru’s gaze, daring him to crash. It’s only then that Suguru notices that this man isn’t looking at Suguru – not entirely – and it’s as if he’s seeing another man in his place. 

 

A ghost. 

 

“Why wait, then,” the other man whispers. “Since you’re so sure you’ll die already…why wait until later?”

 

Not-Satoru stands up, eyes glowing dangerously. Uh-oh. 

 

He can’t be serious. 

 

“Hey, Satoru, pipe down , it’s like, 4AM in the goddamn morning–” 

 

“You’re always like this,” Not-Satoru sneers, “acting like you’re some goddamned tragic character with all the fucking death flags. Nothing ever really satisfies you–” 

 

What. What the fuck. “Satoru, your cursed energy, for fuck’s sake pipe down–” 

 

“You don’t even care to know why we broke up! Why don’t you ask me, huh, Su-gu-ru? Ask me what happened! That day, in front of KFC–” 

 

And Suguru has priorities, he promises, but that last part is just so ridiculous that he can't help but blurt out: 

 

“Holy shit. It still happens there ? God, there’s really no other restaurants--?” 

 

But Not-Satoru isn’t interested in their apparent soulmate connection with the food chain. He’s sneering, all sharp edges and the wrath of an angry god, except like this, his frustration makes him painfully human. All jagged edges and soft gives, an imperfect painting that stands beautiful for its flaws. “You didn’t even chase after me, asshole! All that talk about being the strongest, none of it meant shit!” 

 

Now, give Suguru some credit: on his own, he could barely handle the aftermath of his own breakup. Back then, a part of him shared the same feelings as Not-Satoru, conflicted about the fact that Satoru was letting him go, instead of dragging him back to the school by force. It could’ve gone a thousand ways. From Satoru throwing a tantrum, joining Suguru, to flat out killing him for the mere act of breaking their inseparable bond. 

 

The thing is – 

 

Suguru could barely handle what happened in this world. 

 

Whatever beef Not-Satoru has with his own Suguru, who had apparently fucked-up beyond measure that he STAYED to become a teacher at Jujutsu High (bleh), it’s not Suguru’s problem. 

 

He lets his own cursed energy wash over him, every bit as brash and audacious as the man in front of him. Satoru is the strongest, sure, but this isn’t his Satoru. 

 

"Before anything else, let me set the record straight."

 

This man doesn’t understand the choices that this world’s Satoru had made. Doesn’t understand Suguru. He barges in this world at the dead of the night, tits out (very hot), and comes to Suguru’s humble abode with complete disregard of his schedule. 

 

Suguru wants to punch him. Break a few bones too, while he’s at it. Nothing RCT can’t fix – just a little payback. Surely his Satoru would appreciate the gesture. 

 

Suguru wags a finger at him. 

 

“"I am not your Suguru.” 

Notes:

this is actually challenging because how do you write a role reversal without compromising the things they stood up and bled for?

i'm winging it tho so i mean it when i say we'll figure it out together

(aka this fic is gonna get longer pew pew pew)

next time we'll watch them fight and who knows what happened to teacher! satoru and teacher! suguru stay tuned

thank you as always for reading!!

Chapter 4: Satoru and his no good, very bad (lies) night

Summary:

Satoru and Suguru, on the other side.

Even like this, Gojo Satoru knows that everyone back home is dying to see his side of the story. 

 

(He’s joking, of course. He sure hopes that no one is dying, in a literal sense, or he’ll never forgive himself for not being there to protect them.  Isn’t he just great?) 

 

It takes a lot to pull one over The Strongest (at least, the strongest sorcerer in the modern Jujutsu Society, whatever that entails), but apparently, that particular ‘lot’ had a very specific criteria. He’d lived a significant portion of his life believing that his greatest showdown would be against the love of his life (guess who), some new generation sorcerer who’s probably more cracked that he is (guess who), or even the King Curses – Ryomen Sukuna. But as it turns out, his life is about to be flipped in over its head (literally), as Gojo Satoru of another world pulls him out of his reality and into this new, strange place, where everything is the same yet hopelessly warped at the same time. 

 

There is no fanfare. 

 

That night, Gojo Satoru had stared at his own reflection by the stream, hoping to calm his nerves. Tomorrow, at the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, he may have to kill Suguru. He uses the term ‘may ’ sparingly, because the whole thing required a conscious decision on his part, regardless if it was strict orders. Fuck terminologies. Fuck strict orders, times two. The Higher-Ups knew what they were doing – it’s a test of his resolve just as much as it’s a technical resolution. None of them could square up to Suguru, not like Satoru can. 

 

He hasn’t killed Suguru in over a decade, so he’s not sure whether he’s failing or passing the test. Don’t worry. He’ll give a fuck whenever the opportunity presents itself. 

 

So here goes: 

 

Preparations for the battle? Check. 

 

Last minute contingency plans? Check. 

 

Nighttime skin routine? Check. 

 

Making sure the kids don’t get nightmares before a big battle? Check. 

 

All that’s left is for Satoru to stand in front of that goddamned stream, wind whipping his white hair like some shounen protagonist (or cool supporting character, if that’s the gig), right as he contemplates the last blue spring of his youth. He wonders if there’s some other option to be had. Some secret shortcut that his fizzled mind couldn’t see, some delay tactic that he could pull so that Suguru and Satoru never meet in battle for real. 

 

What if things were different? 

 

How different could they be? 

 

He and Suguru were the farthest from mathematical equations, but surely different variables and functions would produce a different outcome. If so, what could he have tweaked? Which butterfly in this whole goddamn world flapped its wings and caused the two of them to stand so far apart? Satoru would crush that butterfly to bits, you'll see. 

 

He touches the water, still with Infinity on. Swish swish. 

 

And then, a hand grabs him and pulls him under. 

 

The stream isn’t even that deep, but as he’s sucked down under, he glimpses a man with white robes, white hair, and an all too familiar set of Six Eyes. 

 

All Satoru could think about was: 

 

That is one fucked-up butterfly. 

 

***

 

When he comes to, he’s lying in the banks of the stream, dry. 

 

The moonlight shines down on him, determined to make his already beautiful features look more ethereal. Suguru always did say that moonlight suited him better than the sun – something about aesthetics. Satoru argued that Suguru just couldn’t handle him in high definition, as if Satoru was some kind of PNG file that adjusted its pixels under different light sources. 

 

He basks under the moonlight for quite some time. Takes off his bandages just for a while His Six Eyes doesn’t lie – that was definitely Gojo Satoru. A little different, but definitely him. Something’s different with his power – like an overflow instead of a meticulously controlled channel – but ‘he’ isn't here right now. The mess of splayed-out energy is gone as soon as it appears, and while Satoru doesn’ like to place too much trust on his senses – it never lies. Never, ever. 

 

Maybe he hallucinated the entire thing. He’s definitely still within the parameters of Jujutsu High, and there’s no other cursed energy signature within vicinity aside his own. Maybe the candies he’d eaten earlier were spiked. There were spiked pastries, like brandy cake. Spiked candies couldn’t have been off the table. 

 

Who’d think of spiking his shit on the night before a Big, Big day – he doesn’t know. They couldn’t kill him anyway, even if it’s poison. Gojo Satoru has come along way from that kid running from multiple assassination attempts. If he can, he’d even slurp up that shit and digest it, just to show that he’s unkillable. 

 

He’s not the strongest for shits and giggles. Although yes, sometimes he does things for shits and giggles. But that was only sometimes. 

 

At that, he stands up and stretches his body. Yoga is good for the mind and the soul, he’s been told. He stretches his arms, much like a cat, and gives a long, drawn-out yawn. Alright. This has been fun. Peace out. 

 

He teleports to his room, ready to call it a night. The whole thing is done on pure instinct, having mastered teleportation as easy as breathing. Tomorrow, whatever happens, he’ll just have to give it everything he’s got. Suguru and his students don't deserve anything less. 

 

He plops down at the lump in the bed. 

 

The lump in the bed – clearly not a pillow – yelps.  

 

He pushes the covers away, heart racing, and finds himself face-to-face with a certain purple-eyed curse user. No one special, not really, just the one person in the whole goddamn world that could hold Satoru’s gaze, Six Eyes and all, without backing down.  

 

One that held his heart captive without the use of any cursed technique—or any other technique, for that matter. 

 

If the sun rises over the horizon, do you blame the sun? Just like the heliocentric theory of the solar system, the sun can’t help that earth revolves around it. If anything, the earth should do something about its orbit, maybe stop being so goddamn clingy and find another sun, it should be about time right –

 

“Hello,” Satoru smiles awkwardly, towards a sleep-addled Suguru. 

 

For the second time that night, Gojo Satoru’s world is flipped in over its head. 

 

***

 

Suguru is on top of him, hands clamped over Satoru’s mouth. His dark hair falls over his shoulders – shorter than Satoru remembers it – but still enough to shield his eyes from the rest of the world like a veil. 

 

Satoru doesn’t understand. His Six Eyes tells him that this is Suguru alright, but something feels different. Not the cursed energy that surrounds him like an overzealous shadow, not the lack of monk robes, not everything else. 

 

That little something prods at Satoru, as inexplicable as his own existence. It’s Suguru. No shit. 

 

But why does his soul scream otherwise? 

 

“What the fuck are you doing here,” Suguru whisper-shouts. An accusation. 

 

Satoru glares at him. He doesn’t have telepathy, at least not yet , but he hopes that his vivacious blue eyes are enough to convey the exasperation he feels. 

 

This is MY room! 

 

“You really want me to kill you that badly?” Suguru seethes. “Bad enough that I have to clean up after YOUR mess—” 

 

Satoru loses it. The trespassing, he could forgive, but the insinuation? Oh, the pain. As of Satoru didn't clean up his fair share of Suguru's tracks. He licks a stripe over Suguru’s palm, eliciting a disgusted yelp. 

 

“Satoru! What the–” 

 

“Tastes like jizz,” Satoru sticks his tongue out. He’s still lying in bed, but Suguru has already jumped off him, cradling his hand like it had been doused in acid instead of being licked by Gojo Satoru’s godly tongue. “Let me guess. Bedtime beating? Can’t sleep without jacking off or something?” 

 

The look Suguru gives him is downright murderous. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up. ” 

 

Don’t get Satoru wrong – it happens to the best of everyone. Sometimes, unreleased cursed energy builds and builds, cramping up your body with nowhere to go. Satoru calls them pre-battle jitters. Usually happens on nights before big missions, but sometimes before big tests too – regardless if you’re on the receiving end or the one administering them. 

 

Still, he finds it hard to believe that Suguru would do something…so bold before their supposed battle of the century. If this is Suguru, and he’d somehow wormed his way to Satoru’s room undetected just to find some relief, what’s a man supposed to do? Kick him out? 

 

He sits up and holds his hands up, hoping he could appease Suguru before the man runs off to God knows where. “Hey, hey, don’t get all worked up. I can help. I mean, that’s what friends are for, right?” 

 

“We are NOT friends.” 

 

“Buddies, then?” Satoru supplies. 

 

If possible, Suguru’s glare darkens even more. 

 

Stop bringing up the past, Satoru, Suguru had told him once. We don’t live there anymore. 

 

Satoru thinks long and hard. 

 

“Fine. Ex-colleagues, then.” He decides. 

 

Suguru then lunges at him with a pillow, probably intending to suffocate him for good, and it’s just like their highschool days that Satoru permits it. He allows Suguru to shove that feathery thing onto his face, uncaring if the strength bordered on homicidal. Dying by pillow fight isn’t that bad of a way to go. 

 

“Pipe-down, Satoru,” Suguru hisses. “I hear someone coming.”

 

Satoru’s eyes widen. The wards must’ve detected Suguru’s cursed energy, Oh God they’ll kill him– 

 

Someone knocks on the door, and Satoru prepares to teleport them out of here. 

 

“Suguru?” A familiar voice calls out. 

 

This time, Satoru completely rips the pillow off his face. He holds up a finger against his lips before Suguru could suffocate him again, signalling that he’ll behave. Suguru only glares. 

 

More knocking. “Suguru? Are you okay?” 

 

Is that Shoko? Satoru mouths. 

 

“Yeah!” Suguru calls out, without leaving his eyes on Satoru. “Wait a sec, I’ll answer the door.” 

 

Suguru makes a gesture that’s somewhere between ‘shut the fuck up’ and ‘I’m watching you’.  He covers the blanket over Satoru, like he was nothing but a pile of laundry that couldn’t be seen by any other eye, but too dirty to go to the hamper. From that point onwards, Satoru relies on his Six Eyes. 

 

***

 

Tap, tap, tap.  

 

Bare feet on wooden floor. 

 

The creaking sound of the door opening. 

 

“Hey, what’s up?” Suguru.

 

“What’s up, my ass.” Shoko. “There’s an intruder. Get ready.” 

 

Beneath the covers, Satoru chews on his thumb. Shoko and Suguru are talking like old friends. Buddies. Like Suguru never left. 

 

“That can’t be,” Suguru lies. “The alarms would’ve gone off.” 

 

Of course. Satoru was the one who had them placed. 

 

“It’s still busted from your last with fight with Satoru, remember?” Shoko sighs. “Really, one would think that the bastard broke it so he could sneak in anytime he wants.” 

 

Satoru’s Six Eyes could tell that Suguru gives a furtive glance at the bed. 

 

“That’s crazy,” Suguru laughs nervously. 

 

Against his will, Satoru almost joins him. 

 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

 

“What’s that?” 

 

“What’s what. ” 

 

“I heard something.” 

 

“No you didn’t.” 

 

“ Suguru.” 

 

“Shoko, you’re just stressed out. Get some sleep. I’ll take things from here.” 

 

Ah, Satoru gloats. That’s the Suguru he knows! Caring, charismatic, and painfully effective at getting what he wants, without having to lift a single finger. Truly, the man’s charm transcends space and time, even if everything is all…wrong. 

 

A small part of him wonders if this is some elaborate joke, set up beautifully by Suguru and Shoko to have him experience a semblance of happiness before the Big Day. A Suguru that isn’t wanted by the Jujutsu Society, a Suguru sleeping peacefully on Satoru’s bed…

 

No. His friends can’t be that cruel. 

 

“Don’t overexert yourself again, Suguru,” Shoko is saying. “Call for backup if you need help. None of that solo shit.” 

 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

 

“I mean it. If your body gets hauled in my morgue, you–you can’t even imagine the shit I’d do to you.” 

 

Satoru smiles. Shoko said something similar to Satoru, right before everything got all messed up. It must’ve hurt her real bad, being part of their little doomed trio, but Satoru had sworn he’ll bury Shoko if he has to. The same way he’s prepared to bury Suguru, he’ll be the one to send them off. Make sure they go out in a bang. 

 

Last one standing between the three of them is always the sore loser, because that person gets left behind. Sigh. Such is the burden of being the Strongest. 

 

Satoru, lost in reverie, lost track of when exactly Shoko left the room. All he knows is that everything has gone eerily silent. 

 

He peeks out of the covers tentatively. 

 

There’s a veil thrown around them – small in scale but no less powerful. Blacker than night, a sphere seemingly whisked out of a void. Surrounding Satoru in the bed are Suguru’s curses, all bared teeth towards Satoru, ready to jump him at their master’s command. 

 

“Let’s get down to business,” Suguru says, sitting in the middle of the room. It’s almost dramatic, the way he’s specifically positioned his chair to achieve optimal lighting. Shadows bracket one half of his beautiful face, and candlelight in another. 

 

And then, Suguru just says the most jackshit line that ruins it all. 

 

“What type of roleplay is this now, Satoru?” 

 

***

 

It takes a *lot to break one Gojo Satoru. 

 

*Terms, conditions, and Getou Suguru applies. 

Notes:

cue specialz playing at the end credits

still debating if i should sprinkle some angst but let's see let's see so far this fic has me on a grip that updates are happening

also updated the tags because stsg in this fic loves fourth wall breaks

next episode: satoru (the real one) learns that he can Actually Get Worse

thank y'all for your continued support and for reading!! love reading your comments as well, thank you thank you <3