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Satoru Gojo’s fight with Ryomen Sukuna was just a week away, and as much as Yuji wanted to take a moment to sit down and breathe for a little while, he couldn’t.
Learning and training. Training and learning. Mastering physical combat. Figuring out how to exploit Sukuna in the event he is beaten down by Gojo, yet never completely destroyed (if that horrifying scenario should become a reality). Adapting to allies’ techniques. Speed training. Strength training, on a physical and mental front. Exploring unknown capabilities in the face of a well known threat. Pushing the human body to its limits.
All of these things, Yuji has become achingly familiar with.
Gojo’s release from the Prison Realm was a short-lived victory, especially after his declaration of war against the King of Curses and his slimy counterpart. Though Yuji and the rest of Gojo’s allies would have loved to take even a day to appreciate that their efforts to free him were not in vain, there was no time to sit back and relax. And when Gojo announced during their reunion that they needed to prepare for the worst case scenario in the coming month, it did not stir up any kind of negativity in the wake of this new threat, but rather a feeling of determination that had not been shown from them even during the Culling Game.
It was time to end this horror, and everyone agreed. No matter what it would take to bring down Kenjaku and the King of Curses, everyone was willing to do what they could and fight with every breath to bring him to his knees.
Immediately after the declaration, a new level of training began. Gojo took it upon himself (as he always did because he was their teacher, after all) to teach his students and friends advanced combat techniques, taking the time to gauge where everyone stood in terms of abilities, having known (despite not being there for the rest of it) that Shibuya had forced many of them to adapt or die— advancing their skill levels and pushing them to new limits.
He expressed his pride in their growth the day he gathered them all together on the training mat, standing over a panting Yuta who had just been tossed onto the ground after a failed takedown of his sensei. The rest of the remaining students, many of whom had already had their fill of Gojo’s relentless victories over them, sat around the edge of the room and listened intently to his praises.
It wasn’t all shallow. Gojo knew just how much they’d all been through, and even if he didn’t explicitly say how sorry he was that it had even happened to them in the first place, they knew. Yuji knew.
Gojo had always been hard to read, especially from the moment the teen met the strange man. He was easy to be around, sure, and dramatically immature most of the time (which gave Yuji a sense of connection to him despite Gojo being an adult), but he cared when it mattered and even if he didn’t blatantly show it in the way most normal people would, there were always little things he would do to make up for the slack.
In this instance, as Yuji had caught onto so easily, Gojo may not have said or shown his guilt for getting himself captured, but he showed it in the way his physical actions contended against each one of them.
It wasn’t his tone. It wasn’t what he said. It wasn’t in his expression because Gojo was about as expressive as a pet rock when it came to anything other than happiness.
Gojo’s guilt was shown through the retracted violence in the way he trained them that day. Though his students were hurled onto the mat time and time again; though they tried with every breath to bring Gojo down to the best of their ability; though Gojo did not hold back as he sparred with them— everything he did seemed to be a little gentler.
In Gojo’s eyes, Yuji supposed, sensing that the contact between his head and the mat was not as hard as it had usually been in the past (Gojo never actually hurt him, but always made sure to rough him up enough to get a taste similar enough to real battle), Gojo presumed that they had already been through enough in the past several weeks. And though Yuji knew that being easy on all of them was not going to help them in any way, he also knew that Gojo was only doing this for the evening— to tell them, without using words, that he was sorry.
That he was trying to make up for it in the only way he knew how.
In the weeks following, Gojo did exactly as Yuji thought he would. He trained them religiously, preparing them for the worst case scenario and often using his humor as reassurance even though nothing about this was funny. But even when Gojo laughed, no matter how out of place it was (it had always been but this was nothing new), Yuji couldn’t find it in himself to say anything to him.
Gojo didn’t talk about the Prison Realm after his unsealing and neither did any of them. It was an unspoken agreement between everyone that it did not need to be brought up but rather left in the past, and with everything going on that was much more important, there was no place for it anyhow.
Yuji could tell that something was different with his teacher, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Sure, Gojo was a little more serious and intense than he had been in the past, but Yuji blamed it on the newfound lack of innocence in his life following the Shibuya Incident.
It wasn’t that Gojo explicitly treated them all as adults now— of course not. He still did his best to preserve what was left of the youth they still had in them, though Yuji believed that most of his was gone and never to return. He hadn’t even noticed that Gojo was fighting so hard to protect that youth in them in the first place until after Shibuya, when he felt more like an adult than a teenager, and had lost much of his light especially after losing Megumi to the man he hated most in the world.
Thinking back on it, Yuji was too much of a kid back then to see it. But now that he was an adult, at least on the mental front and having experienced the true horrors that come with being a sorcerer, he could see it as plain as day. So, with this newfound knowledge, he often went along with Gojo in the increasingly rare childish antics he got them into whenever the mood appeared. It was a breath of fresh air, in all honestly, that despite everything going on in the world, they could still find the time to joke and laugh— that they still had time to enjoy the good things in life.
Training was serious for the most part, but when it was a little too doom and gloom for Gojo’s taste, he always made attempts at bringing up everyone’s spirits. The closer the date of battle got, the more everyone seemed to worry, but Gojo never faltered from his certainty of victory. He assured them, time and time again when they were feeling lost, that he would win.
And though they believed him with all that they were, the knowledge that they had still been training for the possibility where he didn’t win produced doubts in even the most willing believers.
Being without Gojo for those nineteen long days made many of them realize that this is what he had been training them for all along— that there would come a time where Gojo wouldn’t be there anymore and they would have to learn to stand on their own two feet in the face of incredible danger. Gojo had taught them to pursue strength, no matter the cost, so that they could stand alongside him and push forward even when the day came where he fell.
It seemed like an impossible idea, up until Gojo got sealed. But many of them suddenly realized that the impossible idea Gojo had hinted at in the past was much more possible than any of them could’ve imagined. It was scary— an incredibly dooming feeling— to think that the strongest person they knew could be beaten down and taken away without a trace.
It made their doubts a little easier to carry, because Gojo had been hinting at it the whole time. He was doing it now, with every push he gave them towards a stronger version of themselves, tossing them onto the mat time and time again so that they could see (not that they hadnt already) that this would be the reality of their life if the day should come (again) where he can’t be there.
Before his sealing, at the end of the day, Yuji and the others always had a pillar to come back to and lean against when they were tired. But when Gojo was taken away, they no longer had that— they no longer had that peace. That rest. Nothing to slumber against, even for a little while, even if they were so tired that moving their own legs seemed like an impossible task.
In Gojo’s absence, they were beaten down again and again, and though Yuji wanted nothing more than to run back to that pillar and hide behind it until the storm passed, that pillar had been ripped from the ground.
When it was returned, erected again by those who needed to lean on it the most, they no longer wanted to. They couldn’t, not after standing on their own for so long.
However, as much as Gojo wanted to let them live in that idea (he showed this through his praises of growth on that day), he knew better than them. He always did.
Two weeks before the fight, Gojo found Yuji sitting alone on the roof of a building on campus, and though the teen tried every way in the world to assure his teacher that he was okay, at least for now, he failed at convincing him in the end. Gojo didn’t have Six Eyes for nothing.
Yuji had lost so much— so many people in his short lifetime, that he cherished those he still had close to him like they were his most prized possession. Every moment he spent training with them, learning with them, he was sure to soak up and commit those moments to memory because there was no certainty of tomorrow in the life of a sorcerer.
Shibuya had left him aching, and cold, and eventually numb.
The Culling Game had, in some twisted way, defrosted some of that cold and reminded him that he still had a purpose in this world regardless of what Sukuna had done. He had a role to play, given to him by those he cherished most in his life. But no sooner than he was warm again, he was bruised.
Megumi was ripped away by Sukuna, and as much as Yuji wanted to run back into the cold (even if he loathed it), he couldn’t run fast enough. His heart was ripped from his body and squeezed into a million tiny pieces, the fragments of the child he once was tossed onto the ground and existing as nothing but weak, beating lumps.
Perhaps on his way to save his friend, a few of those pieces mended and jumped back into place.
Yuji wasn’t completely gone, though he sometimes felt that way— even though he had nothing, in the end.
No sensei. No Megumi. No heart. No purpose.
But then he and those who remained were able to bring Gojo back, so perhaps their efforts hadn’t been completely in vain. And as much as Yuji, like Gojo had so many times in the past, tried to put up a mask to hide the blinding fact that he was broken— Gojo saw right through it.
His teacher never explicitly pointed it out. He didn’t have to. Yuji knew that Gojo saw him for what he was, not what he tried to be. He always had, though Yuji had always been himself in the past even when he didn’t want to be. Gojo never saw only Sukuna, though many others had and wanted to kill him for it. Gojo saw Yuji.
Just Yuji.
And Yuji, seeing that fact now, couldn’t take it.
Gojo held him while he cried, slipping his calloused fingers through pink strands of hair and sliding his warm palm up and down his back whilst Yuji practically collapsed against him. It was the first time Yuji had cried since his breakdown in Shibuya, after Sukuna destroyed a large chunk of the city and killed so many people. It was almost foreign to him, doing it now.
He doesn’t know how long they sat there, and even if Gojo had never been good at verbally showing his irrevocable care for those around him, there were always times where he physically showed it instead. Sure, he was never quite standard in the way that he did, but he always— always did.
Yuji, like many of the others, had convinced himself that he was strong enough now— that he didn’t need that pillar to lean against anymore. But the truth of the matter was that despite all he had been though, he was still a child. Maybe it was Nanami’s voice ringing in the back of his mind, or his own personal excuse for his sudden weakness, he didn’t know. But no matter how much he hated it, those words were made no less true.
The tearstains he left on Gojo’s uniform proved that much.
Yuji wondered, several days later as he took some alone time to venture around campus, what Gojo’s life as a child had been like. It was something that was never hardly spoken about and Yuji never got the chance to ask Megumi if he knew despite his curiosity. Megumi probably wouldn’t have given him a straight answer anyways, even if he did know. Part of him wishes he would have inquired about it, but then again: if it was something to reminisce about, Gojo would have done it without reservation.
The knowledge alone that jujutsu sorcery was not lacking in cruelty to even the young was enough to supply him that he didn’t need to know.
The thought still made him a little curious, however. Gojo was such a unique and off-putting individual that there was no denying his personality was likely a trauma response and not a genuine sentiment. Yuji, in his innocence, may not have noticed it before, but after everything that had happened, shielding himself behind a mask of strength was a more than intriguing ideal— one that Gojo hid himself behind religiously.
Yuji wanted to be okay for everyone around him, to fight as hard as they were and motivate them to keep moving forward even if pieces of him were chipping away and fluttering to the ground with every agonizing step towards the future.
He understood now, as he stopped to pick up a broken fragment and place it back where it belonged, why Gojo smiled even when it didn’t matter.
Yuji didn’t expect to find, despite this revelation, that Gojo was missing so much of himself behind his mask. It was a cruel reflection of what Yuji was facing himself, but even if it was worse— even if his teacher was missing even more than Yuji was, Gojo pressed forward like those pieces were there anyways.
A week and a half before the fight, Yuji found Gojo in one of the dojos training by himself. He had never seen Gojo train alone before. He wasn’t even sure how Gojo trained. How does someone that strong keep finding ways to perfect his abilities, even if he’s practically mastered them all? Gojo already seemed to know basically everything there was to know about jujutsu, even down to the most complicated subjects.
Of course, he had to keep himself in shape. You can’t maintain your status at the top of the jujutsu food chain by remaining stagnant. But to find anything worthy of using your most impressive abilities against must be a challenge.
However, Gojo was not practicing with jujutsu. He wasn’t even using a hint of his techniques.
Yuji was intrigued to find that nothing existed inside that dojo other than Gojo himself and a series of sparring dummies. Their contact with the mat was definite following each blow from the man, which left Yuji curious to see just how experienced his teacher was in hand to hand, never able to fully reveal that fact unless faced with an equal opponent.
He knew it looked weird, the thought of getting caught crossing his mind as he took a seat on the snow a good distance away to observe his teacher through the open doorway. But if this was an opportunity to learn, and an even greater opportunity to reflect, he had to take it. So many days— weeks of training, and Yuji’s mind did not have time to think about anything other than the what ifs and maybes until it was time to turn in for a few hours.
Now that he had that time, even if it was only for a little while, he was finally going to take a second to breathe.
It was calming, really, to watch Gojo shuffle around the mat so effortlessly and take down his targets with relative ease. It was as seamless as the way Yuji breathed in the cold air around him, every contact against the dummies carried out with grave intent and never missing their intended target even when Gojo moved so swiftly.
When all of the targets had fallen, Gojo returned to his original position in the center of them all, and started again. That very command fell from his lips over and over, prompting the dummies to raise from their graves and return to him with malice.
These dummies were not normal. Yuji realized that the moment he sat on the side of the hill. He could sense their cursed energy from where he was, the gentle blue light rippling off of them much like the way it did the cursed dolls that Yaga made.
They moved on their own accord, different this time, attacking Gojo with a variety of strikes and failing to subjugate him each time despite the lack of infinity around the man. Just as quickly as the fight started, it was over.
Gojo returned to the center once more, commanding them another time. His fists clenched at his sides, his eyes wary and on guard, as if his Six Eyes were suffocating beneath the weight of his forced humanity. Not that Yuji could see his eyes due to the blindfold. The slight tilts of Gojo’s head with every step the dummies took around him was indication enough that he was watching— waiting for them to strike.
They attacked again, but Gojo did not fight back this time. He shoved his hands into his uniform pants pockets and slipped between their blows as if they weren’t even trying.
Yuji wondered, in some intense thought, what it took to make someone this good. But following the contact of a fake fist against a fake chest, he supposed that he already knew what the answer was.
Violence exists in many forms, Yuji knows that much. Violence against you from an opponent. Violence from you to someone else. Violence against yourself. Physical violence. Mental violence. Verbal violence. It’s all the same, in the end.
He just wonders which of those bred Gojo into who he is the most. Yuji knows which one made him.
Gojo fought back after a few moments and ripped through the dummies without fail, their fake bodies crashing to the ground in an almost rhythmic manner, similar to the way Yuji’s thoughts seemed to pound against his skull when Sukuna spoke to him. Now that the voice was gone, he wonders, in the silence of Gojo’s momentary victory, why his self inflicted violence still remains inside him.
Yuta settles next to him on the snow as Gojo retrieves his water bottle from the spot next to his discarded uniform jacket, gulping it down as if he were starving for it and tossing it onto the cloth afterward. He reaches for his blindfold and pulls it off, his white hair settling normally against his scalp before the object finds rest next to the other items.
“You think it’s a good idea to be here?” Yuta asks him quietly, though his eyes never leave his teacher even when Gojo discards his soaked shirt despite the intense cold. “Feels a little personal, don’t you think?”
Yuji glances over at him, shrugging a little. “I think if Gojo-sensei didn’t want me to be here, he would have stopped already. I’m sure he knows by now.”
Yuta hums thoughtfully, agreeing with Yuji even if he doesn’t say it. They watch as Gojo personally brings each of the dummies to their feet, only calling them back into position after he’s done. The fight starts again, but this time Gojo’s attacks are a little more fierce.
The dummies crash onto the ground as usual, but instead of accepting their fates, they return to their feet and relentlessly hound Gojo with their calculated attacks. Gojo’s fists connect with their bodies harder each time they return, his feet pacing around them with precision, his movements as elegant as they are deadly. Even from this distance, Yuji can tell that something has changed.
Yuta must feel it too— the sudden shift in the air. “I don’t think he knows, Yuji.”
Gojo attacks them more violently, as if he were fighting against the King of Curses and the Ten Shadows himself, laying into each of his opponents with a controlled fury that unsettles something deep in Yuji’s gut. Every strike reverberates in his students’ souls, and for the first time since his unsealing, Yuji truly understands just how serious Gojo is about winning— about making sure they believe he is going to do it. Because if he doesn’t do it, if even the strongest cannot beat the King of Curses, the world of jujutsu will change forever.
And Satoru Gojo’s students will be caught under the wave he was supposed to repel.
It isn’t just violence that has molded Gojo into who he is. It’s the weight of the very world he carries on his shoulders. It’s the sheer will to be better in everything that he does— to live up to his title as the strongest and be the untouchable force that drives the world of jujutsu forward.
Yuji’s thoughts are cut short by the loud smack of a dummy slamming the ground for good.
Gojo crushes his fake-but-real opponents beneath his feet and moves onto the last one, striking it with a force so intense that the dummy crashes lifelessly onto the mat and recoils back onto its feet. It wobbles back and forth, only stopping when Gojo leans into its space, his forehead pressing against its as he breathes heavily with an emotion Yuji can’t quite describe.
Gojo’s hands, his knuckles a bright pink in contrast to both his skin and the snow, plant down on the dummy’s shoulders as he breathes. His eyes slide shut as he knocks his head against its— once, twice, three times— lessening time in between each contact as if he were trying to convince, or rather, remind himself of something only his soul knows.
There’s something lonely about the way Gojo looks here, as if he were the only one present despite the room being full of metaphorical people. Yuji supposes that on top of what he already knows, perhaps this is just another reason why Gojo is who he is.
He could never comprehend it before— how everyone who seems to truly know Gojo thinks that he’s lonely despite him having everyone he cares about around him. But now, he thinks he understands why.
Yuji also understands that as much as he’d refused to give himself the time to do it until now, even the strongest just needs time to breathe.
And even if Gojo doesn’t know they’re watching over him now, he damn sure will on the day it matters most.