Chapter Text
He managed to win the fight against Sukuna, if it wasn't for his teammates and Sukuna's own refusal on acknowledging him he would have never been able to land the finishing blow on that bastard.
But in the end he lost Choso and Gojo sensei, he doesn't know if Higuruma-san and Yuta-senpai were able to survive.
He hopes that everyone is okay.
There were so many sacrifices and he couldn't even save his best friend.
They killed Kenjaku and stopped the merger, Sukuna was defeated, but he couldn't save Fushiguro.
He couldn't save Megumi.
Itadori would never blame him for his decision, after everything he went through, he comprehended his decision and respected it.
But that doesn't mean he won't be lonely without him.
He felt empty, he wasn't sure if it was because of this lackluster of a victory or because he was bleeding out. His legs couldn't hold the weight of his body anymore, his vision was blurry, his whole body ached from the battle and his head was troubling with pain.
It felt like the first time he teleported with Gojo-sensei but a thousand times worse. His body refused to move, it was as if someone put him on a blender and superglued him back together, the only thing he could do was lay still in the ground.
He could feel the way his consciousness started to slip. Just before he passed out he saw a silhouette of a man wearing all black with yellow goggles on his neck.
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When he woke up he was expecting to find Ieri-san smoking by the window with the exhausted expression she always wears, but that's not the sight that greets him.
Instead he woke up in a hospital bed hooked in machines laying in an unfamiliar room with his head, arms, torso and legs warped in bandages.
On the other side of the room there were two men he didn't recognize who seemed to be waiting for him to wake up.
The one with the yellow goggles seemed to notice he was awake. Was that the same guy he saw before he passed out? There shouldn't have been anyone left in Shinjuku, how did that man get there? Maybe he was a sorcerer. Did he take him to a hospital? Before he could voice his questions out loud the other man in shorter hair and a beige overcoat started speaking.
“I'm glad to see you are awake.
“My name is Naomasa Tsukauchi, I am a detective for the police department, that other man there is the pro-hero Eraserhead. He is the one that found you.”
“Oh…” That was all he could say. And what the hell is a pro hero? Did that guy go around saving people like Batman or something? This is getting more and more confusing for his potentially concussed head.
“What is your name kid? We couldn’t find you in our system.” Asked Tsukauchi.
They couldn't find him? Maybe he was still listed as dead since the detention center and the higher-ups didn't bother to change it.
“My name is Yuji Itadori sir.” He responded politely but still very confused on how he ended up in this situation.
The boy tried to sit a little straighter on his bed but pain struck though him sharper than a knife. He could feel his barely healed cuts treating to open again if he dared to move.
“I don't recommend you moving for a while,” the long haired man said. “I found you passed out in a pool of your own blood.
“The doctors were able to treat and stabilize you but your left eye was severely damaged, it's a miracle they could save it. And besides that you have multiple fractures, cuts, burns and bruises throughout all your body, plus three broken ribs. ”
“Oh… okay, I actually expected a few more broken ribs to be honest.” He chuckled at his attempt of a joke. He winced a little at the pain that shot up in his ribs.
The older men didn't find his joke funny, instead they shared a look of concern.
“Itadori-kun, if you feel well enough, do you mind answering some questions?” the detective asked him.
He was so confused on how he got to this place that, maybe, if he answered some questions the man would tell him where he was or what the hell happened in Shinjuku.
“Sure.” He was trying so hard to distract his mind from the events of a few minutes ago, or was it hours? Days? How long did he sleep for?
“Ok, let's first start with the more simple routine questions.” The man took out a pen and a notepad from his coat. “What is your birth date?”
“March 20, 2003.” The reply came easily.
The detective’s eyes widened a bit with his answer, the other man seemed just as surprised. Did he not look his age? What's up with that reaction?
“Very well…” He wrote something on the small notepad “Can you give me today's date? Day, month and year.”
“Um… it's December 24th 2018.”
If they looked concerned before, now they look stunned, the longer haired man raised a brown to the other man as if questioning him and Tsukauchi nodded. The teen was curious about what that silent conversation was about, he was sure the answers he gave them were pretty normal, for sure couldn't be that far off.
“Ok, do you have any parents or guardian we can contact?”
“Not really… My family is deceased, my guardian is my sensei… but I don't think you will be able to call him.”
“And why is that?” Tsukauchi asked carefully.
He kept silent, his expression sombered as he remembered his teacher's body sliced in two.
“That's fine, you don't need to answer all the questions, we just want to help you and figure out what happened.” He flipped a page on the notepad. “Can I move to the next question or do you want a pause?”
“It's fine you can continue.” He just wants to get this over with and go back to his friends…or whatever was left of them.
“Ok, you don't need to feel pressured, answer at your own pace.”
He gave the man a curt nod.
“Where do you live?”
“At Tokyo's Metropolitan Technical High.” He remembers Fushiguro drilling the school's cover up name on his brain, he said it was just in case a non-sorcerer asked him or something like that.
The man's eyes squinted a bit, almost imperceptible.
“I suppose that's where you study too?” Yuji nodded. “I never heard of this school before, is it a private school?”
“Uhm…Yeah, kind of. It's a religious school in the suburbs and we don't have many students so it's not very well known."
The man nodded and scribbled something.
“Ok so this will be the last question I have for now.”
“Alright.” The last question already? Isn't he gonna ask why he was all beaten up in an alley?
“What is your quirk?” The detective asked as if that was one of the most obvious questions ever, his pen ready to write his answer down.
“Sorry but…what is a quirk?”