Chapter Text
That afternoon, in the hospital’s inpatient ward, Itadori Wasuke fought with every last shred of his strength to draw breath, his hand clasped firmly around that of his beloved grandson, Itadori Yuuji. The rhythmic hiss of the respirator and the steady ticking of the wall clock seemed to weave together, becoming a substitute for Wasuke’s own faltering heartbeat. He knew this was his final moment in this world. He did not fear death itself, yet his heart grew heavy at the thought of leaving his only remaining family to navigate this harsh world alone. Wasuke knew, with unwavering certainty, just how strong and kind Yuuji had grown—a young man who could be relied upon. Yet the look of profound sorrow and anxiety etched upon his grandson’s face at that moment served as a stark reminder: Yuuji was still so young. He still needed guidance.
Wasuke had never been a doting, gentle grandfather. He had raised Yuuji with a firm hand and strict discipline, his singular purpose being to prepare the boy to survive when the time came for Wasuke to depart this life. With trembling fingers, he stroked the hand he held.
“Listen here, boy!” Wasuke rasped, a grin splitting his weathered face. “Wipe that pathetic look off your face. Smile, alright? There’s no point crying over this old man’s leaving.”
Yuuji quickly scrubbed at his eyes, which had been threatening to spill over, and let out a pained, choked laugh.
“Gramps, of course I’m going to cry when you leave. Please, I’m not ready… stay a little longer… okay?” Yuuji pleaded, his smile fragile and weak. Wasuke masked the ache in his own heart with a sardonic sigh.
“Listen to me, Yuuji… I can feel it. This is it for me… Listen… You’re a good boy, Yuuji. I’m proud of you…” Wasuke paused, struggling to draw another breath. “I have one selfish request, Yuuji. My last one…” He faltered again. The sounds of the machines and the clock seemed to grow louder, filling his senses.
“Gramps…” Yuuji finally let his tears fall, but with immense resolve, he fought to keep from sobbing in front of the grandfather he loved, the only family he had, who was about to leave him all alone.
“Because you are strong… help those who are in need…” Those were Wasuke’s final words before he exhaled his last breath.
“Gramps? … Grandpa!? … Hicc… Grandpa… Goodbye… See you again someday…” Yuuji sobbed, both his hands grasping Wasuke’s fingers. He was alone now.
“…help those…” Yuuji whispered his grandfather’s last words like a mantra, a spell he hoped would guide him through the crushing weight of his grief.
…
A month passed in a blur for Yuuji. Amidst his mourning, he handled his grandfather’s funeral arrangements. The death certificate, the hospital bills, the meetings with the lawyer to settle Wasuke’s estate—each was a small, sharp reminder that Yuuji was now alone.
Yuuji grieved. He was honest with himself about the pain and the loss. Yet, he fought with every ounce of his being to honor his grandfather’s last request. He fought to smile when friends and neighbors offered their condolences. He fought to get out of bed and return to his university classes. He fought to find pleasure in the meals he ate and the drinks he sipped. Even the clear, bright sky seemed tinged with melancholy these days.
'Gramps, please watch over me from up there. I hope I can become the good person you believed I could be,' Yuuji prayed silently, hoping his wish reached somewhere, anywhere.
…
Two months after Wasuke’s passing, Yuuji was still grieving, but classes, club activities, and his part-time job helped to distract him. He was trying to live better now.
That morning, Yuuji stood before the mirror, fixing his pink hair, getting ready for class. He smiled, silently grateful that he was still managing to hold on. Deciding his hair was acceptable, he hurriedly put on his shoes and glanced at the framed photograph on the shoe rack. It was a picture of himself at five years old, perched on Wasuke’s shoulders, both of them grinning broadly at the camera. Yuuji smiled once more, bowing slightly toward the photo. “Gramps, I’m heading out. Please keep watching over me.”
The morning weather was beautiful—a blue sky dotted with wisps of cloud. The streets were alive with people going about their morning routines. It should have been a perfect morning, yet Yuuji was suddenly struck by a strange, unsettling feeling. A wave of unease washed over him. His instincts screamed at him to be alert; Yuuji had always possessed sharp intuition.
A split second later, his eyes went wide. His breath caught in his throat. A small child had slipped from their mother’s grasp and was running straight toward the busy road. A white truck was barreling down from the opposite direction, its driver seemingly oblivious to the child.
“…help those who are in need…”
Wasuke’s voice echoed in Yuuji’s mind. His body moved before he could think, launching him toward the child. With swift, decisive action, he shoved the child to the side of the road. It all happened so fast. The child tumbled safely onto the curb. But Yuuji…
CRASH!!!
The sickening sound of impact and screeching tires tore through the air. Itadori Yuuji was struck by the white truck and died.
…
Death felt strange. Yuuji regained consciousness in a dimly lit room. He blinked several times, waiting for his vision to focus. 'Is this the afterlife? Is this what death feels like? Will I see Gramps again?' A flood of thoughts assailed him. He tried to survey his surroundings and froze when he noticed a figure in the corner of the room.
A man? A woman? A person with long black hair, wearing a kimono patterned with cherry blossoms, sat with their head bowed. 'Is this some kind of horror movie scene?' Yuuji wondered, cautiously approaching the figure. As he drew closer, he could see it was a slender man with long, disheveled black hair. Swallowing hard, Yuuji tried to speak.
“Um… excuse me… is this the afterlife?”
Only silence answered him. The awkwardness stretched for a moment. Just as Yuuji was about to ask again, the black-haired man suddenly lifted his head to look at him. Two pairs of eyes met, and Yuuji’s breath hitched. The gaunt man sitting before him had a face identical to his own. But this face was unnaturally thin, pallid, and marred by old bruises and healed cuts.
“Wh-what the hell… who are you!?” Yuuji shouted, pointing a trembling finger at the man.
The black-haired man’s gaze was hollow, his face devoid of any spark of life. Yuuji’s heart ached inexplicably at the sight, and his breath grew heavy. The man glanced down at the floor, then spoke.
“Kamo… Yuuji… Are you a god?” he asked, his voice flat. Tears began to stream silently down his face. No sobs, no gasps—just silent tears. He lifted his gaze back to Yuuji. “If you are a god… is there… a place… for me? A place where I can feel happiness, even for just a moment? To be loved… to be acknowledged as human… even for a moment,” he whispered, his voice frail, his breathing labored.
Yuuji’s own tears fell to match the black-haired man’s. They were both Yuuji.
Yuuji was utterly speechless. His heart felt as though it were being torn apart. His tears wouldn’t stop. Without thinking, he moved to sit closer to the black-haired Yuuji. 'Who is this Yuuji before me? Why does my heart hurt so much? Why am I in so much pain? Who hurt this black-haired Yuuji?'
His hand reached out to wipe away the other man’s tears. The moment his fingers touched the man’s cheek, a blinding light erupted. A deafening ringing filled Yuuji’s ears, pounding against his skull until he thought it would split. He screamed, clamping his hands over his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. Then, darkness and silence engulfed him.
…
His eyelids flew open, revealing irises the color of golden honey. Yuuji jolted awake, gasping for air, his hands clutching at his hair. His head throbbed as if a great weight had been slammed into it. Then, scenes began to play within his mind, a cascade of images so forceful that he cried out in agony and crumpled to the floor.
“AGHHHH!!!! AHHHHH!!! IT HURTS! IT HURTS SO MUCH! AGHHHH, SOMEONE HELP!!!”
Just as the pain reached a crescendo, like a rollercoaster cresting its peak, the headache abruptly ceased—but the torrent of scenes in his head only intensified. Yuuji’s eyes flew wide open, unblinking. His mouth stretched in a silent scream, drool trailing down his chin. Sweat poured from him, the veins in his head throbbing violently. This continued for what felt like an eternity. Then, all at once, it stopped.
Yuuji let out a long, shuddering exhale, gasping for air as he tried to steady himself. He remained hunched over, clutching his head, as clarity finally began to dawn. He blinked several times, tears spilling from his eyes.
“Itadori Yuuji… was Kamo Yuuji in this world… Execution was my end…” he whispered slowly.
“FUCK!”
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TBC