CHAPTER THREE

Mirror Image

For several seconds Yuuji couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. Strong gusts ruffled his hair as he peered down at the miniature people mulling around over fifty feet below. If not for the stone railing at his waist he would surely have toppled over to his death.

Toppled… Death…

Those two thoughts together energized his fight-or-flight response and he pushed himself backwards, falling on his ass as he lost balance. His lungs caught up with his brain and he struggled to get enough air in, despite how high up he must be. He was starting to feel the pain on his tail bone and his hands as they scraped the concrete, but they were dull sensations against the roaring of his thoughts. What the fuck happened? Where the fuck am I? One second he had just finished an overall pleasant lunch with Fushiguru and the next he was leaning out over the railing atop a building?

But the truth hit him like a freight train and he struggled to breathe anew, as if he was falling. No… It's impossible…

A doctor's voice he hadn't heard in years suddenly echoed in his head. Step One: check your clothes. He patted himself down, noting that he was definitely still wearing the gray hoodie and jeans he wore to lunch. There were no suspicious bulges in his pockets, no items that didn't belong to him. No odd stains either.

Step Two: check your environment. He was obviously atop a building, that much was clear, but how did he get there? After a cursory scan he found the door to the stairwell at the other side of the building, answering that question. On shaky legs he forced himself back to his feet, choosing to ignore the pain on his backside that was becoming all too insistent. With a gulp he carefully clambered back to the rail, placed his hands upon the stone and surveyed his surroundings. With a sigh of relief he found that he was undoubtedly on the college building; he could see the fountain and the skaters loitering around it. Looking up at the sky he placed the sun around just past noon, so not much time had elapsed at all since lunch.

But then there's the possibility that it was a different day altogether.

Step Three: check your phone. It was in the pocket where he always kept it and did not sustain any new nicks or scratches. No new calls or messages; none from him either. Finally he checked the date and time, and while over an hour had passed it was thankfully still Tuesday.

And lastly, Step Four: check yourself.

He rolled up his sleeves and pored over his arms for marks or tattoos. His torso got the same treatment, lifting up the hem of his hoodie to ascertain that no, he didn't have an image of a tiger or "MOM" branded across his chest. Thank the gods.

Using the camera of his phone he checked his face. Still tan, still had brown eyes, still had hair dyed pink in their expected length, still had crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. All in all he was the same handsome self, though how handsome was debatable.

He allowed himself to breathe at last, able to relax with the knowledge that nothing horrible had happened.

Which begged the question: how? And why?

It's impossible… this never happens in the daytime…

But he supposed things can change, can't they? And on the first day of college, his transition to adulthood. It couldn't be a coincidence.

Suddenly he felt a desperate need to call his gramps. With hands still shaking he clicked on his contact and waited restlessly while it rang. One ring later…then two…then ten…why wasn't he picking up? Did he simply put it on silent again? Or…did he slip in the bathtub? Or maybe fell down the stairs? I should have forced him to stay on the first floor like his doctors suggested! Oh fuck I need to get over there and see-

"Hello? Hello? Who's this? Speak up will you!"

He experienced a second wave of relief in almost as many minutes. Damn was he a mess, he could almost laugh. "Gramps! It's me, Yuuji! Didn't you see my name on the screen?"

"Yuuji? Is this you? I don't have my glasses and you know I hate reading this damn LCD thing. Stings my eyes," said his grandpa, who's voice was even more gravelly over the phone. "And dammit, why did you change the ringer tone to that stupid single ladies song?! I almost had a heart attack while I was in the kitchen! You trying to kill me and collect your inheritance, boy?!"

This time he did laugh, and his grandpa raged even more. "Sorry gramps, I'll change it to something more appropriate later. Like Beethoven."

The old man grumbled some more. "You better. Anyway, why you calling me so early? I just saw you, kid."

"Uh…I don't know," Yuuji said as he absently paced around in a circle. His grandfather hated vague answers, so it was best to be direct with him. The problem was he couldn't really explain why he was calling. "I'm just… checking on you. Seeing if you got home safe. Is that a crime?"

There was a pause on the line. When the old man's voice came back, it was low and lacking his usual ferocity. "Yuuji, what's going on? Did something happen? Don't lie to me boy, you know I hate that."

I've been lying to you for years, gramps. He ran a hand through his hair, silently debating whether he should just hang up the phone. "It's just… that thing… that happened… a long time ago. It happened again, but not for very long. Obviously I'm okay now. Nothing happened. Except… the thing that happened. You know?"

Even a master cryptologist would have torn their hair out trying to decipher that series of sentence fragments, but an inward intake of breath told Yuuji that his grandpa understood. Not only that, but he was afraid of what he understood. "You want me to call Dr. Gojo? I think I still have his number here somewhere… it's been years though…"

Yuuji shook his head, forgetting that he was on the phone. "No. I mean, yeah maybe. Some other time. If it happens again, sure."

"I would be happier if you talked to Dr. Gojo, but I can't force you." An odd statement from someone so naturally forceful. But over the years his grandpa had learned when to apply pressure, and when to ease off the gas. "I know I give you a hard time boy, but you can always come home if you need to. You'll always have a place here, even after I'm gone."

His eyes watered and his throat locked up, so he sounded like a blubbering mess. "Don't say stuff like that, gramps. You'll outlive my grandkids, just you wait." He knew that wasn't true, and he suddenly felt bad for making the old man worry, when he had real illnesses of his own to contend with.

His grandpa guffawed, which was interrupted by a short coughing spasm. "You're full of shit, kid. But I appreciate the thought. You sure you don't need to come home?"

"Nah, it's okay. I just needed to talk. In fact, I should probably be getting to class." Yuji glanced at his watch…and sudden realization struck. He began to sweat.

"…you're missing another class, aren't you?"

Students stared up in wonder as a flock of birds fled the vicinity of the college building.


Megumi ate dinner by himself in the cafeteria. After the plate of multicolored mush he had had for lunch he'd been craving actual human nourishment, which turned out to be a bowl of ramen and glass of iced tea. Straightforward, just as he liked it. Why did people feel the need to "innovate" when the basics were just as good?

As he watched various students and faculty eating and chatting on their tables, he admitted to himself that it was nice to share a meal with someone for once, even if he was naturally accustomed to eating alone. And reading alone. And playing alone. And just being alone in general. Solitude was vastly underrated, and most people in his life tended to learn eventually that he preferred it and would peel away on their own – with the exception of Maki, who stuck to him like a barnacle sometimes. Itadori, for all his faults, was probably not as foolhardy or stubborn as Maki Zenin, and would automatically show himself out in due time.

They shared a bunk bed, so probably not literally.

He sat there pondering his mostly empty ramen bowl – with onlookers understandably thinking him insane or depressed – weirdly fascinated by how a piece of chopped onion resembled a mop of pink hair.

He frowned. The fact that he hadn't adequately solved that mystery still rankled him. Surely you didn't have to be a forensic investigator to figure out if a college student was secretly moonlighting as a satanic rock god with unbelievable sex appeal? Though that shameful episode where he went right out and asked Yuuji about his taste in music still made him cringe. If he actually were Ryomen Sukuna he would have seen through that like a wet piece of paper. So fucking clumsy. Did he really have what it takes to be a clinical psychologist?

Itadori hadn't returned to the dorm all day. Perhaps he actually meant to attend all his classes? Or he's somewhere in downtown Tokyo prepping for his next performance…

He slid the bowl aside and rested his forehead on the table. Chasing his thoughts going round and round was exhausting. But what was he supposed to do? Just push Itadori into a closet and force him to reveal himself?

And if he happened to be Sukuna, then…well…what else do people do in closets?

His phone was vibrating, and he struggled to maintain his composure as he slipped it out, expecting another text to delete. It was a tweet.

He sat ramrod straight, staring with eyes wide at his phone. He only followed a few people on twitter, and there was one who could potentially solve his predicament once and for all.

The Cursed Kings, Ryomen Sukuna's band…had just posted a tweet.

His hands were strangely moist and clammy as he scanned the tweet. The band didn't seem to have a social media manager, at least not one who handled their twitter, with most of their online presence concentrated on youtube and reddit. Their twitter only seemed to exist for one thing and one thing only: posting venue locations in real time. Of course, like with food, nothing can ever be just simple, so instead of addresses or posters advertising an upcoming live show like most bands, they tweeted out coordinates. They had explained that the coordinates were locations where the soul of Demon King Sukuna was predicted to manifest and feast on the blood of virgins for exactly three hours before the fires of Hell reclaimed him.

Megumi admittedly was not too invested in that part of their lore, but he could see how it added to their mystique, and more bodies to their highly devoted cult following. He was grateful they didin't force fans to solve riddles or partake in scavenger hunts like more pretentious groups at least.

As he waited for the maps app to load the coordinates, he supposed that even if Itadori could be two people at once, he couldn't be in two places at once. Their venues were usually deep in the city, making it impossible for Itadori to both be attending his classes and holding a live concert at the same time.

I guess that's that then. If he was being honest, he was a little sad to see this mystery end. It made for an entertaining diversion before he fully immersed himself in his studies.

Then the location appeared…and his jaw dropped.

"This…this is impossible," he muttered hoarsely, unable to believe what he was seeing. Was the app broken? He loaded it again. Same result. He used a different app. Same result.

No, it was real. The location pin was pointed to their general location, to a nightclub just half a kilometer from the university.

FUCK!

He stood up, not caring that he tipped over his half full glass of iced tea which seeped over the table and unto his shoes. Others were catching on too, leaving meals unfinished and racing to the exits with their faces glued to their phones in excitement. Megumi normally prized his mental fitness, but right then his head felt dull like it was filled with cotton. What did this mean? How was this possible? Was this yet another coincidence?

Maybe he could worry about that later, because at the moment only one thing truly mattered.

The Cursed Kings are performing a short walk away AND I'M NOT FUCKING THERE FUCK!

That got him moving.

There was an exodus outside the campus. Throngs of excited fans and their non-fan friends hoping to catch a free concert ran through the cool night air towards the nightclub just outside the university grounds. By the time he got there a massive crowd had congregated outside the entrance, some shouting and demanding to know what the holdup was, the others just squealing at the reality of being less than a hundred feet from Ryomen Sukuna. Megumi shoved his way to the front, not caring whose eyes he poked out or ribs he elbowed on his way there. That was another plus to doing things alone; he didn't have to let dead weight slow him down.

It turned out he was too slow even without any dead weight, as a burly man in a black tee barred him from entry. "Sorry kid, club's at full capacity. I let any more in and it's going to be a fire code violation."

Megumi stepped back into the shouting crowd, feeling himself crumble inside. Alternating red and yellow lights blared out of the club's entrance, as if he were standing at the gates of Hell itself but was denied the opportunity to join the devils in their play. Even outside the bass was loud enough to shake the ground and make his skin hum. All that was lacking was the Demon King's voice, which he knew, deep down in the fiery bowels, was pleasuring the mortals fortunate enough to have gained audience with him. Experiencing the ecstasy Megumi had felt when he listened to Sukuna's music for the first time, understanding to his core the messages of pain, loss, loneliness, and burning revenge evoked by his full-throated howl.

I HAVE to get in there. No matter what.

He lunged forward past the burly bouncer, but the big man was too fast for him and pushed him back. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you doing, kid? Didn't you hear what I just said? Fire. Code. Violation. Look I know how you feel, I'm obsessed with this band too, but rules are rules. So better luck next time."

Megumi held his ground, holding his hands up in a fighting posture. He probably looked like David trying to scare Goliath with a twig. Many in the crowd laughed derisively at the fool he was making of himself. He ignored them. "I'm going in there. Either you step aside, or I'll be forced to hurt you. Take your pick."

The bouncer gawped at him for a few seconds before breaking out into a guffaw at the skinny nerd one third his weight threatening to beat him up. "Are you serious? Do you see these?" He flexed one of his gallon-sized biceps. "I assume you can. I don't wanna beat the shit out of no handicapped person. Well, don't say I didn't warn you." The bouncer took a jab that would have felled a raging buffalo.

So predictable.

Megumi stepped aside, letting the big man's momentum bowl him forward before grabbing his arm, twisting around, then used the gorilla's own weight against him to slam him flat on the ground. The bouncer gasped upon impact, heading lolling to the side, dazed.

The crowd fell silent, staring at the swift takedown in disbelief.

Megumi allowed himself a few deep breaths and pat the big man on the shoulder. "Stay down, big guy." He stood up and without further ado jogged into the club, throwing up his hood in case anyone came looking for a skinny guy with wild hair and mad aikido skills. Thanks Maki, I owe you. He ignored the ache in his shoulder. He would have to check himself later if he had pulled any muscles or joints.

The temperature went up exponentially as he squeezed through the club. Perhaps the bouncer's concerns of a fire code violation had been warranted. The air stank with the smell of sweat, alcohol, smoke, and other bodily fluids he didn't want to think about. The lights were even more intense inside, every pulse of red momentarily blinding him the closer he got to the stage. He fought the urge to gag as he pinballed from one slick body to another. His jacket would need a wash, that was certain.

His heart thundered in his chest. Ryomen Sukuna's singing was clear now, shaking the very foundations of the club and the souls of everyone in it.

Excitement mounting with each drumbeat, he climbed up the stairs to a balcony overlooking the stage. And there he was.

Ryomen Sukuna never walked a stage that wasn't spitting out fire in some form (Great. Now I cant stop thinking about all the violations). This one was no different. Even though smoke bellowed around the stage, the piercing red and orange lights illuminated the band and made them appear like they were burning in a pyre. There were five members in total, two women and three men; one of them, the guitarist, was just as muscle bound as the bouncer. All of them sported tattoos similar to Sukuna, black stripes on exposed limbs and demon makeup including extra eyes on their faces.

But Megumi had eyes only for the lead singer.

Unable to look away from Sukuna now, Megumi's feet moved of their own accord and took him into the dark, energetic mass that was the crowd in front of the stage. They jumped and screamed and shouted the lyrics, almost enough to make his ears bleed, but he didn't look away. Bodies crashed into him, limbs whacked every section of his body, but he didn't look away. At one point he was shoved to the floor and was forced to crawl through the mass of legs dragging gum and used condoms along with him, but still he didn't look away. He could have been set on fire and his eyes would have continued to follow Sukuna's every gesture, every leap, every twist of the microphone stand, until there was nothing left of him but embers.

And then he emerged at the foot of the stage and this time he did look away. His body realized that he'd stopped breathing all throughout his journey into that roiling mass of humanity and was just catching up. He gripped a rail that he had no idea was there and hoisted himself up…

…to come face to face with Ryomen Sukuna.

To anyone watching Sukuna was simply singing to his adoring audience, as he often did. But to Megumi, the King of Curses sang directly to him.

He's so close. He could almost smell his sweat, track every drop that beaded down the curves of his bulging muscles. He could see how the moisture magnified the black symbols decorating his body and set his flawless tanned skin aglow. He could hear his taloned fingernails click against the surface of the microphone as he held it. He could see Sukuna's pupils dilate as his crimson eyes looked right into Megumi's. He could practically touch him, desperately holding out a hand to do just that.

Sukuna held out a hand too, reaching down for him, their fingertips about to touch…

Then for a split second that feral mouth broke into a fanged grin and he pulled his hand away.

He retreated deeper into the stage as the drums and guitar thrums reached a deafening crescendo, until the lights went out with one last explosion of sound. The silence only lasted a second before the audience thundered their applause and satisfaction. The lights came back on, revealing Sukuna standing at centerstage with his arms outstretched, reveling in their praise. What a showman.

Megumi stood in a daze, barely able to support himself if not for his grip on the rail and the crush of strangers behind him. It was beginning to sink in that he was there, looking at Ryomen Sukuna live and in the flesh. And for once it wasn't just a pleasant dream.

Sukuna stood in wait, seemingly drawing on their applause before finally speaking into the microphone. "Greetings, my mortal slaves!" The partyers erupted once again, particularly the female crowd. Once the noise died down he continued. "Once again your ritual has pulled me from my slumber, forcing me to hold court in this gods-forsaken realm." There was a pregnant pause, his red eyes sweeping over every soul in the room. "And I like it!"

Again, the audience jumped and cheered, lost in the spellbinding narrative. Megumi, as pragmatic and analytic as he was, always found himself taken in by his slick, seductive voice. He couldn't imagine how Itadori could possibly emulate such a character, let alone be him.

"I must continue the search for my lost fingers, source of my stolen powers! Gather around where I am next summoned, for each ritual brings us closer to my return and eternal damnation!" Sukuna looked around the stage at his bandmates. "But please, don't forget to worship my faithful archdemons, for they are instrumental as esteemed members of my unholy court." The other members of the band stepped forward and basked in the adulation as well.

As final applause rang out and normal lighting returned, Megumi watched The Cursed Kings file out the stage.

It was over. The show was over. The audience was dispersing outside or to less confined spaces in the club.

Yet, Megumi's heart was still racing. The night wasn't over yet, not for him.

He used the cover of the departing crowd to sneak out the emergency exit. Cold air chilled his sweat-slicked skin as he stumbled outside, the alley he found himself in illuminated only by the full moon. The back of the club was empty, save for trash, vermin, and cats with glowing yellow eyes following his every move. He made a cursory exploration of the backlot and found a door that could conceivably serve as an escape point for the band.

He searched for a place to hide that would serve as a good vantage point. There was none, save for… Shit.

Taking a deep breath and praying that would last him for however long, he threw open the lid of a garbage container and dove inside. Luckily it mostly contained sealed garbage bags, which were actually quite soft and comfortable to lean against. Unluckily, one of the bags must have ruptured, as he could feel some dubious liquid oozing into his pantleg. Now I have to wash my pants and shoes too. Great.

His dark head peered over the lip of the container, waiting for signs of movement. It didn't take long for his instincts to bear fruit as the club's backdoor swung open with several figures filing out, only the barest of details shown by the light of the moon. Most of them were lugging musical equipment. Bingo.

The largest figure, who had a guitar slung over his shoulders, was talking to a shorter figure and squeezing their arm. Megumi cursed silently as he couldn't make out anything they were saying.

It probably wasn't necessary, as the moonlight was bright enough for him to see what the shorter figure was wearing… a gray hoodie. A very familiar gray hoodie.

While Megumi was consumed with the implications of that discovery, the one in the gray hoodie had run off with his groupmates waving him off. Megumi seethed to chase after him, but it was impossible for him to slink out without being noticed. He had to wait until everyone left. Which would be too late.

An extremely uncomfortable twenty minutes later, he shambled back into his dormitory. Fellow dormmates who had beat him to the elevator held their noses and ran out at his arrival, leaving him alone in the compartment. How nice of them.

When he unlocked the door to their room, he found a towel-clad Itadori standing there, bare skin clean and fresh from a shower. He couldn't even muster the barest surprise at how convenient that was. His eyes roved the room for the gray hoodie, but Itadori must have stored it somewhere.

Itadori noticed him enter. "Hi Fushi-ugh!" He wrinkled his nose, looking Megumi up and down. "Were you just swimming in garbage?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" was Megumi's tired reply.

Itadori blinked, eyebrows raised. "Uh yeah, I would like to know why you were swimming in garbage. Only if you wanna tell me."

Megumi cocked his head, searching Itadori's guileless brown eyes for any sign of deceit…and found none. His face was as open and transparent as it had always been. There wasn't even the slightest hint that he had eye-fucked Megumi while performing shirtless on stage less than an hour ago. A fact that infuriated and confused him. "Speaking of things you wanna tell, how about you go first and tell me where you were an hour ago?"

Itadori dumbly pointed to himself. "What, me? I was… I was… taking a shower."

Megumi's expression was still as stone. "You were showering for at least an hour straight until now?"

Itadori shook his head…then stopped after catching himself doing it. "Uh…no… I was… in class. I showered after." He didn't sound certain.

Rather than dismantle that lie that was both not a lie but actually a lie, he said nothing and shuffled to the bathroom. Itadori called after him, but Megumi paid him no heed as he slammed the door closed. Fully clothed, he stepped into the shower and turned on the water at the coldest setting. With his forehead resting on the tile, he told himself that he should be happy. Ecstatic. Jumping around like a giddy schoolgirl. He had not only seen Ryomen Sukuna live and in color, but made eye contact with him. He had only ever dreamed of such an interaction, often while taking showers like these. But now…

Who was Yuuji Itadori? Until he knew, he couldn't imagine focusing on anything else.