Chapter Text
Satoru died at Sukuna’s hands. Bisected. And then he woke up in an airport.
Yes an airport. Not a dramatic heaven with golden gates. Not hell either. Just… Haneda Airport.
Honestly, it felt almost insulting. Bright lights reflected against polished floors. The distant sound of announcements echoed endlessly through the terminal. It looked painfully normal for a place that existed between life and death.
It smelt like nothing, and felt like nothing.
At first Satoru thought he was hallucinating. Then he heard Haibara yell his name.
“GOJO-SENPAI!”
And suddenly everyone was there. Yaga standing near the boarding gate with his usual tired expression. Nanami looking mildly inconvenienced by existence even in death. Haibara practically vibrating with happiness. And Suguru smiling at him like no time had passed at all.
That broke something inside Satoru instantly. Because no matter how much he joked, no matter how much he pretended otherwise, a part of him had been grieving Suguru every single day since he killed him.
And now he was here.
Alive in the only way that mattered anymore.
“Yo,” Suguru greeted casually, hands tucked inside his sleeves.
Satoru stared at him for a full second before sighting. “Gah, I always told my students you'd be alone when you die, so please tell me this is just some ridiculous dream.”
“Does it matter? Are you disappointed?”
“Honestly? A little bit.” Satoru grinned despite the sting behind his eyes. “I was expecting at least Buddha.”
Suguru laughed softly. And god, he missed his friends.
It turned out everyone had been waiting for him. There was a gate nearby. A plane that never seemed to arrive nor depart. No destination written anywhere on the screen above it. Just endless static flickering across black monitors.
Shoko and Ijichi were the only one missing from their generation. There was also Tsumiki that stayed for Megumi.
So they would wait for them before boarding the plane.
At first, Satoru didn’t really mind being dead. That was the strange part. He had expected regret. Fear. Anger. Instead there was peace.
A terrifying amount of peace.
For the first time in his life, nothing was expected from him anymore. No missions. No students to protect. No strongest title chained to his back like a curse disguised as praise. He just hoped Gakuganji or elders wouldn't join the party.
Because this was perfect. Just the quiet and his friends. Dying wasn’t so bad after all. Honestly, he felt worse for the living. They still had to endure life without knowing how soft the end could feel.
Especially his students.
Satoru spent hours watching the large screen suspended inside the terminal. It showed the world of the living almost like television.
They watched the final battle. Watched Yuuji fight. Watched Yuuta take over his body. Watched Nobara return with blood on her face and fury in her eyes. Watched all of them stand despite everything.
Satoru didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Yuuji landed the final strike.
Silence swallowed the airport terminal afterward. Then Haibara started cheering loudly. Nanami sighed like he expected nothing less. Suguru smiled quietly beside him. And Satoru laughed because relief hit so hard it almost hurt.
“We won, Gojo-sensei,” Yuuji whispered through the screen, exhausted beyond words. "Thank you."
He couldn’t hear him. Not really. But somehow Satoru answered anyway.
“No,” he murmured softly, smiling despite the burn in his throat. “Thank you, Yuuji-kun.”
Megumi survived. That mattered too.
At first Satoru had hated seeing Sukuna use Megumi’s body. Hated himself for failing to stop it. But in the end, his son was alive. A bit roughed up from the event. But alive.
And alive mattered. He could heal later.
Or so Satoru thought.
Years passed strangely in the airport. No sunrise. No sunset. Just time moving quietly forward while the dead waited for the people they loved.
Ten years passed. Then fifteen.
Sometimes Satoru sat with Suguru drinking terrible airport coffee while they argued about movies, mangas or the old days. Sometimes he watched Nanami attempt to avoid Haibara’s endless energy. All with deep fondness of course. Sometimes Yaga scolded all of them like they were still students.
But more often than not—Satoru watched Yuuji.
The boy became a man. He trained restlessly.
He looked good honestly. With broader shoulders and those war scars still beautifully framing his face. Yuuji had become the strongest. Because someone had to. He exorcised curses across Japan relentlessly, taking mission after mission until his name alone became enough to terrify curses into hiding.
Money piled into his accounts faster than he could spend it. He lived alone in a small apartment in Tokyo despite being absurdly wealthy.
Sometimes he stood in the kitchen at three in the morning eating instant noodles straight from the pot after a mission. Sometimes he forgot to sleep for days. Sometimes Satoru caught him staring at old photographs with an expression that hollowed his chest out.
“That’s what sensei would’ve done,” Yuuji told himself once in a while. After accepting another impossible mission for example. After pulling an all nighter to complete the reports. After accepting to see the higher ups.
Satoru smiled faintly behind the screen. “Proud of you, Yuuji-kun. But I had Ijichi help me with then administrative work.”
Even if he couldn’t hear him. Yuuji visited everyone constantly. Maki. Panda. Inumaki. And Megumi most of all whenever he could.
Megumi never recovered fully after Shinjuku. Tsumiki’s death shattered something fundamental inside him. So did killing Satoru with his own body. Even if it wasn’t truly his fault.
Depression swallowed him slowly over the years. Yuuji tried. He visited almost every two or three days. Cooked for him whenever he could. Dragged him outside. Sat beside him in silence when words stopped working. But grief was patient.
And eventually—Megumi stopped fighting it.
Satoru wasn’t watching the screen when it happened. He learned what happened because suddenly there was another presence standing quietly beside him in the airport terminal.
“Megumi.”
The boy looked seventeen again. Still wearing that same expression he always carried like the world had disappointed him personally.
For one horrible second, Satoru just stared. Then he moved instantly. Megumi barely had time to react before Satoru wrapped both arms around him hard enough to almost crush him.
“You idiot,” Satoru whispered shakily.
Megumi froze completely.
And then—Slowly—He hugged him back.
“So that’s where we arrive when we die,” Megumi muttered quietly, staring around the airport terminal. “And this is how it feels?” A pause. Then, with the same exhausted honesty he always carried: “Would’ve done it sooner if I knew.”
“Megumi,” Tsumiki whispered softly beside him, sadness immediately filling her eyes.
Satoru felt something twist uncomfortably in his chest. Not because Megumi was wrong. That was the problem. Death was peaceful. The weight was gone here. The fear. The loneliness. Even grief felt quieter, softer around the edges.
No wonder Megumi had let go. Satoru’s gaze drifted back toward the giant screen instinctively.
Toward Yuuji.
Yuuji, who was still alive. Yuuji, who at that exact moment was sitting alone eating breakfast completely unaware that his best friend had just died.
Yuuji, whose phone suddenly started ringing.
Satoru watched him answer immediately with a small smile already forming on his face.
Probably expecting a friend to call. And then—The smile vanished.
Satoru saw it happen in real time. Saw confusion hit first. Then disbelief. Then something inside Yuuji collapse so violently Satoru physically felt sick watching it.
The spoon slipped from Yuuji’s fingers, clattering against the floor unheard. “Yuuji,” Satoru whispered weakly.
His chest hurt. Which shouldn’t even have been possible anymore after death.
“He was the only person keeping me there, to be honest,” Megumi admitted quietly beside him, eyes lowered toward the floor. “But it got too painful.” His voice stayed flat. Empty. “I couldn’t do it anymore.”
Satoru wanted to yell at him. Wanted to grab him by the shoulders and scream about responsibility and friendship and how badly this would destroy Yuuji. But the words died before reaching his mouth. Because who the hell was he to talk?
Megumi lost his sister. His body. His future. And Satoru himself had also left Yuuji behind.
Maybe not willingly. But abandoned was abandoned.
“Why are you watching him, Gojo-sensei?” Megumi asked suddenly.
Satoru blinked.
“I…” The answer stuck strangely in his throat. “I don’t know.”
Suguru glanced toward him knowingly from nearby.
"Liar."
Satoru ignored him. “I miss him, I guess,” he admitted after a moment, voice quieter now. “And I’m curious.”
“Curious?”
“What kind of adult he becomes.” Satoru smiled faintly watching Yuuji through the screen. “What kind of life he builds.”
Megumi followed his gaze silently. Down below, Yuuji had stopped moving entirely. The person on the other side of the phone was still talking, but Yuuji looked like he couldn’t hear anything anymore.
His face had gone completely blank. Not shocked. Not crying. Just—Empty.
Satoru hated that expression instantly. Because he recognized it. It was the same expression he himself wore after Geto left.
The look of someone realizing grief was about to become permanent.
“Will you leave with us when Shoko gets here?” Suguru asked quietly.
“That’s the plan,” Satoru answered automatically, still looking at the screen.
But for the first time since arriving at the airport—
The thought felt wrong.
Down below, Yuuji finally spoke. Very softly. As if talking to himself. “What would have sensei done? I ...don't know anymore.” His voice cracked violently halfway through. “It hurts, sensei…”
Satoru’s breath caught. Something unbearable crossed his face. He wanted—God.
He wanted to hold him. To wrap his arms around him one last time and tell him it was okay to fall apart sometimes. To tell him he didn’t need to carry everyone alone anymore.
But there was glass between worlds. And Yuuji was still on the wrong side of it.
Another ten years passed. Yuuji still hadn’t aged.
Well—not normally.
His hair had gotten slightly longer over the years, softer around the edges now, and he had somehow ended up wearing it in the exact same style as Nanami.
Satoru found that unbelievably funny. Nanami, meanwhile, looked quietly emotional about it in a deeply repressed Kento Nanami kind of way.
“He looks responsible,” Haibara said cheerfully one day.
“He looks exhausted,” Nanami corrected.
“Same thing,” Suguru muttered.
Satoru laughed. But beneath the humor, something about it unsettled him.
Because everyone else had changed. Nobara looked older now, sharper around the eyes but happier somehow. Maki carried herself with the confidence of someone who had long accepted becoming a legend, she was also a mother. Panda’s voice had deepened. Even Inumaki had faint lines near his eyes when he smiled.
But Yuuji barely looked older than twenty. And Yuuji had noticed.
“You really don’t age, huh,” Nobara commented bluntly one evening while they ate dinner together.
Yuuji smiled weakly at his plate.
“Ieri-san thinks it’s because of the cursed wombs.” He poked at his food absentmindedly. “She took blood samples to figure out exactly how long my lifespan is supposed to be.”
“And?”
“She said I am aging for now.” A pause. “Just… very slowly. She doesn't know yet how much do I still have left.”
The apartment fell silent after that.
Even through the screen, Satoru felt the heaviness settle around the table instantly. Because everyone understood what that meant.
Yuuji would outlive them.
All of them.
Satoru stared quietly at the screen afterward. For once, he didn’t know what to feel. Relief came first. Yuuji would live. Yuuji would survive. After everything he suffered, wasn’t that what Satoru had wanted?
But then came something colder.
A strange ache curling quietly beneath his ribs. Because if Yuuji kept living like this…It would take him a very long time to arrive here. He would also see everyone die around him.
And Yuuji knew it too. He hid it well. Most people wouldn’t have noticed.
But Satoru noticed everything about him now. The way Yuuji lingered longer around his friends lately. The way his smiles sometimes faded when everyone else looked away. The way he stared at old photographs he took before bed. The way he started sleeping less after learning the truth.
Satoru knew his habits now.
What he ate for breakfast.
Which convenience store he visited most often.
The exact jogging route he preferred in the mornings.
How many hours he slept on average.
Who he trained with.
Who he trusted most.
Who made him laugh hardest.
Satoru had spent more than twenty five years watching him. And somewhere along the way, observation had become something far more dangerous.
Yuuji had started teaching recently. Tokyo Jujutsu High. Alongside Todo of all people.
Watching that nearly killed Satoru emotionally.
Because Yuuji taught exactly like him sometimes. The same patience hidden beneath teasing. The same habit of believing in students before they believed in themselves. The same softness when nobody was looking.
Except Yuuji was gentler. Kinder. And unlike Satoru, he never stood above others naturally. He stood beside them. Even if he was the strongest by far. Even stronger than Satoru.
Students adored him for it. Satoru adored him for it too.
“He really became amazing,” Yaga murmured quietly one evening while they watched Yuuji helping first-years train.
“Obviously,” Satoru answered immediately, pride overflowing before he could stop it.
Suguru glanced sideways at him. “You really love watching him, huh?”
Satoru crossed his arms defensively. “He’s interesting. He makes me happy. I relate to him the most.”
“Satoru.”
“He was my favorite student.”
Suguru looked deeply unconvinced. This conversation had happened multiple times over the years.
Sometimes with Suguru. Sometimes with Nanami. Once even with Haibara loudly asking if Satoru had a crush before getting smacked by both Nanami and Yaga simultaneously.
“You know,” Suguru started carefully one day, “I think maybe you—”
“He’s my student, Suguru.”
The response came too fast. Suguru raised an eyebrow slowly.
“Satoru,” he said gently, “he’s older than you now. You died at twenty-nine."
“Still feels illegal somehow.”
Nanami nearly choked on his coffee. Meanwhile, down below in the world of the living, Yuuji sat alone on his apartment balcony staring at Tokyo’s lights.
The city moved endlessly beneath him.
He was beautiful.
“It might take a while before I join you, sensei,” Yuuji said softly into the night.
Satoru froze.
The airport suddenly felt quieter around him.
And for the first time since dying—The idea of boarding that plane without Yuuji felt unbearable.
Maybe…
Maybe he could wait a little longer for his favorite student.
Years passed again. More students came and went through Tokyo Jujutsu High. New generations. New techniques. New disasters waiting to happen.
And then there was Okkotsu Iori. Yuuta’s kid.
Satoru hated him immediately. Not because the brat was weak. Unfortunately, he was talented. Smart too. Quiet in the exact same unsettling way Yuuta had been at fifteen.
No.
The problem was that the boy followed Yuuji everywhere. Like a curse attached to his shadow.
At first, Satoru thought it was normal admiration. Yuuji was the strongest sorcerer alive now. Of course students idolized him. But then Iori started appearing constantly.
Training grounds. Missions. Convenience store. Supermarket.
The boy even figured out where Yuuji lived.
Satoru narrowed his eyes at the screen suspiciously. “That child is a stalker.”
Suguru, sitting beside him on one of the airport chairs, glanced up lazily from his book. “the kid has a crush it seems.”
"I hate him.”
"Thanks for telling me, it wasn't obvious enough.”
One the screen, Yuuji had also started noticing. At first he tolerated it with the exhausted patience of a teacher used to overly attached students. But eventually even he looked mildly concerned.
“Just tell his father already,” Satoru muttered at the screen.
As if hearing him, Yuuji eventually went to find Yuuta. Satoru straightened immediately.
Finally justice.
“He follows me around a lot lately,” Yuuji admitted carefully while the two sat together in
Yuuta’s office in the Gojo estate. Yuuta looked genuinely confused.
“Iori?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Yuuta smiled faintly into his tea. “He’ll grow out of it.”
Satoru stared at the screen in betrayal. “No he won’t.”
“He just really likes you, Yuuji.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” Satoru complained loudly.
Yuuji rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “If you say so… I just felt like you should know.”
“No, Yuuta,” Satoru groaned dramatically. “I did not raise you to say things like that. Your son is a walking restraining order.”
Suguru snorted beside him. “What exactly is your issue with this?”
“The child is obsessed.”
“He’s sixteen.”
“He’s lurking.”
“what is it to you?.”
“He appeared behind Yuuji’s couch without warning.”
Suguru paused thoughtfully. “Okay, that one was a little concerning.”
“Thank you.”
Still, Suguru watched Satoru carefully afterward. Because this wasn’t normal annoyance anymore. Satoru genuinely looked upset.
Possessive even.
“What is it to you anyway?” Suguru finally asked quietly.
Satoru crossed his arms immediately. “He’s Yuuji’s student.”
“And?”
“There are ethical boundaries.”
Suguru stared at him for three full seconds before bursting out laughing. “Satoru,” he said through visible amusement, “we’re jujutsu sorcerers. Half of us committed crimes before turning eighteen.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“It just is.”
Suguru leaned back in his seat, smile slowly turning softer. “You know,” he said carefully, “Iori will technically outgrow him eventually.”
Satoru frowned.
“Shoko estimated Yuuji still has at least three centuries left.” Suguru shrugged lightly. “At some point everyone becomes younger than him.”
Satoru went quiet. The thought made something twist painfully inside him. Because Suguru was right. Yuuji would stay. While everyone else left.
Again.
And again.
And again.
“He can’t like him back,” Satoru muttered eventually.
Suguru tilted his head slightly. “Why?”
Satoru opened his mouth automatically. All the logical answers rose instantly to the surface. But none of them were the real reason.
The real reason sat uglier beneath them all. His chest hurt. It hurt watching someone else stand beside Yuuji like that. It hurt seeing another person slowly become important to him. It hurt because some selfish part of him still wanted to be special even after death.
“It hurts,” Satoru admitted so quietly it almost disappeared.
Suguru’s expression softened immediately.
Ah.
There it was.
After decades of denial, excuses, and hiding behind the word student—Satoru was finally starting to understand what everyone else had known for years.
Down below, Yuuji sat alone grading papers late into the night while Iori, who had broken into his appartement yet again, lingered nearby pretending not to stare. Then suddenly, very softly, Yuuji spoke to himself.
“Did sensei feel like this too when I was his student?”
Satoru froze. Something deep inside him cracked open completely. Because the answer was—No.
Not then.
Back then Satoru had been too blind. Too emotionally constipated. Too terrified of needing anyone that deeply.
But if he had known?
If he had realized Yuuji looked at him like that—
Maybe things would have been different. Maybe he would have allowed himself to fall too.
His sweet, sweet student.
Iori had grown up. He was twenty-three now, tall and composed in the quiet way Yuuta used to be at that age. Strong too. One of the strongest sorcerers of his generation.
And Yuuji still looked barely older than his twenties.
Time had touched everyone except him.
But Iori had looked at Yuuji the same way through every single year of it. Like he hung the moon. And every year since turning eighteen, he confessed. Always on his birthday. Always with flowers. Always serious.
“I love you, Itadori-sensei.”
Every year, Yuuji rejected him gently.
“Try again next year.”
At first Satoru found it hilarious. Then annoying. Then concerning. Then deeply, personally offensive.
“Persistent little brat,” Satoru muttered one year while sprawled dramatically across airport chairs.
Suguru snorted beside him. “You sound jealous.”
“I’m not jealous. I’m judging.”
“You’ve been judging him for nine consecutive years.”
“Because he keeps confessing.”
“And Yuuji keeps refusing.”
Exactly. That was the important part. Yuuji always refused. So Satoru stayed calm.
Mostly.
Then another year came.
Another birthday. Another confession.
“I love you, Itadori-sensei,” Iori said quietly, standing in front of him with trembling hands despite his determined expression. “Please give me a chance.”
Yuuji looked exhausted already.
“Iori-kun…”
“They want me to marry someone else.” His voice cracked slightly. “A woman from another clan. I can’t do it.”
Satoru rolled his eyes instantly. “Ah yes. Traditional jujutsu society ruining lives again. Nature is healing. Perhaps you should?”
But Iori kept going. “I only want you.”
Something about the sincerity in his voice made Satoru’s stomach twist unpleasantly.
“Please,” Iori whispered. “Just one chance. Let me prove I can make you happy.”
Suguru glanced sideways immediately. Because Satoru had gone very still. Still—He wasn’t worried.
“The brat’s getting rejected again,” Satoru said confidently, arms crossed. “He doesn’t compare to Yuuji. Besides, why would Yuuji date someone he’ll outlive?”
Suguru hummed.
“You sound weirdly defensive for someone who insists he’s normal about this.”
“I am normal.”
“Satoru, you once called this boy a ‘home invader.’”
“He appeared inside Yuuji’s kitchen at 2 a.m telling yuuji he had nightmares.”
“He had keys. Yuuji gave them to him so he would stop breaking the front door. Or the windows.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
Down below, Yuuji stayed silent for a long time. Too long. And suddenly—Satoru felt uneasy.
Then Yuuji spoke quietly. “…If Yuuta and Maki-senpai agree…”
Satoru blinked once.
“…let’s try, Iori-kun.”
Suguru slowly turned toward him. Satoru looked like someone had reached into his chest and ripped something out violently.
“No,” he said immediately. “No no no no—”
Down below, Iori looked like he might actually cry.
“Father,” he said shakily, turning toward Yuuta. “Mother. Please.”
Maki stared at him for a long moment.
“You really love him that much?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
Yuuta looked toward Yuuji quietly. And Yuuji looked awkward.
“I don’t want a life without him,” Iori admitted.
And then Yuuta smiled softly. “…Take care of my son, Yuuji.”
Something shattered inside Satoru completely. He stood up so abruptly the chair behind him tipped over.
Then suddenly his legs gave out beneath him. Suguru caught his shoulder immediately.
“Satoru—”
“No.” He couldn’t watch this.
He couldn’t.
Suguru switched the screen away instantly. Shoko appeared instead discussingwith Ijichi who was her husband.
Satoru's breathing felt wrong.
“You love him,” Suguru said quietly.
And after nearly a century of denial—Satoru finally broke. “I do.”
The confession left him emptier than expected. Because now that he admitted it, everything suddenly became painfully obvious.
Why he watched Yuuji every day. Why he stayed. Why the airport had never truly felt peaceful. He wasn’t waiting for Shoko.
Or Ijichi.
Or anyone else.
He had been waiting for Yuuji. Waiting for the day Yuuji would finally arrive so they could leave together. Board the plane together. Sit side by side. Finally talk properly. Finally touch him again. Tell him everything he never said while alive. That he loved him. That he had loved him for far longer than he realized. That every day after death had only made it worse.
Satoru wanted everything now. He wanted mornings with him. Shared meals. Shared beds. Dumb conversations at 2 a.m. He wanted to hear Yuuji laugh beside him forever.
And now there was a chance someone else would take his place instead. Someone alive. Someone who could still touch him.
Satoru folded into himself silently after that. For the first time since dying—The airport felt suffocating.
And he didn’t look at the screen again for a very, very long time.