The world is a tapestry of wonders, and he had witnessed more than his fair share. He had encountered joys, sorrows, and the complex reality of a daughter-in-law he once never thought he'd see. But in the end? So what?
He was a man standing at the threshold of the abyss, and when one accepts death, one accepts everything. This time, the end wasn't a tragedy; it was an unexpected grace. He had no regrets.
After stepping out of the hospital and offering his final, silent goodbyes, Yuji Itadori—the man once known as the "Knotweed"—had finally learned to look beyond the immediate. He knew the flavor of loneliness all too well; it was a bitter, suffocating thing that could break even the toughest man.
His grandfather was the same—stiff-necked and sharp-tongued, yet possessing a heart as soft as down. The old man didn't want to be a burden. He didn't want anyone's precious hours wasted on an "idler" whose clock was winding down.
Yet, despite that pride, the yearning remained: I still want to be with you at the very last moment.
The old man died as he should have: surrounded by the warmth of others. To ensure that, Yuji had stayed by his side through the final night. It was, perhaps, Yuji's own brand of selfishness—a desire for closure that transcended the old man's grumpy protests.
As the life faded from the elder Itadori, his gnarled, clenched hands slowly unfurled. The cloudiness that had veiled his eyes retreated, leaving them momentarily bright and clear before the light vanished forever.
"Grandpa's death was inevitable," Yuji whispered to the empty air of his memory. "But... the others. They don't have to follow."
In that moment of realization, a knot that had been tightened around his soul for a lifetime seemed to unravel. Something within him shifted, improved, and evolved. His physical recovery, stagnant for so long, suddenly accelerated with the force of a tidal wave. In an instant, his strength surged, reclaiming 10% of his peak overall power.
It's still early, he cautioned himself, his eyes narrowing. If I move too much now, I'll startle the snake. My time here will be much shorter than I thought.
He looked toward the horizon. Let's go to the school first. That high school where I only stayed for two months.
Nostalgia washed over him as he recalled that pivotal era. It was the beginning—the moment he encountered the first Finger. It was truly a sentimental journey, especially the thought of "Sukuna."
Time blurred, and soon the clock struck half-past four in the afternoon.
Miyagi Prefecture. Sugisawa Municipal High School No. 3.
The Occult Phenomenon Research Club—which called itself a "research association" but was effectively just a small circle of misfits—was in session.
"Really, Sasaki-senpai, Iguchi-senpai... Alright, here we go!"
"Spirit of the Coin, Spirit of the Coin! Please tell us... which creature can defeat the Student Council President?"
The room was bathed in shadows, the atmosphere thick with the mock-seriousness of teenagers playing at the supernatural. The "coin" slid across the paper with a rhythmic scratch.
"Ice! Sea! Angel!" they shouted in unison.
"The Clione? A tiny sea slug?" Iguchi burst out laughing. "Isn't that just a literal bottom-feeder? Hahaha!"
The three of them—two boys and one girl—dissolved into fits of giggles. The idea of a translucent mollusk taking down the iron-fisted president was the height of comedy.
SLAM!
The door flew open, and the Student Council President marched in, slamming a document onto the table. "I've warned you before! Since this club has no record of actual activities, you are to vacate this room immediately! Get out!"
"No actual activity?" the younger Yuji Itadori piped up, his voice full of youthful bravado. "You shouldn't underestimate my senpais."
Sasaki, the club's senior, quickly pulled out a file of "strange events," desperately trying to analyze local sightings of vengeful spirits. But the President wasn't buying it.
"Vengeful spirits? Those are just delusions caused by ticks and mold!" he snapped.
"Supernatural phenomena don't exist! Furthermore, a club must have at least three members to remain official. Yuji Itadori doesn't count—you're on the roster for the Track and Field club, not the Occult club!"
"Wait, what?" Yuji's face fell. "No way! I definitely wrote 'Occult Club' on my application!"
"I changed it for you, Itadori!"
A tanned, muscular man appeared in the doorway. It was Takagi, the track coach. "We need you to lead us to the national championships! Your long-distance stamina is legendary—you could be the star of the Hakone Ekiden! I couldn't let that talent go to waste in a room full of dusty stories!"
"I've told you a dozen times, Coach! I'm not interested!" Yuji groaned.
"I won't take no for an answer!" Takagi challenged, a glint in his eye. "But I'm a fair man. If you can defeat me in a dignified track and field competition, I'll give up and let you stay in your little club."
"Interesting," Yuji grinned. "Then let's go!"
The challenge moved to the field, drawing a massive crowd of students in their black uniforms. To everyone's surprise, Takagi chose the shot put—an event he assumed the lean Yuji would struggle with.
The world record stood at 23.12 meters. The national high school record was 18.18 meters.
Takagi stepped up and heaved the heavy metal ball 14 meters. A solid, professional distance.
Then, the young Yuji stepped into the circle. With a casual flick of his wrist and an explosion of raw, untrained power, he launched the shot put. The crowd gasped as the ball sailed through the air, arching far beyond the markers, landing with a heavy thud at the 30-meter mark.
A world record. Shattered like glass.
"Alright! I win!" Yuji shouted, brimming with energy.
The field went silent. The students stared, their mouths agape. Most of them didn't know the specific numbers of a world record, but they knew one thing: he had thrown it twice as far as the teacher.
"The Tiger of West High? No way," a passerby whispered. "That guy's a straight-up gorilla."
As Yuji chatted and walked away with Sasaki and Iguchi, a dark-haired boy watched from the shadows of the school building. Megumi Fushiguro, tasked with retrieving a special-grade cursed object, narrowed his eyes.
No cursed energy... but that level of physical prowess? Is he like Maki-senpai? Megumi wondered.
Suddenly, Yuji checked his watch. "Crap! It's 4:30! I have to go, Coach! Sorry, I've got things to do!" And with that, he vanished, a blur of speed.
"He's too fast!" a student yelled. "They say he can run 50 meters in three seconds!"
Megumi's heart skipped a beat. The world record for 60 meters was over five seconds. Three seconds for fifty meters? That's impossible for a human. He tried to give chase, but the boy was already gone.
In the settling dust of the track field, a hooded figure stood near the sandpit. He watched the younger version of himself sprint away toward the hospital.
"Was I really that weak back then?" the man murmured, his voice deep and weathered. "Fifty meters in three seconds... pathetic."
Coach Takagi, still reeling from his loss, overheard the second half of the sentence. "Ha! What are you talking about? 'Weak'? Itadori is a monster!"
The hooded man—the older Yuji—didn't answer. He reached down and picked up the heavy shot put Takagi had left behind. He stepped into the designated circle.
"Hey! What are you doing?" Takagi blinked.
The man didn't wind up. He didn't shift his weight. He simply tossed the iron ball a few inches into the air. As it fell back down, he flicked his index finger against the side of the sphere.
CRACK!
A sound like a sonic boom echoed across the campus. A sudden hurricane-force wind whipped up, sending sand and dust swirling into a blinding cloud.
The few who didn't blink saw a dark blur streak across the sky at a flat trajectory. It cleared the school fence, crossed the street, and disappeared into the treeline of a distant forest.
THOOM!
In the distance, a massive oak tree exploded as the metal ball buried itself into the trunk, nearly snapping the ancient wood in half. The distance was easily over a hundred meters.
"Cough! What the hell was that?! Did a jet just fly by?"
"No... someone threw the shot put! I saw it!"
"Are you insane? It went out of the school grounds! That's not humanly possible!"
"The ball must have been fake! A prop!"
The track club members were having a collective existential crisis. Coach Takagi stood frozen, his eyes bulging. He began to doubt his own sanity.
"This... this is a freak!" he stammered. "The Olympics? The world record? Those aren't even worthy of carrying this guy's shoes!"
He turned, his eyes bloodshot with a mix of terror and obsession. "Hey! You! Join my club! Please!"
But the hooded man was already gone.
Megumi Fushiguro turned around sharply, his breath hitching. Thrown out of the school?
He scanned the area, his senses on high alert. Was it a sorcerer using a Cursed Technique to enhance the throw? No... I didn't feel a single spark of cursed energy.
Pure physical strength.
Megumi took a deep breath, momentarily forgetting about the "Tiger of West High" and the missing cursed object. He tried to track the man, but the presence had vanished as if it had never existed.
The initiator of the chaos was already walking toward the city gates.
It was Yuji.
He had simply wanted to test himself. Even without cursed energy, his refined body was a weapon of a different caliber. He hadn't expected the 30-meter throw from his younger self to look so small in comparison.
"Are you going to see Grandpa for the last time?" he asked the wind, watching the silhouette of his younger self disappear in the distance.
He looked at the darkening sky, a grim smile touching his lips. "If I remember correctly... tonight is the night they uncover the talisman."