Chapter Text
The first thing you notice is the sound: disjointed, mechanical, and far too loud.
The clatter of footsteps on pavement, rhythmic and harsh against your ears. The murmur of voices blending into a low static buzz. The distant whoosh of a subway rattling beneath your feet. And above it all, a car horn wailing now and then like a warning.
You blink against the light.
Midday?
Sunlight pours down, golden and too-bright to look at for long. It reflects off of tall skyscrapers and the neon billboards which adorn them flash with unfamiliar ads.
Is that… Japanese?
But, wait, weren’t you just in bed?
You were. Curled up under a blanket that smelt of fabric softener, phone in hand, doom-scrolling through edits of fictional men, watching whatever garbage would take your mind off the day.
So, how are you standing here, upright and dressed, in the middle of… some random city?
Your hands fly to your pockets. Phone, keys. Okay, good. At least dream-you came prepared.
Wait.
Your phone?
You pull it out, heart thudding. The screen lights up. Everything’s normal. The time, the battery percentage, your mobile data. There's no weird glitching or scrambled, indecipherable text. You scroll. Instagram works, maps opens just fine. You check Tiktok, and of course, it loads.
Okay, fine.
Dream logic.
Granted, this isn’t what your dreams usually are like. Normally, they’re weird, cryptic puzzles that leave you staring at the wall for twenty minutes after waking up.
But here, now, you swear you can smell the real scent of exhaust fumes and grilled meat wafting through the air. And somewhere, you can hear a vending machine chime. The heat is real, too, settling uncomfortably on your skin, not remotely dream-like. Every detail you take notice of is crisp and textured, not floaty, or half-faded like a memory.
This feels… too much. Too here.
And then, all that previous warmth disappears. Snuffed out by a sickening chill, climbing up your spine, like someone just dumped ice water over your head.
Something moves at the edge of your vision. You turn, then freeze in place.
Whatever it is, it’s crawling. Dragging itself along the pavement by its arms, if you can call them that. There’s a sound like something wet being pulled apart, and a smear of black follows in its wake. It turns its head towards you, eyes locking onto yours.
You squeal, panic seizing you. Your body reacts before your brain catches up, scrambling backwards, slipping off the kerb. You spin, and immediately regret it.
Cars are hurtling forwards, fast and loud.
Tyres screech, horns blare. People shout at you from the pavement in panicked voices, cutting through the city noise.
“Watch out!”
“Get back!”
“Hey, what the hell are you doing?!”
Your body locks up, heart in your throat, lungs refusing to work.
There’s no time. You can already see it, the headlines, blood, and your imminent death.
You squeeze your eyes shut. Brace for the impact.
It never comes.
When you open your eyes again, the world is plain wrong.
Cars are suspended mid-motion, people are caught mid-step, mid-conversation, their faces contorted in half-formed expressions. A bird is mid-flight above you, wings stretched out like in a painting.
Even the thing, whatever it is, is still. Its head tilts at an unnatural angle, teeth bared in a silent snarl.
The silence is thick. Holy, almost.
You don’t think, you run.
Your legs carry you the rest of the street, shoes slapping against the tarmac. You don’t look left or right, and don’t stop until your foot hits the opposite pavement.
The world snaps back into place.
Engines rev, footsteps resume. Someone gasps.
You hear a woman’s voice behind you, “Wait, wasn’t she–?”
It quickly gets swallowed up in the rest of the noise.
A man stares at you for half a second too long, before shaking his head and walking on, muttering something under his breath. Another glances around, visibly disoriented, like they lost track of something important but suddenly can’t find what.
You keep moving, fast, unwilling to explain yourself to the NPCs you’ve conjured up.
Your brain is still struggling to keep up. In your regular dreams, you never have this much control. Never this much awareness. This is… different.
Seems like those TikToks from 2020 about lucid dreaming weren’t lying, maybe you’re doing it right now. Maybe you’ll run into Beyoncé?
People move around you, dressed in ironed office wear, clearly on their lunch break, with briefcases in hand, sipping canned coffee. No one spares you a second glance.
You duck into a small bakery, warm, cozy, as the smell of fresh bread envelopes you in a hug; it's almost enough to drown out the nerves still fizzing in your chest. The bell chimes softly behind you.
There’s a man at the counter, handing cash to the cashier. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a crisp, navy pinstriped suit, with his blond hair neatly styled.
Eye candyyy! Your adrenaline-fueled brain supplies stupidly. You chortle to yourself. Maybe this won't be a nightmare after all!
The cashier seems to agree with you, beaming at him as she rings up his order. She slips something extra into his bag, a little pastry or chocolate, you can’t tell, but her meaning is obvious. She leans just a little too far forward, tone too sweet. Shameless.
A petty, undeserved, irrational flicker of jealousy stabs you right in the gut.
However, he doesn’t react, not even sparing her a polite smile. If anything, he seems mildly inconvenienced by the attention, gaze drifting past her like he’s already somewhere else.
And as if hearing your previous thoughts, the man turns to meet your gaze.
You jump a little; you hadn’t meant to be staring. His expression is unreadable, carved in something cold and elegant, but something flickers across it, stirring unease low in your stomach.
He collects his sandwich, and then without a word, brushes past you, exiting the shop. His eyes don’t leave yours the whole time. It’s only three seconds, maybe four.
It would’ve been sexy, if it hadn’t unnerved you so much.
Was there something on your face?
Mortified at the thought, you yank out your phone, flipping to the front camera and… nope, nothing. No smudged makeup, no crumbs, not even a stray lash.
Weird.
You put the phone away, stepping up to the counter, plastering on a smile.
“What do you recommend?”
You get a filled baguette. You pay (with Apple Pay? In a dream? Capitalism is genuinely ruthless), and step back outside.
You turn a corner, and there he is.
The same man from the bakery.
…Uh. Is he stalking you?
He notices you, eyes narrowing slightly, and you freeze mid-bite.
(That girl was right, it’s delicious. Sorry, not the point.)
“Excuse me.” His voice is deep, and smooth; a knife through butter. He steps towards you.
“Uuhmm… may I help you?” you manage, mouth half full.
He exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. (God, even his frustration is hot. Stop. Get a grip.)
“You’re… not a sorcerer.” He mutters, mostly to himself. “So, how...?”
Sorcerer?
Wait… huh?
That’s…
Jujutsu Kaisen language.
It crashes into you all at once – You're in Tokyo. The thing you saw earlier must have been a curse.
The bakery guy is Nanami Kento.
You are talking to Nanami Kento.
Right now.
Alive.
You shake your head quickly, coughing.
“Sorry, uh, sir, but I think you’ve got the wrong person.” You back up a step. “I just… came for the bread, haha!”
You cringe at the way you sound. You sound totally suspicious. Now he’s definitely going to think you’re insane, and this is like, the hottest guy you’ve ever seen!
A moment of silence stretches between you, before he speaks once more.
“But you see them?”
Your stomach turns over.
“See what, sorry?” you lie, badly.
He doesn’t press. Doesn’t need to. His shoulders ease the barest fraction, as though you confirmed something without meaning to.
“Go home,” he says flatly. “wherever that is, and stay there. This city’s not safe for someone like you.”
And just like that, he turns, disappearing into the crowd like he was never there, with you, at all.
You slump against a nearby wall, letting out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.
You’ve just had a full-on conversation with.. Kento Nanami. From Jujutsu Kaisen. The anime. It was definitely him, now that you think back.
He was wearing that same pinstriped suit you've seen in all the edits, it was just that you didn't recognise him at first without the glasses. That, and the fact he wasn't, you know, 2D.
Your head spins.
Is this even a dream anymore? Everything so far has felt too real, and that conversation just now is something you’re sure you couldn’t have imagined. You haven't watched or read Jujutsu Kaisen in ages; you nearly forgot about it altogether.
Your stomach sinks. If this is real, then damn, you’ve got the worst luck imaginable. Jujutsu Kaisen is the worst universe to be transported to. Literally everyone dies!
At the revelation, you groan, dragging a hand down your face.
“This is so unfair!” You mutter. “Well, at least it’s not Attack on Titan,” you add weakly, trying to console yourself.
You push off the wall, before your thoughts spiral too far.
You need a plan, any plan, but where do you even start?
Your feet carry you aimlessly through the streets of what you’re now certain is Tokyo.
What are you going to do about money? Back home, you were scraping by on part time jobs and the occasional help from your parents, since you were technically a full-time uni student.
You sigh. You’ve got a decent chunk saved up, you could easily live off that for what… maybe a few weeks? Maybe?
Fuck. You’re done for!
And what about your old life?
The thought hits you hard, and you stop mid-step. No, don’t think of it like that. It's not your “old” life, it is your life! You clench your fists in determination, forcing yourself through the surge of panic.
You just need to.. figure out a way to get back to your normal life. You will get back. You have to.
Another sigh escapes you, and as you look up, a blur surges into view.
A creature, or curse, rather, hurtles forward. Its fangs are bloodstained, curved claws outstretched, a breath away from ripping into you.
Your eyes widen, and somehow, impossibly, you move out of its trajectory.
Just enough, and just in time. As if the world had slowed just the right amount for you to slip out of harm’s way.
You barely get the chance to scream before a figure leaps between you and the curse. A blur of motion, a glint of steel, and the curse is split cleanly in two. It dies without sound, just disintegrating, ash in the breeze.
You stumble backwards, heart hammering.
Nanami.
You finally take him in.
His eyes are slender; umber flecked with swirls of gold and sage, half lidded beneath long lashes.
There’s something disapproving in his expression, a faint crease between his brows, and a thin press of his lips.
His face is chiselled, he has defined cheekbones and a sharp jaw. He also looks like he hasn’t smiled in weeks. Probably longer.
Under his perfectly pressed suit, clearly from some expensive, extortionately priced boutique, you can just make out the ridges of muscle carved beneath the fabric.
Broad shoulders. A strong chest. Everything tailored unfairly well.
His hands are large, almost delicate, veined and pale. An expensive silver watch glints at his wrist.
His hair is blonde, silky and smooth, parted neatly to one side.
He’s adonic. And unfortunately for you, completely your type.
He exhales slowly, adjusting his cufflinks, before levelling you with a gaze so piercing it roots you to the spot.
“You were either lying to me,” he says, voice low, “and you can see them… or you’re just incredibly unlucky.”
Guilt rises up your throat like bile.
“I- I’m sorry, I didn't know how to respond…” the shock still scrambles your words. “But really, thank you. Nan- uh. Sir. I mean. Thank you, sir!”
Real smooth.
His eyes narrow, catching that split-second mistake. Of course he did.
Fuck.
“You’ve got some explaining to do.” He cuts through any weak attempt you might’ve had at deflecting. “What was that, just then? Right before the curse attacked you?”
You blink at him, wide-eyed. “What do you mean? I just... moved out the way?”
Nanami’s frown deepens. His eyes scan your face, dissecting every twitch of emotion.
“No,” he says slowly. “You didn’t just move, you moved unnaturally fast. Out of its path. That shouldn’t have been possible… not without using cursed energy.” He pauses, his voice turning softer. “Just who are you?”
Your eyebrows shoot up. “Cursed.. energy..”
The words feel foreign on your tongue. You hadn’t thought of it like that. It makes sense, you can see curses, after all, but it never occurred to you it might mean something. That you might mean something.
Nanami remains silent, watching you, measuring you. He sees the tremble in your fingers, the hitch in your breath, the honest confusion.
But still, there’s no denying what radiates off of you.
Cursed energy always has a shape, a sort of signature, or root. Humans will have energy that's alive with chaos, and hope. The energy that marks a curse is cold, stillborn and dead.
But yours… yours is something else entirely. It’s concentrated, dense, and plain wrong. Neither dead, nor alive. As if belonging to something born without a soul, or something that shouldn’t exist at all.
He’d felt it the moment you had stepped onto the side of the street the bakery was on, but had dismissed it as a coincidence. It wasn’t until you walked into the bakery that he realised: it was you.
He breaks the silence.
“You need to come with me.”
You have the feeling that whatever’s just started, it isn’t a dream, and it isn’t a miracle.
It’s a reckoning.