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“Aight, kids. Daddy’s feeling nice today, let’s go get some juice.”
With Gojo-sensei, a statement like that is so imprecise, so vast. It can mean anything. Yuuji’s only known his teacher for a few months now, but it’s been more than enough time for him to recognize without an iota of doubt that Gojo-sensei, as strong and capable as he is, is nothing more than a clown.
Gojo-sensei has stretched far more innocuous phrases so beyond the literal meanings of each individual component. Daddy? Nice? Juice? Gojo-sensei could be talking politics, intel on an upcoming mission, just plain messing with them. It’s no wonder that the first years don’t have a clue what he actually means. Ever.
And it took Yuuji an embarrassing amount of time to realize that most of the time, Gojo-sensei does it all on purpose.
However, today feels strangely safe. There’s a carefree air about their teacher this morning and the pleasant tune Gojo-sensei whistles to himself has Yuuji convinced that whatever this is, it isn’t malicious. Despite the Daddy and the Juice.
Convincing Fushiguro and Kugisaki of that hunch is a challenge, though. The last time Gojo-sensei declared something as ambiguous and downright frightening as this, well, it ended poorly. I think we should all have a change of pace today! That declaration found the four of them in an unpleasant, shady restaurant in a filthy alleyway in Shinjuku. After possibly the worst meal of Yuuji’s entire life, Fushiguro came away with a nasty case of food poisoning that had him glued to the toilet for two days and Gojo-sensei discovered gleefully the next day that his credit card number had been stolen.
In the end, Yuuji pinky promises Kugisaki that he’ll cook her dinner for a week if things turn sour. Fushiguro doesn’t care that much and refuses the childish reassurance, but remains scowling when Gojo-sensei does a little twirl and starts heading off without saying a word. Yuuji pushes both of his classmates to follow their teacher, mumbling I’m sure it's fine. He forces himself to believe it, too.
After all the buildup, it turns out that their destination is, in fact, a simple grocery store. Yuuji’s almost let down from the banality of it all. When was the last time something felt so ordinary at secret sorcerer high school?
With all his students gawking at him, distrust evident in each of their faces, Gojo-sensei just shrugs, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “We’re out of juice in the faculty lounge.”
“Couldn’t you have done this by yourself?” Fushiguro frowns, sidestepping an elderly woman lugging her bag full of leafy vegetables.
“Well, it is technically instruction time,” Gojo-sensei taps his own nose, grin growing. “Daddy couldn’t leave his precious students to go do something so selfish.”
“You’re not my dad,” Fushiguro sighs in a practiced way, scratching the back of his neck.
“Aren’t I, though?” Gojo-sensei singsongs cryptically.
Immediately, Kugisaki’s eyes narrow as she glares up and down at their teacher. Yuuji can almost hear her trying to rationalize how a twenty-eight-year-old man has a sixteen-year-old son. Yuuji, frankly, can’t handle such nonsense so early on a Wednesday morning.
“Can we go get the juice?” Yuuji pipes up a little loudly. “I’m kinda thirsty.”
“Yes~” Gojo-sensei enters the store, waving back at his students as an afterthought. “You three can grab whatever you want. My treat.”
Kugisaki steamrolls to the cosmetics aisle. Yuuji notices Fushiguro rolling his eyes as he heads over to the cold drinks, selecting himself a bottled green tea.
Well, he might as well go grab something, too. He can’t keep standing in front of the automatic doors and making himself a nuisance to everyone trying to enter and leave the store. There are only so many dirty looks from the elderly he can handle.
Hmm, Fushiguro had the right idea. Yuuji grabs himself a sports drink from the refrigerators in the front and decides to wander aimlessly around. For a grocery store of this size, Yuuji finds it ridiculous that he loses track of everyone he came with, but really, he’s not surprised. If he waits by the registers they’ll show up eventually, right?
Despite the fact that he just shoveled breakfast into his mouth forty-five minutes ago, Yuuji realizes he’s hungry. A snack might be a good idea, especially since Gojo-sensei offered. He’s loaded, anyway.
After a little more meandering, Yuuji finally gets hit with some snack inspiration. Chips. It’s relatively easy to find the correct aisle. Yuuji scans the colorful, crinkly bags lined neatly in the display, searching for just the thing he realized he was craving.
“The barbecue ones are right there, brat.”
Great, now Sukuna’s here. As if today wasn’t stressful enough.
“No way,” Yuuji grumbles quietly, hoping none of the other shoppers hear him arguing with the reincarnated millennium-old curse vibing inside of his physical body. “We’re getting the green onion flavor.”
“I said what I said,” Sukuna hisses, his toothy sneer manifesting beneath Yuuji’s left eye. “Barbecue or I’ll flay you.”
“Pfft, you’re such a baby,” Yuuji teases. And then it hits him. “Wait, you can taste things?”
“I’m in your body, brat. I can taste and feel and see whatever you do. So don’t you fucking dare ingest any of that repulsive onion shit.”
Huh. That's an interesting and only mildly frightening fact that he’ll dwell on later. “But they’re my favorite.”
“And you think I care?”
“No,” Yuuji admits. “But do I care about you?”
“I’ll kill you.”
“Again?” Yuuji replies, faking a yawn as he snatches three bags of green onion chips off the shelf. “For the King of Curses, your threats are hella uncreative.”
“Brat, I’ll rip your dick off—”
Yuuji smacks the chip bags against his face in an attempt to silence Sukuna. They’re in public, jeez! But the damage is already done (and he’s already hit himself in the face with potato chips in front of strangers.)
Behind Yuuji, an older woman gasps, pure repulsion overtaking her expression and tense body language. Great.
An apology rises to his tongue but before he can even squeak it out, Yuuji feels Sukuna’s mouth materialize on the inside of his wrist, hidden from view from the woman. “Sweetcheeks, get over here. I’ll give that fat ass of yours something to actually be pissed about.”
“Disgusting,” she seethes, knuckles going white from her death grip on the basket handle. Yuuji is so shell-shocked he can’t even blurt out a half-assed excuse. “Your parents must be so ashamed of you.”
“Wait, I’m sorry ma’am, that wasn’t—!”
No matter what he says it won’t stop her from storming away. Sukuna cackles in pure delight, the woman fuming as she trudges down the aisle.
“Oh, fuck you, dude,” Yuuji growls. “Really?”
“I’ll do worse next time,” Sukuna purrs. “Learn your place.”
“No,” Yuuji grumbles. “You learn yours.”
And then Sukuna starts screeching.
“Damn, Itadori,” Kugisaki is already applying one of her new lip tints that haven’t been paid for yet as Yuuji hobbles over to them. He indeed was right to meet the rest of his group in line at the registers. “You’re gonna get fat.”
“Sensei,” Yuuji chirps from behind the mass of what definitely is every bag of green onion chips from the store in his arms. “I’m sorry, but I need all of these.”
Gojo-sensei perks at the sight before him. Juggled in his own grasp are two gallons of fruit punch, an assorted mix of cookies, and a few boxes of electric blue fruit roll-ups. “Sure, but why?”
“I’m going to fucking eviscerate every goddamn fucking peasant on this block if you try this shit, brat, I’ll make Hell look like a fucking day at the park in comparison to what I’ll do to you—”
“He hates them,” Yuuji grins, nudging one of the bags with his chin. Sukuna’s threats only rise in volume and intensity. Everyone in line around them pales, adding distance between the seemingly bloodthirsty teen. “That’s why.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Gojo says, ignoring Sukuna’s escalating tirade, something about feeding Yuuji his own shit and burning him alive or something. “Instead of the lesson I didn’t plan, let’s just go back to the dorms and take turns feeding you chips.”
“Oh my god, yes!” Yuuji brightens. “That’s a great idea, Sensei!”
Fushiguro’s face colors as he pretends he’s not with any of these people, but they’re all in matching uniforms for the most part, so he doesn’t get himself anywhere with that strategy.