3 The Aftermath

As the adrenaline finally faded, every inch of my body screamed in protest. It was so bad I couldn't even muster the energy to stand up. Just looking at the ladder leading down from the rooftop made me want to collapse right here and not move for a week.

"Could you... maybe take me home?" I whispered. "Just to rest...a bit..."

Gojo's smile softened slightly. "Not in your current condition, kid. You wouldn't make it down the stairs, let alone to your house. That was quite the beating you took back there. You need some major jujutsu healing."

My eyes widened. "Jujutsu... healing?" Was that even a thing?

Gojo chuckled, pulling out his phone. His long fingers danced across the screen, and before I could ask who he was calling, his voice filled the air.

"Hello, Ijichi? Yeah, need you to come pick us up. Location? I'll send it to you. Yes, it's in Sendai." A brief pause, and something about the tone of Gojo's voice shifted. It lost that playful edge and gained an annoyed undercurrent. "Don't. Make. Me. Punch. You, Ijichi."

I tilted my head slightly, trying to hear the person on the other end, but my tired mind could only make out Gojo's half of the conversation.

"Alright, see you in 45. Whatever..."

Sighing, he slipped the phone back into his pocket. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow, and my curiosity finally won out over the crushing exhaustion.

"Who's Ijichi?" I dared to ask, the words barely a whisper.

Gojo's grin returned full-force. "Think of him as our personal, somewhat scared, chauffeur. You'll meet him soon enough. Now," he said, his gaze sweeping over my battered body, "let's waltz over to the nurse's office and get you fixed up before Ijichi gets here. Otherwise, he might have a nervous breakdown."

As it turns out, waltzing wasn't quite accurate. Gojo was more like a hurricane, breezing through the school's eerily quiet hallways with Itadori and I slung over each shoulder like a sack of potatoes. My battered body protested with every slight jostle, but I didn't have the energy to do more than weakly groan.

He stopped abruptly in front of a door marked "Nurse's Office." Without warning, he kicked the door open and barged in.

"Helloo!" he sang out. "Someone got a little roughed up. Got any spare magical bandages lying around?"

Magical bandages? Now I know he's fucking with me. Or is he? It's hard to tell.

The nurse's office was empty, so Gojo unceremoniously dumped Itadori and I onto separate beds. My body bounced slightly as I landed, eliciting another pained groan. He started rummaging through cupboards with little regard for organization, knocking aside boxes and bottles until he triumphantly held up a roll of what looked like ordinary bandages.

"Close enough!" he chirped.

I spotted Megumi walk in and sit on a chair, his fingers flying across his phone screen. Curiosity piqued, I managed to prop myself up on one elbow.

"What're you up to?" I asked.

Megumi's typing ceased abruptly. "Writing up a report for this incident," he said without looking up.

"How long have you been doing...this?" I asked, wincing as Gojo started wrapping me up. I suddenly realized I had no idea what being a jujutsu sorcerer actually entailed.

Megumi finally glanced up. "Officially? For a few months. Now, let me ask you a question. How do you have so much cursed energy?"

"I... I don't know," I admitted. "How can you tell that?"

Megumi leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow arched in skepticism. "You might be new to all this, but having that much cursed energy with little control… it's practically radiating off you in waves."

Megumi's phone buzzed, and he glanced down at the screen. "Sending it now," he muttered, tapping a few more times before setting the phone aside. His eyes narrowed as he stared at me, as if trying to decipher a puzzle. Suddenly he asked, "What were you doing in the school at this time anyways?"

Before I could answer Megumi's question, Gojo interrupted our conversation. "Alright, bandages all done!" he announced with an absurd level of enthusiasm. "Looks good enough to get on with, don't you think?" He looked expectantly at me, as if expecting a round of applause for his questionable bandaging skills.

Sighing, I sat up, experimentally swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Pain still radiated throughout my body, but it was a dull ache now, a slightly more manageable one.

"I feel... better, thanks," I admitted.

Megumi rose from his seat slowly and looked at Gojo. "Need me to notify the higher-ups?"

Gojo waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, no need to worry those fossils when the situation is handled. I'll take care of it after Ijichi drops Murakami off."

A few minutes ticked by in awkward silence, broken only by the quiet hum of the air conditioning. Suddenly, Gojo's phone chirped, and he glanced at the screen. "Alright, Ijichi is here. Let's go."

"What about Itadori, Sasaki, and that other guy?"

Gojo flashed his signature grin. "Don't worry, we'll get someone to take them to a hospital and make sure they fully recover from this. As for Itadori..." his expression sobered. "I'll try my best to ensure he gains control over Sukuna. If he can, I'll see about getting him enrolled as a vessel. But that's a big 'if'."

"And if he can't?" I asked, already dreading the answer.

"Let's just hope it doesn't come to that," he said, his voice low.

The rest of the journey was uneventful. Ijichi, a lanky man with an air of permanent exasperation, drove in tense silence, occasionally shooting glances at Gojo.

Eventually, Ijichi's car came to a stop in front of an apartment building. As I stepped out, I pulled out my wallet, checking that the address on my National ID matched.

"Thanks, Mr. Chauffeur," I said, bowing slightly. My attempt at politeness felt hollow, given the extraordinary circumstances of our meeting. I turned and started limping towards the staircase, eager to reach my apartment and collapse onto my bed.

Walking up the staircase, a nagging thought burrowed into my mind - wait, does Kaito have parents? If he did, what in the world would they make of their son showing up bandaged like some kind of mummy?

I fumbled for my phone, an older Samsung model that had miraculously survived the night's chaos. When I swiped to unlock it, a passcode screen popped up. Damn it! What's the passcode? I wracked my brain, but the memory remained frustratingly blank.

Desperate, I mentally reached out to the system. "Hey, uh, system? Could you maybe tell me the passcode for my phone?"

Silence. Not even a condescending beep to acknowledge my question. Great. Just fucking great. No system assistance, no usable memory of Kaito's life... looks like I have to tackle this one the good old-fashioned way.

Either way, I needed answers. I pulled out the set of keys in my right pocket and wrestled with the apartment door. Thankfully, the key fit perfectly.

Click.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the quiet expanse of a one-bedroom apartment. It was a small place, minimally decorated, and had the impersonal feel of someone who rarely spent time there. I surveyed the surroundings, trying to find any clues to Kaito's life. Was he close to his family? Did he live alone? Questions piled upon questions, making my aching head spin. I needed answers, but first – I needed a bath and sleep.

I began stripping off my clothes, wincing at the sight of the makeshift bandages Gojo had wrapped me in. They were already stained a rusty brown, needing to be replaced. Discarding everything into the dirty clothes bin, I was left wearing nothing but boxers and a black tank top.

Shuffling towards the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in a dusty mirror and did a double take. Staring back at me was a face I obviously didn't recognize. Black hair, slightly tousled, framed a face with somewhat tanned skin and striking eyes that seemed to be a mix of hazel and gray. Even exhausted and injured, there was something undeniably... sharp about my appearance.

I leaned closer, my fingertips tracing the contours of my face. This was really me now...Kaito Murakami.

"Damn," a smirk curving on my bruised lips. "I ain't half bad."

Turning on the shower, I let the water heat up for a moment before stepping inside. The moment the water hit my skin, I let out a hiss of pain. The hot water stung as it cascaded over my injuries, but slowly, the pain gave way to a sense of relief. I watched as the water swirling down the drain turned from clear to pink to a murky brown, washing away the physical remnants of the night.

I lathered up with soap, gently cleaning around my wounds. As I washed, my mind wandered to the events of the night, trying to make sense of it all. Curses, jujutsu sorcerers, Sukuna... it was a lot to process.

Shaking my head, I rinsed off the last of the soap and turned off the water. I stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, gingerly patting myself dry. I then rummaged through the bathroom cabinets until I found a first aid kit. Inside were bandages and antiseptic cream.

Slowly,I began to dress my wounds. It was a painstaking process, and more than once I had to grit my teeth against the pain. But finally, I was bandaged up properly.

I stumbled out of the bathroom into the bedroom, barely having the energy to pull on a clean pair of boxers before collapsing onto the bed. The mattress felt like a cloud beneath my aching body, and I let out a moan of pure relief.

And with that, I let myself sink into the embrace of sleep, the pain and the questions fading away as I drifted off into a dreamless slumber.