[A/N:
This story was created with the idea that someone like Hakari's technique(brain rot gambling addiction), or in this case like it, was in the same age bracket as Satoru Gojo.
Yes, gambling baby!!!
Jokes aside and to start off before we dive in, I am publishing one chapter now just to have some visibility on the story, then I will probably release the entire first arc next week to pass the 15k word limit, then move to two chapters a week, Monday and Friday.
Secondly, know that this is an AU(alternate universe), a big one, but more so in the sense of adding then talking or changing drastically, all canon characters will be the same until Mc intervenes.
Thirdly, this will start slow, then ramp up, then we go full JJK throttle. However, there needs to be genuine stakes, characters need to be fleshed out more, there has to be more to the world than a generic hidden supernatural world not known to the public, and love interests need to have some foundation.
Yes, plural, harem is a go; sorry not sorry.
Its fiction, why not have something no one could realistically have, where is the fun in that?
Although, it will probably be a max of four, maybe five if I feel they would fit and not bog down the story.
Anyways, to make it short, the story starts slow, the MC won't be OP anytime soon, he develops as a character, and a lot of stuff will be fleshed out within reason. There will be some OC's that are brief and then fade to the foreground, as the MC can't interact only with canon characters cuz that's unrealistic in this case, so be aware.
Finally, enjoy the gambling brain rot, and see how our MC uses it to stand at the top of the JJK world.
It's in the title after all!
Enjoy!]
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"Hey Daniel, the printer's broken again."
You know, something inside me just snapped.
Anger boiled in my gut, threatening to spill over as I contemplated grabbing my shitty thirty dollar Dell keyboard and snapping it over the woman who opened my office door without knocking for the second time today.
I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath, because right now it felt like all the streams of stress that had practically been drowning me the last few years were ready to burst at the seams.
So, giving it to my emotions, I did what any person who was done with all the bullshit they have been constantly forced fed would do.
I smiled, nodded to Cynthia, then got my ass up and fixed the printer.
This was my life.
Hah! And people like to say life is precious.
They were lying through their fucking teeth. Personally, I think it's just persistent, stubborn, like a piece of gum you can't get out from under your shoe.
I would know, because for the past four years I've been trapped in a gray-walled purgatory, wearing a lanyard and pretending to care about people who only liked to talk about themselves.
News flash, I didn't give shit about any of it, and no matter how much Linda talked about how successful her husband was—despite her still having to work–and I don't think I ever could.
However, I made sure to always smile and nod, because I'm the IT help desk guy after all, I have to be approachable. I have to talk to people who type on their phones with one finger, and I had to be the one they yelled out when the office printer broke…again.
Apparently, this is what you do with a degree and a dwindling will to live. The grand future I had been apparently working towards as a twenty year old with big dreams.
Well, I was twenty-four now, and I was professionally dead inside.
Every morning felt like waking up in a black and white sitcom, except the laugh track was replaced by Microsoft Team pings and Outlook calendar invites.
I wasn't living. I was stuck buffering, and hell, maybe I missed a few updates; who knows?
I felt cheated, because the thing nobody tells you about when you're young is just how quietly and without notice life can suck the color out of your soul. How one little compromise leads to another, and soon you're surviving off vending machine coffee, automated "Have you tried turning it off and on again?", and the last flickering lightbulb of hope that maybe—maybe—this isn't it.
In the end though, I came to a conclusion, one I had actually heard somewhere online but never internalized till now.
Death is inevitable.
But living?
That's optional.
And I was failing at it.
Hard.
So as I sat hunched over, glaring at the ink stains on my favorite stuffy white collared shirt, I started wondering about how a Nobody like me could ever reach the top of the food chain.
There was always putting my nose down and grinding, but then I would have to sacrifice everything. No more games, no more time to hang out with friends, and no more joy. Sure, ten years from now while I sipped mojitos on my yacht I might say it was worth it, but what about me?
What about the 'Me' now that was going to have to suffer through all of it with a plastic fork and ramen while someone ate their caviar with a silver spoon?
You know what?
Fuck it, fuck this job, fuck this company, fuck Cynthia, and fuck this life.
The answer to my plight was pretty obvious wasn't it, how a middle of the road guy like me could ever become something in the span of a day.
How could millions fill my bank account before the sun even dipped in the horizon?
Gambling.
It was the only way, and perhaps this was me giving up, throwing in the towel with one bizarre last ditch effort that would surely back fire.
Maybe then, when this inevitable shitty plan hit the fan at Mach ten, I would have a good enough reason to see if swallowing a bullet did indeed lead to erasing one hundred percent of my problems.
Decision finally made, I got up, kicked the printer like a any respecting IT guy would do—seriously fuck RICOH—and resolutely trudged back to my cramped office to start forming a plan to do something crazy.
No, not "skydiving to find myself" crazy, I'm not a LinkedIn influencer or a trust fund kid who was trying to soft launch his youtube channel.
Nah, I simply began to starve myself, not metaphorically or anything, I just literally cut everything back.
No more takeout, no more weekend beers, I lived off rice, eggs, beans, broccoli and a stubborn refusal to be another cog.
I bit back the whispers to indulge, to just slip back into the suit society wanted me to wear, and fought day in and day out to throw that same suit in the trash every morning.
A whole entire year passed in this literal hell, but I managed to scrape every penny I could until I hit fifty thousand dollars, almost every ounce of my 80k salary after the IRS used me like a drunk hooker and took their share.
Then I walked into a casino, paid to get VIP as a highroller, got my chips, and sat at a table with people living the life I wanted.
They didn't even glance at me, but I didn't care, I stared at the roulette wheel straight in its smug, single spinning eye, and thought, 'screw red and black, I'm putting it all on green'.
The people around me were momentarily frozen in shock when I did that, and staff approached me to ask if I was okay, only able to blink owlishly when I told them I was fine.
I knew their policies, I did my research, I knew they allowed people to put even riskier bets, and maybe the five thousand dollar suit helped persuade them.
So they let me be, and then, for the first time in my entire life, I lived.
I knew this was the definition of stupid, because who in their right mind would throw away every dollar in their bank account on one bet.
It was absurd, a one way ticket to living in the streets or crippling debt; if there was even a difference.
But screw it, that one in a million chance had to happen to someone, and maybe as delusional as it sounded, that someone could be me?
Ah, so this was why gambling was addicting, I could see the appeal, the hope that it could be you that won it all.
However, could I even really be addicted if this was my first time, and most likely the last if things didn't pan out?
Oh well, fuck it we ball, and speaking of balls, my heart sunk into my stomach when that little ball fell right on top of that green zero.
I actually fucking won.
Shocked was putting it lightly, and I smiled like a maniac for the first time in months when I realized this was my new beginning.
I had money now, no plan sure, but I was leaning on the stupid hope that with it I could change my entire life.
I had won!
What were the odds?
Although self doubt was quick to creep in, a faint feeling in the back of my mind kept telling me that somehow my usual luck would still screw me over.
Either way, this was better than putting my nose down and fake smiling my way up the corporate ladder.
I, Daniel Ramirez, was done pretending excel sheets are a form of ambition.
This time, I chose to live, even if I have no damn clue what that looks like.
Though, I guess I spoke too soon.
Right after winning, and still feeling like I did a line of coke, two buff security guards led me to the back, politely and without any suspicious actions I could have possibly sniffed out.
They weren't rushing, they weren't needlessly celebrating my win, nor did anyone give me looks of pity.
Nothing, which was why I was surprised when I had the end of a gun pressed against the back of my head and asked to not take the payout.
Well, when in Rome, right?
They actually shot me…
Thankfully, it was instant, just a loud bang, all consuming darkness, and then the place I had been stuck in for only God knew how long.
A gray expanse, one that seemed to go on infinitely, and where time seemed to pass in a blur.
And, to make things worse, I didn't even have a body, I was just stuck in place, and without the internet, I was genuinely going stir crazy.
This couldn't be it right?
Was this how my story ended?
Some part of me was hoping to wake up, to maybe find myself methed out in an alley realizing I actually lost all my money after that huge gamble and found the nearest homeless group to join; their initiation to do a rendition of the hardest fent fold I could muster.
I mentally laughed at the latter, knowing that humor was how I always coped with everything not going my way, which for most of my life, was all the damn time.
It was how I stomached my entire existence amounting to nothing after all. That took some real skill let me tell ya'.
'…'
Damnit, none of this was funny, I was actually dead.
Slowly, I lost track of time, and eventually after trying to remember if I deleted my search history, did my mind finally decide to use this new found free time to just think about my life.
Honestly, I hated how much of it was my fault.
Fortunately, something in the gray expense changed, and my character arc of realizing 'I'm the constant variable in my shitty life' was being shelved for later.
Curiously, I watched closely as white cracks began to form in the air, and through them, I could faintly hear sounds.
Although they were mostly incoherent like I was underwater, I could still vaguely make out the language they were speaking.
Japanese.
Huh, maybe I was about to wake up in a fantasy world with an OP cheat, that sounded like a lot of fun.
Or maybe I was waking up in a place like Attack on Titan…
I shivered, wondering why my mind had to betray me and think of that of all things.
I forced myself to think only happy thoughts, and also accept the fact I might have to settle for looking like another Kirito look alike.
Sacrifices had to be made, and if I did end up in a fantasy world, hopefully my average looks would be overlooked by my awesome power.
The cracks continued to grow in size, and eventually, I was able to feel again.
The soft mattress below me came first, then the feeling of the somewhat rough fabric layered on top of my chest rising in rhythm with my shaky breaths.
I could also smell the burning of incense, hear the chimes of bells in the distance, and finally see the wood ceiling above me.
Huh, I already knew I wouldn't be waking up in my old skin sack, but as I gained enough awareness to look around, the first thing I did was raise a hand up to see it was tiny, though most importantly not dark skinned like it should have been.
They de-niggafied me…
I guess there wasn't really a n-word equivalent for Japanese, if there was one I would find it, but the thought that my dreads were forever gone for good irked me a little.
Mentally grumbling, I reached up, noting how hard the action was, and pulled down a lock of silver hair.
Yep, that was definitely not a natural color, I saw this from a mile away.
So an anime world, or an alternate one where silver hair on a kid could be normal.
Although, I couldn't rule out this still being my Earth, maybe some psycho decided to dye a kid's hair silver.
Some people like to live on the edge, you know?
Wait, I was young again, well younger, since I was only twenty four when I bit the dust, but my body was clearly way before puberty.
Pulling my gaze away from my new body, I surveyed my environment, noting just how ancient the place looked. Not with cobwebs or dust, just like it was ripped straight from a Japanese history drama.
Traditional, that was definitely a better word, and I sat up in my futon, the action reminding me just how weak I currently was.
I grit my teeth, doing another survey of my surroundings in hopes of getting a better idea of where I was.
Nope, nothing major stood out, but through the wooden slits in the window did I see a world of white.
Snow, falling down lazily, and also the reason why I was shivering like someone into their second week of trying to stop drinking.
"A new life huh?"
I said that out loud, making doubly sure no one was around, and also not surprised to realize I had said that in perfect Japanese.
Figures, and I bet, yep—
The feeling of my head being ripped in two and sewn back together with memories that weren't mind wasn't great.
Bottom five experiences, right next to walking in on my ex-girlfriend in college sucking off the teacher so she could pass her finals.
Ah, why did I think of that, back in the vault you go…
I exhaled slowly, watching my visible breath rise up and through a simple open vent, my head soaking in the new memories with relative ease.
It was only five years of them after all, and the ones before three were faint remnants, just feelings and emotions I easily overshadowed with my time working a nine to five.
Suck on the corporate life you runt, oh wait, maybe I shouldn't insult the kid's body I just took over.
I knew he died, a fever had taken him, one that no one was willing to pay to treat.
Why exactly was something I would focus on later, because right now a few more important things stood out in my memories, and I mean 'a black guy in a Cracker Barrel stand out' kind.
There was no just no way, I refused to accept that of all the forms of anime, manga, web novels, and movies I watched, I woke up to this one.
Jujutsu fucking Kaisen.
This had to be a joke, but then again, what's trading in my old life of being the punchline to one where I was now the set up?
I chuckled, quietly, knowing I probably looked insane.
Who could blame me, especially as a few more pieces of demoralizing information settled in my mind.
I was part of the Kenshu branch, a side family of the Gojo clan, one that had served them since the Keicho era.
To make my misery short and sweet, I was a servant, an errand boy who cleaned floors with a brush, trimmed hedges for ceremonies and festivals, and also cleaned the shoes of the main branch before said ceremonies and festivals.
I was mad cackling now, because I couldn't hold it in.
I couldn't hold in the bubbling emotions of trading in one slave life for another, and at least at my old job I got paid.
Here, I was genuinely a slave, a bus boy for white haired douchebags that had kicked me over on occasion just for the hell of it, because I was weak and fragile.
I stopped laughing, and I ignored the liquid streaming down my face, seeing as the paper doors slid open, and a woman with black hair with streaks of white entered.
"You're awake Yukahari, good." She didn't even bat an eye at my tears, hurrying forward and grabbing my arm. "The Gojo clan heir will be decided tomorrow, we have much to do."
I didn't react much, the old Yukahari had only been in his feverish coma for three days, he knew that the upcoming ceremony would determine who would be the next heir.
I didn't fight back and let myself be led, leaning on the mannerisms and memories of old Yukahari, some part of me wondering if I could find the nearest tree and fashion myself a collar made of rope.
Ah, there was humor to make myself feel better, I mean at least I could focus on the good stuff.
Anime world, supernatural powers, and…
Wait, I watched the anime, read the manga. What the hell am I giving up for already?
This was my second chance, to be something, to stand at the top of the food chain. I knew about bounding vows, about simple domains, even if I had simply read it I had seen the pinnacle of Jujutsu.
Yeah it was a screen, but I knew the path to take, I saw Yuji Itadori do it after all.
And, I was the same age as Gojo, or I could assume by the year being 1994.
I could change everything.
Although, as I was handed a brush, a bucket of soap water, and nodded solemnly after the head keeper pointed at the few hallways I needed done by sunset, well maybe I was getting ahead of myself.
I didn't even have a Cursed Technique, not yet at least, my fifth birthday was tomorrow, they didn't manifest until five and six; there was no such thing as early or late bloomers..
I got down on my knees like the good little servant I was, and glared at the stains I was going to have to clean.
How lovely of them to track mud in just for me…
The decision to bide my time came easily. I would wait till I got a Cursed Technique, if I was even going to get one. If it was powerful, then strength was guaranteed.
The Gojo clan would arrange a marriage for me in the main branch, hoping to pass it on, and at least then I wouldn't be a cleaning boy.
If it was shit, like turning things purple or hardening my nipples to that of diamonds, then I was going to leave.
I would figure out what to do when I wasn't a servant to the Gojo clan.
Then, I would curb stomp whoever stood in my way.
Surprisingly, the idea of dying didn't really frighten me anymore, I guess being merked by petty bitches because I was the best gambler they ever saw had its benefits after all.
So my choices were clean floors, or die at the hands of some schmuck like Sukuna.
Honestly, I'll take that gamble anyday.