Kuroda Shinji woke to a throbbing ache in his chest.
It was not a sharp pain, but rather a persistent heaviness in his chest that made each breath laborious. The weakness was familiar, yet the scent in the air was unfamiliar.
Iron lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of damp earth. There was something burnt beneath it all.
He opened his eyes.
The sky was gray and low, with clouds pressed together as if in anticipation. There were no buildings or roads, only broken ground and distant trees.
Shinji sat up. His body responded sluggishly.
"Not a hospital," he said.
His voice sounded younger.
That was enough.
He looked down. His hands were smaller, scarred oddly. His rough cloth sleeves were stained dark at the cuffs.
He exhaled once.
"So this worked."
Memory settled in. There was no panic. The place was as familiar as his own name.
He was in the world of Jujutsu Kaisen.
And not the modern one.
Shinji stood. His legs were unsteady, knees threatening to buckle.
Weak body. Not useless yet.
Something brushed the edge of his awareness—a presence, faint yet wrong in a way he recognized immediately.
Curse.
He turned just as something crawled out from behind a rock—low to the ground, misshapen, its movement jerky and impatient.
Not strong. Not smart.
Shinji didn't move right away.
He took a breath. Then another.
When he reached for cursed energy, it responded—thin and uneven. Far less than he expected.
"Tch."
The curse lunged.
Shinji stepped back.
His timing was imprecise, and he moved more slowly than intended. The creature clipped his sleeve, tearing the fabric rather than injuring him.
He adjusted without thinking and swung.
The strike landed awkwardly, bone colliding with something softer. The curse shrieked and recoiled.
Shinji didn't chase. He waited.
When it lunged again, he stepped aside and struck its head against the ground. Once. Then again.
It stopped moving.
Shinji paused. His breaths were harsh and loud. Sweat clung to his back.
"That was close," he said quietly.
Pathetic.
He wiped his hand on his sleeve and surveyed his surroundings. The land felt heavy and dense, as if pressure simmered beneath the surface.
Monsters belonged in this place.
A familiar sensation surfaced—cool, distant.
The panel appeared.
No sound. No announcement. Just a simple record, hovering at the edge of his vision.
Shinji glanced at it once.
Then he dismissed it.
Five years, he thought.
If his memory was right—and he had no reason to doubt it—then Sukuna's final rise was still years away.
That was good.
It meant time.
He started walking.
The air was thick. His body ached, but with each step, the stiffness diminished.
For the first time in either life, Shinji acknowledged the ache and kept walking.
That was enough.
For now.