The rest of the school day passes in a blur of classes, whispered conversations, and stolen glances.
I struggle to focus on anything the teachers say, too busy sorting through the dual memories competing for space in my head.
Sukuna's knowledge is vast and disturbing - decades of violence, manipulation, and power. My own memories of a normal life before this bizarre transmigration seem almost quaint by comparison.
Physics test? Barely registered. Literature discussion? Couldn't tell you what book we're even reading.
By the time the final bell rings, I've developed a pounding headache from the effort of keeping my expression neutral while internally screaming.
I find myself heading toward the gym after school, drawn by an instinct that isn't entirely mine.
According to my implanted memories, this is part of my routine - checking in with Mr. Washington before heading home.
The man runs both the youth outreach program and coaches the wrestling team, maintaining his office in a corner of the gymnasium.
The familiar smell of sweat and floor polish greets me as I push through the double doors.
On the mats, the wrestling team is already warming up, Coach Davis barking orders while Mr. Washington observes from the sidelines.
He spots me immediately, giving a nod of acknowledgment before excusing himself from the practice.
"Fushiguro," he says as he approaches, his voice carrying the gravelly quality of someone who's seen too much in his years on the force. "Right on time."
Terrence Washington stands about six-foot-two, with broad shoulders and the solid build of someone who still maintains the fitness regimen of his police days despite being in his fifties.
His dark skin is marked with a few scars - souvenirs from his time on the streets - and his close-cropped hair shows more salt than pepper these days.
"Got your check-in form ready," he continues, gesturing for me to follow him to his office. "Ms. Chen will want it at your meeting tomorrow."
I follow him into the small room adjacent to the locker area. Certificates and community awards line the walls alongside team photos from years past.
His desk is organized chaos - stacks of papers, schedule books, and a framed photo of what must be his family.
"Amber mentioned the Purple Dragons," I say, cutting straight to the point as he hands me the weekly progress form. "Around the cleanup site."
Washington's expression darkens slightly. "Yeah. They've been pushing into that neighborhood for the past month.
Nothing major yet - just marking territory, intimidating shop owners. But it's escalating."
He leans back in his chair, studying me with the careful assessment of someone who's spent decades reading people.
"Officer Rodriguez will be there on Saturday, but you know how these things go. Official presence sometimes just pushes the trouble around the corner."
I nod, understanding the implication. This is where my role comes in - the unofficial deterrent.
My past connections to the street, tenuous as they may be now, still carry weight. My presence alone might prevent trouble without the need for police intervention.
"I'll keep my eyes open," I say carefully. "Make sure things stay quiet."
"That's all I'm asking," Washington replies. "You've been doing good work, Fushiguro. Eight months without an incident. Judge Hoffman would be pleased."
I shift uncomfortably under the praise. These aren't my accomplishments - they belong to the Megumi whose life I've hijacked.
Still, I can't deny a certain satisfaction in knowing that even in this world, I'm - or he's - managed to turn things around.
"There's something else," Washington says, his tone shifting slightly.
"Your uncle called. Said he's picked up extra shifts this weekend, won't be around much. Wanted me to remind you about your curfew. Ten o'clock, non-negotiable."
My uncle. Right. According to my memories, he's a nurse at Upstate Medical, working primarily night shifts in the ER.
He became my guardian after my parents... well, that part of the memory is still fuzzy, fragmented in a way that suggests trauma.
"I remember," I assure him, the response automatic. "I'll be home on time."
Washington nods, though his expression suggests he's heard such promises before. "See that you are.
Last thing you need is a technical violation for missing curfew. Even with your progress, the system's just looking for an excuse."
"I know," I reply, pocketing the form. "I'm not going back to juvie."
"Good." He stands, signaling the end of our meeting. "See you Saturday, then. Eight AM sharp at the community center."
I exit the gym with my mind racing. The conversation with Washington has filled in more gaps in my understanding of this world and my place in it.
The probation terms are stricter than I initially realized - curfews, regular check-ins, mandatory community service.
One misstep and I could find myself back in detention, which would severely limit my ability to prepare for what's coming.
But more importantly, I now have a legitimate reason to be in the neighborhood where the Purple Dragons are making moves.
If they're just standard gang members, dealing with them would be trivial with my abilities. But in a world of superheroes and aliens, I can't assume anything is standard.
I need information, and I need to test my powers.
The sun is beginning to set as I make my way off campus, deliberately taking a route that avoids the main streets.
According to my memories, there's an abandoned construction site on the outskirts of town - a half-finished office complex whose funding dried up during the last recession.
It's far enough from residential areas to provide privacy, but not so isolated that my presence there would seem suspicious if I'm spotted.
Perfect for what I need to do.
Thirty minutes of walking brings me to the chain-link fence surrounding the site.
A quick glance confirms I'm alone before I leap over it with an ease that still startles me, landing silently on the other side.
The skeletal framework of the building looms against the darkening sky, concrete pillars and exposed steel beams creating a labyrinth of shadows.
I find a secluded corner behind what would have been the parking garage and take a deep breath, centering myself.
The cursed energy within me responds immediately, flowing through my body with an eager intensity that's almost intoxicating.
"Alright," I mutter to myself. "Let's see what I'm working with."
I extend my hand, focusing on the simplest technique I can recall from Sukuna's memories - a basic manifestation of cursed energy.
My palm begins to glow with a dark red light, shadows seeming to coalesce around my fingers.
So far, so good.
Next, I attempt something more complex - calling forth one of the Ten Shadows. I press my hands to the ground, channeling energy downward.
"Come," I whisper, and feel a surge of satisfaction as darkness pools beneath my fingers, taking shape.
Two spectral dogs emerge from the shadows, their forms solidifying as they circle around me.
Divine Dogs - the most basic of the shikigami in Megumi's arsenal, but useful for reconnaissance and tracking.
I spend the next hour testing various techniques, careful to keep the energy output low enough to avoid detection - if these things can be detected. One can never be sure with these worlds.
Especially since Damien Darkblood - a literal demon is known, who knows if they have things able to detect the spiritual?
In the end, the results are promising but concerning.
I have access to most of Megumi's abilities, including the Ten Shadows technique, but it's weaker than it should be. Something is messing with my output.
Is my soul not yet integrated properly with this body?
More worryingly, I can feel Sukuna's techniques lurking beneath the surface - the Dismantle and Cleave that made him so feared -
but they're frustratingly out of reach, like words on the tip of my tongue that I can't quite articulate.
As darkness fully descends, I dismiss the shikigami and sit on a concrete slab, processing what I've learned. I have power - significant power - but not nearly what I'd need to challenge someone like Omni-Man.
At least, not yet.
My phone buzzes in my pocket - a text from Mark.
"You ok? Didn't see you after school. Video games at William's tomorrow?"
I smile despite myself. Even with the apocalypse looming on the horizon, life goes on. Normal, everyday life.
"I'm good," I text back. "Had to check in with Washington. And yeah, I'm in for tomorrow."
I pocket the phone and stand, brushing dust from my clothes. One day at a time, that's how I'll have to approach this. Learn what I can, build my strength, and prepare for what's coming.
I check the time - 7:45 PM. I've still got more than two hours before curfew, but I should start heading back soon.
The last thing I need is to give my uncle or Ms. Chen a reason to restrict my movements further.
For now though I need to take things slowly.
One step at a time.
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter!
Do tell me how you found it.
I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)