The hallways of Reginald Vel Johnson High buzz with the usual Friday energy -
students planning weekend activities, teachers trying to maintain order for a few more hours, and the perpetual drama of teenage social dynamics playing out at every locker.
I navigate through it all with practiced ease, keeping my head down and my expression neutral, just as the memories tell me Megumi would.
"Fushiguro!"
I turn to see Mark jogging toward me, weaving through the crowd with his characteristic mix of awkwardness and determination.
He's wearing his usual outfit - jeans, sneakers, and a plain t-shirt under an open button-up - the quintessential everyday teenager look that helps him blend in despite being anything but ordinary.
"Hey," I greet him, adjusting my backpack as he falls into step beside me.
"You ready for Burch's history exam?" Mark asks, grimacing. "I was up half the night trying to memorize all those dates."
I shrug. "It's just memorization. Not that hard."
"Easy for you to say. You've got that weird memory thing."
According to my implanted memories, Megumi does have an unusually good recall for facts and figures -
a trait that served him well both in academics and in remembering the complex social hierarchies of street life.
It's one of the reasons he's maintained decent grades despite his troubled past.
"You'll be fine," I assure him. "Just remember the major events, and the dates will follow."
Mark sighs dramatically. "If I fail, I'm blaming you for false confidence."
We reach our lockers, which are conveniently adjacent - a result of the alphabetical assignment system that placed Grayson near Fushiguro.
As we exchange books for our morning classes, I catch Mark glancing at me with a slightly concerned expression.
"What?" I ask, more defensively than intended.
"Nothing," he says quickly, then reconsiders. "Actually, no. Something's up with you. You've been weird since yesterday. More... I don't know, intense? Like you're somewhere else half the time."
I freeze momentarily. Is my act that transparent, or is Mark just unusually perceptive?
Probably the latter - our friendship may be a construct of this reality, but the memories suggest it's a genuine one, built on years of mutual understanding.
"Just got a lot on my mind," I say, closing my locker. "Probation stuff. Ms. Chen's meeting today."
Mark's expression softens. "Right. The check-in. You worried about it?"
"Not really. I've been keeping my nose clean." I hesitate, then add, "My uncle's working extra shifts this weekend. House will be empty."
It's the kind of comment the old Megumi might make - a subtle indication of the temptation that an unsupervised home represents to a teenager with a history of poor decisions.
Testing Mark's reaction seems like a good way to gauge our friendship dynamic.
His response is immediate and firm. "Don't even think about it, man. You're so close to finishing probation. Not worth the risk."
I smile slightly, oddly touched by his concern. "Relax, Grayson. I wasn't planning anything. Just stating a fact."
He studies me for a moment, then nods, apparently satisfied that I'm not plotting a return to delinquency. "Good. Because I already told my mom you're staying over tonight, and she's making that lasagna you like."
The mention of Mrs. Grayson's lasagna triggers an unexpected flood of sensory memory - the rich aroma of tomato and herbs, the warmth of the Graysons' kitchen, the feeling of being welcomed into their home.
It's like everything these days disorienting, experiencing nostalgia for events I've never personally lived through.
"Sounds good," I manage to say as we start walking toward our first class. "William's still on for after my probation meeting?"
"Yeah, he's got the new Immortal Fighter game. Says the graphics are insane." Mark glances at his watch. "We should probably hurry. Bell's gonna ring any second."
As if on cue, the shrill sound of the school bell cuts through the hallway chatter, sending students scurrying toward classrooms.
Mark and I quicken our pace, joining the flow of bodies heading to first-period history.
Mr. Burch's classroom is on the second floor, a corner room with large windows that offer a view of the football field and, beyond it, the city skyline.
As we take our seats - Mark in the middle row, me toward the back as befits my semi-reformed troublemaker status -
I find myself studying that distant skyline, wondering how much longer it will remain intact once the Viltrumite agenda begins in earnest.
"Alright, people, settle down," Mr. Burch calls out, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and perpetually rolled-up sleeves. "Books away, pencils out. You know the drill."
The exam itself is straightforward - fifty multiple-choice questions on post-World War II American history.
I breeze through it, the answers coming easily from Megumi's memories, finishing with fifteen minutes to spare.
Mark, I notice, is still working diligently, his brow furrowed in concentration as he deliberates over each question.
When the bell rings, signaling the end of the period, Mark groans as he hands in his exam. "That was brutal. Question thirty-eight? About the significance of the Camp David Accords? Totally blanked."
"Carter, Begin, Sadat," I say automatically. "1978. Framework for peace in the Middle East."
Mark gives me a withering look. "Thanks, Encyclopedia Fushiguro. Super helpful now."
I shrug, suppressing a smile. There's something refreshingly normal about this interaction - just two friends commiserating over an exam.
For a moment, I can almost forget the surreal nature of my situation.
The rest of the morning passes in a similar fashion - classes, brief exchanges in hallways, the routine of high school life.
By lunchtime, I've settled into a comfortable rhythm, letting Megumi's muscle memory and social instincts guide me through the day.
The cafeteria is crowded and noisy, but Mark has secured our usual table near the windows. William is already there, a skinny kid with a mop of curly hair, engrossed in something on his laptop.
"Check this out," he says by way of greeting as we sit down. "Footage from Malaysia. Omni-Man versus some kind of sea monster."
He turns the laptop to show us a shaky video of the world's greatest hero battling an enormous tentacled creature emerging from the ocean.
The quality is poor - clearly shot on a phone from a considerable distance - but even so, Omni-Man's power is evident in every devastating punch.
"Whoa," Mark says, genuinely impressed. "That thing is huge."
I watch with a more critical eye, noting the efficiency with which Nolan dispatches the creature.
There's no wasted movement, no hesitation - just pure, calculated violence.
It's the technique of someone who's been fighting for centuries, who views combat as a science rather than an art.
"Pretty standard day for Omni-Man," William comments, closing the video. "Anyway, you guys still coming over after school? I've got the game all set up."
"I've got my probation meeting first," I remind him. "But I'll head over after."
"And I promised to help my dad with something," Mark adds. "But I should be done by six."
William nods, "Cool. My mom's ordering pizza."
The conversation shifts to more mundane topics - complaints about teachers, discussions of upcoming assignments, debates about the latest movies.
I participate minimally, offering occasional comments while observing the dynamic between Mark and William.
There's an easy camaraderie there, built on shared interests and mutual respect.
According to my memories, the three of us have been friends since freshman year, with Mark serving as the bridge between William's nerdy enthusiasm and Megumi's brooding intensity.
As lunch winds down, Mark turns to me with a somewhat hesitant expression. "Hey, so... I was thinking.
If you want, you could come to dinner at my house on Sunday? Mom specifically asked if you'd be joining us."
The invitation catches me off guard. "Sunday dinner? Isn't that usually just family?"
Mark shrugs, trying to appear casual. "Yeah, but you know how my mom is. She worries about you being alone with your uncle working so much. And she makes way too much food anyway."
I consider the implications. Sunday dinner with the Graysons means spending time in Nolan's presence - the very being I know will soon reveal himself as Earth's greatest threat.
It's risky, but also potentially valuable. A chance to observe him up close, to look for any signs that his plans are accelerating.
"Sure," I say after a moment. "Tell your mom thanks for the invitation."
Mark breaks into a grin. "Great! She'll be psyched. And my dad's actually going to be there this time. No emergency calls, he promised."
"Looking forward to it," I lie smoothly, while internally contemplating the surreal prospect of making small talk with Omni-Man over pot roast.
The bell signals the end of lunch, and we part ways for afternoon classes. As I head to physics, I find myself reflecting on the complexity of my situation.
Mark isn't just a plot point in my new reality - he's a person with his own life, his own relationships, his own future. A future that will be irrevocably altered when his father reveals his true nature.
And somehow, in this twisted scenario, I've become his friend.
Not just any friend, but apparently one close enough to be invited to family dinners, to be worried about by his mother, to be part of his inner circle.
The weight of that realization sits heavily on me through the remainder of the school day. By the time the final bell rings, I've come to an uncomfortable conclusion: I care what happens to Mark Grayson.
Not just because he's Invincible, not just because he'll be crucial in the coming conflict, but because the memory fragments I've inherited show me a friendship that resonates with my empathy.
It's with this unsettled mindset that I head to my probation meeting, the check-in form tucked securely in my backpack, wondering just how deep these constructed connections go - and what it will mean when the world starts falling apart around us.
-----------------------------
(Author note: Yeah, look, this guy is one with Sukuna's memories, and his Sukuna tendencies will show soon enough, but remember he isn't exactly Sukuna.
He's the soul behind everything that gained everything of Sukuna so he has his own beliefs, emotions, etc.
He can be empathetic, but when it comes to battle or those who aren't close to him... Let's say one will then realise why he is called the King of Curses.
So yeah, do tell me how you found it and I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)