BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Riku groaned as sunlight blasted through the window like it had a personal grudge against his eyeballs.
"God, I'm in hell," he muttered, dragging himself upright, hair a disaster, eyes barely open. His arms stretched overhead with a satisfying crack of bones that shouldn't be cracking this early in the morning.
["Good morning, Host. It is time to draw your daily gacha."]
His eyes narrowed. "The fuck? I drew one yesterday. Hasn't even been twenty-four hours, has it?"
["That is correct. However, after further consideration, we have determined that making the Host draw late at night is inconvenient and interferes with proper daily pacing."]
"Oh, now you're worried about my sleep schedule?" he scoffed. "You dropped me into curse murder world with lungs that barely work, but God forbid I roll my gacha too late."
He shrugged. "Fine. Whatever. RNG is RNG."
["Would you like to perform today's draw?"]
"Not yet," Riku said, then slowly got to his knees beside the bed, hands clasped dramatically like some desperate priest begging the gacha gods for SSR salvation.
"To every god out there… RNGesus, Gachallah, Lady Luck, the Divine Puller of Rate-Up Banners… I kneel before you, your humble servant. Please, please don't give me another passive-ass skill like 'Slightly Better Digestion' or 'Fuckin' Toe Flexibility' or whatever."
He cracked one eye open.
"System. Do it. Pull the lever."
["Confirmed. Initiating Daily Gacha Draw…"]
A soft chime echoed through his skull.
["Congratulations. You have received: Cursed Energy Manipulation."]["You are now able to see curses, manipulate cursed energy, and utilize it in combat."]
He blinked.
He processed.
And then— "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!"
Fists clenched, he threw his arms to the sky like he'd just won a fucking lottery.
"Finally! Something useful! Thank you, RNG gods! I take back like… 15% of the shit I said about you!"
He stood up, fired up with something that wasn't pure dread for once.
"Alright," he said to himself, pacing the room, "I still don't know what point in the story I'm in… but that just means it's time to train and gather info. No point getting murked by some random curse when I've got a damn skill worth using."
He dropped into a push-up position like he was in a goddamn anime montage.
"One… two… three—twenty-five—"
He collapsed.
Flat on the floor. Panting.
"Holy… shit," he wheezed. "I didn't think I was this low on stamina. Jesus."
A few deep breaths. He rolled onto his back.
"Okay. Sit-ups."
He managed fifteen before it felt like his core was imploding.
Then thirty jumping jacks.
He stood in the mirror, sweaty, breath steady thanks to Better Breathing, but everything else was screaming.
"Day one," he muttered. "Let's fucking go."
After a quick shower and change into clean jeans and a simple hoodie (black, always black—it matched his soul and hid his spaghetti arms), he made his way downstairs.
And paused.
"The hardest challenge yet," he whispered to himself. "A normal conversation with my fake parents."
He entered the dining room, heart racing like he was about to fight Sukuna with a fork.
His dad looked up from a newspaper—people still read those here?—and said, "Morning. How's college going?"
"It's going well," Riku replied with all the acting talent of a dead fish.
"Oh? Then why do you have a C+ in English?"
He blinked. "I have a what—I mean, I just turned in a project late. It's fine. Totally fine."
His mom entered, carrying a plate piled with eggs, toast, and bacon that smelled way too good for how broken he felt.
"Leave the boy alone," she said to the dad. "Eat up, Riku, and don't miss the bus."
He nodded, grateful for the out. He scarfed down breakfast like it was the only joy in life, mumbled a goodbye, and bolted out the door.
Outside, he stood on the curb, chewing on toast, hoodie zipped up and hands shoved in his pockets.
"Alright. Info time," he muttered. "If I remember right… Yuji's fifteen in season one. Nobara sixteen. Megumi fifteen. Gojo twenty-eight. And I'm… eighteen."
He frowned. "Why is that important? I have no clue where in the timeline I am. Could be anywhere. Could be five minutes from Gojo getting sealed, or ten seconds from Sukuna deciding I look like a snack."
He took a deep breath. "Let's just be hopeful. First goal: get to college, scope shit out."
He jogged to the bus stop, hopping on just as it pulled up.
A few minutes later, he stood on campus, looking at the bland concrete buildings and overpriced vending machines.
"Great," he sighed. "Another life, another hell."
He adjusted his backpack and started walking.
"Let's just go through the motions for now. Normal. Chill. Low-profile. Until I figure out where I am, what's coming… and maybe draw something that doesn't suck balls."