King Sev

The Jujutsu Remedial University was buzzing with new recruits, young and old, ready for a new academic year. Dean Satoru Gojo stood in the middle of the quad, yelling platitudes through a megaphone.

“You may be washed up, but you haven’t washed out!”

“Everyone deserves a second chance. Especially if you’re incarnated.”

“Look on the brighter side of life!”

Students walking passed try to avoid eye contact, as to not give Gojo any more inspiration for what he obviously thought was a really motivational speech.

“Maybe you come from a really powerful family with the ancestral technique, and STILL couldn’t get into any good Jujutsu schools,” he said, watching as a certain new student pulled his hoodie even further over his head.

So much for a fresh start, Megumi Fushiguro thought to himself, hurrying off.

“This is a place for everyone to start new!” Gojo continued.

Kento Nanami sat on a bench nearby, drinking a coffee and reading over his schedule. The idea of a fresh start was something he needed. The life he was currently living was not something he had ever expected.

10 years ago, he had it all. 1st grade sorcerer, mentees who loved him, a penthouse apartment, but no legitimate friendships to speak of. He had colleagues, sure. People he would drink with after work, but once it hit the weekend, his phone did not ring. Everyone knew not to give him weekend assignments, so it wasn’t like he was expecting work calls. But no one called him socially either. He would just sit there, reading books and decompressing until Monday hit. He tried going on dates, but nothing stuck. Dating non sorcerers was difficult, he found. It was a large part of his life he couldn’t share.

And dating someone within Jujutsu society? Too much of a conflict of interest for him to even bother. So he stayed single. No friends, no romance, and parents who rarely contacted him. Despite that, he was happy. He didn’t owe anyone anything, and they didn’t owe anything to him.

That was his life.

Until everything changed.

It was his fault, really. He wasn’t paying attention. All it took was a split second.

Shoko telling him his technique would never recover.

Colleagues awkwardly avoiding conversation with him, but seemed to have to lot to say when he wasn’t around. He could see everyone’s eyes on him.

Pitying him.

Kento coughed, trying to snap himself out of the memory. It was painful enough, he didn’t want to have to relive it. He had to look to the future, and hope no ghosts of his past remained.

“We have some celebrities in the house!” Dean Gojo’s amplified voice caused the students to look around in interest.

The “celebrity in question” was none other than Nobara Kugisaki.

She could tell Gojo was looking at her as she walked past. It wasn’t the same look her former fans gave her, the look of disappointment. Instead, he looked curious. As if he wanted to know her next move.

Nobara scoffed.

I’d love to know my next move too, she thought to herself.

Model, it girl, idol. She was supposed to be a triple threat. Child star turned darling of Jujutsu society. An inspiration to young girls worldwide. And then the pressure got to her. And she turned to less orthodox ways to keep herself focused.

It was supposed to be one pill. Just to stay awake through the night.

Her rock bottom came on the middle of a variety show she was filming. Staff and fans had been questioning her health for a while, but she always reassured them she was ok.

Until that day.

It was supposed to be a run of the mill interview. But the lights were so bright, the room was spinning, and the host wasn’t making any sense. He didn’t understand. No one understood.

She doesn’t remember what happened next.

The next thing she knew, a glass door was smashed, and her beautiful face was covered in cuts and scratches.

And she couldn’t stop screaming.

Her agency dropped her. Her manager stopped returning her calls. Sales for mini straw dolls and nails decreased exponentially.

And here she was at Remedial University. A has been. People would stare at her as she walked past, making fun of her downfall no doubt.

Gojo watched as the students made their way to different buildings. The start of the year was always interesting, he found. Which students would rise to the occasion and change their lives? And who would crumble in an environment made for rehabilitation?

There was one who he was particularly interested in.

In fact, the higher ups on the school board wanted to deny him admission. But Gojo threatened their lives of course, and had to personally guarantee this student wouldn’t go on a killing rampage.

Many binding vows were made.

People called their Japanese fusion uninspired, the décor derivative, and Satoru’s gaze unsettling. Social media influencers would hang out at the bar trying to get Suguru’s attention, but his lines seemed rehearsed, and his charming smile looked strained. Kento had no problem telling people to leave when their allotted time was up, but it wasn’t like he had other customers waiting for the tables. Utahime, bless her, had to take over the pastry kitchen, and while she was a fantastic pastry chef, her talents on the grill were obviously missed and customers started to complain about that too. No one understood flavour like she did. And finally, Toji was spread thin. Between the running of the pass, admin, and having to step in with mise en place, the time spent with his family dwindled.

Sukuna was really their last hope. He was known as a pastry wizard, someone who would fix up restaurants and give them a foundation before leaving. The Gordon Ramsay Kitchen Nightmares of desserts, even. Toji and Utahime were against his hiring; not wanting to deal with another short term contract that may leave them further in the shits. But of course Satoru does what Satoru wants, and now the only chance of this restaurant reaching it’s former glory was to soak up all of Sukuna’s knowledge (and hire a suitable replacement) before he disappeared.

“He’s here! Everyone act cool.” Gojo said, sounding the opposite of cool.

Sukuna didn’t have a social media presence. He didn’t allow many photos of him either. He was mostly anonymous, with the singular photo people recognised him by being taken 20 years ago by a journalist. The ground seemed to shake as he walked towards the front door, exuding power with every step. He was tall. Taller than Toji for sure, and a lot broader too.

Kento made a mental note to ask him for gym tips.

His hair was a dusty pink, messy but clean. His clothes were incredibly clean too, as if they had been picked up from the dry cleaners seconds ago, and his shoes were shined commercially. His right eye was made of glass, and he had thick blackwork tattoos across his body. Once he reached the door, Satoru extended his arm and grinned, acting like there wasn’t a half foot of height difference between the two.

“Sukuna, welcome!”

He took his hand and shook it firmly, before looking at the rest of the team, trying to sus them out. Laptop in hand, Utahime entered the restaurant behind Sukuna and closed the door.

“Let me introduce everyone, “Satoru said, as Sukuna stared in silence.

“This is Kento Nanami, front of house manager and maître d'.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Kento said, “If there are any issues with service, please let me know. I’m happy to help.”

“Our bartender is Suguru Geto, hiding over there. He’s probably the friendliest person, everyone else is such a grump.”

Suguru smiled gently, “Welcome.”

Satoru gestured to Toji, “I’m sure you know our head chef, Toji Fushiguro. He’ll be running service and dealing with onboarding.”

“Actually, service is Utahime’s these days, “Toji said, pointing to his sous chef. “With you heading up pastry, that’ll free her up to come to the main pass and help me run things.”

“Not that I don’t love the pastry kitchen,” Utahime said.

Sukuna grunted in understanding.

He hadn’t said anything yet, but apparently this was his MO. He was quiet, and just wanted to do his work.

“I’ll show you where the changing rooms are,” Utahime said, breaking the silence, “And then I’ll give you a tour of the pastry kitchen and show you how we set up for service. Toji, follow.”

Almost wordlessly, Toji and Sukuna followed her down the corridor.

The three went down the stairs into the basement.

“Changing room is on your right, chef jackets and hats folded on the shelf. If we don’t have your size, let me know and we can order it. Pastry is downstairs so if you just want to wear a T shirt until it comes in, no one will care. I’ll introduce you to your CDPs as well. Come to the kitchen when you’re done.”

“Thank you,” Sukuna muttered before disappearing into the room.

The remaining two walked into the pastry kitchen, leaning over the pass.

“You’re terrifying.” Toji deadpanned.

“Thank you.” Utahime replied.

The other chef de parties were working hard preparing everything they’d need for the day. Choso was already shaping his second batch of bread, Kinji was rolling tuile, and Kirara was busy slicing fruit for dehydration.

“Guys, can you pause quickly?” Utahime said, “Let’s have a quick meeting.”

The three quickly wrapped up and headed to the small pass where the others stood.

“As you know,” she began, “We’ve been looking for another head pastry chef, and it’s taken some time to find a good one.”

As if on cue, Sukuna stepped into the room, holding his knife set.  The three gasped, recognising the fearsome chef almost instantly.

“Looks like your reputation proceeds you, “Toji chuckled, slapping the new pastry chef on the back, “Saves the introductions I suppose. Do you wanna say anything?”

“I take my work very seriously,” Sukuna began,” And I hope you all do the same. The food is the priority, not your life. What are your names?”

Kinji grimaced. He heard Sukuna was strict, but there was no way he was going to risk his life for job.

“Kinji Hakari,” he said, “I get you’re a famous chef and that, but you can fuck off with that prioritise the food over everything bullshit. I’m not killing myself for you, or this shitty salary. Got it?”

Toji snorted. Utahime’s shoulders stiffened.

Kinji was a talented chef, but a bit rough round the edges, much like Toji in his youth. He was harmless, mostly. Just didn’t know when to shut up.

Kirara elbowed him in the side, but Kinji paid no mind. Just continued to stare daggers at his new boss.

Sukuna smiled, or snarled. They couldn’t tell.

“You misunderstand me. The food comes first, but not at the expense of your lives. If you’re ill, I don’t want to see you. You aren’t good enough that being here will make a significant difference in the outcome of the day.”

“You don’t know how good I am,” Kinji replied.

Sukuna chuckled. Or growled. “I can tell from here your tuile isn’t thin enough. You’ll have to restart that.”

“What’s your name?” He pointed to the emo boy, who currently looked terrified.

“Choso Itadori,” he stammered.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, “Well, Choso Itadori, your bread is not sufficiently hydrated. I understand these are supposed to be served as slices, not croutons. And who are you? Your piercings are a health hazard.”

Kirara rolled her eyes, “Kirara Hoshi. And I’m not taking them out. They’re chic.”

“Yes you are,” Sukuna said, “Or don’t bother coming back tomorrow. And I can tell by the way you’re standing so close to blondie that you wouldn’t want him spending all his time with the next girl I replace you with.”

Toji tapped Sukuna on the shoulder, “You actually don’t have the power to fire anyone yet,” he mock whispered.

Sukuna ignored him and continued his explanation, “The apples you are cutting are acceptably thin, however every time you talk, you nudge your piercing. You will need to keep adjusting it throughout the day, and eventually it will fall into the food, and everything will need to be thrown away. Please go to the changing room and remove it.”

His voice was calm, unwavering. But the instruction was firm. This was not a discussion.

Kirara nodded, “Yeah. Sorry. My bad.”

She ran out the room quickly.

Kinji stepped forward again, “Don’t speak to my girl like th-“

“She’s not your girl. In here, she’s a chef. Just like you. And you should be more worried about yourself at this stage. I see no redeeming qualities in you currently.” Sukuna replied, with an aura that made everyone shudder.

He turned back to Utahime, no longer interested in the junior chefs. Understanding they were free to go, they went back to their prep; Choso looking at the bread recipe to see if it really was too dry. Kirara emerged moments later, piercing free, and slightly shaken up. But she sliced the apples more confidently, Toji noticed.

“Please talk me through the service expectations for today,” Sukuna said.

Utahime pulled out the prep list and the week’s menu from a folder.

“So as Satoru probably explained to you,” Toji began, “Our menu changes depending on the season. We do a lot of foraging, connections with local suppli-“

“I don’t need the sales pitch. I already work here.” Sukuna said.

Utahime and Toji glanced at each other, choosing to let it go. They knew Sukuna could be abrasive, but that’s why he was hired.

“Today, we have six desserts on the menu.” Utahime said, “Cheese board with homemade confitures, crackers and candied nuts, a takeaway box of five traditional wagashi, mango crepe cake, chocolate mousse, mont blanc, and apple millefeuille.”

She opened the large folder to one of the middle pages, “We have recipes, and spec for plating. It should make sense, but if there’s an issue, let me know.”

Sukuna snorted, “None of these are an issue to make, but I’m surprised you haven’t spotted the actual issue.”

“Which would be?” She asked.

“It looks like you typed Japanese French desserts into google and picked the first five answers. I’m surprised there’s no matcha strawberry Instagram cake on here somewhere.” Sukuna said, “Did you both forget how to use your brains or is this really just a TV restaurant?”

Being called a TV chef never sat right with Toji. Sure, he had two shows, but he worked his way up from kitchen porter, and had been in the industry since he was a kid. This was his blood and his life.

“Watch what the fuck you’re saying,” he said, voice low.

“Watch what the fuck you’re cooking,” Sukuna replied, voice smooth and light.

The two men stood up, as if they were about to fight. Sukuna was significantly taller and broader, but Toji was in no way small himself.

He was probably at his physical peak at the grand age of 40 something, while Sukuna wore his years of experience on his face. Was he older than Toji? Probably. Could Toji beat Sukuna in a fight? Maybe? He goes to the gym like he was paid to, but Toji was a pacifist really. He enjoys long walks with his wife and kids, even if he pretended not to. But what does Sukuna enjoy? Maybe the rumours were true and he was an actual cannibal. It would explain the fangs. Though surprisingly, he had a really calming voice to listen to. He was insulting everyone and Utahime didn’t seem to care. Unlike Satoru, who had the most grating voice she had ever heard. In fact every time he spoke, she wanted to throw something at him. Suguru was annoying as well, everything that came out of his mouth was either patronising or weirdly flirty. When were they going to hire some more talented women? She was sick of this male infested hellhole.

“What are you muttering about?” Sukuna grunted, forcing her back to reality.

Toji snorted, “She does that. Gets in her head and starts thinking about how much she hates us all.”

“Oh, so you aren’t going to kill each other anymore?” Utahime said, “I don’t need to deal with fight of the wannabe macho losers?”

“The fuck do you mean wannabe?” Toji asked, flexing.

Utahime wrinkled her nose in disgust, “Ok, old man. Can we get back to this alleged menu problem we have?”