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There was absolutely nothing he could do. No matter what he said, or did, that child would walk into that school and potentially perish. He had tried to stop him, to stand tall and prevent him from going through that godforsaken door.
He walked past him.
He was on the verge of yelling, trying to remind him what they were all there for and he walked past, face stern and a far cry from the light and happy expressions of only a month or so before.
“Itadori-kun, you can't do this!” He said, raising his voice, trembling, shaking with fear. He couldn't let Itadori-kun die again. He couldn't look into that cold cavity of his chest and resign himself to the knowledge that this time, his student might not return.
“This isn't what we have been fighting for! Our job– my job, is to save people.” He yelled, fists curling as Itadori retreated into the dark corridor, marching mindlessly to what could be his last moments. It looked like a soldier's first march, it felt like a funeral parade.
But it occurred to him suddenly, that he didn't know what they were fighting for. How could he tell poor Itadori-kun what to do and how to fight, when he had no clue himself? What could he do, after all, stop him? Stop the fighting? Change the very fabric of jujutsu society and change history?
None of those things. He could simply stand there, whisper for Itadori-kun to be safe, and become numb under the pressure of another imminent death. He would simply live with the knowledge that Itadori-kun’s heart may not beat against his fingertips again. And Itadori may never smile again.
And Itadori may never be happy again.
He shouldn't have been happy. A bright young sorcerer, who could have bolstered their numbers, had been lost to an unregistered special grade. Nanami and Itadori-kun won by the skin of their teeth, and the student was absolutely inconsolable. And despite the fact that Itadori trusted him enough to tell him that, tell him he trusted Junpei, and cry against his shoulder as Kiyotaka nodded wordlessly…
Kiyotaka couldn't help but smile. Itadori was safe. In pain, sobbing, shaking in Kiyotaka’s arms… but safe. He had already seen the limp, cold body of the student once before. Witnessed how his muscles stiffened and rigor mortis slowly came into effect. Stared into the dark cavity of his chest and wished that was him in his place because no one needed an auxiliary manager, but they needed talented sorcerers.
He no longer thought like that. Because, if he was alive, then Itadori would have a shoulder to cry on and someone to trust. Kiyotaka was sick of being stuck on the sidelines, watching as sorcerers fell into insanity or marched mindlessly to their dooms, with nothing to stop them but a speech he had said countless times before about ‘honour’ and ‘morals’.
Deep down, he knew that stupid speech did nothing to save Itadori. He ultimately did nothing, once again. But maybe that speech was the flap of a butterfly's wings. And the hurricane saved Itadori’s life.
He vaguely recalled the dull memory of Itadori’s soft heart, beating weakly in his palm as if powered by some supernatural force. The blood on his hands as he deposited the heart into an evidence bag, and settled it neatly next to Itadori’s cold carcass.
He could feel Itadori’s heart now, vaguely, through the thick cotton uniform he wore, through the skin and muscle. If he rested his hand just right on his back, he could feel each beat.
Itadori was alive. Itadori was– and if Kiyotaka had anything to say about it– would still be alive for years to come. Kiyotaka had been involved in both of his near-death experiences so far, and he'd be damned if he let a third one happen.
He had grown to deeply care for Itadori over the course of working with him. Like a younger brother, or perhaps a son. Kiyotaka did not care about Junpei, or the unregistered special grade, or Sukuna. Kiyotaka cared that Itadori was alive and that his heart was beating beneath his hand.