Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You're Megumi Fushiguro, right?" Satoru asked, his voice never faltering, as he took slow, deliberate steps forward, his presence looming as he approached the young boy standing before him.

Megumi Fushiguro turned to face him, eyeing the older man, a hint of mistrust flashing in his dark eyes.

The boy's reaction was instant. He squinted suspiciously at the man before him, his eyes narrowing into a glare that was far too sharp for someone so young. It was a look that held a level of wariness that no elementary school kid should ever have to adopt.

"Who are you?" Megumi spat, his tone cutting, as his sharp gaze locked onto Satoru. There was no fear, only hostility. "And what’s with that face, you freak!?"

Satoru winced, his expression involuntarily pulling into a comical mixture of reluctance, fear, and painful nostalgia. He’d tried so hard to maintain composure, but apparently, the kid saw right through him. Or maybe, the expression on his face was simply too much to hide.

"No-no... it’s nothing," Satoru stammered, trying to regain his footing. But the memories, vivid and unwelcome, had a firm grip on him. He swallowed hard, trying to push them back into the recesses of his mind. "You just… you’re remarkably similar to someone I had the horrible displeasure of meeting."

Megumi’s frown deepened, his confusion apparent now as he continued to glare, clearly not appreciating the cryptic remark. His tiny fists clenched around his backpack handles, ready for whatever bizarre nonsense this stranger was about to spout.

Satoru shook his head, forcing himself to clear the vivid memories of a certain monstrous assassin from his mind. “It’s nothing,” he said, more clearly this time, his voice smoothing out as he regained his usual confident tone. “Just my own personal issue, is all” He offered a lopsided grin, the trademark carefree Gojo smirk sliding back into place.

“So, anyways” he began, casually shifting gears, “about your dad—”

Before he could continue, a sudden cry rang out, interrupting the moment. "Megumi!"

A girl with long brown hair pulled into a ponytail came rushing out of a nearby apartment, her steps hurried and purposeful. Her wide eyes narrowed as soon as they landed on Satoru, instantly filled with harsh suspicion, before she turned her attention to Megumi.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to talk to strangers?!” she scolded sharply, her voice ringing with a sternness that Megumi wasn’t used to hearing. Her hand shot out, beckoning him to come closer. “Come here now!”

Megumi blinked, clearly taken aback. His sister had always been so soft-spoken, so gentle in her approach, that hearing her voice this sharp, this… angry? No, it wasn’t anger—it was something else. Worry? Fear?

Her tone sent an unfamiliar jolt through him, and for a brief moment, he stood frozen, bewildered. Without thinking, he felt himself start to comply, his body instinctively moving toward the older sibling who had cared for him for as long as he could remember.

“Oh!” Satoru’s voice cut through the moment, breaking the spell as Megumi paused mid-step. Right… He’d almost forgotten about this guy.

The young boy shot Satoru an irritated glance, but Gojo wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, his piercing blue eyes were fixed on the approaching girl, his grin widening in curiosity. “And who might that be?” he asked, tilting his head, his tone full of intrigue.

The girl didn't resemble Megumi at all, nor did she share any obvious traits with the Fushiguro family, at least not from what Satoru knew. And while he was well aware of Megumi’s father, Toji Zenin, the infamous assassin, he had never heard of the man having any other children. Megumi was supposed to be his first and only child, right?

His thoughts were cut short as the young girl, who looked to be about six or seven, marched up to them with a determined stride. Her ponytail bounced behind her, and her fierce little face was scrunched up in a glare that might have been comical if it weren’t so full of fiery determination. She wasted no time, immediately grabbing hold of Megumi’s hand, her grip firm.

“Hey! Let go!” Megumi cried out, startled by her sudden boldness, but she wasn’t having any of it.

“Mister!” she addressed Satoru with a voice far too sharp and serious for her age, her eyes narrowing into an adorably stern expression. “Please don’t casually approach children with such a creepy expression on your face.”

Satoru blinked, taken aback. His mouth opened slightly in surprise as the girl's words hit him square in the chest. For a moment, he was utterly flabbergasted.

Her next words only made it worse. “It makes it too obvious that you have bad intentions,” she continued, her tone decisive as she emphasized the last words with a seriousness that seemed far too advanced for someone her age.

Satoru’s eyes widened, his expression morphing into one of horror. “HA!” he cried out, waving his arms frantically in defense of his reputation. “THERE’S NO FREAKIN’ WAY!! AND—WAIT! HOW DO—DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!? HOW OLD ARE YOU?!”

The girl didn’t flinch at his outburst. She held her ground, her tiny face full of determination. “I’m very well aware of what it means,” she stated firmly, her voice never wavering.

Satoru blinked again, utterly flabbergasted.

“I’m six years old,” she added, as if that made her authority undeniable. Her grip tightened slightly on Megumi’s hand as she declared with absolute certainty, “and I’m Megumi’s big sister. Tsumiki Fushiguro!”

The proclamation hung in the air as Satoru, dumbstruck, tried to process the unexpected and surprisingly fierce figure before him. This girl, who had seemingly come out of nowhere, had no trouble standing her ground—even against him. And the look on her face made it clear she wasn’t backing down anytime soon.

Megumi, meanwhile, sighed in exasperation, clearly accustomed to his sister’s overprotective nature.

I have no idea how it happened.

One minute, I was at home, deep in study prep for my upcoming exam, completely absorbed in the mess of textbooks and notes scattered around my desk. I remember the late hour, the quiet hum of the lamp overhead, and the faint breeze from the open window. Then, in what felt like the blink of an eye, it all disappeared. The light, the familiar comfort of my room, the lingering scent of coffee. Gone. And the next thing I knew… I was lying on my back, staring up at a peeling, unfamiliar ceiling covered with patches of black mold and long, hanging cobwebs that seemed to sway as if alive.

I’m still grappling with the reality of it, wondering if it’s real or just a strange, elaborate dream. But I can’t afford to sit idle, not in a place like this. There’s too much at stake, and I’m not the type to do nothing. Especially not when I've somehow found myself reborn as Tsumiki Fushiguro of all people.

Tsumiki Fushiguro. The older stepsister of Megumi Fushiguro—one of the main protagonists in Jujutsu Kaisen. Megumi Fushiguro was phenomenal. Strong. Gifted with a remarkable technique that made him a powerful sorcerer in the brutal, unforgiving world of Jujutsu, where survival often comes only to the strongest. But his sister… well, Tsumiki was the opposite. She was ordinary. No powers, no remarkable strength. She didn’t even have much time in the manga itself; her role was limited to being a tragic pawn in the hands of Kenjaku, one of the series’ most sinister antagonists. In the end, she was just another victim, cursed and used as a vessel by an obsessive sorcerer who was disturbingly infatuated with Sukuna of all people.

And that was her fate. Her tragic death left Megumi shattered, killing his fighting spirit and driving a painful wedge into his heart.

I still remember the day Toji Fushiguro came into my life bringing alongside him a tiny, three-year-old Megumi. Toji himself was far from an ideal father—negligent and often selfish—but at least he wasn’t as damaging as my own. Unfortunately, when he met my mother, an alcoholic with her own issues, they seemed to magnify each other's flaws rather than correct them, creating a dynamic that was far from what anyone could call a good match. They left me, a four-year-old at the time, to essentially raise a baby on my own.

But now, having lived through twenty-four years in my previous life, I’m grateful that my adult mind carried over into this one. I shudder to think how things might have turned out if I hadn’t been able to fend for myself, and for Megumi.

At first, I’ll admit, Megumi was a chore. Another task on a long list of daily responsibilities forced on me by two adults who should have known better. But gradually, he became more than that. I never had anyone close to me in my past life, and in this one, well… I have Megumi. He's my reason to keep going, my anchor. And I know one thing for sure: I’ll do anything to protect him.

I did not survive negligent parents just to watch my only younger brother get manipulated by a reckless teenager with a god complex. Satoru Gojo might be the strongest sorcerer alive, but that didn’t mean I’d let him turn Megumi into his soldier to fight against the rotting hierarchy of jujutsu sorcerers.

I glared up at Satoru, who looked stunned, his mouth slightly open in shock. His eyes, usually bright and sharp, were comically wide as he stared down at me.

“If you have nothing more to add,” I said firmly, the disdain in my tone crystal clear, “then I suggest you be on your way. Thank you very much!” With that, I turned on my heel, gripping Megumi’s wrist in my hand as I dragged him away, feeling his slight weight lagging behind.

“Nee-chan?” Megumi muttered, his voice uncertain, his face wearing a mix of confusion and surprise.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I shut the door firmly, turning to face him with a stern look, arms crossed over my chest. “Gumi!” I began, doing my best impression of an authoritative older sister. “I don’t care how mature you think you are. You don’t just casually talk to strangers, even if you have Kuroi and Shiroi with you!”

Megumi frowned, a little pout forming on his lips as he stared up at me, his brows knitting in defiance. “I can handle myself!” he insisted, his voice carrying an unmistakable edge of stubbornness.

I sighed, shaking my head. For a kid this young, he was already so unbelievably headstrong.

It seems things were going according to cannon so far, but there was something different now—something that made me more than just a stand-in for the original Tsumiki Fushiguro. Unlike her, I could see curses. I could see their grotesque forms lurking in the shadows, feel the malice that radiated from their twisted bodies. And, perhaps most surprising of all, I had a technique of my own… or at least, something close to it.

And it wasn’t just any technique. I had frickin’ Orihime’s power from Bleach. I had the Sōten Kisshun—the power to reject phenomena, to heal injuries almost instantaneously.

With Orihime’s powers—with my powers—I had the chance to keep Megumi safe, to protect him and others in ways I’d never dreamed I could in either life. I may not have a limitless technique or the ten shadows, but I had something just as powerful—a way to rewrite reality itself!

I could feel it within me, like a dormant energy waiting to be unleashed. A warmth that pulsed from deep within, almost like a living thing. And in this life, where curses and danger lurked around every corner, that power might just be the key to keeping Megumi safe.

I remember the first time I used my technique.

“Megumi!” I called out, my voice rising with worry as he trudged through the door, noticeably later than he should’ve been.

He paused briefly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face before he clicked his tongue and continued walking, shoving his hands into his pockets with a huff. “Will you stop making a big deal about this again?” he muttered, clearly irritated.

I folded my arms, exasperated. “It is a big deal, Megumi!” I retorted, my voice full of concern and frustration. “You’re only five years old! You shouldn’t be hanging around outside this late; anything could happen!”

He rolled his eyes, letting out a sigh. “Whatever… it’s not like Mom or Dad even care,” he muttered under his breath, his small voice tinged with a bitterness that hurt to hear. The pain deepened as he continued, his eyes downcast, “Not that they’d care even if they were here.”

My chest tightened as his words sank in. He was right, of course—our mother and Toji had once again disappeared to who-knew-where, leaving me, a mere six-year-old, to be the responsible one. To be the one who made sure he had food, who calmed him after nightmares, who worried when he stayed out too late. It was just the two of us against the world, and sometimes… it was exhausting.

But I wouldn’t let him see that. I refused to. “Even if they don’t care,” I whispered, my voice softening as he stomped off toward his room, “I still do.”

It was happening again.

“AGAIN!” I shouted in frustration, my voice echoing through the empty street as I glanced around, my fists clenched. It was well past six, and once more, Megumi was nowhere to be found. The original Tsumiki might have waited patiently, might have approached him with the soft concern of a gentle older sister. But I wasn’t her. I was this Tsumiki, and if I had to turn into a devil to keep him safe, then so be it.

With an unwavering determination, I started marching down the dimly lit street, searching for my reckless, idiotic little brother. Street after street, yard after yard, I searched, my legs growing tired as the minutes dragged on. Finally, after over an hour of wandering, my feet seemed to lead me on their own, taking me down a winding path to the edge of the neighborhood—straight to the cemetery.

In the world of Jujutsu Kaisen, cemeteries are a place you avoid at all costs. The last place anyone in their right mind would go willingly. They practically thrummed with negative energy, a prime spot for the high-grade curses that lurked in the shadows, waiting for unsuspecting prey. And yet, there he was—my stupid, stubborn little brother—standing still and silent in front of a grave, his face unreadable.

“Megumi?” I called out softly, my voice filled with worry as I approached.

He turned slightly, glancing at me with a cold indifference that felt so foreign on his young face. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice sharp, like I was the intruder.

I bit back a sigh, keeping my tone calm and gentle. “That’s my line, you know,” I replied softly, taking a step closer. “I was worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” he shot back, turning his gaze back to the gravestone. “I can take care of myself.”

My heart sank. He was so young, and yet he carried himself with this hardened, adult-like resolve, a defensive wall he’d built up to protect himself from pain. “…Megumi,” I began carefully, “is this… someone you know?” I already had a feeling.

“What does it matter?” he snapped, his sharp gaze meeting mine, brimming with defiance. “Why do you keep trying to get in my business? It’s annoying!”

His words hit me like a slap to the face, but I didn’t flinch. I knew he was hurting. Still, it hurt to see the resentment in his eyes.

I managed to keep my voice steady, even as his words stung. “I’m just looking out for you,” I said gently. “We’re siblings, it’s normal for me to care—”

“We’re not siblings!” he cut me off, his tone laced with frustration and something deeper, something raw. “You’re not my real sister, and I’m not your real brother,” he continued, his voice growing louder, “The only thing we have in common are our crap parents! The only reason my dad married your mom was so he could dump me on her! But even she didn’t want me! She didn’t even want you, and you’re her real daughter!”

By the time Megumi finished his outburst, his chest was heaving, and his small shoulders rose and fell with each ragged breath, as though the weight of his own words had taken all the strength he had. I stood there, frozen, the sting of his words reverberating in my heart. He was only a child, too young to be carrying this much pain. I knew I shouldn’t take his words personally, but it hurt all the same.

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to snap back or tell him he was wrong. Instead, I softened my expression, and maybe he saw it—maybe he saw the sadness, the hurt I couldn’t mask. Our eyes met, and he flinched, a flicker of guilt passing over his face before he glanced away, jaw clenched.

“…Megumi,” I murmured gently, taking a cautious step closer, reaching out a hand to bridge the chasm between us.

Suddenly, a chilling voice creaked from the darkness, sending shivers down my spine.

“IT’S NOT FAIR!” it whispered, hoarse and twisted, echoing through the stillness like an unwelcome whisper from a nightmare.

I froze. Beside me, Megumi’s face drained of all color, his eyes widening in terror as the weight of a malicious presence filled the air. My skin prickled, and the air grew dense and icy, like a shadow had cloaked the world around us.

Barely daring to breathe, I shifted my gaze to the corner of my vision, and Megumi followed suit. There, hovering just above the gravestone Megumi had been staring at moments before, was a curse—monstrous and vile. Purple ooze leaked from its form, dripping to the ground in sickening puddles. Its eyes, hideously green and yellow, glowed from the sunken, animalistic face that was a grotesque blend of snake and goat, with gnarled, curling horns and a wide mouth brimming with sharp, jagged teeth.

“Why?” it hissed, its voice like the scrape of nails on glass, “It’s not fair! Why did I have to DIE!?”

Before I could react, an unseen force slammed into us, knocking both Megumi and me back across the cold, hard ground. The impact stung, and a gasp escaped my lips as I landed, skidding to a halt near the base of a headstone. I looked over to see Megumi struggling to his feet, his expression twisted with fear.

The curse’s putrid gaze swung toward me, its body rippling as it grew, towering above us with a twisted, hate-filled expression that seemed all too alive. It hissed again, the guttural rage in its voice tearing through the silence as it slithered closer, its elongated form expanding and coiling like a predator. “Why did I die? When you’re still alive!?”

Its monstrous form surged forward, charging at me with murderous intent. I tried to push myself up, but my body was heavy, my limbs trembling as if weighed down by the thick miasma of the curse’s energy.

“DEMON DOGS!!”

Megumi’s voice cut through the haze of fear, clear and desperate as he summoned his demon dog shikigami, and in an instant, the twin spectral wolves appeared, snarling and growling as they launched themselves at the curse. Their white fur bristled with energy as they darted around it, jaws snapping and teeth tearing, forcing the curse to reel back momentarily, its attention shifting from me to the spectral wolves.

He wasn’t thinking when he summoned them, the only thought that went through his mind was Tsumiki, and how helpless she was in a situation like this compared to himself. HE HAD TO PROTECT HER!

But the curse was stronger than I’d realized. With a sudden, violent twist, it flung one of the white wolves across the graveyard, and with a savage swipe, sent the other sprawling, leaving Megumi exposed. Its twisted eyes gleamed as it locked onto him, seeing him as the easier target.

At that moment I watched in fear as Megumi’s small frame trembled, frozen in terror. His shikigami had never faced a curse this powerful, and he wasn’t ready. He was too young, too inexperienced. And yet here he was, confronted with a monstrous spirit that meant to take his life.

His hands shook, his eyes filled with tears he tried to blink away as he looked at the looming creature, helplessly remembering the cruel words he’d flung at his only sister just moments earlier. Regret clouded his gaze as he took a shaky step back.

In that split second, I saw the weight of his guilt.

He didn’t mean what he’d said.

My heart twisted at the sight of him, so small, so brave in his own way, and yet so scared. He was my little brother, the one I had sworn to protect. Summoning every ounce of strength, I forced myself to stand, a strange warmth unfurling in my chest, a light growing from the depths of my being as the curse coiled, jaw unhinging with anticipation as it prepared to devour him.

“No!” I cried, my voice breaking with raw desperation, my hand outstretched toward Megumi as if sheer will alone could pull him back to safety.

In that instant, time seemed to slow, every second stretching out as I watched the curse’s grotesque form hurtling toward my brother. My heart pounded as a glimmer of light flickered to life in front of me. It felt like something deep within me had awoken, and before I knew it, I shouted, in English, “Shield!”

A radiant, golden dome burst into existence around Megumi, glowing with an ethereal light that shimmered and pulsed. Just as the curse lunged forward, its teeth snapping, it collided with the shield, and a powerful ripple of energy exploded outward, forcing the curse back with an agonized hiss.

I stood there, stunned. The shield had appeared as though by instinct, as if it had always been a part of me, lying dormant until now. My hands trembled, the glow fading slightly as I tried to understand what had just happened. Yet, there was no time for questions; my gaze darted back to Megumi, who had fallen to the ground behind the shield, his face a mix of shock and terror. Tears pooled in his wide eyes, making him look so small, so vulnerable—a child who had been forced to grow up too soon.

And then something snapped inside me. This creature had hurt him. It had dared to make my brother, usually so composed and mature, cry. The sight ignited a fierce, protective rage in my chest that I’d never felt before.

Instinct took over again, but this time, the clarity was almost overwhelming. I knew exactly what to do.

Lifting both hands, I faced the creature with a calm intensity that surprised even me. I felt something burning deep within, a powerful force gathering from the depths of my very soul, as though my own essence was reaching out in defiance. My voice was steady and unyielding, echoing with a weight I had never known. And from the core of my being, in a language that felt foreign and yet intrinsically mine, I spoke three words:

“I reject you.”

The air around me crackled as a brilliant, golden light erupted from my hands, radiating out like a tidal wave of raw energy. It enveloped the curse, wrapping it in a blinding aura. The creature shrieked, writhing and twisting as the light burned through its twisted form. Its voice cracked and splintered, but it was already too late—my words held a strange, absolute power, a force that denied the curse’s very existence. The golden light pulsed, growing brighter until the graveyard itself seemed to glow, and with a final, desperate scream, the creature simply… vanished, as if it had been erased from reality. Rejected, wholly and completely.

The silence that followed was profound, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the soft, dying echoes of the curse’s wail. I lowered my hands slowly, my heart pounding as the light faded. Everything was still, as though the world itself held its breath.

Behind me, I heard a soft gasp. Turning, I saw Megumi staring at me, wide-eyed and speechless. He hadn’t moved, his small body hunched as he clutched his knees, his face painted with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

“Nee-chan…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He stared up at me, his expression unreadable, but I saw the trust there, the fragile relief, the gratitude. My heart clenched, feeling an overwhelming sense of purpose. I’d saved him—I’d truly saved him.

I knelt beside him, reaching out to gently brush a stray tear from his cheek. His gaze softened, and for the first time, he allowed himself to lean into my touch, resting his head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close, whispering softly, “You’re safe, Gumi. I’m here. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

It was the first time I’d used that power, and from that day on, I’d become relentless in trying to understand it, honing it bit by bit. Every day, I explored its edges, testing its limits and feeling out the depths of this strange energy within me. It was like learning to hold a live wire—a force that pulsed and glowed, unpredictable and powerful.

Megumi had been cautious at first, watching with a wary eye every time I practiced, more concerned for my safety than anything else. He was hesitant to support my training, his young eyes filled with worry, but after I explained it was no different than him using his Ten Shadows Technique, he eventually relented. From that moment on, it was like we had forged a quiet pact, a shared determination that drove us both forward. Together, we trained—his shadows flickering in and out of existence, while my energy shield sparked and pulsed. We were each other’s support, our strengths intertwined in a way that felt solid and reassuring.

And then, Satoru Gojo showed up, throwing everything off balance. His appearance in our lives complicated things more than I had expected, making the precarious situation with the Zen’in clan feel like an inevitable storm on the horizon.

Stupid Toji. Stupid, selfish Toji, who’d sold his own son to that family of heartless, power-hungry monsters, sealing Megumi’s fate like a pawn on a chessboard. I rubbed my forehead, frustration building as my mind spiraled. The Zen’ins were ruthless, a clan filled with corrupted sorcerers whose tradition of cruelty and prejudice held Megumi’s future in its grip. They didn’t care about him as a person—only as a tool, a potential powerhouse to strengthen their pathetic bloodline.

But I couldn’t change the past. My focus had to be on what lay ahead. In the original story, Gojo had stepped in, thwarting the Zen’in clan by claiming guardianship over Megumi and using his influence to arrange for Jujutsu Tech to fund Megumi’s life, on the condition that Megumi would one day become a sorcerer. It had been an arrangement of convenience for Gojo, securing the boy’s loyalty and honing him as an asset for the Jujutsu world.

The idea of Megumi becoming a sorcerer, of following the brutal path the original story had laid out, twisted something deep inside me. I didn’t want to see him thrust into the blood-soaked world of curses and death. I’d wanted a different future for him, a chance at a normal life, free from the dangers and shadows that plagued Jujutsu society. But I knew that keeping him safe from the Zen’ins would be impossible without power and protection of our own.

Gojo would be a part of this; there was no avoiding it. If his guardianship could keep the Zen’ins away, then so be it. As much as I hated the idea of Megumi following in the steps of the original story, Satoru’s plan might be the only path to keeping him safe from the Zen’ins greedy clutches. At least as a sorcerer under Gojo’s watch, he’d be surrounded by those who truly cared for him.

And this time, things would be different. This time, I wouldn’t be a passive witness to Megumi’s fate. I’d walk alongside him, taking every risk, facing every danger with him, shoulder to shoulder. If Megumi had to be a sorcerer, then so would I.

I made a decision, then and there, the weight of it settling over me with a fierce clarity. I was going to enroll at Jujutsu Tech. I was going to stand alongside Gojo and Megumi, fight with them, learn from them, and protect him with every ounce of power and will I possessed. I didn’t know exactly how my ability worked, but I would master it. I would wield it with unshakable determination, with purpose and precision, because Megumi was worth it.

A surge of resolve welled up in my chest, hard and unyielding. I was going to enroll in Jujutsu High myself, becoming a sorcerer, not only to master this strange power within me but to stand beside Megumi. To protect him in a world where innocence was stripped away far too soon. The weight of my decision settled heavily on my shoulders, yet it felt right, like a piece falling into place.

“You’re not going through this alone, Megumi,” I whispered to myself, my heart steady. I wouldn’t let the Zen’ins take him, nor would I let the curse-ridden world wear him down without a fight. I was Tsumiki Fushiguro, and from now on, I would forge my own path, standing as a guardian, a sister, and a sorcerer.

“I promise!”

Satoru Gojo was a prodigy, gifted in ways that defied convention. From the moment of his birth, the balance of power in the world had shifted; whispers of his arrival rippled through the jujutsu society, instilling both reverence and resentment. And Satoru knew it. He felt it every time he walked into a room, the way people’s gazes would flicker with awe or envy. It fed something in him, a spark that became a blaze over the years. He was used to winning, to surpassing anyone who dared to stand against him.

There was only one exception, a figure standing stubbornly in his mind, casting a rare shadow over the brightness of his memories. Suguru Geto, his first and only true friend, the one he’d thought would be with him through it all. They were supposed to change the world together, fix it, rule it, protect it. But a wedge had split them apart, and that wedge had a name: Toji Fushiguro.

And now, ironically, he found himself standing outside Toji Fushiguro’s dilapidated old house, staring down a narrow-eyed, belligerent girl who refused to let him so much as talk to her younger brother. She was fierce, protective, and stubborn as all hell, but there was something more. Something almost amusing, he thought with a hint of a smirk.

Her name was Tsumiki, Toji’s stepdaughter—and his initial target’s fiercely loyal sister. Gojo’s mission had been clear enough: assess and potentially take in Toji’s son, Megumi, the boy who bore the Ten Shadows Technique, a technique powerful enough to turn heads even within the ancient clans. But nothing had prepared him for Tsumiki, who had dismissed him so thoroughly, dragging Megumi away with a glare as if he were just some annoying sales clerk.

Hours later, he sat in his office, head thunked against the table as he processed the surreal encounter. “What a stubborn, obstinate little thing,” he muttered, half-impressed. But what intrigued him even more was the brief surge of energy he’d sensed within her, a wave of something that defied easy explanation. It was subtle, yet potent—a current that felt almost like reversed cursed energy. But it wasn’t cursed energy at all. It wasn’t like anything he’d sensed before, even with his Six Eyes.

He raised his head, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He’d tasked Ijichi to dig up everything he could on Tsumiki Fushiguro, yet the report on her was disappointingly ordinary. No hint of a jujutsu background, no lineage connected to sorcery whatsoever. Just an ordinary civilian girl, if one chose to believe the paperwork. But Gojo knew better. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something unusual about her, some hidden potential.

An involuntary smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It had been so long since he’d felt genuinely curious about anything. When was the last time something in this world had intrigued him like this? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he couldn’t ignore it.

Earlier that day, he’d spoken to Yaga about taking on a teaching position at Jujutsu High. Yaga’s reaction was priceless—a mix of astonishment and trepidation. “Satoru, have some pity for the next generation! Haven’t your juniors and seniors been enough to traumatize!” he’d groaned, but Satoru had flashed his trademark grin, throwing Yaga off-balance just enough to convince him. The truth was, Satoru didn’t particularly care about teaching, but the future of Jujutsu society needed to be changed… so that no more sorcerers would end up lost or alone, like Geto, like Haibara… and him.

Now, he stared out the window, the light of dusk casting warm, nostalgic hues over the cityscape as he lost himself in thought. Tomorrow, he’d pay the Fushiguro residence another visit, and he had no doubt it would be entertaining.

Tsumiki’s brow twitched, her small face scrunched into a glare as she stood her ground, arms crossed firmly over her chest. Her gaze didn’t waver as she stared up at the tall, white-haired man blocking their path. Every ounce of her expression said she wasn’t impressed.

“Well, well, aren’t you a little young to be looking so serious?” Satoru Gojo said, his voice playful, almost taunting. His grin stretched wider as he leaned down to her level, eyes glinting with amusement behind his dark sunglasses. “Relax, short stuff, or that serious little face might get stuck that way.”

Tsumiki’s frown only deepened, her brow knitting tighter as if sheer concentration alone could make him vanish. Megumi stood just behind her, his young face twisted in suspicion, ready to summon his shikigami if this stranger made one wrong move. His fingers flexed, itching to summon his demon dogs.

Gojo glanced at Megumi, the wariness in his eyes and his defensive stance—ready to fight, even at his age—making the sorcerer chuckle. “Oh, look at you,” he said with a mockingly impressed tone, “already protecting Nee-chan? How cute!”

Tsumiki’s eyes narrowed further, and Megumi’s expression didn’t budge, their shared defiance only fueling Satoru’s amusement. He grinned, thoroughly entertained. There was a spark to these kids, he thought, something rare and feisty, something he was more than happy to coax out.

“What do you want now, pervert?”

“I’M NOT A PERVERT!!”

Chapter Text

I knew I’d have to meet him again; Megumi’s future was at stake, and unfortunately, that meant having to deal with him. But, for the love of all that’s holy, did Satoru Gojo have to be so annoyingly persistent?

Satoru sat across from us, grinning like he owned the place, as he eyed the tea set I’d begrudgingly put out for him. Normally, I’d treat guests well, but this guest was someone I would happily slam the door on. Still, he’d somehow charmed his way into our house with a promise of “important talks,” and despite my suspicions, I knew we needed to have this conversation.

Megumi glared at Gojo, his expression dark and distrustful, while his demon dogs, Kuroi and Shiroi, sat alertly between us and our unwelcome guest, ready to jump in if needed.

“Alright, Mr. Pervert,” I said, leaning forward with my best no-nonsense look. “What do you want?”

Gojo nearly spit out his tea, his face comically aghast. “I am NOT a pervert!” he protested, wide-eyed. I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, while Megumi snorted beside me. Gojo cleared his throat, pretending he hadn’t just been thoroughly insulted. “Right. Anyway, listen up, kiddos,” he said, pointing two finger guns at us, looking as serious as he could muster. “Believe it or not, I’m not your enemy, I’m actually here with a pretty sweet deal. Megumi here,” he gestured at my brother and the dogs, “has a pretty special power, or technique as those in the Jujutsu community call it, called the Ten Shadows Technique. It's rare and exclusive to the Zen’in family—one of the Big Three in the sorcerer world. And wouldn’t you know it, his dear old dad came from that family.”

Gojo paused for effect, and I could practically see the smug glint behind his sunglasses. Megumi’s scowl deepened, and a twitch appeared at the corner of my eye. “Bet he didn’t mention any of that, huh?” Gojo added with a smirk.

“No,” Megumi replied, his tone hard and barely hiding the frustration. That tugged at my heart a little. I knew most of this, but I let Gojo keep talking.

“did he mention selling you off to em?” Gojo raised an eyebrow, smirk intact. “No” he answered in a hard voice, Megumi’s fists clenched, though he didn’t look particularly shocked, which broke my heart just a bit more.

“Oi,” I cut in, my voice a low warning, “ever heard of discretion? You could do with a bit of it.”

Gojo raised a hand to his chin as if considering the suggestion, his grin widening. “I could,” he replied, looking genuinely amused. “But where’s the fun in that?”

A vein throbbed in my forehead as I gritted my teeth. I’d had enough. “You still haven’t answered my question,” I growled, leaning forward. “What the hell do you want?”

His grin turned almost devilish, his eyes glinting. “I want you both—”

“Megumi! Call the cops! NOW!” I yelled, pointing at him with exaggerated urgency.

“LET ME FINISH, DAMN IT!” Gojo yelped, practically jumping out of his seat. Megumi was already reaching for the house phone, a deadpan expression plastered on his face as he watched Gojo with suspicion.

“Don’t worry, Nee-chan,” Megumi deadpanned, “the cops are on speed dial.”

Gojo facepalmed, muttering something about “brat siblings,” while I allowed myself a small smirk of satisfaction.

Gojo coughed into his hand, feigning annoyance but clearly reveling in the chaos he was causing. “What I’m trying to say is I have the power to put a stop to your sale to the Zen’ins,” he said, turning to Megumi. “Under one condition: that you agree to enroll at Jujutsu Tech High, a school for young sorcerers, and become one yourself. You’ll get the chance to grow strong enough to deny the Zen’ins yourself—if you can get powerful enough.”

I crossed my arms, studying his expression as he explained. “So, you’re saying the Zen’ins will only leave us alone if Megumi’s stronger than they are?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” he replied with a grin.

“The Zen’ins are a family that values power and technique above all else. And in the Jujutsu world,” he added, voice darkening with a tone that hinted at experience, “power only has one language: force and violence.”

Gojo lowered his shades just enough for us to see a glimmer of seriousness in his gaze, a rare flash of something almost…real. “But don’t think the path to getting stronger for a sorcerer is all rainbows and sunshine,” he warned, his voice tinged with a nostalgia that made him seem older than his years.

I kept my gaze steady, arms still crossed as I listened. Then, after a beat, he broke the moment with a wide grin and finger guns pointed right at Megumi. “So, what do ya say, kid?”

Megumi glanced at Kuroi and Shiroi by his feet before lifting his eyes to Gojo, the light in them determined and wary. “My answer depends on yours,” he said, his voice clear. “Will my sister be happy with the Zen’ins?”

The warmth in my chest at Megumi’s words was instant. I could see how much he was considering me, even in the midst of his own fate.

Gojo’s face softened, but his answer came swift and blunt. “Definitely not. The Zen’ins value strength and technique, but that doesn’t mean they treat those with power all that well—especially if it’s a woman.” His gaze flicked to me, deadly serious. “And since you’ve got a rare technique, you’d be a target. And they wouldn’t play nice.”

Megumi’s glare turned sharper as he looked at Gojo as if he were dirt beneath his shoes. I didn’t respond outwardly, though inside, my thoughts whirled.

Satoru grinned, flashing that signature, annoyingly upbeat smile. “So! I take it that’s a no to the Zen’ins?” His smirk turned nostalgic. “Alright, then. What about you, Onee-san?” He cast a knowing look at me. “What’s your plan while your precious little brother learns to swim with the sharks?”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes before locking my gaze with his. “What do you think, pedo?”

“Oi!”

Ignoring him, I leaned forward with a glint of determination. “Obviously, I’ll be right here, tearing apart any ‘shark’ that dares come near my Megumi.”

Gojo’s grin widened with a spark of something more. “Got it,” he said, standing up and, before I could react, reaching out to mess up my hair in a ruffle that had me startled. Megumi growled lowly.

“Hey—!”

He ignored me, still smiling as he spoke. “Then I guess I’ll just have to clear the way a bit for you two.” He glanced back as he reached the door, his expression softer, almost solemn. “Get stronger,” he said, voice low. “Strong enough to catch up to me one day.”

The surprise in my eyes softened as he walked away. Despite everything, he was helping us. As much as he annoyed me, I couldn’t ignore how serious he’d been about making sure we’d be safe.

I felt a twinge of something that almost made me feel sorry for him. “Hey!” I called, stopping him just as he stepped outside. “You know, if you learned to be a bit discreet, you might actually make decent company.”

He paused, blinking before tilting his head comically to the side. “Eh? I was being discreet! I didn’t even mention anything about me killing his dad!” he chirped, as if he were talking about the weather.

“…”

“…”

“…”

“YOU BASTARD!” I screeched, lunging for him as he cackled and darted out the door like a mischievous kid.

Megumi watched the entire scene unfold with an expression as flat as a pancake, totally unfazed by Gojo’s cackling escape and his sister’s theatrics. He blinked slowly, processing the chaos around him.

With a sigh, he muttered, “Great. Now she’s gonna be hovering over me like some deranged guard dog for the next month.” He glanced at Kuroi and Shiroi, who looked up at him with their own little judgmental eyes. “Guess I should get used to round-the-clock ‘Are you okay?’ checks.”

He glanced to where Gojo had vanished, rolling his eyes as he muttered under his breath “What’s worse—she’ll probably start quoting that weirdo’s advice about ‘staying strong’ just what I need.”

I muttered under my breath, yanking my brush a bit too hard through my hair as I thought about Gojo’s relentless teasing. That damn bastard, I thought darkly. If he’d just show Megumi a hint of sensitivity instead of all those smug smirks and pointless taunts, I’d have no reason to be so riled up. But… I sighed. The reality was that, like it or not, Gojo was going to be in our lives, especially while Megumi and I learned the ropes of this dangerous world. We'd be relying on him, even if I’d rather gnaw my own arm off than admit it.

I hate feeling powerless or indebted to anyone.

Placing my brush down, I glanced at my hands, their familiar lines catching the light, reflecting a faint golden glimmer when I focused on my power. I’d spent weeks testing every aspect of this ability, trying to pin down exactly what it was and how to control it. At first, I’d thought my power was just like Orihime’s from Bleach—a healing, shielding, and destructive force all rolled into one. But I’d realized my power was different from Orihime.

Unlike Orihime, I didn’t call upon spirits while incantations aren’t exactly necessary, they do help me focus also the incantations have to be spoken in English; my shields materialized at my will, in any form or size I chose, enveloping my target in a glowing, transparent dome or barrier. When I healed, it was similar: for minor cuts, a soft golden glow radiated from my palms, and for more severe wounds—a broken bone or worse—a full dome would surround my target as they mended. My protective barriers were, however, on another level entirely; the stronger my resolve, the stronger they became, shifting in density and strength based on my intent.

The offensive side of my powers, though… that was something else. If I aimed at an enemy with the clear intent to erase them, my attack would work almost flawlessly, reducing them to nothing as though they had never existed. But if my opponent’s will surpassed my own, an invisible dome appeared around both of us. It was similar to a domain expansion but different too; where others’ domains were dark and foreboding, my dome glowed with a transparent, golden light, more a force of pure energy than mere cursed technique.

And the truly unsettling part was that my powers didn’t just respond to me physically; they were bound tightly to my emotions. The will to heal, protect, or destroy amplified my powers. When I truly wanted to heal someone, my powers acted almost instantaneously, mending even severe wounds with a speed and accuracy that defied belief. But if my intentions wavered—say, if I tried to heal someone I despised—the process slowed as though my powers resisted my command. My shields, too, were stronger when I genuinely wanted to protect someone and weaker if I didn’t care for them. And if I didn’t genuinely wish for a person’s death, my attacks lacked their full force, allowing my target the chance to survive.

My powers were extensions of my soul, tools of intent and will rather than mere weapons. I flexed my hands, feeling a surge of energy as I envisioned all the challenges that lay ahead. The path to Jujutsu High was the right one; it was my opportunity to push my powers to their limits, learn their quirks, and overcome every barrier they might impose. I needed to become the strongest—stronger than anyone in this world, or even in any universe.

For Megumi. And for myself.

"Good morning!!"

I jolted awake with a gasp, heart pounding as I scrambled out of bed, my hair an absolute disaster. The clock on my wall blinked 3:24 a.m. Three-twenty-four a.m.

I staggered into the hall, still in my pajamas, squinting in disbelief at the bright lights and wondering who on earth could possibly be yelling at this hour. Then, standing in the middle of our living room with a smug, haughty grin, was none other than that obnoxiously familiar white-haired menace, kaleidoscope-blue eyes hidden behind his ever-present, stylish sunglasses.

“HOW THE HELL ARE YOU EVEN HERE?!” I roared, a vein throbbing at my temple. Gojo Satoru’s smirk just widened.

"Rise and shine, kiddos!" he chirped, completely unfazed by my reaction, one hand on his hip and the other held up in a peace sign. He was dressed in what I could only describe as the most obnoxious tracksuit ever, like he’d been on his way to some all-night bootcamp and decided instead to drop by and torment us.

"It’s time for some personal training with your new tutor!” he declared grandly.

I gaped at him, mouth hanging open in shock. No way. Gojo wasn't supposed to become a teacher yet, and even if he was we weren't even officially enrolled in Jujutsu High! We were still freakin’ toddlers for crying out loud!

Sensing my inner turmoil, Gojo flashed me a grin that made me want to hurl a shoe at his smug face. “Time to take to the air, kids!” He clapped his hands, the sound somehow both cheerful and menacing.

Just as I was piecing together some semblance of a plan to throw him out, behind me, Megumi stepped out from his room, dark eyes still half-lidded with sleep. He stood in silence, the shadows casting his scruffy hair in a way that made him look like he was contemplating the darkest of curses. Slowly, with a look that was all menace, he locked eyes with Gojo.

A shadow fell over his face, and he clasped his hands together in that all-too-familiar sign.

In a low, growling voice, he muttered, "Demon Dogs.”

The next instant was pure chaos. Megumi’s summoned beasts bounded into the room with snarls, claws scraping against the floor and walls. I yelped and scrambled out of the way as one of them lunged right at Gojo, who, of course, laughed as though he were having the time of his life.

“Whoa! Feisty! Come on, kiddo, that all you got?” Gojo grinned, dodging Megumi’s dogs with exaggerated ease, spinning away from snapping jaws and occasionally reaching out to ruffle Megumi’s hair, which only made him madder.

“Don’t touch me!” Megumi growled while Gojo only laughed harder.

“Oh, someone's a little touchy this morning!” he jeered, dancing nimbly out of the way, “or are you just not a morning person?”.

Meanwhile, I had somehow gotten caught in the middle of it all, dodging a demonic dog on one side and ducking under Gojo's arm as he taunted Megumi. “Stop destroying the house!” I yelled, grabbing a cushion and launching it at Gojo’s head. He dodged it with an infuriating smirk, catching it mid-air and tossing it right back at me.

“Is that the best you’ve got, Onee-chan? We’ll have to work on your aim!” he chuckled, clearly enjoying every moment of our collective torment.

This ridiculous scuffle continued, filling the house with the sounds of Megumi’s angry growls, Gojo’s laughter, my frustrated yelps, and the chaos of furniture being knocked over and cushions strewn across the floor.

By the time the sun finally began to rise, I was sprawled on the floor with a groan, absolutely wiped out. The living room looked like a warzone—cushions shredded, furniture overturned, and a random assortment of my personal belongings scattered like confetti. And there, standing in the middle of the chaos, was Gojo, looking annoyingly pristine, with his usual smug, all-knowing grin plastered on his face.

“I think this is the start of a beautiful student-teacher relationship!” he beamed, hands on his hips, as though he hadn’t just single-handedly turned our home into an obstacle course. Not a single strand of his messy white hair had even moved out of place. It was infuriating.

I glared up at him, still panting from the chaos of dodging pillows, demon dogs, and Gojo's relentless enthusiasm. “I’LL KILL YOU!” I threatened, voice hoarse from shouting and the near-murderous rage boiling in my veins.

Megumi, seated on the couch with a pillow half-covering his face like some kind of tired, deadpan king, glanced at me briefly before muttering, “He’s an even bigger pain than I thought…”

I could practically hear the disdain dripping from his voice. And the worst part? He was absolutely right.

“How the hell’d you even get in here?!” I demanded, my frustration bubbling over.

Gojo just grinned wider. “Teleportation!” he chirped, completely unfazed by my utter exasperation. He casually waved his hand as if he’d just shared the secret to world peace instead of another reason why I wanted to strangle him.

I stared at him for a beat, feeling every muscle in my body tense in response to his smugness. Then, I just let out a long, defeated sigh and muttered a string of curses that would’ve made a sailor blush, all while mentally cursing every single person who’d ever enabled his ridiculous behavior.

Gojo chuckled at my reaction, clearly enjoying every moment of it. Of course, he did.

I shivered violently as yet another icy breeze tore through the training ground. My teeth chattered as I muttered under my breath about how this was borderline child cruelty, but Gojo didn’t seem to care. No, of course not—he was too busy grinning like an idiot, dressed in his absurdly stylish tracksuit that somehow screamed, “I’m here to ruin your morning and look good doing it.”

“Alright, you adorable little gremlins!” he chirped, throwing his arms out dramatically like we were the audience to his one-man comedy special. “Let’s see how much of your cursed technique you understand!”

I fought the urge to slap my hand against my face. Shouldn’t you start with, oh, I don’t know, CURSED SPIRITS? Maybe explain what they even are For all he knew, we were just random kids who stumbled into Toji’s complicated sorcerer-adjacent mess. But no. He was skipping all that because, clearly, this man’s priorities began and ended with, “Show me the cool stuff!”

“Now!” he clapped his hands like an overenthusiastic kindergarten teacher. “Tell me what you can do!”

I could feel my eyebrow twitching. Yep. He’s an absolute garbage teacher. He was clearly more hyped about seeing what we could do than actually teaching us anything useful. He’s literally the worst teacher ever. How does he even have a job?

Megumi fixed him with a dead-eyed stare for a moment, his expression oozing the kind of exhaustion only a twelve-year-old with adult-level stress could muster. However, he answered without missing a beat. He stared at Gojo with his usual deadpan look and said flatly, “I can summon dogs.”

Gojo blinked at him, his shoulders drooping. “That’s it?” he asked, voice flat and tinged with the kind of disappointment that made me want to punch him.

Megumi’s eye twitched, an angry vein popping up on his temple. “I make the dog hand sign,” he gritted out, demonstrating stiffly, “and they form from my shadows. I can also make them hide in shadows—including yours—without losing form.”

Megumi was growling under his breath, and I half-expected his dogs to pop out and maul Gojo on principle. Meanwhile, Gojo had already spun around to grin at me, his kaleidoscopic eyes hidden behind those ridiculous glasses but no less annoying. His expression was eager, like he was expecting me to pull a rabbit out of my hat.

With a long sigh, I relented. “I can… more or less reject phenomena,” I muttered, brushing my hair out of my face. “There are rules to it, but basically, I can attack, defend, and heal.”

“…”

“…”

“Eh?” Gojo’s entire face froze, his grin stuck halfway, like a computer blue-screening mid-task. His mouth hung open, and he just stared at me, unblinking, as if I’d told him I was actually God reincarnated.

Even Megumi was staring at me, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and confusion. I mean, sure, he’d seen me use my technique here and there, but I’d never explained it in detail before. Apparently, the truth hit harder than my actual technique.

“Nani?” Gojo stammered, his voice faint, like the wind had stolen half his words and probably a chunk of his sanity too. He swayed slightly, his expression stuck somewhere between awe and an existential crisis.

I glanced between them, suddenly feeling like I was the adult in the room. “You guys good? You need a minute?”

Gojo’s trademark smirk twisted into something sharper, a glint of raw excitement gleaming in his kaleidoscopic blue eyes. He stood there, arms casually crossed, but his mind was already racing at breakneck speed. ‘Holy shit. I just hit the jackpot.’ The thought repeated in his head like a mantra, and his grin only grew wider.

The young girl in front of him—seemingly harmless with her tousled hair and irritated expression—was anything but ordinary. Her cursed technique was potent, versatile, and, most importantly, untapped. It was like staring at a goldmine, one nobody else had noticed yet. Gojo’s fingers itched with the sheer anticipation of cultivating that raw power into something extraordinary.

This wasn’t just about her, though. His gaze flicked to Megumi, who stood silently beside her, arms crossed, eyes wary. Two children, both wielding techniques that had the potential to shake the foundations of the jujutsu world. A girl with a technique that defied logic and reality itself, and a boy carrying the Zen’in clans only potent legacy. Together, they were a duo with enough firepower to challenge tradition—and Gojo lived for that kind of disruption.

His grin turned sly, almost predatory, as he thought about the possibilities. ‘Two impressionable kids with two game-changing techniques, right in my lap. Oh yeah, this is gonna be fun~.’

While Gojo was busy mentally mapping out an entire era of chaos and reform, his outward appearance betrayed nothing but smugness. He adjusted his sunglasses with an exaggerated flourish, casually tilting his head as if he hadn’t just mentally declared himself their unofficial overlord.

Gojo's grin stretched so wide it was borderline sinister, his kaleidoscopic blue eyes sparkling behind his obnoxious sunglasses. I was one hundred percent certain that whatever he was thinking wasn’t anything good.

This man—this child in a grown-up's body—had the audacity to smirk even wider. His brain was no doubt cooking up some grand plan to shape the future of jujutsu society. “Two impressionable kids… oh yeah,” he muttered in a soft voice, “this is gonna be fun.”

My eye twitched as I watched his expression twist from smug to devious. If this idiot had a neon sign above his head, it would read DANGER: UNSUPERVISED CHAOS AHEAD. My survival instincts kicked in immediately.

“Megumi,” I said dryly, not breaking my stare at the walking headache in front of me. “Keep the police alarm ready.”

Without missing a beat, Megumi—bless his tiny soul—nodded solemnly and pulled out a bright blue whistle, his expression as flat as a pancake.

Gojo’s jaw dropped. “OI! WHAT’S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!” he squawked, flailing dramatically like some offended diva.

I said in a flat tone. “Just preparing for the inevitable restraining order.”

Megumi blew on the whistle once for good measure, the shrill sound echoing through the cold morning air. Gojo slapped his hands over his ears, groaning loudly. “You little gremlins have no appreciation for your incredibly handsome, totally qualified teacher!”

I folded my arms, unimpressed. “What part of qualified involves kidnapping us at three in goddamn morning and grinning like a maniac?”

“Yeah,” Megumi chimed in, deadpan as ever, “you look like a creep who lost a bet.”

Gojo reeled back like he’d been physically stabbed. “Y-You brats are lucky I’m a benevolent teacher who believes in fostering talent! I’m not a creep!” he cried, sulking dramatically. “I’m a visionary!”

“Uh-huh.” I rolled my eyes. “Visionary, creep, same difference. Now, visionary sensei, what’s your actual plan here, or are you just here to waste our time?”

Gojo recovered instantly, his grin snapping back into place as he rubbed his hands together like a cartoon villain. “Oh, you’ll see,” he said in utter glee. “By the time I’m done, you two will be strong enough to rewrite the entire jujutsu rulebook!”

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Before I could say anything, a sharp voice interrupted us. “HEY! What’s going on over here?”

We all turned to see a police officer briskly approaching, his hand hovering over his radio.

Gojo froze for half a second before immediately bouncing back with his trademark overconfidence. “Ah, officer! Just a little training session! You know, safety and all that! My bad if things got a bit... spirited,” he said with a grin so wide it practically hurt to look at.

The officer relaxed slightly, his stern expression softening as he glanced at Megumi and me. “Kids, huh?” he said with a faint smile. “Always curious about everything.”

Megumi and I exchanged a glance, and without a word, we both came to the same silent agreement. Turning to the officer, I plastered on my best doe-eyed, innocent expression. “Sorry, mister policeman!” I said sweetly. “We just got a little scared when that man over there”—I pointed at Gojo—called us impressionable kids.”

Megumi nodded solemnly, adding with a perfectly deadpan tone, “Yeah, we might’ve overreacted. He just wanted to have fun with us.”

“…”

“…”

Gojo’s sunglasses slid down his nose as his face twisted into a look of pure betrayal. “WHAT?!”

The officer’s face darkened instantly. “Oh.” He turned a baleful glare on Gojo, his hand now firmly gripping his radio. “Sir, I’m going to need you to come down to the station with me for a minute.”

Gojo’s expression froze as his eyes bulged. “W-WHAT?! Hold on, this is all a misunderstanding!” He began waving his hands frantically, pointing at us as he spoke, “Those kids—they’re lying! They’re evil! Do you see their faces? That’s pure evil! PURE EVIL!!”

Unbothered, the officer had already grabbed Gojo’s arm, ignoring his protests as he prepared to haul him away. “Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the judge, buddy.”

As Gojo started flailing and pleading in the background, Megumi and I stood there, watching the chaos unfold with calm detachment.

“We’re never getting rid of him, are we?” Megumi muttered, his voice flat.

“Nope,” I replied dryly. We both let out identical sighs as Gojo’s dramatic cries of “I’M BEING FRAMED!” echoed through the crisp morning air.

The sound of small, hurried footsteps echoed down the wooden hallways as a voice called out eagerly, “Geto-sama!”

A blonde-haired girl, no older than six, came rushing in, her bobbed hair bouncing with each step. Her twin sister, a brunette clutching a ragged doll, followed close behind, her movements quieter but no less eager.

“Girls!” Geto turned, his long monk robes shifting as he bent down to catch them in his arms. His gentle smile contrasted sharply with the aura of authority that surrounded him. “What have I told you about running in the halls?” he chided softly, his tone warm. “You might hurt yourselves.”

The twins merely looked up at him with wide, innocent smiles, their enthusiasm undimmed.

“Manami is back!” announced Nanako, the blonde, grinning ear to ear.

The rhythmic click of heels announced the arrival of a woman, her presence commanding yet graceful. Light pink hair framed her composed face, and her tight, form-fitting dress hinted at her elegance. She stopped in the doorway, her gaze softening as it fell on Geto and the twins.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Manami greeted, her tone calm but tinged with warmth.

“Always a pleasure, Manami,” Geto replied, straightening to meet her gaze. “But I doubt you’ve come just to catch up. Have you given more thought to my offer?”

Manami chuckled softly, the sound light yet calculated. “Your vision is... compelling,” she admitted, her expression thoughtful. “A world without those vermin crawling around arrogantly does have its appeal.” She closed her eyes momentarily, exhaling through her nose. “But no, I haven’t come to give you my answer. Not yet.”

Geto raised a brow, curiosity flickering in his dark eyes. “Then what brings you here?”

Manami’s face grew serious as she took a step forward. “It seems Satoru Gojo has made contact with that man’s child.”

The atmosphere shifted.

Geto’s expression softened, a glimmer of nostalgia creeping into his otherwise composed face. “I see,” he murmured, his thoughts pulling him back to his battle with that man—Toji Fushiguro. A monkey in sorcerer’s clothing. A beast who dared to challenge him.

“Geto-sama?” The concerned voices of the twins snapped him back to the present. He looked down to find Nanako and Mimiko staring at him with worried eyes. Smiling gently, he placed a hand on each of their heads, ruffling their hair affectionately. “I’m fine,” he assured them softly.

Straightening, he gazed at the ceiling, his expression unreadable. “It’s a shame,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “If I had reached him first, I would have brought him into our fold. But no…” He combed his fingers through his long hair, a smirk forming on his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s better this way,” he continued, turning his gaze back to Manami. “Satoru can deal with him. The boy may not have inherited his monkey father’s worst traits, but even so... I’d likely kill him out of sheer rage. And that,” he added darkly, “would be a waste of potential.”

Manami’s face betrayed a hint of concern, but Geto waved it off with a nonchalant gesture. “Thank you for bringing me this information,” he said smoothly, his tone returning to its usual calm. “I look forward to seeing you again soon.” His eyes gleamed with intent as he added, “Hopefully as a part of my growing family.”

Manami bowed respectfully, her heels clicking softly as she left, the Hasaba twins following her to see her out.

Alone once more, Geto’s thoughts returned to the boy—Megumi Fushiguro. For a moment, his smirk faltered. The idea of raising a child tied so closely to that man was irksome, but the boy’s technique… It had value. Despite his parentage, Megumi was one of the enlightened.

The same could not be said for his sister. A monkey through and through, with nothing to offer but the misfortune of her bloodline. Still, the boy’s attachment to her was obvious. A pity.

Leaning back, he allowed himself a moment of silence before letting out a low chuckle, his smirk returning. “It doesn’t matter,” he mused aloud, the sinister edge creeping back into his voice. “Soon enough, the truth of my ideology will be undeniable. And when the world is cleansed, non-sorcerers will be nothing more than a bitter memory.”

Chapter Text

‘I’m going to kill him’. That was the single, unwavering thought in my mind as I fussed over Megumi’s bruises. ‘How could Gojo be so rough with a child? Infinity be damned, that man’s days were numbered’.

“Might need to work on your reaction timing there, Megumi-chan,” Satoru said with that trademark cocky grin, his tone as casual as if he were giving feedback on a middle school science project.

Megumi shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel, his small frame trembling as he caught his breath.

“Megumi!” I crouched down, my hands fluttering around his face like frantic birds. “Does it hurt? Are there any cuts? Bruises? Broken bones?!”

Megumi’s glare softened for a moment, replaced with the exasperation only a sibling could inspire. He rolled his eyes, his voice flat but calm. “I’m fine,” he said before pushing himself upright. “I can keep going.”

I blinked at him in disbelief as he faced Gojo once more, hands already forming the familiar dog seal. Determination burned in his eyes, but just as his Shikigami began to take shape, they flickered, distorted, and melted away.

Megumi collapsed to his knees, panting heavily, sweat trickling down his temple.

“No good, huh?” Gojo mused, gazing down at his little student with eyes that seemed to see straight through him. “Looks like your stamina’s the issue. You’re hitting your limit too quickly.” He squatted to Megumi’s eye level, the knowing, smug expression on his face practically radiating sensei energy.

“Maybe it’s because you’re still a kid,” he added lightly, as though the answer were obvious. But then his tone dropped, the air around him growing heavier. “But being a kid doesn’t mean you won’t be a target. You need to push past that.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, I thought even Gojo might be serious for once.

Then, with an obnoxiously loud clap, his mood did a complete 180. “Alrighty! Your turn, Onee-chan!” he announced, spinning toward me with a gleeful smile that made my blood pressure spike.

“BE MORE SENSITIVE!” I roared, veins practically bulging from my forehead. How someone so infuriating could exist, I’d never know. But instead of even pretending to care, the idiot just doubled over in laughter.

“Alright, alright!” he said, waving a dismissive hand. Then, with a dramatic gesture toward Megumi, he added, “Why don’t we start with healing your adorable little brother?”

I gave him a withering look. “I was going to do that whether you asked me to or not, you idiot,” I muttered, kneeling down beside Megumi again.

Megumi looked up at me, his face stoic but his eyes betraying a flicker of appreciation. “You don’t have to worry so much,” he muttered softly, averting his gaze.

“I’m your sister! It’s my job to worry!” I replied firmly, though my tone was tender.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. As the tension drained from me, a faint chill coursed through my body—a soothing, refreshing sensation that felt like stepping into cool water on a scorching summer day. Beneath my palms, the dark bruise on Megumi’s cheek began to fade, his skin gradually returning to its natural tone.

Satoru’s usually carefree demeanor shifted as his expression grew contemplative, a rare seriousness settling over him. His sharp, crystalline blue eyes—the legendary Six Eyes—focused intently on Tsumiki’s hands as her technique unfolded. It may have seemed simple to any other sorcerer: a young girl using her technique to heal her brother.

But to Gojo, who could see the world at an atomic level, it was anything but simple.

With his Six Eyes, he could perceive the flow of cursed energy down to its tiniest fluctuations. He could understand its currents, its structure, and its transformation as it fuels a sorcerer’s inner techniques. But what he saw with Tsumiki was baffling. Her cursed energy, already minimal—barely a flicker compared to most sorcerers—reacted in a way he’d never encountered.

The moment she activated her technique, the cursed energy within her seemed to convulse, twisting and collapsing in on itself. It wasn’t random; it was as though her energy was being compressed, stripped of its nature entirely, and converting into… something else.

It wasn’t like Reverse Cursed Technique, which flipped cursed energy’s negativity into its positive counterpart. No, this was different. This was neither positive nor negative—it was utterly foreign. A foreign energy without mass, a type of energy that defied categorization and visibility to all, even to his Six Eyes.

And that made Gojo’s curiosity burn.

Megumi shifted slightly, testing his healed limbs with the smallest of movements, feeling all soreness and fatigue disappearing.

“Huh…” Satoru mused aloud, placing a hand on his chin as his lips quirked upward in a small, intrigued smile.

Tsumiki raised an eyebrow at him. “What now?”

“Just thinking…” Satoru said, tapping his temple with a finger, though the mischievous curve of his grin betrayed the storm of questions swirling in his mind. His crystalline eyes, sharp and focused, studied Tsumiki with an intensity that felt almost tangible. Finally, he asked, “How far can your healing go?”

Tsumiki blinked, her expression shifting into one of thoughtfulness before she answered. “I’ve healed a bird’s broken wing before,” she said softly, her voice modest. “And once, while I was out grocery shopping, I found a stray cat with a missing limb.” She paused, her gaze flickering to Megumi, now quietly stretching his newly-healed arm. “I… brought its leg back.”

The room fell into a brief, charged silence.

Gojo’s brows shot up, his usual playful demeanor replaced by genuine astonishment. “Oh?” His voice was light, but his gaze was anything but. His mind raced as he processed her words, the pieces clicking together like a puzzle. A missing limb?

‘Reverse Cursed Technique can heal even severe injuries, but this…’ Gojo mused internally, his grin growing wider with each passing second. ‘This isn’t healing in the traditional sense. She’s not fixing what’s broken—she’s erasing the injury’s existence entirely, rejecting that it ever happened.’

His eyes sparkled, his fascination bubbling over. ‘The power to reject phenomena... She’s not just manipulating cursed energy—she’s rewriting the very rules of the world. What a terrifying kid.’

Gojo’s smirk deepened, a glimmer of mischief and admiration dancing in his expression. “You’re scary, you know that?” he said, his tone teasing but laced with sincerity.

Tsumiki narrowed her eyes at him, unimpressed. “Scary? You’ve been throwing Megumi into walls for hours, and I’m the scary one?”

Megumi snorted faintly from where he sat, folding his arms and glaring at Gojo. “For once, I agree with her.”

Gojo laughed, the sound light and carefree, though the gears in his mind never stopped turning. Whatever Tsumiki’s technique was, it wasn’t just unique—it was extraordinary. And if he had his way, he’d make sure she learned to use it to its fullest potential. For now, though, he’d keep his revelations to himself. No need to scare the kids just yet.

But beneath the surface, he was already plotting—not in a malicious way, but in that Satoru Gojo fashion of scheming for a future only he could see.

"Alright, that’s enough!" I roared, planting my hands on my hips, my hair sticking out in all directions like I’d just survived a tornado. A few fresh scrapes and bruises on my skin—courtesy of one certain reckless, overpowered, and totally unqualified teenage teacher—only fueled my rage.

“Pooh!” Satoru pouted like a child caught sneaking snacks before dinner. Meanwhile, he was casually holding Megumi upside down by one leg, like a fish on a hook.

Megumi looked like he was two seconds away from either vomiting or plotting murder—possibly both.

“It’s almost 10 o’clock!” I growled, jabbing a finger at Satoru like I was scolding a delinquent. “Just because it’s Saturday doesn’t mean we don’t have things to do, you lunatic!”

“Brats like you don’t have important social lives,” Satoru said dismissively, spinning Megumi lazily like a human fidget spinner. “So why’s it matter?”

“Put me down, you lunatic!” Megumi croaked, his face turning a worrying shade of green.

Satoru finally obliged—by letting go completely.

“Oof!” Megumi hit the floor face-first with an audible thud.

I really am going to kill this man.

“At least I can say we have social lives!” I snapped, a tick mark throbbing on my forehead. “Unlike you, who clearly doesn’t. I bet you don’t even have a girlfriend.”

Satoru snorted. “Oh, that’s rich. Snark at me about that when you get a boyfriend.”

“I’M SIX!” I screeched, throwing my arms up in frustration. “I HAVE AN EXCUSE! WHAT’S YOURS!?”

Satoru ignored me entirely, slumping dramatically as he began to shuffle away. “Ah, would you look at the time,” he sighed, checking a completely nonexistent watch on his wrist. “I’m late for a super important meeting. Gotta run!”

“What meeting?!” I yelled.

He waved me off, casually sauntering toward the door. “Oh, don’t worry about it. But someone from Jujutsu High will stop by later.”

I blinked, my anger momentarily replaced by confusion. “Wait, what? Why?”

“To discuss your new living arrangements,” he said casually, waving a hand as though this wasn’t a massive bombshell he’d just dropped.

I froze mid-step, my brain buffering. Megumi appeared at my side, looking equally bewildered. “... Huh?” we chorused, both of us staring at him like he’d just declared he was moving to Mars

“Kay, gotta run,” Satoru chirped, already turning away. “See ya later, kiddos!”

“Anyway, I’ll be back later!” Satoru said cheerily, throwing us a lazy wave as his smirk grew even more insufferable.

“WAIT!” I shouted, lunging forward.

But nope. Before I could blink, he was gone—poof. Teleportation.

Megumi groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Can we go back to bed now?”

I sighed, my rage simmering. “Only if you promise to help me plot his demise later.”

Megumi gave a weak thumbs-up. “Deal.”

Satoru stretched lazily as he materialized outside the Gojo estate. Teleportation had its perks, and oh, what fun those siblings were. Brats though they might be, they certainly kept life interesting. A soft breeze ruffled his stark white hair, and he let out a contented sigh, gazing up at the grand traditional-style house before him.

"Ah, what a day," he muttered, still basking in the chaotic fun he’d had with the Fushiguro siblings. “Those brats…” A sly grin crept across his face. “Never a dull moment.”

With a dramatic yawn, he started up the stairs, hands in his pockets, his pace unhurried. “Time to deal with the boring stuff,” he said, his tone tinged with mock reluctance.

“Satoru Gojo,” Naobito Zen’in snarled, his fox-like eyes narrowing to slits. His voice was low and venomous, but Satoru only smiled in that infuriating, smug way that made people want to throw something at him.

“Woah!” Satoru exclaimed, leaning back with a mocking grin. “What’s with the face? Oh, wait—never mind. That’s just how all you Zen’ins look, huh?”

Naobito’s glare intensified, but Satoru ignored it, tapping a finger to his chin like he was deep in thought. “Although… now that I think about it, Megumi-chan doesn’t look like that at all,” he mused aloud, looking genuinely puzzled for a moment. “Maybe it’s ‘cause he’s still a kid? Or maybe he just dodged the ugly gene lottery?”

Naobito’s composure finally snapped. “How dare you interfere in Zen’in affairs!” he roared, his face red with rage. “This is a direct violation of the respect and courtesy expected among the three great clans!”

Satoru groaned, dragging a hand down his face theatrically. “Ugh, why should I care about any of that clan nonsense?” he said, rolling his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of his head.

Naobito growled, his voice dropping into a dangerous rumble. “Custody over Megumi Zen’in was voluntarily handed over by a parental figure—”

“Yeah, sure,” Satoru interrupted with a wide, shark-like grin. “And I’m sure the zeros on that check didn’t have anything to do with it.”

The comment hit its mark. Naobito’s face darkened with barely restrained fury. “Matters of the Zen’in clan have nothing to do with the Gojo family,” he said through clenched teeth. “You had no right to interfere!”

Satoru tilted his head, his grin turning razor-sharp as he adjusted his sunglasses. “Megumi isn’t a thing that belongs to you Zen’ins. He’s not a tool. He’s a kid.” His voice dropped to a deadly calm. “And you have no right to him.”

Naobito bristled but pressed on, his tone laced with venom. “I’ve already requested an official meeting to address your interference. The elders won’t tolerate this overreach—”

“Great idea,” Satoru interrupted, casually inspecting his nails.

Naobito blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I was going to call a meeting myself,” Satoru said nonchalantly, already walking past Naobito like he wasn’t worth the energy it took to glare. “Now I don’t have to go door-to-door. Thanks for saving me the trouble.”

Naobito’s shock turned to outrage as he whirled to face Satoru’s back. But before he could retort, Satoru paused, glancing over his shoulder. His kaleidoscopic eyes gleamed like a storm contained in glass, cutting through the air like a blade.

“But since you’re already here, let me make one thing clear,” Satoru said, his voice soft yet dangerous enough to send a chill down Naobito’s spine. “Go anywhere near the Fushiguro kids…” His smile turned razor-thin, devoid of its usual cheer. “And I’ll kill you.”

Naobito stood frozen as the Gojo heir disappeared into the estate, his cursed energy fading like a breeze after a storm. Left alone on the steps, Naobito clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, fury boiling under his skin.

“That arrogant punk!” he hissed, his words trembling with rage.

As Naobito descended the steps of the Gojo estate, his thoughts churned, replaying Gojo’s casual yet chilling threat and the dangerous gleam in his kaleidoscopic eyes. Rumors of Satoru Gojo’s unruly nature had circulated for years, but they often painted him as a chaotic force contained within the Gojo family—disruptive, yes, but rarely crossing the unspoken boundaries between the great clans.

This, however, was different.

Naobito’s face darkened, his usual calculating expression giving way to grim determination. Satoru had outright defied the Zen’in clan’s claim, a move that threatened more than just their pride. Since the emergence of the Six Eyes and Limitless wielder, the Gojo family’s influence had skyrocketed, leaving the Zen’ins scrambling in their shadow.

That was until he was born.

Toji Fushiguro’s son—Megumi Zen’in.

A Ten Shadows Technique user, the Zen’in clan’s most treasured legacy. Legends whispered that one who mastered the Ten Shadows could rival even the wielder of Six Eyes and Limitless. Megumi wasn’t just a boy; he was the Zen’ins’ last hope of reclaiming their dominance in the jujutsu world.

And Naobito wasn’t about to let him slip through their fingers.

He halted mid-step, the echo of Satoru’s words ringing in his ears.

"Go anywhere near the Fushiguro kids, and I’ll kill you."

His brows furrowed as realization dawned. Kids?

“Megumi has a sibling?” he muttered to himself, his sharp mind already racing through possibilities.

“Megumi! Did you brush your teeth?” I called out, doing my best to rearrange the cushions on the couch to hide the evidence of Satoru’s chaos—the shredded edges and the faint dog scratches.

Megumi shuffled into the room, his perpetual scowl firmly in place. “Why are you trying so hard?”

“Because it’s rude to welcome a guest into a messy house!” I declared, hands on my hips, projecting the air of a responsible elder sibling. “We’re not animals, Megumi. We have standards.”

He raised a skeptical brow. “You’re making a big deal over another weirdo showing up.”

“Megumi!” I gasped, offended by his tone. “We can’t judge an entire group of people just because we’ve met… one… odd… example”, my tone faltered as I went on.

Even I couldn’t find the proper words to dissuade my brother. I knew there were sorcerers like Nanami and Yuta… but the majority of them were… not good examples I’d like my brother to interact with.

Megumi raised a skeptical brow at me as I fluffed yet another cushion, trying (and failing) to hide the evidence of Satoru’s hurricane-level antics. I huffed and turned to him. “Can you at least comb your hair?”

“I did,” he grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No, you didn’t,” I shot back.

“Yes, I did.”

“Megumi, your hair looks like a bird mistook it for a nest and abandoned its eggs. Try again.”

He groaned like I’d asked him to bench press a truck. “Fine,” he muttered, dragging his feet toward his room.

Victory. I smiled smugly and adjusted the last cushion, giving myself a mental pat on the back—until the doorbell rang. My confidence evaporated.

“Uh, coming!” I called, rushing to the door and flinging it open.

And there she stood. In all her smoky, effortless glory. The woman I’d go gay for in a heartbeat.

Shoko Ieiri.

“Hi there,” she greeted casually with a little wave, and standing awkwardly behind her was Ijichi, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. But honestly, who cared? My eyes were locked on Shoko, as if the mere act of looking away would somehow insult her perfection.

‘Say something!’ my brain screamed. ‘Don’t just stand here like a starstruck idiot! Greet her! Be cool!’

“YOU’RE SO COOL!” I blurted out instead, loudly and with the enthusiasm of a rabid fan meeting their idol.

Silence. Deafening, soul-crushing silence. Shoko blinked. Ijichi blinked. Somewhere in the universe, a cricket chirped. My face ignited like a cherry-red fireball. Why, oh why, did the earth not have a quick-sand option?

Shoko, an angel among mortals, chuckled softly. “Well, aren’t you a cutie,” she said with that trademark lazy smile, her voice practically dripping with coolness.

That was it. Game over. My knees gave out. I crumpled like a poorly made paper crane right there in the doorway.

“ONEE-CHAN!” Megumi’s panicked voice cut through the haze, but it was too late. My spirit had ascended, leaving my mortal body behind. Somewhere, I imagined Shoko lighting a cigarette as she waved farewell to my departing soul.

I coughed into my fist, trying to regain some semblance of dignity as I sat in a formal seiza pose on the couch, my face still red as a tomato. “I apologize for the… embarrassing display,” I said, my voice carefully measured with politeness. I placed a hand over my heart like I was about to swear allegiance. “My name is Tsumiki.” Then, I gestured toward Megumi, who was glaring at nothing in particular. “And this is my brother, Megumi. And you are?”

Shoko Ieiri, effortlessly cool as ever, sat across from us like she owned the place, legs crossed and radiating nonchalance. “Shoko Ieiri,” she said with a small smile, her eyes glinting with amusement. “And this is Ijichi Kiyotaka.”

Ijichi gave a polite nod, looking exactly as uncomfortable as someone dragged into a situation well above his pay grade.

“You know,” Shoko began, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees as she rested her chin on her hands. Somehow, she made it look like a royal decree. “You’re nothing like what Satoru described.”

I froze, petrified like a poorly drawn anime character.

SATORU. THAT. BLABBERMOUTH. WHAT DID HE SAY?!

I let out a nervous chuckle, my face heating up even more. “I—uh… what exactly did he say?” I asked, already bracing for disaster.

Shoko smirked. The kind of smirk that said she enjoyed this far more than she should. “He said, and I quote,” she began, clearing her throat for dramatic effect, “‘I need you to deliver the soft touch to a bossy brat and her grumpy brat brother.’ Or something along those lines.”

My blush deepened to a shade that could rival the sun.

I’M GOING TO MURDER THAT MAN IN HIS SLEEP.

“I… I see,” I mumbled, my voice barely above a squeak.

Megumi, who was seated beside me, rolled his eyes as if this whole situation was beneath him. “Why are you here?” he asked flatly, cutting right to the chase.

“Megumi!” I gasped, scandalized.

But my brother ignored me entirely. “I don’t know how,” he continued dryly, “but you’ve somehow managed to love-strike Tsumiki—”

“LOVE-STRIKE?!” I shrieked, my hands flailing, "what's that even mean!"

“—so you’re probably here to give her the delicate approach,” Megumi continued without missing a beat, “but don’t bother with me. I want answers.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Guess that idiot didn’t bother telling you, huh?”

“You’d think he would,” Megumi replied with a shrug. “But we’ve only just met the weirdo, so I’m not surprised.”

Shoko chuckled softly, then gestured to Ijichi, who awkwardly stepped forward. Clearing his throat, he shuffled through a file and began speaking in his most professional tone. “Gojo-san had me pull up residences close to Jujutsu High. As he… more frequently resides at the dorms, he wanted to ensure you had a more private living arrangement.”

Ijichi placed a stack of papers on the table. “Here are the options.”

Curious, Megumi picked up the first one. His eyes widened. “This one comes with a beach house?!” He flipped to the price and promptly choked. “Ten million yen a month?”

My heart stopped. I grabbed the paper from his hands, only to feel my soul leave my body. Flipping through the other pages, it just got worse. Mansion after mansion. Villas. Estates. Places with names that sounded like wine brands.

“Is he INSANE?!” I cried, my voice cracking. “Who even lives like this?!”

Megumi leaned over my shoulder, equally appalled. “Apparently Gojo does. And he’s clearly lost his mind.”

“Rich, too,” Shoko added casually, like we hadn’t figured that out from the gold-plated property listings.

‘She didn’t deny the insane part,’ everyone silently thought, even Ijichi.

“We can’t afford places like this!” I declared, slamming the papers down on the table. “Not only is it too big for two kids, but there’s no way we could maintain it!”

“If that’s the problem,” Shoko said, barely holding back her amusement, “just have Gojo hire maids or something.” She shrugged. “Leech off the bastard as long as you need—he’s officially your legal guardian now. Trust me, it’s no trouble. And if it does become trouble…” Her smile turned downright diabolical. “…that’s his problem to deal with.”

“Miss Shoko,” Ijichi muttered weakly, clearly unprepared to navigate this level of chaos.

“That’s even worse!” I roared, my face burning with indignation. “Since when is that maniac our legal guardian? Who let that happen?”

“Approximately,” Shoko said, glancing lazily at her watch, “43 minutes ago.”

“There aren’t many who can stop Gojo,” Ijichi admitted, visibly sweating. “Especially not…uh…normal laws.”

“There’s NO WAY I’m indebting myself to that freak more than absolutely necessary!” I fumed, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger.

“Smart,” Shoko said, nodding in approval like some kind of chaos mentor.

Even Ijichi nodded, though his expression clearly said, Please don’t make me deal with any of this.

Shoko leaned forward, her smirk widening as she rested her chin on her hand. “Alright, then,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. “If you’re dead set on keeping your pride intact, why don’t you…”

She paused dramatically.

“…make him suffer?”

I froze mid-pace. “What do you mean, ‘make him suffer’?”

“Gojo’s not exactly known for subtlety, right? He’s always got to make a show of things,” she explained, grinning like she’d just pulled the perfect hand in poker. “So let him! Pick the smallest, most boring apartment you can find. Make him live like a normal person. I promise, it’ll be way worse for him than for you.”

“Miss Shoko, I don’t think—” Ijichi began, only to falter when Shoko gave him a look that said don’t ruin this.

I blinked at her suggestion. “You’re saying…we weaponize mediocrity?”

Shoko snapped her fingers. “Exactly. Nothing’s more torturous to Gojo than being treated like a regular guy.”

Megumi, who had been silent up until now, raised a skeptical eyebrow. “But I thought you said no one could force him to do anything. Also…” He paused, grimacing. “…I’m really not interested in living with that weirdo.”

Shoko leaned back casually, with a smile. “Oh, you won’t have much of a choice, kid. Like it or not, you’re his shiny new toys now.”

Megumi groaned loudly, rubbing his temples as though he were already feeling a Gojo-induced headache. “Great. Just great.”

“You’re not wrong, though,” Shoko continued, her smirk sharpening. “There’s not much that can stop Gojo… but…”

She leaned forward, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “There is someone who can reel him in.”

I gasped, my brain finally catching on. Oh! Why didn’t I think of that before?

Megumi looked at her with guarded curiosity. “Who?”

“SHOKO, HOW COULD YOU?!” Satoru bellowed, throwing his arms wide as if he were auditioning for a soap opera. His oversized sunglasses slid down his nose just enough to show the sheer betrayal in his eyes. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIDE!”

Across from him, Shoko barely spared him a glance, puffing on her cigarette like this nonsense was her daily entertainment. “No way,” she said, blowing out a lazy cloud of smoke. “You’re trash.”

“That’s… that’s not even an argument!” Satoru whined, clutching his chest like she’d just stabbed him with her words. “I thought we were friends! Comrades! Partners in crime!”

“We’re not,” Shoko deadpanned, flicking ash into a nearby tray.

“SHOKO!” Satoru’s voice cracked as he dropped to his knees dramatically. “Why are you like this?! I trusted you! I even let you borrow my limited-edition sunglasses!”

She raised an unimpressed brow. “You gave me a pair because you lost a bet. Don’t rewrite history, drama queen.”

Satoru groaned and fell onto his back, arms flung out like a starfish. “It’s like you enjoy seeing me suffer,” he muttered, glaring at the ceiling.

Shoko exhaled a slow puff, smirking down at him. “I do.”

“SHOKO!”

“EH?!” Satoru squawked, staring down at the little girl in front of him. She had her arms crossed, her chin tilted up, and a determination in her eyes that said she wasn’t here to play. Behind her, Yaga loomed like a stern mountain, arms crossed in a pose that dared Satoru to try something stupid. Megumi stood nearby, looking away with what Satoru could swear was the ghost of a smirk.

“You heard me,” Tsumiki said, her voice steady and firm. “We’ll be living in an apartment we choose. Yaga-san has agreed to assist us with any issues—most of which involve you.” She muttered the last part under her breath, but Satoru caught it loud and clear.

“This apartment’s too small!!” Satoru cried, flailing dramatically. “Where am I supposed to crash?!”

The real problem, of course, wasn’t the size of the apartment. It was the fact that it was dangerously close to Yaga’s place, which meant his very scary teacher could pop in unannounced at any moment. How was he supposed to pull off his usual nonsense under those conditions?

“Gojo,” Yaga’s voice cut through like a steel blade, and Satoru froze mid-flail.

“It was admirable,” Yaga began, his tone almost fatherly. “What you did for these kids—it showed heart. I’m proud.”

Satoru blinked. “...You’re about to hit me, aren’t you?”

BAM!

“OF COURSE I AM!” Yaga roared, shaking the room with his voice as Satoru hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Megumi’s smirk became a full-blown smile, while Tsumiki clapped politely like Yaga had just performed some kind of public service.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Yaga boomed, towering over him like a vengeful god. “Signing yourself as their official guardian?! YOU’RE JUST A BRAT YOURSELF!”

Satoru, still recovering from the head bump of doom, gave a sheepish grin. “Well, it was the only way to keep them out of the Zen’in clan’s hands!”

“You and I both know you could’ve handled this without becoming their official guardian!” Yaga bellowed, his arms crossed so tightly it looked like he was physically restraining himself from delivering another sensei special to Satoru’s head. “You could’ve found a responsible adult—you know, someone qualified!”

 “Do you even understand how hard it is to be responsible for children?”

Satoru dared a glance at the kids. Tsumiki was nodding in solemn agreement, like Yaga had just delivered a TED Talk titled ‘Why Gojo Is the Worst Candidate for Guardian of the Year.’ Meanwhile, Megumi wasn’t even trying to hide his smirk.

These brats. These brats! They were enjoying this way too much.

“Pfft. It can’t be that hard,” Satoru muttered, crossing his arms like a petulant child. Satoru puffed out his chest, trying to salvage his pride. “Hey, it’s not like I’m a total disaster! Tsumiki and Megumi were already pretty self-sufficient when I found them. I mean, I just have to keep them in a big house, give them a yard to run around in, throw some toys their way, and voilà—happy kids! Easy peasy. Then I can focus on the important stuff, like making them ridiculously strong.”

He was pretty proud of his plan, to be honest. Simple. Efficient. Genius, even.

“Oh”

That one syllable from Yaga carried more danger than any cursed spirit Satoru had ever faced. He froze, slowly looking up to find Yaga looming over him like a final boss with infinite health.

“Is that so?”

The man’s face was unreadable, but the vein twitching on his temple told a very different story.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

Satoru’s soul left his body.

“Shit,” Satoru muttered under his breath. He’d said all that out loud, hadn’t he?.

“Yes,” Yaga replied, his tone sharp and final, like the crack of a judge’s gavel. “You did.”

Gojo gulped audibly, trying to laugh it off. “Well, uh, when you think about it, kids are like—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence with anything related to dogs, toys, or frolicking.” Yaga’s tone had the kind of authority that could make even curses reconsider their life choices.

Satoru immediately shut his mouth, looking more like a scolded puppy than the “strongest sorcerer alive.”

“Let me get this straight,” Yaga began, his voice deceptively calm. “Your grand plan for raising two children is to toss them into a mansion, hire someone else to deal with the actual responsibilities, and show up occasionally to teach them how to punch things harder?”

“Well… when you say it like that...” Satoru scratched the back of his head, smiling nervously.

“GOJO SATORU!” Yaga bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls like a thunderclap.

Satoru flinched so hard he nearly lost his sunglasses.

“They’re not pets! They’re not toys! And they are definitely not your personal punching bags for ‘training purposes’!”

“Technically, they’re more like stray wolves,” Satoru muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” Satoru snapped to attention, sweating bullets. “I’m just saying, they’re resourceful! They don’t need, like, that much oversight, right?”

“You think parenting’s easy, huh?” Yaga’s glasses glinted ominously, his voice dropping an octave. “That’s probably because your brilliant plan is to dump them in a mansion, hire a bunch of staff to do all the actual work. Right?”

Satoru’s jaw dropped. “What?! That’s not true!” he protested, throwing his hands up. “I’d totally… uh…”

“Totally what?” Yaga pressed, raising a single terrifying eyebrow.

“…make sure the staff’s paid on time?” Satoru offered weakly.

Yaga’s knuckles cracked loudly, like the thunder before a storm.

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Satoru yelped, waving his hands defensively. “I’d be a little more involved!”

Tsumiki raised a skeptical brow. “By ‘a little,’ you mean showing up at dinnertime and teaching us how to dodge taxes, right?”

“HEY!” Satoru gasped, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. “Dodging taxes is a valuable life skill!”

“Let me explain this in a way you can understand,” Yaga said, his tone far too calm now, which was infinitely worse. “Raising kids isn’t about dropping them in a sandbox and hoping for the best. It’s about discipline! Structure! Responsibility!”

Satoru’s brain supplied an immediate response: Gross. No thanks. But judging by the vein pulsing on Yaga’s forehead, saying that out loud was not an option.

“I-I can totally do that!” Satoru blurted, sweating bullets.

“Oh, really?” Yaga said, his tone dripping with skepticism. “Name one responsible thing you’ve done this week.”

Satoru thought hard. And then harder.

“Uh… I didn’t prank Nanami yesterday?”

“Because he wasn’t in the country,” Yaga deadpanned.

Gojo’s silence said it all.

“I rest my case,” Yaga declared, crossing his arms again.

Tsumiki raised a hand like she was in school. “Yaga-san, if Gojo messes this up, can we live with you instead?”

“Of course,” Yaga said without hesitation.

“HEY!” Satoru yelled. “You can’t just trade me in like that!”

Megumi shrugged. “Why not? He seems a hell of a better deal than you.”

Satoru dramatically fell to his knees. “Et tu, Megumi?!”

Yaga continued, stepping closer until he was practically nose-to-nose with Gojo, “if you think you can just half-ass this while I’m around...”

“...You’ll what?” Satoru asked, his cocky grin faltering under the intensity of Yaga’s stare.

The older man smiled—a dark, foreboding smile that promised pain.

Satoru looked at Tsumiki and Megumi, who were staring at him expectantly. Then he looked at Yaga, whose terrifying aura was still in full effect.

“…Can I at least keep the mansion as a backup plan?”

“No.”

“Fine,” Satoru grumbled, sulking like a child denied candy.

Meanwhile, Tsumiki and Megumi watched the spectacle from the sidelines, sipping juice boxes Shoko had sneakily handed them.

“I like Yaga,” Tsumiki said with a satisfied nod.

“Yeah,” Megumi agreed, smirking. “We should keep him around.”

Shoko’s chuckle was soft but merciless as she leaned over him, cigarette perched perfectly between her fingers. “Face it, Gojo. This is karma for being… well, you.”

“I’M A DELIGHT!” he protested, sitting up like a wronged cartoon character.

“You’re something,” Shoko quipped, her smirk widening.

Satoru groaned again, flopping dramatically to the floor. “I can’t believe this. Betrayed by my own teammate.”

“I was never on your team,” she replied dryly, standing and brushing imaginary dust off her coat. “But thanks for the show. I needed the laugh.”

As she walked away, Satoru sat up, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll remember this, Shoko! One day, when you need me—when the chips are down and there’s no one else—you’ll regret this moment!”

Shoko paused, turning back to him with a mockingly thoughtful expression. “Yeah, no, I won’t.”

And with that, she strolled out, leaving Satoru to wallow in his “tragedy.”

Tsumiki zipped the last of her suitcase shut with a satisfying thunk, the sound ringing through the room as she surveyed her work. The apartment was now neatly packed, and the overwhelming sense of finality settled into her bones.

They were finally moving.

She knew the way things had been left up to Gojo until now wasn’t working. Not on her watch. She wasn’t going to let him run wild in her household like some sort of circus act. Not if she had any say about it. If he was going to be involved in their lives, it was going to be on her terms. He’d either shape up and do his part—or she’d make sure someone else stepped in to keep him in check. She had already saved Yaga’s number in her phone for a reason.

Time to start their new version of normal.

Chapter Text

The apartment was... normal.

It was a four-room apartment with all the excitement of soggy toast. The kitchen, dining area, and living room were in a single space, marked off by strategically placed counters. The walls were an off-white that screamed landlord special, and the only thing even remotely interesting was the faint smell of paint lingering from a recent touch-up.

Tsumiki’s room was the largest of the three bedrooms—not that she minded. It had the essentials: a simple bed, a desk and chair for her schoolwork, a side table, and a closet with just enough room for her belongings. Of course, her belongings weren’t much—some clothes, a clock, and her most prized possession: a well-loved stuffed bunny her mother had given her as a baby. The bunny was a bit frayed now, but Tsumiki wouldn’t dream of parting with it. It was the only thing her mother had ever given her, after all. Everything else—clothes, shoes, and Megumi’s stuff—she’d had to handle on her own.

The second room was a modest bathroom. Nothing special. It had the basics: a sink, a toilet, a tub, and tiles that somehow always felt cold no matter the season.

The third room was Megumi’s. His room was a little smaller but still leagues ahead of his previous one. It came with a simple bed, a small desk for his occasional homework, and a set of drawers instead of a closet. He didn’t seem to mind. Megumi had always been the “less is more” type, which Tsumiki appreciated because it saved her from cleaning up after him.

And then there was the fourth room, the room right next to Megumi— much to his dismay.

Gojo Satoru’s room.

Yes, Gojo Satoru. The man who had once proposed they live in a mansion with hired staff had been forced—forced, he would like to loudly emphasize—to take up residence in this utterly pedestrian apartment. His room was identical to the others, which he claimed was a crime against his status.

Tsumiki felt a victorious smirk tug at her lips, a giddy warmth curling in her chest like the spark of a freshly lit fire. No, she didn’t actually want to live with Gojo—honestly, who in their right mind would?—but if he was going to inject chaos into her and Megumi’s lives, she was more than happy to return the favor. After all, balance was important, and she was nothing if not fair.

Clapping her hands together with a sense of finality, she turned to her backpack as a serious expression adorned her face. This wasn’t just any bag. It wasn’t filled with ordinary things like books or snacks or even necessities. Oh no, this was her arsenal—her tools in preparation of building happy memories with her beloved baby brother.

Inside were carefully selected “special” outfits, curated with precision and purpose. Each piece had been chosen for its ability to perfectly represent the moment, handpicked over the last few weeks as part of a grander plan.

Gojo wasn’t here yet—thankfully. Trying to wrangle Megumi into her plots was already like convincing a cat to take a bath. Doing it with Gojo in the room would be like trying to herd that cat while it was on fire.

Her smirk widened as she unzipped the bag, pulling out the first item of clothing. An excited gleam sparked in her eyes. As she unzipped the bag, pulling out the garments piece by piece, her grin grew wider and more mischievous.

Time to make some memories!

Satoru Gojo flopped face-first onto the mattress of his new, not-so-glamorous abode, letting out a long, theatrical sigh that would have made a soap opera star proud. “Goddamn, evil, scheming brats,” he grumbled into the pillow, his pout deepening. He rolled over, throwing an arm dramatically across his face like a tragic hero.

He’d barely made it inside after teleporting in with his luggage, weighed down not by the bags (those were light as air to him) but by the emotional burden of Yaga’s never-ending lecture.

“It’s not a mansion!” Satoru argued, dramatically throwing his hands up in the air as if the very idea of such a thing was an affront to humanity.

Yaga narrowed his eyes, unimpressed. “Buying an entire apartment complex for one person! It might as well be!” He growled, his voice as deep and rumbling as an approaching storm. He stood with arms crossed, staring down his soon-to-be graduating student like a disappointed father. “And besides, there’s no way in hell you’re leaving a 5- and 6-year-old to live on their own.”

“But they’re so self-sufficient!” Gojo whined, now practically sliding off the couch in exaggerated defeat. “I’m just giving them a little independence! Tsumiki’s, like, an old lady in a kid’s body, and Megumi? That kid’s one bad day away from becoming a full-on broody antihero. They don’t need me hovering around.”

“Children under 13 should not be left unsupervised,” Yaga growled, his voice like distant thunder.

“They wouldn’t be!” Gojo huffed, crossing his arms. “I’m right next door, and I can teleport! Do you know how fast I am? They could barely stub a toe before I’d be there!”

Yaga took a deep breath, clearly preparing for battle. “You took guardianship over those kids, and you’re going to take that responsibility seriously. You will move in with them, under the same roof, where you can’t just ‘teleport’ out whenever you get bored.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been stabbed. “You’re saying I have to live like a normie!?”

“You’ll survive.”

“Barely!”

The words still rang in his ears like an annoying song on repeat: “Take responsibility, Gojo. You signed up for this. Be an adult, Gojo.” He groaned at the memory, ruffling his snow-white hair in frustration.

“Responsibility?” he muttered to the empty room. “I am responsible. They’re alive, aren’t they? What more does he want?”

He sat up, glancing around the modest apartment with an exaggerated scowl. It was nothing like the luxurious mansions he’d suggested—mansions that Yaga had rudely rejected. “This place doesn’t even have a hot tub,” he whined to no one in particular.

Those little monsters quite likely, definitely didn’t want him around—not really. Megumi especially had made that clear from the start. But Tsumiki? Oh, that little schemer had something else in mind. Gojo was convinced she lived and breathed the phrase, “Tit for Tat.” Her bossy, devious energy was practically palpable, and it wasn’t hard to tell she was planning her own unique brand of chaos in his life.

Gojo couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips. The idea of anyone trying to out-chaos him was hilarious. In all his years, there’d only been one person who came close.

Suguru.

The grin faded.

The name alone carried a weight he couldn’t shake. It hadn’t been long since they’d parted ways, and the wound, invisible as it was, still felt raw and fresh. It was worse than losing Amanai—worse because Suguru had chosen to leave, and there was no undoing it.

But Gojo didn’t have time to linger on the ache because his thoughts were shattered by a sharp cry.

“MEGUMI!”

The distressed shout sent Satoru bolting off the bed. In less than a blink, he was in the living room, his sunglasses sliding down his nose as he surveyed the scene with a deadly serious look.

“What happened?!” he barked, his tone sharp, his instincts ready. There was no cursed energy, no threats. The only one who could catch him off guard like this was—

The deadly serious expression crumbled as Gojo doubled over laughing, his arms wrapped around his middle, “PFFFT—HAHAHAHAHAHA!”.

Megumi stood frozen, his expression a perfect mixture of horror and betrayal, dressed in the most ridiculous costume Gojo had ever seen.

The boy was decked out in a yellow-and-black striped shirt, black shorts, an antenna helmet, and the pièce de résistance—a black, wobbly stinger sticking out from the back of his pants.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF… MEGUMI, ARE YOU A BEE?!” Gojo gasped between wheezes, tears of laughter glinting behind his sunglasses.

“How are you here?!” Megumi screeched, his face an alarming shade of red as he jabbed an accusatory finger at the man.

“Teleportation!” Gojo wheezed, nearly collapsing on the floor. “Oh my GOD, what is this?! What are you DOING?!” he wheezes.

Megumi, vibrating with mortification, whipped his finger toward his sister. “Ask her!”

Gojo’s gaze shifted to Tsumiki, who was casually adjusting a camera on the table, looking utterly unbothered by her brother’s outburst. She was dressed like a flower, complete with a yellow-and-orange dress and a petal headband.

“It’s our first time in our new home,” Tsumiki said matter-of-factly, as if her logic was unimpeachable. “We need a memorable picture to commemorate the moment.”

“SERIOUSLY?!” Gojo howled, clutching at his sides again.

“Get changed,” Tsumiki said calmly, not even glancing up from the camera.

“Eh?” Gojo blinked.

“Your costume is over there.” She pointed to a half-open bag on the couch.

“Wait—you knew he was here?!” Megumi snapped, glaring at her like she’d committed the ultimate betrayal.

“You asked me if he was in the house, and I said no. He wasn’t in the house,” Tsumiki replied evenly, still fiddling with the camera, “and technically, I wasn’t lying.

“You might as well have!” Megumi let out a strangled noise of frustration. “And why does he have to be in the picture?!”

“Because,” Tsumiki said, finally satisfied with the setup. She turned to face him with a small, smug smile. “Since we’re all living together, we might as well make some good memories. Besides, those pretty looks of his are going to be a waste if we don’t.”

“Oi!”

The trio turned toward the source of the voice, and Megumi immediately looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

Gojo strode into the room, striking a ridiculous pose. He was dressed head to toe as a tree, wearing a sweater and pants in a dark bark-brown color, with a helmet adorned with fake green leaves perched on his head. His sunglasses glinted dramatically as he struck another exaggerated pose.

“Let’s get this party started!” he declared, smirking as he snapped his fingers and struck yet another overly theatrical pose, hands outstretched like he was commanding nature itself.

Tsumiki clapped her hands together in delight, her smile positively radiant. “Perfect! Everyone get into position!”

Megumi groaned audibly, slumping into a defeated crouch. “I hate all of you.”

“Oh, cheer up, don’t be a Buzz-kill!” Gojo teased, grinning as he lifted Megumi with one hand and swung him around like a rag doll while Megumi groaned at the awful pun. “This is going to be fun!”

And this time, Satoru meant it.

Shoko exhaled a slow, deliberate puff of smoke just as Yaga stepped into the room. Her gaze flicked toward him, a quiet curiosity in her eyes as the haze curled lazily into the air.

“Think you were too harsh?” she asked, her tone calm but pointed, the edge softened by a practiced indifference.

Yaga paused, arching an eyebrow. “On Satoru?”

“On all three of them,” Shoko clarified, a chuckle escaping her lips alongside a thin wisp of smoke. “Forcing that trash to take care of kids—it’s about as far from his nature as you can get, don’t you think?”

Yaga shrugged, his broad shoulders rising and falling with the weight of unspoken thoughts. “Maybe,” he said after a beat, his voice steady but reflective. “But I don’t regret it.”

Shoko tilted her head, studying him. The slight furrow in his brow, the quiet tension behind his words—it all painted a picture of a man carrying the burden of too many decisions made for the greater good.

Her gaze dropped to his glasses, now an inseparable part of his look. They weren’t just eyewear; they were a shield, a barrier between him and the pain he couldn’t quite escape. The betrayal of Suguru Geto—the student he had once been so proud of, so hopeful for—lingered in every movement, every pause, every sigh.

Yaga broke the silence first. “Children are fascinating, don’t you think?” he began, his voice low and somber. His words carried a weight that pulled Shoko’s focus back to him. “They have a way of reaching into a person’s heart without anyone realizing it... especially the right child. They can change someone. Pull them back from heartache. From loneliness.”

Shoko didn’t respond immediately, letting his words hang in the air. Gojo Satoru—the strongest, most untouchable man in the world. A man who stood on a pedestal so high it might as well be a solitary prison. Untouchable, unafraid... and utterly alone.

Maybe Yaga wasn’t wrong. Gojo’s sudden interest in training the next generation wasn’t just about upending the Jujutsu Society’s corrupt system, as he claimed. No, there was more to it. There had to be. Maybe it had started the day Suguru Geto walked away.

Yaga’s voice broke through her thoughts again, softer this time. “Those kids are tough. Tsumiki... she already seems to have a handle on him, and it hasn’t even been long. She’s sharp—strong in her own way. And Megumi...” He smiled faintly, a rare softness settling over his face. “That boy is just as strong as his sister. Maybe stronger.”

“They’ll be good for him,” Shoko admitted after a moment. She tapped her cigarette against the ashtray, her movements deliberate. “But I guess we’ll never really know for sure, will we?”

Yaga let out a sigh, quiet but filled with something deeper—regret, maybe, or hope. “No,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I suppose not.”

For a brief moment, the room fell into a shared stillness.

“No!” I declared, crossing my arms and planting my feet firmly like a shield guarding a sacred temple.

Across from me, Satoru stood clutching a massive bowl of popcorn and an array of snacks, his lower lip sticking out in a pout so exaggerated it could’ve been framed in a museum of melodrama.

“Come on! Don’t be such a buzzkill,” he whined, his voice pitched like a sulking child denied candy.

“That pun,” Megumi muttered darkly from where he stood a few feet behind me, “is about as stale as you are, old man.”

“Hey! Watch it, brat!” Satoru shot back, his pout morphing into an indignant glare before snapping his attention back to me. “Anyway! It’s just a movie marathon! What’s the big deal?”

I stood tall, unyielding. “It’s almost eight,” I stated, my tone as sharp as a teacher scolding a delinquent. “Megumi and I have school tomorrow. And from what Yaga’s told me, so do you.”

Satoru recoiled dramatically, clutching his bowl to his chest like I’d just accused him of committing a heinous crime. “I’m practically graduating! Like, any second now! Going to class at this point is just a formality.”

“Formality or not,” I shot back, not giving him an inch, “you’re going. And you’re not going to be late and cause poor Yaga any more headaches than you already do.”

“I won’t be late!” he protested, puffing up his chest like that somehow made him more believable. “I can totally function on four hours of sleep!”

“Yeah, you can. We can’t,” I snapped, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Getting Megumi out of bed for school is like trying to move a mountain, even when he sleeps early!”

“Hey! I’m not that bad!” Megumi squawked, his face flushing red as he immediately betrayed himself with the tone of someone who was absolutely that bad.

I ignored him, steamrolling ahead. “Kids need a good amount of sleep to function properly during the day! Lack of sleep at a young age can cause all kinds of problems—physical, emotional, cognitive—you name it! So, no!” I pointed decisively toward the TV, cutting off any further protest. “We are not having a movie marathon tonight!”

Satoru let out a loud, exaggerated groan that could’ve rivaled a dying animal. “You’re so mean,” he whined, sulking like a grounded teenager.

“I’m practical,” I corrected. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen: Megumi and I are going to shower, and by the time we’re done—” I turned my finger on Satoru with the precision of a laser, “—this place had better be spotless.”

“Spotless?” His voice went up an octave, his expression a mix of shock and horror, like I’d just asked him to perform brain surgery. “I don’t clean! I’ve never cleaned a day in my life!”

“Well then,” I said sweetly, planting my hands on my hips and leaning forward slightly, letting the weight of my words settle on him like a boulder. “Looks like today’s a good day to start.”

“You’re evil,” he accused, narrowing his eyes.

“And you’re lazy,” I countered, giving him a pointed look before turning to Megumi. “Let’s go. We have to save our energy for tomorrow’s war.”

Megumi blinked. “War?”

“The war to get you out of bed,” I said with a deadpan expression, leaving him grumbling incoherently as I ushered him toward the bathroom.

Behind us, Satoru stood frozen in the living room, looking like he was contemplating calling Yaga for a last-minute bail-out. Instead, he muttered something about “child labor” under his breath and began poking at the pile of discarded snack bags and soda cans with his foot, looking less like a man on a cleaning mission and more like a cat sizing up an enemy.

“Good luck!” I called out cheerfully over my shoulder, already halfway down the hall.

The faint sound of Satoru groaning dramatically followed us. “I’m too pretty to clean!”

Tsumiki bolted upright in bed as a shrill, bone-rattling sound tore through the house. It wasn’t just loud—it was offensive, like an unholy mix between a dying elephant and a car alarm.

“What the hell is that?!” she yelled, her heart pounding as she threw off her blanket, ready to fight whatever demon had possessed their home.

The noise cut off abruptly, and a head full of stark white hair poked around her doorframe. Satoru Gojo, grinning like the devil himself, adjusted his ridiculous round glasses and shot her the most self-satisfied smirk she’d ever seen. “Morning, princess,” he drawled. “How’d you like your deluxe wake-up service?”

He stepped fully into view, and Tsumiki’s eyes locked onto the object in his hand. It was some kind of shiny brass contraption—a trumpet? A bugle? A medieval torture device? She didn’t care what it was called; she only cared about launching it, and him, out the nearest window.

“You… YOU BASTARD!” she roared, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it with the strength of a thousand grievances.

The pillow sailed harmlessly through the doorway as Satoru teleported out of its path, laughing like a maniac. His voice echoed from somewhere down the hall. “Better get moving, Tsumiki-chan! You’re already late. Oh, and don’t forget to wake Megumi-kun—he’s even worse than you!”

“What?!” Tsumiki’s brain short-circuited as she grabbed her alarm clock, squinting at the glowing numbers through her frazzled state. Her heart dropped. “It’s 6:05?! WE’RE LATE?!”

Her yell reverberated through the house as panic took over. She had never been late in her life—not in this one, and definitely not in her last. She was a morning person! A planner! A responsible human being!

“Tsumiki-chan, you’re gonna sprain something if you keep screaming like that!” Satoru called mockingly from somewhere nearby, his smug laughter sending her into overdrive.

“Megumi!” she bellowed, charging out of her room like a hurricane. “UP! UP! UP! NOW!”

Down the hall, Megumi groaned from beneath his blanket fortress. “What’s happening?” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

“WE’RE LATE!” Tsumiki shouted, bursting into his room like a drill sergeant storming the barracks. “GET UP! SCHOOL! NOW!”

Megumi peeked out with bleary eyes, glaring at her as though she’d just told him to recite an essay in front of the entire student body. “It’s six in the morning,” he grumbled. “We don’t leave until seven.”

“IT’S SIX-OH-SIX! MOVE!”

“Geez, you’re worse than him,” Megumi muttered, dragging himself upright like a disgruntled sloth.

Meanwhile, Satoru stood at the kitchen counter, pouring himself cereal with the satisfaction of someone who had successfully ruined two mornings in one go. He cackled again, entirely too pleased with himself.

Tsumiki stormed past him, grabbing toast and muttering under her breath about “horns” and “homicide.” She pointed an accusatory finger at him as she shoved the toast into her mouth.

“This isn’t over,” she growled, her voice muffled but no less menacing.

“I look forward to your retaliation,” Satoru said cheerfully, saluting her with his spoon.

In the distance, Megumi’s groggy voice echoed from his room. “What did I do to deserve this life?”

Satoru cackled yet again, grinning like a Cheshire cat, wondering how the duo would act when they got to school and realized.

After a highly entertaining morning of chaos—mostly consisting of Tsumiki rushing around like a whirlwind and dragging a half-asleep Megumi back and forth—Satoru stood by the door with a smug grin. He was far too amused by the sight of the siblings scrambling while he leaned lazily against the wall, an unapologetic spectator of their morning circus.

Finally, they were ready to leave, backpacks slung over their shoulders, Tsumiki double-checking every little thing, and Megumi rubbing sleep from his eyes like a grouchy old man.

“Close and lock the door,” Tsumiki barked, shooting a sharp look at Satoru, who had carelessly banged the door shut behind him.

“Why?” Satoru drawled, sticking his hands in his pockets. “It’s not like anyone would actually try to break in. And if they did, I’d just use my Six Eyes to catch them before they even got past the gate.” He smirked, clearly pleased with his own laziness.

“We don’t have time for your nonsense, Gojo! Lock the door properly,” Tsumiki snapped, her voice fierce enough to make Megumi pause mid-yawn.

Satoru groaned, dragging his feet like a sulking child. “Man, who knew kids could be so bossy?” he muttered under his breath as he finally turned the key. The click of the lock was followed by a grumbled, “Satisfied, your highness?”

Tsumiki ignored him, already turning to Megumi. “Hold my hand,” she said, extending hers toward her brother.

“What? No!” Megumi recoiled as though she’d offered him a plate of expired sushi.

“Don’t be difficult!” Tsumiki scolded, her tone that of a mother trying to wrangle a toddler. “We’re taking a new route to school today. We can’t afford to get lost or separated!”

“Kuro and Shiro are right here!” Megumi argued, pointing at the divine dogs peeking from within his shadow, a training exercise Satoru had offered, to help Megumi push past his limits when it came to summoning his beasts. “And besides, we have this idiot with us.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at said man, who was watching the entire exchange with the gleeful expression of someone watching a live sitcom.

“Aw~” Satoru cooed, clutching his chest dramatically. “How adorable! Megumi-chan, are you shy about holding your big sister’s hand? How precious!” His voice pitched into a singsong mockery, sending Megumi’s face straight into a scowl.

“Shut up, you oversized man-child!” Tsumiki snapped before rounding on her brother again. “It’s just a precaution, Megumi. I’ll let go once we’re close to the school. Promise.” Then, with a sideways glance at Satoru, her expression deadpan, she added, “Besides, there’s no way I’m trusting him to guide anyone out of a paper bag.”

“Ghak!” Satoru staggered dramatically, clutching his chest as though she’d shot him with an imaginary arrow. “Why is everyone so mean to me?! I’m a responsible adult!”

Neither sibling acknowledged his theatrics. Megumi grumbled, “Fine. But don’t get weird about it, or I’m never holding your hand again.”

“Eh? Isn’t that a bit harsh?” Tsumiki let out in a hesitant tone.

“Let’s go,” Megumi said ignoring her.

“I was kidding, I was kidding, Megumi! Don’t look so mad!” Tsumiki rushed after her brother.

Satoru couldn’t help but notice the faint smile that tugged at Tsumiki’s lips as she held her brother’s hand. For all her mature scolding and bossy demeanor, she still looked like a kid in that moment, her childish glee slipping through the cracks of her usual responsibility.

Megumi, meanwhile, glared up at her. “You’re smiling. That’s weird. Stop it.”

“You’re just saying that cause you know me smiling is cute,” Tsumiki replied breezily, squeezing his hand. “don’t worry Megumi, you’re cuter!”

Satoru chuckled under his breath, watching the pair bicker as they walked ahead of him. For all their scowling and teasing, there was something endearing about the way they stuck together, even if they didn’t realize it.

‘Kids,’ he thought, his grin widening. ‘Hella funny. And way more entertaining than TV.’

After dropping the siblings off at school, Satoru casually teleported himself to Jujutsu High, landing with an effortless flourish in the courtyard. He could’ve easily done the same for the Fushiguro kids that morning—spared them the hassle of walking—but noooo, Tsumiki had put her tiny foot down.

“We need to learn the roads ourselves so we don’t rely on you all the time,” she’d said with that bossy little tone of hers, one hand on her hip and the other wagging a finger at him like she was the adult in the room.

Satoru had rolled his eyes but let it slide. Honestly, the way she’d wrangled both him and Megumi into her little routine was kind of impressive. She was sharp, that one—sharp and ridiculously responsible for her age.

As he strolled up the stairs to the school, hands stuffed in his pockets, his thoughts lingered on the two siblings.

Tsumiki’s a handful, but she’s got her head screwed on straight, he mused, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. Always planning ahead, keeping things in order. A real mini-Yaga in the making.

And Megumi? That kid was something else. Quiet and brooding, sure, but not in the useless way some people were. He was quick-witted, fiercely independent, and had a sense of justice that felt far too big for someone his age.

Pretty sensible for a kid… even if he’s got the personality of a cat that only tolerates people because he has to.

Satoru chuckled to himself as he reached the main building. Maybe, just maybe, looking after those two wouldn’t be as impossible as he’d thought. Sure, they were chaotic, opinionated, and absolutely loved telling him off—but they had spirit. And, begrudgingly, he kind of admired that.

Naobito Zen’in leaned back in his chair, flipping through the files with an expression of thinly veiled disdain. His sharp eyes scanned the information on the second Fushiguro child, his intrigue quickly giving way to irritation.

“A non-sorcerer,” he muttered, lips curling into a sneer. “And a girl at that.”

What a waste of curiosity. She wasn’t even biologically related to Toji—just some unrelated brat brought into the picture. If there was anything noteworthy about her, it wasn’t here. His interest waned as quickly as it had sparked.

Still, his mind worked despite the dismissal. Even the most insignificant pieces have their uses, he thought coldly. If Toji’s boy cared about this girl, then she was leverage. That connection alone made her valuable, even if her bloodline and abilities—or lack thereof—were worthless to the Zen’in clan.

The bigger obstacle was Satoru Gojo. The Six Eyes user was an ever-watchful thorn in their side. But Gojo’s attention seemed to be laser-focused on Megumi. That left a sliver of an opportunity—one they couldn’t afford to waste.

Naobito tapped his finger on the desk thoughtfully. If the girl disappeared under the right circumstances… if Gojo was sufficiently distracted... It could work. One clean strike to take the girl hostage, followed by pressure on the boy to secure a binding vow. The Zen’in clan didn’t need Megumi’s cooperation forever, just long enough to lock him into their plans. A binding vow would render Gojo’s interference useless.

It was risky, but the reward outweighed the cost. Naobito smirked, dark amusement playing at the edges of his expression.

“They’ll only see us coming once,” he murmured, shutting the file with a decisive snap. "And by then, it’ll be far too late.”

“Achoo!”

Tsumiki stifled a tiny sneeze, ‘was someone talking shit about her?’. She straightened in her seat, maintaining her composed demeanor. Appearances mattered, after all, and Tsumiki prided herself on being diligent and composed—a model student in every sense.

Studying was her lifeline, a bridge to a future far removed from the chaos of the jujutsu world. Academics were safe, predictable, and her ticket to a life where the Zen’in clan’s shadow and the horrors of curses couldn’t reach her. But more importantly, she studied because she wanted to pave the way for Megumi’s escape too.

Her brother had no choice but to remain entrenched in the jujutsu world—at least for now. He had to grow strong enough to defy the Zen’in clan, to wrest his freedom from their iron grip. That would take time, patience, and power. And once he was free? He’d need options—a life beyond jujutsu. Tsumiki’s plan was simple: she’d make sure he had them.

Her pencil hovered over her notebook as the thought of the Zen’in clan’s schemes slithered into her mind. ‘Parasites’, she thought bitterly, clenching her teeth. Those leeches would try to use him, manipulate him, break him if they had the chance. And then there were monsters like Kenjaku and Sukuna—the real threats. She gritted her teeth, her hand tightening around her pencil.

With a soft snap, the pencil broke clean in half.

The student beside her blinked, glancing over with a mix of confusion and mild fear. Tsumiki shot them a serene smile, as if nothing had happened, then casually switched to a fresh pencil.

Nobody’s going to touch my baby brother, she thought fiercely. They’ll regret even thinking about it.

Her quiet vow was burning, intense—and maybe just a little bloodthirsty.

Meanwhile, across the school, Megumi was slouched at his desk, chin propped on his hand, fighting the eternal boredom of another lecture on mathematics. Suddenly, a sharp, icy chill ran down his spine, making him sit up straight.

“What the…?” he muttered, glancing around the classroom. Everything seemed normal, but the unsettling sensation lingered, like someone was plotting…

His mind immediately jumped to the most likely culprit.

‘Onee-chan’, he thought with a grimace. ‘She’s not… planning a murder, is she?’

The worst part? He couldn’t rule it out.

School ended faster than it felt, the hours melting into one long, uneventful stretch for Megumi. He exited the building, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder, debating whether or not he should wait for Tsumiki or head home alone. She’d probably insist he wait, though. “Safety in numbers” and all that big sister nonsense she always threw at him.

He sighed, kicking a pebble down the sidewalk. Maybe I’ll wait. Just for a few minutes.

Meanwhile, on the other side of campus, Tsumiki found herself standing very still, her breath caught in her throat.

“Well.”

The word slithered from the lips of Naoya Zen’in, sharp and slick with venom. His piercing gaze bore into her, his tone dripping with disdain. “I was hoping to run into Toji-sama’s offspring,” he drawled, as if the words themselves were an insult.

His eyes, sharp and calculating, slowly raked over her. “Instead, I find… the extra baggage Gojo decided to pick up.”

He said it like she wasn’t worth the dirt under his shoes.

Tsumiki felt her stomach tighten, though she refused to show it. Stay calm, she told herself. Stay calm and stay alert. Her grip on her schoolbag tightened, her knuckles whitening, but her face remained a picture of forced composure.

Naoya’s lip curled, his smugness practically oozing out of him. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” He chuckled lowly, taking a deliberate step closer. “You look nervous. Are you nervous, little girl?”

Tsumiki gulped, but she refused to shrink back. She met his gaze, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Hey, girl,” Naoya said, his voice softening into a sickly-sweet mockery. “Why don’t we have a little chat?”

It wasn’t a question.

And from the way his smirk widened when she didn’t answer, it was clear that her opinion didn’t matter.

“Don’t look so scared,” he added, leaning in slightly as if to appear conspiratorial. Instead, it felt suffocating. “I’m not going to hurt you. Yet. That all depends on how… cooperative you are.”

Tsumiki’s mind raced. Okay, this is bad. Really bad.

But even as her instincts screamed at her to run, she knew she couldn’t. If she made a scene or tried to bolt, it would only make things worse. Not just for her—but for Megumi.

“Come on,” Naoya purred, straightening to his full height, “it’s not like you have anywhere better to be.”

Tsumiki exhaled slowly, forcing herself to remain calm. Fear clawed at her insides, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. “I think I’ll pass,” she said, her voice even, shifting her weight ever so slightly—a silent statement that she wasn’t backing down.

Naoya’s brow twitched at her refusal, his thin veneer of civility cracking just enough to reveal the irritation beneath. “Oh? So you’ve got some fight in you after all.” His lips curled into a mockery of a smile. “I was starting to think you were just a spineless little thing. Like most extras tend to be.”

Tsumiki said nothing, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Naoya studied her, tilting his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as if trying to decide how much effort she was worth. “Hmm,” he murmured, the condescension in his tone sharp enough to cut. “No wonder Gojo took you in. You’ve got spirit.” He let the word linger, his smirk widening. “I suppose that fits his... tastes.”

The venom in his voice made Tsumiki’s stomach churn, but she refused to flinch.

“Still,” Naoya continued, waving a hand dismissively as if brushing her existence aside, “females with spirit rarely last long. Especially when they don’t know their place.” His eyes darkened, the playful edge in his voice replaced by something far colder.

Tsumiki’s jaw tightened, her hand gripping the strap of her schoolbag so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“Let’s make this simple,” Naoya said, his tone dropping to a low, dangerous register. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, twirling it between his fingers like a predator toying with its prey. “You’re going to come with me. Quietly. Or I make a call—” He held up the phone lazily, the smirk returning to his face. “And trust me, girl, you don’t want to know what happens next.”

Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t let it show. She needed to think, and fast. Fighting him wasn’t an option. Not now. Not when it would risk revealing her cursed technique—something she’d worked hard to keep hidden. She was no fool. Naoya might act like an arrogant brat, but he was still dangerous, still a Zen’in. And in their world, strength trumped everything.

Tsumiki forced herself to breathe, her mind racing. I just need to stall. Long enough for someone to notice. For Megumi. Or Satoru.

Though even as the thought crossed her mind, she doubted her luck. Gojo was likely halfway across town, busy with his responsibilities—or irresponsibilities, as was often the case—and Megumi…

Somewhere nearby, Megumi paused, frowning. He felt it again, the strange, sharp sensation that prickled at his skin like static electricity. His instincts screamed at him, the same instincts that had kept him alive all these years.

Something wasn’t right.

Chapter Text

The walk was unbearable, not because of fear or intimidation—no, that would’ve been easy to deal with—but because this insufferable, misogynistic bastard simply wouldn’t shut up.

Naoya Zen’in, in all his arrogant glory, had been ranting for nearly fifteen minutes straight. His favorite subject? Toji Fushiguro. Or more accurately, Toji and anything that revolved around him—which included Megumi and me.

“So,” Naoya said, glancing sideways at me with that smug look of his, “what was Toji-sama like as a parent?”

The question came after some self-indulgent spiel about how he was destined to “revolutionize” the Zen’in clan. I’d stopped listening halfway through, knowing full well it was just a steaming pile of bullshit.

I shrugged nonchalantly. “Okay, I guess.”

Naoya’s sharp glare cut through me. “It’s in your best interest to keep the conversation going, girl. Otherwise, your presence here will become very... inconvenient.”

I bit back the urge to snap at him. “I don’t even want to be in your presence in the first place, asshole.”

But I knew better. I needed to stall. Just long enough for Satoru to find me. I inhaled deeply, trying to keep my composure. The easiest way to inflate his fragile ego was to talk about how amazing Toji was, but... yeah, no. That wasn’t happening.

So I said it. Plainly. Honestly.

“Complete and utter shit.”

Naoya raised a brow, clearly not expecting that answer.

I didn’t stop. “He was irresponsible with money. A complete buffoon as a father—and not in a good way.” My voice was steady, but my grip on my backpack straps tightened. “He’d disappear on these mysterious jobs—” mercenary work, I thought bitterly. “—and be gone for weeks. Once, he didn’t come back for an entire month. He ignored my mom, Megumi, and me. Always leeching off her, always absent.”

Images flashed through my mind. A three-year-old Megumi sitting silently by the door, staring out as if waiting for something—or someone—that would never come. Even as a toddler, he didn’t cry, but his eyes... they asked questions he never dared to voice. Why wasn’t I enough? Why did it hurt so much to be left behind?

My chest tightened. I swallowed hard. “I get it,” I said quietly, my gaze dropping to Naoya’s shoes. “Toji had a fucked-up childhood. Hell, he barely even had a childhood. And losing Megumi’s mom... it must’ve been hell for him all over again.” My voice cracked slightly, but I pressed on. “I wasn’t his real daughter, so I could understand why he didn’t care much about me. But Megumi?” My voice rose, fueled by anger I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in. “Megumi was his son! His son! And he left him to carry that pain, to wonder why he wasn’t worth sticking around for.”

The memory made my stomach twist, but I kept going, my fists clenched. “We were just kids. Kids, and we had to figure out everything on our own—cooking, cleaning, managing a household. Things most people don’t learn until they’re adults. Toji was a messed-up man, but despite it all?” My eyes burned, but I refused to cry in front of Naoya. “Megumi is growing up to be a good kid. A good kid. And that jackass had no part in it.”

Naoya stared at me, his face unreadable for a moment. Then he scoffed. “How boring,” he muttered dismissively, his lip curling in disdain. “As expected of a woman to fixate on something so trivial. I should’ve known better than to ask.”

I froze, my vision swimming with red. A vein throbbed in my forehead, my knuckles turning white as I resisted the urge to swing my bag at his smug, condescending face.

This misogynistic piece of shit!

Naoya’s smirk stretched wider as he gestured toward the opposite side of the street. “Though overly emotional, I must admit I was somewhat entertained,” he sneered, clearly reveling in his own arrogance. “Let’s continue this conversation over there, shall we? I’m not done hearing about your precious little brother.”

Tsumiki’s eyes followed his hand, her stomach tightening as she noticed how isolated the area he was pointing to seemed. A quiet, empty alley. She swallowed hard, maintaining her neutral expression despite the sharp sting of unease crawling up her spine.

Her thoughts were racing. She needed to stay calm. She needed to buy time.

At Jujutsu High, Satoru Gojo leaned back in his chair, stifling a yawn as Principal Yaga droned on about responsibilities. His sunglasses reflected the dull light of the room, but his mind was far from the lecture.

“… as members of this institution, it’s vital to maintain—”

Brrrng!

A loud, obnoxious ringtone shattered the monotony.

“Satoru!” Yaga’s glare was sharp enough to pierce through titanium. “How many times have I told you to keep your phone on silent during meetings?”

Satoru raised a hand in mock surrender, pouting slightly. “Geez, as a hardworking parent, I’d think you’d cut me some slack. What if it’s the kids?”

Shoko snorted. “Please. Those kids wouldn’t call you unless it was life or death.”

Satoru pulled out his flip phone, the screen lighting up with an unfamiliar number. His relaxed demeanor shifted ever so slightly. Flipping it open, he pressed it to his ear as he casually walked out of the room.

“Megumi? Didn’t think you’d use the phone I gave you so soon.” His tone was light and teasing, but there was an undercurrent of unease building in his chest. “Calling because you miss me already, huh—”

“Tsumiki’s gone!”

Megumi’s panicked voice shot through the receiver, raw and hoarse.

Satoru’s heart skipped a beat.

Megumi’s lungs burned as he skidded to a halt, his sneakers scraping against the pavement. His legs ached from running, but he couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not until he found her.

The initial annoyance he’d felt when Tsumiki didn’t meet him at the school gate had quickly spiraled into a suffocating panic. Every minute that passed without seeing her face only deepened the pit in his stomach.

Classmates had tried to reassure him. She probably went home first. Maybe she forgot to tell you. But Megumi knew better.

Tsumiki never left him to walk home alone.

Never.

If she ever had to, she would’ve told him hours in advance—complete with nagging reminders—and followed up with a hundred warnings about safety. She would’ve made sure Kuro and Shiro, his shadow shikigami, were ready to protect him.

But there had been no reminders. No warnings. Nothing.

Something was wrong.

His throat was raw from calling her name, each shout echoing unanswered in the empty school corridors and streets. His chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, his heartbeat thunderous and uneven. Finally, he stopped, doubling over as he gasped for air, his trembling hands fumbling for his phone.

There was only one person who could help him now.

With shaking fingers, he dialed the number.

It rang twice before Satoru answered, his usual playful tone ringing through the line. “Megumi? Didn’t think you’d use this phone so soon. What’s the matter? Miss me already?”

“Tsumiki’s gone!” Megumi’s voice cracked, his words coming out in a desperate rush. “I’ve checked everywhere! Nobody’s seen her since class ended, and I don’t know how long she’s been missing!” His breath hitched as tears blurred his vision.

There was a moment of silence on the other end, but it wasn’t the kind of silence that made Megumi feel ignored. It was the kind that felt like gears were turning—like Satoru was already working on the problem.

“Relax, kid,” Satoru said finally, his voice calm but firm. “It’s fine. I found her. No worries.”

Megumi froze, his mind racing to keep up with the words. Relief and confusion collided in his chest, leaving him lightheaded. “What? How—where is she?”

“I’ll go pick her up now,” Satoru said, his tone softer, more serious than usual. “Wait for us at the school gate. And listen—don’t go anywhere with anyone, okay?”

“But—”

The line went dead.

Megumi stared at the phone, his knuckles white as he gripped it tightly. His legs buckled, and he sank to the curb, the weight of everything finally catching up to him. For a fleeting moment, relief washed over him.

Satoru had found her. She was safe.

But doubt lingered, gnawing at the edge of his thoughts.

I leaned forward slightly, my hands braced on my knees, trying to keep my composure as I watched the smug, misogynistic freak across from me. Naoya Zen’in was in the middle of berating the poor waitress for the third time.

“You call this service?” he sneered, tapping the teacup sharply against the table. “I’d suggest you pour more carefully next time, but perhaps precision isn’t a skill women can learn.”

The waitress bowed deeply, her hands trembling as she poured another cup, before scurrying off as quickly as she could.

Naoya took a sip, his expression cool and unaffected. “Women these days,” he muttered with a dramatic sigh, “are being raised far too laxly. Hopefully, Gojo will instill some discipline into you.”

The vein throbbing in my forehead practically had a heartbeat of its own. Every fiber of my being screamed to lash out, to tell this pompous idiot exactly where he could shove his opinions. But I forced myself to hold back. This was still Naoya Zen’in—a sorcerer, no matter how insufferable, and one with a technique I wasn’t prepared to face.

Instead, I exhaled slowly and adjusted my posture, trying to focus on anything but his smug, self-satisfied grin.

“Your brother,” Naoya drawled, swirling the tea in his cup. “How far has he come with honing his technique?”

I hesitated, carefully choosing my words. “He’s still training,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “Gojo says he has a ways to go.”

I made sure to emphasize Gojo, hoping to remind Naoya exactly whose protection we were under. Satoru Gojo wasn’t just a name; he was the strongest sorcerer alive.

Naoya raised an eyebrow but gave a dismissive hum. “I suppose that makes sense. Though I would have expected more from Toji’s child.” He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. “But I suppose no one can match Toji… not even his offspring.”

I bristled at the jab, my fists tightening around the edge of the table. “Gojo says Megumi has the potential to surpass him,” I snapped. “And considering Gojo is the strongest sorcerer in the modern era, I think that’s saying a lot.”

Naoya waved a hand as though brushing away an annoying fly. “I wouldn’t expect a woman to grasp the intricacies of the Jujutsu world, especially a non-sorcerer.” His eyes gleamed as he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Unless… you know more than you’re letting on.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine. I shrank back instinctively, my mind racing.

“I know what I need to know,” I said firmly, though my voice faltered slightly. “Megumi’s involved in all of this, so of course I’d want to understand it.”

Naoya’s smirk widened, a wolfish grin that made my skin crawl. “But you’re not blood-related, are you?”

My glare was immediate. “So what?”

“So,” he said, drawing the word out as if savoring it, “Gojo wouldn’t bother explaining the nuances of the Jujutsu world to a mere non-sorcerer. Which means…” His eyes glittered with a malicious glee. “You can see curses, can’t you?”

My breath caught.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” I shot back, keeping my tone steady. It was a weak deflection, but denying it outright felt dangerous.

“Interesting,” Naoya mused, resting his chin on his hand. For a moment, his expression was contemplative before he gave a dismissive shrug. “But your cursed energy levels are so average, you’re barely worth noting. At best, you’d make a passable window. Nothing special.”

The audacity of this man. My fists clenched under the table as my mind ran through increasingly vivid simulations of what it would feel like to punch him square in his smug face.

"The Gojo heir truly is generous," Naoya muttered, almost to himself, his voice dripping with arrogance.

The tension in the air shattered as a familiar, sing-song voice cut through like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

"I'm so glad you think so!"

Relief hit me like a wave, my entire body relaxing as I turned toward the doorway.

There he stood, Satoru Gojo, as effortlessly confident as ever. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets, and the pristine white bandages covering his eyes gave him an almost ethereal air. But it was his grin—a wide, disarming smile that practically screamed "I’m in control"—that truly drew all the attention in the room.

"Satoru!" I called out, my voice trembling with relief. Every instinct told me to run to him, but I stayed rooted, feeling safer just knowing he was there.

Gojo tilted his head slightly, as if studying the scene, his grin never faltering. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, his tone light and playful. But beneath the surface, there was an edge, sharp and undeniable, like the calm before a storm.

Naoya’s smirk flickered, his composure wavering for just a moment.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the air growing heavier—not from Naoya’s arrogance, but from the sheer restrained power emanating from Satoru.

Gojo stepped forward, slow and deliberate, the casualness of his movements at odds with the tension radiating from him. Each step felt like the ticking of a clock counting down to something inevitable.

"Naoya," Gojo said, his voice still light but impossibly steady, "it’s so nice to see you. I see you’ve been… keeping my ward company."

The word ward was emphasized just enough to drive the point home.

Naoya straightened in his chair, forcing a smirk back onto his face. "I was merely acquainting myself with the young lady. You know how important family ties are, don’t you?"

Gojo’s smile twitched, a flicker of something darker passing through it before he reined it back in. "Oh, absolutely," he said, voice velvet-smooth. "Family is everything. Which is why I’d hate for anyone to overstep their boundaries."

There it was—a warning wrapped in silk.

Naoya’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t reply.

Gojo finally turned his attention to me, his expression softening slightly. "Sorry I’m late," he said, his tone as warm as it was protective. "I hope you weren’t too bored."

I managed a small, shaky laugh. "You have no idea."

He chuckled, his usual cheerfulness returning, though the weight of his presence still lingered. "Well, I’m here now. Let’s get going, shall we?"

As he gestured for me to follow, Gojo turned back to Naoya one last time, his grin still sharp but now carrying an unmistakable edge. "Oh, and Naoya? Next time, let’s aim for a little more… respect. I’d hate for our paths to cross again under less friendly circumstances."

The casual tone was perfectly polished, but the steel beneath it was impossible to miss.

Naoya didn’t respond. His jaw tightened, his smirk long gone, as Gojo finally turned away, leading me toward the exit.

The moment the door shut behind us, it felt like a massive weight had been lifted off my chest. I let out a shaky breath, glancing up at him. "Thanks," I murmured, my voice still a little unsteady.

"Don’t mention it," Gojo replied, his grin softening into something more genuine. But, as always, he couldn’t resist adding a little mischief. "Although… it was kind of funny hearing Megumi crying over the phone."

I froze mid-step, whirling around to face him. "Megumi cried?" My voice shot up an octave in disbelief.

Gojo Satoru leaned casually against the wall, watching with an amused smile as Megumi fussed over his sister. The boy’s face was a mask of indifference—stoic and far too serious for his age—but Satoru could see right through it. The slight crease in his brow, the way his hands trembled as he adjusted his jacket, and the redness rimming his puffy eyes betrayed the whirlwind of emotions he was trying so hard to suppress.

“Did a pervert take you?” Megumi demanded, his voice trembling with both worry and fury. His small fists clenched tightly at his sides before his expression darkened into something far too sinister for someone so young. “I’ll kill them.”

Tsumiki huffed, rolling her eyes before flicking his forehead with just enough force to make him wince. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scolded, her tone teetering on the edge of exasperation and fondness. “It wasn’t anything like that. Just some annoying bastard sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.”

Megumi rubbed his forehead with a pout, grumbling under his breath, but Tsumiki wasn’t done. “And for the record,” she added, crossing her arms, “I had it handled. Quite well, if I do say so myself.” Her voice carried an air of exaggerated maturity that didn’t match her age, like a tiny queen delivering a proclamation. “If anything, I think I deserve some recognition for my incredible composure under pressure.”

Gojo stifled a laugh, shaking his head. “Incredible composure, huh? Did you wag your finger at him too, like a disapproving grandma?”

Tsumiki whipped her head toward him, giving him a glare that could only be described as “adorably terrifying.” “For your information, I was very diplomatic.”

“Diplomatic?” Gojo echoed, his grin widening as he tilted his head. Where does she even get this stuff? “You mean like when you threatened to break my fingers last week for eating the last popsicle?”

“That was different!” Tsumiki snapped, her cheeks puffing out in indignation, the tips of her ears turning pink. Her arms crossed over her chest, and she glared up at him with a mix of embarrassment and defiance.

Gojo chuckled, the sound light and teasing, as if he couldn’t quite believe how entertaining this kid was. This kid. She had a habit of flipping between two distinct personalities: one that was all too regal and proper, as though she were auditioning for a role in a period drama, and the other—a fiery, no-nonsense temper—reserved almost exclusively for scolding him.

“Sure, sure,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Totally different.” His tone was dripping with sarcasm, which only made Tsumiki huff louder.

Still grinning, Gojo adjusted his sunglasses, the glint catching the light just enough to remind everyone in the room that he was always watching. But behind the humor, his sharp gaze softened as it settled on the siblings.

For all their quirks, they were just kids. They were arrogant, stubborn, and sometimes downright infuriating, but they were also vulnerable in a way that tugged at something deep within him. The thought of Naoya approaching Tsumiki with or without clan approval—it made his blood boil. He’d make them pay for it, of course. Cause he’s nice that way.

“Megumi~!” The girl clasped her cheeks with a light blush, closing her eyes as if savoring some grand moment. “I heard you were crying, Megumi! I hate it when you cry, but I can’t lie—it gives me butterflies knowing you care so much!”

Megumi’s face turned crimson in an instant. “I wasn’t crying!” he roared, his voice cracking slightly as he glared at her.

“You’re such a tsundere!” Tsumiki teased, clasping her hands together in mock adoration. “My tsun-tsun little brother!”

“Shut up!”

Satoru grinned ear to ear, unable to resist joining in. “Oh, he didn’t just cry,” he chimed in, leaning closer with a devilish sparkle in his eyes. “He was bawling. Full-on waterworks.”

“Huh?” Megumi’s glare shifted to Gojo, daggers in his eyes as his face burned brighter.

Tsumiki gasped, her glee escalating. “Megumi!” she squealed, practically bouncing on her toes. “your such a tsundere!”

“SHUT UP!” Megumi yelled, his voice cracking even louder this time, much to Satoru’s delight, “how do you even know what that is!?” Satoru wondered how either one of them knew what that meant but he was having too much fun watching them to interrupt.

Watching them bicker, their voices rising with every playful jab, Satoru felt warmth bloom in his chest. His grin softened as he leaned back, his mind already churning with plans. These two—this scrappy little family—meant more to him than he could say.

He’d make sure they grew strong, stronger than anyone else, so they’d never have to face a choice between protecting the world or each other. Whatever it took, he’d make sure they had the strength to hold on to both.

“Ah,” he said to no one in particular, “this is the good stuff.”

Naobito Zenin was going to kill his son. 

No hesitation. No second chances. 

He was going to tear that arrogant brat apart and feed his remains to the koi fish outside. 

Storming through the halls, Naobito’s heavy footfalls sent tremors through the wooden flooring. Servants and clan members flinched at the sheer fury twisting his face, scrambling out of his way like mice fleeing a predator. His rage crackled in the air, thick and suffocating, an unspoken warning that hell itself was about to be unleashed. 

“NAOYA!” he roared, his voice reverberating through the estate like a war drum. 

Down the corridor, Naoya Zenin paused mid-step, exhaling an exaggerated sigh. He rolled his eyes, already bracing for yet another tedious lecture. Schooling his features into a tight, insincere smile, he turned on his heel and sauntered toward the source of the commotion. 

“Yes, Father?” he drawled, stepping into the room as if he were being inconvenienced. “I’m here.” With a lazy flick of his wrist, he gestured in mock obedience. 

Naobito’s glare could have burned a hole through steel. “What the hell did you do?” he growled. 

Naoya hummed, tilting his head in feigned thought. “All I wanted was to meet my dear cousin, but instead, I had the pleasure of running into his charming step-sister.” He tapped his chin with two fingers, as if deep in reflection. 

Naobito’s jaw clenched. “I told you,” he spat, each syllable sharp as a blade. “Until the matter with the Gojo Clan’s interference is settled, none from the Zenin Clan may approach the Ten Shadows wielder!” 

Naoya’s smirk didn’t waver. “And I just said I met his sister instead, didn’t I?” he replied, his voice laced with mocking amusement, his sharp eyes gleaming with challenge. 

Naobito’s patience snapped like brittle glass. “You know exactly what I mean, you disrespectful little brat,” he snarled, stepping closer. His presence loomed over Naoya like a shadow, suffocating and oppressive. 

But Naoya didn’t so much as flinch. 

“Really, Father,” he scoffed, his smirk curling into something colder. “I don’t know why you waste your time on that brat when I’m already here.” 

Naobito exhaled harshly, his disappointment settling into something tired and weary. “You may be talented as a sorcerer,” he admitted, his gaze unwavering, “but believe me when I say this—when compared to the wielders of the Ten Shadows Technique, you could never match.” 

The words struck like a slap as Naoya’s smirk twitched. 

His fingers curled into his sleeves, nails digging into his palms as he bit back his anger. ‘Senile old fool.’ He seethed silently, his teeth grinding together. ‘You think I’ll take the word of a man who carelessly disregarded Toji-san? A man stronger than all of you combined?’

He remained motionless, watching as his father turned and disappeared into another room, leaving him standing in the dimly lit hall. 

Naoya took a slow breath, steadying himself. His fists trembled at his sides. 

“I’m different,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. His golden eyes gleamed with ruthless determination. 

“I will be the one to bring the Zenin Clan back from decline.”

Tsumiki crouched beside her desk, watching intently as the golden dome—no larger than the palm of her hand—hovered just above the wooden surface. Within its glowing confines, a tiny beetle sat frozen, trapped in place like an insect in amber.

The little terror had crawled its way into her bedroom through the half-open window, and after several minutes of panicked flailing, she had finally managed to contain it. Megumi, of course, refused to kill it—he was painfully averse to harming any form of wildlife, even the ones that invaded their home and tormented her peace of mind. And Gojo? Well, he was no help either, having been dramatically dragged away by Yaga earlier that afternoon—by the ear, no less. She and Megumi had thoroughly enjoyed that spectacle.

But even if Gojo had been around, she doubted he’d do anything but make the situation worse with his dramatics.

The dome had been created purely on instinct, her body moving before her mind caught up. But now, as she stared at the glowing barrier, a smirk curled at the edges of her lips as a thought surfaced, quick and curious.

What else can I do?

She was testing the boundaries.

At first, she had likened her ability to Orihime’s from Bleach—the whole "rejecting phenomena" thing seemed eerily similar. But the more she explored its depths, the more she realized something crucial.

Her power wasn’t just a replication.

It was something more.

The best theory she could form was that this ability had adapted—molded itself to her, shaped by her will, by her soul. It had evolved, expanding to fit her nature.

Not only could she manipulate the size of the golden dome—shrinking it down to the size of an eraser or, perhaps, expanding it to unknown limits—but she had just uncovered something far more dangerous.

She wasn’t just creating barriers.

She was dictating the reality within them.

A near-omnipotent force, bound only by the power of rejection itself.

As long as something was within the golden dome, she could deny its movement, its function—maybe even its very existence. That was the theory, anyway.

The beetle, still trapped in her dome, had lost more than just its freedom. It wasn’t simply contained—it had been stripped of its ability to move.

A rejection of action.

A complete, undeniable paralysis.

She stared, waiting, watching.

Nothing.

Slowly, cautiously, she released the dome, fingers tightening around the red shoe in her other hand, just in case.

The golden glow flickered out of existence.

Yet the beetle remained frozen.

Her heart pounded in her chest, breath catching for just a moment. 

And then— 

A grin curled at the edges of her lips, slow, creeping, teetering dangerously between unhinged and utterly delighted.

A thrill shot through her veins. This wasn’t just some cool little trick. No, this was power. This was control. 

She leaned in closer to the frozen beetle, eyes glinting with something far too smug for someone who had just discovered a new ability by accident. 

“Oh, this is dangerous,” she whispered to herself, almost giddy. 

Her fingers flexed, energy buzzing at her fingertips as the implications of what she could do sank in.

And then— 

She straightened, tilting her head dramatically, her voice dropping into something sickly sweet and absolutely menacing.

“Sukuna. Kenjaku.” 

She smirked, cracking her knuckles for dramatic effect. 

“You arrogant, manipulative sons of bitches…” 

She raised her hand, forming another dome, just to feel the power hum beneath her skin. 

“I am going to fuck you up for even thinking of messing with my brother.” 

The beetle remained silent, likely paralyzed more from fear at this point than her technique.

The bossy brat’s in a suspiciously good mood.

Gojo narrowed his eyes as he watched the elder Fushiguro stretch, looking downright pleased with herself.

Now, training with the Fushiguro siblings was always an absolute delight.

By that, he meant absolute chaos.

It started the same way every time—him appearing out of nowhere, teleporting them mid-air, while Tsumiki looked two seconds away from strangling him (but didn’t, because gravity existed), and Megumi?

Megumi just radiated homicidal intent, hands twitching as he flashed a gesture that was highly inappropriate for an eight-year-old (not related to his shadow summoning technique).

But today…

Today, Tsumiki looked suspiciously happy.

Even after he’d dropped them into a freezing lake in the middle of nowhere, she just let out a mildly irritated growl before scolding him—without any thinly veiled death threats.

Even Megumi looked concerned.

RED. FLAG.

Gojo clapped his hands together, plastering on his most charming smile. “Neh! Tsumiki-chan! Seems like something good just happened!” He leaned down, grinning. “Care to share with the class?”

Tsumiki barely spared him a glance, her ponytail now scrunched into a bun as she gave him a smug grin.

"Nothing you need to worry about yet.”

Gojo blinked.

…Yet?

YET!?

Why did that sound like a threat?

Gojo straightened, his mind suddenly spinning in directions he did not appreciate.

Tsumiki was mature. She had the kind of scary wisdom that made adults look like brain-dead toddlers. That was fine. Cool, even.

But a mature mind isn’t the same as a mature body.

And suddenly, his mind did something truly horrifying.

It connected dots.

"You don’t have to worry about it yet?"

‘What does that mean?’

‘What don’t I have to worry about yet?’

‘When do I have to start worrying??’

How soon is yet??

His throat went dry.

Megumi was a boy. Boys? He could handle. Punch them, ruffle their hair, buy them cool swords, and trauma-bond through absurd amounts of violence.

But Tsumiki. Is a girl.

A girl.

A GIRL.

A G I R L.

Is it too late to run!?

Just as Gojo was about to grab Megumi and flee from whatever realization was knocking on his door, the brat himself appeared beside him, looking unimpressed.

“Weirdo, what are we doing today?”

Gojo latched onto the insult like a lifeline.

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" he screeched, clinging to the one thing in this world he could still control. His dignity… maybe.

“Shoko-chan, you’re a woman, right?”

Shoko didn’t even blink. She just turned her head painfully slowly to give Gojo a look so sharp it could've shaved his soul clean off.

It was the kind of stare that screamed, “I regret surviving high school with you.”

Gojo’s smile faltered. “Uhh… that look says you're picturing me as the world’s biggest cockroach right now.”

“Cockroach?” Shoko drawled, lighting a cigarette. “Don’t flatter yourself. Roaches at least serve a purpose in the ecosystem.”

A single bead of sweat slid down Gojo’s temple. “So… you’re not denying it.”

“Not denying what? That I’m a woman or that you’re evolution's greatest mistake?”

Gojo gasped. “Shoko-chan! That hurts!”

“Not as much as my brain does when you open your mouth.”