Chapter Text
Megumi finds out by accident.
He is walking across campus when she suddenly stops dead, narrows her eyes at the roof, and says, “Absolutely not, Bartholomew.”
Megumi follows her gaze.
There is a crow on the gutter.
A very normal crow.
It caws.
She points at it like it has personally betrayed the school. “Do not take that tone with me. You know Agatha has nesting rights on the east roof until Thursday.”
Megumi stares.
The crow caws again.
Her expression darkens. “Because Cornelius lost the bottle-cap duel. These are the rules.”
Megumi slowly lowers his hands into his pockets. “You named them.”
“All of them.”
“All of the crows.”
“Yes.”
He looks around campus. There are at least twelve visible crows.
She continues, completely serious, “That one is Bartholomew. He is ambitious but lacks discipline. The large one near the vending machines is Agatha. She has killed emotionally. The smaller one with the limp is Pickle. Do not underestimate Pickle.”
Megumi says nothing for a long moment.
Then, carefully, “There are territorial disputes?”
“Constantly. The south courtyard is politically unstable.”
A crow lands nearby with a shiny piece of foil in its beak.
She gasps softly. “Archibald.”
Megumi watches her accept the foil like a royal tribute.
“Are you their leader?”
She looks offended. “No. I am an outside mediator.”
From the roof, Bartholomew screams.
She turns sharply. “I said Thursday.”
It becomes increasingly apparent that the crows argue back.
Not metaphorically.
Actual screaming matches occur across campus at least twice a week.
Megumi first witnesses a full argument at seven in the morning when he walks outside the dorms and finds her standing in the middle of the pathway pointing accusingly at three crows perched on a statue.
“You know what you did.”
The crows begin cawing loudly.
“I do not care if he started it.”
More aggressive cawing.
“That does not justify theft.”
One of the crows knocks a packet of crackers off the statue dramatically.
She gasps like she has just been insulted in court. “You insolent little grave robber.”
Megumi stands there for several seconds before deciding he no longer has the emotional energy to question any of this.
Then one crow flies down and lands on her shoulder.
It makes a single sharp noise.
She narrows her eyes. “Do not bring his mother into this.”
The crow screams directly into her ear.
“You are unbelievably disrespectful for something that eats cigarette filters.”
By this point Yuji has appeared beside Megumi holding breakfast.
“Is she losing a fight?”
“She might be.”
“No, seriously look at her posture. She’s defensive.”
Sure enough she is now pacing slowly while four crows scream at her from different elevations like a highly aggressive council.
“This meeting has become unproductive,” she informs them.
A crow immediately steals the hair tie off her wrist and flies away.
There is a long silence.
Then, quietly.
“Oh you little bastard.”
Megumi watches something genuinely dangerous enter her eyes.
Yuji grabs his sleeve immediately. “Run.”
“Why?”
“She’s about to declare war.”
Behind them they hear her yell,
“COME BACK HERE, YOU FEATHERED PICKPOCKET.”
Everyone eventually realizes Pickle is the favorite because Pickle gets away with crimes that would get the other crows publicly denounced.
Pickle is a tiny, ragged-looking crow with one bad leg, permanent attitude problems, and the moral compass of a repeat offender.
She adores him.
“Pickle has survived many battles,” she says once while feeding him pieces of biscuit during a staff meeting break.
Pickle immediately bites her finger.
She looks at him with visible fondness. “A warrior.”
Nanami watches the bird steal an entire sugar packet directly out of her pocket.
“That bird is bullying you.”
“He has earned the right.”
Pickle develops privileges over time.
He is allowed indoors.
He sits on windowsills during meetings like a deeply judgmental supervisor.
He has stolen at least three of Gojo’s expensive pens and once flew directly into Naoya Zenin’s face with absolutely no provocation.
She was so proud she nearly cried.
“Look at him,” she whispered emotionally as Naoya screamed. “That’s my son.”
Megumi discovers the favoritism reaches absurd levels when he finds her standing in the rain holding an umbrella exclusively over Pickle while she herself gets completely soaked.
“You know he can fly, right?”
“He dislikes rain.”
Pickle is currently sitting in her hood staring at Megumi with the expression of a man who has evaded taxes for thirty years.
“He looks smug.”
“He is.”
Pickle caws once.
She nods solemnly. “You’re right. Megumi is being judgmental.”
Megumi leaves immediately.
The final confirmation comes when the students witness her disciplining the other crows.
“Bartholomew, apologize to Pickle.”
Offended cawing.
“You took his bread.”
More cawing.
“Do not lie to me in my own courtyard.”
Pickle hops forward dramatically with his tiny limp and makes the saddest noise imaginable.
She points at him furiously. “Look what you’ve done. He’s devastated.”
Nobara watches in stunned silence. “She does know that crow is manipulating her, right?”
From her shoulder, Pickle makes direct eye contact with Nobara and steals a french fry out of her hand.
“Oh my god,” Nobara whispers. “He learned it from her.”
The first person to suggest Pickle is “just a bird” nearly gets removed from campus.
It is Gojo’s fault, naturally.
Pickle is perched proudly on her shoulder while she drinks coffee outside, the crow aggressively puffed up like he pays taxes here.
Gojo makes the catastrophic mistake of grinning and saying, “You know that’s not actually your child, right?”
Silence.
Slowly, she lowers the coffee cup.
Pickle fixes Gojo with a stare full of ancient hostility.
Then she says, with genuine offense, “How dare you.”
Gojo laughs immediately because of course he does. “I’m serious. That is a crow.”
“That,” she says coldly, “is my son.”
Pickle caws approvingly.
Yuji, who has unfortunately witnessed this conversation before, quietly whispers to Megumi, “Do not get involved. She gets emotional about custody.”
Megumi already looks tired.
Gojo, still smiling, gestures toward the bird. “Your son steals wallet chains and screams at pedestrians.”
“He is gifted.”
“He attacked Ijichi.”
“He sensed weakness.”
Pickle spreads one wing proudly.
Gojo reaches out like he’s going to pet him.
Pickle immediately tries to peck his hand off.
“There it is,” she says softly, full of maternal pride. “Strong survival instincts.”
“You cannot keep calling a violent scavenger bird your child.”
“You literally adopted Megumi after one conversation.”
“That is different.”
“How.”
Gojo opens his mouth.
Closes it.
Opens it again.
Across the courtyard Nobara says, “Damn. She got him there.”
Pickle hops from her shoulder to her head like a horrible little crown.
She adjusts him automatically. “Also he’s sensitive.”
At that exact moment Pickle steals Gojo’s sunglasses directly off his face and flies into a tree.
There is complete silence.
Yuji bursts into tears laughing.
Gojo stares up at the branches. “Your son is a criminal.”
“He is learning.”
“From WHO?”
She gasps like he has insulted her parenting.
“Excuse you. Pickle makes his own choices.”