Chapter Text
Megumi is floating in a vast sea of darkness. He faces the dark sky with small stars scattered across it. He’s cold — really cold. A type of cold that stings your lungs and prickles every single nerve in your hands, reminding you that you're still alive.
He hears the waves crash as the tide pushes and pulls. It sways him back and forth like a mother cradling her newborn. It’s the most he’s felt at peace since…
Since his entire life.
But then something yanks him. He goes further and further until he doesn’t know which direction is up and which direction is down, and boom! His body slams into a tiled floor. Then, he hears a steady, mechanical pulse. Getting up, he tries to find the noise and sees a hospital bed, with Tsumiki tied up to those awful machines and tubes.
Tsumiki looks more exhausted than she ever did. Her pale face contrasts with her heavy dark circles, her cheeks gaunt. Megumi reaches for her frail hands, wanting to feel her grasp once again. But as he interlocks his hands with hers, her monitor flatlines. He holds her hand tighter, praying the machine is just wrong.
The sound of the monitor grows louder — more obnoxious — but Megumi’s grip grows tighter. He feels her delicate hand crack, but he can’t let go.
Then she’s gone, leaving Megumi alone with an empty hospital bed and the stench of death. He looks down at his hand, only to see it stained with blood. Suddenly, he’s back at his apartment, and Gojo’s limp body is at his feet. Blood starts pooling as his old teacher’s dull eyes stare right through Megumi’s soul. The room grows dimmer. Water rushes in, pouring from all of the windows. He watches as the water consumes Gojo’s body and takes him away from Megumi forever. The water continues to pour in, rising all the way to Megumi’s upper torso. He doesn’t fight. He doesn’t move. He lets the water pick him up and take him wherever it wants. At this point, it doesn’t matter. All he wants to do is drown.
“…Fushiguro?” A weak voice calls out, breaking Megumi out of his trance. He turns around and faces the shed he found Itadori in. Only this time, he’s older, looking at a smaller Itadori. He’s barely moving — his body stuck to the floor. If it wasn’t for his chest slowly rising and falling, Megumi would’ve thought he was dead.
He wants to help. He wants to grab Itadori and take him somewhere safe, far away from this hell. But his legs don’t move. His brain doesn’t react. He just stares at him for an eternity.
Itadori lifts his head off the floor and meets Megumi’s vacant gaze. Despite his body being worn and beaten, he still has those warm eyes that could compete with the sun.
His mouth moves, but Megumi can’t hear anything he says.
Itadori’s mouth moves again. He’s talking to him. But it just sounds like static. So, he repeats himself, over and over. Megumi is trying oh so desperately to understand what he’s saying. Just as he takes a step inside the shed, his foot steps through a puddle, and he plunges into ice.
—
Megumi wakes up in a cold sweat, unaware of his accelerating breath. His eyes are wide open; stars and static paint his vision. After trying to discern the space around him for who knows how long, shapes start to take form.
He’s still in Kurusu’s room.
He takes a deep breath. You’re okay, you’re still here. Megumi rubs his eyes and checks the time on the burner phone Kurusu gave him.
4:48 A.M.
Too early to be awake, too late to fall back asleep. He puts his hands over his face, giving himself a moment. Megumi sighs and gently gets up from the futon Kurusu graciously provided. He begins to fold the mattress, carefully so as not to disturb a sleeping Kurusu. Once he’s done, he notices how peacefully the girl sleeps. A pang of jealousy strikes Megumi’s heart. She doesn’t toss or turn — no whines or moans of fear. She’s probably dreaming of nothing, just blissfully asleep.
He doesn’t want to overstay his welcome. It was risky enough for her to save him from that police chase and let him stay over for the night. Using the light from the burner phone, he searches Kurusu’s desk for a pen and paper and quickly writes a thank-you note. He folds the piece of paper, sets it on her desk, and leaves.
—
Realizing he hasn’t eaten anything in well over 48 hours, he heads over to a nearby convenience store. It’s pretty empty: the only people in the store are Megumi and a tired cashier close to his age. He doesn’t acknowledge Megumi, though. His eyes are locked in on some magazine, so Megumi relaxes a little bit. He goes through the aisles, picking up a small sandwich and a bottle of water. He briskly walks over to the register, head down, and digs around his pockets looking for his wallet. However, instead of grabbing his flimsy leather wallet, he grabs something firmer and metallic.
My phone…!
He had forgotten about his own phone entirely. After being in his 11-year-old body for a few months and dealing with this shit, the last thing on his mind is his own phone. But maybe… maybe there’s something useful on it. He tries opening the phone, only to be met with an empty battery image. So, he runs over to the nearest aisle and grabs a phone charger, throwing it alongside his other items. Uninterested, the cashier checks him out, hands Megumi’s stuff in a plastic bag, and hands it over to him. Megumi snatches the bag and finds a small corner with an outlet. He plugs in his somewhat expensive phone charger and waits for his phone to power on. As he’s waiting, he unpacks his pathetic sandwich and takes the smallest bite he can. The mild flavors turn into one bland, incoherent mess; the texture feels like sandpaper against his tongue. It stays in his mouth for a while as his mind wanders to Itadori, finally noticing how thin he really was. How he would show up to school without any food. How emaciated he looked when Megumi found his body—
Megumi sets his sandwich down, his stomach not being able to handle anything else in the moment. He looks down and sees his phone is finally on, but is shocked to see just how many notifications he has. He wasn’t a popular guy by any means, and he pretty much disappeared off the face of the Earth when Tsumiki died. There were a lot from Kurusu: texts from the night of Gojo’s death and after. To his disappointment, Gojo didn’t text him or call him when Megumi left to drop Kurusu off; he was hoping that any message he sent would help him figure out what happened. However, there were a lot of messages and multiple missed calls from a particular number — Maki’s number.
He raises an eyebrow. Maki…? They haven’t talked in months and weren’t as close anymore after Itadori and Kugisaki’s death, so to see the plethora of messages and calls confuses Megumi. He opens his phone and opens their chat. He scrolls up to their last message, where she gave her condolences when Tsumiki died. The next text was a few hours after Gojo’s death.
Yuta just told me Gojo died and you’re somehow involved?
Is everything okay?
Maki texts again after an hour.
Police told Yuta that he was murdered in your apartment.
Megumi what the hell happened.
Please answer my calls.
The next few messages are her pleading with Megumi to pick up the damn phone.
So that explains the eighty missed calls.
Part of Megumi feels guilty: he’s never seen Maki that stressed before. Even when she and her sister got into trouble with their family, Maki always had a cool head. She was steadfast in her emotions, something that Megumi envied deeply. To see her this upset… he wants to call her back. Yet, he hesitates. He doesn’t know what Maki is thinking right now. Does she believe that Megumi killed Gojo? Or what if she tells Okkotsu? He doesn’t know much about him; he never really interacted with the guy. All he knows is that he and Gojo were somewhat related. That alone is unsettling for Megumi.
All these thoughts race in his head. If he calls her, then he’s putting himself at risk. In every scenario where he calls her, it won’t turn out well for Megumi. Even if she’s truly checking in on him, he’ll only be putting her in danger if he explains himself. It’s best if he’s just left alone.
Right before he turns his phone back off, Maki sends a text.
Megumi answer me. They have your picture all over the news. I don’t care what you did, but you need to call me.
He stares at her message, reading it over and over. Then, he dials her number. It doesn’t even go through one full ring before she answers.
“You know how long I’ve been trying to reach you?” she yells. Her voice is so loud, Megumi’s thankful no one else is near him.
“Good morning to you, too,” he responds dryly.
She calms down a bit, but is still yelling. “You know you’re being accused of murder, right?”
He pauses. Accused? “You don’t think I did it?”
“Why would I be adamant about a potential murderer answering my calls?”
“Maki,” he sighs, lowering his voice. “Please don’t get involved.”
“So you did kill him?” Megumi can just imagine her smug face right now.
“No, but–”
“Then why are you acting like that?”
Megumi grips his phone tighter. “Like what?”
“Like you’re guilty. Why are you acting like you murdered Gojo-sensei?”
He might as well.
Maki sighs. “Look, Yuta’s been working with the police to try—”
“Are you gonna turn me in?” he scoffs, his tone unserious.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she scolds in return. “We’re trying to clear your name, but it looks like whoever killed Gojo is clever. Police are convinced you’re the main suspect just because you ran.” Her voice sounds more bitter than it did earlier.
He… doesn’t know what to think. Why the hell would Maki and Okkotsu try to clear his name? He hasn’t done anything for them to warrant their response, much less be a decent person for them to care about.
“Maki just–” his throat gets dry, forcing him to clear it. “Forget about me, okay? I just need a few days, and I’ll turn myself in.”
“No, you’re not doing this again.”
A vein pops in Megumi’s forehead. “Doing what exactly?“
“You’re not going to act like everything’s your fault and just shut down.”
“I’m not shutting down—”
“You are,” she bluntly states. She doesn’t say anything for a moment before taking an exasperated breath. “Look… when you found Itadori, I understood why you didn’t want to talk to us anymore. Hell, after they found Kugisaki, I didn’t want to see Yuta or Toge for a while. But Megumi, you honestly can’t expect to handle this by yourself?”
“It’s not like that, Maki,” he hisses. “I just don’t want to drag you through my shit. Even if you and Okkotsu do try to help me, I’m still going to end up in custody, so does it even matter?”
She groans, “Clearly, you didn’t understand my point. Okay, fine. Handle it by yourself, but at least meet up with the PI Yuta hired. She’ll help you out as a third party if that makes you feel any better.”
It doesn’t. “Yeah, sure. What’s her name?”
“Yuki Tsukumo. I’m sending you her phone number right now. Oh, and be subtle when you call her. Pretty sure we’re not supposed to help you out since you’re a fugitive now.”
Yuki Tsukumo… the name is familiar, like he’s read it somewhere. “Can I ask why Okkotsu is doing all of this? I mean, I sort of understand why you want to help, but Okkotsu and I aren’t that close.”
“He’s met you before. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what kind of person you are.”
Megumi grimaces. “That’s not—”
“And I asked him.” There’s some shuffling in the background, causing Maki to speak to someone else who’s not Megumi. Her words are mumbled for a few minutes before returning. “I have to go, Megumi, but you better not do anything stupid.” She hangs up before Megumi can get the last word in. He runs his hands through his tangled hair, exhausted by Maki’s sheer stubbornness. Regardless, it’s nice to know she’s been trying to help out in ways she can, even if Megumi’s been a complete asshole to her.
If he comes out of this, maybe he’ll reach out more.
Maki sends a text message with Tsukumo’s number. However, instead of calling on his own device, he decides to call using Kurusu’s old phone. He’s already put himself at risk by calling Maki; he doesn’t want the police to track his call with Tsukumo, either. The phone rings, leaving Megumi to wonder if he’s making the right call. Before anxiety gets the better of him, the phone picks up.
“…mm' hello. Tsukumo speaking.” Sounds like she just woke up.
“Hello, this is—” Megumi remembers Maki’s words. “one of Gojo’s colleagues. I was hoping to speak to you.”
The other line is silent. Then, Tsukumo says, “I’ve been expecting your call. I’m sorry for your loss.” She’s more alert than she was ten seconds ago. “Unfortunately, I hate phone calls, so let’s meet at a cafe? The one near that library? ”
Megumi’s cheeks flush red. That library? Really? “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Perfect, I’ll see you in twenty. Oh! And make sure you throw away any of those communication devices Limitless Tech gave you. Heard there’s been a recall. I’ll give you a new one when we meet.” The line disconnects, leaving Megumi baffled at how hard this woman is trying to be discreet. Are all private investigators like this?
He cleans up his table, throwing away his barely eaten sandwich and receipt. When he leaves, he walks a couple of blocks before finding a trash can where he can throw away both phones; though, he frowns when having to throw away Kurusu’s old phone. He didn’t like the idea of throwing away a gift, but he’s already risked too much.
He arrives near the library Tsukumo was talking about, arriving just on time. Megumi doesn’t know which cafe she was referring to, however, so he just sits by a nearby bench, keeping his head low so people don’t notice him. He waits, thinking about the conversation with Maki. It reminds him of a time during his first year of middle school, when he first got in trouble for beating up a couple of kids. Maki approached him one day while at a store with a smug look on her face, with Okkotsu looking frightened as always.
“Heard Gojo-sensei grounded your ass after you got caught beating up some idiots.”
Megumi glares at his cousin. “What’s it to you?”
“Is that how you talk to your senior?”
"The only senior I respect here is Okkotsu.” Megumi tries to walk away, but Maki grabs the collar of his shirt.
“M-Maki!” Okkotsu yelps. “Please don’t try to start anything!”
“Are you backing down from a fight, Megumi?” she grins.
Pissed, Megumi spits on the ground and glares daggers at his cousin.
It doesn’t take long for Maki to beat his ass.
Okkotsu brings him an ice pack as Megumi groans.
“I’m sorry about Maki, she’s—”
“It’s fine,” Megumi says, waving a hand. Instead of walking away, Okkotsu sits down next to him.
“Maki told me their two-year anniversary is coming up.”
Megumi’s eyes trail away from Okkotsu. “Yeah…”
“I didn’t know Itadori or Kugisaki that well, but Maki wants to visit their grave next week. I think she wanted to ask if you would join, but she’s not exactly the sentimental type,” he smiles softly.
Megumi hasn’t visited their graves once. It’s been two years, but it still doesn’t feel real. He’s two years older than them. That, itself, feels wrong.
“I think you should come with us,” Okkotsu kindly offers.
“Gojo grounded me, remember?”
He laughs, “I think he won’t mind if he knows the reason.”
Megumi rolls his eyes. “Maybe… I’ll think about it.”
Megumi never visited their graves.
“Hey. What’s your type in women?”
He’s suddenly brought back to reality and looks up to see a familiar face. It’s the tall blonde woman he’s seen Gojo talk to when Itadori and Kugisaki went missing.
Then, it clicks.
“You must be Yuki Tsukumo.”
The brash woman chuckles. “And you’re Megumi Fushiguro. You’ve grown taller.”
Megumi gets up from his bench and looks up at the woman. “We’ve met before?”
“I don’t think officially. Gojo hired me alongside Kusakabe when two of his students went missing.”
“Kusakabe…” Megumi scowls at that name, but Tsukumo just laughs and pats him on the back.
“Heard you had a run-in with my favorite detective! C’mon, let’s go inside; I hate being in open spaces.”
They walk into a spacious coffee shop. The decor is simple with plants decorating the wood-tone tables and booths. It also has a flight of stairs near a back corner, hidden by signs and other decorations. Tsukumo greets the barista, and they chat for a bit. She places her order and turns to Megumi and asks if he wants anything.
“My treat,” she grins.
Nothing sounds appetizing at the moment, but not wanting to be rude, Megumi orders a simple black coffee. He can feel the mocking glare Tsukumo gives him, but he chooses to ignore it. She pays, and the barista says she’ll bring the drinks upstairs.
“Upstairs?” Megumi asks.
“I have a room reserved. Besides, I do my work here often, so we shouldn’t have any trouble.”
When upstairs, Tsukumo opens the door to a type of study room Megumi would’ve liked when he was in university. No windows to see from the inside, warm lighting to help with focus, and the smell of fresh ink and eucalyptus. They sit across from each other, and they receive their respective drinks shortly after.
“So,” Tsukumo says as she sips on her foamy latte. “What have you found out about Gojo?”
He pauses. Megumi hasn’t found anything about Gojo’s murder. He’s been so focused on gathering information about Itadori and Kugisaki’s death, so he can return to the past — but what if Gojo’s death is completely unrelated? What if, no matter if he saves the two of them, Gojo still dies?
Megumi looks down at his steaming black coffee. “I haven’t looked into it, if I’m being completely honest.”
She studies Megumi with a cold, hard gaze. “You’ve been distracted?”
He nods. “Mmh.”
“Tell me, Fushiguro: does this case remind you of anything?”
“Not really, but…” Megumi’s mouth goes dry. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my old friends.”
“Apparently, so did Gojo.”
Megumi’s head shoots up. “What?”
“Gojo called me just a few minutes before he was murdered. He left me a message, saying it was urgent, but I obviously couldn’t get back to him.” Tsukumo takes a small sip of her drink before pulling out a thick vanilla folder from her bag.
“What’s that?”
“It’s my files over Itadori and Kugisaki.”
Megumi’s eyebrows furrow. “How is that relevant?”
Tsukumo clasps her hands into a ball in front of her face. “Because of my previous work as Gojo’s PI, Kusakabe allowed me to investigate your apartment. I couldn’t get access to Gojo’s phone because it was sent over to the precinct, but I found articles all over your apartment about Kugisaki and Itadori’s murder. Surely you saw these papers?”
“I only saw one right next to Gojo’s body,” he grimaces, recalling how that faded newspaper clipping was stained red. “But so what if he was looking at articles from back then? That doesn’t really tell us much.”
“On the contrary. It tells us that Gojo had a run-in with someone from your past. Otherwise, there’s no reason for him to be digging around again. Do you remember anything before you found his body?”
Megumi finally takes a sip of his lukewarm coffee as he tries to recall that day. He remembers having dinner with Gojo and Kurusu, remembers taking Kurusu home, and remembers finding his body, but what happened before that?
“I… I think we were grocery shopping together,” he thinks out loud. “I noticed someone acting off, and I think Gojo did too.”
“Did Gojo talk to this someone?” she presses.
“…Yeah, now that you mention it.”
"This is a hunch, but whoever Gojo talked to was somehow involved with Itadori and Kugisaki’s death and got really anxious when they saw a familiar face.”
“I could see that,” he wonders, “but I don’t think they’re related. I didn’t recognize that man. And besides, I thought they already caught Itadori and Kugisaki’s killer.”
“They blamed the wrong person.” Tsukumo’s eyes are more furious, like she witnessed a personal injustice. She slides the folder over to Megumi. “Fushiguro, I want you to look at the evidence I gathered nine years ago, and I want you to answer two questions. One,” she holds up a finger, “How did Itadori die? Two,” she holds up another, “How was Kugisaki involved in any of this?”
He opens the folder and is shocked by how many documents, blurry pictures, receipts, etc., are in it. While shuffling through all of the papers, he decides to answer Tsukumo’s first question.
“Itadori died because of that stab wound, right?” He remembers how that hole almost covered his entire chest.
“Not quite. Have you found the autopsy report?”
He flips through the folder and finds two medical reports. “Found them.”
“You’d be right that the prosecutors said that Itadori’s cause of death was the stab wound, and that falls in line with the narrative that they created that his brother killed him.” Megumi notices how her mouth creases and her fist clenches when talking about Choso. “But I knew the guy, so I started helping out the defense and called one of Gojo’s doctor friends, Dr. Shoko Ieiri.”
He pulls out Dr. Ieiri’s report and studies it. She details Itadori’s basic information like his weight (Megumi notices how low it is), age, height, and goes on to discuss her findings. Then, something catches his eye toward the end of her report.
… I cannot, in good conscience, agree with the previous findings. Through closer observations, it is clear that Yuji Itadori suffered blunt force trauma across his upper torso and abdomen, leading to several fractured ribs and internal bleeding in his spleen. It’s difficult to discern the origins of the bruises, whether it was done by hand or some weapon, due to how far decomposition has settled. On that same note, the stab wound on Itadori’s chest looks on par with postmortem stab wounds due to the lack of hemmoraging you would typically see in a typical stab wound. It is also difficult to estimate when the stab wound occurred, but I determined Itadori was stabbed between 15 minutes and two hours postmortem. With his malnutrution, his young age, small stature, and my other findings listed above, I conclude that Itadori’s ultimate cause of death was internal bleeding as a result of blunt force trauma.
Megumi rummages his hands through his hair. “This doesn’t make sense. So Choso beats him to death and waits at least 15 minutes to stab him?”
"Not quite. It was no secret that Itadori was abused. One possibility is that whoever was beating him took things too far and ended up killing him. Not wanting to take accountability, they stabbed Itadori in the chest with Choso’s kitchen knife, so it had to be someone close to Choso.”
Megumi grits his teeth, thinking about Itadori’s mother and how slimy that woman was. “So are you saying his mother killed him?”
She raises an eyebrow. “You think his mother used to beat him?”
His fingers dig into the palm of his hand. “You just said it was no secret.”
“Referring to his abuse, I never mentioned who, though,” she corrects. “We interviewed Kaori multiple times, and even the police had considered her a suspect for a while until you found Itadori, but we never got any damning evidence that she hit her kid. For all we know, the worst thing she was doing was neglecting Itadori, and we were only able to figure that out thanks to his uncle.”
“Sukuna-sensei?” Megumi says.
“Yup. I was surprised, considering how Gojo described the man.”
Megumi didn’t think Sukuna would care that much, considering all of the interactions he had with the spiteful man.
Just remembering his words after he found Itadori in that shed is enough to send Megumi into a spiral.
“But anyways,” he continues, “Whoever is responsible for hurting Itadori is most likely the murderer?”
“That is a possibility,” Tsukumo says quite plainly.
“Then, why do you think Choso is innocent? For all you know, he could’ve hurt Itadori that night.”
Tsukumo sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose: not out of annoyance, but some other emotion Megumi can’t read. “I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. He’s the one who asked me to find Kaori for him. When he found out he also had a younger brother, he talked to me. Said he did some things that he regrets and wants to make up to him. So,” she clenches her teeth. “I told him he should meet up with his brother. Though hindsight’s 20-20.”
“He met with Itadori?” Megumi raises his voice.
“He never got the chance, Fushiguro. He went to look for him on his birthday, but never found him. By the time he found out, he couldn’t take the train home, so he crashed at my place.”
“Then what about the blood they found in his apartment?”
“That’s also what’s given us the most trouble,” she pouts as she places her hand on her cheek. “Based on both autopsies, Itadori died on March 21st, but we couldn’t figure out the exact time just because of how long the body’s been decomposing. I only provided Choso with an alibi up until the morning of March 21st. I tried arguing that someone had broken into his apartment, but it was quickly dismissed due to no signs of forced entry.”
Megumi’s not entirely convinced Choso is completely innocent, but he knows he was most certainly framed for Kugisaki’s murder. “What about Kugisaki?”
“What do you think?”
“…Do you think whoever killed Kugisaki knew about Choso’s predicament?”
Tsukumo has a sly smirk on her face. “That’s an interesting theory. Now, why do you say that?”
“I remember Itadori, Kugisaki, and I were at a park when Choso and this patchface guy were watching us.” He grips his coffee cup. “I’ll admit, I don’t believe Choso is responsible for killing Kugisaki, but whoever did is at least close with him.”
She nods. “But what if Choso didn’t kill Itadori? Let’s say, in this situation, it was Kaori who beat him to death. What then?”
Megumi bites his cheek. “…This might be a reach, but what if this was planned? What if whoever murdered Itadori and that patchface guy were working together and always planned on using Choso as their scapegoat?”
In both timelines, Itadori and Kugisaki died just a few days apart from each other. It’s no coincidence that it’s happened again. Maybe surrounding himself with the two wasn’t enough to deter anyone from killing them.
How naive that Megumi thought otherwise.
“Sometimes, you need to reach in the dark.” She playfully shrugs. “But I do like that theory. I’ll look more into that patchface guy you mentioned. If Gojo’s death is because of what happened nine years ago, then it’s either one of those two murderers. And it seems like this time, you’re the scapegoat.”
She checks the watch on her wrist and her eyes widen in a panic. “Shit! Sorry, Fushiguro, but I have a meeting in Shibuya that I totally forgot about, so we have to cut our conversation short.” She gets up and gathers her things.
Right before she steps out of the room, she turns around. “Oh! I almost forgot,” she pulls out a black burner phone and tosses it to Megumi. “My phone number is already on it. Try not to call anyone else, ‘kay? Don’t want Kusakabe arresting you before I finish my own investigation. And try to get some sleep, kid. You look like shit.”
Megumi rolls his eyes. “Duly noted.”
“See you!” She salutes him with a smirk on her face, and she leaves the study room.
—
After his conversation with Tsukumo, he ends up underneath a bridge and takes her advice. His dreams are less vivid than they were last night. Itadori’s there, but he looks different. He’s taller, that’s for sure, and he has the same middle school uniform Megumi used to wear. Kugisaki is with him too, hair longer and lighter. But their faces are indiscernible blobs. He reaches out, trying to get closer, but they just disappear.
Megumi groggily wakes up to bright golden light. He must’ve slept through the entire afternoon.
His hunger pangs are suddenly worse than they were earlier. When he gets up, his vision blackens as all of his limbs begin to shake, causing him to lean against the wall.
He really needs to eat something.
So, he goes into a different convenience store and buys a rice ball with no filling. He checks out and finds a small corner, away from the bustling streets. Looking at his surroundings, he realizes this is the same area where he ran from the police. Not wanting to be recognized, he keeps his head down and quickly finishes his meal.
Just as he’s about to leave, he sees smoke in the distance. It’s awfully close, like a building nearby is on fire.
Curious, he begins walking over, wanting to see what’s going on. He walks for a couple of blocks before entering a residential area. Then, he finally realizes what’s going on.
Oh god.
He sprints. He’s going as fast as he possibly can.
That’s…!
Kurusu’s house is engulfed in flames. Her neighbors are outside, panicking, on the phone, screaming.
Pushing past them, Megumi runs into the fire. Just as he tries to catch his breath, black smoke and soot instantly fill his lungs. He tries calling out for Kurusu, but the more he inhales, the more that enters his system. Pulling up his shirt to his face, he tries looking for Kurusu.
“K-Kurusu?” He hacks. Suddenly, parts of the ceiling collapse in front of him, causing him to fall back and land on a pile of flames. He feels hot wood poking, no, stabbing his back. He curses as tears prickled his eyes, but he gets up, trying to ignore the pain. He doesn’t want to imagine what his back looks like.
He finds Kurusu on the floor in the kitchen, and Megumi almost gags at the scene. Her blonde hair is matted with blood, and her arm is crushed by a support beam and other debris.
“Kurusu!” He lets go of his makeshift mask and tries to lift the debris, but he can’t hold on for longer than five seconds. So, he tries pulling her out, but the more he tugs, the more worried he gets about hurting her. Frustration overwhelms him. The more he tugs, the more he lifts — it’s just not working. After two minutes of this useless cycle, Megumi coughs. And coughs. And can’t seem to stop coughing. His lungs feel so heavy: his head so light. He feels his knees buckle and collapses — his knees banging against the floor.
His chest hurts so bad. He can’t move. He’s in a stupid coughing fit just after five minutes of being here; meanwhile, Kurusu has been in this fire for who knows how long.
“Fu…”
God, his ears can’t stop ringing.
“…Iguro..”
He doesn’t know if he’s coughing up spit or blood.
“Fushiguro!”
He looks up to see Kusakabe with some sort of face covering on.
“W–wha..?”
He feels something slide underneath his arm and lift him. “I need to get you out of here. You’ve inhaled too much smoke, and you’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” he spits out, “You need to help Kurusu.”
“I can’t lift that debris by myself—”
Megumi forcefully breaks from Kusakabe’s grasp. He walks over to Kurusu and tries to lift the debris once again, ignoring how much skin he’s burnt off.
“Fushiguro, we need—”
“God, just fucking help me!”
He sounds so pathetic. He’s crying, begging, pleading, all because he doesn’t want someone he cares about to die. Again.
All he’s ever done is curse the people in his life.
“Damn it, you’re so stubborn!” Kusakabe yells. Regardless, he helps Megumi, and together, they lift the support beam, Megumi exerting all of his strength, just barely, so that her arm is finally visible.
“Kid, hurry up and grab her!”
He releases his grip on the support beam and quickly slides Kurusu away from the debris. Once Kurusu is out, Kusakabe lets go of the beam, causing it to slam against the floor. However, when he looks at Kurusu, his face drops.
“God damn…”
Pieces of her sweater fused into her arm. There’s no more skin, only muscle and pieces of bone. The sight of it makes Megumi dizzy.
Kusakabe picks up Kurusu, bridal style. “This place is about to collapse. We need to get out of here.” Kusakabe starts looking for the nearest exit, while Megumi mindlessly follows. His feet drag as his body feels like lead.
“C’mon Fushigur—”
Kusakabe’s words get cut out as a beam collapses in front of them, separating the two. They both cough as ash and soot fill the air like confetti.
“Fushiguro!—”
“Just leave me!” Fushiguro cries out, fanning the smoke away from his face. “Get Kurusu out of here!”
“I’m not going to leave you, kid!”
Megumi grits his teeth. “She’s the priority, not me. I’ll be fine, I’ll find another way out of here!”
Kusakabe’s jaw clenches. “Just so you know, I personally don’t think you killed Gojo. So, don’t do anything stupid, and go to a freaking hospital once you’re out!”
Kusakabe starts heading for the exit, leaving Megumi dumbfounded. He doesn’t stay fixed on his words for long, though, as he notices the smoke grows thicker and darker. He heads back to the kitchen, where flames blur his vision. It takes him a moment before noticing a small window near the dining table, so he immediately grabs a chair and throws it, causing the glass to shatter into a million pieces. Not giving it a second thought, he jumps out, landing on a pile of bushes. He feels his skin get cut by the remaining shards, but he doesn’t care because he can finally breathe.
He starts coughing again, but instead of tears of pain, it’s tears of relief. The air feels so smooth, so cold against his entire body. He can’t help but laugh a little bit.
As he gets up from the bushes, he feels something underneath his foot. Curious, he leans down to pick it up, and terror instantly takes over him.
The blue flip phone he threw away near the convenience store is suddenly in Kurusu’s backyard.
He opens it and sees two messages sent from it.
Messages that he never sent.
Someone tried to murder Kurusu.
His grip on the phone grows tighter. Suddenly, he sees colorful flashing lights near the front of Kurusu’s house. Realizing that he’s holding a piece of damning evidence against him, he runs.
—
Once he’s far away from the chaos, he can’t help but pace around like a maniac. Someone tried to murder Kurusu. But why? What does Kurusu possibly have to do—
He stops.
Kurusu was his alibi.
And the killer knew it.
“God. Damn it!” He screams, throwing the blue phone against a wall. This is exactly why he didn’t want to involve Kurusu. Kurusu had nothing to do with Megumi’s shit, yet she got hurt. It was all his fault. He should’ve never accepted that ride. He should’ve been a man and let the police catch him. Instead, he’s just a coward, always running away.
He doesn’t know why, but he pulls out the phone Tsukumo gave him and calls her, ignoring how painful the blisters on his palms are. After a few rings, Megumi debates hanging up. Just as he’s about to hit the “end call” button, Tsukumo picks up.
“Fushiguro, what the hell happened? Kusakabe told me you were caught in a fire?”
Megumi’s mouth goes dry.
“Fushiguro, you need to go to the hospital. You can’t—”
“Someone tried to murder her,” he rasps.
“What? Murder who?”
He inhales sharply, his lungs still stinging. “Kurusu. Whoever killed Gojo tried to kill Kurusu. They used my old phone to text her.”
“Damn it, I told you to get rid of that thing!”
He did. He just didn’t know he was being watched, like the idiot he is.
“Tsukumo. I’m turning myself in tomorrow. I'll tell the police that I killed Gojo and tried to kill Kurusu. Please, just forget about this case.”
“What?” Tsukumo screams over the phone. “You can’t be serious!”
“I’m just… so tired,” he croaks. God, his throat hurts so bad.
“Fushiguro, please, just go to a hospital, and we can talk then. You’re probably going through shock—”
Megumi hangs up the phone. He sits down, head on his knees, looking at the concrete ground. He’s in so much pain. His back is so warm, and he can feel every single raised bump. Every movement he does with his hands sends shock waves so unbelievably terrible that he wishes he didn’t have hands.
Is this how you felt, Kurusu? Itadori? Kugisaki?
No. What they’ve felt was much worse. Megumi is only feeling a fraction of what everyone else has gone through.
He feels his body get heavier, his eyelids fluttering. His body starts getting cold. He no longer feels the blisters all over his body, so that’s good, right? That means that he’s getting better?
He’s getting tired. Like he needs to take a long nap. Maybe that’s what he needs — some sleep. He slumps over, landing on his shoulder. His breathing is getting shallower. Suddenly, the fresh air he greedily took no longer fills up his lungs. His chest hurts with every inhale. His lungs can’t get enough air out with every exhale.
His vision blurs, going in and out. Megumi can’t tell if it’s from crying or from not getting enough oxygen to his brain. He’s wheezing, like a pathetic, sick animal after getting caught in some trap.
“Megumi Fushiguro. It’s been a long time.”
…Who said that? Megumi tries to lift his head, but it feels like the Earth is keeping him down. He hears footsteps, and all of a sudden, he’s facing a blurry, brutish man.
I’ve seen this person before.
“How pathetic,” he laughs, like it’s a game to him. “Letting yourself grovel like that.”
“You—” he coughs, spitting blood on the man’s expensive loafers. In response, he kicks Megumi in the face.
“Just die already, Fushiguro. And when you see Gojo, tell him I said hi.” He starts walking off like the bastard he is.
He feels himself closing his eyes.
…No.
His heart is slowing down.
Not yet!
As the man enters a car, Megumi’s vision goes black.
I need…
Megumi hopes to see Itadori one last time.