Chapter Text
The 1984 Toyota van roared into the parking lot. Ignoring the cars on either side, it shot straight to the front of the school and parked directly in front of the entrance, blocking three faculty cars in the process.
Almost immediately, Satoru jumped out of the driver’s side and rounded the van to yank open the passenger door.
“Alright, kiddies! Pile out—one, two, three, march!”
He snapped off a sharp salute and pointed toward the gate leading to the sports field. Through the wire fence, the band was already playing.
Oh good. Not late.
Nobara jumped out first, rolling her eyes like his existence personally offended her, and bolted for the gate. Megumi followed, hauling his oversized backpack onto his shoulder as he chased after her.
Tsumiki climbed out next, offering Satoru a small, patient smile and a quick thank you before heading after them at a more civilised pace.
Toge exited with the long-suffering sigh of a fourteen-year-old burdened with indentured servitude, and walked past Satoru like he didn't exist. On his hip he carried two year old Junpei, sleeping peacefully and sucking his thumb.
Momo and Kasumi emerged next, identical noses buried in identical copies of Harry Potter. Without looking up, they stepped forward in perfect sync—straight toward the curb.
Satoru caught them by the backs of their hoodies just in time, stopping them from making identical dents in the pavement.
Panda climbed out after them, self-consciously tugging down his oversized t-shirt before heading off to catch up with Toge. Around other people, those two acted like sworn enemies—but left alone, they were inseparable.
Satoru lingered by the van, watching as Noritoshi pulled neatly into one of the last remaining spots at the back like the responsible citizen Satoru had absolutely raised him to be.
That he’d only raised him for two years was beside the point. In Satoru’s mind, those two years had clearly made all the difference. His positive impact was all over that kid!
Noritoshi stepped out of the car and moved around to the back. He opened the passenger door, leaned in, and carefully extracted a groggy-looking Yuji, setting him down on the pavement. Yuji swayed where he stood, tiredly rubbing his eyes.
Noritoshi closed the door, circled the car, and repeated the process on the other side. This time, he re-emerged with an irate, menacing looking child who demanded to be let down immediately. The second his feet hit the ground, he kicked Noritoshi sharply in the knee before taking off toward the gate—grabbing Yuji’s hand to drag him along with him.
Satoru laughed as they sprinted past, and smiled at Noritoshi who looked like his was one step away from committing a felony.
“Hey,” Satoru called, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Not my fault. They’re traumatised children, Nori—cut 'em some slack.”
“No,” Noritoshi snapped, sullenly limping after them, “Yuji is traumatised. Sukuna is just hell spawn.”
He moved past Satoru without slowing down.
Experience had taught them exactly what Sukuna was capable of when left unsupervised—particularly after Shoko’s wedding, where he’d approached multiple unsuspecting guests asking for “upsies,” only to immediately bury his face in their chests and yell “boobs!” at the top of his lungs.
Satoru watched him go, still amused, before turning back to the car. He shut the door and made his way around to the front passenger side.
Opening it, he smiled.
“Kokichi.”
“Ready to go?” he asked.
Kokichi chewed on his bottom lip, then gave a small nod.
“You nervous?” Satoru added, as if the answer wasn’t obvious from the way Kokichi looked determined to bite straight through his lip.
“You know we’ll be making a lot of noise for you out there, Mr Graduate.”
Kokichi winced.
“Please don’t,” he muttered.
But the image must have been amusing enough to take the edge off, because a moment later he reached down and unfastened his seatbelt.
“That’s my boy,” Satoru said, already pulling the folded wheelchair from the side of the seat. He set it down, unfolding and securing it with practiced ease—quietly wishing they could have brought Kokichi’s electric chair instead.
Kokichi had assembled “Mechamaru” himself, upgrading her regularly with cool gadgets out of his own pocket money. She was truly a refection of his love for all things electronic.
But the old farts at the Tokyo Metropolitan Technical College forbid him from riding Mechamaru.
Student safety, they’d said.
“Not Kokichi’s safety, you understand” they made a point to emphasise, reminding Satoru that they didn't care two stones for a throw away orphan, “but the other students deserve to feel safe here too Mr Gojo. We hope you understand.”
He didn’t.
But he also didn’t have the patience to argue with a room full of trust fund fossils, so he’d flipped them off and walked away.
He knew they wouldn’t have enrolled his kids at all if it weren’t for the Gojo name—and it was that same name that kept them from being expelled on a semi-regular basis.
Kokichi, as always, didn’t ask for help, which deterred Satoru not at all.
He reached inside and Kokichi let out an exasperated sigh but looped his bandaged arms around Satoru’s neck, allowing himself to be lifted from the seat and settled into the chair.
Kokichi’s graduation robe hung over loose black cotton pants and a fitted turtleneck. Beneath the fabric, his body was wrapped almost entirely in antiseptic bandages, leaving only his hands and feet exposed. Even those were protected—special gloves layered over his fingers, bandaged to the wrist, and rubber socks tucked into boots a size too large.
As Satoru lowered him into the chair, Kokichi instinctively turned the left side of his face away.
Satoru’s gaze did not linger.
Not for the first time a dark desire rattled inside him to find Kokichi's parents and make them pay.
Not even Kokichi’s face had been spared. His left cheek was ravaged with red, angry scars that trailed like vines up the side of his face to the stump of his missing ear.
His hair—the only thing left relatively untouched—was tied up in a stylish man bun. Satoru’s work, and he was proud of it.
Kokichi fussed around with his robes, gathering the fabric neatly into his lap before starting toward the gate.
Satoru locked the car and followed.
He knew how this would go. Kokichi would push himself as far as he could, then further, and only ask for help when he exhausted himself completely and could go no further. Another reason Satoru wished he could have brought Mechamaru. She gave Kokichi the freedom his body couldn't.
Kokichi did better than expected. Even as his lungs rattled with exhaustion, he wheeling himself all the way past a dozen rows of plastic chairs, and might have made it all the way up to the stage if it wasn’t for the steep incline of the makeshift ramp.
“I’ve got you,” Satoru murmured, low enough that no one else would hear.
He stepped in, pushing the chair up the ramp and guiding him to the back of the stage, where a line of students stood adjusting robes and whispering to each other.
“Here.”
Satoru dropped the graduation cap onto Kokichi’s head, then crouched to fix it quickly but carefully into place.
“There,” he said, straightening. “Now you look almost as handsome as your old man.”
Kokichi shot him a flat look.
“Go die," he said, but even as he ducked his chin Satoru caught him smiling.
“Ah you wound me!” He made a dramatic faint.
“Just for that,” Satoru went on, already backing away, “I’m rallying the troops. Extra loud cheering for their big brother. No mercy.”
“No, don’t—”
“Ta-ta for now!”
And with that, Satoru hopped off the stage.
Standing at six feet tall, he had no trouble spotting his kids at the back. He made his way toward them, passing two women whispering to each other and throwing him what they probably thought were inconspicuous glances. He paid them no mind—he was used to the attention. His height and brilliant white hair made him a hot topic for desperate housewives, and desperate husbands alike.
Being the adoptive father of twelve children had given him what Shoko jokingly called infinity vision—fine-tuned awareness for spotting trouble from a mile away.
Like now.
Even from halfway down the aisle, he could already see disaster unfolding.
Sukuna had stolen Megumi’s backpack.
Slung across his shoulders, it was nearly as tall as he was, smacking against the back of his ankles as he ran between rows of seats, unapologetically stepping on toes and elbowing unfortunate guests in the groin.
Megumi stood on his chair, screaming that he’d set Kuro and Shiro on him when they got home, while Noritoshi paced the aisle like a goalkeeper desperately trying to stop a ball from getting through.
Further back, Satoru spotted Nobara with Yuji on her shoulders, cheering Sukuna on. Sitting beside them Panda and Toge were doubled over with laughter - while little Junpei, frightened by all the chaos, clung to Toge like a limpet.
“Dammit, Sukuna! Come here right now!” Noritoshi yelled.
Several parents turned to glare.
'Like they’d never sworn at their own spawn', Satoru thought, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses.
Calculating that Sukuna would take the exit furthest from Noritoshi—which, conveniently, was closest to him—Satoru stuck his foot out at just the right moment.
Sukuna ran straight into it and went down, face-first.
“Whoopsies,” Satoru sang.
He grabbed him by the back of the backpack and hauled him upright, marching him down the aisle like a condemned prisoner to the gallows.
By the time they reached the others, Noritoshi was already launching into a lecture.
“Sukuna what were you thinking? This is a special event for your brother’s graduation and you can’t even behave yourself for an hour? What do you think the other parents are thinking right now? They’re thinking that Kokichi’s little brother is a selfish, naughty little boy.”
“How do you know what they’re thinking? Are you a mind reader?” asked Yuji, leaning over excitedly and peering into Nori’s eyes. “What am I thinking right…now?” he challenged, squinting in concentration.
“What? No!” Noritoshi sighed, “I just mean it’s easy to see what the other parents will be thinking abut your brother’s behaviour.”
He glanced at Yuji’s scrunched-up, little face—still clearly attempting telepathic communication—and sighed again, this time in resignation.
“Never mind. Satoru, can you keep Sukuna in your lap?”
Satoru smiled.
He handed the stolen backpack back to Megumi, who snatched it without a word and hugged it tightly to his chest. Dropping into a chair, Satoru lifted Sukuna under the arms and plopped him into his lap.
Sukuna growled like a disgruntled chihuahua.
Out of the corner of his eye, Satoru spotted Toge signing something to Panda, who nodded solemnly.
“Toge-kun!” Satoru said, scandalised. “How could you accuse your loving family of conspiring to embarrass you?”
That earned them a few sharp “shhh!”s as the oval fell quiet for the valedictorian’s speech.
Toge buried his face in his hands. Panda visibly cringed.
Satoru leaned back in his seat, smiling.
Another wonderful day with his kids.
What more could he ask for?