Archive of Our Own

I. HOSHI KIRARA

FALL 2016

Kirara groans as he shuts the fridge. No new food has appeared since the last time he checked, fifteen minutes ago. It’s only to be expected, but he was really hoping the upperclassmen would go shopping and get something good that he could steal.

Unfortunately, that does not seem to be the case, so Kirara will have to forgo a snack for the time being.

He turns, ready to make the trek back to his room, but he stops short at the sight of Gojo in the doorway.

He claps his hands together. “Kirara! Perfect!” He looks around, though with those bandages over his eyes, Kirara still isn’t sure how he can actually see anything. “Where’s Kinji?”

“On a date,” Kirara rolls his eyes. “Again.” Because Kinji always seems to have dates with pretty girls who offer him everything he wants and more. It’s annoying. The girls are annoying. They’re all the same long hair, slim waist, nice boobs, pretty smile, sparkling eyes, long eyelashes, flawless makeup, type. And Kirara can’t even really hate them, because he sees the allure.

Gojo smiles, as if he already knew everything Kirara just told him. He could have just said as much instead of playing dumb. “Perfect! That means you’re free, right?”

Kirara narrows his eyes. As a general rule, Gojo asking if you have free time is not a good thing. “...Depends. Why?”

“I have some people I want you to meet!” He grins. “I promise it’ll be fun!”

Kirara groans, but it’s not like he has anything better to do. He’s been spending his evening waiting for food to miraculously appear in a fridge that’s older than he is. “Fine,” he relents. He trudges across the kitchen, following Gojo away to wherever he’s decided to drag Kirara.

Is it too much to hope that this won’t be some sort of extra surprise training session?

Gojo doesn’t take him too far—just to the common area in the dorms, where two unfamiliar kids are seated on the floor—both only a year or two younger than Kirara. One is talking animatedly to the other, who looks tired and annoyed. That is something Kirara can understand.

“Megumi, Tsumiki, I brought a friend~” Gojo says in a sing-song-y voice. “This is Kirara, one of the first year students. Kirara, this is Megumi and Tsumiki. Megumi will start school here in two years, and Tsumiki is their step-sister.” He leans in closer to Kirara and whispers, “Megumi will kill me if I call them my kid, but I am their legal guardian.”

Kirara looks back at the two kids. Gojo is in charge of them? What happened to their actual parents that sentenced these poor kids to that fate?

“Well!” Gojo claps his hands together. “I actually have a couple things I need to grab real quick. Tsumiki-chan, if you would be so kind as to help me carry stuff…” He turns to face the kids.

“Oh!” Tsumiki jumps up. “Yeah!”

“Wait—” Megumi starts.

“It’ll be really quick, I promise.” Tsumiki pats their head, then runs over to Gojo. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Perfect!” With that, Gojo and Tsumiki leave, and Kirara is alone with Megumi.

Megumi rolls their eyes.

Kirara looks them up and down, taking in their appearance. They have spiky black hair and eyes so dark Kirara can’t differentiate between the iris and the pupil. They’re wearing an oversized black sweatshirt with a band logo on it, grey sweatpants, and black sneakers. Their fingernails are painted black and they have a small black earring on each ear. Their eyelashes are long like all of Hakari’s girlfriends—like Kirara wishes his could be.

(He knows the girls’ are fake—or that they’re at least wearing mascara—but Kirara knows he wouldn’t be able to figure out how to do makeup on his own, and he doesn’t exactly have anyone to ask for help.)

“What’s your last name?” Kirara asks. He assumes Megumi is their given name, but that doesn’t inform Kirara about possible ties to sorcerer families.

Not that Kirara knows much about sorcerer families himself, except that as a general rule, they suck.

“Fushiguro,” they answer.

That isn’t helpful—it’s not a recognizable name. Maybe they don’t come from a family of sorcerers? Though, that doesn’t explain how Gojo came to be taking care of them and their sister.

(The sister is another mystery—Gojo only said Megumi would be attending Jujutsu High in a couple years, nothing about their sister. Can she not see curses? Or does she just not want to be a sorcerer?)

“What’s yours?” Megumi asks. “So I know what to call you.”

“Hoshi. But you can call me Kirara,” he answers. “I’m not picky about that sort of thing.”

Megumi nods. Kirara gets the feeling they also wanted a last name to figure out whether or not Kirara belongs to a sorcerer clan.

Megumi hums. They look down at their fingers, picking at the already chipping nail polish. Before they can actually say anything, though, Kirara hears himself asking, “Gojo-sensei lets you paint your nails?”

“Huh?” Megumi looks up at Kirara. “Um. Yeah.”

“And he let you get your ears pierced?”

One of Megumi’s hands goes up to their ear, fiddling with their earring. “Yeah. …He lets us do whatever, basically, as long as we aren’t hurting ourselves.”

Kirara hums. That doesn’t sound much like the sensei he knows, but he supposes teaching kids is different than raising them. “Did it hurt?”

Megumi shrugs. “A little. Not worse than some of the injuries I’ve got while training. I’m thinking about getting a helix piercing soon…Tsumiki says I should wait longer to make sure I actually want it, but Gojo-san told me that if I don’t like it, I can always just let it close back up.”

Kirara knows that a helix piercing is on the shell of the ear, because he might have looked up possible piercings out of curiosity. Just to see how old you have to be if you want one without parental permission. His parents would never sign off on it, but Kirara doesn’t really care about their opinion.

Kirara crosses the room and plops down on the floor across from Megumi. “Can I ask you something weird?”

Megumi blinks. “Uhh…”

Before they can say no, Kirara continues. “How do you get your eyelashes so long? Are they real? Do you use makeup?”

Megumi blinks again. “I don’t…do anything. They’re just…like this.”

“Oh.” Kirara frowns. That isn’t helpful, then. “Well, they’re very pretty. I wish mine looked like that.”

Megumi opens their mouth, and then closes it. They furrow their eyebrows, like they’re trying to figure something out. But Kirara didn’t ask a question.

“Thank…you?”

“I like your nails, too!” Kirara adds, because he might as well say it if he’s being weird already. Kinji isn’t here to wonder why he’s so interested in the more feminine aspects of Megumi’s appearance, so Kirara won’t have to answer any of the questions he’s been trying to avoid asking himself.

(In the back of his mind, he can still hear his mom scolding him for trying on her lipstick and jewelry. He can still hear his dad saying he’d better not be gay. He can still feel the sting of a hand on his cheek when he’d been caught trying on one of his sister’s skirts.)

(Who’s to say Kinji and Gojo won’t be the same? It’s too much of a risk. Kirara got a chance for a fresh start in Tokyo, and he won’t screw it up.)

“Are you making fun of me?” Megumi asks. The shadows around them almost seem to darken.

Kirara blinks, putting his hands up in defense. “No? I just—” I just sometimes wonder if I could dress more feminine. I just want to know how much I can get away with here. “I don’t see a lot of boys with their nails painted, and…I don’t know. I thought maybe I would try it sometime.”

“Well, I’m not a boy,” Megumi grumbles.

“Oh!” Kirara did think it was a bit odd that they had a girl’s name. But, more importantly— “Is Gojo okay with that?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t he be?”

“Because—” Kirara cuts himself off. “So if you’re not a boy, you’re a girl then, right?”

Megumi sighs heavily. “No. I’m not either.” They mumble something else under his breath that Kirara doesn’t catch.

“You’re…” Kirara’s voice trails off. He purses his lips. If Gojo is okay with Megumi not wanting to be a boy or a girl…maybe he would be okay if Kirara were to experiment with his appearance? There’s still Kinji to worry about, of course. But Kinji likes Gojo, so if Gojo is supportive, Kinji should come around.

“Is there a problem?” Megumi’s voice comes out almost as a growl. They sound like they’re getting ready for a fight, which Kirara supposes is one way of defending your identity.

“No! That’s… It’s really cool. And it’s nice that Gojo-sensei and your sister are both supportive.” He looks down at his hands, and his voice gets quiet when he finishes with, “I wish I had that.”

“Oh.” The waves of cursed energy that had previously been radiating off of Megumi suddenly go quiet. They look away. “You know, my sister would be a better person to ask about makeup.”

“Would she…” Kirara swallows thickly. “Do you really think she’d want to help me?”

Megumi nods. “Tsumiki is the kindest person I know. She taught me some of the basics, mostly ‘cause she really wanted to, but makeup is too much of a hassle for me. So I’m sure she would help you if you asked.”

Kirara smiles. Something like hope is bubbling up in his stomach—something he hasn’t allowed himself to indulge in since…ever. “She won’t think it’s weird that a boy wants to wear makeup?”

“I don’t think so.” Megumi tilts their head. “But…are you a boy?”

Kirara blinks.

No one’s ever asked him that before. His family always made him feel like there was no choice. Well… the “choice” was between being a normal boy or a gay boy, and they had a clear distaste towards the latter option, so it wasn’t much of a choice at all as long as Kirara was living with them.

But he isn’t living with them anymore. He’s living at Jujutsu High with people who believe there are lots of choices.

Who is Kirara, if the restrictions placed on him by his family are no longer an issue?

“I…I guess I’m not sure,” they admit. “It’s not something I’ve had an opportunity to explore much.” Kirara always argued that they couldn’t be gay because they’re drawn to girls, but…was it a desire to be with them or a desire to look like them?

They think about Hakari’s girls—the long eyelashes, the perfect makeup, the showy clothes, the higher voices, the curvy bodies…

Is Kirara jealous because Hakari goes on dates every week and Kirara has gone on exactly one disaster of a date in their life? Or are they jealous because they want to look like one of those girls?

“Huh.” This is…a lot to think about. “Can I ask how you knew you wanted to just be…not a boy or a girl instead of wanting to be one or the other?”

Megumi shrugs. “It just felt right.” They look up suddenly, their eyes focusing on something behind Kirara. “What’d you need to get?”

Kirara looks behind them to see Gojo and Megumi’s sister standing in the doorway, both holding plastic bags full of candy, likely from the vending machines.

Gojo opens his mouth to respond, but Megumi cuts him off before he can say anything. “Actually, nevermind. I don’t care.” They push themself to their feet and walk over to their sister while Gojo prances over to Kirara.

“Soooo,” Gojo starts. He drops his bag, then plops down onto the floor himself, taking Megumi’s spot across from Kirara. “Thoughts?”

“Megumi-chan seems nice.” Kirara picks at their fingernails. “Hard to believe you raised them.”

Gojo barks out a laugh, and Kirara assumes it’s in response to the comment about Megumi having been raised by him, but instead, he says, “Megumi? Nice? They must’ve put on a pretty good act for you.”

Kirara raises an eyebrow. Maybe nice wasn’t exactly the best word to describe Megumi, but it isn’t untrue.

(Of course, in Kirara’s mind, anyone who doesn’t look at them with hatred burning in their eyes upon finding out they prefer femininity to masculinity is a nice person.)

“So did you actually want me here for anything?” Kirara questions. Gojo did drag them away from the kitchen for this, and then he promptly left the room.

“Oh, I just wanted you to meet Megumi!” He smiles, and it’s almost too wide. “I’m a very big advocate for sorcerers befriending students outside of their own class, especially with our small class sizes. I guess Kinji’ll have to meet them some other time.”

Gojo shrugs, then jumps to his feet. He swipes his bag off the floor and rummages through it for a moment before he pulls something out and tosses it to Kirara.

It lands right in Kirara’s lap: A box of sour candy.

Kirara frowns down at the box, then looks up at Gojo. “What’s this for?”

“You. I got extras.”

Kirara eyes the bag warily. “...What is the rest of it for?”

Gojo doesn’t respond; he just grins wider, and then turns away. “Megumi-chan~” he sings, “I have something for you!” He prances away.

Megumi groans.

Kirara stands, and almost as soon as they’re on their feet, Megumi’s sister is standing across from them. She glances over at Megumi and Gojo, who appear to be arguing, and then leans in closer to Kirara.

“Megumi said you might be interested in someone teaching you how to do makeup?” she asks. Her voice is soft—delicate—and for once, the thought that Kirara wishes they sounded like that does not scare them.

Kirara studies Tsumiki’s expression for a moment. There’s no malice in it—nothing like Kirara’s own sister, who would snatch anything that was “too girly” right out of their hands. Tsumiki looks sincere.

So Kirara nods. Their mouth stays tightly shut for fear of ruining whatever this is; it seems too good to be true.

Tsumiki smiles brightly. “I can help! I wanted to teach Megumi, but they weren’t as interested as I’d hoped. I’d be happy to teach you, though!”

“That— Yeah, that sounds…nice. I can—” Kirara fumbles for their phone. They open up the contacts app and press add new, then hand the phone over to Tsumiki. “Here. We can figure out a time when we’re both free?”

“That sounds good!” Tsumiki takes the phone, puts in her contact information, and then hands it back. “Just text me so I know it’s you. I have school, obviously, so the weekends would probably be best, but we could do an evening too, if that works better—”

“I’m going to claw your eyes out!” A shout interrupts—Megumi’s voice.

Both Kirara and Tsumiki look over to see that Megumi and Gojo’s fight has escalated so Megumi is attempting to hit Gojo’s arm, though they’re only making contact with Infinity while Gojo laughs.

“You can’t even touch me!”

“I’ll find a way! I know where you sleep at night. This stupid shield has to come down at some point!”

Gojo just keeps laughing.

Tsumiki sighs deeply, like this is something she’s had to deal with a hundred times before. “Sorry. We should probably go before they kill each other.” As Tsumiki walks away, she waves over her shoulder. “Text me, okay? I’m happy to help!”

Kirara smiles warmly, even as Tsumiki has to physically drag Megumi away from Gojo and out of the room. Gojo shoots a final grin at Kirara before following the kids away.

Once they’re gone, Kirara looks down at their phone screen, where Tsumiki’s contact information now resides.

There’s still time to back out, to retreat to the safety of who they were before. They could delete Tsumiki’s number and forget they ever spoke with Megumi. It would be what their family wanted—what their family expected—of them. It would erase any risk of rejection.

But Kirara isn’t so scared of who they are anymore, and they know this is the path they’re meant to take.

They press send message.

II. MAKI ZEN’IN

SPRING 2017

Maki has been on campus for a grand total of three weeks, and she likes it well enough, but she still can’t shake the sticky wrongness that clings to her. She had hoped that leaving the Zen’in Clan behind—moving away from all of the hurt and the pain—would fix everything. It was an incredibly flawed hope, but she had been blinded by the allure of an escape.

Of course it didn’t fix everything. Maki has never felt quite right in her own body, and leaving the Zen’in Clan meant leaving the only person who ever cared.

She reminds herself it’s only temporary. Someday, once she’s strong enough, she’ll go back to the Zen’in Clan and she’ll work her way up the ranks until she has enough power to fix everything and give Mai the life she wants—the life she deserves. She doesn’t yet know how, exactly, she’ll go about undoing centuries upon centuries of suffering and spilled blood, but…she’ll figure it out.

But there’s still an uncomfortable weight sitting on her shoulders that has little to do with leaving Mai behind. Her skin has never fit correctly, and that feeling has only intensified since her arrival at Jujutsu High.

Her class is comprised entirely of students admitted through family lineage—herself from the Zen’in Clan, a cursed speech user from the Inumaki Clan, and a cursed corpse of Principal Yaga’s creation. All three of them showed up on campus early. Panda, of course, was already living on campus with Yaga, and Inumaki had apparently arrived the day before Maki did.

Maki booked her own train from Kyoto using most of the money she’d managed to save up, and left in the middle of the night so no one could stop her. Mai was the only one who knew when she planned to leave—everyone else expected she would wait another two weeks for the actual start of the school year.

Those first two weeks Maki was on campus were pretty lax. Gojo started some training with them, and Maki got to spar with one of the second year students a couple times. But for the most part, their schedule was open.

For the first time in her life, Maki had nowhere she was expected to be and no one she was expected to please. For the first time in her life, Maki was free—free from everything except the guilt of leaving Mai behind.

It’s eased away a bit now, soothed by the knowledge that Mai’s life will be easier with Maki gone. She won’t be held responsible for Maki’s actions, won’t be expected to keep Maki on a leash because everyone knows Maki only listens to her. She’ll be allowed to lay low and live quietly like she wants until Maki can create a better world for her.

Leaving was a necessity. Maki never wanted to leave Mai, but she knows staying would have led to her death. And the longer she’s away, the more peace she makes with that truth.

So no, the skin-crawling isn’t from the guilt gnawing at her chest. It’s something else she hadn’t wanted to give a name to when living with her family. It was hard enough being a disappointment of an eldest child—a twin with no cursed energy—who refused to stand down or admit defeat. It was hard enough that Naoya sneered slurs at her before she knew what they meant or that they held some level of truth. It was hard enough that Maki couldn’t hide her sexuality and that even Mai told her she would have to suck it up and marry a man eventually.

At home, at least, she was part of a matching set. She wasn’t the lone girl, singled out with a dorm room away from the other first years, and the only student out of both the first and second years whose uniform consists of a skirt instead of pants.

(Gojo had offered to alter her uniform to something more comfortable, but Maki insisted the skirt was okay. It’s tight and it’ll be too short once the weather gets colder, but it looks like the ones Mai always fawned over. So she wears it and she thinks about who she’s doing all this for, and it isn’t so suffocating.)

It isn’t the skirt that’s the issue, really. It’s the fact that it singles her out as other in a strictly feminine way. Maki doesn’t have an issue with being different; she was always an outsider growing up because of her lack of cursed energy. She has an issue with being different because she’s a girl.

She has no issue with feminine things; her issue lies in the fact that her performance of femininity will only ever be seen as what is expected of her. For Kirara, femininity is subversive. It’s a statement of identity.

For Maki, it’s always just been the expectation.

As long as she appears feminine, she will never be seen as anything other than a girl. But she knows she’ll be uncomfortable in her own skin no matter how she presents herself, and femininity is easier because it’s what she’s used to. It’s a familiar discomfort.

But it’s getting harder to push it down and ignore the way her stomach turns when she’s called girl. And it’s getting harder to not examine why that’s the case.

Which brings Maki to where she is now, three weeks into living on the campus of Tokyo Jujutsu High, one week into attending classes, jogging laps around the training field on a warm June morning. She’s sure neither Panda nor Inumaki are awake yet, but Maki has more reason to push herself on days off than they do.

She shed her jacket five laps ago (or was it six?) so now she’s dressed only in a tank top and shorts. Both garments are new, bought with her student stipend money because the only training clothes she brought from home were nearly worn through, or too big, or both.

She wipes sweat from her forehead, then pulls her pen from her pocket. She makes another mark on her wrist to keep track of how many laps she’s run, then slips the pen back into its place. It’s hard to count with her arm bouncing each time her foot hits the ground, but she’s pretty sure this is lap seventeen. Twenty should be a good stopping place—that’s an even eight kilometers.

Halfway through the lap, though, she spots Gojo in the distance. He’s making his way towards her, and he isn’t alone. He has some kid with him, but even with her heavenly restriction-heightened eyesight, Maki can’t figure out who it is. What she can tell is that it doesn’t look like any of the other students.

Maybe there’s a late transfer? Someone who isn’t from a family of sorcerers?

Maki slows down as she rounds the track, coming to a stop next to her bag. She grabs her water bottle and takes a drink as she watches Gojo and the kid approach. The kid has spiky black hair and they’re wearing an old t-shirt with words written in English paired with dark pants. As they get closer, Maki can see they have their ears pierced—a small black earring on each earlobe and a small black hoop around the cuff of one ear. They look tired, like they were forced out of bed too early this morning.

Maybe they were.

“Maki!” Gojo calls, waving to her. Maki caps her water bottle and waves back. “I brought you a sparring partner, if you’re up for some extra training today.”

Maki looks the kid up and down. They look almost familiar, though it isn’t until Gojo says, “This is Megumi Fushiguro,” that it clicks.

They look familiar because they’re technically family.

One of Maki’s cousins—someone older than her by over a decade, someone who was born with no cursed energy just like she was—left the clan and had a kid. Maki does remember meeting Megumi, once, when they were both much younger. She was never told why Gojo showed up at the Zen’in Compound with them, but it may have had something to do with the deal that he made to stop Megumi from living with the Zen’in Clan after their father’s death.

(Maki was never told important details of anything, but she could piece together the snippets of conversations she overheard to get the general story.)

“And Megumi, this is Maki Zen’in.”

Megumi’s eyes flicker with recognition upon hearing Maki’s last name. They know where they came from, of course. If Maki is remembering correctly, they have the most coveted clan technique.

Maki raises an eyebrow at them. “Sparring? How much training do you have?”

“Gojo’s been training me since I was seven,” Megumi responds, matching Maki’s challenging tone. “I sparred with Grade 1 sorcerers when I was ten.” Maki notes that they don’t mention winning, but it’s impressive that they were even able to hold their own against such powerful sorcerers, especially at that age. And if what they’re saying is accurate, they likely have more practice under their belt than both Panda and Inumaki.

“Alright,” Maki agrees. “I’ll spar with you.” She drops her water bottle back on the ground next to her bag, then looks over to Gojo. “Sticks are in the weapons shed, right?”

“Yep. And, actually,” he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a set of keys, and tosses them over to Maki, “I’ve got other business to attend to, so you two have fun. Shoko should be in her office if you need her. And don’t forget to lock up once you’re done!”

With that, he disappears.

“Wow,” Megumi says, completely void of emotion. “Okay.” They turn. “Let’s go.”

“You know where the weapons shed is?”

“Yeah.” Megumi starts walking. “I’ve been here before.”

“Oh.” Maki jogs to catch up with them. Now that she thinks about it, Gojo has offhandedly mentioned his kids a couple times. When Maki asked the second years about it, Kirara said the kids were more like his wards than actual children. Maki hadn’t made the connection that one of the kids was her estranged second nephew, though.

She also hadn’t realized said estranged second nephew had a sister. As far as she’s aware, her ostracized cousin only had one kid.

Kirara also said that one of Gojo’s kids is the reason she decided to play around with her gender presentation, because they fall somewhere outside of the boy/girl binary. That must have been Megumi, then, because she’d said their sister was the one who actually taught her how to do makeup.

Maki could ask Megumi how they figured out their gender. Kirara’s explanation hadn’t made much sense, because hers was about accepting femininity, and Maki doesn’t need to accept her feminine side. What she wants is to shed her femininity like a snakeskin; she wants to transform into something else.

But she doesn’t know what.

“Hey, Megumi?”

“Hm?” Megumi glances over only briefly.

“Kirara-san mentioned that you identify as nonbinary, like she does.”

Megumi hums in affirmation.

“Could you…” Maki hesitates, not entirely sure how to word her query. But she can’t back down now; she won’t forgive herself for being a coward. “How, exactly, did you figure that out?”

Megumi stops walking, and Maki follows suit. They look at her, an unreadable expression etched across their face. “...Huh?”

“How did you figure out that you weren’t a boy? Or a girl?”

Megumi opens their mouth, then snaps it shut again. They shake their head slightly. “It felt right. There wasn’t really anything else to it.”

“Really?” Maki questions. “You just…woke up one day and decided you weren’t a boy anymore?”

“Pretty much.”

Is that really all there is to it? Maki can just…declare that she isn’t a girl? Will other people even listen? She knows her family would laugh in her face, which is why she figured she’d have to draw up some defense for herself. Maybe write a paper detailing her life experiences and why she thinks there’s a possible chance she may not entirely identify with being female.

“And everyone’s okay with it?”

“No,” Megumi admits. “But the people I care about are, and that’s what matters.” They turn and continue walking. “If you don’t want to be a girl, then you probably aren’t.”

Maki watches Megumi’s back as they continue on without her.

If you don’t want to be a girl, then you probably aren’t.

Has it always been that simple?

“If I tell Gojo-sensei that I’m not a girl, will he stop referring to me like I am one?”

“Yes,” Megumi answers without a moment of hesitation.

“That’s all I have to do?”

“Yep.”

“And what if that doesn’t feel right either, and I realize I am a girl?”

Megumi shrugs. “Then you have an answer.”

Maki chews on her lip. She isn’t really worried about realizing she actually is a girl in the end; she’s worried she’ll distance herself from the familiar label and realize nothing fits her. She’s worried about being stranded somewhere in the middle with no answers.

If you don’t want to be a girl, then you probably aren’t.

But Maki doesn’t know what she does want to be.

— —

Megumi is still lying on their back in the grass when Maki returns from the vending machines, water bottle in hand.

“I’m back,” she announces, which is all the warning Megumi gets before she tosses the bottle in their direction. It lands in the grass next to them, and Maki thinks she hears them mumble a Thank you before sitting up.

Maki plops down next to them, grabbing her own water bottle and taking a long drink. They’d sparred for a while before it became evident Megumi needed a break and some liquid in their body.

Maki’s assumption of their skill level was right—they’re better than both of her classmates. The second year, Hakari, takes the prize for Maki’s best sparring partner thus far, but Megumi isn’t far behind. And Maki likes Megumi as a person more than she likes Hakari.

The downfall is that Megumi isn’t actually a student here yet.

“You should ask Gojo-san to let you spar with Nanami-san,” Megumi tells her, setting down their now-half-empty water bottle. “He’s a lot better than Gojo-san is.”

Maki hums. That name doesn’t sound familiar—he must be a professional sorcerer who was scouted as a student. She makes a mental note to ask Gojo about him. She thinks she trusts Megumi’s judgment.

(Or maybe she just wants to believe she has more than one respectable family member.)

They sit in silence for several moments before Megumi speaks up again.

“Gojo-san says you don’t have any cursed energy.”

Maki nods. It’s not like it’s a secret, and sorcerers can generally tell that there’s something off about her.

“He said my dad was the same way.” They fiddle with the cap of their water bottle, twisting it back and forth. “I used to assume my dad was the way he was because his family hated him. But I’m sure you got the same treatment, and you’re…you aren’t at all like what I remember of him.”

Maki snorts. “You know, I was a little worried that you would be just like everyone else in the Zen’in Clan. But you’re actually nice.”

Megumi raises an eyebrow. “That’s not a word most people use to describe me.”

“Well, unlike my family, you’re willing to have a civil conversation with me.”

Megumi winces.

“My sister was the only person there who ever remotely respected me, but even she would play into their favor to save her own skin. Not that I blame her.” Maki sighs. She tips her head back, looking up at the puffy clouds lazily moving across the bright sky. “She protected me when she could, but just enough cursed energy to be able to see curses can’t do all that much. And I know I’m everything the Zen’in Clan hates.” She takes her glasses off and rubs the bridge of her nose. “If I’d told them I’m not a girl, I think my father may have actually killed me.”

(It’s a miracle he didn’t even without that admission.)

“So you aren’t a girl, then?” Megumi asks.

“I—” Maki stops. She had said that, hadn’t she? It slipped out with Maki even realizing it, like it was a truth she had never questioned. And it felt more right than calling herself a girl ever did.

Instead of confirming what both she and Megumi know, she says, “I tried to bind my chest once. Mai and I were sent into Kyoto at some ungodly hour of the morning to run errands. I woke up hours before the sun, and I wrapped my chest with bandages. Mai caught me, and she told me I would hurt myself. When that didn’t stop me, she helped me instead.

“But when I looked at myself in the mirror, I didn’t feel any different. It wasn’t some big moment of gender euphoria like I’d wanted; it was just me with a flat chest.”

Maki looks down at the grass. “I don’t think there’s any alteration I can make that will allow me to feel comfortable in my body. I don’t think my skin will ever fit me right. So if nothing fixes that sense of wrongness, why shouldn’t I just stick to the discomfort I’ve always known? Why shouldn’t I hold onto what’s kept me safest?”

“I…” Megumi hesitates. “I can’t tell you what to do. But if identifying as something other than a girl makes you feel better—even if it isn’t perfect—I think that’s a good enough reason to try it. Your family doesn’t have to know. And they aren’t here. My dad would have hated it too, but he’s gone. Besides, he never cared about me, so why should I care what he thinks?”

Maki’s parents never cared much about her either. She’s already a disappointment, she’s already hated. She was already hit and pushed down and stepped on, she was already neglected and sent to bed without dinner, she was already told she’s a disgrace, a stain on the family, and everyone would be better off if she were never born.

Her family can’t touch her here, but even if they could, what does she have left to lose? She knew enrolling at Jujutsu High would burn all her bridges leading home. She knew leaving Mai behind would squander any love her sister may have had for her.

She still plans to go back someday, yes. She will have to return if she wants to give Mai the life she deserves. She will have to return to prove everyone was wrong about her.

But why should Maki return still pretending to be the girl that the Zen’in Clan wants them to be? When they return, should it not be reborn as the person they were always meant to become?

“You’re right,” Maki concedes. “I’m not a girl.”

(It doesn’t fit perfectly, but it fits better. Their skin doesn’t stop crawling, but the discomfort lessens. Their body remains a cage, but the bars are golden and they can taste clean air in their lungs.)

Megumi nods. They push themself to their feet, exchanging their water bottle for their sparring stick. “Ready to go again?”

Maki grins.

— —

A year and a half later, purified in the flames of Shibuya, reborn on the empty shore of the afterlife, Maki finally feels like their body is their own.

They open their eyes, and they can see. They lift their sword, clutching the hilt like a lifeline, and for the first time, they are at home in their skin. Everything—blood, bones, flesh, mind, soul—has settled softly in the scarred temple of Maki’s body.

They look at their reflection in the blade of the sword Mai sacrificed her life for, and the person looking back at them no longer looks like a stranger.

Destroy everything.

Maki has returned home, reborn as the person they were always meant to become. The half of their soul Mai held has found home in their chest, slotted neatly into the place where their heart used to be. Maki wanted, once, to fix everything. But this world was always too far gone to fix.

It must be destroyed.

It must be burnt to the ground and purified in the flames and reborn from the ashes. But Maki will make sure no other Zen’in lives to see its rebirth.

III. INUMAKI TOGE

SUMMER 2017

Megumi is on campus an awful lot for someone who is not a student, and Toge doesn’t exactly understand it. The kid is Gojo’s protege or whatever, but…Toge is also fairly certain they attend a non-sorcerer school and live with their sister.

Still, every weekend, they’re on the training field, sparring with Maki or Nanami or Hakari or, on rare occasions, Gojo himself.

It doesn’t bother Toge—if anything, the otherwise occupied training field means Toge can sleep in and laze around on his days off. But…he’s begun to wonder if Megumi doesn’t have any friends, and that’s why all their free time is spent training.

(Not that Toge can judge—he didn’t exactly have friends himself before he arrived on campus.)

None of that is what most intrigues Toge, though.

The most intriguing thing about Megumi is their gender.

— —

Toge is playing a video game in the common area of the dorm building when he has his first real conversation with Megumi. They’ve greeted each other in passing, of course, but Gojo has not yet decided to make the two spar against each other, and Megumi spends most of their time on campus either on the training field or being dragged around by Maki.

“Oh,” they say, frowning. “I didn’t realize anyone else would be here. I’m supposed to be waiting for Kirara-san.”

Toge raises an eyebrow. “Tuna mayo?” This is the first he’s heard of Megumi being friends with Hoshi.

Megumi blinks at him, tilting their head slightly. They just look at him in silence through those startlingly dark eyes for several moments, and then finally, they say, “Kirara-san is spending the night with my sister and her other friends tonight. We’re supposed to go home together.”

Toge nods in understanding. Hoshi has mentioned her non-sorcerer friend before—Tsumiki, Toge thinks?—who she knows because Gojo is her guardian. Which…would explain why Megumi seems to be on good terms with Hoshi too.

Toge turns his attention back to his video game as Megumi carefully sits in the chair furthest from him. They take their phone out of their pocket, and Toge figures that will be the end of their conversation.

He plays the game for a while more, clearing the current level with ease only to die early on the very next one. He huffs, presses the button to restart, and tries again. He spends a good ten minutes failing to get past even the first part of the level before he’s reminded that Megumi is here when they grumble something under their breath.

Toge pauses, looking over at them. They’re hunched forward now, typing angrily on their phone.

“Tuna?” Toge asks.

“Kirara-san got held up,” Megumi answers instantly, without looking up. “By which I think they mean Hakari-san asked for their help picking out a date outfit.” They make a vaguely disgusted face, and Toge internally laughs at the reaction, because he feels that way about dating in general.

“Mustard leaf,” he responds, sympathetically.

Megumi sends one final text, then sets their phone down. “Sometimes, I regret ever introducing Kirara-san and Tsumiki.”

“Tuna?”

Megumi purses their lips. “I guess it’s technically Gojo-san’s fault, but it was my idea to have Tsumiki help Kirara-san learn how to do makeup.”

Toge opens his mouth to say something, then snaps it back shut. He knew Megumi helped Maki figure out they’re nonbinary, but now he wonders if Megumi may have also played a part in Hoshi’s realization too.

(It does make sense, Toge thinks. Megumi carries themself in a way that is—not confident, exactly, but…apathetic towards the opinions of others. Like they don’t care what someone may think about their gender, because they know who they are, and that’s the only thing that matters to them.)

And Toge wants to ask, where does that confidence come from? How is it that Megumi needs only the validation of their own certainty to be secure in their identity?

Of course, Toge cannot ask either of those things, because he can either speak to Megumi in rice ball ingredients they likely won’t understand, or he can curse them. Neither of those options seem particularly appealing at the moment.

“Is something wrong?” Megumi asks.

Toge starts to shake his head, then stops abruptly. He opens his mouth again, but all that comes out is a weak, “Tuna?” He isn’t even sure of the meaning of that one himself, so there’s no way Megumi will be able to figure it out.

But they only hesitate a moment before asking, “Do you have your phone with you?”

Toge nods. He pats the couch around him until he’s found it, then holds it up for Megumi to see.

Megumi stands up and crosses the room to sit down next to Toge. They take Toge’s phone from him, speaking as they navigate to his contacts. “Tsumiki and I do this sometimes, when I don’t feel like talking out loud. Here.” They hand the phone back. “Cursed speech doesn’t affect written words, right?”

“Salmon.” Toge positions his thumbs to start typing, though now that he has the opportunity to ask anything he pleases, he isn’t even sure what to say. Gojo had mentioned that Megumi is a very closed-off person, describing them as prickly and occasionally mean. While Toge has no issue dishing back out whatever Megumi throws at him, his intention right now is not actually to aggravate the kid.

After staring at his phone screen for several moments, he finally types How did you know you’re not a boy?

Before Toge can second guess himself, he hits send.

Megumi’s frown deepens, and they look up. “You too?”

Toge tilts his head.

“Why does everyone think I have an answer to this?” Megumi asks, quiet enough that Toge guesses they’re talking to themself. They shake their head slightly, then answer Toge’s question. “Maki-san and Kirara-san both asked me the same thing, but I don’t have a good answer. Gojo-san mentioned an old friend of his who wasn’t a boy or a girl, and I decided I wanted to be like that, and that was it.”

Toge blinks.

That’s it?

He sends another message: You can just decide you want to be nonbinary?

Megumi shrugs. “In my experience, wanting to be nonbinary is the first sign that you are. And you can do whatever you want. It’s no one’s business besides your own how you experience gender.”

Toge cracks a smile. His next message is: This is why everyone comes to you for gender advice. You’re confident in who you are.

Megumi winces. He shakes his head. “I’m not confident—”

“Salmon!”

“Not really. It’s just that Tsumiki is the only person whose opinion I care about, and she supports me no matter what.”

Toge could argue more, if he wanted. He could point out that Megumi rejected the Zen’in Clan at seven years old, and only someone confident in who they are and what they want could possibly be brave enough to do that. He could point out that Megumi helped both Hoshi and Maki figure out that they’re nonbinary. He could point out that valuing just the opinion of their sister in the first place boasts a security in who they are that most people could only dream of.

Megumi’s confidence is different than Gojo’s—it’s quieter, more subdued, and not rooted in their cursed technique or their power as a sorcerer—but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

Toge doesn’t say any of that, though; it isn’t really his place. Instead, he sends another text.

Regardless, thanks.

Megumi’s expression softens. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close. “Sure, no problem. I’m sure—”

“Megumi-chan!!” Hoshi exclaims, rushing into the room. Megumi winces as she throws her arms around them. “Sorry it took so long; Kin’s fashion taste is absolutely atrocious.” She lets go of them and pulls them up from the couch. “You know, I could give you some pointers too—”

“No,” Megumi growls. They pull their wrist from Hoshi’s grip, but she just links their arms instead and Megumi lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Fine, fine. But let me know if you ever change your mind!” She winks at Toge, like the two of them are in on some inside joke. Toge offers her an awkward thumbs up, not sure what else to do.

Megumi scoffs. “As I was saying,” they continue, looking at Toge. “I’m sure Maki-san would be willing to talk to you about it too, if you’d like.”

Toge smiles. “Salmon.”

Then, Hoshi drags Megumi away, regaling them with the tale of helping Hakari prepare for his date. Toge is sympathetic, but it’s also sort of really funny—especially since it’s happening to Megumi, and not to Toge.

They appreciate Megumi’s suggestion to talk to Maki, too, but they don’t think they really need it. Because Toge has spent the past few months wondering what it might be like to not have a gender—to be like Maki and Megumi. And Megumi was right; that should have been the only sign Toge needed.

They don’t have to have every detail figured out right now, because they don’t owe anyone else an explanation. Maki never explained themself after they came out, only citing that Megumi helped them realize. Likewise, Kirara switches between wanting to be referred to with neutral language and feminine language, and no one questions her; they simply adjust their speech to accommodate.

All Toge needs is to know they don’t entirely feel like they’re a boy. Everything else will fall into place later.

IV. NORITOSHI KAMO

FALL 2018

Noritoshi hears about Fushiguro Megumi nearly a decade before he meets them for the first time.

It’s important to know the members of the other major clans, his father had told him. Of course, Fushiguro is not technically a member of any of the three major clans. But the Zen’in blood and cursed technique running through his veins still mark him as high importance. As does the fact that one Gojo Satoru is the entire reason Fushiguro does not belong to the Zen’in Clan.

A Gojo training a Zen’in child is entirely unheard of. The three major clans do not interact like that.

(And yet.)

Fushiguro breaks all the rules, but Gojo Satoru does as well. Noritoshi breaks the rules in his own regard, he supposes—a child born outside of the family, brought in as an heir because he inherited the clan technique.

Fushiguro could have been the same.

Instead, they stand with the reject students of Tokyo Jujutsu High: The Zen’in without cursed energy, the cursed speech user who should not exist, the cursed corpse, and a girl Noritoshi knows nothing about.

(And, later, Sukuna’s vessel.)

Okkotsu is the only other student at the Tokyo school who is worth anything, and he went abroad for better training. He was only at the Tokyo school because he agreed to execution as a way to destroy the curse attached to him, and Gojo was the one to intervene.

Gojo loves to intervene. He might be as good as head of the Gojo Clan considering he is the only clan member with any worthwhile power, but it makes all too much sense that he ended up at the Tokyo school. In the end, he’s just another reject, though he possesses enough strength to get away with it. No one likes him—people hardly even respect him. But they fear what he could do to them, and in the end, that does more than mere respect ever could.

Looking at the Tokyo students all face-to-face, they’re even less impressive than expected.

Noritoshi was hoping for a proper face-off against Hoshi and Hakari this year, since last year’s team battle was over as soon as Rika joined the fight. Noritoshi himself was paired off with one of the now-fourth year students during the individual battles last year, but from what he saw, at least Hakari’s technique has power behind it.

Of course, with techniques like theirs, Noritoshi should not have been surprised when the two of them were expelled together. Truly, it was only a matter of time.

As dreadful as the Tokyo team is this year, at least it should be an easy win.

(Or so Noritoshi thinks.)

He learns quickly that heavenly restriction is not something to underestimate, Sukuna’s vessel is stronger than he looks, the mystery girl actually has a good technique in her, Panda is different than your average cursed corpse, and Inumaki earned their semi-grade 1 status by refusing to back down even when they’ve pushed past their limit.

He learns, too, that Fushiguro’s rejection of the Zen’in Clan was more than a child’s mistake encouraged by an immature and selfish mentor. It was a conscious choice that they continue to stand by. They spit the name Zen’in from their mouth as if it burns their tongue.

(It doesn’t make sense.)

A lot of things don’t make sense when it comes to the Tokyo students.

(Or maybe Noritoshi has been looking at them through the wrong lens.)

After the baseball game, after dinner, after most of the other students have retired to their rooms for the night, Noritoshi finds himself on the roof of the dorm building. The chilled fall air bites his arms, bare now that he’s changed out of his uniform and into pajamas, but he pays it no mind.

(He’s been exposed to worse.)

He senses Fushiguro’s presence before he hears them. He has yet to decide whether his attunement to blood is a blessing or a curse. On one hand, it allows him a warning before Fushiguro opens the door and ends up on the roof with him. On the other, he had to learn to navigate the world based on that sense rather than sight, because having six senses is too much.

The Six Eyes technique reportedly has similar side effects, though it includes an oversensitivity to cursed energy rather than blood.

“Oh,” Fushiguro says, right on time. “I didn’t realize you were up here.”

Noritoshi hums.

Fushiguro hesitates, unmoving. They’re staring at Noritoshi, likely trying to figure out how he would perceive them if they turned around and left. You can take the clan heir out of the clan, but you can’t erase that innate mindset.

Luckily for Fushiguro, Noritoshi will decide their fate for them.

“Fushiguro-kun?” he asks, not bothering to turn back and look at them.

“...Yes?”

“You seem to hold Itadori in a very high regard.”

Fushiguro hesitates. They start to take a step closer, and then stop.

“I do, yes.”

“Why?”

Fushiguro’s heart rate picks up. Noritoshi will do them the favor of not analyzing it until they’ve finished their conversation.

“He saved my life,” Fushiguro answers, as if that’s all there is to it. It isn’t, of course, because if that truly were the true extent of their answer, they would have no reason to be nervous about responding. Noritoshi waits a moment, and, sure enough, Fushiguro spills more. “He’s a good person, you know. He only ate that first finger because he wanted to save both me and his friends from school. He didn’t realize what the consequences would be.”

Fushiguro does creep closer, finally, until they’re just about standing next to Noritoshi. “He’s more than just a vessel. He’s a person, and he’s— He’s my friend.”

Friend.

That is not a word taken lightly. Noritoshi himself is not allowed to use it—he doesn’t have friends; he has classmates and acquaintances.

The Zen’in Clan may be a bit more lax on the term; Mai openly uses it for Miwa and Nishimiya. Even so, Fushiguro would never be allowed to call someone like Itadori his friend under their watchful eye. Before this exchange event, Noritoshi would have assumed that to be a good thing.

Now, he isn’t so sure.

“I assume Gojo-sensei has no issue with that?” It isn’t meant to be a question, though it comes out sounding like one.

“Why would he?”

Noritoshi opens his eyes. He stares down at his hands, feeling the blood pumping through his veins. Clan blood, but also the blood of his mother’s family. A mother who passed him over to the Kamo Clan because it would give him the best life. A mother who has no place in the family Noritoshi belongs to, though she is the only person Noritoshi has ever truly felt was family.

“Why did you refuse the offer to join the Zen’in Clan?”

Fushiguro sighs. They sit down.

“It wasn’t an offer. My father struck a deal to sell me over before I was even born. Gojo-sensei offered to strike a counter deal, so I could— so I wouldn’t have to go with them.”

“Regardless, you still rejected them. You do understand you would have been brought in as clan heir, don’t you?”

Fushiguro leans back. “Why would I want that? I’d rather hand the title over to someone more deserving, like Maki-senpai.”

Noritoshi scoffs.

Fushiguro continues, “The title of Clan Head shouldn’t just be tossed onto the next kid who inherits the preferred technique; it should go to someone who has a desire to lead. Someone who is firm in their beliefs, though not so much that they refuse to listen to reason. It should be someone who is strong, yes, but strength comes in different forms. Maki-senpai is one of the strongest people I have ever met, and the strongest Zen’in by far.”

“Maki-san is not a man, though,” Noritoshi points out, because everyone knows Clan Heads must be men. It may be a slightly outdated system, yes, but it’s the way it’s always been.

“Neither am I.”

Noritoshi shoots a sideways glance at Fushiguro. Their heart rate did not jump at this confession; it remained shockingly steady. They are not scared of how Noritoshi will react.

“Had I agreed to go to the Zen’in Clan, they would have rejected me just like they did Maki-senpai, in the end. It would have taken me longer to figure it out, but I could never be the man they would want to hand the clan over to.” They begin to fiddle with one of their earrings.

“You have the Ten Shadows Technique, though,” Noritoshi argues. Isn’t that all that matters? Noritoshi wasn’t born into the ideal circumstances, but he inherited the right technique, and that overwrites everything else. Gojo isn’t well liked, and he’s made it clear he has no intention to follow the wishes of the remaining Gojo Clan members, but because of his technique and his strength, he remains as the observed leader.

A smile flicks across Fushiguro’s face so fast that Noritoshi is almost convinced he imagined it. “You said it yourself; the Clan Head has to be a man. I don’t fit that criteria.”

“Well, I suppose that could be…altered, due to your technique.”

Fushiguro raises an eyebrow. “Only for me? What if Maki-senpai or Mai-san had inherited the technique? Would they be allowed to be Clan Head in your eyes? Or is it only because I look the part of a man?”

Noritoshi frowns.

Fushiguro sighs. “It doesn’t matter anyways. If the nonbinary thing didn’t get me exiled, the gay thing would have. Not to mention the refusal to produce another heir regardless of partner. It would have ended in exile or a secret assassination.”

Noritoshi opens his mouth, and then snaps it shut once more. Not once as they were speaking did Fushiguro’s nerves spike. You would think they were laying out information that is common knowledge instead of dropping things that clan elders would fight tooth and nail to get ahold of.

“You’re…?” Noritoshi’s voice trails off. He isn’t really sure he wants to unpack all of that right now. “You know no one really wants to produce children for their clan, right?” he asks instead.

Fushiguro gives him a sympathetic look. “No clan members really seem to want to be parents, sure. But most of the men at least enjoy what it takes to get there.”

Noritoshi scrunches his nose in disgust. “It’s not enjoyable; it’s necessary.”

“Then why was your father unable to hold himself back from having a child with your mother instead of his wife?” Fushiguro challenges.

“That’s not—!”

Noritoshi stops. He blinks.

“Huh.”

“You were right,” Fushiguro admits. “We aren’t so different.”

For half a moment, Noritoshi thinks Fushiguro is referring to personal identity rather than family. Then, he chastises himself for thinking such a thing.

“We were born outside of our respective clans and given techniques that put us in position to be Clan Head. But why should we be the lucky ones? We didn’t do anything to deserve it. The difference is I understand that, and I chose the family who mattered most to me over the family who only cared about the technique I inherited.”

(Noritoshi thinks about his mother, regretfully leaving him behind. He thinks about the difference between her warmth and his father’s cold.)

“Truthfully, I didn’t reject the Zen’in Clan for my own sake. I did it for my sister. She wouldn’t have been allowed to come with me, and I didn’t want to leave her behind. I did it for the same reason that I put my life on the line to save Itadori. I may not be a good person myself, but there are good people out there like my sister and Itadori, and those are the sort of people you want in your life. They keep the good in you alive. Without them, you—”

(For the first time since this conversation began, Fushiguro falters.)

“If you lose the good people in your life, you can lose yourself.”

It’s an interesting theory, though useless as far as Noritoshi is concerned, because Fushiguro has no evidence they are willing to share. They’re making an awfully bold claim without backing it up.

(Then again, how many bold claims has the Kamo Clan made with no supportive reasoning to be found?)

Fushiguro stands to their feet, apparently finished with this conversation. Though, before they leave, they warn Noritoshi, “Don’t try to kill Itadori again.”

The or else remains unspoken, but Noritoshi hears it all the same.

They walk away without another word, leaving Noritoshi alone with his thoughts.

— —

Kenjaku lets Noritoshi walk away.

— —

Noritoshi finds a knife. Strands of black hair fall to the ground. A reflection stares from the mirror, asking Why?

(Asking, Why not more?)

Noritoshi finds a razor. More hair falls, scattered across the floor. This place was never home; home was in Mother’s arms when Noritoshi was four years old. Before cursed techniques and clan politics, before the Night Parade, before the exchange event, before Shibuya.

Home is the past, unreachable, gone.

Noritoshi stares into the mirror, and the person looking back is unrecognizable.

You were right, Fushiguro’s voice says in the back of Noritoshi’s mind. We aren’t so different.

Noritoshi has lived a life pretending to be the perfect son, the perfect clan heir; a life making up for the mistakes of a mother who only asked that her child have a better life than her. But Noritoshi never wanted to leave her behind, never cared about becoming Kamo Clan Head until forced to take on the title of heir, never expected or intended to be a sorcerer at all.

I could never be the man they would want to hand the clan over to.

Was this disownment, this revoking of inheritance, only a matter of time? Did Noritoshi ever truly have hope to be the perfect heir?

The person in the mirror says this was inevitable. Even without Shibuya and Kenjaku, Noritoshi could not be the sort of man who is Kamo Clan Head. Once, there was hope that the ways of the Kamo Clan could be changed, at least enough to welcome Noritoshi’s mother into the family.

Now, Noritoshi knows that was never anything more than a child’s fantasy. An inherited family technique means nothing if the person who inherits it clashes with centuries of tradition. Not even Gojo Satoru was untouchable, in the end.

Noritoshi could have played the part, mimicked the man everyone expected the clan heir to be, married whoever was chosen, and had a child in the hopes that they would inherit a good technique.

It would have been miserable.

Noritoshi has been miserable.

Noritoshi stares at the person in the mirror. Their empty eyes have come alight with determination once more. Fushiguro rejected the Zen’in Clan because there was no place for their sister in that family; they understood clan dynamics better at age seven than Noritoshi had until age eighteen. There is no place for outcasts or those who step out of line in any major clan, and there never will be. Noritoshi understands that now.

The clans don’t need better leaders. They need to be burned to the ground.

Noritoshi wants no part in the Kamo Clan any longer, regardless of what happens with Kenjaku or the higher ups or the elder clan members. The name Kamo no longer belongs to them.

There is work to be done, and there are rulings from the higher ups to disregard. Gojo Satoru needs help, and the Culling Games must be put to a stop before too many people are hurt. The remaining Kamo Clan members will hole up in their homes until an end comes—whether good or bad—but Noritoshi will not sit idly by and wait until all of Japan falls to ruin.

They will not stand by a family who only ever loved their cursed technique.

There is work to be done, and Noritoshi is ready to put the man they could never be behind them, and step into a new version of themself that is just a little closer to the truth.

V. KURUSU HANA

FALL 2016

Tsumiki ushers Hana into the apartment, and Hana tries not to let her excitement show. She’s never been to Tsumiki’s place before—none of their friends have, except Kirara, but she goes to a different school and seems to be close with Tsumiki in a way none of the rest of her friends are. Tsumiki is very particular when it comes to what she shares about her home life, but Hana knows her parents aren’t in the picture anymore, and that Tsumiki and her sibling live with a guardian they aren’t related to.

However, the apartment appears to be empty right now. All the lights are off and the only noise is the thrum of the air conditioning.

“Megumi?” Tsumiki calls out. “Hana and I are home!”

Hana isn’t expecting a response—it really doesn’t seem like Tsumiki’s brother is back yet—but then a figure emerges from the hallway.

Hana has seen Megumi before, though only in passing at school and when Tsumiki’s guardian brought them along to drop Tsumiki off at Hana’s house. Today, they’re wearing an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants—they must have changed as soon as they got home from school, because they couldn’t have been here for more than fifteen minutes before Hana and Tsumiki arrived.

“Hello,” Megumi greets politely, nodding towards Hana.

“We’ll be leaving soon,” Tsumiki tells them. “We’re spending the night at Miu’s. Gojo-san should be here in an hour.”

“I know, I know,” Megumi turns away. “I’ll be in my room. Come in if you need me; I’ll have my headphones on.”

“You can—”

“No thanks,” Megumi interrupts. “I need to rest before Gojo-san gets here.” They look over their shoulder, but instead of their gaze landing on Tsumiki, it drops down near the ground next to her. Their eyes narrow.

“What is it?” Tsumiki asks.

Megumi glances over at Hana, then back to the floor. “I don’t know. Nothing.” They wave their hand vaguely. “Have fun.”

With that, they disappear into their bedroom. Hana’s gaze lingers on the closed door for several moments too long. They’ve hardly spoken to Megumi, but there’s something interesting about them—something that draws Hana in and makes her want to know them better.

“Don’t worry about them,” Tsumiki links her arm with Hana’s. “They’re always moody. C’mon, I need to pack up my stuff. You can just set your bag down on the floor for now.”

“You’re sure?” Hana asks, even as she lets it slip off her shoulder and thump against the ground. “Your guardian won’t be mad?”

Tsumiki snorts, tugging Hana to her bedroom as she speaks. “Gojo-san leaves his stuff on the floor all the time. Besides, we’re gonna leave before he gets here.” She lets go of Hana’s arm and gestures for her to sit down on the bed.

“Where is he?” Hana asks. She looks around Tsumiki’s room. There isn’t a whole lot in it—a bed, a dresser, a desk, a closet, and some posters on the walls. There’s a stack of books on the desk and another stack on the floor next to the dresser. There’s a trashcan next to the door. The walls are a muted tan, and most of the posters look several years old.

“Work,” Tsumiki answers simply, pulling clothes from her dresser.

“Where does he work?”

“He’s a teacher.” Tsumiki sounds almost like she’s reading the answer from a script. “He works at a prestigious private school in the outskirts of the city. Sometimes, he has to go out of town for conferences and training seminars and stuff like that.” She packs her clothes into a backpack.

Hana hums. “That’s cool.” She takes to looking around the room again until her eyes land on a plushie seated on top of Tsumiki’s pillow. “Oh! Where’d you get this?” She reaches over and picks it up. It’s a purple dragon with shimmery blue wings, horns, and scales on its underbelly. “It’s really soft!”

Tsumiki glances over her shoulder. “She was a gift from Gojo-san. Her name is Yuki.”

“Yuki,” Hana repeats, looking at the dragon. “Why’d you name her that?”

“I didn’t. She came with that name.” Tsumiki stands up. “I’m gonna go get my stuff from the bathroom real quick; I’ll be back in a minute.”

Hana nods. “Okay.”

Tsumiki disappears, and Hana goes back to studying the stuffed dragon. She wonders where Gojo got her from, and why he named her Yuki. Hana would have named her something more fitting, like Kirameki.

A knock on the door interrupts Hana’s train of thought. It’s followed shortly by, “Tsumiki?” and the door cracking open.

“Tsumiki went to the bathroom,” Hana explains.

Megumi frowns, leaning against the doorframe, their headphones hanging around their neck. They look Hana up and down. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“Only briefly.”

They nod. “I thought so.”

Hana can’t figure Megumi out—she really can’t. There’s something off about them. Maybe it’s just that their eyes are too dark and when they look at her, they seem to be staring straight through to her soul. But she thinks there’s something else too.

They don’t interact with people at school, unless they’re throwing punches. Tsumiki is the only exception as far as Hana can tell. She can’t recall ever seeing them smile. Tsumiki talks about them, but she very rarely says anything of substance.

Except for the time when one of the teachers referred to Megumi as Tsumiki’s younger brother.

“They’re my sibling, not my brother,” Tsumiki had corrected. “They’re not a boy. Don’t call them that.”

Hana doesn’t know why that memory comes bubbling to the surface so often. Maybe because Tsumiki has an unspoken rule for herself against talking back to authority figures, yet she threw that aside without hesitation in order to defend her sibling. It’s sweet, and Hana admires her for it.

“When she gets back, tell her Gojo-san just texted and said he’s going to be late, so she doesn’t have to rush.”

“Okay.” Hana sets the dragon down. “You know, you could hang out with us sometime.”

Megumi’s frown deepens. “I don’t think so.”

“You could!” Hana insists. “It might be fun! I’m sure Miu and Tomoko would like you; we could all be friends.”

Megumi shrinks away, shaking their head. “I don’t have friends. It’s not— It’s better that way. It was nice talking to you, Kurusu-san.” They nod to her, and then slip out of the room.

If anything, Megumi’s evasiveness makes them more enthralling to Hana. She wants nothing more than to unravel the mystery that is Fushiguro Megumi.

(She won’t examine what, exactly, she finds most interesting about them. Not now.)

— —

FALL 2018

“You seem to care about them quite a bit,” Hana notes, nodding towards the still-sleeping Megumi. Takaba is gone, out searching for new clothes and food, leaving Hana alone with only Itadori and an unconscious Megumi for company.

“Yeah,” Itadori responds softly, not looking away from Megumi. “They’re basically the best friend I’ve ever had.” He starts to reach out, but retracts his hand before it can make contact.

Friend.

Megumi had said, once, that they didn’t have friends—and that it was best if kept that way. Hana hadn’t understood at the time; she’d thought they were just being an emo teenager. But she thinks she might understand now.

Megumi isn’t like her. According to Angel, Megumi has always been involved in this world. They’ve been a sorcerer since they were a kid—since before Hana ever met them. It must have been hard for them to make friends knowing those friends could never understand the world Megumi lived in.

But something has changed in Megumi since they transferred schools—they’ve opened themself up to friendship now, at least with Itadori. Maybe they could open themself up to a friendship with Hana too.

“I only met them about five months ago, but it feels like I’ve known them forever,” Itadori continues. “They can come off as mean and apathetic at first, but it’s really all just an act.” He sighs. “They care too much, I think. They just don’t show it.”

Hana hums in acknowledgment. She could share her own knowledge of Megumi—how she knows they care deeply for their sister, and how Tsumiki care for them in return—but she’s decided against letting Itadori find out that she and Megumi knew each other before all this, at least until Megumi is awake. So she keeps her thoughts to herself.

“You know, they told me they helped several of their upperclassmen figure out they’re nonbinary. Maki-san said Megumi was the first person to make them feel like they didn’t have to defend their gender. Kirara-san said they were the first person to even give them the option of identifying differently than how she’d been told she needed to. Megumi will want to make you believe they don’t care about the people around them, but I know that isn’t true.”

Hana frowns. She’s always known there had to be more to Megumi, beyond what they ever let her see, but what really piques her interest is—

“Is gender really that…loose?”

Itadori shrugs. “For some people, yeah. Everyone experiences gender differently. For Megumi, it was as simple as I don’t want to be a boy, so I’m not a boy. For me, it was more…being feminine was wrong. It felt wrong, and it didn’t ever fit me, but I spent a while trying to justify my preference towards masculinity before I finally told my grandpa I felt more like a boy. That was just something I had to work through, and that’s okay too.”

“Hm.” Hana looks down at Megumi. They look more peaceful sleeping right now than Hana has ever seen them. Thinking back to the before times—before Tsumiki disappeared and Megumi transferred schools—there was always something invisible looming over Megumi’s head. It infected Tsumiki too. She would bite her tongue, break her sentences off in the middle and refuse to finish her thoughts, she kept her friends away from Gojo-san as much as possible, she and Megumi spoke of things in code and could communicate with a single look.

There was always something strange about the Fushiguros, but Hana never allowed herself to dwell on it. Tsumiki was nice—bright and bubbly and kind—and Megumi was angry, but polite to all of Tsumiki’s friends though they still seemed apathetic.

Hana understands now.

The entire world looks different when there’s something magical running through your veins, when you see things no one else does.

When you share a body with a spirit who existed long before the mere thought of you and who will outlast you by millenia.

The entire world looks different when your body is home to more than just your own soul. There is a power thrumming through Hana’s veins and there is a voice in her head that does not belong to her and there is the ever-present sense that this can only end in flames.

(Hana has yet to figure out what this is, but she knows destruction will come as sure as the sunrise.)

“I—” Hana starts, then stops abruptly, biting her tongue. She doesn’t know what, exactly, she was going to say, but it would have had something to do with knowing Megumi when they were in middle school.

“Yeah?” Itadori asks.

Hana shakes her head. “Never mind.” She studies the way Itadori’s gaze slides back to Megumi, the nearly imperceptible lean forward, like he needs to be close but he doesn’t want to break any boundaries. Something shines in his eyes that makes Hana’s stomach twist.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” she says, voice hoarse.

Itadori nods, not lifting his gaze for even a moment.

(Once upon a time, Hana wanted to look at Megumi like that.

Now, she isn’t sure what she wants.)

— —

Hana knocks softly, almost hoping she won’t be heard. But Megumi does hear, of course, and they say, “Come in,” voice rough from disuse after their two-day-long nap.

Hana opens the door just enough to slip into the room, and then shuts it quietly behind her. Megumi is seated at a small table, swirling their chopsticks around in their cup of instant noodles but making no move to actually eat.

“You can sit,” they gesture vaguely to the spot across from them.

Hana obliges, silently crossing over to the table. She sits, studying Megumi’s face for any hint of recognition, but their expression remains as unreadable as it’s always been.

“Itadori-kun mentioned—”

“Don’t play this game with me,” Megumi interrupts. “I know you remember me, Kurusu-san. We don’t have to go through these fake formalities. What do you want?”

Hana hangs her head. “I wasn’t sure you recognized me.”

“I didn’t at first, when you dropped out of the sky right before I passed out. But as soon as I heard your voice, I knew you sounded familiar. And you kept the same name. Did you think I wouldn’t remember you?”

“Why would you?”

Megumi frowns. “You were one of Tsumiki’s best friends. Why wouldn’t I remember you?” They pick up their chopsticks, studying them. “She’s going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to her, I swear.”

“What…” Hana swallows thickly. “What did happen, exactly?”

Megumi’s expression darkens. “She was cursed. She ended up in a coma. I thought it was from that night she went to the Yasohachi Bridge, but no one else who went ended up cursed like that, so the timing must have been a coincidence. She woke up after Halloween with a new ability to see cursed spirits and her name on the list of sorcerers forced to participate in the Culling Games because Kenjaku gave them cursed techniques they never asked for. But she has until the nineteenth to declare her participation, and we’re going to figure out a way to save her before that time comes.”

With every word, Hana’s stomach drops further. She’d never understood how Tsumiki could just disappear—it’d been written off as a school transfer, but Megumi didn’t transfer until the following year and Tsumiki wouldn’t answer a single text or call from anyone.

It makes sense now.

“I’m sorry,” Megumi whispers. “I never thought any of her friends would be caught up in,” they gesture vaguely, “this. I never thought she would get caught up in it. But whatever god is up there loves to prove me wrong.”

Hana snickers. She can’t help it—the way they say it is just so Megumi. She can hear the broody twelve-year old she used to know clear as day, and the familiarity is comforting. It’s nice to know one thing between her old life and her new one has remained the same.

“Sorry.” She covers her mouth. “I just… I miss my old life sometimes, so it’s nice to see you.”

Megumi’s expression softens, and for a moment, Hana wonders if they see Tsumiki instead of her—she can count on one hand the number of people she’s ever seen Megumi look at affectionately, and she was never on that list. “I get it,” they whisper. “I don’t exactly miss it, but I’m realizing I took a lot of it for granted.” They begin twisting the black ring on their right middle finger, the one Tsumiki bought for him. She’d dragged Hana to the store after school one day, insisting she needed to find a black ring to give Megumi, and Hana had gone along without questioning because that was nowhere near the weirdest thing Tsumiki had done.

“I actually did have something I wanted to ask you,” Hana says. She doesn’t realize she’d made a conscious effort to speak until the words have already fallen from her lips.

“Oh?”

“It’s not about— Well, I don’t know.” She chews on his lip for a minute, trying to figure out how to word her question. “Itadori mentioned…he said you’d helped several of your upperclassmen figure out they’re nonbinary. I never— I never really had any issue with my gender before…before all this. But now…” she sighs. “I don’t know.”

Megumi raises an eyebrow. “Itadori mentioned that?”

Hana nods. “He was very complimentary towards you. I can tell he cares about you a lot.”

Something unnameable flashes through Megumi’s eyes—something half-grief and half-love—and Hana gets the sense that there’s some very important information she’s missing. They look away, squeezing their eyes shut and clenching their jaw. “Itadori is a good person. Far better than I am.”

Hana won’t comment on that. She won’t read into what she sees—it’ll only end up hurting someone. Instead, she asks, “Did being a sorcerer affect how you view your gender?”

Megumi just looks at her for a moment, then shakes their head. “No.”

Hana sighs, dropping her head into her head.

“Why?”

“It feels weird to share your body with someone else,” she explains. “And like…maybe this is just opening my eyes to something that was always under the surface? Or maybe I just don’t feel like I’m strictly a girl anymore because the spirit inhabiting my body alongside me doesn’t exactly have a gender. I don’t know. Can I be nonbinary if it’s only because there’s literally more than one soul in my body? Or is that, like, offensive?”

Megumi shrugs. “You can define your gender however you want. Honestly, I don’t think it matters why you feel you’re nonbinary. You don’t have to justify it if you don’t want to.” They lean back. “I never explained myself to Tsumiki or Gojo-san. I never really explained it to myself. The people who truly care about you won’t need an explanation; they’ll respect your feelings regardless.”

“Hm.” Hana swirls that around in her mind for a moment.

Megumi might have a point. The entire world has changed; who cares if Hana has changed along with it? There are bigger things to worry about. Why shouldn’t Hana just grab hold of whatever identity feels right and wear it for as long as it’s comfortable?

A smile crosses Hana’s face.

(They can see, now, that what drew them to Megumi was never anything deeper than curiosity and a desire to be known. It was never the same thing that draws Megumi and Itadori to each other, and that’s okay.)

“Thank you,” they whisper. “I know you told me once that it was better for you to not have friends, but anyone would be lucky to befriend you.”

Megumi purses their lips. “I appreciate it, but I’m not a very good friend.”

“I disagree. You’ve been a wonderful friend to me today.”

Megumi opens their mouth, then snaps it shut. They smile, though it’s laced with something bittersweet—it’s the smile of someone who cannot believe Hana but will pretend to accept the compliment because it’s easier than continuing to argue.

The worst part is, Hana knows they will never be able to convince Megumi they’re a good person, or that they deserve friends at all. Hana will never be able to repay Megumi for the kindness they showed them today.

+ I. FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

SPRING 2013

“Megumi!” Gojo calls. It’s followed by a knock on the door, three raps in quick succession. “Dinner’s ready.”

(By which he means, the takeout he ordered has arrived, because Gojo has not ever actually cooked anything more complex than popcorn in the microwave. And even that only has about a 60% success rate.)

Not that Megumi minds the takeout—especially when Gojo is the one paying for it.

Megumi picks up his bookmark from his bedside table, placing it carefully in the book he’d been reading before Gojo interrupted. He was hoping to finish it tonight, since Tsumiki is at a friend’s house to work on a school project, but he showed up after school to find Gojo watching TV in the living room, which means all hope for a peaceful evening immediately flew out the window.

Whatever. Megumi can deal with him. He’s gotten pretty good at it over the past couple years.

He pulls himself out of bed and trails after Gojo, heading out to the kitchen. His book is tucked under his arm, though he strategically places it down in the living room, lest Gojo spill anything on it. It needs to go back to the library next week, and if Gojo gets it dirty, he is going to have to pay the fine.

(Not that that warning would strike any fear in Gojo…his family probably has enough money to buy the entire library.)

Megumi sits at his usual spot just as Gojo sets a glass of water down in front of him. Gojo grabbed a can of pop for himself, because he’s trying to rot his teeth so they fall out of his mouth before he turns twenty-five. Or… that’s Megumi’s theory, at least.

“What book are you reading?” Gojo asks as he spoons food out onto his plate.

“It’s a collection of short stories.”

“Is it any good?”

Megumi nods. “The one I’m on right now is called Horse Legs, but I only got through the first page.” He holds up his plate so Gojo can fill it with food as well. “I told Tsumiki to read one of the stories, but I don’t think she wants to, ‘cause she only likes books with romance in them.” Megumi scrunches up his face in disgust. “Plus, she said she only reads old books for school and that I’m weird because I actually like to read them.”

Gojo picks up his chopsticks. “I thought you only liked nonfiction?”

Megumi hums. “Well…yeah. But I read a biography on the author of this book, and he seemed cool. His mom couldn’t take care of him because of her mental illness, so he was raised by his uncle, and took his uncle’s family name.”

“Ah.” Gojo nods.

Megumi tells Gojo a bit more about the book and its author as they eat, and it’s nice, because Tsumiki tries to listen to him, but she doesn’t really understand some of the things Megumi likes. Gojo is at least a lot better at pretending.

“So, I was thinking,” Gojo says, flicking rice across his plate with his chopsticks. “I know we’ve mostly been doing training with your cursed technique, and you’re doing pretty good with that, so we should probably try to get you some weapons training too. It’ll help supplement your technique, and it requires less cursed energy than summoning your shikigami. Nanami’s free this weekend, and he agreed to help, since he’s better with weapons than I am.”

“Okay.” Megumi has met Nanami only a couple times before—he’s not actually a sorcerer now, but he went to school and trained to be one, and he’s got a cursed technique.

“I’d like to get you some hand-to-hand combat training too,” Gojo muses, as if talking to himself rather than Megumi. “I’m too out of practice, though. I haven’t trained with hand-to-hand since—”

He stops speaking abruptly, a sour expression crossing his face.

“Since what?” Megumi asks. Gojo’s technique doesn’t really give much room for hand-to-hand combat, since his enemies literally cannot touch him. Why even bother learning a fighting style you’ll never be able to use?

“My best friend was really good at hand-to-hand combat,” Gojo explains. “I sparred with him, back before…”

Gojo’s face twists into something that vaguely resembles a grimace, and Megumi doesn’t ask for him to finish his sentence. Gojo has this elusive best friend that he brings up on occasion, though he only ever talks about them in the past tense. And it always puts him in a weird mood. Almost like he’s sad, but he’s trying really hard not to be.

Expectedly, Gojo has stopped picking at his food entirely now, his chopsticks resting on his mostly-empty plate. He clicks his teeth together as he runs a finger along the lines in the wood of the table.

Megumi purses his lips. He never knows what to do when Gojo gets like this—he’s never been very good at comforting people when they’re upset. It’s not like he can promise everything is going to be okay, because he knows from experience that isn’t a promise he can make.

(He wants to be able to, and that’s why he’s letting Gojo train with him so much. He wants to be able to protect the people he cares about, so he can swear everything will be okay, because Megumi will make it okay.)

But right now, all Megumi can do is watch Gojo and debate with himself whether or not he should poke and prod anymore.

In the end, curiosity wins out.

“What…what was your best friend like?”

A bittersweet smile worms its way onto his face. “Strong. Brave. Kind. They didn’t come from a family of sorcerers, but they’re special grade, like me. We used to be the strongest together, before they left.”

Megumi tilts his head. He’d always assumed Gojo’s friend had died—he knows sorcerers die all the time, and Gojo never brought them to visit even though Megumi and Tsumiki have met his other friends. But to say they left…

Nanami left, too, but Megumi is going to train with him this weekend.

“They were sort of the glue that held our friend group together,” Gojo continues, oblivious to Megumi’s confusion. “Between the two of us, Shoko always liked them better. After they came out, Principal Yaga would always joke about how our year had the whole set—one boy, one girl, and one who wasn’t either.” Gojo shakes his head. “But…they were hurting, and they hurt a lot of people because of it.”

Gojo continues talking, but Megumi isn’t listening anymore because his mind is still caught up on what Gojo said about his friend not being a boy or a girl. That’s an option? Why did no one tell Megumi?

He’s been teased at school for having a girl’s name, and he doesn’t like it, because he’s not a girl. But he never wanted to go by any other name, because all the boy names were too…boyish. They’re all masculine and sharp and the thought of claiming one makes Megumi’s skin itch. He never told anyone that, of course, because he doesn’t want to be a girl, so being a boy with a girl’s name had been okay, really.

But now, Gojo has opened a whole new world of possibility.

“Can I do that?” Megumi asks, interrupting whatever Gojo had been saying.

Gojo stares at him for several moments before he asks, very slowly, “...Do what?”

Oh. Right. The last thing Megumi remembers before he tuned Gojo out was about how his best friend hurt a bunch of people.

“Can I be not a boy or a girl,” Megumi clarifies.

Gojo blinks. “Um. Yeah, if you want.”

Meguumi nods. “Okay. I want to do that, then. I’m not a boy anymore.”

It sounds right when they say it, so Megumi is confident in their decision. Someone really should have told them they could do this sooner; being not-a-boy feels a lot better. It’s like Megumi can breathe easier already.

“...Okay.” Gojo tilts his head. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. He purses his lips. “Do you…want me to…do anything?”

“What do you mean?” What is there to do besides stop calling Megumi a boy? And that should be self-explanatory.

“Like…I don’t know!” Gojo groans. “Do you need any gender-affirming things?”

Megumi stares at him blankly. “I don’t know what that means.” Gojo likes to make a big deal out of things that are really very simple. “Can’t I just not be a boy or a girl? Like your friend? Do I have to do something else?”

“I mean— No. Not if you don’t want to. I guess…” Gojo frowns. “Yeah, I guess all there really is to it is to decide you’re not a boy. But…just let me know if there’s ever anything you want to help with not being a boy or a girl, alright?”

“Okay,” Megumi agrees. That seems simple enough. They probably won’t ask Gojo for help, but it’s nice of him to offer.

Gojo’s gaze lingers on Megumi for a moment longer before he turns back to his dinner, telling Megumi about what he hopes Nanami will be able to teach them this weekend. Megumi nods along as they finish their own food, feeling strangely lighter.

It’s a nice feeling, they think, like they’re a little more at home in their own skin.

It’s something everyone deserves to feel.