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The woman – Miss Hariboro, one of the moms – glances down at her clipboard, swallowing back the snarky comment she had prepared for the Fushiguros’s guardian half an hour ago. Her bewilderment is clear as day, and thoughts might as well be scribbled across her forehead:
Why did nobody mention how HOT the Fushiguro kids’ guardian was?
She recalls gossiping with the other PTA moms about how unruly the Fushiguro kids are, especially the son, but their father’s bullshit “parenting” would’ve been quickly overlooked if they had this knowledge earlier on.
Satoru, like the snarky asshole he is, tips his sunglasses down to show off his jaw-dropping blue eyes. Miss Hariboro almost faints. “Good afternoon, sweetheart,” he greets, peeking at the clipboard. “I hope I’m in the right place. PTA meeting, right?”
Miss Hariboro melts a little, and her friend – Mrs. Minaka, a science teacher – comes to the rescue. Miss Hariboro sits at a desk in the front of the open classroom with the sign-in sheets, a stack of nametags, and a basket of pens, and Satoru Gojo looms over her with a mischievous grin. Mrs. Minaka isn’t as enchanted as her younger friend and plucks the clipboard from her hands, scowling at the man before her. “You’re in the right place,” the teacher says.
Satoru’s smile only widens. The sweetness of it, no matter how artificial, still hits the spot, he makes sure of it. “Great. I’m Satoru Gojo, the guardian of Megumi and Tsumiki Fushiguro. It’s nice to meet you.”
Mrs. Minaka scrunches her nose when she smiles, tripling the amount of wrinkles on her freckled face. She’s an older woman, and her thin gray hair is twisted into a bun (that Satoru wishes more than anything in this world he could hit with a baseball bat).
“Save your introductions for when the meeting actually begins,” Mrs. Minaka quips. She hands Satoru a blank name tag sticker and a green pen, not even bothering to hide her disdain. “Please have a seat at the conference table while we wait for our other members to arrive.”
Satoru accepts his fate with a bitter laugh, shuffling over to the “conference table” which is just six folding tables pushed together in the center of the room with about a dozen metal school chairs spaced out along the perimeter. Satoru has to slouch a bit to make his long legs fit comfortably under the table, but eventually, he gives up, scooting his chair back and crossing his legs. He writes “Satoru Gojo, he/him” on his nametag and sticks it to his button-up shirt.
It only takes another five minutes before the meeting officially starts. Satoru sent the kids a few selfies, documenting his first PTA meeting, and then zoned in on what was going on around him. Mrs. Minaka stood at the head of the table, wearing that weird smile moms usually have on in the grocery store.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Mrs. Minaka begins, her voice carrying the practiced warmth of someone accustomed to leading parent-teacher meetings. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
Satoru leans back in his chair, propping his chin on his hand with an amused smirk. He isn’t here to cause trouble — well, not much trouble — but he certainly isn’t going to let these PTA members intimidate him. He’s watched enough reality TV to fit in with petty gossip moms.
As Mrs. Minaka delves into the agenda, discussing upcoming fundraisers and school events, Satoru finds himself increasingly amused by the seriousness with which the other parents take these matters. He can’t help but interject at one point, his voice casual and bemused. “Are we raising money for the school pool again? I thought we just got that fixed last year.”
Mrs. Minaka shoots him a look, clearly not appreciating the interruption. “Yes, Mr. Gojo, it’s a necessary investment for the children’s physical education.”
Satoru nods, feigning understanding. “Right, right. Because water polo is such a vital skill for elementary school kids.”
A few of the parents scoff at Satoru’s sarcasm, shifting in their seats and whispering amongst one another. And while Satoru has never been one to feel insecure, his heart beats a little quicker when he realizes the obvious cliques being made.
It’s clear he doesn’t fit in here.
Mrs. Minaka’s smile tightens perceptibly. “Let’s get back to the agenda,” she snaps.
And so, the meeting continues, punctuated occasionally by the subtle ways the other PTA members try to exclude Satoru, the teenage dad. Conversations shift away from him whenever he joins, parents murmur to each other while casting sideways glances, and his comments are met with polite but dismissive nods. It’s almost comical how transparent their efforts are.
Satoru, unfazed, leans back in his chair, a serene smile playing on his lips. His high self-esteem is his armor, and their attempts to isolate him bounce off harmlessly.
At the halfway mark, the PTA pauses going through the agenda and disperses for a ten-minute break. Satoru remains in his seat, simply watching as the parents and teachers, all old enough to be his parents, mingle with one another like kids at a high school dance.
“And honestly,” one of the moms whispers, probably thinking Satoru can’t hear her, “he’s way too immature to be a proper father. He must be, what, twenty? That means he was fourteen when he had the boy.”
“I wonder where the mother is,” the other mother muses. “I mean, even if his personality is awful, the man is absolutely gorgeous. I don’t blame her for getting her hands on him when he was young, whoever she is. Having a baby is a great way to tie a man down, after all.”
Satoru groans, rolling his eyes as he stands from his chair. “Gossiping is a lot more fun when your subject matter isn’t listening in,” he says, offering a threateningly sweet smile at the two women. They respond with dirty looks, turning away and presumably changing the topic. Satoru, while aching for a hollow purple, decides to be an adult and go elsewhere.
He plans to get out of this suffocating place and locate a bathroom, but he’s stopped by another one of the parents, this time a tall, relatively burly man with a thick beard a few shades lighter than the wispy hair on his balding head. Satoru forces an amused smile.
“Hello,” the man greets albeit awkwardly. “I’m Mr. Takahashi, Kyouka’s father. We met at the Daddy-Daughter dance a few months ago. I’d like to apologize for my daughter’s behavior. She can be a bit difficult sometimes, but I promise she means well.”
Satoru is thoroughly unimpressed, but he plays nice. “No worries. Kids can be brats, it’s just how things are. As long as she isn’t causing my little girl any more trouble, she’s forgiven.”
Mr. Takahashi smiles, and he looks both annoyed and petrified. “Right. Well, my wife made lemon squares for everyone. Please, have one, I’m sure they’re delicious.”
Only because Satoru can never turn down free dessert, he paces to the back of the rearranged classroom where Mrs. Takahashi and a few teachers are chatting while eating the tangy shortbread. Satoru is skeptical – especially when half the older women are fantasizing about his naked body and the other half are plotting his demise – but he sticks to his goal and grabs a lemon square.
It’s… fucking disgusting. Dry, crumbly, and way too damn sour.
His reaction is immediate and impossible to hide, even with his tinted shades. He winces, barely managing to swallow, and chokes up a comment he probably should’ve bit back: “Fuck! Ew! Ugh, what the fuck did you put in these things?! Jesus Christ, It tastes like baby wipes and donkey dick! Fucking gross–”
Every parent and teacher in the room stares at him, absolutely horrified.
Satoru clears his throat. “I mean… they’re, uh, very interesting,” he says, failing miserably in his weak attempt to be diplomatic.
Mrs. Takahashi’s face turns a shade of red that almost matches the PTA meeting’s agenda folder. “Excuse me?! How dare you be so vulgar over my dead grandmother’s recipe?!”
Giving up on playing nice, Satoru rolls his eyes, tossing the half-eaten square back onto the tray. “Oh, shut up. You’re too damn old to be whining about your dead grandma. And either way, it doesn’t change the fact that your lemon squares suck.” He’s flippant and sassy, which only feeds the flames.
Mr. Takahashi stands up straighter, his fists clenching at his sides. “Do not speak to my wife that way!” he shouts. “She has been a proud member of the Parent-Teacher Association for years, ever since our firstborn was in kindergarten! She is a hard-working mother who cares about our children and actually puts effort into raising them, unlike you!”
Satoru raises an eyebrow, still maintaining his relaxed and instigative demeanor. “Big words for the parents of a bully. Your daughter was tormenting mine for months until Tsumiki and I put her in her place at the Daddy-Daughter dance. If you care so much about your kids, then why the hell do you let them stomp around and stir shit up?”
“Anything Kyouka said to that little brat of yours was just the truth,” Mrs. Takahashi sneers. “We all know you aren’t their real father. The real one was a criminal, and that sort of thing is hereditary. Protect those violent little mice and flaunt your pretty face as much as you’d like, but those Fushiguro kids came from hell, and there’s nothing any of us can do once they’re inevitably called back.”
Satoru knows somewhere in his mind that punching an older woman, no matter how obnoxious she is, is wrong. So instead of decking this bitch in the jaw, he turns to her husband and knocks his lights out.
As expected, Mrs. Takahashi screams, as do a few other parents and teachers. Satoru simply shakes out his hand and scans the area, muted rage painted over his porcelain face. The commotion builds as Mrs. Takahashi sobs and Miss Haiboro kneels down, checking Mr. Takahashi’s pulse. He’s alive, obviously, but he’s unconscious. There’s a steady stream of blood gushing from his nose, and his top lip isn’t in great condition either. Satoru considers stomping his face in but eventually decides against it.
A few of the male PTA members try to corner him, but Satoru just shrugs them off, pushing his way to the door. “Don’t talk shit about my kids,” he snaps, “and we won’t have any problems. Consider this strike two.”
-
It's past 6 p.m. when Satoru finally arrives home, the aroma of take-out curry wafting through the air as he steps into the apartment. He stopped by a local curry shop on the way, deciding that dinner would be best handled by someone else tonight. As he crosses the threshold, he hears Tsumiki’s relieved sigh from the living room, confirming it.
“I didn’t feel like cooking,” she admits with a small smile, looking up from her homework.
Satoru grins, ruffling her hair affectionately as he sets the take-out bags on the kitchen table. “I told you, that’s not your job anymore,” he says firmly. “How are you liking the new game console?”
“It’s awesome,” Tsumiki beams. “After dinner, I wanna show you the big house me and Megs found on Minecraft. It’s in the middle of the dark oak woods, and there’s a bunch of pillagers inside, but it’s so cool.”
Satoru chuckles, moving to get silverware from the drawers. “Sounds amazing, ‘Miki. I’ll have to hop on and play with you guys sometime.”
“No way,” Megumi cuts in as he shuffles to sit at the kitchen table. “You’d probably blow everything up.”
“Woah, you can blow things up on that game, too?!” Satoru gasps, his eyes wide with exaggerated excitement. “Yep, definitely gonna have to play it now.”
Megumi groans, but it’s half-hearted, and he sits beside Tsumiki at the table. They break into the take-out bag and sort out who gets what while Satoru leans on the counter, checking his messages from Shoko and Yaga.
“Satoru,” Tsumiki calls, looking up from her meal, “aren’t you gonna eat?”
“Eh, I’m not that hungry,” he says, grinning softly. “I’ll have something later.”
Megumi’s scowl deepens. “You went to that stupid PTA meeting today, right?”
Satoru nods, trying his best to hide his grimace. He fails spectacularly.
“What the hell did you do?” Megumi demands, narrowing his eyes.
“Nothing, nothing!” Satoru laughs, waving his hands in a placating gesture. “I just… punched Kyouka’s dad in the face.”
A beat of silence passes, and then both Fushiguro kids burst into laughter, the sound filling the room and bringing a genuine smile to Satoru’s face. With newfound pride, he recounts the story, conveniently leaving out the more unsavory details of what Mrs. Takahashi said, and cherishes every giggle he’s able to pull from the kids.
When they’re finished eating, Tsumiki drags the boys down the hallway and distributes the controllers as they get comfortable in the vibrant beanbags on the kids’ floor. They spend the rest of the Friday night immersed in Minecraft, and it only takes three hours for Satoru to get a full set of enchanted diamond armor and beat the Ender Dragon. He claims it’s a numbers game, but Megumi deems him a cheater.
Around 11 p.m., Tsumiki is asleep, and Megumi is valiantly trying to keep his eyes open. Playing the responsible father figure, Satoru shuts off the game and situates the kids in their respective beds. He adjusts their blankets, gives them each a kiss on the forehead, plugs in the Pokemon night light, and leaves the room, gently closing the door behind him.
At midnight, he sits in the kitchen, eating leftovers and dialing Shoko’s number.
“Why the hell are you awake right now?” she greets him, her voice groggy but sharp. “You have a mission across the country tomorrow at eight in the morning, and you haven’t slept at all in the past week.”
Satoru groans, pushing away the half-empty bowl and resting his head on the table. “Shokooo, don’t be mean to me! You know I don’t need to sleep as much as I used to.”
“I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again,” Shoko sighs, “RCT can save your life, but it can’t make it worth living. You need to sleep, shithead.”
“I will, I will,” Satoru mumbles, “but I need to talk to you about something first.”
“Fine,” the doctor huffs. “Go on.”
“I went to my first PTA meeting today,” Satoru drawls, “and it totally sucked. They were all so mean and sassy, and I ended up knocking out this one lady’s husband.”
“Satoru–”
“I had reasons!” he blurts, interrupting Shoko’s oncoming lecture. “She was talking shit about the kids. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about… Some of the other parents were saying stuff about me being a bad guardian, and I wanted to know what I could do to be… better, I guess? I don’t know. Parenting is weird.”
Shoko laughs, switching her phone to her other ear. “Insecurity doesn’t look good on you, ‘Toru.”
Whining, he points and squeezes his eyes shut, feeling the burn of overstimulation. “I’m not insecure,” he insists, “I’m just… Ugh, Shoko! Help! This sucks!”
“You’ll be fine, you big baby,” Shoko jokes. “If Megumi and Tsumiki are happy, healthy, and safe, then you’re not doing anything wrong. You should know as a former high school bully how to roll with the punches.”
“Me making fun of Nanami’s emo hair was not bullying,” Satoru announces (though he’s entirely wrong and he knows it.)
“Whatever, twinkle toes,” Shoko teases. “Just don’t stress yourself out, okay? I’ll be there to babysit tomorrow while you’re gone, and I’ll talk to the kids to see if they think you have anything to work on. Because it’s their opinion that matters most.”
Satoru nods, his pouty face receding ever so slightly. “Thank you, Shoko.”
“Uh-huh,” she yawns. “Get some sleep, Satoru.”
He does, but he has a nightmare about lemon squares and complains to Shoko about it while fighting a horde of Grade 1 curses across the country.