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Gojo Hikaru was, to put it mildly, a Big Deal. He wasn't just any kid, oh no. He was a testament to the saying, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," though in this case, the apple had somehow landed in a vat of glitter and emerged with an honorary doctorate in Traditional Japanese Etiquette. You see, he was the much-anticipated, highly-anticipated, did-we-mention-anticipated heir to the Gojo Clan, a lineage so prestigious, even their cats had trust funds.
From the moment he uttered his first word – “Infinity,” much to his father's boisterous delight and his mother's exasperated sigh – Hikaru exceeded expectations.
And boy, did the titles pile up faster than his father could demolish a plate of sweets.
"Potential Seed of the Gojo Clan" - sounded more like a prize-winning pumpkin than a human child.
"Future Heir to the Gojo Legacy" - catchy, and thankfully less morbid than "Potential Replacement Gojo If Satoru Accidentally Obliterate Himself With Cursed Energy."
"Genius of Cursed Technique Inheritance" - because "Infinity Prodigy" sounded too much like a budget airline.
"Scholar Extraordinaire of the Gojo Archives" - he could recite ancient jujutsu texts in his sleep. Mostly because Gojo Papa used them as bedtime stories. Don't ask.
"Wielder of the Sacred Yari - Heaven's Piercer" - they’d let 3-year-old him hold the ceremonial spear once, under the watchful eyes of six highly trained guards and a very anxious Shoko. He’d used it to poke a hole in a rice cake.
Those were just the titles Shoko bothered to remember. We could go on listing his accomplishments, but frankly, we’d be here all day.
The point is: Hikaru was a Very Special Child™.
It was enough to make a normal parent run for the hills, but Hikaru's parents weren't exactly known for their normalcy.
Which brought us to the truly extraordinary aspect of Hikaru’s existence: his parents.
Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, a man who once brought Tokyo traffic to a standstill because he’d misplaced his favorite blindfold, was now a father. A father who documented every adorable thing his son did with the enthusiasm of a teenager discovering Instagram for the first time. His social media was a minefield of embarrassing baby pictures, videos of Hikaru, and captions that could make even the most stoic sorcerer gag.
Then there was Ieiri Shoko, the woman who could dissect a curse with a scalpel and a bored expression, now reduced to cooing over her son’s artwork. She approached motherhood with the same unflappable efficiency she brought to dissecting cursed spirits, which is to say, she was terrifyingly good at it.
Together, they were a walking, talking contradiction. The fact that these two had managed to procreate, let alone produce a child who could walk a straight line and tie his own shoelaces, was a testament to the inexplicable mysteries of the universe.
It was like witnessing a hurricane mate with a cactus and somehow produce a prize-winning orchid. Strange, baffling, and undeniably entertaining.
The elders, of course, would never dare voice such blasphemous thoughts. They clung to Hikaru like a life raft in a sea of uncertainty, convinced he was the answer to all their problems, the golden child who would usher in a new era of Gojo dominance.
But beneath the weight of expectations and the sheer ridiculousness of his lineage, Hikaru was, well, a kid. He loved sugary snacks, complained about calligraphy practice, and occasionally hid behind his mother's skirts when faced with particularly enthusiastic displays of affection from his more… intense relatives.
Infant stage
Despite the demanding schedules and often dangerous professions, his parents were determined to give Hikaru a sense of normalcy, a childhood filled with love and laughter, even within the Jujutsu Tech. His arrival had ushered in a new era at the school – one punctuated by baby giggles, the comforting scent of milk and baby powder, and a constant chorus of "oohs" and "ahhs" from students and teachers alike.
His chubby cheeks, perpetually dusted with a faint blush, begged to be pinched. His tiny hands, impossibly small and delicate, clung to fingers with surprising strength. His soft, chocolate brown hair, inherited from Shoko, seemed to catch the light, forming a halo around a face that could melt the iciest of hearts.
And those eyes. Big, round, and a mesmerizing shade of cerulean blue, just like his father’s, except where Gojo’s held a mischievous glint, Hikaru's sparkled with innocent curiosity. He had a way of fixing those eyes on you, his gaze unwavering, that made you feel like the most fascinating thing in the world.
And oh, the smell! He was a delicious concoction of baby powder, freshly laundered onesies, and that intoxicating aroma of milk that clung to him like a halo, making everyone want to snuggle him closer.
His parents took turns incorporating Hikaru into their daily routines.
Days when Shoko didn't have to perform an autopsy were considered ‘Hikaru Days.’ She’d carry him everywhere, strapped to her chest in a baby carrier. The students had learned to decipher the subtle signs of a content baby – a quiet gurgle, a relaxed fist – from the telltale signs of an impending diaper change – the restless legs, the furrowed brow.
Hikaru, in turn, seemed perfectly content in this world of bandages and herbal remedies. He’d watch with wide, curious eyes as Shoko worked, his tiny hand occasionally reaching out to pat a bruised cheek or trace the lines of a suture scar.
"Don't worry, it's just a flesh wound," she'd say with a smile, as she expertly bandaged a student's arm, Hikaru watching with wide, curious eyes, his tiny hand reaching out to pat the injured party with a gurgle of concern.
Shoko found herself smiling more in those first few months than she had in years. She meticulously recorded Hikaru's milestones and kept pictures of him on her desk. It would have been a sign of the cuteness of parenthood if it weren't placed right next to the autopsy schedule and the dissection photos of cursed souls, making him look like her latest specimen.
When she attended meetings, reviewed case files, the baby nestled contentedly beside her, his tiny hand occasionally reaching out to tug on a stray strand of her hair.
Gone were the days when Gojo would disappear for weeks on end, his whereabouts a mystery. Now, he’d often be found pushing Hikaru’s stroller through the school courtyard, a bored expression on his face as he rattled off complex theories of cursed energy to a baby who could only respond with gurgles and drool-filled smiles.
On days when Gojo wasn't away on a mission for the elders, he'd bring Hikaru along to his classes, much to the amusement of his students and the occasional exasperation of the school administration.
"Today, my little guy's sitting in on the finer points of dismantling a Grade 2 curse," The students would arrive to find their usually unpredictable sensei setting up a playpen in the corner of the training room, a mischievous grin on his face as he dangled a plush cursed spirit toy above a giggling Hikaru. That child would observe the lesson with a seriousness that belied his age, his big eyes focused intently on the demonstration, occasionally letting out a delighted squeal when things went boom. The students, initially distracted by the adorable distraction, soon realized that Gojo was a surprisingly patient and attentive father. He’d pause mid-lecture to adjust his son's pacifier before resuming his explanation of interdimensional spaces and the manipulation of cursed energy.
"And that," Gojo would declare dramatically, after effortlessly neutralizing a training curse with Hikaru perched on his shoulders, "is how you exorcise a Grade 4 with one hand while bottle-feeding a baby with the other!"
One day, facing a rare moment of conflicting schedules and an important meeting with the higher-ups, the new parents found themselves entrusting their precious son to the care of their three most trusted (or at least, most available) students: Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara.
“He’s a pretty easy baby,” Shoko reassured them, pressing a diaper bag into Megumi’s hands. “Just stick to his schedule, and there shouldn’t be any problems.”
The handover was, as always, a symphony of chaos and over-preparation.
“Here’s his schedule, diaper bag, emergency contact list - which is basically just me, but call Ijichi first - and a list of phrases Hikaru understands,” Shoko rattled off, her usual stoicism tinged with a hint of parental anxiety.
“Relax, Shoko,” Gojo interjected nonchalantly despite the way his eyes lingered on Hikaru. “They’ll survive.”
“Now, son,” Gojo said, carefully adjusting his son’s favorite dinosaur-patterned bib, “Mama and Papa have a very boring meeting with some very serious people. You be a good boy for Megumi-onii-san, Yuji-nii-chan, and Nobara-nee-chan, okay?"
In a onesie adorned with miniature cursed spirits, the baby seemed delighted with the attention, his chubby legs kicking excitedly as he reached for Yuji’s face.
"Have fun, don't break him!" Gojo said before Shoko dragged him out of the room.
Megumi, already weighed down by the diaper bag and the weight of responsibility, simply nodded. While Nobara was practically vibrating with excitement.
Yuji, his usual enthusiasm amplified tenfold when it came to Hikaru, beamed. "Don't worry, sensei! We’ll take good care of the little guy!"
And so began the adventure of babysitting.
The first hour passed surprisingly smoothly. They managed to feed Hikaru a jar of mashed sweet potato (with only a minimal amount ending up smeared on Nobara’s hair) and kept him entertained with a selection of brightly colored toys. Then came the milk bottle. Megumi meticulously followed Shoko's instructions, preparing Hikaru's milk formula with the precision of a seasoned alchemist.
After that, Yuji and Nobara engaged in a comical tug-of-war, each vying for the honor of feeding the young heir.
"He likes me better!" Yuji insisted, jostling the bottle precariously. "Wait, I think he likes Fushiguro, he keeps looking at him."
"As if!" Nobara retorted. "Kid just thinks his hair looks like a sea urchin!"
"It's your thought only." Megumi sighed.
"Come on, little guy," she cooed, gently nudging the bottle towards Hikaru's mouth. "Time for your afternoon fuel-up!"
Hikaru's cheeks still flushed from his nap, and he regarded the bottle with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. He'd much rather be investigating the intriguing collection of medical instruments on his mother's desk, but the lure of warm milk and Nobara's surprisingly gentle touch proved irresistible. He latched onto the bottle with gusto, his tiny fists clenching and unclenching as he drained the contents with impressive speed.
"Whoa, slow down there, champ!" Yuji exclaimed. "No one's gonna steal your precious milk!"
"Look at him go! My little champion eater!" Nobara was beaming with pride.
However, the peaceful scene was not long for this world.
While observing the scene with a mixture of amusement and apprehension, Megumi couldn't help but notice that Hikaru, usually a champion milk drinker, seemed fussy. His little face scrunched up, his chubby legs kicked restlessly, and his usually clear blue eyes took on a slightly glazed look. The constant jostling, combined with a belly full of milk, had left him feeling rather nauseous.
Oblivious to Hikaru's discomfort, Nobara cooed at him, her voice reaching a decibel that could rival a banshee’s wail. “Who’s a cute little sorcerer? You are! Yes, you are!”
"Uh, guys," Megumi interjected, "I think he's going to—"
His warning came too late. Hikaru’s face crumpled, his tiny brow furrowing as a wave of nausea overwhelmed him.
"Uh oh," Nobara muttered. "He's gonna blow!"
"Here, you take him!" She instinctively shoved the baby into Megumi's arms, narrowly avoiding a projectile vomit of epic proportions.
With a sound that could only be described as a guttural "blaaargh," Hikaru unleashed a torrent of milk and half-digested rice crackers, the projectile vomit landing squarely on Megumi's shoulder.
Megumi found himself covered in a wave of warm, milky goo while the baby, his stomach now empty and his face a picture of blissful relief, gurgled happily, patting his face with a sticky hand. Then he let out a contented sigh and snuggled into the black-hair boy's chest, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
After a moment, Yuji burst into a fit of laughter, clutching his stomach as tears streamed down his face.
"Nice catch, Fushiguro!" he howled, clutching his sides.
"Ijiiiiichiiiiiii!" Nobara's panicked cry echoed through the clinic, a desperate plea for assistance from the only adult within earshot.
The assistant director choked on his beverage, his eyes widening in horror as he took in the scene before him: a traumatized Megumi, a shrieking Nobara, and a very happy Hikaru, free of his milky burden.
As Ijichi fumbled for a towel, his mind racing to recall the emergency procedures for exorcising baby vomit from a sorcerer's uniform, one thought echoed through his mind: "Maybe administrative work wasn't so bad after all.”
9 years old
The rhythmic thud of wood against wood echoed through Gojo's expansive training grounds, a symphony of controlled aggression orchestrated by the formidable Zenin Maki and her reluctant student, one 9-years-old Gojo Hikaru, who enthusiastic wielder of a rather ordinary-looking stick, and at this particular moment, desperately wanted a juice box and a nap.
Hikaru's brow furrowed in concentration as he parried each of Maki's blows with surprising speed and precision. He may have been born into a world of cursed energy and supernatural combat, but his mother had instilled in him a healthy dose of pragmatism. And sometimes, pragmatism meant mastering the art of wielding a sturdy stick before graduating to cursed weapons that could level a city.
His small frame mirrored Maki's stance with uncanny accuracy. He was the clan's golden boy, and even Maki, who harbored a healthy disdain for anyone born with a silver spoon in their mouth (especially if that spoon had the jujutsu clan crest engraved on it), couldn't help but be impressed by the boy’s natural talent.
"Again," Maki said, parrying each strike from her young opponent with practiced ease.
She never one to coddle her opponents, met his every strike with equal force, their wooden sticks clashing in a blur of movement that sent a light dusting of dirt spiraling into the afternoon sun.
"Good," she grunted. "Again!"
The sight of Hikaru training, his small frame radiating a power that belied his years, was enough to make even the most jaded elder weep tears of joy (or perhaps just tears, considering the sheer amount of pressure those elders placed on this poor child's shoulders).
Despite his impressive lineage and even more impressive collection of honorary titles, was, at his core, still a child. And like most children his age, he was prone to bouts of enthusiasm followed by equally intense waves of exhaustion.
So, when his mother's familiar figure appeared at the edge of the training ground, a beacon of warmth and the promise of home-cooked meals, something within him snapped. He didn't whine, didn't complain, didn't even bother asking Maki for a break. He simply did what any rational, love-starved child in his position would do.
With a casual swift and subtle flick of his wrist, Hikaru sent the wooden training stick flying through the air. It arced gracefully, a blur of polished wood against the clear blue sky, before embedding itself in the ground with a resounding thud. Then he sprinted towards his mother, his arms outstretched, a delighted grin splitting his usually composed features.
“Mom!”
Now, anyone observing this scene might be tempted to label Hikaru as a "mama's boy," a term usually uttered with a sneer and judgment. And to be fair, Hikaru did have a rather endearing tendency to melt into a puddle of affection whenever his mother was within a five-meter radius.
But anyone who mistook his affection for weakness clearly hadn't witnessed the aftermath of his careless action.
That stick didn't just land on the ground. Oh no, it embedded itself deep into the earth, disappearing with a resounding thud that sent tremors through the very foundations of the Gojo estate.
On the training ground…
Four strong servants, wielding heavy-duty shovels and picks, were locked in a battle against the seemingly immovable force of a stick that had decided to take root like a particularly stubborn bonsai tree.
An hour later, after much exertion, and several muttered curses, the offending object was finally extracted from the earth. The servants, wiping the sweat from their brows, exchanged weary glances.
“The young master is a force to be reckoned with,” one muttered, shaking his head.
"So cool," a group of wide-eyed cousins whispered amongst themselves, their own training swords suddenly feeling woefully inadequate.
Shoko, however, had a slightly different take on the situation.
“My boy,” she cooed, enveloping him in a hug that probably rearranged his internal organs (not that Hikaru seemed to mind). " Look at you, all sweaty."
Hikaru simply nodded while nestled comfortably in his mother’s embrace, his eyelids already drooping with fatigue. Then she bundled her son into the waiting car.
“You must be starving. Don’t worry, Mom will make you your favorite tonight – grilled salmon, extra rice, and that honey cake you love. Now wait a moment, I need to talk with your teacher.”
As she said that, her son already half-asleep, mumbled his assent, a contented smile gracing his lips. Because even the "Potential Seed" deserved a good meal and some maternal affection after a long day of trying to live up to everyone else's expectations.
Maki watched Shoko ruffle Hikaru's hair in the car, a fond smile softening her usually nonchalant features. The training session had ended, leaving a trail of exhausted servants and a rather impressive crater in the Gojo estate's meticulously manicured lawn.
"He's good," she'd grudgingly admitted, "for a Gojo."
"He gets it from his mother."
“Seriously, though. How do you deal with it? With them?”
"Deal with what, exactly?"
"Being married to Gojo and the mother of… well, him." She gestured towards the kid now sleeps peacefully.
Shoko let out a dry chuckle. "Why ask me? You're about to find out for yourself."
"That's different," Maki's cheeks flushed slightly as Shoko teased a reminder of her upcoming wedding.
"Oh, really? And how is it different? Is Yuta planning on being a less chaotic husband than Satoru? Or is it that your future offspring won't inherit the ability to accidentally level a city block with a misplaced sneeze?"
Maki simply crossed her arms and grumbled under her breath.
"Look, Maki," she said, "it's not always easy. There are days when I want to strangle Satoru with his own blindfold and ship Hikaru off to a remote island with nothing but a dictionary and a lifetime supply of mochi. But then…"
Shoko then paused, her gaze softening.
"Then I see them together, father and son, both utterly ridiculous and undeniably lovely. And I remember why I put up with the chaos, the noise, the constant fear that one of them might accidentally trigger a diplomatic incident with a misplaced cursed technique."
She turned to Maki. "You'll figure it out. You and him."
“You make it look easy,” Maki admitted, her voice softening slightly.
“Easy? Trust me, you’ll be asking yourself that very same question in about a year.”
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the Tokyo sky in hues of orange and purple, as two women smiled thinking about the prospect of marriage.
This kid understood everything, from the intricacies of cursed energy manipulation to the proper etiquette for addressing a centuries-old cursed spirit.
Except, it seemed, one thing. The mystery of his parents' relationship was the one riddle that even the brilliant Gojo Hikaru couldn’t solve. And it was driving him absolutely bonkers.
So he decided to approach the problem with his usual methodical approach: Research.
First Trial
Hikaru stared intently at his notebook, chewing on the end of his pen. His usually neat script was marred by a large question mark that dominated the page, circled multiple times in frustration. His notebook, usually filled with complex equations and meticulously drawn diagrams of cursed techniques, became dedicated to a new subject: Parental Affection in the Gojo-Ieiri Household.
He adjusted his makeshift detective hat. It was, in actuality, a paper crane Dad had absentmindedly folded for him a few days prior, but it lent him an air of authority. Today was the day he cracked the code. Underneath it, in meticulous detail, was his observation from that morning:
Observation Subject: Parental Interaction - Morning Departure (Attempt #3)
Date: 2028/10/27
Hypothesis: Based on peer testimony (Yuto T., age 7) and supplemental data gathered from romantic dramas (courtesy of Aunt Utahime), it is postulated that parental units engage in physical displays of affection (i.e., kissing) and verbal affirmation of sentiment (i.e., "I love you") before parting ways.
Day 1:
Location: Strategically concealed behind the kotatsu (prime position for covert observation) .
Time: 06:00 - 06:30
Detailed Log:
6:00 AM: Mom emerges from their bedroom. Her hair is tied back in a practical ponytail, no-nonsense as usual, and she’s wearing her doctor's coat. Dad remains unseen. No sounds of affection detected.
Hikaru diligently noted this down, adding a small sketch of his mother’s perpetually tired eyes in blue ink.
6:15 AM: Dad finally graces us with his presence. His hair is even messier than usual (how is that even possible?). No affectionate greeting for Mom, though he does ruffle her hair as he passes, earning him a playful swat.
“Shoko, my angel of mercy, is the coffee ready?” Dad boomed, his voice still thick with sleep.
“It’s on the counter. And before you complain, yes, there’s sugar. Five cubes, just how you like it,” Mom said without turning from the stove, where she was expertly flipping an omelet.
Hikaru’s eyes narrowed. How did she know? They hadn’t even spoken about it. Was this some sort of shared brainwave frequency exclusive to parents? He jotted down “ Possible telepathic communication? ” in red ink, adding a prominent question mark.
06:19 - 06:25 AM: Dad consumes copious amounts of coffee, engages in one-sided banter about a recent mission involving a rogue cursed spirit and a limited-edition box of mochi. Mom hums noncommittally while reading a medical journal. Physical contact is limited to a brief, accidental elbow bump that Dad attempts to turn into a hand-holding opportunity. Mom extracts her hand with impressive speed.
6:27 AM: Dad leaned against the counter, observing Mom as she prepared breakfast. He hadn’t even glanced at his phone, which was buzzing incessantly with what I could only assume were urgent pleas for his attention from the world of jujutsu sorcery.
6:30 AM: The moment of truth. Dad reached for his coat, his movements unhurried. He paused, turning back to Mom.
This was it, Hikaru thought, eyes glued to the scene. Any second now…
"Heading out," Dad said, his tone softer than usual. "Don't overwork yourself today, Shoko. I know you've got that mountain of paperwork from the last mission."
Mom smiled. "Don't worry about me. Worry about not causing an international incident on your mission. And Satoru?"
"Yeah?"
"You're out of candy."
And with that, Dad was gone.
He scribbled in his notebook, his frustration evident in the jagged lines. " Subjects continue to defy all known laws of parental affection. Further investigation is crucial. Will consult with Aunt Utahime for possible insights into adult mating rituals. Note: Stock up on sugar. Dad seems to operate on a sugar-based reward system. "
This case, Hikaru realized, was far from closed.
Second Trial
The impetus for this investigation was a seemingly innocuous passage he'd stumbled upon in one of Shoko's many medical journals. Tucked between a study on cursed energy compatibility and a surprisingly engaging article on the history of surgical techniques, was a small blurb about the significance of first dates.
" Couples who cherish their shared history, " the article proclaimed, " often have vivid and fond memories of their first date, a testament to the spark that ignited their enduring bond. "
Struck by the scientific merit of studying such a phenomenon, Hikaru plans to delve into his own parents' romantic past.
He decided to employ a dual-pronged approach, interviewing his subjects separately to avoid any potential bias or, knowing his father, embellishments.
His first target was, naturally, Gojo, who was lounging on the engawa, enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet.
“Dad,” Hikaru began, approaching the subject with his usual blend of nonchalance and meticulously concealed curiosity. “Do you remember your first date with Mom?”
Gojo chuckled. “How could I forget? It was a perfect day. Cherry blossoms, a gentle breeze, and your dear old dad, at his most charming.”
“What did you do?”
Gojo leaned back, a nostalgic smile spreading across his face. "Well, I packed a delicious picnic basket – your mom still raves about my culinary choices – and we found this secluded spot overlooking the city. The view was breathtaking, the food was divine, and your mom…” he paused, his smile turning mischievous, "actually laughed at one of my jokes.”
“She was completely smitten,” Gojo concluded, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.
Hikaru dutifully noted every detail in his ever-present notebook: “ Picnic. Delicious food. Breathtaking view. Laughter. ” So far, so good. The makings of a perfect first date.
He sought out his mother next, finding her in her home office, surrounded by stacks of medical journals and anatomical diagrams. He approached the topic with the same seriousness, albeit tailored to his mother’s more pragmatic nature.
"Mom, for scientific research purposes, I need you to recall the events of your first date with Dad.”
To be fair, Shoko is a great mother that never one to deny her son's thirst for knowledge, even when it veers into the realm of the deeply personal, so she just sighed and set aside her work.
"Well... Your dad was an hour and a half late, his hair like a crow's nest, and then proceeded to spill grape juice all over my favorite dress,” Shoko began, her lips twitching as she recalled that disastrous date, “he also spent most of the evening distracted, talking about some complicated jujutsu technique he was trying to master. I don’t think he even noticed I’d changed my hair.”
“But… the view? The laughter?” Hikaru stammered.
"Your dad told you that, didn't he?" Shoko smiled as she saw her son's innocent eyes, "The view was obscured by a rather large pigeon who seemed intent on sharing our meal. And the laughter? Well, let’s just say, by that point, I’d resigned myself to the fact that I was on a date with a walking, talking disaster zone. And that can be quite amusing in its own right.”
The boy stared at her, his carefully constructed worldview crumbling around him. His parents' versions of their first date weren't just different; they were polar opposites.
His notebook entry that night read, in large, slightly hysterical lettering: " HELP! My parents are either delusional or pathological liars! This love-research project is officially a disaster! "
Third Trial
Hikaru’s notebook lay open on the floor, abandoned amidst a pile of discarded toys and a half-finished model of a miniature universe (he’d grown bored with the predictable nature of the solar system). His latest attempt at deciphering the enigma that was his parents’ relationship had hit another dead end, leaving him more perplexed than ever.
The culprit this time? The impending arrival of a new baby brother for his classmate, Kenzo.
“My mommy’s having another baby!” Kenzo had announced proudly, puffing out his chest like a miniature sumo wrestler.
“Why?” Hikaru asked.
Kenzo had blinked, his brow furrowed in thought. “Because… because babies are cute?”
“No, I mean,” Hikaru clarified, “Why is she having another one? Doesn’t she already have you and your brother?”
“Silly Hikaru!” Noriko chirped. “It’s because his mommy and daddy love each other so much! They want to have lots of babies!”
Love equals babies. Could the equation be that simple? Did an abundance of love directly correlate to an abundance of offspring? His own parents had never expressed any desire for a larger family. In fact, Hikaru couldn’t recall a single conversation about babies, except for the time he’d asked, with the brutal honesty of a four-year-old, where babies came from, only to receive a ten-minute lecture from Shoko on the complexities of human reproduction, complete with anatomical diagrams that had left him more confused than enlightened.
If his classmate's logic held true, did his parents' lack of demonstrative affection mean they harbored no desire for more children? Did he, Hikaru Gojo, the sole heir to the Gojo clan, face the bleak prospect of remaining an only child for the rest of his days?
Gojo Hikaru, a seasoned relationship analyst (or at least, that's what he considered himself), was back on the case!
His new mission, dubbed “ Operation Sibling Surprise,” revolved around subtle interrogation and stealthy observation. He began by peppering his parents with seemingly innocent questions during breakfast.
"Dad, do you like big families?" he inquired as Gojo devoured his usual mountain of sweets.
"Hm?" Gojo paused mid-chew. "Depends. Are we talking about a family of pandas? Because those are pretty awesome."
Not exactly the answer Hikaru was looking for. Strike one.
Later that day, he decided to try his luck with Shoko.
“Mom, do you think I would make a good older brother?” he asked, attempting a casual tone despite the drumming of his heart.
Shoko looked up from her work, her lips curving into a warm smile. “You’d be a fantastic older brother, Hikaru. But why the sudden interest?”
“No reason,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushing. He couldn’t very well reveal his elaborate investigation, could he?
Strike two.
Undeterred, Hikaru resorted to his trusty observation skills. He began paying close attention to his parents’ interactions, searching for any telltale signs of baby-making intentions. Were they being extra affectionate? Were they whispering conspiratorially about cribs and baby monitors?
He shadowed them relentlessly, his notebook clutched in his hand, his senses on high alert. He eavesdropped on their phone conversations (nothing about pediatricians or playdates, unfortunately). He even went so far as to sneak a peek at their bedside table drawer (only to find Shoko’s medical journals and Gojo’s stash of limited-edition manga).
Days turned into a week, and Hikaru’s investigation yielded nothing but dead ends. His parents, it seemed, were perfectly content with their current family unit of three. Disheartened but not defeated, Hikaru finally decided to confide in the one person who might have the answers – his ever-reliable source of information, his classmate.
"My parents haven't kissed once, haven't even mentioned getting a dog, let alone another baby!" Hikaru lamented, his voice laced with dramatic despair.
His classmate simply shrugged. "Maybe they're still working on it."
"Working on it?"
"Yeah, like a super-complicated math problem. Adults are weird. They take forever to do things."
Hikaru pondered his classmate's words, a glimmer of hope re-igniting within him.
Perhaps his parents were just taking their sweet time, carefully crafting the perfect sibling for him. After all, masterpieces took time. And he, for one, was willing to wait, notebook in hand, ready to document the next chapter of his parents’ ever-evolving love story – baby or no baby.
End of Report
Finally, he decides to ask Megumi, the smartest and, in Hikaru's opinion, the coolest person on the planet (after his parents, of course). He finds Megumi in the Jujutsu Tech cafeteria.
“Megumi-nii, if your parents… well, if they didn’t love each other anymore, would they get a divorce?”
“Mine are both dead,” Megumi asked. “What brought this on?”
“Just… wondering. Do you think my parents love each other?”
“How should I know? Ask them.”
“I can’t just ask them!” Hikaru exclaimed, horrified. “That’s… weird.”
“Is that why you did research about your parents? How did you do that?”
“Well, I snuck around and tried to watch them in the living room. I also tried eavesdropping in the bedroom, but the wall there was too thick.”
Megumi tried his best not to say "For a reason".
“So, what are you worried about?”
"About their children," Hikaru pressed, his voice laced with a hint of panic. "What happens to them?"
"It depends," Megumi replied, trying to offer some reassurance without sugarcoating the truth. "Sometimes they live with one parent, sometimes they go back and forth. It's different for everyone."
He decided to redirect the conversation, hoping to steer Hikaru away from the treacherous waters of familial relationships.
"Now, about that cursed technique practice, you asked yesterday…"
Hikaru wasn't done, "If my parents got divorced, would I have to change my name? Would I become Ieiri Hikaru instead of Gojo Hikaru? Which do you think suits me better? Dad also said you're my brother. So, if I can't be a Gojo anymore, could I take your last name? Fushiguro Hikaru… Hmm, that has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
Utterly defeated, the dark-haired guy buried his face in his hands. He had a feeling his babysitting duties just got a whole lot weirder.
“You’re overthinking things. Besides, you're Gojo Hikaru. You're stuck with that. And why do you think your parents didn't love each other?”
"Well," Hikaru continued, his brow furrowed in thought, "they never say 'I love you' or hold hands or do any of those…couple things that normal people do."
Megumi's eye twitched. This, he realized, was a conversation best left to the adults, specifically the two individuals whose unconventional relationship had sparked this bizarre line of questioning in the first place.
“Your parents have a… unique way of showing affection,” he said carefully.
“Unique? They’re practically roommates with really good healthcare benefits.”
Megumi sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "They're not normal people, Hikaru. They're sorcerers. We operate on a different frequency."
Hikaru, oblivious to Megumi’s distress, continued his line of inquiry.
"But what if they don't love each other?" Hikaru persisted. "What if they get divorced?"
Megumi's patience is wearing thin. "Do you know what the divorce rate is among sorcerers?"
"It's surprisingly low, actually. Only about five percent."
"And do you know why that is?"
“Simple. We die too quickly. Most sorcerers barely make it past their twenties, let alone reach the point of marital boredom and contemplating divorce lawyers.” Hikaru added, "It's like, 'Honey, I'd love to file for divorce, but that giant, mutated frog curse is about to devour our house, so maybe we can discuss this later?'"
The tall guy choked on his coffee, sputtering into his cup. He had to admit, the kid had a point. Jujutsu sorcery wasn't exactly known for its excellent retirement plan.
"Okay, while your fascination with sorcerer mortality rates is… concerning, that’s not the real reason." Megumi sighed, “Imagine our lives. Every mission could be your last, every goodbye a potential farewell. We face death every other day. Our life expectancy makes goldfish look like immortal beings.”
"So," he continued, "if a sorcerer decides to marry, to have a family... it's not a decision they take lightly. It means they've found someone they're willing to share their messed-up, potentially very short, lives with. Someone they…”
Then he hesitated, searching for the right words.
“…Someone they love enough to make the risk worthwhile."
After a moment of silence.
"You know," the kid grinned mischievously, "that's actually very good advice. You should try it sometime."
Megumi's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Try what?"
"Telling Nobara-nee how you feel, obviously," Hikaru stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Megumi sputtered, face turning an impressive shade of crimson. "Is it… is it that obvious?"
"Only to everyone who’s met you both. Nii-san, just tell her. You’ll feel better once you do." The kid thoroughly enjoys his role as love guru.
The guy sighed, running a hand through his hair as he contemplated Hikaru’s words. He knew, deep down, that Hikaru was right. The feelings he harbored for Nobara were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
"Alright, alright. I’ll talk to her. But if this backfires, I’m blaming you."
The kid leaned back in his chair, a smug grin plastered across his face. He had a feeling love confessions were far more entertaining than dissecting ancient cursed techniques, and he couldn't wait to see how this particular chapter unfolded.
Perhaps there was hope for the Gojo family’s love lives after all.
Megumi could not stand any questions this kid may come up with, so he employed a tactic he’d learned from observing Gojo himself: distraction.
"Come on, Hikaru," Megumi rose from his seat with an uncharacteristic gentleness. "Let’s get some ice cream. My treat.”
Hikaru, momentarily forgetting his worries, blinked in surprise. Megumi rarely offered treats.
“Really? Can we get the kind with the mochi bits and the red bean paste?”
“Sure, whatever you want.”
Unknown to them, from a corner, Gojo pulled out his phone, snapping a quick picture of the two young men deep in conversation before attaching the photo to a text message addressed to his wife, his fingers flying across the screen as he typed: "Look at our boys, being all cute and philosophical! They're practically twins separated at birth, except one is infinitely cooler than the other. Don't worry, I won't tell Megumi I said that. 😉😘"
He hit send, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he imagined her reaction.
Shoko reviewed a rather gruesome autopsy report, glanced at her phone. “ They’re good boys 😌”
Her lips curled into a soft smile. The sight of Megumi, now almost as tall as Satoru, patiently indulging the younger boy’s boundless energy evokes a sense of nostalgia. They had come full circle. The hesitant, prickly boy Gojo had taken under his wing was now a young man, guiding and protecting the next generation.
"Think we raised them well? ❤️" he typed, adding a heart emoji for good measure, because why not?
“We did. Now, have you bought that sake I asked for, or are you planning on drinking tap water with your dinner again? ”
Gojo’s smile faltered. He’d promised Shoko he’d stop by her favorite liquor store on his way home, a peace offering after a particularly heated debate about the merits of pineapple on pizza (Shoko vehemently opposed it, while Gojo considered it a culinary masterpiece).
He’d completely forgotten. He quickly typed back, “Uh… 😅”
Shoko: 😑.
He knew that look, that emoji. It meant he was in trouble, deep trouble. He decided it was best to preemptively grovel.
“I’ll get it on my way home, I promise! The good stuff, too. Anything for my favorite doc 🙏🥺 ( and mother of my child…and the potential mother of another child…maybe…we’ll see…don’t get mad… 😬)”
Shoko: "Whatever. Just get home safely. Take care. "
Gojo: “Love you, my beautiful wife! ❤️"
Then he waited, his heart pounding in his chest, for her response. A minute ticked by, then another. Just when he was about to resign himself to another “whatever” or a sarcastic emoji, his phone buzzed with a notification.
But what he received was something far more… Shoko.
“Hurry home, idiot. ❤️”