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Satoru Gojo didn’t think of himself as the fatherly type. Not even in a tongue-in-cheek, "wouldn't that be funny" kind of way.
In fact, as he squatted outside the gates of a run-down apartment building, one hand shoved deep into his pocket and the other ruffling the back of his snowy hair, he felt like every instinct in his body was screaming at him to leave.
This wasn’t his scene, wasn’t his fight. He wasn’t cut out for it, plain and simple. And yet, here he was—half-slouching, half-leaning against a rusted chain-link fence, chewing absently on the corner of his lip as he stared at the scuffed and cracked door in front of him.
Behind that door was Megumi Fushiguro. Five years old. The last remaining heir of the Zen’in bloodline worth anything, and the kid Gojo was now—according to one very manipulative clause in the will of a deadbeat father—legally responsible for. He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to find when the door eventually creaked open.
A snot-nosed toddler? A shy, wide-eyed brat clutching at the hem of some oversized sweater? He wasn’t good with kids, but he’d seen enough of them while walking past parks or tagging along on the occasional school mission where a stray civilian’s kid would get caught up in the mess.
Kids were...predictable, weren’t they? Loud, emotional, sticky-fingered little sponges who’d cry for their moms and tug on your pant leg when they wanted something.
D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E ,
Megumi Fushiguro didn’t cry. He didn’t look up at Gojo, either, when he finally answered the door. Small and slight, he was barefoot and standing square in the middle of a puddle of light cast by the flickering hallway bulb.
His dark hair stuck up in uneven tufts like he’d just woken up from a nap he hadn’t particularly enjoyed, and his oversized t-shirt—a faded thing with some old superhero design peeling off—hung over a frame that looked much too small to be carrying the kind of weight Gojo saw in his expression.
The kid wasn’t looking at him, exactly, but past him, over his shoulder like Gojo was just another problem to be managed before dinner. His dark eyes weren’t wide or glassy with confusion or curiosity, but flat. Empty.
For a split second, Gojo couldn’t move. He knew those eyes, the way they absorbed everything around them but refused to reflect anything back.
A survival mechanism. He’d seen it a dozen times before—on missions, in battlefields, at funerals—but he’d never once seen it on a face so small. It sent something sharp and acidic curling through his stomach, though he immediately dismissed the feeling.
Pity, he told himself, was useless. He didn’t believe in it. No one did. It didn’t help anyone, least of all kids like Megumi. The only thing pity did was get people killed.
“You’re not what I expected,” Gojo said finally, pulling his hand from his pocket and straightening up. He grinned, easy and crooked, the way he always did when he wanted to fill the space with something that felt...light. Less like a hospital waiting room. “Thought you’d be taller.”
Megumi didn’t laugh. His tiny shoulders barely twitched, and for a second, Gojo thought he wasn’t going to say anything at all. But then: “I don’t care what you thought.” His voice was steady and deliberate, soft but sharp around the edges like the bite of a blade. “Who are you?”
Gojo blinked. Then he laughed—loud, obnoxious, the sound bouncing against the cracked plaster walls of the hallway. The kid had a mouth on him. Well, that was something. “Man, you’ve got some guts for someone whose head barely clears my waist,” Gojo teased, stepping forward.
He made sure to move slowly, lowering himself just a little to appear less like a towering skyscraper looming over a single story. He wasn’t stupid. He knew a fight-or-flight stance when he saw one, even if it was coming from a kid who couldn’t weigh more than forty pounds soaking wet.
“But fair’s fair. Name’s Satoru Gojo. You might’ve heard of me—strongest sorcerer alive, six eyes, gorgeous face, all that jazz.”
D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E ,
Megumi blinked, unimpressed. “I haven’t heard of you.”
“Ouch.” Gojo held a hand to his chest like the kid’s words were a direct hit. “That’s just cold, Fushiguro.”
At the sound of his name, Megumi flinched. Barely. The kind of reaction you’d only notice if you were looking closely, if you weren’t distracted by the deadpan way he was staring at you like he could see straight through your skin to the soft, breakable parts underneath.
The kind of reaction Gojo hadn’t expected to rattle him nearly as much as it did. He cleared his throat. “Can I come in?”
Megumi hesitated, and for a moment, Gojo thought the kid was going to slam the door in his face. But then he stepped back, small hands curling into fists at his sides as he turned and disappeared into the apartment without another word.
Gojo followed, ducking under the low doorframe and stepping into what could only be described as a shoebox pretending to be a living space.
The air was stale and heavy with the faint, cloying smell of mildew. A single window on the far wall let in a sliver of gray afternoon light, barely enough to chase the shadows from the corners.
The room was sparse—just a battered couch missing one of its cushions, a coffee table scarred with cigarette burns, and a carpet so thin it looked more like a suggestion than an actual floor covering.
There were no toys. No books. No photos. Nothing that looked like it belonged to a kid, or to anyone who intended to stay here for more than a handful of days.
Megumi climbed onto the couch without a word, sitting cross-legged with his back straight and his hands resting neatly in his lap. His expression hadn’t changed, and for a brief, startling moment, Gojo wondered if he was looking at a doll—something small and fragile and eerily lifelike, but not quite real.
“Nice place,” Gojo said after a beat, rocking back on his heels before dropping into a crouch across from the kid. He didn’t sit on the couch. It didn’t feel right, taking up space like that.
Instead, he stayed on the floor, one arm draped casually over his knee as he tilted his head at Megumi. “You decorate it yourself?”
“No.” The answer was clipped, automatic. Megumi’s gaze flicked to him briefly before darting to the door like he was already planning his escape route. “What do you want?”
Gojo leaned back, his grin softening into something less sharp around the edges. “You’ve got a sister, right? Tsumiki?”
The shift in Megumi’s posture was immediate. His back straightened further, his fists tightened in his lap, and his dark eyes narrowed just enough for Gojo to catch the spark of something new beneath the surface. Not fear. Not anger, either. But close. Protective, maybe. Wary. “What about her?”
“She’s safe,” Gojo said quickly, his voice low but firm. “She’s with her aunt for now. Nice lady. Not that great at cooking, but hey, can’t win ‘em all.”
Megumi didn’t relax. If anything, he seemed to coil tighter, like a spring ready to snap. “Why are you here?”
There it was. The big question. The one Gojo had been asking himself since the moment he’d left the Zen’in estate with the weight of a dead man’s decisions heavy on his shoulders.
D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E ,
Why was he here? What did he want? Responsibility? Redemption? A challenge? None of those answers felt right, and all of them felt like they’d fall flat in the face of a five-year-old who looked like he’d already seen more of the world than Gojo had ever wanted to.
“I’m here because of your dad,” Gojo said finally, leaning forward just enough to rest his elbows on his knees. He let the grin slip away entirely now, his expression evening out into something quieter, steadier. “He made some bad choices, but he also made one really good one: you. And he asked me to look after you.”
Megumi’s jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he smoothed it out again. “I don’t need you to look after me.”
“Yeah, I figured you’d say that,” Gojo admitted with a shrug. “But here’s the thing, kid: I’m not giving you a choice. Not because I don’t think you can take care of yourself—I mean, come on, I’ve seen how sharp you are—but because I know what happens to kids like you when people like me don’t step in.”
“What happens?” Megumi asked, his tone laced with just enough skepticism to tell Gojo he didn’t expect much of an answer.
D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E , D O N ' T C O P Y , D O N ' T R E P O S T , D O N ' T P L A G I A R I Z E , D O N ' T T R A N S L A T E ,
“They get swallowed,” Gojo said simply. “By people like the Zen’ins. By the world. By all the crap that shouldn’t be your problem but will be if someone doesn’t stand between you and it.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before adding, softer, “I’m not saying I’m perfect. Hell, I’m probably the last guy who should be raising a kid. But I can promise you this: as long as I’m around, no one’s gonna swallow you whole. Not on my watch.”
Megumi was quiet for a long time after that. Long enough for Gojo to wonder if he’d said too much, or not enough, or maybe just the wrong things in the wrong order.
But then the kid’s gaze finally met his, steady and unblinking and so piercingly direct it felt like a test.
“What if I don’t want you to stay?” Megumi asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Gojo held his gaze, his own expression softening at the edges. “Then I’ll stay until you do.”
It wasn’t the answer Megumi wanted. Gojo could see that in the faint furrow of his brows, the slight downturn of his mouth. But it was the only answer he could give, and for now, it seemed to be enough.
The kid didn’t say anything else, just slid off the couch and padded toward the window, his bare feet making almost no sound against the thin carpet.
He stood there for a moment, staring out at the street below, his small hands pressed flat against the glass like he was trying to hold the whole world in his palms.
Gojo watched him in silence, his chest tight with a strange, unfamiliar ache he couldn’t quite name. Responsibility, maybe. Or guilt. Or something else entirely. Whatever it was, it felt heavier than he’d expected, and he knew—deep in his bones, in the pit of his stomach, in the sharp corners of his heart—that it wasn’t going away anytime soon.
“Megumi,” he said finally, his voice low and careful.
The boy didn’t turn around, but Gojo saw the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly, like he was bracing himself for something.
“I’m not your dad,” Gojo said, the words slow and deliberate, like he was testing them out for the first time. “I’m not trying to be. But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”
For a long moment, Megumi didn’t respond. And then, so quietly Gojo almost didn’t hear it: “Okay.”
It wasn’t much. But it was a start. And for now, that was enough.