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Satoru holds out his hand for Shiori to take before they cross the street. Her other hand carries a dark brown teddy bear, a gold bow adorned around its neck.
He used to give her piggy-back rides across the street, but ever since she turned five, she insists on walking on her own two feet. Shiori might be tall for her age, but she still has to slightly reach her arm up to grasp his hand, something Satoru is secretly happy about.
The stroll to the park is a familiar one. Their connected hands swing back and forth as they reach the playground. As soon as the spiky-haired figure on the nearby bench comes into view, Shiori lets go of her clutch on Satoru and runs to the younger man.
“Megumi!” she squeals out, a toothy smile plastered on her face and practically bouncing with each step. Undoubtedly her favorite out of all her dad’s former students, she flings herself onto him.
“Thank you for the teddy bear,” she beams, wrapping her arms around his neck in appreciation. “I love it.”
She nearly smacks him in the face with said bear as she pulls away to show it off. His face scrunches a tad, which makes Satoru laugh because if Megumi didn’t actually enjoy Shiori’s company, he wouldn’t do half of the things he does—gifting her toys for no reason or always being the first to offer to take her to the movies when Satoru and Shoko are too busy.
“She won’t go anywhere without it,” Satoru says when he reaches them. He ruffles Megumi’s hair as a greeting, earning him a scowl, and then pats down the fuzzy stray hairs at the back of Shiori’s head, who leans into his touch. “I thought Yuji was joining us today.”
At the mention of Yuji’s name, Shiori’s eyes light up, kicking her feet as she excitedly looks up at Megumi. “Yuji’s coming?”
Megumi shakes his head, answering both Satoru and Shiori. “Some mission thing with Todo came up.”
The girl puffs out her cheeks at that. After Megumi, Yuji is her favorite, or rather, he ties with Nobara, Hoshi, and Yuta, who all somehow share second place, though none of them ever complain. To Shiori, the more truly means the merrier; she likes making them all play “mermaids” with her, even when they’re nowhere near a pool.
“It’s alright, we’ll see him soon,” Satoru tells her as he picks her up from where she sits on Megumi’s lap. He’s only able to walk a few steps with Shiori in his arms when he feels a gentle tap on his shoulder.
“Down, please,” she says.
Satoru sighs a bit to himself before lowering her to the ground. He kneels to her level and rubs a thumb against her forehead as she blinks at him, cleaning away the faint stain of Shoko’s lipstick that she had left on their daughter when kissing her goodbye earlier. Always empathetic and perceptive of other people’s feelings, Shiori decides her father looks a little sad and tiptoes over to press her lips to Satoru’s cheek.
“Thank you,” she chirps, dimples appearing, before turning around and skipping away with her beloved teddy bear. Satoru fondly watches her, slowly standing up as she makes her way to the slides.
“She’s gotten taller,” Megumi says after a couple passes of silence.
Satoru laughs softly. “That’s not all.”
-x-
Babies don’t change anyone. That’s what Satoru previously thought, and while he figures that still rings true for some people, he can say for himself that having a kid altered him fundamentally. He never understood how you could love someone you’ve never met so much, to the point of readily allowing them to destroy your body or exhaust you of every coin, but the moment Shoko had told him she was pregnant and was going to keep it, a lightbulb sparked in his head.
They don’t really say “I love you” to each other, but Shoko is sure as hell his favorite person on this godforsaken planet. It suddenly all made sense to Satoru that he would instantly love a piece of Shoko just as much as he loves her.
Their daughter was a twenty-eight-week preemie. Placental abruption is what the doctors said.
It was one of the few times he saw Shoko properly cry. Her reversed cursed technique was never the same after she had more or less split her soul in half to bring him back to life. Not once did she ever blame him for it, but Satoru feels the loss and knows she does too—remembers that she made a comment back in high school on how it was the only thing she held over him and Suguru.
“Lose some to gain some,” she would simply shrug whenever he apologized for it, dismissing it breezily as she appeared to be around most things. But when her placenta abrupted, and no matter how hard she tried, her technique wouldn’t kick in, Satoru felt it worst then: that he had utterly robbed her of something unforgivable.
Seven deep layers of Shoko’s body were cut open during the emergency C-section. She kept crying after they were done, gripping his fingers and repeatedly asking if their baby was okay, saying “I’m sorry” over and over because she couldn’t do more. Shiori had to be kept in one of those specialized incubators for nearly two months, Yuta monitoring her every waking minute and feeding her with RCT in gradual doses so that it didn’t overwhelm her tiny body.
Satoru used to be hyper-focused on the distinction between the weak and the powerful; it was something easy to measure based on your raw technique and what you could do with it, but losing the ability of his six eyes made him confront what that ideology meant for him—for people like Shoko, whose strength does not lie in how many curses one can kill in a given vicinity or speed. It all seemed silly now. That rigid line that separated two polarizing groups blurred when he had opened his supposedly lifeless eyes to meet Shoko’s red-rimmed brown ones staring down at him. It faded into nothing as he witnessed their fragile daughter grow strong in an incubator.
He thinks he gets it now.
-x-
“Why are you wallowing?”
Satoru is lying on his stomach, the side of his face nestled in his pillow as he watches Shoko flip through the pages of her book. She’s resting her weight on the headboard of the bed, and while she reads, her hand absentmindedly rubs her stomach, a habit she doesn’t realize she has. She’s nineteen weeks along now, her belly beginning to take on the distinct curve that only pregnant women have.
“I’m not.”
“You are,” she says, not even sparing him a glance. Shoko places down her book between their two bodies, wincing a bit when she feels the baby kick her. She shifts to face him, and her gaze lingers on the scar splayed across his forehead, gently tracing a finger along it. “What is it?”
A small sigh escapes from Satoru. “Shiori didn’t want to put her hair in pigtails today,” he finally says, voice slightly injured like a kicked puppy. “I was lucky to even get her to wear her barrette.”
Shoko snorts. “That’s what this has been about?”
“Don’t laugh,” he huffs, eyebrows drawing together. “You should have been there, it’s as if she doesn’t need me anymore.”
“She’s five, Satoru. She still needs you.”
Satoru lifts his head from the pillow. “But what if she never wants me to do her hair again?”
Shoko blinks at him, studying his face closely. Satoru rarely indulges in sentimentality, but it comes easily when kids are involved—his students and daughter alike. It’s one of his more favorable traits. He may have little respect for other adults and no concern for sparing their emotions, but with children, it’s different. Satoru always goes out of his way to make sure those under his care stay happy, and he takes their words to heart.
“She’s going to grow up sooner or later,” she decides to say quietly.
“No,” he frowns, “she’s always going to be our baby.” Despite her impassiveness to outsiders, Satoru recognizes that Shoko can become just as pathetic as he is when it pertains to their daughter. It’s the way she purses her lips before speaking that betrays her own sadness at the prospect of Shiori outgrowing all her cute, childish hairstyles.
“Don’t mope,” Shoko softly chides, brushing the hair on his forehead back before leaning down to place a light kiss at his temple. She turns over before Satoru can pull her down for a proper one, groaning feebly when she hauls herself off the bed and starts walking away.
“Where are you going?” he asks, sitting up.
“The baby won’t stop moving,” she mutters exasperatedly, hands gesturing to her stomach. “He’s messing up my guts.”
Satoru mouths a sympathetic “sorry” as she disappears into the restroom, not bothering to close the door, and thinks about what he could do for her.
“I’m going to get some food, do you want anything?” he calls out after a few seconds, straining an arm out to grab his phone on the nightstand, too lazy to move more than that. He’s not actually hungry, but Shoko clearly is; it’s the sole reason she’d still be up and restless this late, and she’ll only eat if he does too. Knows her answer to his question is “yes” when all he hears in response is silence.
He orders them gyudon, which is the only thing she has been craving recently. Before turning off his phone, he clicks on his camera roll, scrolling back and forth through all the family photos he’s collected. His thumb pauses on a particular one he took last week during their visit to Shoko’s parents: Shoko patiently guiding Shiori’s tiny fingers around a pair of chopsticks over dinner. Neither is looking at the camera, both completely absorbed in the moment—Satoru doesn’t complain because he feels the same whenever he sees them.
-x-
Satoru wasn’t raised like most kids, and now that he is raising one himself, the thing he’s most surprised by is how effortless it is for children to become friends. A single common interest can build a friendship that lasts an entire afternoon at the playground.
He and Megumi are perched on a bench close by, both watching Shiori call over another girl around her age to play together on the seesaw. When she whirls around and notices her dad looking at her, Shiori sends him the biggest grin she can muster, extending an entire arm out in the air to wave at him. Satoru waves back with the same enthusiasm, always happy when acknowledged by his precious daughter.
“Sometimes it’s weird to see you like this,” Megumi says suddenly, making Satoru drop his hand and face him. “You could almost pass off as a normie.”
Satoru’s lips twitch. “Almost.” Once the omnipotent sorcerer, he’s now a father cherishing the ordinary—excited whenever let into Shiori’s orbit of Barbie dolls, glitter, and unicorns.
“You love her so much, it’s like it’s so…” Megumi mumbles—trailing off—gaze still fixated straight ahead, though there is a subtle softness in the edges of his eyes. Satoru gauges him quietly, clicking his tongue once, before turning his head back towards the playground as well.
“Easy,” he finishes for Megumi. Satoru smiles to himself. “She’s an amazing human being and a part of Shoko. How could it not be?”
Megumi lets out a long breath. “Easy, huh?”
“There’s no other way I can explain it,” Satoru muses. He pauses for a moment, giving a quick sideways glimpse at Megumi as he ponders whether to voice the remark in his mind or not.
“It comes easy with the right people,” he eventually decides to say, a hint of knowing in his tone. Megumi catches what he’s insinuating immediately, and his shoulders instantly tense.
“Don’t,” he warns sharply.
Satoru hums, nodding slowly. He had anticipated this reaction. “Okay.”
They remain still like that for some time, the only sounds disrupting the otherwise hushed atmosphere being children’s laughter. Shiori is now drawing little pictures in the sandbox with the arm of her teddy bear. Satoru can’t see what she drew, but she seems satisfied with it, excitedly pulling her new friend by the sleeve to flaunt the sandy composition at her.
Megumi lets out a groan beside him, breaking the muteness between them. He sinks his head into the palm of his hand, a knuckle rubbing between his furrowed eyebrows as if his next words will cause him actual pain to say.
“How do you know?” Megumi finally asks. He sounds vaguely annoyed, but the tips of his ears have blushed a rosy pink, a tell-tale sign of bashfulness he’s had ever since he was a boy.
“I’m not sure why you’re asking me this,” Satoru replies bluntly. “The fact you’re even thinking about it so much is making it pretty obvious that you love him.”
Megumi scoffs at that. Satoru just shrugs. He’s thankful that he has outgrown the immature adult who didn’t know how to talk about his feelings, but it’ll probably take a while for Megumi to do the same.
“Well then, how do you know it’s right?” Megumi flushes, face still scrunched up. “How did you know?”
Satoru drums his fingers on the bench, contemplating the question. “I didn’t,” he says frankly.
“It’s not something you can pinpoint, it just happens,” Satoru continues, Megumi listening carefully. “You’re lucky, you know? You’ve had it since high school. It wasn’t like that for me. I had to die for it to click in my brain, and I constantly regret it—that it took that much for me to understand what she meant to me and what I wanted.”
“But Yuji and I are—”
Satoru sighs. “Listen, kid, for people like us, you don’t know what’s going to happen a day from now or even a few hours, and I’m talking from experience. If you’re already aware of it, why bother waiting? Why bother wondering whether it’ll be right or not?”
Megumi blinks at him, eyebrows faintly raised. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can get the thought out, a pair of small hands is already pulling his wrist and tugging him off the bench.
“Megumi,” Shiori calls all smiley, drawling the last syllable of his name out, “come play with me on the slide, please!”
Despite the abrupt interruption, neither he nor Satoru protest. Megumi trails behind her dutifully as the girl drags him to the center of the playground, ushered along with a few “okay, okays.” When they reach the slides, he stands there for a moment as Shiori climbs up the ladder, glancing over his shoulder at Satoru and pressing his lips together in a tight line.
“I’m going to tell him tonight!” Megumi suddenly shouts at him, slightly startling Satoru and the surrounding people, but for the first time in his life, Megumi doesn’t show the merest trace of care or self-consciousness. “So you better not say anything stupid to jinx me!”
Satoru grins back proudly.
-x-
“Now, are you sure you want to do this?” Satoru repeats for the nth time.
“Yep,” Shiori chirps, stretching her legs out ahead of her. They’re out in the backyard: Shiori sitting on a tiny stool while Satoru crouches before her, holding up a hand mirror. Shoko stands behind her, shiny steel scissors poised.
“You know, I also asked your mom to cut my hair once,” he says, peeking at Shoko. “She turned a trim into a buzz.”
Shoko rolls her eyes, something she hardly does, which is how Satoru knows he’s gotten under her skin this time. He simply winks back at her because it’s always nice when he gets her to react. “That was back in our first year,” she says, running her fingers through Shiori’s long brown hair. “Stop beating a dead horse.”
He shrugs. “Can’t ever be too careful.”
“I’m going to give you a nice haircut, okay?” Shoko tells Shiori, ignoring him and gently patting their daughter’s cheek.
“I know,” she beams, making both Shoko and Satoru smile. She is genuinely a good kid. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit boastful about how well-mannered and kind Shiori is growing up to be. She never forgets to say her “pleases” and “thank yous,” doesn’t throw temper tantrums in public, is always extra sweet to her mother, and dogs really like her—a promising sign if you ask him. Not to speak ill of the dead or anything, but he bets Kento is rolling in his grave right now at the idea that someone nurtured by Satoru could actually turn out to be a decent person.
Shoko begins snipping Shiori’s hair. She cuts it down to her shoulders, then to the middle of her neck, until it passes just barely below her chin. As the scissors work away, tiny short fringes of Shiori’s locks cascade down her nose, making the little girl sniffle. The entire haircut only takes around fifteen minutes. When Shoko is finally done with her work, she walks over to stand next to Satoru, bending her knees so that she can lean over and blow the scattered wisps of hair off Shiori’s face.
“So, what do you think?” Satoru asks, tilting the mirror in front of her. He rotates the handle side to side so that she can get an adequate peek at all the different angles of her new bob. Shiori blinks at her reflection for a few seconds before settling her focus on her parents.
The corners of her mouth curl upwards. “I love it.”
“Yeah?” Shoko says lightly.
“Uh-huh,” Shiori nods her head enthusiastically. She grins up at Satoru. “What do you think, Dad?”
Satoru stares at his daughter. She’s always had an uncanny resemblance to Shoko with her big, round brown eyes and chestnut hair to match. The only trait Satoru visibly passed on to her is probably her nose, sharp in contrast to her much more delicate facial features. But now that she has short hair, Shiori is practically a carbon copy of her mother—he’s seen photos of Shoko as a toddler before, and needless to say, Shiori is her twin. His eyes soften at the thought, and he can’t help but smile at the sight.
“You are beautiful,” he tells her, caressing her cheek with his palm as he plants a kiss right between her eyebrows. When he eases away, Shiori is positively glowing at him.
Satoru rummages his hand through his pocket, drawing out a sunflower barrette. He brushes the front strands of her hair to the side, pinning them down neatly with the hair clip. “There you go,” he murmurs, stroking the back of her head.
Shiori hops off the stool with a small huff, hugging Shoko and muffling a “thank you” into her stomach. “I want to call Nobara,” she declares eagerly as she skips around them and into the house. “We match!”
Satoru glances down at the ground, noting how pieces of their daughter’s hair have caught on the blades of grass. He then glimpses up at Shoko and nudges her with his elbow, breaking her out of her fond gaze on Shiori. “She looks just like you.”
“You think so?” she replies, her lips a subtle, warm curve—it makes him feel all fluttery inside as if he were still a teenage boy. “She’s always reminded me of Tsumiki.”
“Really?” He’s never heard anyone say that before.
“They’re more alike than you’d think,” Shoko says quietly, her eyes slightly dazed. “It’s just a matter of whether you pay enough attention to notice it or not.”
Satoru lets out a low hum, ruminating over what Shoko said. He remembers how Tsumiki once tried baking a cake for Shoko’s twenty-second birthday and thinks about how Shiori had woken him up at five in the morning to make blueberry pancakes for Shoko’s thirty-sixth. Remembers how Tsumiki’s chocolate eyes had widened in surprise and sheer glee when he gifted her a pink stuffed bunny toy—her first plushie ever—and recalls that same expression mirrored on Shiori’s face when Megumi gave her that teddy bear.
Satoru spots Shoko biting the inside of her cheek and wraps an arm around her, rubbing her shoulder. When he speaks again, he doesn’t expect his voice to crack. “I miss her, too.”
-x-
“What’s going to happen when the baby comes?”
Shiori pokes at her frozen yogurt with the plastic spoon; swirls of blue and pink cotton candy melt together into a pale purple. She never usually appears so despondent, nor does she pick at her food like this.
“What do you mean?” Satoru asks, observing her. They’re walking back home after a quick post-dinner dessert run, the cool night air of spring rustling the leaves around them. Shoko was too tired to join the pair, so they bought her a few cookies for when she wakes up.
“Well, what happens to me?” Shiori mumbles, staring at the ground. She stops in her tracks, and Satoru pauses beside her, worry creasing his brows. She tugs the sleeve of his gray sweater, looking up to meet his gaze.
“I keep hearing people like boys better,” she says, voice smaller than it has ever sounded before, and Satoru is taken aback by the glassiness in her eyes. “Are you guys going to like the new baby more than me?”
Satoru blinks, stunned as he watches his daughter’s pitiful expression, and he suddenly gets very, very sad. Everyone assumed Satoru would be a boy dad, and in all honesty, before becoming a parent—when he had those fleeting, unserious thoughts of parenthood—he too had always pictured a son. It wasn’t so much a preference as it was an expectation: the Gojo clan had always brimmed with sons over daughters. It never mattered to him—any gender musings evaporated once he learned he was actually becoming a father; however, the clan made it a point to remind him and Shoko of their own partiality.
The moment those words left his elder’s mouth, Satoru had taken Shoko’s arm and stormed from the dining table, announcing that his clan would never meet their child or see him and Shoko again. He’s grateful for Shoko’s parents, thankful that Shiori will at least have two grandparent figures in her life, but the whole situation still upsets him for her sake. Satoru is very much content with being a girl dad; he wouldn’t have minded if the next one had been a girl as well. Whether Megumi agrees or not, Satoru feels he’s already got a son in him, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.
“Of course not,” Satoru replies, frowning. “You know that could never happen, right?’
Shiori sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “You promise?”
“Come here,” Satoru says, scooping her off the ground and into his arms. He strokes her cheek with his thumb, smiling adoringly at the baby fat that bulges out. “You have nothing to worry about. You’re always going to be mom and dad’s special girl, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around his neck, and Satoru doesn’t even mind the stickiness of her frozen yogurt cup pressed against his skin.
As they cross the park on the last stretch home, Satoru murmurs about the ducks gliding across the pond while Shiori, dozing off, nods along, replying here and there with soft, drowsy noises. Her voice fades with each step, and when he senses her chin digging into his shoulder, Satoru tilts his head just enough to catch a glimpse of her sweet baby face—peaceful, completely asleep. Tenderly patting the back of her head, Satoru smiles to himself, wondering how he’d ever gotten so lucky.
Tonight, he’ll tell Shoko about his conversation with Shiori. Tomorrow, he’ll take their family out for ice cream together. Nothing much. Just everything.