Chapter Text
Late July, 2006 — Mejiro, Toshima-ku, Tokyo.
The summer heat of Tokyo was absolutely sweltering that year, thick with a heavy humidity that made it hard to breathe and the relentless, deafening hum of cicadas in the trees outside. In a modest, cramped apartment, the cheap plastic fan oscillating in the corner did very little to cut through the suffocating warmth, only managing to push the hot air around the room.
Toji Fushiguro sat in silence at the small kitchen table, his broad shoulders hunched forward as he stared intently at a crumpled piece of paper.
Thirty million yen.
Shiu Kong knew he was in some deep financial problems right now, which was exactly why this specific flyer had ended up in his hands. It was a bounty flyer circulating through the underground curse"user network. The target was a young, seemingly ordinary girl: Riko Amanai. The Star Plasma Vessel.
Bills were piling up—electricity, water, rent. He was barely making ends meet. Toji had an uncanny talent for getting fired; a normal, civilian job was simply never going to work for him.
Which was why he was currently considering turning back to this.
The reward printed at the bottom was a staggering thirty million yen. It was the kind of high-stakes job the Star Religious Group was desperate to fulfill, even though they were currently throwing useless amateurs at it. Toji knew better. A target like that would be guarded by the very pinnacle of the Jujutsu world.
Toji slowly traced the familiar scar on the corner of his lip with his thumb. Thirty million. It was enough money to live comfortably for a very long time. It would buy a bigger apartment, better food, a secure future for some years if he administered it well enough.
And then there was the challenge... There was a dark, dormant part of his soul, the ugly part twisted by years of abuse from the Zen’in clan, that desperately wanted to prove a point. He wanted to prove that he could tear down the untouchable Six Eyes with nothing but his bare, cursed-energy-lacking hands.
He was the Sorcerer Killer. He knew exactly how he would do it, too. He wouldn't fight fair. He would wear Gojo down over several days, wait patiently for the arrogant kid to completely exhaust his brain, and then strike the exact second the limitless shield finally flickered. He could already picture the blood, the shock in the kid's bright blue eyes.
It would be easy.
"Toji?"
The soft, familiar voice immediately broke his dark concentration, scattering the phantom smell of blood and replacing it with the comforting aroma of soy sauce and boiling noodles. He looked up from the table.
His wife stood in the doorway of the kitchen, wiping her damp hands on a faded apron. She looked tired from the oppressive summer heat, and a few stray strands of dark hair stuck to her damp forehead, but her smile was as grounding as gravity itself. It instantly pulled him out of the shadows.
"Dinner's almost ready," she said gently, her eyes warm as they met his. "Can you set the table?"
Before Toji could even open his mouth to answer, a small, sudden weight crashed hard into his shin. He looked down to see a three-year-old boy with an unruly mop of black hair, hugging his leg tightly. Megumi looked up at him, his big eyes wide and demanding attention.
"Papa, hungry," Megumi demanded, pointing a chubby little finger fiercely toward the kitchen smells.
Toji looked down at his son's demanding pout. Then he looked up at his wife's tired but happy smile. Finally, his eyes drifted back to the crumpled bounty flyer resting on the table.
He thought of the Zen’in clan. He thought of the terrible world of curses, blood, and arrogance that he had fought so hard to walk away from. If he took this job, if he chased that thirty million yen to satisfy his own bruised ego, he would be stepping right back into the suffocating mud he had crawled out of. He would be dragging that darkness right back to his front door, letting it infect the only pure things he had ever managed to keep.
Toji closed his eyes and exhaled a long, quiet breath. The tension bled out of his massive shoulders. He reached out and picked up the bounty flyer, crushing the thirty million yen into a tight, hard ball in his massive fist, and tossed it effortlessly into the trash can across the room.
"Yeah," Toji said. He reached down and scooped Megumi up with one massive arm, holding the boy securely against his broad chest. He offered his wife a rare, completely genuine smile that reached his eyes. "I'll set the table."
In that singular, quiet moment of domestic peace, the entire fate of the Jujutsu world fractured and split onto a brand new path.
Toji carried Megumi into the cramped kitchen, the heat of the stove making the small space even warmer. He set the toddler down in his high chair, effortlessly ignoring Megumi's impatient squirming.
"Patience, Megumi," his wife chided softly with a small laugh, turning off the heat under a simmering pot. "It's too hot to eat right away anyway."
Toji moved around the kitchen with a quiet efficiency that belied his massive frame. His calloused hands—hands built for gripping heavy cursed tools and snapping bones—gently retrieved three mismatched ceramic bowls from the overhead cabinet. He moved past his wife, their shoulders brushing in the tight space, and the casual, easy contact sent a familiar wave of calm through him.
"Cold somen noodles tonight," she announced, pouring the boiled noodles into a bowl of ice water. Toji was grateful that the heat from the stove hadn't been for broth.
She brought the dish to the table along with a side of mentsuyu—a chilled soy-dashi dipping broth—and fresh garnishes: sliced cucumbers, green onions, nori, and little Megumi’s strange favorite, pickled ginger.
"I figured it was too hot for anything heavy."
"Perfect," Toji grunted in approval. He grabbed the chopsticks and set them neatly next to each bowl.
He sat down opposite Megumi, watching as his wife tied a small bib around the toddler's neck. The moment she set a child-safe portion of noodles in front of him, Megumi attacked it with clumsy concentration. He was already using training chopsticks, which meant half the noodles ended up stuck to his cheeks, and a piece of ginger immediately made a break for the floor.
It was still vastly better than Toji trying to make train noises to coax him into eating.
He rested his chin on his hand, watching his son make an absolute mess of dinner. A ghost of a smile played on his lips. This was infinitely better than whatever shithole he had been about to step into.
His wife sat down beside him, pouring the dipping sauce into their bowls. She paused for a moment, her gaze lingering on Toji's face. She had always been perceptive, able to read the subtle shifts in his mood that no one else could ever see.
"You look..." she started, tilting her head slightly. "Lighter. Did something happen today?"
Toji looked at her, then glanced over at the trash can in the corner, where the crumpled ball of paper rested harmlessly among the empty food wrappers and discarded mail. Thirty million yen. Destroying the pinnacle of the Jujutsu world. Stroking his behemoth of an ego.
He looked back at his wife, who was now using a napkin to wipe soy sauce off Megumi's nose, much to the toddler's squirming dismay.
"No," Toji said softly, picking up his chopsticks. "Nothing happened. Just looking forward to a quiet weekend."
Debts were a suffocating weight for the Fushiguros.
The bills sat on the kitchen counter in neat, threatening stacks.
For the past three years, he had stopped looking for a job. Toji had stayed home with Megumi while his wife played the breadwinner. He had never minded the arrangement. In fact, he quietly preferred having the time to spend with his son, even if Toji was absolutely certain the kid preferred his mama.
But today, they were drowning in loans. Neither of them had a safety net to fall back on. Miyuki had no family left, and while Toji technically did, the Zen’in clan might as well be dead to him. To them, he was a ghost; to him, they were a curse. There was no one they could rely on for help.
It was time to switch roles. They couldn't afford a babysitter, and there was no way they were leaving Megumi alone. So Toji would pass the torch of childcare to his wife. Her pay as a waitress just wasn't cutting it anymore. It wasn't enough to keep the lights on for their little family, though Toji would be forever grateful for the incredible meals she had learned to make by watching the diner's head cook.
Now, it was his turn to look for a job.
"What about this one?" Miyuki asked, leaning over the table and circling an ad with a red pen. "Security for the new bank downtown. The pay is good. And you certainly have an intimidating look."
Toji stared down at his own massive, scarred hands. "They're gonna want references. And a background check. If they look too closely, they'll find a whole lot of nothing, and corporate people don't exactly like 'nothing'."
She tapped the pen against her chin, leaning her weight comfortably against his shoulder.
"How abooout... woodworking? It looks like the place just down the road needs an apprenticeship right now."
"I doubt earning the salary of an apprentice carpenter would do us any good," he replied, flipping to the next page of the newspaper.
"Okay, you're right. Then what about construction? They're building that new complex in Shinjuku. They always need extra hands, and they usually only care if you can lift the materials."
"Wouldn't that pay me the exact same as the carpenter gig?"
"Not exactly," Miyuki said, tapping the paper. "Here in Tokyo, even the apprentices make more than the minimum requirement. You'd be pulling in approximately 250,000 yen a month. Put it in a balance, and that’s three million yen a year. It’s enough for us to live on."
Out of the two of them, she was always the one better at math and finances. If life hadn't been so relentlessly rough on them, Toji knew she could have gone to a university. She would have made a brilliant accountant or administrator. But life wasn't easy, and that was the harsh truth they had to survive.
Toji thought about the number. Three million yen a year. It was exactly a tenth of the bounty he could have made in a single afternoon. The one he supposedly should have taken.
No. He couldn't have taken it. Even if a dark part of his soul missed the thrill, he couldn't risk this. He couldn't risk his family.
He considered the construction site again. Lifting things wouldn't exactly be a problem. With his Heavenly Restriction, he could probably carry a steel wide-flange beam up three flights of stairs without breaking a sweat. It was honest work. Boring, tedious, exhausting work that paid a fraction of what a single assassination used to.
But it was clean money. And right now, it was exactly what they needed.
"I'd have to wear a hard hat," Toji muttered, though the corner of his mouth was already ticking upward.
"You'd look very handsome in a hard hat," she teased, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "With the high-visibility vest and the heavy boots? You'd look so desirable in your uniform. Plus, Megumi would love to see you in a helmet. He practically copies whatever you do."
"Megumi? That kid likes copying me? Nah, doesn't ring a bell. Last time I checked, he loves his mama better."
Toji snorted, remembering an afternoon just a few weeks ago. He had accidentally stepped on one of Megumi's favorite plastic robots, snapping its arm off. The boy had completely ignored Toji's awkward attempts to fix it, dramatically turning his back before waddling away in tears. The snitching little bastard had thrown himself straight into Miyuki’s arms, pointing a tiny, accusing finger back at Toji.
"He absolutely adores you," Miyuki said softly, pulling him from the memory. "You're his hero, papa."
Hero.
The word felt foreign, almost heavy. It was hard to believe, given his intimidating glare, the scars marking his body, and the blood-soaked history he kept buried. But to his son, none of that existed. To Megumi, Toji was just the giant who made him laugh by blowing raspberries on his stomach. He was the man who taught him how to play on the monkey bars at the park, things Toji had never been allowed to do as a child. He was the one who gently patched up the kid’s scraped knees every time he tumbled to the ground.
Hero.
That was all it took. Toji sighed, pulling the circled newspaper toward him.
"Fine," he grunted, the ghost of a smile lingering. "I'll go to the site tomorrow morning."
Construction work paid the bills, but it was tedious. Mind-numbingly, painfully tedious. And coming from Toji, a man who used to spend days sitting in complete silence to stake out assassination targets, that was saying a lot.
The physical labor itself wasn't the issue. His Heavenly Restriction made sure of that. Being out under the creeping sun, hauling heavy bags of cement two at a time, mixing concrete by hand until his arms went stiff, or casually carrying impossible loads like steel W-beams that usually required a crane, none of it actually broke his body.
But the sheer repetition was exhausting. The psychological fatigue of doing the exact same mundane tasks over and over again, baking under the scorching Tokyo sun, was slowly draining his sanity. All he wanted right now was to walk straight into the arms of his lady and forget the smell of wet concrete.
Toji pushed through the front door of the apartment, his broad shoulders aching with a dull, unfamiliar stiffness. His heavy work boots were caked in pale dust, and his plain white t-shirt clung uncomfortably to his chest with dried sweat.
He kicked his boots off in the genkan and let out a long, heavy sigh. His signature walk, a wide-stanced, imposing slouch with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, was even more pronounced today, weighed down by the sheer, boring fatigue of a civilian workday. He plodded heavily down the narrow hallway toward the kitchen, staring blankly ahead.
Then, he heard it.
A few feet behind him, a smaller set of footsteps echoed the rhythm perfectly.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Toji stopped. The footsteps stopped.
He glanced back over his shoulder. Megumi, currently three years old and standing barely at the height of Toji's knee, was frozen perfectly still. The toddler was wearing a baggy t-shirt that draped almost to his ankles. His tiny hands were jammed as deeply into the pockets of his shorts as they could possibly go, his little shoulders were exaggeratedly slouched forward, and his face was scrunched up into a fiercely grumpy glare.
Toji raised a dark eyebrow. He turned his head forward and started walking again, taking slow, heavy, exaggerated steps.
Megumi immediately followed. Thump. Thump. Thump. He threw his weight from side to side with every tiny step, perfectly mimicking his father's imposing, gangster-like walk.
From the kitchen doorway, his wife was covering her mouth with a dish towel, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. The sight of her giant husband being trailed by a miniature, incredibly serious copy of himself was just too much.
"What?" Toji grunted, stopping in the middle of the living room.
Megumi stopped right behind him, keeping his hands stubbornly in his pockets, and looked up at Toji with that exact same flat, unamused stare.
"Nothing," she giggled, walking over to press a quick kiss to Toji's dusty arm, carefully avoiding his sweaty shoulder. Then she knelt down to her son's level. "Are you a big tough construction worker today, Megumi?"
Megumi gave a gruff, single nod that was entirely Toji. "Yeah."
Toji couldn't help the small snort of amusement that escaped him. The exhaustion of the day melted away just a fraction. He reached down, easily scooping the tiny tough guy up into his arms.
"You stink, Dad! Let me down!" Megumi immediately complained, squirming against his father's chest and scrunching his nose.
"Is that right?" Toji rumbled, lifting the boy a little higher. "Well, you stink a thousand times more. Is that yogurt above your lip and all over your shirt?"
"No!" Megumi protested defensively, immediately scrubbing his mouth with his oversized sleeve, smearing the dried strawberry yogurt even further across his cheek.
Toji chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound in his chest. He let Megumi down with a gentle pat on the back, nudging him toward the bathroom.
"Alright, tough guy," Toji said. "Let's go wash the dirt off before your mom kicks us both out."
The weekend arrived with a thick wave of summer heat that settled over Tokyo like a heavy blanket.
Inside the Fushiguro apartment, the atmosphere was equally dense, though for an entirely different reason. Miyuki was completely in the zone. Since she had left her job at the diner to let Toji handle the primary bills, she had thrown her extra energy into perfecting the home-cooked recipes she’d learned from the head cook. In all honesty, Toji couldn’t understand why she felt the need to perfect them—her cooking was already heavenly—but he recognized the look in her eyes immediately.
It was the laser-focused "do not disturb unless the building is on fire" glare.
He also recognized that leaving a bored and energetic three-year-old in the living room just outside the kitchen of a stressed, hyper-focused woman was a recipe for disaster.
Megumi was currently lying flat on his stomach on the tatami mat, crashing two plastic toy cars together while making loud, wet explosion noises with his mouth.
Toji sighed, pushing himself off the floor. He walked over, grabbing Megumi by the back of his baggy shirt and effortlessly hoisting the toddler into the air like a stray kitten.
"Alright, boss. Let's give your mom some quiet time," Toji grunted, ignoring Megumi's immediate protests as he carried the boy toward the genkan. "We're going to the park."
The local neighborhood park was a small, dusty square of land equipped with a rusted swing set, a slide, and a large sandbox shaded by a massive tree. Despite the sweltering heat, it was packed with civilian mothers and their screaming children.
When Toji stepped into the park, the ambient noise level noticeably dropped.
He was wearing a tight black tank top that did absolutely nothing to hide the heavy, scarred muscle of his arms and neck. With his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his signature menacing slouch, he looked less like a father on a weekend stroll and more like a yakuza enforcer looking to collect a debt.
The civilian mothers immediately clustered together, nervously steering their children toward the swings and leaving the sandbox entirely empty.
Toji didn't care. He actually preferred the wide space. He dropped Megumi into the center of the sandbox and sat heavily on the wooden edge, pulling a crinkling bag of spicy Karamucho chips from his pocket.
Megumi immediately got to work, squatting down to aggressively inspect a line of ants marching across the dirt.
"Look papa! They carry more bigger stuff than them!" Megumi announced in his serious, clumsy toddler speech.
Toji crunched on a spicy chip. "Sure they do, kid. They’re strong workers."
"Like you!"
Toji snorted. "Like me."
A few minutes later, a sudden commotion broke out near the park entrance. A medium-sized Shikoku dog had somehow slipped its collar. It bolted into the park, a blur of sesame-colored fur, its tail wagging frantically as it enjoyed its newfound freedom.
The civilian mothers gasped, immediately scooping their toddlers up into their arms and backing away from the loose animal.
Toji’s eyes locked onto the dog instantly. His muscles tensed, ready to cross the distance in a microsecond and snap its neck if the animal showed even a fraction of aggression toward his son.
But the Shikoku dog ignored the screaming mothers and zeroed in straight on Megumi, who was still squatting in the dirt. It trotted over at a brisk pace. Toji leaned forward on the bench, his heart rate completely steady but his focus absolute.
As the dog reached Megumi, it stopped to a halt. It lowered its front paws into a playful bow, letting out a soft, happy huff.
Megumi didn't flinch. He didn't cry for his dad or scramble away like the other kids. Instead, his bright green eyes lit up. He reached out a chubby hand, completely fearless, and the dog immediately pushed its wet nose into his palm.
Toji slowly relaxed back against the wooden bench. A ghost of a smirk played on his lips.
Megumi had always possessed a weird, magnetic pull with animals, especially dogs. Stray cats would follow his stroller, and neighborhood dogs always strained against their leashes just to sniff him. It was an uncanny, entirely natural affinity that Toji couldn't quite explain, but it kept the kid quiet and happy.
Megumi giggled—a rare sound coming from him—as the Shikoku happily licked his cheek, knocking the toddler backward onto the grass. Megumi just wrapped his small arms around the dog's neck, burying his face in its fur.
"Sorry! I am so sorry!"
An out-of-breath elderly man came jogging around the corner, a leash dangling from his hand. He bowed frantically to Toji before hurrying over to clip the leash back onto the dog's collar.
Megumi, however, was not fine with the dog leaving. As the old man gently pulled the Shikoku away, Megumi’s lower lip thrust out into a massive, trembling pout. He reached his little hands out toward his departing furry friend, thoroughly devastated.
"Alright, don't start the waterworks," Toji sighed, standing up and easily hauling Megumi off the grass. He dusted the dirt off the boy's shorts. "Come on. I’ll buy you shaved ice if you don’t cry."
Megumi sniffled, rubbing his eyes. "Can I have whatever flavor?"
"Sure thing. Let's get something cold before you melt."
They walked to the edge of the park, where a vendor had set up a small, shaded street cart selling Kakegori—shaved ice. Toji reached into his pocket for a few coins.
"Two," Toji ordered, his gravelly voice startling the poor vendor slightly. "Give him the pink syrup. And throw some whipped cream and a dash of cinnamon on top."
It was a strange, hyper-specific combination that Miyuki had made for them once, and for some inexplicable reason, the kid was absolutely obsessed with it.
The vendor quickly handed over two heaping paper cups. Toji took his plain melon-flavored one and handed the pink, whipped-cream-topped sugary mountain to Megumi.
They sat together on a nearby bench. Megumi immediately shoved a massive spoonful of the freezing pink ice into his mouth, his eyes lighting up at the sweet cinnamon taste, the tragic loss of the dog entirely forgotten.
“Megumi, don’t eat it too quickly, or you’ll get brain freeze”
Three seconds later, the brain freeze hit.
Megumi froze perfectly still. His green eyes watered, his little face scrunching up in absolute, betrayal-filled agony. He dropped the spoon back into the cup, clutching his forehead with both tiny hands as a quiet whine escaped his throat.
Toji let out a sharp, genuine bark of laughter, completely ignoring the nervous glances of the mothers across the park. He reached over, resting his large, warm hand on top of Megumi's messy black hair to help thaw his head.
"Told you to eat it slowly, urchin head," Toji chuckled, his broad chest rumbling.
Megumi glared fiercely up at him through teary eyes, his lower lip thrust out in a defensive pout, but he didn't push Toji's hand away. He just waited for the sharp pain to pass before stubbornly picking up his spoon and taking a much, much smaller bite.
They sat there in comfortable silence, listening to the cicadas buzz in the trees. A terrifying ex-assassin and his grumpy toddler, completely at peace in the mundane world.
By the time they finished their ice and made the short walk back to the apartment, the suffocating summer humidity had finally reached its breaking point. Dark, heavy clouds were rolling in fast from the west, blocking out the sun and dropping the temperature rapidly.
Toji ushered Megumi inside just as the first heavy drops hit the pavement. It was going to be a nasty storm season.
It was raining hard, the kind of heavy, relentless summer downpour that rattled the thin windows of the apartment complex and made the concrete walkways dangerously slick.
Toji stepped out of his front door, a heavy garbage bag slung effortlessly over his broad shoulder. He was wearing an old, faded t-shirt and loose sweatpants, thoroughly annoyed that it was his turn to take the trash out in this weather.
If Megumi hadn't thrown the leftover seafood into the trash can two days ago, they wouldn't be dealing with a biological weapon of a smell, and Toji wouldn't be out in the rain right now.
A faint, grumpy pout appeared on his lips as he walked.
The rusted metal of the stairwell groaned under his weight. It was supposed to be a simple, annoying chore: take the garbage down, ignore the broken light on the second floor, and get back inside to cuddle with his wife on the couch.
But halfway down the steps, Toji stopped dead.
Every instinct honed by his Heavenly Restriction flared into a blinding, hyper-aware focus. He couldn't see cursed energy, but his elevated senses could perceive the world far better than any sorcerer. The air pressure plummeted, making the hairs on his arms stand up. A vile, heavy stench of ozone and rotting meat wafted up from the hallway below, entirely distinct from the garbage on his shoulder.
A curse. And it felt big enough to be a serious problem.
Toji dropped the garbage bag. The bored, tired father vanished instantly, replaced by the cold, lethal instincts of a survivor. Of a killer.
He couldn't let a curse fester in the very building his wife and son slept in. He moved down the remaining steps in absolute silence, a ghost in faded sweatpants, making absolutely zero noise against the wet floor.
The miasma was bleeding out from under the door of apartment 204. It was cracked open, the cheap lock completely busted from the frame. Toji didn't hesitate. He kicked the door wide open, his eyes immediately adjusting to the gloom.
The apartment was a nightmare. It was a suffocating hoarder's nest of crushed beer cans, overflowing ashtrays, moldering takeout boxes, and towering piles of rotting garbage. The smell of old food mixed nauseatingly with the distinct, sharp tang of fresh blood.
In the center of the cramped living room, a grotesque, multi-limbed curse was hunched over the torn-up corpse of a woman.
"Give me the mortgage..." it gurgled, a sickeningly wet sound, before slowly swiveling its misshapen head toward the only other living thing in the room.
Sitting just a few feet away, pressed back against a pile of trash bags, was a little girl.
She wasn't crying. She wasn't even screaming or horrified. Her small hands rested limply in her lap, her dark eyes completely hollow and dead as she stared up at the monster that had just butchered her mother. It was the terrifying, absolute numbness of a kid who had already been living in a different kind of hell long before the curse ever showed up. She had already accepted the fact that she was going to die right here, right now.
The curse lunged at her, its jaws unhinging to swallow her whole.
It didn't even make it halfway.
Toji crossed the room faster than the human eye could track. He didn't have a cursed tool, but he didn't need one for trash like this. He grabbed the curse by its thick, bulbous neck, his massive fingers sinking deep into the entity's flesh. With a brutal, effortless twist of his shoulders, Toji slammed the curse face-first into the concrete floor.
The sheer, overwhelming physical impact crushed the curse's head instantly. A massive pool of purple blood splattered across the floor, and the creature's limbs began to twitch and flail aimlessly, like a cockroach without a head.
Toji couldn't completely exorcise it—not without cursed energy or an energy infused weapon. But it wasn't necessary yet. Reduced to a twitching mass of pulp, it couldn't do any damage.
The room fell dead silent, save for the dripping of a leaky kitchen faucet and the steady rain outside.
Toji slowly stood up, rolling his broad shoulders to shake off the lethal spike of adrenaline. He looked down at the ruined body of the woman among the beer cans. Then, his dark eyes shifted to the little girl.
She hadn't flinched when the curse attacked. She didn't flinch when Toji obliterated it. She just sat there in the filth, looking up at him with an empty, quiet resignation.
Toji's jaw clenched. He thought of his own son, safe and warm upstairs, laughing with his mother. Then he looked at this kid, completely shattered and sitting in a literal graveyard.
"Hey," Toji grunted, his gravelly voice cutting through the heavy silence.
The girl blinked slowly, looking up at his scarred face. "Hi..." Her voice was a dry, raspy whisper.
Toji ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling a long, sharp breath. He wasn't a hero. He was a retired assassin. But he was also a father. And there was no way in hell he was leaving a kid in this slaughterhouse.
He stepped over the debris, walked right up to her, and scooped her up into his arms in one smooth motion. She was terrifyingly light. Her small, trembling hands instinctively gripped the fabric of his t-shirt as he pulled her against his broad chest.
"What's your name, girl?" Toji asked, turning his back on the carnage and heading straight for the door.
"Tsumiki," she whispered, resting her head against his shoulder, sounding completely drained of everything.
"Right. I'm Toji," he said flatly, carrying her out of the apartment and turning toward the stairs to head back up to the light. "My wife made too much curry tonight. You're eating with us."
"But I don't want to intrude..." Tsumiki protested weakly, her strict manners fighting against the very loud, sudden rumble of her empty stomach.
"You're not. Now be quiet and just let me do this for you."
Tsumiki looked once more over his shoulder, her deadened eyes drifting back toward the mutilated body of her mother among the trash. Toji immediately brought his large hand up, gently but firmly pressing her face into his shoulder to hide her eyes from the grotesque scene.
She didn't have enough cursed energy to be a sorcerer, of that much he was certain, but now she carried the traumatic misfortune of watching someone be butchered by a curse. It was a weight no kid should have to carry.
Toji shoved his own front door open with his foot, kicking off his outside slippers in the genkan and carrying the little girl straight into the warm, brightly lit kitchen.
His wife turned from the stove, wiping her hands on her apron. She blinked in surprise at the quiet, polite little girl tucked securely under her husband's arm.
"Toji?" she asked, thoroughly bewildered. "Who is this?"
"Neighbor from the floor downstairs," Toji supplied, setting Tsumiki down gently on a stool.
He looked over the girl's head and met his wife's eyes, giving her a very specific, loaded look. He tapped two fingers against his thigh—their silent, agreed-upon signal. Curse.
"Mom didn't make it," Toji added quietly.
His wife's breath hitched, her eyes widening in immediate and heartbroken understanding. The bewilderment vanished instantly, replaced by a protective maternal warmth. She knew exactly what kind of horrific monsters lurked in the shadows of the world Toji had walked away from. Looking at the haunted expression on the little girl's face, she knew exactly what Tsumiki had just survived.
She quickly stepped forward, kneeling down to Tsumiki's level and gently brushing the damp, dusty hair from the girl's forehead.
"Oh, you poor dear, you're freezing," she cooed, her voice practically melting with kindness. "Come sit down. I'll get you a warm towel and a big bowl of curry. What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Tsumiki."
"It's so nice to meet you, Tsumiki," Miyuki said softly.
She didn't offer any empty lies about her mother coming back. She knew the brutal reality of Toji's world. Instead, she wrapped a warm, fluffy towel around the girl's trembling shoulders and pulled her into a brief, grounding hug. "You're safe here. I promise. You don't ever have to go back down there."
Sitting in a high chair at the end of the table was Megumi. He was clutching a plastic spoon like a weapon, a piece of cooked carrot squished onto his cheek. He watched the entire exchange with highly suspicious green eyes.
Miyuki set a steaming bowl of curry down in front of Tsumiki, completely ignoring her own dinner to make sure the little girl was comfortable.
The contrast was finally too much. The smell of the warm food, the softness of the towel, and the unearned kindness of the woman kneeling beside her shattered the last of Tsumiki's numb dissociation. She finally let the tears fall. Big, thick tears ran down her dirt-streaked cheeks, followed by sickeningly small, quiet sobs.
Miyuki immediately stepped in, rubbing the girl's back and cooing reassuring words to anchor her.
Megumi looked at Tsumiki. Then he looked at his mother. Then, his lower lip trembled, thrusting out into a gigantic pout. He dropped his spoon with a loud clatter, crossed his little arms tightly over his chest, and glared fiercely at the new intruder who was stealing his mama's attention.
Toji leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he watched his wife fuss over the traumatized little girl while Megumi aggressively sulked in his high chair.
His mind was racing.
Jujutsu society "Windows" would eventually register the residual cursed energy downstairs. Sorcerers or cleaners would come to exorcise whatever remnants were left of the curse and deal with the gruesome clean-up of the body. Toji knew, with a terrifying certainty, that they couldn't stay here anymore. He couldn't risk the Zen'in clan or any other sorcerers sniffing around his building. He had left that life behind, but even the smallest curse investigation could drag him right back in.
Plus, he flat-out refused to let his family live in a cheap complex brimming with festering curses and traumatic memories for the kid currently crying at his table.
They had to move. Somewhere cleaner. Somewhere far away from this.
He also knew, watching his wife gently wipe a stray tear from Tsumiki's cheek before handing her a glass of milk, that the Fushiguro family had just officially expanded to four. There was no going back now.
Toji sighed, a small, barely-there smirk pulling at the corner of his scarred lip as Megumi huffed loudly and went back to stabbing his carrots with murder-like intensity.
Damn it. He was going to have to pick up a lot more extra shifts at the construction site to afford a new apartment.