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The first thing Yuji Itadori learned about Jujutsu High was that it smelled weird. Not bad weird, exactly—more like a confusing cocktail of ancient wood, chalk dust, and something inexplicably sweet that lingered in the hallways like a ghost. The second thing he learned was that his new classmates were absolutely nothing like he’d imagined.
“You’re late,” Nobara Kugisaki announced, pointing a polished nail at him from where she lounged against the classroom doorframe. “First day and you’re already failing at first impressions.”
“I got lost!” Yuji protested, skidding to a halt. “This place is huge, and there was this talking panda, and then I went down a hallway that I swear wasn’t there five seconds ago, and—”
“Panda-senpai is a second-year,” a quiet voice interjected. “You’ll meet him properly later. He’s very nice. He brought me tea once when I was sick.”
Yuji turned. The boy who’d spoken was perched on the windowsill at the end of the corridor, knees drawn up, a book open in his lap. He was pale and dark-haired, with eyelashes so long they cast shadows on his cheeks, and he was wearing a sweater that looked approximately four sizes too big for him. The collar had slipped off one shoulder, revealing a sliver of collarbone and—was that a hickey? Yuji’s brain short-circuited. Nope. Not his business. None of his business.
“You’re Megumi Fushiguro, right?” Yuji said, rallying. “We’re in the same class!”
“Yes.” Megumi didn’t look up from his book. “Hello.”
“He’s always like that,” Nobara said, entirely unbothered. “I’ve been here for three hours and he’s said maybe twelve words to me. I counted.”
“Thirteen now,” Megumi said. “Hello was a new word.”
Nobara stared at him. Then she laughed, sharp and surprised. “Okay, I like you. You’re weird, but I like you.”
Megumi’s mouth twitched—the faintest ghost of a smile—and Yuji felt something warm bloom in his chest. He’d been so nervous about starting at this school, about fitting in somewhere after everything that had happened, but somehow, impossibly, it already felt like maybe this could work.
The corridor door banged open.
“GOOOOOOD MORNING, MY PRECIOUS STUDENTS!”
Yuji yelped. Nobara dropped her phone. Megumi didn’t flinch, but something in his posture shifted—a subtle relaxation, a softening around his eyes that was, frankly, fascinating to witness in real time.
The man who had erupted into the hallway was tall. Absurdly tall. He had white hair that defied both gravity and common sense, and he was wearing a blindfold. A blindfold. At a school. While presumably expected to teach. Yuji’s brain, which had been through a lot in the past few weeks, decided to simply stop asking questions and go with it.
“Gojo-sensei!” Yuji managed. “I didn’t know you’d be our teacher!”
“I’m everyone’s teacher,” Satoru Gojo declared, striking a pose that belonged on a magazine cover. “I’m also everyone’s favorite teacher, everyone’s most handsome teacher, and everyone’s—”
“Loudest teacher,” Megumi murmured, turning a page.
Gojo gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in theatrical offense. “Megumi! My own student! My pride and joy! Betraying me so cruelly, and on the first day of school no less!”
“It’s not the first day for me,” Megumi said. “I’ve been here for years. You know that.”
“Details, details.” Gojo waved a dismissive hand, but there was something in the way he angled his body toward Megumi, something almost gravitational, like he couldn’t help but orient himself in the boy’s direction. “Anyway! First-years! Orientation! Let’s go, chop chop, we’re burning daylight!”
He spun on his heel and strode off down the corridor, clearly expecting them to follow. Yuji scrambled to obey, Nobara hot on his heels, and after a moment Megumi closed his book with a soft sigh and trailed after them, the too-big sweater slipping further down his arm.
Yuji didn’t notice the way Gojo’s hand brushed against the small of Megumi’s back as they fell into step together. He didn’t notice the way Megumi leaned, almost imperceptibly, into the touch.
But Nobara did.
She filed it away for later examination.
The first week of classes was, to put it mildly, absolutely insane.
There were curses to exorcise, techniques to learn, and a truly alarming number of near-death experiences that everyone else seemed to treat as completely normal Tuesday occurrences. There was also, Yuji discovered, an entire social hierarchy he hadn’t been briefed on.
“Okay,” he said on Friday, collapsing into a chair in the common room. “I have questions.”
“Shocking,” Nobara said, not looking up from the nails she was filing into lethal points.
“First question: what’s the deal with the second-years? Because Panda-senpai is literally a panda, Maki-senpai could absolutely kill me with her bare hands, Toge-senpai only speaks in rice ball ingredients, and Inumaki-senpai—” He paused. “Wait. Are Toge and Inumaki the same person?”
“Yes.” Megumi was curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over his lap despite the warmth of the room. He’d been doing that a lot, Yuji had noticed—seeking out soft things, wrapping himself in layers. “Toge is his given name. Inumaki is his family name. He’s a cursed speech user. It’s dangerous for him to speak normally, so he uses safe words.”
“Rice ball ingredients are safe words?”
“They’re safe for him.”
“Huh.” Yuji considered this. “Okay. Next question: what’s the deal with Gojo-sensei?”
Nobara’s filing paused for a fraction of a second. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s... a lot. Is he always like that? With the blindfold and the posing and the showing up at random times to steal Megumi’s snacks?”
“He doesn’t steal them,” Megumi said. “He brings them. He just also eats most of them.”
“He brought you those fancy strawberry cookies yesterday,” Yuji remembered. “The ones in the tin that looked really expensive. And you didn’t even say thank you, you just let him open the tin and feed you one and then you went back to reading.”
The silence that followed was very, very loud.
Nobara’s eyes had gone sharp. Megumi’s expression, usually so carefully neutral, flickered with something that might have been embarrassment. Or annoyance. Or both.
“He’s known me since I was a child,” Megumi said finally, his tone carefully even. “He’s... family.”
“Family,” Nobara repeated. “Right.”
“He’s my guardian,” Megumi added, which was technically true but also, Yuji felt, very much not the whole story. “He took me in when I was young. We’re close.”
“Close,” Nobara said, in that same flat tone. “Right. Close. That’s definitely the word I’d use to describe the way he looks at you like you personally hung the moon.”
Megumi’s cheeks flushed pink. “He doesn’t—”
“He does,” Nobara said. “He really, really does. Yesterday in training he stopped mid-sentence to tell you that your hair looked nice. We were in the middle of a spar. I nearly got decapitated by a curse because our teacher was busy complimenting your hair.”
“My hair did look nice,” Megumi muttered. “I tried a new conditioner.”
Yuji, who had been watching this exchange like a tennis match, raised his hand. “Is Gojo-sensei... I mean, is he your...”
“Is he my what?” Megumi’s voice had gone dangerously flat.
Yuji’s survival instincts, honed by weeks of Sukuna-related near-disasters, kicked in. “Nothing! Nothing. Forget I asked. So, Nobara, what’s for lunch?”
Nobara gave him a look that clearly said this conversation isn’t over, but she allowed the subject change with minimal grumbling. Megumi returned his attention to his book, but his shoulders were still tense, and he kept one hand pressed absently against his stomach—a gesture Yuji had noticed him making more and more over the past few days.
Probably just a nervous habit. Right? Right.
The thing about Megumi Fushiguro, Nobara decided, was that he was full of secrets.
Not the interesting kind of secrets, either. Not the kind of secrets you could interrogate someone about over drinks. No, Megumi’s secrets were the quiet, everyday kind—the kind that hid in plain sight, so obvious that you’d feel like an idiot for not noticing them sooner.
For example: the sweater.
Nobara had excellent fashion sense. She knew fabrics, she knew brands, she knew when something was designer and when something was off-the-rack and when something was vintage and priceless. The sweater Megumi had been wearing on the first day of school—and on the second day, and on the third, and now apparently on the fourth day too, just in a different color—was cashmere. Expensive cashmere. The kind of cashmere that cost more than her entire monthly allowance.
Megumi didn’t seem like the type to spend money on clothes. Megumi didn’t seem like the type to spend money on anything. His shoes were practical, his bag was functional, his phone case was plain black. But his sweaters were luxuriously soft, his watch was a limited-edition designer piece, and the ring he wore on a chain around his neck—always tucked beneath his shirt—looked like it cost more than a small car.
Where was a first-year student getting this kind of money?
“Probably Gojo-sensei,” Yuji said when she voiced this thought. “I mean, he said they’re family, right? Maybe Gojo-sensei just has really expensive taste and it rubs off.”
“Expensive taste,” Nobara repeated. “Giving a fifteen-year-old a watch that costs more than my apartment.”
“Maybe it was a birthday present?”
Nobara was not convinced. But she let it go.
For now.
The second-years were, as promised, a varied and intimidating bunch.
Maki Zen’in was a force of nature wrapped in a teenager’s body. She fought like a demon, cursed like a sailor, and seemed to have absolutely no patience for anyone except, occasionally, her classmates. Nobara liked her immediately.
Panda was... a panda. He was also articulate, thoughtful, and surprisingly gentle, and he gave excellent hugs. Nobara had not yet worked up the courage to ask about his origins, but she planned to.
Toge Inumaki was an enigma wrapped in a uniform, his cursed speech technique making every interaction a careful dance of interpretation. Nobara was learning his vocabulary—salmon for yes, bonito flakes for no, mustard leaf for various shades of concern or alarm—but it was slow going.
And then there was Maki’s twin sister, Mai, who wasn’t a student at Jujutsu High but visited often enough that she might as well be, usually to antagonize Maki and flirt with anyone who stood still long enough. Nobara had met her exactly once and had immediately decided she was trouble in the most entertaining possible way.
“So,” Mai said on her second visit, draping herself across the common room couch like a particularly languid cat, “you’re the new first-years. Cute. Maki hasn’t scared you off yet?”
“She tried,” Nobara said. “I’m stubborn.”
“I like that.” Mai’s gaze slid past her to where Megumi was sitting in the corner, wrapped in yet another enormous sweater, reading yet another book. “And you’re the Fushiguro kid. Gojo’s pet project.”
Megumi looked up, expression utterly blank. “I’m not a pet project.”
“No? Then what are you?” Mai’s smile was sharp. “Because the way I hear it, Gojo Satoru doesn’t take in strays unless they’re useful. So what’s your use, little omega?”
The temperature in the room dropped by about fifteen degrees.
Megumi’s scent—usually so carefully controlled, so subtle that it was almost unnoticeable—spiked sharply. Omega. The confirmation hit Nobara like a physical blow, even though some part of her had already suspected. Omega. Megumi was an omega. And Mai had just called him out on it in the most aggressive way possible.
Before Nobara could decide whether to intervene, Megumi spoke.
“My use,” he said, his voice perfectly calm, “is that I’m stronger than you.”
Mai’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“You’re a second-year. You should be stronger than me by default. But you’re not.” Megumi closed his book with a soft snap. “I’ve read your file. Your technique is projectile-based, mid-range combat with a preference for ambush tactics. My shikigami can track you through shadows, my Divine Dogs can outrun your bullets, and I’ve been training with Gojo Satoru since I was six years old. If we fought right now, you’d lose. And you know it.”
The silence was absolute.
Then Mai laughed—a genuine, surprised sound that transformed her sharp features into something almost pleasant. “Well, well. The baby omega has teeth.”
“I’m not a baby,” Megumi said, and there was something so tired in his voice that Nobara’s heart clenched despite herself. “I’m not a pet project. I’m not a stray. I’m a student here, same as you, and I’d appreciate it if you’d treat me accordingly.”
Mai held up her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. Message received. You’re feisty. I respect it.” She turned her attention back to Nobara. “What about you? Any hidden depths I should know about before I inevitably challenge you to a spar and get my ass handed to me?”
Nobara grinned, and the tension in the room slowly began to dissolve.
But she didn’t miss the way Megumi’s hand drifted to his stomach again, pressing there like he was trying to soothe some internal ache. And she didn’t miss the way his scent, even after he’d calmed down, carried an undertone of something unexpectedly sweet. Something almost maternal.
She filed that away too.
Satoru Gojo was, by any objective measure, the most powerful sorcerer alive.
He was also, on this particular Thursday afternoon, utterly and completely wrapped around his omega’s little finger.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Megumi said, not looking up from his homework. “It’s a cold. I’ve had colds before. I’ll survive.”
“It’s not a cold,” Satoru insisted, pressing another blanket into Megumi’s lap. “You’ve been tired all week. You barely ate breakfast this morning. And yesterday you fell asleep during training. You never fall asleep during training.”
“I was meditating.”
“You were snoring.”
Megumi’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t snore.”
“You do. It’s adorable. Like a tiny kitten.” Satoru dodged the pencil that came flying at his head with practiced ease. “See? You’re cranky. That’s another symptom.”
“The only symptom I’m experiencing is an acute case of you being insufferable.”
But even as he said it, Megumi was pulling the blanket around his shoulders, burrowing into its warmth with a small, unconscious sigh of contentment. Satoru’s heart did something complicated in his chest. Two years. They’d been properly mated for two years now, and he still wasn’t used to this—the quiet domesticity of it, the way Megumi fit so perfectly into his life and his home and his heart.
Megumi had been seven years old when Satoru had first taken him in, all gangly limbs and wary green eyes and too much responsibility for a child who should have been worrying about homework, not curses. Back then, Satoru had told himself it was a strategic decision—the boy had potential, the Ten Shadows technique was legendary, it would be a waste to let him fall into the hands of the Zen’in clan. He’d told himself a lot of things back then. None of them had been true.
The truth was that Satoru had looked at that fierce, frightened little boy and seen something he recognized. Someone who’d been failed by the adults who should have protected him. Someone who deserved better than the hand he’d been dealt. And Satoru, who had spent his entire life being told he was the best, the strongest, the pinnacle of sorcery, had decided that if he could do one good thing with all that power, it would be this: he would keep Megumi safe.
Somewhere along the way, keeping Megumi safe had turned into making Megumi laugh. Into learning how Megumi took his tea. Into buying the expensive conditioner Megumi liked and the cashmere sweaters he pretended not to care about and the strawberry cookies he always said he didn’t want but always ate anyway. Somewhere along the way, Megumi had stopped being a ward and started being the center of Satoru’s universe, and Satoru had been utterly, irrevocably doomed.
The mating had been Megumi’s idea, actually. Satoru had been prepared to wait—had been prepared to wait forever, if necessary, because Megumi was young and precious and deserved to make his own choices. But Megumi, as always, had surprised him.
“I want this,” he’d said, the summer he turned Thirteen, his jaw set with that stubborn determination Satoru loved so much. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for years. And if you try to tell me I’m too young or I don’t know what I want or any of that condescending alpha bullshit, I swear to god I’ll summon shikigami right here in the living room and let him destroy the couch.”
The couch had survived. They’d been mated for two years now, and Satoru still sometimes woke up in the middle of the night convinced it had all been a dream.
“You’re staring at me,” Megumi said, pulling Satoru out of his reverie. “Stop it.”
“Can’t help it. You’re pretty.”
“You’re embarrassing.”
“I’m your embarrassing.” Satoru dropped onto the couch beside him, careful not to jostle too much. “How are you feeling, really? Be honest with me.”
Megumi was quiet for a long moment. Then, so softly Satoru almost didn’t hear it: “Tired. And... something else. I don’t know how to describe it. My scent feels weird. Different.”
Satoru’s alpha instincts, already on high alert, kicked into overdrive. “Different how?”
“Just... different. Sweeter, maybe? I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.” Megumi shook his head, a small frown creasing his brow. “Don’t worry about it.”
Too late. Satoru was already worrying about it. But he knew better than to push—Megumi would talk when he was ready, and not a moment before.
“Okay,” he said instead, pressing a kiss to Megumi’s temple. “But if you’re still feeling off tomorrow, we’re going to see Shoko. No arguments.”
Megumi grumbled something that might have been agreement or might have been a creative insult. Satoru chose to interpret it as the former.
The visit to Shoko Ieiri’s office happened sooner than expected.
“Megumi,” Shoko said, looking at the test results with an expression that was impossible to read, “when was your last heat?”
Megumi blinked. The question seemed to catch him off guard. “I... I don’t know. A few months ago? They’ve been irregular for a while, but that’s normal for me. Why?”
Shoko set the papers down on her desk. Her expression was still carefully neutral, but there was something in her eyes—something almost soft. “I need you to stay calm for what I’m about to tell you.”
Satoru, who had been hovering near the door, went very still.
“You’re pregnant,” Shoko said. “Approximately eight weeks along, based on your hormone levels and the ultrasound results. The fetus is healthy, the implantation looks good, and everything seems to be progressing normally.”
The world tilted.
Megumi’s face had gone pale—paler than usual, which was saying something. His hands, which had been resting in his lap, moved instinctively to his stomach, pressing there in that gesture Satoru had noticed but never quite understood. Now it made sense. Now it made so much sense.
“I’m...” Megumi’s voice came out as barely a whisper. “Pregnant. I’m pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“But I’m... I’m fifteen. I’m a student. I’m not... I can’t be...”
“You can,” Shoko said gently. “And you are. Your body is young but healthy, and with proper care, there’s no reason this pregnancy shouldn’t progress normally. But we need to talk about what you want to do. This is your choice, Megumi. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you. Satoru will support you.”
Satoru. Megumi’s head turned, his wide green eyes finding Satoru’s across the room. Satoru looked, for the first time in Megumi’s memory, completely stunned. All that infinite power and confidence, and he was standing there like a man who’d been hit by a truck, his mouth slightly open, his Six Eyes fixed on Megumi with an intensity that bordered on overwhelming.
“Satoru,” Megumi said. His voice cracked. “Say something.”
Satoru crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees in front of Megumi’s chair. His hands came up to cup Megumi’s face, thumbs brushing across his cheekbones with impossible tenderness.
“A baby,” Satoru breathed. “You’re... we’re having a baby.”
“Apparently.” Megumi’s laugh was watery, teetering on the edge of hysterical. “Surprise?”
And then Satoru was kissing him—fierce and desperate and reverent all at once, like Megumi was something precious and breakable and infinitely treasured. When he pulled back, his eyes were suspiciously bright.
“I love you,” Satoru said. “I love you so much. Whatever you want to do, whatever you decide, I’m with you. Always.”
Megumi, who had spent his entire childhood learning that love was conditional and temporary and not to be trusted, felt something crack open in his chest. Something warm and terrifying and wonderful.
“I want this,” he said, and was surprised to find that he meant it. “I want... I want our baby. Is that crazy? Am I crazy?”
“If you’re crazy, then I’m crazy too.” Satoru’s grin was blinding, even through the tears that were definitely not falling from his eyes. “We’re going to be parents. Holy shit. My parents are going to lose their minds.”
“Your parents,” Megumi repeated, and then his eyes went wide. “Oh no. Your parents. They’re going to be so disappointed, they never wanted you to mate with me in the first place, and now I’m pregnant and I’m only fifteen and they’re going to think I’m trying to trap you or something, they’re going to hate me—”
“Megumi. Megumi, stop.” Satoru’s hands were on his shoulders now, grounding him. “My parents adore you. You know they adore you. They’re going to be over the moon about this.”
“They’re going to think I’m too young.”
“They’re going to think you’re giving them a grandchild, and that’s all they’re going to care about.” Satoru pressed another kiss to his forehead. “Trust me. When I told them we were mating, my mother literally cried tears of joy. She’d been hoping for this since you were nine.”
Megumi blinked. “Since I was nine?”
“You made her a birthday card. She still has it. It’s framed in her office.” Satoru’s expression was impossibly fond. “You’ve been part of this family for a long time, Megumi. This just makes it official.”
Shoko cleared her throat, and they both jumped, having apparently forgotten she was there. “As touching as this is, we should discuss prenatal care. Megumi, your body is still developing, which means this pregnancy will need to be monitored more closely than usual. You’ll need to be careful about physical activity, you’ll need to adjust your diet, and you’ll need regular check-ups. No missions. No combat training. Nothing that could put stress on you or the baby.”
“No missions?” Megumi’s protest was immediate. “But I’m a sorcerer, I can’t just—”
“You can and you will,” Satoru said, his alpha voice bleeding through despite his best intentions. “The baby comes first. You come first. Everything else can wait.”
Megumi opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. His hand was still pressed against his stomach—his flat stomach, which would soon start to swell, which was currently home to a tiny life that hadn’t existed two months ago. His baby. Satoru’s baby. Their baby.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay. No missions.”
Satoru’s relief was palpable. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Megumi’s lips curved into a small, wicked smile. “You still have to tell Yaga.”
Satoru’s face went through several interesting expressions in rapid succession. “Oh, god. Yaga. He’s going to lecture me for six hours.”
“At least six hours.”
“He might actually try to kill me this time.”
“I’ll protect you,” Megumi said sweetly. “I’m pregnant. He can’t say no to me.”
Satoru stared at him for a moment. Then he burst out laughing—bright and startled and slightly hysterical. “You’re going to be insufferable for the next seven months, aren’t you.”
“Absolutely.”
“I can’t wait.”
The changes were subtle at first.
Megumi’s scent shifted—sweeter now, richer, with undertones that made Satoru’s alpha instincts purr with satisfaction. His appetite fluctuated wildly: one day he couldn’t stomach anything but plain rice, the next he was demanding strawberry shortcake at three in the morning and Satoru, hopelessly devoted, went out to find it without complaint. He was tired all the time, napping between classes and falling asleep on the common room couch with increasing frequency.
And he was, for reasons that entirely eluded Nobara, getting away with it.
“This is insane,” she hissed to Yuji during a training session that Megumi had once again been excused from. “He’s not sick. I asked him if he was sick and he said no. So why does he get to skip training?”
“Maybe he’s got a special project?” Yuji offered, dodging one of Maki’s practice strikes. “Or maybe Gojo-sensei is just being nice?”
“Gojo-sensei doesn’t do nice.” Nobara’s eyes narrowed as she watched the man in question across the training ground, where he was—she was not making this up—feeding Megumi pieces of melon from a container. “He does... whatever this is. Which is weird. It’s so weird. Why is no one else acknowledging how weird this is?”
“Maybe it’s not weird to them?” Yuji hazarded. “I mean, the second-years don’t seem bothered by it. And Megumi said they’re family, right? Maybe this is just... how their family is?”
Nobara was not satisfied with this answer. But before she could press further, she caught a snippet of conversation drifting across the training ground—Panda’s voice, low and concerned.
“—sure he should be out here? It’s pretty hot today, and with his condition—”
“He insisted,” Maki replied. “Said he was tired of being cooped up inside. Gojo’s keeping an eye on him.”
Condition? What condition?
Nobara filed it away.
Later that week, the Gojo family came to visit.
Satoru’s parents were, to put it mildly, not what Yuji had been expecting. They were elegant and polished and clearly wealthy, the kind of people who belonged on the covers of magazines about old money and aristocratic lineages. Gojo-san was tall and silver-haired like his son, with the same sharp features and an expression that suggested he found most of the world mildly amusing. Gojo-san’s wife was softer, rounder, with kind eyes and a smile that immediately put Yuji at ease.
They were also, as it turned out, absolutely obsessed with Megumi.
“Megumi, darling, you’re too thin,” Gojo-san’s wife—call me Sachiko, dear, everyone does—fussed, cupping Megumi’s face in her hands. “Have you been eating properly? I brought you those persimmons you like, and there’s a new tea shop near our house that does the most wonderful hojicha, I brought you a whole tin—”
“Thank you, Sachiko-san,” Megumi said, and Yuji was stunned to see that he was actually smiling. Not the small, restrained smiles he gave Yuji and Nobara, but a real smile, warm and genuine. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”
“Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all.” Sachiko beamed at him. “Now, sit down, let me look at you properly. Satoru, stop hovering, you’re making the room feel crowded.”
Satoru, who had indeed been hovering approximately two inches behind Megumi’s left shoulder, made a face but obediently stepped back. His father clapped him on the shoulder with a knowing smirk.
“She’s been planning this visit for weeks,” Gojo-san said. “Ever since you told us the news.”
News? Yuji exchanged a glance with Nobara. What news?
“I wanted to make sure Megumi was comfortable,” Sachiko said, steering Megumi toward the couch with gentle insistence. “Pregnancy is difficult enough without proper support, and at your age especially—”
The rest of her sentence was drowned out by the sound of Nobara choking on her own tongue.
“PREGNANCY?” Nobara wheezed, once she’d recovered the ability to speak. “Megumi, you’re PREGNANT?”
Megumi, who had been settling onto the couch with the careful, deliberate movements of someone who was becoming increasingly aware of their own body, looked up with an expression that was almost comically resigned. “Ah. Right. You two didn’t know yet.”
“DIDN’T KNOW?” Yuji’s voice had gone up approximately three octaves. “How were we supposed to know? You didn’t tell us! Nobody told us! Is that why you’ve been skipping training? Is that why Gojo-sensei keeps feeding you? Wait, wait, wait—” His brain caught up with the implications and his face went through a spectacular series of emotions. “If you’re pregnant, then the father is... Gojo-sensei is...”
“My mate,” Megumi said calmly. “Yes. For two years now.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Nobara’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound came out. She looked like a fish. A very fashionable, very confused fish.
“Your mate,” she finally managed. “You and Gojo-sensei are MATES? You’re MARRIED? To our TEACHER?”
“Mated isn’t exactly the same as married,” Megumi said. “It’s a bond. A permanent one. But yes, essentially.”
“For TWO YEARS?”
“Two years this past June.”
“You’re FIFTEEN.”
“I’m aware.” Megumi’s tone was dry, but there was a hint of defensiveness creeping in at the edges. “The mating was my choice. Satoru didn’t pressure me into anything. If you have a problem with that—”
“I don’t have a problem!” Nobara threw her hands up in the air. “I’m just trying to PROCESS! You’ve been mated to our teacher for TWO YEARS and you just... never mentioned it? At all? We’ve been classmates for weeks, I’ve watched him feed you snacks and drape blankets over you and look at you with heart eyes, and you never thought to maybe mention ‘oh, by the way, we’re soul-bonded and I’m carrying his child’?”
“It wasn’t relevant,” Megumi said.
“WASN’T RELEVANT?”
“You didn’t ask.”
Nobara made a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a laugh. “I DIDN’T ASK? How was I supposed to know to ask? ‘Hey Megumi, quick question, are you secretly mated to our incredibly powerful, incredibly strange teacher and also pregnant with his baby?’ That’s not exactly a normal getting-to-know-you question!”
“It could be,” Yuji offered weakly. “I mean, this is Jujutsu High. Nothing here is normal.”
Nobara rounded on him. “You’re being very calm about this.”
“I’m in shock,” Yuji admitted. “I think my brain broke about three minutes ago and I haven’t caught up yet. Also, Sukuna is laughing at me, which isn’t helping.”
Inside Yuji’s mind, the King of Curses was indeed laughing—a deep, rolling laugh that echoed through their shared mental space. “The brat actually managed to hide an entire relationship from you idiots for weeks,” Sukuna crowed. “I take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about him. This is hilarious.”
“You’ve never said anything good about him,” Yuji pointed out.
“Exactly. Now shut up and let me enjoy this.”
While Yuji was having his internal crisis, Sachiko had continued fussing over Megumi as if nothing had happened. She had produced, from somewhere, a small velvet box, and was pressing it into Megumi’s hands.
“I had this made for you,” she said, her voice softer now. “It’s a family heirloom—well, it will be. I wanted you to have something from us. Something to welcome the baby.”
Megumi opened the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of dark velvet, was a delicate silver bracelet set with tiny emeralds. It was clearly old and clearly valuable, and it had been sized to fit a small wrist.
“It was Satoru’s when he was a baby,” Sachiko explained. “I thought... if you’d like... the little one could wear it too. When they’re born.”
Megumi’s eyes, already suspiciously bright, filled with tears. “Sachiko-san, I can’t... this is too much...”
“Nonsense.” Sachiko closed his fingers around the box. “You’re family. You’ve been family since the day Satoru brought you home. This just makes it official.”
Satoru, who had been watching this exchange with an expression of profound tenderness, moved to sit beside Megumi on the couch. His arm came up to wrap around Megumi’s shoulders, pulling him close, and Megumi leaned into the touch with a sigh that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his bones.
“Are you okay?” Satoru murmured, low enough that only Megumi could hear.
“I’m fine. Overwhelmed. Happy.” Megumi pressed his face against Satoru’s shoulder, breathing in his scent. “Your parents are too nice to me.”
“They’re your parents too, now.” Satoru pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re stuck with us, Fushiguro.”
“Gojo,” Megumi corrected quietly. “It’s Gojo now. Has been for two years.”
Satoru’s smile was so bright it could have lit up the entire room. “Yeah. It has.”
Across the room, Nobara slumped into a chair and put her head in her hands. “I need a drink,” she announced to no one in particular. “And a manual. Is there a manual for this school? There should be a manual.”
“I could write one,” Yuji offered, still looking slightly shell-shocked. “Chapter One: Your Classmate Might Be Secretly Married To Your Teacher. Chapter Two: The Talking Panda Is The Most Normal Person Here.”
“I’m honored,” Panda said from the doorway, where he’d apparently been listening for a while. “Also, Maki wants to know if we’re still doing sparring practice or if the family reunion is going to take all afternoon.”
“Sparring practice,” Megumi said firmly, before anyone could suggest he sit it out. “I’m pregnant, not invalid. I can still watch.”
“You can still critique,” Maki corrected, appearing behind Panda with Toge at her side. “Your observational skills are still sharp, even if you can’t fight. And speaking of which—” Her gaze swept over Yuji and Nobara. “You two. You’ve been slacking. I saw your forms earlier. Pitiful.”
“We’ve been distracted,” Nobara protested. “We just found out our classmate is having a baby!”
“Old news,” Maki said dismissively. “We’ve known for weeks. Now get up. Training doesn’t stop just because you’re processing emotional revelations.”
Toge added helpfully. “Tuna mayo.”
Nobara stared at him. “Did you just say we’ve known for months?”
“Salmon.”
“The baby isn’t even that old!”
Toge shrugged, his expression conveying that this was simply the way things were.
And so the afternoon continued—training and revelations and the slow, strange process of Yuji and Nobara adjusting to their new reality. By the end of it, Nobara had progressed from shock to grudging acceptance to something that looked suspiciously like excitement.
“I’m going to be the cool aunt,” she declared, pointing at Megumi’s still-flat stomach. “That baby is going to have the best fashion sense in the entire jujutsu world. I’m going to buy them so many outfits.”
“Please don’t,” Megumi said, but he was smiling.
“Too late. I’ve already decided.”
Yuji, who had finally recovered enough to form coherent thoughts, sat down beside Megumi on the couch. “Can I ask you something?”
Megumi tensed slightly, but nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Are you happy? Like, genuinely happy? Because I know you said the mating was your choice and everything, but you’re also really young, and Gojo-sensei is... a lot... and I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
The tension in Megumi’s shoulders eased. “I’m happy,” he said, and it sounded like the truth. “It’s not... conventional. I know that. But Satoru is good to me. He’s been good to me since I was seven years old. I trust him with my life. With our baby’s life.” His hand drifted to his stomach again, that now-familiar gesture of protection. “I know how it looks from the outside. But from the inside... it’s good. It’s really good.”
Yuji nodded slowly. “Okay. Then I’m happy for you. Both of you.” He paused. “But if he ever does anything to hurt you, I’ll punch him. I don’t care how powerful he is. I’ll find a way.”
“I appreciate that.” Megumi’s smile was small but genuine. “I don’t think it’ll be necessary, but I appreciate it.”
From across the room, Satoru—who had clearly been eavesdropping with his stupid Six Eyes and his stupid enhanced hearing—called out, “I’m not going to hurt him! Why does everyone assume I’m going to hurt him?”
“Because you’re you,” Maki said flatly.
“And you’re annoying,” Nobara added.
“And you once blew up a building because someone looked at Megumi wrong,” Panda contributed.
“That building was condemned anyway,” Satoru muttered. “And the guy was a curse user. And he had it coming.”
Megumi sighed, but it was a fond sound. “Satoru, stop defending yourself and come sit down. You’re making everyone tense.”
Satoru was across the room and settling onto the couch beside Megumi in approximately 0.3 seconds. His arm found its way around Megumi’s shoulders like it belonged there, and Megumi leaned into him with the ease of long practice.
And watching them—watching the way Satoru’s entire demeanor softened when he touched Megumi, watching the way Megumi’s perpetual wariness melted away in Satoru’s presence—Nobara and Yuji finally understood.
This wasn’t weird. It wasn’t scandalous. It was just... love. Strange, unconventional, wildly improbable love, between the strongest sorcerer in the world and the quiet omega who’d stolen his heart.
Somehow, against all odds, it worked.
“Fine,” Nobara said, throwing herself onto the opposite couch. “Fine. I accept this. I still think you should have told us sooner, but I accept it.”
“Noted,” Megumi said.
“And I want to help plan the baby shower.”
“There’s not going to be a baby shower.”
“There’s absolutely going to be a baby shower,” Sachiko interjected, appearing from the kitchen with a tray of tea. “I’ve already started planning it. Megumi, darling, I’ve made a Pinterest board.”
Megumi looked at Satoru with an expression of profound betrayal. “You didn’t tell me about the Pinterest board.”
“I didn’t know about the Pinterest board,” Satoru said, looking genuinely alarmed. “Mom, what’s a Pinterest board?”
“Nothing you need to worry about, dear.” Sachiko’s smile was serene and slightly terrifying. “Just leave everything to me.”
And as the chaos of the afternoon slowly settled into something warm and comfortable, Megumi let himself relax into Satoru’s embrace, one hand resting protectively over the tiny life growing inside him.
He was fifteen years old, pregnant, mated to the most powerful—and most ridiculous—alpha in existence, surrounded by people who loved him more than he’d ever thought possible.
It was strange. It was unconventional. It was absolutely, completely insane.
But it was his life. And he wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world.
The baby kicked for the first time three months later, a tiny flutter of movement that made Megumi freeze mid-sentence and press both hands to his stomach with wide eyes.
“Megumi?” Satoru was at his side instantly, all traces of his usual playfulness gone. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby? Do we need to call Shoko?”
“It’s... the baby moved.” Megumi’s voice was hushed, almost reverent. “I felt it move. Satoru, I felt our baby move.”
Satoru’s expression went through a rapid succession of emotions—relief, joy, awe—before settling into something so tender it made Megumi’s heart ache. “Can I...?”
“Here.” Megumi took Satoru’s hand and pressed it against his stomach, right where the flutter had been. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to feel it yet, it’s still so small, but...”
They waited. And waited. And just when Satoru was about to pull away, disappointed, there it was—a tiny, barely-perceptible movement, like the brush of a butterfly’s wing.
Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer in existence, burst into tears.
“That’s our baby,” he choked out, his hand still pressed against Megumi’s stomach. “That’s our baby, Megumi. That’s our baby.”
“I know.” Megumi was crying too, tears streaming down his cheeks even as he laughed. “I know. It’s real. They’re real.”
Satoru pulled him close, careful as always not to put pressure on his stomach, and held him like he was the most precious thing in the universe. Because he was. They both were—Megumi, and the tiny life they’d created together, and the future that was slowly, impossibly, unfolding before them.
“I love you,” Satoru whispered into Megumi’s hair. “I love you so much. Both of you.”
“We love you too,” Megumi whispered back. And for the first time in his life, with absolute certainty, he added: “We’re going to be okay. All of us. We’re going to be okay.”
Outside the window, the sun was setting over Jujutsu High, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. Inside the room, wrapped in each other’s arms, an alpha and his omega and their unborn child held onto each other and let the future come.
It would be chaotic. It would be difficult. There would be challenges they couldn’t yet imagine and joys they couldn’t yet comprehend.
But they would face it together.
And that, in the end, was all that mattered.
THE END