Archive of Our Own

Satoru jolted awake from a bad dream.  A dream he didn’t want to remember and didn’t want to think about ever again. He lifted his blindfold, only to be greeted by Itadori Yuji and Kugisaki Nobara, both of them immediately scolding him for falling asleep when he was the one who had called them. Their voices washed over him, familiar and grounding. And then, in front of him stood… Suguru.

Geto Suguru.

Suguru was looking at him with clear worry, his brows slightly furrowed. The sight of him made Satoru’s chest tighten. It felt… wrong. Wrong in a way he couldn’t explain. Because in his dream, Suguru was dead. Suguru was a maniac. A human killer Satoru had been forced to stop with his own hands. And yet here he was, alive, standing right in front of him, wearing the same teacher’s uniform as Satoru himself. That single detail was enough to anchor him. Because yes… it was only a dream. Just a dream. Still, it had felt disturbingly real, vivid enough to leave him shaken, blurring the line between reality and illusion. Satoru looked at the three of them for a moment longer before finally standing up from his seat. Nobara immediately claimed it, while Yuji complained loudly, as expected. Their bickering would usually amuse him. He never really minded, it felt natural, like dealing with his own kids.

Kids.

The thought felt foreign. And yet… painfully familiar. Because in that dream, he had a child. A companion. Someone who stayed by his side long after Suguru had left.

Now, as he walked toward Suguru, it was this reality that felt strange. Because somehow, the person who was supposed to feel real… felt like the illusion instead.

“Are you okay?” Suguru asked, placing a hand on Satoru’s shoulder. Satoru didn’t respond right away. His mind was still drifting somewhere between delusion and reality, trapped in a lingering fog that refused to lift. His vision felt unfocused, as though the world itself hadn’t fully settled back into place. Maybe it was just the remnants of sleep, his thoughts still spiraling from the nightmare.

Or maybe… it was something else. Something buried deep inside him. Something clawing at his consciousness, trying to speak. A truth he didn’t know in this life, yet somehow recognized. A presence that made his chest ache without reason. Slowly, Satoru turned his head toward Suguru and smiled.

“I am.” Suguru’s expression didn’t soften.

 “Liar. You didn’t even react.” He knew Satoru too well. Satoru was loud, vibrant, endlessly talkative. Silence did not belong to him. When Satoru grew quiet like this, it meant something was wrong. And worse still, Satoru was never the type to voice his fears or doubts. He would rather carry them alone, unravel them piece by piece in his own mind until they consumed him. That was always the hardest part. “Come on,” Suguru continued gently, his voice low, coaxing. “We’ve been married for four years. I know you better than you know yourself.” At that, Satoru slowly lifted his blindfold, just enough to reveal one eye. The pale blue gaze beneath it shimmered unnaturally, sharp and unblinking, as though he were dissecting Suguru down to his very core. There was something cold in that stare. Something distant. As if Satoru were searching for proof that Suguru was real… or bracing himself for the moment he wasn’t. That alone was strange enough. Strange enough to confirm Suguru’s fear that whatever haunted Satoru’s dream had followed him into waking reality.

“Married?” Satoru echoed. The word hit him like a bucket of ice water, cold enough to steal the breath from his lungs. The shock lingered, seeping into his bones. Why would he ask that? Why did it sound so foreign on his own tongue? Slowly, he removed his blindfold completely. His gaze dropped to his hand. A wedding band gleamed faintly on his finger. Satoru Gojo did not wear jewelry. Never had. Never would. Except for this. Because yes… he and Suguru were married. That truth should have been immovable. Certain. And yet his chest tightened with hesitation, an unease he couldn’t name. The man in front of him was Suguru.  A real Suguru. Not an impostor. Not a twisted reflection. Not someone wearing his face for another purpose. And still—Satoru exhaled shakily. “I’m… I’m really sorry. I don’t know what’s happening to me.” The words came out smaller than he intended, almost fragile. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Suguru, who remained frozen for a moment, shock rooting him in place. It was probably a good thing the kids were still distracted. Even if they weren’t, Satoru doubted he would have cared. He had just said something terrible to his husband. Suguru deserved an apology, one that was honest, raw, and complete. “I just…” Satoru swallowed. “I had a nightmare. And it felt too real.” Suguru finally moved, his arms coming around Satoru, holding him firmly as if afraid he might slip away. He rubbed slow circles into Satoru’s back, grounding him, anchoring him to the present. After a moment, Suguru spoke again, his voice uncertain, almost hesitant.

“Maybe it wasn’t just a dream,” he said. “I once heard someone say that if a dream feels like you, but not quite… then it might be another you. From another universe.” He let out a soft, awkward breath. “Another… reality.” He was rambling. He knew that. It was just a theory—something he’d read once, something unproven and easy to dismiss. But in a world where curses and sorcerers existed, where reality bent and broke so easily, nothing truly felt impossible. Suguru didn’t judge Satoru for the fear in his eyes. Because dreams were never just dreams. They carried fragments of truth. Possibilities. Lives that could have been—or still were, somewhere else. And now, Satoru had felt one of them.

“Yeah… if that’s true, then the other me is really unlucky,” Satoru muttered. His thoughts drifted back to the dream despite himself. Fragments surfaced, disconnected, incomplete. A child. Black hair, pale skin. Smiling so brightly it made Satoru’s chest ache. The boy’s face was washed out by sunlight, swallowed by it, no matter how hard Satoru tried to focus. He couldn’t see him clearly. Couldn’t remember him. Maybe… his and Suguru’s child. But that didn’t make sense. In that dream, Suguru wasn’t there. And if Suguru wasn’t there, then that child couldn’t possibly be theirs. The contradiction left a bitter taste behind. Satoru inhaled deeply, forcing the thought down, locking it away where it couldn’t reach him. He released Suguru’s hand and straightened, slipping back into something that resembled his usual self. “Alright, kids!” he announced brightly. “I’ve got a mission for you two! It’s kinda my fault you’re late anyway.” A chorus of complaints erupted immediately. Satoru stuck out his tongue in response, utterly unbothered, while Suguru laughed beside him. “Anyway…” Satoru continued casually, glancing around the room, “...is that all of you? Aren’t there supposed to be three students?” The words fell heavier than he intended. Because… yes. There were always three. Just like him, Suguru, and Shoko.

Silence followed.

Everyone in the room stared at him as if he’d just grown a second head.

“Sensei,” Nobara said slowly, arms crossed over her chest, “Are you forgetting your own students? There are only two of us.” Yuji nodded in agreement. Something inside Satoru went cold. He was certain—absolutely certain—that someone was missing. A presence that should have been there, standing between them. That space wasn’t empty. It felt wrong. Like the shadow of a person had been peeled away, leaving nothing but an outline burned into his mind. But there was no one there. And maybe… there never had been.

At least not in this life.

“Oh? Really?” Satoru laughed lightly, forcing the tension away. “Guess I’m still dreaming then.” He waved it off with an easy smile, careless and joking, not wanting to worry his students. He acted as though it didn’t bother him at all. But somewhere deep inside, something stirred. Because dreams didn’t usually leave behind empty spaces. And whatever, or whoever—was missing, Satoru had the terrible feeling that he wasn’t supposed to forget them.

“Jeez, Gojo-sensei is so weird!” Nobara laughed, her tone light and teasing. Neither she nor Yuji lingered on what Satoru had said moments ago. They brushed past it easily, as if it were nothing more than one of his usual odd remarks. And for that, Satoru was silently grateful. He moved on quickly, explaining the mission to his students with his usual confidence and careless charm, slipping back into the role they expected of him. Suguru, however, remained still. He listened, watched, and frowned. He knew Satoru too well. Whatever Satoru was experiencing now, whatever had shaken him so deeply was never meaningless. These moments, these strange instincts and fractures in behavior, always pointed toward something larger. Something dangerous. Suguru folded his arms, unease settling quietly in his chest. He could only hope nothing terrible would come of it. Because in all his years of knowing Satoru Gojo, one thing had never changed: When Satoru felt that something was wrong, he was always right.

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Zen’in Megumi woke from a gentle dream. One where life was… easier. Not perfect. Not a paradise. Just easier. A life where a single mistake didn’t mean going hungry. A life where no one touched him inappropriately while he slept. A life where failure didn’t turn him into a punching bag. A life where he was cared for. In that dream, he was loved by two people who cherished him unconditionally. He had a sister. And he had a father. Well, not truly a father by blood, but someone who protected him, who made sure he had food, warmth, and safety. Someone who stayed. Megumi would always think of him as his dad. What made the dream hurt more was the cruel truth that this person did exist in real life. Somewhere out there. Living, breathing. And yet… that man probably didn’t even know Megumi existed.

A quiet groan slipped from his lips as he turned onto his side. Pain bloomed instantly through his ribs, sharp and unforgiving, dragging him fully back into reality. Bruises screamed beneath his skin, reminders of last night’s punishment. He had failed to exorcise a special-grade curse, and the head of the clan had decided discipline was necessary. Necessary cruelty. For a brief, bitter moment, Megumi found himself jealous of Maki and Mai. They had escaped this cursed place. They could leave without someone placing a bounty on their heads the moment they stepped outside. Here, mercy did not exist. Not for him. Not when he was a Ten Shadows Technique user. Before he could even think about forcing himself to stand, the door slammed open.

Megumi froze. His body went still, his mind going frighteningly quiet. He didn’t have the strength left to fight. Didn’t have the energy to resist. If someone wanted to touch him again, hurt him again, he would be powerless to stop it. Footsteps entered the room. It was his assigned caretakers. And with them stood one of the high-ranking officials of the Zen’in clan. Megumi’s chest tightened as the last remnants of his dream slipped away, leaving nothing behind but pain, fear, and the aching memory of a life he would never have.

“Wake up, brat. You’ve got a mission today.” The man’s voice was rough, impatient. “You’re lucky it’s only a Grade Two curse. Otherwise, Naobito-sama would’ve had you minced.” Megumi groaned softly and tried to push himself into a seated position. A sharp click of the tongue came first—then a slap. Pain exploded across his cheek, snapping his head to the side. “No one told you to laze around, damn it!” the man barked. “Prepare him.” With that, he turned and left the room without another glance. The caretakers bowed and moved quickly, lifting Megumi with careful hands and guiding him toward the bathroom. He was quietly grateful for them. Not all caretakers were kind. But some were. The clan had chosen them, yet they still found ways to be gentle. When he was younger, they used to whisper encouragement, sneak him small comforts, offer him fragments of a childhood he was never meant to have. They understood the burden he carried, even if they could do nothing to change it. It wasn’t a good life. But it was better than this.

Time passed in a blur.

Eventually, Megumi stood dressed in a navy kimono, the fabric heavy and restrictive against his battered body. He hated the clothing the clan favored. Hated everything it represented—but complaining had never earned him anything except pain. So he stayed silent. He was exhausted. Barely holding himself together. He didn’t think he could exorcise even a Grade Two curse in this condition. But saying that to the clan head was unthinkable. So he obeyed. Like he always did. Like a dog. The mission details were given to him coldly before he was abandoned at the site: an old cathedral, long since deserted. Ten years ago, a fire had torn through it during prayer, killing dozens. Even now, people came to mourn, to pray for the dead. And where grief gathered, curses followed. The negative energy of the victims, the sorrow of the living. It had all pooled here. A curse had formed, strong enough to attack workers attempting to rebuild the place.

Now Megumi stood alone at its entrance. He was expected to kill it with whatever strength he had left. Even if it killed him in the process. Because honestly… that felt preferable to returning alive to the hell he called home.

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By the time Yuji and Nobara arrived, the area was already saturated with cursed energy. It was strong, dense, and wrong in a way that made Yuji’s skin crawl. Ijichi panicked, throwing up a veil as fast as he could before it was too late. The air seemed to thrum the moment it settled into place. Without hesitation, Yuji and Nobara rushed into the cathedral, expecting the worst. They assumed the curse had already attacked someone. They were only half right. Someone was there. A man sat atop the curse’s body, which lay sprawled across the stone floor, completely unconscious. Thick, unnatural purple sludge—likely its blood—had pooled beneath it, staining the cracked tiles. The man himself was breathing heavily. Blood streamed down from the top of his head, soaking into his hair and dripping onto the floor below. He was clearly injured badly, but still upright. That alone was alarming. Whoever he was, he had to be a sorcerer. Yuji and Nobara didn’t let their guard down. Experience had taught them better. Humans interfered in curse-related incidents more often than they should—sometimes with their own techniques, sometimes with far more dangerous intentions. They stopped at a safe distance.

“Hey!” Yuji called out, voice echoing through the hollow space. “Who are you? Are you okay?” The man didn’t answer. He didn’t move either. He just stared at Yuji with wary, unfocused eyes. His gaze was sharp, suspicious, yet strangely empty, as if he hadn’t expected anyone else to be there at all. The silence stretched. And with every second it lingered, the unease in Yuji’s chest grew heavier.

“Is he deaf?” Nobara muttered, irritation sharp in her voice. The man remained where he was, unmoving, staring at them with a distant, almost judgmental look. The air felt tense, wrong, like something was holding its breath. They were about to press him again when—

The ceiling collapsed.

Stone and shattered wood thundered down from the second floor, crashing directly toward the man. And with it came another presence. Another curse. This one was nothing like the first. It was larger, its form grotesque and uneven, cursed energy rolling off it in suffocating waves. Stronger. Far more dangerous. But that wasn’t the worst part. Supporting pillars snapped and fell, one of them driving straight through the man’s chest. Clean through. Yuji and Nobara shouted in horror as the man was ripped from his place and slammed to the ground, his legs pinned beneath the debris. Blood spread rapidly, dark and slick against the broken floor.

The man, Zen’in Megumi—lay there, utterly defeated. Pain flooded him from every direction. His body screamed, each breath a struggle. Blood soaked through his clothes, warm and endless. His vision blurred, the world smearing into shapeless light and shadow as exhaustion dragged at him. Sleep tugged at his consciousness. And for the first time, it didn’t feel frightening. Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe he could dream again. Stay in a world where his life was kinder than this one.

He heard voices—distant, frantic screams. He didn’t know who they were, but something about them felt familiar. Like faces he’d seen once, long ago, in a dream he almost remembered. Megumi tried to focus. Tried to see the figure running toward him. But it was pointless. The darkness crept in, gentle and irresistible. He had no strength left to fight. No desire to hold on. So he let the tiredness take him. And Zen’in Megumi slipped into sleep.

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Having someone knock on his and Suguru’s dorm door while they were in the middle of things was the last thing Satoru wanted to experience. If it was Ijichi, Satoru swore he would actually smack him. Suguru had asked him to calm down—soft, patient as always. But being interrupted like this was irritating no matter how you looked at it. With a quiet sigh, Suguru pulled himself together and went to answer the door, ever the considerate one. Satoru lingered near the bedroom entrance, peeking out just enough to see what the fuss was about. He wanted to know who had the audacity to knock now. When Suguru opened the door, Nanami Kento stood there. That alone was strange. Nanami rarely came anywhere near the dorms. He insisted—repeatedly—that he wasn’t a teacher, though none of them believed it. He was far too involved, far too protective of the students, and far too willing to step in when needed. If this were some kind of joke, which Nanami wasn’t inclined to make, it would’ve been in very poor taste. Before Satoru could voice a complaint, Nanami spoke.

“Is Gojo-san here?” His tone was flat, as usual. Calm. Detached. As though he weren’t standing outside his colleague’s dorm in the middle of the night. But Satoru heard it clearly and that alone made him frown. Why would Nanami need him?

“There~,” Satoru answered, stepping into view with his usual teasing grin. “Why? Miss me already?” Nanami didn’t react. No sigh. No complaint. No visible annoyance. That was the problem. Nanami always reacted. Despite being younger than Satoru, he carried himself like someone decades older—likely from years of stress Satoru himself had inflicted. The lack of response made the air feel heavier, wrong in a way Satoru couldn’t quite place. And suddenly, the interruption didn’t feel annoying anymore. It felt ominous.

“There’s a situation that concerns you,” Nanami said. “It involves the first-years’ mission.” The moment the words left his mouth, Satoru pulled on a shirt and stepped toward the door. The teasing vanished instantly, drained from his voice as if it had never been there. He trusted his students. He always had. They’d been through countless missions together, and even when they came back battered and bruised, they came back alive. They were capable. Strong. But something in Nanami’s tone tightened Satoru’s chest. “The first-years are fine, if that’s what you’re worried about. In fact, this time they weren’t injured at all.” Satoru let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “That’s because… someone was already there before they arrived. Someone who dealt with the curse for them.” One of Satoru’s brows rose in confusion. Interference in missions assigned to Jujutsu Tech was rare. Unapproved. He would have known if another sorcerer had been dispatched. Nanami seemed to read the question on his face. “Itadori-kun and Kugisaki-san reported that when they arrived, the curse had already been exorcised,” Nanami said calmly. “By a boy around their age. His cursed energy was unusually strong. Strong enough to overpower the curse completely.” Satoru’s expression sharpened. “But when they tried to question him, another curse appeared. A special-grade. It destroyed the ceiling. The boy was impaled by falling steel. Itadori-kun and Kugisaki-san managed to evacuate him and return to Jujutsu High immediately.” The hallway felt suddenly too quiet. “We ran a background check as soon as possible. And we found something.” He paused. Just long enough to let the weight of it sink in.

“The boy is affiliated with the Zen’in clan.” Satoru’s breath caught. Beside him, Suguru stiffened. Both of them stared at Nanami, eyes widened. Not in surprise alone, but in recognition. Because somehow, without having seen the boy yet, Satoru already had the terrible feeling that this was the beginning of something he had been dreaming about long before now. And that the Zen’in clan was never involved without blood following close behind.

Satoru understood now why his involvement was necessary. As the head of the Gojo clan and one of the few who still maintained even a fragile connection with the Zen’in clan, he was the only one who could handle this quietly. If the Zen’in clan learned that one of their own was being treated at Jujutsu Tech, they would descend in force. And no one wanted that. So Satoru asked Nanami where the boy had been taken. That was how they ended up walking down the dim hallway toward the morgue, where Shoko was tending to him. Each step felt heavier than the last, unease curling tighter in Satoru’s chest with every meter they passed. When Satoru opened the door, the sight before him stole the breath from his lungs. The boy lay there.

The same boy who felt impossibly familiar—someone he was certain he had never met, and yet someone his soul seemed to recognize instantly. The contradiction made his head throb.

Have we met?

Satoru was sure he had seen that hair before. That face. The way his expression naturally settled into something quiet and guarded. It tugged at memories that refused to surface. What was his name? Something starting with an M. A shadow that lingered at the edges of his dreams. Someone who looked at him with calm indifference, yet unmistakable respect, as though Satoru had once been important to him. Satoru’s chest tightened painfully. Because standing there, staring at the unconscious boy, Satoru realized something was deeply wrong. Why couldn’t he remember? Why had he forgotten—when this boy felt like someone he should never have been able to forget?

“Oh, you’re here. Well, that figures—especially given the circumstances.” Shoko spoke without looking up. “If you’re wondering, he’ll be fine. Physically, at least. He needs a lot of rest, though.” Satoru stepped closer to the bed. He studied the boy’s face carefully, as if memorizing it. Black hair, slightly tousled. Long lashes casting shadows against pale skin. Bruises bloomed across his face—marks left behind by battle, by pain that had come far too easily to him. “Poor kid,” Shoko continued, hands tucked into her pockets. “Looks like he’s pushed himself past his limit. His cursed energy’s almost completely drained. And there are bruises everywhere. Not just from the curse.” Something twisted sharply in Satoru’s chest. Anger flared. Hot and sudden, directed at a boy he had never met. And beneath it, quieter but heavier, was guilt. Guilt for something he couldn’t name. Something he didn’t remember doing. Yet every instinct screamed the same thing.

This is my fault.

“What do you mean?” Suguru asked, stepping closer to the bed as well, his voice low. Shoko let out a tired sigh and finally looked at the sleeping boy.

“I don’t know the full story,” she admitted. “But something’s been happening to him while he was with the Zen’in clan. And we both know those old geezers don’t let anyone live happily ever after.” She turned away, heading toward her desk, already reaching for a cigarette. “So it’s up to you, Satoru,” she added casually. “You can send him back to the Zen’in. Or you can keep him here for a while and deal with the diplomatic bullshit your clan’s so good at.” The words lingered in the air. Suguru watched Shoko light up and thought—absently—that he might need a cigarette too. Because whatever choice Satoru made next, none of them were going to walk away untouched.

“From the information we’ve gathered,” Nanami said, eyes fixed on the tablet in his hand, “His name is… Megumi. Zen’in Megumi. Formerly Fushiguro Megumi. He’s a—”

“—A Ten Shadows Technique user,” Satoru cut in sharply. The room went still. “Son of Fushiguro Toji,” Satoru continued, breath hitching as the words tumbled out faster than his thoughts could catch up. “I—I know him. Suguru, I know him!” Nanami paused mid-sentence. Suguru turned to Satoru, confusion flickering across his face. He didn’t understand. Not yet. But then again, no one ever truly did when it came to Satoru’s thoughts. Satoru had always been like this. Ideas struck him all at once, violently, gears locking into place in ways only he could follow. He talked to himself, laughed at things no one else could see, unraveled truths alone before anyone else even realized there was something to unravel. And now… Satoru laughed under his breath, a thin, unsteady sound, fingers curling into his own hair as if grounding himself was suddenly difficult.

“Satoru?” Suguru called carefully.

“You remember what I told you?” Satoru said rapidly, eyes shining with something too sharp to be excitement. “About the dream? How it felt like me—but not really me?” Suguru stiffened. “In that dream, this boy existed. And he wasn’t a Zen’in. He was a Fushiguro. I took him in and— and—”

“Satoru,” Suguru interrupted, stepping closer and gripping his hand firmly, “I think you’re spiraling again.” He held on tightly, grounding him, because this—this frantic energy, this disjointed urgency—was familiar. And dangerous. Satoru was tugging at his hair like a man on the brink, talking about dreams as if they were memories. Suguru wanted to believe it was coincidence. He wasn’t sure he could afford to.

“You don’t understand,” Satoru said, voice breaking with frustration as he turned to Suguru. “It’s not just a dream. It’s—”

“Can all of you shut up?” The voice didn’t belong to any of them. The room went still. All eyes turned toward the bed. The boy’s eyes were open now—half-lidded, unfocused, but undeniably awake. Not fully conscious yet, but no longer asleep either. Shoko and Nanami stepped closer instinctively, careful to keep their distance, wary of startling him. Satoru and Suguru, however, were already close enough that retreat felt impossible. Megumi blinked a few times, adjusting to the harsh light overhead. And then his gaze landed on Satoru. His eyes widened. Because… that man… That man was someone he recognized. From a dream. “Have we met before?” Megumi asked quietly, lifting a trembling hand to point at Satoru. His voice was rough, still caught between sleep and waking. “Like… in a dream?” The room held its breath. “Or maybe…” he added after a pause, brow furrowing, “...We met for real.” Satoru’s lips curled into a wide, unmistakable grin.

Oh.

So it wasn’t just him.

“Only in a dream,” Satoru replied easily, far too casually for what had just been said. “But hey, Megumiii~ it’s nice to finally meet you!” He said it with absolute confidence, as if this impossible recognition were the most natural thing in the world. Around them, three grown adults stared in silent judgment—Shoko with narrowed eyes, Nanami frowning deeply, Suguru frozen somewhere between concern and disbelief. Because from where they stood, it looked an awful lot like both Satoru Gojo and Zen’in Megumi had finally lost their minds.

And yet—Something in the air felt right. As if two people who were never supposed to remember each other… finally had.

“Whatever,” Megumi muttered. The brief spark of something—recognition, curiosity, maybe even hope—faded from his expression, replaced by something dull and heavy. Something somber. Meeting Satoru Gojo didn’t really change anything. Megumi already knew who he was. Everyone did. The Gojo Satoru. Strongest sorcerer alive, untouchable, distant. A name spoken with awe and fear in equal measure. And in Megumi’s dream… Satoru had been his dad. The thought felt ridiculous now. Embarrassing, even. Reality was crueler than dreams. Even if Satoru knew who he was, even if Satoru remembered something Megumi couldn’t explain—nothing would truly change. Satoru would always belong to someone else. To another world. Another life. Not his father.  Not his family.

“Ah… right,” Satoru said softly. “There’s something we should talk about, now that you’re awake.” His voice was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness beneath it. Megumi shrugged, offering no response, no resistance. Just quiet acceptance. Satoru hesitated for half a second before asking, “Do you want to go back?” The question was asked carefully. Innocently. There was no judgment in Satoru’s tone. No pressure. To him, it was a genuine choice. Megumi could say yes or no, and Satoru would listen. But Megumi knew better. For the Zen’in clan, it was never a choice. If he didn’t return, they would come for him. They would hunt him down. They would hurt others to drag him back if they had to. He was too valuable to lose. The future of the Zen’in clan. Megumi didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.” The word left his mouth quietly. The room seemed to freeze. No one spoke. No one moved. No dramatic expressions crossed their faces—but the tension was unmistakable, pressing heavy against their chests. Because everyone in that room understood the truth Megumi hadn’t said out loud: That answer wasn’t what he wanted. It was what he believed he deserved.

“Is that really what you want?” Satoru asked, his voice still gentle. Megumi shook his head. No. He didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want to return to a place where pain was handed out like punishment for existing. Where he was treated like a piñata to be beaten whenever someone else was dissatisfied. “Then why don’t you say no?” Satoru asked carefully, as if afraid of breaking something fragile. Megumi looked down, fingers twisting together in his lap.

“Because… it’s not actually my choice,” he said quietly. His voice was sharper now. Not with anger, but with certainty. “They’ll make me go back either way.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. Reality had taught him well enough that explanations were useless. Resistance only made things worse. Accepting it was easier. For a moment, no one spoke.

Then—

“Mm… okay!” Satoru said brightly. “Leave it to me~” The confidence in his voice was immediate and unwavering. Megumi’s head snapped up before he could stop himself, eyes widening just a fraction. He stared at Satoru, confused, unsettled. Why? Why would this man—someone he had only just met—say something like that? Say it so easily, so assuredly, as if the problem had already been solved. Megumi didn’t know what to do with that kind of certainty. He looked down again, fingers resuming their nervous movements. But for the first time in a long while, something unfamiliar stirred in his chest.

“No,” Megumi said quietly. “You don’t have to do anything.” His voice was low, almost flat, but every word landed with painful clarity. “If you just want to turn me into another pawn for your own show, then I’d rather stay with the Zen’in. At least there…” His fingers tightened against the sheets. “At least there, I have a reason to live. Something to prove. Something to chase.” The room fell into silence. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was the kind of silence that pressed in on the chest, heavy and suffocating. Shoko looked down first. After a moment, she quietly excused herself, slipping out without a word. Nanami followed soon after, sensing the same thing—that staying would only make the air harder for Megumi to breathe. Only Satoru and Suguru remained. Satoru stood there, frozen.He didn’t know what to say. Negotiations, politics, clan diplomacy—those were things he could handle effortlessly. But this wasn’t about power or leverage. This was about pain. About survival. About a child who had learned to justify his own suffering just to keep going. And Satoru had never been good with that. So Suguru stepped forward. He stopped beside Megumi’s bed—not too close, not invasive, but undeniably present.

“‘A reason to live,’” Suguru repeated softly. “Is that what they taught you to call it?” His tone was careful, gentle enough not to wound. Megumi didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away either. Suguru took that as permission to continue. “Megumi,” he said quietly, “we’re not here to make you our pawn.” He paused, choosing his words with intention. “We’re here to rescue you.” Megumi’s breath hitched, just slightly. “To show you that there are other reasons to live, ones that don’t require you to suffer just to earn them. You don’t have to keep chasing promises made by people who hurt you.” He looked Megumi straight in the eyes. “I swear this with my life, we will never treat you the way they did.” Megumi’s eyes widened, just a little. The words didn’t sound rehearsed. They didn’t sound like pity or manipulation. They sounded solid. Real. The way truth was supposed to sound. For a fleeting moment, it felt like waking up from a nightmare that brief, disorienting second where the fear hasn’t fully faded yet, but the pain is gone. And for the first time, Megumi wondered what it might be like to live without having to prove he deserved to exist.

“A–Are you… promising?” Megumi asked. “You’re… telling the truth?” His voice trembled, fragile enough to fracture the room. He was sixteen. Old enough to fight curses, old enough to bleed for others—yet in that moment he sounded like a child trapped in the dark, begging not to be left alone. Like someone who had learned too early that hope was dangerous. And it made their chests ache. It made them want to fight harder. To turn whatever fragile dream Satoru had once seen—Megumi safe, Megumi loved—into something real.

“Only the truth,” Suguru said gently. “No lies. We’ll take care of you.” He didn’t rush. Didn’t soften the promise with uncertainty. “We’ll help you live because you want to, not because you’re forced to. And we’ll do everything we can to make you happy.” Something inside Megumi finally gave way. The walls he’d built—carefully, desperately—crumbled all at once. His eyes filled, lashes trembling, and then the tears spilled over. Quiet at first. Then broken sobs, wracking his small frame. Satoru didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and wrapped Megumi in his arms, pulling him gently against his chest. One hand came up to rub slow, steady circles into his back, grounding him.

“Shh… it’s okay,” Satoru murmured. “It’s okay. We’ve got you.” Megumi clutched at Satoru’s jacket like it was the only solid thing left in the world. “You can rest now, Megumi,” Satoru whispered. “You’ve been exhausted, haven’t you? These past few years… You don’t have to be strong anymore.” His voice was nothing but warmth. “I promise, everything’s going to be okay.” And even through the tears, through the shaking breaths and the fear that hadn’t fully faded yet—it felt worth it. Because Satoru had found the child from his dream.

And Megumi…

Megumi had finally woken up from one hell of a bad dream.

-END-