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Yuji Itadori never knew what he was supposed to say when someone has a child.
Of course, it wasn’t the first time he’d met the child of someone he cared about —that honor had gone to Iori, five years earlier— but that didn’t make him feel prepared. Not for this. Not for meeting Megumi’s daughter.
He had trained to fight curses, had died —technically— twice, had carried guilt that wasn’t his to bear, and had stood face to face with Ryomen Sukuna. And yet, standing silently in front of an apartment door, holding an awkwardly wrapped gift in his hands, felt like a different kind of challenge.
One that was more real.
And far more fragile.
He took a deep breath before knocking.
Megumi didn’t open the door right away. When he finally did, Yuji needed a second to recognize him.
He was still Fushiguro, of course. The same serious face, the same green eyes that always seemed to be calculating something. But there was something different in his posture, in the way he held the door with one hand, as if he were ready to close it immediately if the world became too loud.
“Come in,” Megumi said after a brief silence.
The apartment was small and quiet. It didn’t smell like disinfectant, like hospitals, but neither did it smell of lavender —Megumi’s favorite scent—. Instead, it carried a soft, gentle aroma, something closer to vanilla.
“Where’s the new member of the family?” Yuji asked, lowering his voice without thinking. Something about the stillness of the place told him the baby was asleep.
“Asleep, but not for long,” Megumi replied as he guided him toward the couches. “She’ll wake up any minute to eat.”
Yuji nodded and sat down on the beige sofa, adjusting the gift between his hands. For a moment, he didn’t know where to look or what to do with them. He felt out of place, as if any sudden movement might snap the invisible thread that still connected them.
“Uh… congratulations,” he said at last. “Here. I brought you this. I hope you like it. Or that it’s useful, at least.”
Megumi nodded.
“Thanks.”
He didn’t smile. But he didn’t seem uncomfortable either. Just… attentive. His expression was more open than it had been in a long time. Yuji tried not to think about how many times —and under what circumstances— he’d been allowed to see that side of him.
That was when he saw her.
She was wrapped in a light-colored blanket, resting in her crib with an almost unnatural serenity. She was small. Too small. Yuji felt a strange pressure in his chest as he watched her breathe, slow and steady, as if nothing in the world could reach her.
“She’s beautiful,” he whispered, awed by the sight. “What’s her name?”
“Hikari,” Megumi replied as he took the gift Yuji had brought and placed it beside him.
It was astonishing how easy it was to recognize Megumi in her. There was little of her mother, and the thought tightened Yuji’s chest in an unexpected way. Because she had been a wonderful woman, special enough for Megumi to fall in love with her… and for the world, in the end, to take her far too soon.
She’s going to be a mini Megumi.
The idea brought him a quiet comfort. He would have loved to see her grow, to watch her become someone of her own, and yet find a part of his friend reflected in her. But he knew that was impossible. He had made his choice that day in Shinjuku, and now all he could do was keep moving forward, as he had been doing: trying to rekindle a friendship and a trust he no longer knew would ever be the same.
“Hikari,” he repeated slowly, testing how it sounded on his tongue. “It’s a beautiful name.”
“It is,” Megumi replied. “We thought it was perfect for her.”
As he said that, Megumi gently, almost reverently, touched the ring on his left hand.
“Yeah,” Yuji said, his mouth suddenly dry. “Too perfect.”
Silence settled between them again. It wasn’t uncomfortable; if anything, it was calm. The kind that nudges you toward thoughts you’ve been avoiding.
“I didn’t know if I should come,” Yuji admitted heavily.
Megumi looked at him, surprised. He clearly hadn’t expected that confession.
“I thought… I thought you’d only invited me so Kugisaki wouldn’t bother you. So she wouldn’t hover.”
Megumi frowned, then looked away, his gaze drifting toward his daughter.
“I invited you because you’re still important,” he said at last. “Even if we’re not as close anymore.”
Silence settled once more, soft and almost careful. It was strange —though not bad— to have this kind of honest conversation with Megumi again.
I feel lonely without you, Fushiguro.
Yuji bit his lip to keep himself from saying the same words he’d spoken on that fateful day. It would have been selfish. He couldn’t ask Megumi to give him his place back in his life. He couldn’t take that happiness from him.
Then a sound pulled him from his thoughts.
A whimper at first. Barely a thread of sound. Then a more insistent cry.
Megumi reacted immediately. There was no rush, no nervousness, just a precise, automatic movement. He walked over to the crib and leaned over it with the same focus he used to show before a fight, though now his hands were gentler, slower.
“I’m coming,” he murmured, almost a sigh meant only for her.
Hikari stirred beneath the blanket, her face scrunching into a brief grimace before she let out a soft cry.
Megumi lifted her carefully and held her against his chest. The crying faded little by little, as if the mere closeness was enough to remind her she was safe.
“She’s hungry,” he said without looking at Yuji. More an observation than an explanation.
Yuji nodded, even though no one was watching.
He allowed himself to really look then. Truly. The way Megumi held Hikari, how he tilted his head just slightly to make sure she was comfortable, how his expression softened without him even realizing it. He wasn’t the serious sorcerer anymore, nor the boy who had carried impossible decisions on his shoulders.
He was just a father.
And Yuji understood something with a clarity that hurt a little.
That world no longer belonged to him.
Megumi no longer belonged to him.
Not like before. Not as a constant partner, not as someone indispensable. Now his place was on the edges, at the right distance not intrusive, but not gone either.
And for the first time in a long while, that was okay.
“I’m glad she’s okay,” he said at last, his voice low. “That you’re okay.”
Megumi looked at him then. Just for a moment. There was no reproach in his eyes, no open nostalgia only shared exhaustion… and something closer to acceptance.
Yuji stood up carefully, as if the simple motion might disrupt the balance of the room.
“I don’t want to interrupt,” he said, nodding slightly toward Hikari. “Besides… I think I’ve already done what I came to do.”
Megumi didn’t respond right away. He adjusted the blanket around his daughter before speaking.
"Thanks for the gift,” he said. “And for actually coming.”
Yuji nodded.
He stepped a little closer, just enough to look at the baby one last time. Hikari was asleep again, her brow relaxed, unaware of everything it had taken for the world holding her together.
“Take good care of her,” he murmured.
Megumi lifted his gaze.
“That’s the plan.”
Yuji smiled. A small, honest smile. Then he headed for the door without dragging the moment out. He knew that if he did, he might not be able to leave.
Megumi walked him to the entrance.
“Itadori.”
Yuji stopped.
“If you ever…” Megumi hesitated briefly. “If you ever need anything…”
Yuji shook his head gently.
“I’ll be fine.”
He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Before closing it, he turned back one last time.
“Fushiguro.”
“Yes?”
Yuji looked toward the inside of the apartment, toward that quiet space that no longer belonged to him, toward a life that continued without him at its center.
“I’ll protect her.”
Megumi didn’t ask what he meant. There was no need.
Yuji held his gaze for another second.
“I swear.”
Megumi didn’t answer with words. He just nodded once.
The door closed.
The sound was soft. Final.
Yuji walked down the hallway, down the stairs, and out into the open air. The cold afternoon breeze hit him full on, clearing his thoughts. He walked aimlessly for a while, letting distance do its work.
When he finally stopped, he looked up at the sky.
Then start by saving me, Itadori.
The voice from the past no longer sounded like an order, but like a memory that had learned how to transform.
“I will,” he whispered. “All of them.”
He resumed walking.
He didn’t know what dangers would come next.
But he knew one thing.
As long as Yuji Itadori remained standing, no descendant of Megumi Fushiguro would ever come to harm.
And with that in mind, he kept moving forward.