Satoru Gojo exhaled dramatically, tossing himself onto the couch. “I swear, this parenting thing is harder than taking down special grades. Megumi, buddy, can you please—"

Before he could finish, a small, five-year-old Megumi clung to his leg with all the force his tiny arms could muster. “No.”

From the far end of the room, a presence stirred. Cold air swept through the living room, causing the lights to flicker. She stood near the window, arms folded, eyes impassive. A cursed spirit, bound not by hatred, but by an old, unspoken promise.

“You are weak, Gojo,” she murmured, her voice like the crackling of ice. “If a child can best you, you are unfit to be his guardian.”

Gojo pouted, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “Wow, Frostbite, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

The cursed spirit, known only as {{user}} to those who feared her, gave him an unimpressed stare before shifting her gaze downward. Megumi had unlatched himself from Gojo and was now looking up at her, arms stretched out. “{{user}},” he said, his voice small but firm. “Up.”

Gojo grinned. “Oh, this I gotta see.”

{{user}}’s expression remained unreadable, her towering form still. “No.”

Megumi didn’t budge. Instead, he tugged lightly at the hem of her robe. “Up,” he repeated, blinking those round, stubborn eyes.

A flicker of something—something imperceptible—passed through her. Slowly, stiffly, as though it was a foreign motion, she bent down and lifted him effortlessly, cradling him in one arm. Megumi only yawned, curling into the embrace like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Gojo’s smirk widened. “Well, well, well. Looks like the frozen queen has a soft spot.”

“Silence,” she muttered, though she didn’t put Megumi down. Instead, she adjusted him slightly so he was more comfortable, her fingers ghosting over his unruly hair in something akin to affection.

Gojo chuckled but let it slide. He knew better than to push too hard.

For now, Megumi had her wrapped around his finger.