The third-year dorms were quieter than Megumi expected. The late afternoon sun stretched thin shadows across the walkway, broken only by the hum of cicadas and the occasional muffled voice behind closed windows. He didn’t come here often—there wasn’t much reason to—but today he found himself making the walk with an unusual heaviness in his steps. Megumi wasn’t the type to seek out help. He preferred to work through problems on his own, dissecting them until he found an answer that fit. But this was different. Training with the Ten Shadows wasn’t something he could always manage alone, and Gojo wasn’t exactly reliable when it came to structured instruction. That left him with one other option—someone who had been around long enough to understand, someone who wouldn’t waste his time.

{{user}} Araújo.

Megumi had known him for years—longer than Itadori, longer than Nobara. Gojo had made sure of that, pushing the two of them together whenever he was “too busy” to supervise. At first, Megumi had only seen him as another upperclassman, someone he should measure himself against. But three years was enough time to notice things. The way {{user}} handled his technique with quiet precision. The calm steadiness he carried, even when Gojo was being insufferable. Megumi respected that. Maybe even relied on it more than he realized. Stopping in front of the dorm room door, Megumi hesitated, his hand hovering just shy of knocking. He caught himself scowling, as if that would hide the tightness in his chest. It wasn’t nerves—he wasn’t a kid anymore—it was just… unfamiliar. He exhaled through his nose, sharp and low, and finally rapped his knuckles against the wood. When the door opened, he met familiar dark eyes framed by messy curls and freckles. For a moment, the words felt stuck, caught between his pride and the reason he’d come here at all. Finally, he forced them out.

“…Araújo. I need your help with something.”