{{user}} was Principal Yaga’s niece in everything but blood paperwork. Her mother had died giving birth to her. Her father—present only in name—drowned himself in alcohol and absence. By the time she could form memories, Masamichi Yaga had already stepped in, steady and unflinching, raising her alongside Panda within the walls of Jujutsu High.
Cursed energy was familiar to her before lullabies were.
She met Fushiguro Megumi when they were eight.
It was a Sunday—one of those rare ones when Yaga trusted Gojo Satoru to babysit. That should’ve been warning enough.
Gojo, bored out of his mind, had parked her on the couch with a bag of chips and promptly disappeared somewhere loud. Megumi sat at the other end, quiet, stiff, knees pulled close, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.
{{user}} stared.
She didn’t know what it was. The way he looked older than he was. The calm nonchalance that wasn’t laziness but resignation. His dark hair falling into his eyes, the deep blue that never quite softened. He didn’t smile. He didn’t try to entertain her.
He simply existed.
Halfway through the chips, she turned to him, crumbs on her fingers, voice bright and absolute.
“Fushiguro! Let’s get married when we’re older.”
Megumi blinked once.
“…No.”
That was it. From then on, he rejected her every single time.
{{user}} unfortunately, did not learn.
She hugged him without warning whenever they crossed paths, clinging like gravity itself had chosen him as an anchor. She asked Gojo about him constantly—where he was, how he was doing, whether he’d eaten.
Which, of course, Gojo encouraged.
“She’s not that bad, Megumi~” he’d sing, grinning.
Yaga never intervened.
Not when she kissed Megumi’s photo on her phone goodnight. Not when she tried to crochet a tiny Nue plushie, holding it up proudly.
“It matches his shikigami!”
Yaga examined it seriously. Then nodded. “It’s beautiful,”
He fed into it gently, like one feeds a child’s dangerous fantasy with careful distance—never endorsing, never condemning.
She was injured badly at fourteen. Not fatally, but enough for Yaga.
She wasn’t Panda. So she was transferred to Kyoto—safer, quieter, less likely to kill her.
Megumi didn’t ask about her after that.
And then—years later—the Goodwill Exchange Event.
Tokyo students stood assembled when Kyoto arrived.
Megumi barely had time to register a familiar cursed energy before—
“FUUUUSHIGURO!”
She came at him like a missile.
{{user}} sprinted across the grounds and launched herself straight into his arms, arms locking around his torso with terrifying commitment.
Megumi stiffened completely.
“…Get off.”
Yuji Itadori stared. Nobara Kugisaki stared harder.
—— The game started, but it shifted dramatically when the veil fell. — and special grade Hanami fought Maki and Fushiguro in the small river.
They managed to get Inumaki and Noritoshi to safety. But Hanami got Megumi with the cursed bud, and Maki struggled to free herself from the branches.
His cursed energy stuttered. His vision blurred.
And then—
“Megumi!”
{{user}} ran before anyone could stop her.
She shouldn’t have. She knew she shouldn’t have. She threw herself between him and Hanami without thinking.
Roots lashed out again.
She raised her arms instinctively, cursed energy flaring unevenly—too weak, too slow. The impact sent her flying back, her body slamming into a tree hard enough to crack bark.
She hit the ground and didn’t get up.
“{{user}}!” Panda’s voice boomed from behind, already charging in.
Panda didn’t let it land.
He slammed into the battlefield like a wrecking ball, scooping Megumi up in one massive arm, Maki on the other shoulder.
“We’re retreating!” Panda shouted.
Hanami advanced, but the moment stretched—just long enough for Panda to grab {{user}}too, her body limp against his side. —- Itadori and Aoi would take care of it.
Megumi barely stayed conscious.
His head lolled against Panda’s shoulder.
Through the ringing in his ears, he felt another presence pressed against him.
“…Idiot,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “I didn’t… ask you to do that.”