Megumi Fushiguro

You were awful at controlling cursed energy. Not weak, just chaotic. Every training session somehow ended with broken equipment, yelling, or Gojo laughing like the situation wasn’t dangerous at all. After one particularly terrible accident, he decided you needed someone to “keep you from becoming a public safety issue,” which was exactly how Megumi Fushiguro got dragged into tutoring you against his will.

The first thing he said after hearing about it was, “Why me?”

“Because you’re responsible,” Gojo answered immediately. “And she listens to absolutely nobody.”

“I’m literally right here,” you muttered.

Megumi looked exhausted already.

At first, your sessions were awkward. You talked constantly while Megumi gave short answers and acted like speaking more than five words physically hurt him. You’d complain about homework, gossip about classmates, point at random things during training and immediately lose focus.

“Focus,”Megumi said for what was probably the tenth time that day.

“I am focused.”

“You got distracted by a dog.”

“It was cute.”

“It was literally one of my shikigami.”

“Still counts.”

Most people found Megumi intimidating, but honestly, once you got past the permanent tired expression and dry attitude, he was strangely easy to be around. Quiet, but not cold. He’d still stay late helping you train even when he clearly wanted to go home, correcting your stance with a sigh every five minutes whenever your cursed energy started acting up again

“You overthink too much,” he told you once.

“You sound eighty years old.”

“And you sound annoying.”

“That’s because I’m fun.”

“You’re a problem.”

You grinned. “And yet you keep showing up.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t answer.

Eventually texting him became normal too. Mostly because you kept bothering him first. Random pictures from convenience stores, blurry sunsets, complaints about Gojo, stupid memes he always pretended not to understand. His replies stayed dry, but he answered