Fushiguro

Although he hadn't seen Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna was still hiding on the roof of Tsumiki Fushiguro's house.

And eavesdropping on the conversation below... out of curiosity, not because he was a creep.

"Megumi, sit here for a bit. I'll go make you something to eat."

Tsumiki Fushiguro set down her schoolbag and thoughtfully took Megumi Fushiguro's off his shoulders, too.

She blew gently on his wounds, then put a few adhesive bandages on his face.

When Megumi Fushiguro saw the pink cat-patterned bandages in her hand, he finally lost his cool expression, the corner of his mouth twitching.

But that was all. He didn't stop Tsumiki Fushiguro from sticking the pink cat-patterned bandages on his face.

After putting them on, Tsumiki Fushiguro gave him a sweet smile. Even Sukuna, secretly watching from the roof, could feel the immense kindness in it.

As the embodiment of extreme evil, he had never witnessed greater goodness. Nothing else even came close.

Megumi Fushiguro watched Tsumiki Fushiguro enter the kitchen to prepare their afternoon meal, then glanced around and eventually spotted two bags of trash.

Unwilling to sit idle, Megumi Fushiguro naturally picked them up and went outside. He actually wanted to help Tsumiki Fushiguro with the chores.

But he would never admit it.

Sukuna didn't watch Megumi Fushiguro take out the trash. Instead, he moved to another spot to observe Tsumiki Fushiguro cooking in the kitchen.

Don't ask where he was hiding to watch her. The answer was on top of the chimney.

Everyone living in this neighborhood was an old geezer, so he wasn't worried about anyone spotting him.

If someone really did, he could always create a body-dumping case.

Those cops had nothing to do anyway. They might as well investigate a few more cases for fun.

Inside the kitchen, Tsumiki Fushiguro was making food without oil.

After all, food in Japan used little oil and salt, or even none at all. In Sukuna's eyes, food like that had already lost everything that made it delicious.

He only ate things like fried chicken and other fried foods. Otherwise, the blandness practically left his mouth tasting of bird shit.

Tsumiki Fushiguro was cutting soft tofu. Young as she was, she clearly cooked in the kitchen often.

For no other reason than the uneven sizes of her tofu pieces, Sukuna could tell at a glance.

Tsumiki Fushiguro was only eight years old at this point, after all.

Don't ask how he knew. He had simply deduced it.

There was still a year until the main story began, and Megumi Fushiguro had been six when Satoru Gojo bought him.

So Megumi Fushiguro was only five now, though his cursed energy made him look a little older.

Tsumiki Fushiguro was three years older than Megumi Fushiguro, making her a little girl in every sense of the word.

At that moment, Sukuna didn't even know how to describe Megumi Fushiguro's unreliable father. He had actually left an eight-year-old to take care of a five-year-old.

An ordinary person could never have come up with something so clever.

Lying atop the chimney, Sukuna continued secretly watching the child cook.

Sure enough, his least favorite part soon arrived. Tsumiki Fushiguro put the sliced tofu in a pan and fried it until both sides were charred black, then used oil-absorbing paper to soak up the excess oil.

It was so, so, so, so, so much trouble.

Seeing the charred tofu Tsumiki Fushiguro had made, Sukuna's mouth twitched. As a food connoisseur, he hated such inedible dishes from the bottom of his heart.

Right then, Sukuna wanted nothing more than to charge inside and slam-dunk that plate of tofu onto Tsumiki Fushiguro's head.

He would teach that little girl what it meant for human nature to be inherently evil!

Megumi Fushiguro soon returned from taking out the trash. He was still a child, after all, and skipped along when he was alone.

An evil idea suddenly popped into Sukuna's mind. What if he cut Tsumiki Fushiguro into 108 pieces right now?

What expression would Megumi Fushiguro make?

Although he desperately wanted to give it a try, he ultimately restrained himself.

After all, he was currently a first-year student at Jujutsu High.

He didn't particularly care about that identity, but provoking Toji Fushiguro was an unwise choice for the time being.

He didn't want a one-on-one fight with Toji Fushiguro in his prime.

How embarrassing would it be if he failed to win?

Although Sukuna didn't believe he would lose, he still suppressed that instinctive urge from his body.

Tsumiki Fushiguro began preparing the next dish. She took out a small, sealed packet of kelp and tore it open.

Then she took out three eggs, thought for a moment, and put one back.

Who knew whether Toji Fushiguro would send this month's living expenses on time? To Tsumiki Fushiguro, he really was a little unreliable.

But she had never spoken ill of him, because he was Megumi Fushiguro's father.

"I hope Megumi likes this dish."

Looking at the kelp and egg soup in her hands, Tsumiki Fushiguro felt that this attempt had turned out much better than the last.

After a little thought, she sprinkled in some sugar. Life ought to be sweet, after all.

Watching Tsumiki Fushiguro throw a handful of sugar into the soup, Sukuna, who hadn't thought much of it to begin with, found the sight even more painful.

No wonder Megumi Fushiguro disliked sweets when he grew up. So he'd eaten this many heavenly dishes as a child.

He silently said a prayer for Megumi Fushiguro. Eating that stuff might send him straight to the afterlife.

It was a miracle that Megumi Fushiguro had survived this long-a miracle among miracles, even.

"I thought Megumi Fushiguro's hair looked like that because he'd eaten too much sea urchin. Turns out every tuft sticking upward was there to purge toxins from his body."

After watching Tsumiki Fushiguro bring those two heavenly dishes to the table, he decided to stick to eavesdropping from now on. If he kept watching, he feared he wouldn't be able to resist going down and slashing both children.

"Megumi, hurry and try today's kelp and egg soup."

Tsumiki Fushiguro served Megumi Fushiguro a large bowl of soup.

Looking at the kelp and egg soup before him, which gave off a sweet smell, Megumi Fushiguro fell silent. Finally, he seemed to steel himself.

He scooped up a spoonful and put it in his mouth, then closed his eyes and drank the entire bowl of piping-hot soup.

"Megumi, isn't it delicious today?"

Seeing Megumi Fushiguro drink a whole large bowl of soup, Tsumiki Fushiguro's eyes brightened considerably.

Megumi Fushiguro said nothing and simply gave her a thumbs-up.

"Hehe, I knew you'd love it, Megumi."

Tsumiki Fushiguro also put plenty of the tofu onto his plate.

She herself only shoveled rice into her mouth, barely touching even the plate of charred tofu.

In the end, most of both dishes ended up in Megumi Fushiguro's stomach. Tsumiki Fushiguro hadn't eaten even half as much as he had.

"Megumi, I'll go wash the dishes. Make sure you finish your homework first."

That same kind smile remained on Tsumiki Fushiguro's face.

Then she gathered all the bowls and utensils and went into the kitchen, where her little figure got busy again.

Megumi Fushiguro held his rounded belly as he took out his homework. He was only a little child, after all, so his mind inevitably wandered while he worked.

Megumi Fushiguro often stared into space, always looking toward the door when he did. No one knew what he was thinking or whose arrival he was waiting for.

Far away at the racetrack, Toji Fushiguro was complaining about losing again.

"Fuck, if I keep losing, I won't even be able to send their living expenses. Why haven't any jobs come in?"

The man with a scar at the corner of his mouth stormed out. He had just put in so much money, only to lose it all.

"Even heaven's against me. Can't I win big just once?"

After leaving the racetrack, Toji Fushiguro couldn't stop complaining. He didn't understand why he hadn't won even once after gambling for over ten days.

Other people said you lost nine times out of ten when gambling. He had gambled nearly a hundred times without a single win.

The angry man grew even angrier, though he also felt a trace of regret.

He had sunk all his money into gambling this month, and now he had no idea how to send money to the Fushiguro Family.

Finally, he arrived at a neon-lit nightlife district and walked in after a brief hesitation.

After all, a muscular body like his was quite popular with wealthy women.

To him, getting paid just to have a drink with those fat women was no different from picking up free money.

Not to mention the drinks were free, too. He came here almost every time he ran out of money.

Although people called him the Jujutsu Sorcerer Killer, he still couldn't get work every day.

On days without work, he went gambling, hoping to win tens of millions in one go and then quit.

Unfortunately, heaven never favored him. Whenever he left the gambling dens, he always ended up in these neon-lit streets.

As a result, plenty of wealthy women fought over him every time he came.

Late that night.

Only when the nightlife district was about to close did Toji Fushiguro slowly drag himself out.

Thanks to his unusual constitution, he had been able to drink endlessly without getting drunk since the day he was born.

Almost every pocket in his clothes was stuffed with money, and even the bag in his hand was filled with cash.

He had made an absolute fortune. Suddenly, he received a mysterious phone call.

After taking the call, excitement instantly spread across his face. Of course, only one kind of call could make him look like that.

It meant someone wanted to discuss business with him, and that business naturally involved assassinating jujutsu sorcerers.

For someone as powerful as Toji Fushiguro, killing those jujutsu sorcerers was effortless.

A cruel smile appeared on Toji Fushiguro's face, a bloodthirsty gleam flashed through his eyes, and then he vanished from the spot.

Anyone who came by the next day would find a footprint there.

A footprint stamped straight into the ground!

That alone offered a glimpse of just how terrifying Toji Fushiguro's strength was.

Meanwhile, elsewhere, a man holding a phone lowered it.

A row of subordinates stood behind him.

From his subordinates' perspective, they could see a hideous line of stitches across the forehead of this otherwise ordinary-looking man!

His identity was, of course...