Daily Lie of Megumi
Jujutsu Kaisen Normal High School AU
Story by Audrey Lea
Summary: As the only witch in school, lying is part of Megumi's daily life. Nobody knows her identity and she like to keep it that way. Until one skipping class later, the biggest bully in the school, Sukuna, tells her that she uses the wrong spell to summon her mother's ghost from the grave. (This fic is for the delusional traumatic girlies who's down bad for walking red flags but still want to have a good time reminiscing their teenage years. It's me. I'm delusional traumatic girlies.)
Genre: (slow burn) romance, slice-of-life, friendship, comedy, drama, fantasy, family, adventure.
Keywords: genderbend, high school AU, teenage witch, rivals-to-lovers, academic rivals, high school crush, best friends, extracellular activities, secret identity, family drama, fashion.
Pair: SukuFushi, SuguSaToji, ItaKugi, YuutaMaki.
Note: slight crossover with Attack on Titan and Chainsaw Man.
Lie 1:
"Yeah, I'm Fine"
Megumi's Point of View
"Megumi? You shouldn't be here!"
I open my eyes to see… nothing. A dark landscape of a fogged forest, tall trees with that hide perfectly in their own shadows. But I see her. A woman, just her silhouette. Short dark hair, pale white skin, looking at me in horror.
I step back, surprised beyond belief.
"Mom…? Is that you?"
It's been ten years since she died, it's been that long since the last time I saw her in person. But I still recognize her. She is still the same woman as in the picture I hang in my bedroom.
Or… is she?
"It's not your time yet, Megumi. It's not your turn."
The terror in her eyes makes me feel like I'm seeing someone else. So, I walk nearer, even running to her. I want to be sure. I want to hug her. I want to have another chance with her.
"I miss you so much, Mom. Let's go back! Dad and Miki miss you too!"
I wrap my arms around her. Her body is stiff and cold, skinnier than I last remember.
But she doesn't hug me back. She pleads in a whisper, her voice breaking as she cries. "Megumi, you shouldn't be here."
Then, she rips me off of her in one push. My body falls through an endless trench of darkness like Icarus with his melted wings. I scream, I cry, I call for her. But the door has closed. She's gone.
The next thing I know I'm already gasping for air on my own bed, drowning in sweat, tears, and anguish.
-:-
If somebody ever tells you that they never utter a single lie, you can believe that they are lying. Cause lying is human nature. Lying is part of speaking itself. Lying is how we communicate our thoughts and feelings either for our own convenience or others'. Not a single human being that ever walked the earth is 100% honest. At the very least, even if they're not actively lying to someone else, they would to themselves. How, you ask? By denying your desires, your basic instinct, your body's wants and needs.
And lying is what I've always done, at least ever since my mother passed away when I was but a young girl.
For instance, even though it's been years since her passing, I always say that 'I'm fine' or 'It's not a big deal' every time someone asks me how I've been doing after her death. Of course, those are lies.
Losing one's mother, especially if one was so close to her and adore her and loves her so, is an open wound in one's heart that will never heal. One could hide the gaping flesh and bones with band-aids and pretend to be back to normal life, but the wound will always be there. Yes, the pain will be more bearable, but it doesn't mean that it no longer hurts. Someone says that, if that's the case, then one should simply live with the pain. And that's what I do. But explaining to people about how much I'm hurting or miss her each time they ask out of courtesy, is like repeatedly having to pills off my skin and pour acid water on it.
So, excuse me if I'd rather hide my feelings with everything else but face it straight on. Because otherwise, being 100% with myself would mean another hundred hours of crying and howling and misery. So, I'd rather numb it with sleep, study, workout, magic stuff, repeat.
Take an example: this morning; right now. I've been awake before sunrise, yet still wallowing in bed just to distract myself with pointless daydreaming. The reality is, today is the first day of the new semester and I need all the spirits, luck, blessing, whatever, for me to even get up from my bed. I don't want to think too hard about it because otherwise, I would remember the things—or people—that I no longer have. And yet, in the midst of all the numbness, a picture of my mom gently waking me up for a new day of school suddenly resurface. I freeze. Sobs and tears then roll naturally as I take my next breath.
And at the right time, there are some knocking on my door.
I'm so certain it was my dad who knocks—I mean, who else? That man would have no knowledge whatsoever about the anguish that I'm dealing with, and if he has, there's no sense of sensibility in him towards anybody's feelings except for my mom's. Every so often he uses my irritation as his source of amusement, so excuse me for blaming him without proof.
I pull my blanket over my head and pretend to be asleep, genuinely hoping my silent treatment will irritate him right back.
But there comes another knock.
"Megumi?" a soft-spoken voice calls out my name, and at that moment I realized I had just made a huge miscalculation. That is my older sister, Tsumiki, a.k.a. an angel reincarnated. I believed she had done something gravely wrong in her previous life to be born among the dysfunctional family of Fushiguro. "Are you still sleeping? I heard noises like someone is crying. Are you okay?"
'Oh, shit!' I immediately wipe the tears out of my face, furiously comb my wild hair to no avail, and test my voice to make sure it will not break as I utter my first lie today, "Yes, I'm fine. Nobody's crying."
There is silence before she asks my permission to open the door. My sister has always been so polite. It's like the opposite of my dad who would kick the door open after the first knock and dashes right into my bed to yell in my ears. I wonder where Tsumiki got that personality—my best guess is from Mom because my dad is a lost cause. And of course, I let her in.
"Are you sure you're okay? You don't need to lie to me." Her beautiful face contorts in genuine concern as if she could feel the same pain I do.
I should've felt moved and consoled, but instead, I feel shame over realizing how dapper and presentable she already is even though it is still minutes past seven A.M. The feeling of shame is coming from the fact that I'm still wallowing in my own tears with a wrinkled blanket that engulfs my body like a cocoon, while she has already in a cute old-school red dress with natural make-up and black hair that been braided low.
I realize she is still standing at my door, waiting for my reply. "Okay, you got me." I sit down on my own pool of misery—a.k.a., bed. "I just don't want you to go, Miki," I said with such sincerity that makes me also believe that I really don't want her to leave. Because the truth is, I don't.
Tsumiki has been a mother-figure replacement for me. She was the one who hugs me and accompany me on the lonely nights when our dad was out drinking to wash down his sorrow. She was the one who taught me things about being a girl, like how to apply my first tampon, what to do with period cramps, and even how to deal with puppy love and teenage boys. She is still the one I unconsciously call 'Mom' from time to time, and she wouldn't say a thing.
I thought we would be together forever, but fate is cruel, and wait for no one. This year, she is going to college in another city, and I will start my dreaded year as a sophomore in high school. She would still be coming home every few weeks, but still. The idea of living alone with my dad has filled me with enough horror as it is.
She sees through my forced smile and notices the genuine sadness in my eyes. She comes closer and sits on one side of the bed, holding my hands in hers.
"I don't want to leave you either, Gumi," she says. Her voice is so soft as if there's a lump of sadness in her throat and she doesn't want to break it into a sob. "But you know I can't stay here forever. And it's not like we're not gonna see each other again. It's only two hours by Shinkansen train to Kyoto. Surely you can sneak out of the house and visit me if you feel like watching Netflix together."
I smile along with her. "Only if dad not gatekeeping my money."
"Ah, in that case, you can always borrow his credit card from his wallet. You know where he's keeping it." She winks at me, and we laugh together. She caresses my head with her soft hand and lovingly says, "Remind Dad not to drink too much, okay? And he could only do it on the weekend, after dinner. No gambling in any way or form, especially from horse racing. You know how bad he is in picking up 'the lucky horse'."
I roll my eyes out, saying that he is old enough to take care of himself without anybody's reminding him what to or not to do.
"And remind yourself to eat." Tsumiki grips my hands tighter. "Don't just stay inside your room—go out with your friends! Get a crush! Get a boyfriend or a girlfriend! And don't miss Mom alone. You can always reach out to Dad and talk it out, you know."
Her dark brown eyes shimmer with damp tears. She stares down at our intertwined hands, probably lost in thought while looking at the morning light reflection in the dark blue paint on my fingernails.
I giggle. "You sound more and more like Mom."
She gives me a melancholic smile as she looks at me closely. "I really miss her."
And I hold her hands back. "Me too," I confess, finally saying something real.
"But it's too soon to say goodbye right now, Gumi." She wipes the tears from her eyes, cups my face with both hands and kisses my cheek lightly before rising up. "We still have a few more days. I'm not going anywhere until the weekend."
"Which is way worse," I groan. "This is only Monday. Better yet you go sooner before I become more attached."
"I'll miss you too, little sis," she giggles. "Now wash your face and get change. You don't wanna be late for your first day."
With an exaggerated move, I groan again, drop my body onto the sheet, and pull the blanket over my head. Tsumiki only laughs before walking through the door and shuts it close.
I took some time wallowing back in my puddle of daydream and nightmare before actually raise up to the occasion and dragging my feet into the bathroom. Contrary to the common custom of the Japanese, I always take a shower in the morning, especially during the summertime. Even though it's almost the beginning of autumn, the night could still be unimaginably humid and I believe if I don't wash my entire body with cold water before doing any other activity, I would fall back to the Dreaming.
The water is icy cold and pierces through my sleepiness like needles. With my phone blaring the cover of MONTERO (Call Me by Your Name) sung by Dove Cameron from atop the cabinet, I chant a simple spell to the water just for the sake of playing with it. Few drops of water stop mid-air from the shower as I point my fingers to them. They move to the way I move my fingers, making them dance to the rhythm of the song. I smile.
I can do element magic even though it's not as fancy as water bending in ATLA, and out of many elements there is in nature to control, I am only able to control water. Not because I don't have the capacity to control the others, but because every witch is born with their own element, and it just so happens to be water for me. I could possibly learn the others, but as a matter of fact, I'm the only person I know that can do element magic—or any witchcraft, on that matter—and it's already taken me my all to master one element, let alone two or more.
I need someone to teach and guide me or I believe I will fuck up so badly that people will notice things that happened out of the ordinary occurrence. The only problem is I don't know who has the power, and moreover, who is willing to be my mentor. Asking people at random is just going to blow my normal-high-school-girl cover and risk being bullied, so actually looking for a mentor—or a friend—that can do magic never really went through my head more than once every blue moon.
I turn off the shower and dry myself by moving every drop of water on my body down to the floor. Now come my next level morning ritual: skincare routine, outfit picking, make-up, and hairdo. I will spare you the heavy detail because nothing interesting happening since I don't need to do any magic for any of it. I pull out a pair of short jean trousers, a black crop-top shirt, and an oversized green army shirt from under hundreds of other clothes with my own two hands, because using my magic to do such a trivial thing is just a waste of energy and would definitely destroy the stacks of neat clothes with my flimsy newbie witchy ability.
Then, as I sit down to apply my make-up, I notice that the dark circle under my eyes is getting worsen and my skin is getting paler. Lately, I have been staying late to educate myself more in witchcraft; reading spell books under the dim moonlight, cooking up absolutely-non-suspicious potions in my bathroom, trying to memorize the meanings of every tarot card (to no avail, I might add), and, not to forget, secretly using my 'water bending' to swap the liquor in my dad's mug to soda—which an accomplishment in itself because he hasn't realized it yet.
All those late-night activities surely took away hours of not only my summer break but also what is commonly considered healthy sleeping hours. I was about to conceal the panda eyes, but upon second look, I feel like a little of an emo-grunge aesthetic is not a bad way to start the beginning of the no-longer-a-freshman year.
Not to make it easier for people to guess that I'm a witch, but it's just that my school is a private one with a Western-like education system, where students are free to wear anything as long as it's not too provocative or distracting, let's say. All my close friends—which are just two, Itadori Yuui and Kugisaki Shinobara, I should warn you—already has their own styles. So, what's the harm in wearing things to make my own fashion statement? I believe nothing is too edgy in Tokyo Jujutsu High since one of the teachers herself, Mrs. Geto Suguru, literally looks like casual Morticia Addams (if she was Japanese) on a daily basis.
So, I apply black eyeshadow both above and under my eyes just enough to make the eerie green irises in my sockets pop up on my pale white skin. I paint my lips black and immediately feel like someone else entirely, but at the same time, I don't hate the look. I leave my hair the way it is because, at this point in life, I've learned that it is practically futile to tame it down; my long black hair will always be going in all directions no matter what I do. People—and by it, I mean my dad—might be surprised by the slight changes since I seldom wear any make-up except for big occasions like funerals. But I guess they just have to get used to it—at the same time as I also do.
I grab my backpack and dash downstairs. To my surprise, the one behind the kitchen counter and preparing our breakfast is the tall and buff man whose face shares an eerily resemblance to mine. I mean, that man usually wakes up minutes before the working hours start and shows up only to gobble up the food Tsumiki (or I) prepared before riding his motorbike away. So, what's the deal today?
"Are you trying to poison your daughters?" I say, casually walking to the dinner table and putting my bag on one of the chairs. On the opposite chair, Tsumiki is busy with what I guess is college administration papers on her laptop. I walk to the refrigerator and pour out three glasses of Ocha tea from the big bottle container.
"Oh, no! So, you already know my plan!" my dad exaggerates, acting so shocked but still not looking away from whatever poor food ingredients he's chopping and cooking back there.
"Did you just confess to your crime?" I reply.
I eye him for a second, and from the look of it, he knows what he's doing. I guess I have been giving my dad too little credit. I guess it is true that humans can do anything as long they put their minds to it, even for someone like Fushiguro Toji.
But as I bring the glasses to the dinner table, my dad suddenly says, "Ain't that short's too short for you?" And it legit-ly stops my steps mid-air.
I turn around ever so slightly and stare at his dagger. "Ain't you too old to be looking at a young girl's legs?"
"I'm just saying you could wear something else," defends him, now looking straight at me with one hand still holding a spatula. That combination of him evokes no fear in me at all.
I put down the glasses and sit down. "I'll receive no fashion criticism from someone who wears only tracksuits and baggy pants on a daily basis."
He wickedly smiles, and I could even almost hear a laugh in his voice as he says, "You call that fashion?"
"Yeah. You can't see it 'cause you have no style."
"Says someone who wears my shirt."
"So, what? It's part of the style. You have no use of it anymore, anyway, cause nowadays you only wear skin-tight V-necks to show off your tits. Better use what we have here at home 'cause you're too stingy to give me money."
He looks down at what he wears under the dark blue apron, and what a surprise! I hit the jackpot—he wears exactly what I had mentioned.
The atmosphere must have been heavily induced by an electricity-like rivalry between me and my dad and Tsumiki suddenly steps in by saying, "Dad, why do we have an apple pie?" innocently.
As she says that, I just noticed that there is indeed a big baking bowl of apple-sliced pie in the middle of the table. It surprises me that I apparently was too engrossed in defeating my dad in an insult battle to even notice the sweet smell in the air.
My father's face suddenly changes into a normal one, as if he's not the one who stares at me like a hyena just a second ago. "Oh, Lady Kimura came and gave me that."
There must have been many questions to ask—like why her? Why him? Why an apple pie? Or who the fuck is she? —but instead, my sister asks the more pressing matter: "Aren't we got things like this too much lately?"
Upon hearing that, I only have one explanation that comes to mind. I cough a few times and say, "Whore," in between, almost laughing in the process.
My dad pays no heed and instead back to the cooking, saying, "Then you'd be the daughter of a whore."
And my sister adds, "He's not wrong, you know," after noticing how sour my face has become.
I roll my eyes out, sipping the tea with my most disgusted look. "Better than being the man-whore who misleads many, many, many lonely widows and single women in the neighborhood."
"Hey, it's not my fault that I'm this good-looking." I could see the heaven shining on him as he says that. And what's more irritating is that he does it while holding four plates of omurice in both hands. I swear to God that I never met a person more annoying.
"Why's so stingy, Gumi? Are you jealous to share your daddy's attention with others?" he says in a mocking tone, patting my head and scrambling my hair with one hand after putting the plates down.
I slap his hand away, about to strike back with another sarcasm. But then I look down and realizes he made one extra portion and put it on the side of the table where our mom used to sit. It must have been a force of a habit, or simply longing and yearning for her. It's no secret that he's the one who is hurting the most among us. So, I just plainly say, "You counted it wrong, old man. There are only three people here."
He looks like I just break an illusion spell on him. "What are you saying? The other one is obviously for me." He reaches out and brings the extra portion to his side of the table. Tsumiki and I just exchange glances. I bet she also notices the fake smile and made-up cheerfulness in his voice.
We are not pushing the matter further. The only noises we hear are the clacking of the silverware onto the plates and occasional small talk from the passersby outside our house. My mind wanders for a minute, trying to remember what the tarot cards show me at last night's reading. One of them told me that I have been too preoccupied with my grief and depression last year that I became apathetic and even missed a few opportunities.
I mean, can you blame me? I no longer have my mom. Sadness imbued deep and strong in my daily life as my dad and sister were also lost in the waves of sadness. The aura in the house is monstrously miserable that sometimes I even had to sneak out late at night just to save the last thread of my sanity. And now, as I look up at them, I know that the dark feeling is still lingering. The trace is still so obvious even though they already doing their best either to hide it or to cope with it.
But who am I to judge? It's not like I'm doing any better. What I'm doing is instead obsessing over ways to magically bring my mom back to us, even just for a day. Then I remember that Shinobara—Nobara or Ara, for short—kept his promise to buy me an ancient book of spells from his summer trip to Italy. I just need to get it from him at school and pay him back in due time.
"Leaving already?" asks my sister as I raise from my chair and hurriedly wash my dishes. I just shortly reply, "Yeah," before grabbing my backpack and walking to the front door in big strides.
"Sure you don't wanna Daddy dearest to take you?" says my dad, still on his chair, as I am putting on my black-leather ankle boots.
I turn my head slightly and reply in a firm, "Nope," before walking through the front door.
But then I kick the door open again and stomp my boot onto the wooden floor just to grab a big fat chunk of the pie, put it in a Tupperware, then scurry away before my sister chews my ears off because I wear shoes in the house.
.
.
.
To Be Continued
Hi! It's Audrey Lea.
I've spent over two years writing this fanfiction, mostly because of personal reasons and such (and it's still in progress, lmao). In the span of those times, my best friend died, I graduated college, had to move around from one city to another, tried to get an internship, had to witness and endure domestic abuse, then my mother died just a few months ago due to complications.
Writing this fiction, from female!Megumi's perspective is deeply, extremely personal to me. Megumi isn't my favorite character in JJK (it's Sukuna, tbh), but after diving deeper into his character, I had to admit that we have more similarities than I'd like to admit. Absent father, dysfunctional family, dead mother, living in poverty, being left alone, being an extreme introvert with trust issues—the list goes on. The only difference is canon!Megumi is a guy, so his POV might differ from mine. That's why I change his sex and gender to be like mine, so I (and hopefully you too) can relate to this story better.
I hope you guys can enjoy Megumi's journey of contemplation with a hint of depression, desperation, and hope with a dominant female gaze as much as I do. Let's imagine the life of JJK kids if they were normal(?) teenagers living their normal(?) high school life. Nobody dies here, unlike in the Canon (or my life) except for Megumi's mom, so rest assured. But some characters will get genderbended, though. Just look out for the pronounces, and you'll know.
So, what do you think of this chapter? Please be kind and share your thought in the review/comment box. You can also find some cover arts I made, the wardrobes of the characters, and their 'actors' on my Twitter and Tumblr : ladyambrose2.
See you in the next chapter!
