The Sorcerer Killer's Third Chance (JJK x Re:ZERO)

Third Time's A Charm

The air in Shibuya was heavy with fear and fractured light, neon signs flickering in and out of focus amid the distant sound of screams and collapsing debris. The war against curses had turned the district into a twisted battleground—concrete cracked underfoot, storefront windows lay in shards, and the once-vibrant streets were painted with the shadows of looming curses and the blood of both victims and sorcerers alike.

Amid this chaos, Toji Fushiguro stood at a slight distance from his opponent, crouched low and breathing hard. He had just evaded his son's blade—Megumi's blade. In a desperate move that defied fate, Toji had snaked around the deadly strike, the fractured handle of the Playful Cloud weapon still gripped firmly in his calloused hand. What remained of the cursed tool's edge glinted dully under the hazy streetlights, its once-proud shape reduced to a shard of iron.

Only a short stretch of ruined pavement separated father and son now. Megumi's eyes were as steady as ever, reflecting both the resolve of a sorcerer and something infinitely more human—a yearning, perhaps, he didn't quite understand himself. Toji could see it. He didn't have the cursed energy to sense such things directly, but he felt it all the same, pulsing beneath the surface like a steady heartbeat.

Toji's body ached. The struggle against his own resurrected instincts, the pull of curses that had tried to shape him into a mere puppet, all weighed on him. He knew his role here was not to survive, not anymore. He had pushed Megumi to the brink, tested the boy, and seen the strength that he had come to possess—not just as a sorcerer, but as a person. In this broken city, his son stood tall, carving out his own path.

He straightened with a trembling exhale, chest rising and falling with ragged intensity. Then, in a voice that was surprisingly calm against the wail of distant curses, he asked, "You... What's your name?"

Megumi's brows knitted together. The question was bizarre, almost out of place given the chaos around them. Still, there was a gravity to it that he couldn't ignore. "It's... Fushiguro." His voice rang steady and proud in the empty space between father and son.

A wry, relieved smile ghosted across Toji's lips. He could still taste the iron in the air, still feel the tension of unsaid words hanging over them. "Not Zen'in, huh? I'm glad," he said quietly. His gaze traced Megumi's face, committing the contours of his son's features to memory. The choice of a surname was more than a label—it was a declaration of identity and independence. Megumi had chosen to stand apart from the clan that cast them both aside, to forge something new.

Toji felt a knot in his chest loosen. He may never have been a proper father. He lacked the warmth, the guidance, the gentle hand on a child's shoulder. But seeing Megumi like this—strong, compassionate, sure of who he wanted to be—was enough. It was more than he ever dared hope for.

With that faint, bittersweet smile lingering, Toji lowered his gaze and accepted the inevitable. He had escaped death's clutch once before, and in doing so he had risked tainting this moment. Now he would return to it on his own terms. The remains of the Playful Cloud twisted slightly in his hand. In the half-light, as curses wailed and sorcerers clashed in the distance, he took his own life, his body sagging gently as if to bow one last time to fate.

In his final moments, before the darkness claimed him, he held fast to the idea that Megumi would carry the name Fushiguro forward—not just as a sorcerer, but as a human being who would one day escape this world's cruelty. And for that knowledge, at the end of all things, Toji Fushiguro was truly proud.

As the light left his eyes, Toji felt something strange—a sensation he hadn't expected. Instead of the eternal nothingness he had anticipated, a cold breeze brushed against his skin. His eyes, heavy and dulled by death, snapped open to an unfamiliar sight.