Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PART ONE: THE DESECRATION

The last time Sukuna heard someone singing a lullaby, he was just a child. He remembered the serene summer night, filled with the symphony of wildlife. The humid night air made it difficult for him to fall asleep. His mother, with her hair pinned up and droplets of sweat rolling down her temples, looked weary. It was an unbearably hot night. Past midnight and still restless, Sukuna asked his mother to sing him a lullaby. 

She closed the window, worried that bugs might come in and bite him. Her motherly gesture brought a smile to his face. With graceful elegance, she folded her legs and sat on the tatami floor. 

"Sleep," she whispered. "Sleep, my miracle." Her hand caressed Sukuna's hair, fingers weaving through the strands. Then she began to sing. 

Lonely child  

Fly home  

See the clouds  

The sun is rising.  

Lonely child  

Wait for me  

A sharp pain suddenly pierced Sukuna's chest, mere inches from his heart. He opened his eyes to see a dagger jutting from his midsection. Shocked and gasping for breath, he could only stare at the blood spreading across his white pajamas. With small, trembling hands, he touched his chest. No, this wasn't a mosquito bite, and it certainly wasn't motherly love. 

"Mommy..." Sukuna looked up, his vision fading to crimson. 

"I'm sorry." A torrent of tears streamed down his mother's face as she begged for forgiveness, hands tightly pressed against her chest. 

Behind his mother's weeping figure, the walls began to bleed crimson, engulfing the red bow laced in her hair. A shadow moved next to the window, rooting itself into the shoji wall and growing into a tree. On the branches, grotesque heads bloomed like rotten, meaty flowers. 

Sukuna tried to call his mother's name one last time to warn her about the shadows creeping closer, but his throat tightened in a futile attempt, and only blood trickled down his lips and chin. 

All four of Sukuna's arms stretched out toward his mother, who fell back, her painful wails piercing the sanctity of the night. It was too late. The shadow had already possessed Sukuna. He saw long lines of darkness, sharp like knives, shooting from his fingers toward her. He desperately wanted to warn her about the demons that had already begun to cut through her body. 

The last time Sukuna heard someone singing a lullaby, it was when his mother tried to kill him. 

Sukuna kept the memory locked inside his heart, not as a reminder to never trust anyone but as a source of pride for who he had become. Love was powerful. 

As he grew into a young man, he gained a deeper understanding of love. He admired everything about it. Its powerful decadence, capable of decomposing even the spirit of a man, became a source of inspiration for Sukuna. It gave him this cursed strength. 

Opening his eyes, Sukuna sighed as the singing male voice faded away. He rolled onto his belly and propped himself up on his elbows, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man. Through the blossoming bushes of wild roses, he saw movement—a white furl and a sleeve lined with silver. A chuckle tugged at his lips. 

Perhaps his presence caught someone by surprise. 

Sukuna raised himself with one of his four hands, his gaze fixed on the bushes. He observed each tremble of the leaves, patiently waiting for the person to move again. 

A loud sneeze echoed against the trees. Surprised, Sukuna arched his eyebrows as a spray of cursed energy sparkled in the air. Ah, so it was a sorcerer watching him from the bushes. What a disappointment. 

Another sneeze cut through the air, and amused, Sukuna jumped to his feet. 

"Come on, show yourself," he called out, intending no harm. 

The rustling revealed the man's position. He emerged, rubbing his nose and sneezing again. The roses framed his face as he peeked out, sniffling. "I'm sorry, I have low resistance to flowers," he lamented with a sigh. 

No man. A boy of Sukuna's age. 

Sukuna's mouth opened in a silent gasp. Amid the pink flowers and greenery stood the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. With snow-white hair as fluffy as a baby bird's feathers, tied with an azure bow, and dressed in the finest white silk and cotton, he stood out like a snowdrop on black ink. 

Sukuna was taken aback by the man's beauty. Deep down, he knew the sorcerer had come to challenge him, and he needed to be cautious. Yet, along with his caution, a sense of hesitation began to grow. He had never hesitated to kill a sorcerer before, whether they were women or men. However, the man standing before him was different from any other. Watching him wipe his nose on his sleeve, Sukuna realized the sorcerer looked nothing like an enemy. 

"Why are you watching me?" Despite his confusion, Sukuna remained vigilant. 

"Watching?" the boy asked, puzzled. "No-no. I promise." He waved his hands, eyes widening. 

"Did you come to challenge me?" 

"No!" he answered firmly. "Nothing like that." 

Sukuna looked him over. "So, given your allergy, what were you doing in the bushes?" 

"Ah!" the boy laughed awkwardly. "I was walking and singing a bit when I spotted you. I'm shy, so I hid in the bushes." 

"Shy?" Sukuna snorted. "Someone as beautiful as you doesn't need to be shy." 

The boy's mouth opened in shock, his body freezing mid-movement. His hands were up, fingers delicately curled. He looked like a sculpture. Beautiful. The boy must be new to the town.  

"I, uh..." He placed his hand over his chest, clearing his throat. "My, my. I hope I don't blush," he muttered, thinking Sukuna didn't hear him. 

Sukuna huffed, amused. The red blotches on the boy's cheeks shone bright, like the roses behind his back. He didn't need to say anything. The boy understood it through the playful glint in Sukuna's eyes. Slapping his hand over his cheeks, the boy turned around in an attempt to flee. 

"Hold on!" Sukuna's expression turned somber. The thought of the boy leaving gripped his heart. "What's your name?!" he shouted after him, hoping his friendly gesture would make him stay. 

The boy abruptly stopped. He spun around, his ponytail swinging behind him. To Sukuna's astonishment, he was beaming, his bright smile reaching his strikingly blue eyes. Incredible. Like a painter's canvas. 

"Satoru," he answered with a cheeky grin, fixing his haori over his kimono. 

"That's it? Only Satoru?" Sukuna wondered. It was a strange way to introduce a noble person. 

No peasant or serf could afford such silky and satin fabrics. The boy shone brightly and held his head high. No, he was not a peasant; perhaps he was the son of a rich merchant or a politician. 

Since Heian-kyō became the capital city, the streets had been teeming with swordsmen known as samurais. These warriors emerged as a solution to the ongoing power struggles between the two dominant clans. 

"You have no surname? No family?" Sukuna tried again. 

He didn't really mind whether the boy was a prince or merely a thief with a taste for fancy clothes. But Sukuna couldn't afford to ruin the late spring with the ongoing feud between the two clans. His life was complicated enough with the sorcerers who pestered him daily. It felt like an endless series of entanglements. The more he turned them away, the more persistent they became. With each refusal, blood was shed.  

"Don't worry," the boy giggled. "I'm no Fujiwara. I didn't come to challenge you or anything." 

Sukuna arched his eyebrows. "So, you know who I am." A frown appeared on his face shortly after the initial surprise. 

"I'm sorry, but you're hard to mistake for anyone else." Satoru spread his arms briefly. 

With all those layers of clothing, Satoru looked incredibly snug and plush, resembling a baby wrapped in a blanket. It entertained Sukuna. He imagined the maids carefully dressing Satoru, ensuring that not even a sliver of his porcelain skin was exposed to the peasants' gaze. 

"You're not mad, right?" Satoru asked with a lingering smile. "I really thought nobody was here." 

"You don't go out much, hm?" Sukuna grabbed his black haori from the grass and threw it over his shoulder. "If you did, you'd know this is my favorite spot. Every sorcerer knows it." 

Satoru's smile faded and slowly turned into a pout. It would have been easy for Sukuna to grab his face and kiss those pink lips. But years of battling sorcerers had taught him better. They couldn't match his raw strength, so some resorted to underhanded tactics. Sukuna couldn't blame them; he had been the same way as a kid. 

"It's..." Satoru sighed, looking crestfallen. "Until recently, I was allowed to go out only when exorcising." 

Sukuna tilted his head, examining him closely in light of this new revelation. Perhaps Satoru was indeed a clan's treasure. However, no matter how strong Satoru was, his sheltered life would never allow him to reach his full potential. It was a tragic fate. 

"That's brave of you to admit," Sukuna said with admiration, folding one pair of arms over his chest while the other pulled his haori closer. 

"Well, yes..." Satoru looked away, his cheeks flushing brighter. "Aren't you cold?" 

The question brought both shock and amusement to Sukuna's face. People usually aimed for his heart with cursed techniques or swords, never with caring words. He was certain there was a sinister motive behind the gentleness. 

"Aren't you too warm?" he returned the sentiment. 

"No!" Satoru blurted out, hugging himself in response. "It's cold by the river." 

"Summer is starting," Sukuna stated the obvious. 

Satoru stubbornly shook his head, his eyes still averted. Something about him felt off. His aura was confusing; he was obviously strong, yet he seemed to hold himself back. He didn't appear to have any violent intentions either. At one moment, Satoru's laughter resonated loudly, and at another, he seemed like a forgotten statue of a deity. 

"Are you also not allowed to have fun?" Sukuna grinned mischievously, challenging Satoru. "The water's temperature is perfect." 

"Water?" Satoru blinked at him. "You mean in the river?" 

"Where else do you see water?" Sukuna snorted. 

"You were swimming there?" Satoru nodded at the riverbank behind Sukuna. "Like, swimming?" 

"Yes, swimming like swimming," Sukuna answered lightly. "Do you know how to swim, Satoru?" 

Satoru's face turned crimson, and the blue in his eyes stood out like marbles. It seemed Sukuna had discovered Satoru's weakness. A sorcerer shouldn't have been this simple to read unless he was overly confident in his skills. 

"I know how to swim," Satoru retorted, his pout turning into a frown. 

Sukuna gave him a long, watchful look as he shrugged his haori off onto the grass. "If you say so," he replied, his voice tinged with mockery. It was pure provocation. 

"I do!" Satoru insisted, his voice growing louder. 

"I believe you..." Sukuna maintained his nonchalant demeanor as he pulled at the string holding up his hakama. 

The hem of his pants dropped low on Sukuna's ass, showing the crack and his dark pubes. He hooked his fingers over the waist, and before he would pull them down, he peaked over his shoulder at Satoru. He stood by the bushes, shielding his face with the wide sleeve of his haori. Sukuna's shoulders dropped, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.   

"Have you never seen a naked man before?" He teased Satoru.   

"I did!" Satoru's voice cracked a little. "But I don't ogle other men."  

"I wouldn't mind if you looked at me."  

"I do," he answered with a hint of sudden seriousness. "I have decency." 

Sukuna's eyes widened slightly, pleasantly surprised by the answer. There was something about this sorcerer that was beyond the norm. He lacked the usual arrogance and show-off nature. Anyone else would have already challenged Sukuna to fight to the death. Strange. Satoru was simply a strange creature, puzzling Sukuna with his behavior. Either he was incredibly strong, or he didn't mean any harm. The latter seemed less likely. 

There was only one way to find out, and Sukuna eagerly anticipated the test. After fixing his clothes, Sukuna counted to three and reappeared in front of Satoru. But before he could even try to touch him, Satoru was already in a defensive position. A strange aura enveloped him. With his hand hovering in the air, Sukuna cocked his head and a smile played on his lips. 

Satoru stared at him with unrivaled intensity. There was no fear and no resistance. He knew what he was capable of and wasn't afraid to use his powers. Mesmerizing confidence. More than strength, Sukuna admired healthy confidence. Too many fools threw cursed techniques around without checking their limits first. Sukuna was pleased to see that Satoru wasn't one of them. 

His confidence came with experience. 

"May I touch you?" Sukuna inquired, extending his palm in a gesture of trust, his eyes searching Satoru's for any sign of hostility. 

"Why don't you try?" A rebellious glint crossed Satoru's eyes. 

Sukuna smirked. "I have decency." 

Despite his hesitancy, Satoru's gaze remained intense. Up close, his eyes resembled moonlit lakes—vivid and alive. They were like a blue sky in the midst of a snowstorm—an incredible piece of artwork.  

Sukuna nearly lost himself in those otherworldly eyes, but then Satoru carefully lifted his hand, calculating each movement as he brought his palm closer to Sukuna's. 

However, they never touched.   

A slight frown of confusion crossed Sukuna's face as he glanced down at their hands. The aura that kept them apart must have been Satoru's innate cursed technique. Interesting. Truly magnificent. A wide grin spread across Sukuna's face as he wrapped his fingers around Satoru's hand. 

"What else can you do with this, Satoru?!" Sukuna's grin echoed in his voice as he pressed his cursed energy against the field surrounding Satoru. 

Instead of backing off, Satoru chuckled and pushed back, using his technique to repel Sukuna. 

"More, push more!" Sukuna demanded, planting his feet firmly into the dirt. 

A surge of adrenaline that he hadn't felt in years coursed through his body. He felt more alive than ever. Satoru's icy eyes burned with a flame hotter than the sun, melting Sukuna's veins and heart deliciously. He could smell his own skin burning. Yes, he was sure that this boy with eyes like molten aquamarine could crush him into dust. 

Incredible power. 

More skin and flesh melted against the wall of pure energy. Through the smoke and sparks, he could finally see Satoru's determination slowly breaking. Fear. He was scared he would hurt Sukuna beyond repair. Sweet. After all, they were all just humans. 

"Don't stop now, Satoru!" Sukuna's grin widened into a devilish grimace, his red eyes burning with ecstasy. "If I don't get to touch you, then I don't deserve it." 

Satoru's eyes widened, the blue deepening to a stormy hue. In an instant, the barrier between them dissolved, leaving Sukuna, still charging forward, off balance. He stumbled, and their bodies would have collided if not for Satoru's swift technique, catching Sukuna mid-fall with effortless grace. 

"It's up to me if I let you touch me or not," Satoru said, his voice dropping, the playfulness from before long forgotten. 

"I've never seen eyes like yours," Sukuna muttered, enchanted. 

"And I've never seen eyes like yours," Satoru responded in the same tone. 

In those brief moments, Sukuna found solace—a tranquility akin to the protective embrace of a temple. The war drums faded into the rustling leaves and the gentle gurgling of the river behind them. Inconspicuously, birdsong wove itself into the tapestry of calm. Sukuna felt he had nothing to fear anymore. 

Like heaven and earth, they were complementary elements. They could have been enemies, but Satoru was too powerful to let others choose his foe. Just like him. 

A perfect match. 

Sukuna smiled to himself and activated his reversed curse technique. In a matter of seconds, all his injuries healed, leaving Satoru with a slightly envious pout. 

"Ah, it seems there's still a thing or two for you to learn," Sukuna said, leaning against the invisible wall. 

"Would you teach me?"    

A bold request. Sukuna loved it. He found himself deeply invested in Satoru. Regardless of which clan he belonged to, from now on, Satoru was his companion. A part of him. His soulmate, tied with the thread of Sukuna's red eyes, forever tangled within his soul. 

"To teach you, you have to let me hurt you." As soon as the words left Sukuna's lips, the technique between them vanished, and he nearly toppled over Satoru. 

Their chests brushed against each other, and Sukuna's nose was enveloped in the cascade of white hair. Satoru's scent was earthy and mossy, fresh and vibrant, like life itself. Sukuna gently turned his head, meeting Satoru's playful, sparkling eyes. At such close proximity, his presence felt like a forbidden spell. 

"Satoru..." Sukuna arched an eyebrow and nodded at him. "You should undress." 

Satoru's face processed the words faster than his mind. He blushed instantly, his eyes widening in shock a moment later as the words settled. It was a precious sight. 

"What do you think you're--" Satoru took a deep breath, ready to start lecturing when Sukuna grinned impishly and wrapped his top arms around Satoru's middle, hoisting him over his shoulder. 

"Let me down! Now!"   

Sukuna chuckled as he spun around and dashed towards the river, with Satoru pounding his wriggling fist against his back. "If you throw me in, I'll show you a torment you've never imagined!" he threatened. 

"I'll risk it!" Sukuna stepped into the water. 

"Let me go! Let me go!" Satoru shouted. "Sukuna, let me go!" 

"So, it's Sukuna now, huh?" He grinned, gently lowering Satoru into the water. 

Satoru bristled like an irate cat, spitting curses as the water drenched his layered outfit. He grabbed Sukuna's shoulder and dragged him down with him. Sukuna lost his footing on the slippery rock and fell with Satoru, both of them laughing.   

"Ah damn!" Satoru spat water, smacking Sukuna's chest with an open palm.   

Sukuna loved how it stung. "Why didn't you envelop yourself with the technique? I assume it can protect you from water." 

"But you held me," Satoru replied, pushing his hair back from his face. "That would have thrown you off balance, causing me to fall. I simply avoided falling." 

A low, appreciative hum escaped Sukuna's lips. Satoru was truly a striking creature, his survival instincts razor-sharp. He moved like a snake, knowing precisely when to coil around the neck and when to strike. His confidence in Sukuna's inferiority was palpable, yet no urgency nudged Sukuna to disprove him. 

A bit of arrogance suited Satoru well. Sukuna couldn't wait to break his spirit. 

"What is it?" Satoru asked with genuine interest. "Why are you looking at me like that?" 

Sukuna blinked away the haze from his eyes. "Just thinking." 

"Well, stop it. You stare too much." Satoru spread his palm over Sukuna's face. "And what's the matter with your eyes? Can you see through all four of them?" 

"No," Sukuna murmured against the hand before lowering it. 

If anyone else had asked him such a thing, he would have ripped their eyes out instantly. But Satoru's question was harmless, born out of genuine curiosity, not mockery. 

 "People say all kinds of nonsense about you." Satoru didn't seem to mind sitting in the water while he spoke about the fearsome fallen one. 

"How do you know it's nonsense?" 

"You didn't try to eat me..." 

A smile played on Sukuna's lips. He tried to remain composed, but Satoru's genuinely curious gaze broke through his defenses. Rubbing his forehead, Sukuna laughed. It wasn't new information, but hearing it from someone nearly untouchable shifted the narrative slightly. 

"Even if I could..." Sukuna cupped Satoru's face in his hands. "I wouldn't." 

In response, Satoru pouted. "Why? Do I not look delicious enough? You haven't even tasted me yet, and you're already drawing conclusions." 

Sukuna couldn't help but laugh again, stroking Satoru's velvety smooth cheeks. "You couldn't even look at me when I was undressed, and now you want me to taste you?" 

Satoru gasped, his eyes bulging. 

"Your reactions are priceless." 

"Not funny, you—" Satoru nudged Sukuna's shoulder. "Mocking my decency..." Satoru halted abruptly. His frown and smile vanished instantly, and his gaze seemed to pierce through Sukuna. He quickly scrambled to his feet, slipping from Sukuna's grasp. Whatever had happened, the suddenness did not sit well with Sukuna. He was having a moment, and he wanted it back. He stared at his empty palms, frowning. 

"I have to go!" Satoru exclaimed, his voice tinged with frost. 

Sukuna turned to him, his heart constricting from the cold aura radiating off Satoru. Had he done something wrong? Why wouldn't Satoru give him a chance to explain? 

Without hesitation, Satoru harnessed his cursed energy, lifting himself effortlessly from the water. Sukuna watched in awe as droplets seemed to dance away from Satoru's clothes, leaving him dry in an instant. In the blink of an eye, Satoru was already stepping onto the riverbank. 

"Wait!" Sukuna called after him, finally breaking free from his shock. "Satoru!" 

Satoru turned to him, adjusting his clothes. 

"Will I see you again?" 

A bright smile, lined with wild roses, spread across Satoru's face before he vanished. 

Chapter Text

The curse's blood splattered across the foliage and tree trunks, mingling with the sorcerer's blood from their recent battle. Under the ghostly, sweltering moonlight, their combined blood glowed like fluorescent paint—strangely reminiscent of fairy dust. To Sukuna, the scene resembled a piece of art. He was the artist, and the world was his canvas.  

But sometimes, the canvas disrupted his masterpiece, behaving like a living, breathing entity. It pulsed and whimpered beneath his touch, occasionally cursing Sukuna's name. At times, the canvas even blinked at him, revealing a hateful glare—an eerie, blue, icy gaze shaped like a cursed flame. Just like the one flickering between the rustling leaves of the trees.  

Someone audacious enough to remain in Sukuna's presence was spying on him. Someone courageous enough to not flee was snooping on him. Sukuna grinned, the red glint of his eyes piercing through the darkness of the woods.  

The blue flame rose like a beacon. Only a sorcerer or a formidable curse could wield such power. Wonderful. Whether human or curse, Sukuna couldn't wait to wrap his claws around their tender throat and savor the fear in their blood.  

As Sukuna prepared to emerge, he felt the carpet of delicate white flowers trembling beneath his feet. A surge of cursed energy severed the tiny blossoms from their stems, causing them to float eerily in the air.  

White, like innocence. White, like peace. White, like death.   

Bold actions from a sorcerer. Either this person was a fool, oblivious to danger, or someone incredibly arrogant.  

Sukuna narrowed his eyes, peering through the bushes and trees.  

The sorcerer's boldness reminded Sukuna of someone—a cherished memory from the previous spring. It brought to mind the fresh scent of the river and the sight of newborn roses peeking from between the leaves, concealing the most enchanting creature Sukuna had ever seen.  

Satoru. It had been so long. Days had already stretched into months. Sukuna's lips curled into a smile, but just as eagerness began to consume him, his judicious side quickly reclaimed his focus. If the sorcerer was Satoru, he could dodge Sukuna's dismantle technique; if not, then who cared what happened to whoever was behind those bushes?  

Without further thought, Sukuna unleashed cursed energy sharper than any blade. It sliced through the hovering flowers, disturbing their fragility and causing petals to explode into the air. The invisible blades slid effortlessly through any obstacle until they hit their target.  

The forest bated its breath.   

Until a strong, male voice broke the spell.

"That was incredible!" A cheerful, melodic voice called out from the distance, where a blue flame flickered with enthusiasm.  

Sukuna would recognize that voice anywhere. The moment he heard it, his soul remembered the beautiful man who resembled a snow ghost. The sincere praise added to the swelling in his chest. Satoru’s words echoed in all four chambers of Sukuna’s heart.  

Relaxing slightly, Sukuna lowered his shoulders; his features softened. He stepped forward as the petals drifted to the ground like snowflakes. The night was profound and thick as black ink, but Satoru's little flame guided Sukuna into the bay of his shelter.  

As Sukuna closed the distance with each step, he felt a strange tugging in his chest. He typically experienced this sensation only upon discovering the hidden Buddhist temples perilously looming on the borders of Heian-kyō. He had already witnessed the Fujiwara soldiers repeatedly burning them down, but the stubborn followers of the new teaching continued to rebuild them.  

Sukuna brushed away the branches to finally meet the cold, blue flame levitating in the lantern. It hung from a tree, casting a dance of light across Satoru’s face. The aquamarine of his eyes deepened, making him look like a forest spirit. His outfit was different from the last time Sukuna had seen him. The summer forced Satoru to wear lighter clothes. He wore simple battle attire: black hanfu pants paired with shoes and a black haori draped over a white top, similar to Sukuna's by the river earlier.  

"I see you're not a fan of layered fashion." Instead of greeting him first, Sukuna teased as he took in Satoru's appearance.  

Satoru swept an admiring gaze over his own body. "My guardians hate when I dress like this. They say I'm betraying my country."  

Sukuna hummed. "Indeed, but wasn't our country taking much more from China than their fashion?" He paused, his little frown of concern shifting into a subtle smile as he remembered Satoru’s fluffy appearance. "However, I must say, you looked splendid in the kimono."  

A flicker of surprise crossed Satoru’s eyes as he looked up at Sukuna. He patted his loose pants secured at the bottom with cotton stripes to prevent them from inflating. "Hakama makes my kicks look like bird's wings."  

Sukuna remained silent. He couldn't link Satoru to a bird since he had never seen him practicing martial arts or soaring through the air. Yet something told him that this description was close to how Satoru would appear while dancing on the battlefield. When Sukuna looked at him, he saw silver starlight and a serene snowfield. Despite looking like the gentle spirit of a warrior, his eyes resembled a cold flame. Sukuna had never seen eyes so cruel.  

How could Satoru dare to steal the skies and imprison them in his eyes? Only gods could be this shameless.  

"You're looking at me like that again," Satoru spoke up, tilting his head as if the new angle might help him understand the reason behind Sukuna's intense gaze.  

Sukuna finally made a move, briefly averting his gaze from Satoru before looking back and smiling. "And how do I look at you?"  

"I don't know. Nobody has ever looked at me like that," he shrugged, nervously picking at his sleeves.  

The confession pulled Sukuna back like a wave. Surprised, he immediately stepped closer to Satoru, his eyes shielding Satoru's view. The bold move made Satoru return the gaze. His scarlet eyes bore into Satoru, but the heavens in Satoru's gaze remained unflinching, undaunted by hell.  

The shades of blue in Satoru's eyes shifted from snowy clouds to clear skies and back again, mesmerizing Sukuna. It was as if his soul was staring back. There was no gate, no barrier. Satoru wore his heart and soul on his sleeves, naked inside out. His core was his skin.  

Sukuna realized the intensity of his stare only when Satoru lifted the wide sleeve of his haori to shield himself.  

"Sukuna, please..."  

Grinning slightly, Sukuna curled his fingers around the bottom of the sleeve and pulled Satoru’s hand down to meet his wondrous eyes. Even in the eerie, light-illuminated darkness, Sukuna could see Satoru's shyness dusting his cheeks in pink.  

It was endearing how Satoru suddenly tried to hold eye contact, as if it were a challenge he needed to win, or perhaps a way to prove himself to Sukuna. When Satoru finally averted his gaze in defeat, Sukuna raised a hand to his shoulder, gently stroking it with his thumb. It had been too long since Sukuna had felt the warmth of another human.  

"They kept you as a treasure for too long..." Sukuna spoke carefully, avoiding a pitiful tone. "A clan like yours must call you various honorable names."  

"They do." Satoru frowned. "But they won’t let me live an honorable life."  

A little surprise crossed Sukuna’s face. "What is it that you miss, Satoru?"  

Satoru inhaled deeply as if pushing his deepest thoughts back. He scowled and fixed his eyes on the neckline of Sukuna's white yukata, as if expecting the answer to emerge from Sukuna's heart.  

Sukuna understood that navigating one's needs could be challenging for someone born into a wealthy clan. Despite having everything he desired, Satoru still longed for something deeply missed—something that drove him to wander through the night.

Frowning, Satoru tucking his hands into his haori sleeves. "I’ve never met my parents." He admitted, finally looking back at Sukuna. "The elders took them from me when I was born because they thought my parents gave birth to a curse."  

The word hit too close to Sukuna’s comfort. He didn’t remember much about his mother, but he remembered what happened after she died. The Shinto priest thought Sukuna was responsible for the blood spilled in their house. Ridiculous. They dragged him away from his mother’s home and kept him in a shrine like a dog until they were convinced that he wasn’t a dangerous curse.  

"It seems like we have more in common than I thought." Sukuna offered a gentle smile to soothe the wrinkle between Satoru’s eyebrows.  

"Have you tried to find your parents?"  

Satoru clenched his jaw, deepening his frown despite Sukuna's soothing voice. Overwhelming anger seeped through, igniting the lakes in Satoru's eyes. Intimidating. What a wonderful expression. To live is to witness everything. Sukuna loved the transformation. He loved that Satoru let himself feel life instead of fighting it.  

"They still keep them locked away," Satoru hissed through his teeth. "Like property."  

"No, like prisoners." Shaking his head, Sukuna corrected him gently. "Why don’t you change it? They are your parents."  

Satoru's eyes flared with determination, blooming like flowers on plum trees. A wonderful flower was growing under Sukuna's warm wings through the snow and ice. It would happen. Satoru would be free.  

"They call me despicable for the way I preserve my freedom," Sukuna spoke, a cold, ghostly hand tugging at the corner of his lips. "But I'd rather be labeled a demon than fall into their hands and become a mere tool."  

Satoru tensed, his eyebrows knitting together. His anger was suddenly replaced by a realization that shook his deepest moral foundation. The Jujutsu world was well aware of Sukuna's maladaptive nature—he was a beast, a demon. Satoru must have known about the nature of Ryōmen Sukuna before he approached him.  

"Tell me, Satoru..." Sukuna's smile flattened. "Back when we met, did you not flee because you thought I would pursue you immediately, or because you weren't scared?"  

The words disarmed Satoru. He looked at Sukuna with wide eyes filled with sincere surprise. "None of that."  

Amused, Sukuna leaned in closer. "So, you were scared?"  

"I was terrified that someone might hear my embarrassing singing. I was scared," Satoru pouted, averting his eyes. "I didn’t know it was you until I sensed your majestic cursed energy. I thought I would take a chance to talk to the legendary sorcerer."  

"Legendary?" Sukuna laughed silently.  

"Yes!" Satoru turned his nose up, shoving his hands into his haori's sleeves and pacing around. "Every day my mentors remind me that I need to get stronger than the infamous Ryōmen Sukuna."  

"Adorable," Sukuna snorted. "They are training you to kill me."  

"Of course they do..." Satoru stopped in his tracks, pondering. "It's as you said. All the noble clans find it unacceptable that you are not their property."  

Satoru's amazement turned into a wistful expression. His features softened, but his eyebrows knitted gently when he looked at Sukuna.

Could it be that Satoru was worried?  

"Ryōmen Sukuna is not even my real name," Sukuna said, making Satoru gasp openly. "People started to call me that because they fear me."  

"Only a cruel mother would name her baby two-faced." Satoru nodded and, with a gentle smile, approached Sukuna. "So, what's your real name?"

“Simply Ryō.”   

Satoru's eyes widened in awe once again. "Simply Ryō." He repeated the name, sweet like honey on his tongue.  

"Ryō..." The wonder quickly turned into a playful grin on Satoru's face. "Do you have no surname and no family?"  

Sukuna huffed a laugh at Satoru's teasing. He remembered how he had once asked Satoru about his last name, but the boy had shrugged it off smoothly.  

"I don't remember my mother's name, and neither the Shinto priests nor maidens wanted to share it with me." Only after he said the words did Sukuna realize how easily he had opened up to Satoru—a stranger from a clan that wanted to see Sukuna dead.  

He opened up to Satoru, who was trained to kill him.  

"But it doesn't matter!" Sukuna insisted. "Call me Sukuna like everyone else."  

Satoru sneaked up to him with an impish grin. "Ryō." He giggled, throwing his head back, and with a light step, like dancing, he ran from Sukuna's hands.  

"You are stealthy like the stream, cool like the snow, fierce like the dragon," Satoru mused as he bounced around. Then he stopped by a nearby tree and leaned against it, tilting his head.  

"But if calling you Sukuna is what you truly wish for..." Satoru's smile deflated slightly. "Then I'll respect your wish."  

It wasn't about his wishes. Although Sukuna liked to think he was free, the truth was that he didn’t want to link his past with his current life. He cherished memories of his mother, but the strings that connected him to her were too fragile, and he didn’t want anyone to stain them. All that was left of his childhood was buried deep inside his heart.  

"You'll respect my wish?" Sukuna walked over to Satoru. "Then you'd be the first."  

"After I started running away..." Satoru admitted openly that his little wandering wasn't granted. "I heard many stories about you."  

Sukuna's eyes softened as he tried to take in Satoru's beauty. He wished he had the talent to draw Satoru's portrait.  

"A wonderful old man told me that he thinks Ryōmen Sukuna is a kami," Satoru lowered his voice as he shared the secret. "He said that Ryōmen Sukuna punishes the rich tyrants and helps peasants like him have a prosperous harvest."  

A smirk tugged at Sukuna's lips. "Is that so?"  

"Mhm."  

"And..." Sukuna closed the little distance between them, breathing in Satoru's unique aura and scent. "What do you think, Satoru?"  

"May I express my opinion as someone who trains to hunt you down?"

"You might work for your clan," he said carefully, lifting his hand, "but today you did something for yourself." When he was sure Satoru wouldn't use his technique, he cupped his cheek in his palm and smiled softly.  

"I ran away..." Satoru's eyes melted under his touch like honey.  

"You don't need to keep running away, Satoru. You are strong enough to do whatever you want." Sukuna lowered his voice to emphasize the importance of his words. "If they refuse to understand, then make them flee in fear."  

A wistful smile quirked at Satoru's lips. He lowered his gaze and placed his hand on Sukuna's which was still lingering on Satoru's face.  

"As long as they have my parents, I can't fight against them." Satoru took Sukuna's hand, curling his fingers around it.  

With his hand lowered, Sukuna noticed something strange on Satoru's face. In the flickering, cursed light, he initially thought the warmth blooming on Satoru's cheek was due to affection, a flush from Sukuna's touch spreading across his face. But the blushing soon became a smudge of blood that Sukuna had smeared with his hand.  

The supposedly impossible had become a reality: Sukuna's dismantling technique had cut through Satoru's impenetrable defense.

"The technique you used..." Sukuna's gaze dropped to their joined hands. "What do you call it?"  

"Huh?" Satoru gave him a puzzled look before he traced Sukuna's eyes  

"You see..." Lifting their hands, Sukuna broke their connection and spread his bloodied fingers for Satoru. "I cut through your armor."  

Eyes brimming with sincere astonishment, Satoru's lips stretched into a wide grin as he touched his face. "You managed to dissolve my infinity!"  

And Satoru didn't sense it. The cut was so sharp and clean that he didn't feel anything.  

"Infinity? That's what you call it?" Sukuna licked the blood off his finger, eyes locked on Satoru's. "You didn't even try to dodge?"  

"Well..." Embarrassed, Satoru looked away from the way Sukuna licked his blood. "I can see techniques with my eyes. I could see your attack, but it was too fast, too lethal."  

Absorbing the incredible facts, Sukuna put his arm down. What a twist! Sukuna knew about sorcerers who could see the surge of cursed energy and even identify other sorcerers based on it. But he had never met anyone who could literally see the form of a cursed technique.  

This fascinating fact brought a wicked smirk to Sukuna's face. Finally, there was someone who could rival his strength. He found—no, even better! Satoru found him! What a fantastic turn of events. Life was nothing but a chest of wonders. Sukuna had opened it as a child, and since then, the miracles had not stopped coming. Satoru was by far the most marvelous one.  

"You can see any technique?" Sukuna asked to confirm.  

"Yes. My eyes are sensitive. Sometimes they..." He paused, searching for the correct words. "Sometimes I can see far away, beyond trees, but I can't control it."  

Sukuna had never heard of such an ability. He was right about Satoru's eyes. They were the eyes of a deity. And those fools in his clan called Satoru a curse! Such a technique could compete with Zenin's Ten Shadows any day. If Sukuna lived long enough, he might witness something truly riveting.  

An owl hooted above their heads, breaking the trail of Sukuna's thoughts. The first thing he saw was Satoru's wondering face. He had a pouty expression and a slight wrinkle between his eyebrows. He probably wondered why Sukuna was so pleased with the revelation, which only widened the smile on Sukuna's face. Satoru was a gem among the stones.  

"Are you alright?" Satoru asked with sincere concern.  

"Excellent." Excited, Sukuna took Satoru's face between his hands and did what was natural for him—cherished what brought him joy.  

He pressed his lips against Satoru's forehead to express what a wonderful creation he was. The mere contact made Sukuna's heart swell oddly, while it muted Satoru completely. After a few heartbeats, Sukuna withdrew from the kiss enough to gaze into Satoru's eyes. "What if we trained together? I'll help you master your infinity."  

Only after Sukuna asked the question did Sukuna notice how unnaturally tense Satoru had become in his grasp. Pulling back slightly, Sukuna took a closer look at him. Satoru's eyes were wide, his mouth agape, and he appeared even paler than before. In the eerie, cursed light, he looked like a true specter.

"Satoru?" Sukuna called softly, gently squeezing his cheeks, which made Satoru's face form an adorable pout. Sukuna couldn't resist; now he wanted to kiss his lips.  

"You-you..." Satoru stammered the words escaping his mouth in a breathless rush. "How dare you..." He pressed his lips into a line, unable to finish the thought.  

"Hm? How dare I...?" Amused, Sukuna caressed his face, feeling Satoru's blushing cheeks melting against his palms.  

Satoru's cheeks puffed up so much that Sukuna imagined an outraged frog in his place. The thought amused him briefly, which Satoru, naturally, misinterpreted. Driven by his wounded pride, he punched Sukuna's chest hard enough to make him stumble back.  

Patting his sternum, Sukuna grinned darkly, his eyes shining through the dark like embers. He couldn't stop looking at Satoru. Everything about him was fresh.  

"It's only up to you if you let me touch you," Sukuna reminded Satoru, feeling his rapid heartbeat under his palm.  

It was real. Satoru piqued Sukuna's interest like nobody else before him. What even a powerful opponent struggled to achieve, Satoru managed by simply interacting with him.  

"Ah! Damn you!" Bristling like a cat, Satoru started massaging away the heat from his cheeks. "You must always tease me!"  

"This is only our second time meeting," Sukuna chuckled. "I've only started, my dearest."  

"Curse you!" Satoru shouted. If the night hadn't shaded their faces, Sukuna was certain he would see Satoru's cheeks burning bright.

Sukuna's laughter echoed softly in the night air as he watched Satoru muttering under his breath and fidgeting with the sleeves of his haori. He would have already stormed off into the forest if he were truly furious about the forehead kiss.

Watching him fondly, Sukuna decided to take another chance with his luck.  

"What do you say about my proposal?" Sukuna closed the distance Satoru had created between them. "We can arrange a specific day and place to train together."  

Satoru stopped playing with his sleeves and looked up at him, pondering. The cold calculation in his eyes was unmistakable. For Sukuna, however, it was intriguing. Wonderful even. He was delighted to see Satoru considering every aspect of the proposal.  

"I know a place..." Satoru's features softened as he lowered his gaze. "It's a clearing where we can use the barriers."  

"A barrier?" Sukuna cocked his head, rubbing his chin while placing two of his arms on his waist. "Do you trust me enough to train with me in a barrier?"  

Satoru clicked his tongue, amused. "Just because you managed to give me a tiny papercut doesn't mean you can seriously harm me." He snickered.

Offering a mischievous grin, Sukuna put his hand down. "I like your confidence."  

"It's a deal then." He nodded, satisfied with the outcome as he folded his arms. "Do you wish to seal our secret meetings with a binding vow?"  

Another surprise. "Why would I want to do that?"  

"So, your friends from better circles, who are free to do anything they want, wouldn't judge you for meeting up with a noble sorcerer." Satoru turned around, feigning offense, and began to walk away with his head held high. "On second thought, isn't it a treacherous act for you to be seen with me?"

Sukuna watched with a curl on his lips as Satoru paced around, thinking aloud. Twigs snapped under his shoes, intertwining with the nonsense spilling from his mouth.  

"Satoru..." Sukuna rubbed his forehead, his patience wearing thin.

"And why would someone like you want to keep the company of someone like me? Look at me. I'm a regular... Nothing is special about me." Satoru waved his hand dismissively. "And don't try to console me. I'm a random person."  

Then Satoru halted and lifted his hand to his hair, swirling his ponytail. "You are so wonderful. A warrior. And I'm a pawn."  

"What stupid things are you saying?" Sukuna drew in a sharp breath.  

"Stupid?!" Satoru whipped his head at him; his hair followed the motion, and for a split second, Sukuna could see the idea of Satoru having wings.  

"We are who we are!" Narrowing his eyes at Satoru, Sukuna put his foot on a rock as a warning signal. He was on the verge of charging toward Satoru. The way Satoru spoke about himself was irksome.

"I see your leg." He giggled sheepishly at how Sukuna's yukata opened as he put his leg up.  

Instantly, Sukuna grabbed him by the waist from behind and lifted him off the ground. Satoru yelled, kicking his feet. The effort he put into the struggle was laughable. Sukuna could tell that Satoru enjoyed every touch they had exchanged until now. Satoru’s body was well-built, firm, and flexing under Sukuna’s four arms. During the wild movements of Satoru’s wiggling and giggling, his ponytail swept across Sukuna’s face, tickling him.  

Sukuna smiled, turning his head, and tightening his grip around Satoru’s waist.  

"You keep forgetting to use your technique!" he scolded Satoru.  

"I don't! I simply don’t see a reason to use it around you!"  

"I don't know if I should feel flattered or insulted," Sukuna chuckled. But almost as if he had summoned it, Satoru's elbow jabbed into his side, sending him spinning like a whirlwind before kicking Sukuna into his own crossed arms.  

Sukuna planted his feet on the ground, his body enduring the mighty kick. He offered Satoru a wicked grin, and as he sensed no future threat from Satoru, he put his arms down.  

"I see what you mean by having wings when kicking."  

Satoru’s lips spread into a challenging chuckle. "Do you want me to show you more?"  

"I'd be honored."  

"Then follow me." Satoru bolted forward, his hair like silver lightning trailing behind him.  

Sukuna smiled, following him at the same pace. The flickering lantern died as Satoru’s cursed energy lost contact with it. They ran across the forest, Sukuna trailing after Satoru as if he were a dragonfly leading him to secret places.  

After a period of pursuit, they arrived at the clearing Satoru had mentioned. However, Sukuna didn't halt. He collided with Satoru's back, enveloping him in his arms and nestling his face into the crook of Satoru's neck. He inhaled deeply, almost like an animal scenting its partner. Warmth radiated through his lower abdomen as their bodies pressed together.

Satoru stilled in his arms. Amidst the rustling of leaves and night animals, Sukuna could hear his heart beating loudly.  

"T-this is the place..." Satoru stuttered slightly. He gripped Sukuna’s wrist as if to steady himself.  

That gesture alone prompted Sukuna to slowly withdraw his arms, pulling back slightly to give Satoru enough space. It was getting hard for him to hold back around Satoru. He was such a free spirit, and Sukuna responded to it.  

Despite being raised with strict manners by his family, Satoru continued to rebel, allowing his supposed mortal enemy to cradle his face and hold him close. Sukuna could no longer resist the natural attraction drawing him to Satoru. Though he remained cautious, Sukuna, like Satoru before him, felt no need for heightened vigilance around him. Perhaps Satoru was plotting. One day, when Sukuna would be distracted by Satoru’s beauty, Satoru might dive a knife into his heart.  

Everything about their encounter could be an act. Yet Sukuna simply couldn’t stop himself from wanting Satoru around. Trap or not, he would enjoy their time together until the day of betrayal.  

"Wonderful..." Sukuna’s word broke the tension. Turning around, he took in the magical atmosphere. "You can see the moonlight so clearly." He directed his gaze back at Satoru. "It shines on your beautiful face."  

Satoru opened his mouth fruitlessly. Gently drawing his eyebrows together, he averted his blue eyes. He appeared hopeless against Sukuna's advances.  

"Do you want to stay here and watch the sunrise with me?" Sukuna asked hopefully.  

"I can't stay that long. I have to return before the maids come to wake me in the morning."  

Sukuna’s expression softened at Satoru’s disappointed tone. Just a few moments ago, Satoru had spread his wings while showing his martial arts. Powerful and self-sufficient, yet he had to return to his cage before his master would get mad.  

Extending his hand, Sukuna cast him a tender smile. “At least say a proper goodbye before you disappear again.”  

Satoru hesitated like a cat offered a friendship. Eventually, he took the presented hand and let Sukuna pull him closer gently. “Until we meet again, Satoru.”  

He brought Satoru’s hand to his lips, but managed only to brush his lips against the tender skin before Satoru disappeared into thin air, leaving nothing behind but the essence of his cursed energy.  

Chapter Text

Fourteen days had passed since Sukuna last saw Satoru. He visited all the familiar places where Satoru could easily find him, but spent most of his days in the woods, around shrines, killing curses and foolish challengers. Bored and unsatisfied, his mood plummeted until yesterday, when he found a blue hair ribbon tied to a tree in the clearing Satoru had shown him. The piece of cloth was a love letter to the deprived Sukuna. 

He spent the night in the forest, sleeping under the starry skies, eagerly awaiting the morning for a chance to see Satoru. 

Consumed by thoughts of their meeting, he even forgot to hunt for food. A man of his build was always hungry, but the fear of missing the chance to meet Satoru while chasing prey kept him rooted in place. Instead, Sukuna ate two late apples from a nearby tree that were as sour and dry as his mood.  

Sukuna tucked the ribbon into his haori’s sleeve and settled in a sunny spot beneath one of the many trees. It was one of the last warm days, and he could already feel the cold creeping up from the ground. The mist lingered longer in the air, hovering over the creek and river like a ghost. Leaves had begun to fall, painting the trees in shades of brown, red, and yellow. Each day, Sukuna felt the approach of winter more keenly. 

An unusual rustling of the nearby leaves brought him out of his unexpected melancholy. The wind, dancing through the tree crowns, was loud enough to mislead anyone about impending danger. However, Sukuna only smiled. When the thick branch above him bent under the weight of a peculiar bird, his smile widened. 

"Are you a monkey now?" Sukuna asked, amused, without looking up. He didn't need to see to know it was Satoru. 

A light giggle filled the air, mingling with the rustling leaves. Satoru suddenly appeared upside down in front of Sukuna. Despite his ability to manipulate matter, he couldn't defy the unseen force that pulled everything towards the ground. His hair swayed, the turquoise, silky hair tie with two amber beads on the loose ends fluttering in the wind. 

Satoru grinned. "I have something for you." 

"I hope it's food. I'm starving." 

"I would let you bite me, but you said you wouldn't eat me even if you could." With that, Satoru vanished from Sukuna's sight. A flash of bright light marked his movement as he turned and landed on his feet, crouching in front of Sukuna. 

Sukuna openly admired Satoru's beauty—his red cheeks, vivid blue eyes, and slightly dry lips from the cold wind. While he was hanging upside down, his bangs had loosened from his ponytail. 

"I can bite you without eating you, though," Sukuna offered with a grin, reaching to brush the hair from where it had caught between Satoru's pale eyelashes. 

"Deal!" With an impish chuckle, Satoru rose to his feet and positioned his hand on the first of two swords tucked under his belt. 

"Is that what you want to train today?" Sukuna nodded at the sword. 

He was familiar with swordsmanship and archery, but he didn’t think he would need any of those weapons today, so he let them rest in the temple. 

"I want to see if you are as good with the real blade as you are with the cursed one." 

Sukuna’s lips curved with a hint of mischief. He didn’t hesitate and jumped on his feet, ready to take whatever Satoru had planned for today. Driven by the image of crossing swords or shedding Satoru’s precious blood, he removed his haori. 

Satoru's eyes were on him the whole time, his hand gripping the handle of the sword. Through the gentle blowing of the wind, Sukuna could hear Satoru's breath speeding up. Satisfied with the little show he gave to Satoru, he outstretched all four arms, dressed in a sleeveless kimono. 

“Are you ever cold?” Satoru camouflaged his timidity behind a casual remark, but Sukuna didn’t believe his act.  

“And if I admit that I am indeed cold, would you warm me up with your body?”   

Satoru's eyes widened, his cheeks and ears instantly turning crimson. With the vibrant backdrop of the woods, Satoru exuded a sense of belonging, akin to a deity, with the forest serving as his personal shrine. 

With a crescent smile, Sukuna waited for the answer, watching as Satoru’s surprised expression transformed into a frown. Internally, Satoru battled his embarrassment and inexperience. Sukuna knew that the teasing was pushing Satoru to his limit, and one more nudge would make him finally snap. 

Satoru sighed; his eyes turned down as he fixed his archery gloves. “Honestly...” he put both his hands on the handle of his sword and took a relaxed position as he looked up at Sukuna.  

“Hm?” Sukuna hummed curiously, tilting his head.  

“You look like you run hot like fire.” The way Satoru spelled those words, openly admiring and almost feeling them on his tongue, caused Suguna to draw in a slow breath. 

Each time they had met, Satoru was getting bolder, and his answers to Sukuna’s advances were more straightforward. He found it endearing, but he was concerned that he wasn't the only one courting Satoru, albeit in a more casual manner. 

“Then let my flames warm you,” Sukuna offered, lifting his hand lightly, palm open towards Satoru. 

It was an invitation. Sukuna’s fingers tingled with the need to take Satoru in his arms and feel his slender body against his. Instead, a playful chuckle painted Satoru's face, and he swiftly drew the top sword, turning its handle to face Sukuna. 

“I won’t use Infinity. If you manage to scratch me with the sword, I’ll allow you to bite me.”  

Pleasantly surprised by the offer, Sukuna didn’t hesitate to take the sword. He wrapped his long fingers around the black handle, feeling the unused cotton wrap against his hands. Though Sukuna preferred bows over swords, he was confident he could still give Satoru a tough time with the blade. 

Sukuna examined the steel, weighed the sword in his hand, and then looked up at Satoru. “And if I don’t?”  

“Then I’ll bite you."  

Surprise after surprise. What had happened during the past two weeks they hadn’t seen each other? Sukuna needed to talk to Satoru about it, but first, he had to secure his win in this fight. He was willing to do anything to get the chance to bite Satoru wherever he wanted. 

"I can see what you're thinking," Satoru said, tilting his head and clicking his tongue in disapproval. 

Sukuna laughed. “I forgot to tell you how handsome you are today.”  

“So are you."  

“I see you have progressed.” Sukuna watched as Satoru walked in light steps, measuring their distance and preparing himself for Sukuna's attack at any time. 

“What do you mean?”  

“Usually, you would remain in a stunned silence if I complimented you.” Sukuna grasped the sword with his two upper hands, maintaining a tight yet relaxed grip. 

Sukuna needed to take advantage of every opportunity, as Satoru would use his smaller build as leverage. He couldn't afford to swing wildly like a barbarian and hope for luck. No, he would wait like a patient predator, observing Satoru until the perfect moment presented itself.  

"I prepared for today!" Satoru beamed, satisfied. "I imagined all the kinds of compliments you might give me and told them to myself while looking at my reflection."  

Sukuna chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Hopefully, my actions today will be more impactful than my words." 

"I will give you no chance!" Satoru’s brows furrowed in concentration as he swiftly took a drawing stance, his hand hovering over his sword. 

The confidence in Satoru’s voice ignited Sukuna’s excitement. "Satoru, I will kiss you on any part of your body you desire if you manage to scratch me." With those words, Sukuna rushed forward, catching Satoru off guard as he was still processing the one-sided deal. 

Satoru barely managed to block Sukuna’s sword.  

“What was that stunt?” Sukuna struck Satoru’s sword with full strength, causing him serious difficulty in maintaining his guard.  

While Satoru was faster, Sukuna was stronger. As long as he could keep hitting Satoru’s sword, he had the advantage of wearing Satoru down before he could fully utilize his speed.  

“No kisses!” Satoru, outraged, pushed back and kicked Sukuna’s knee, making him bend slightly.  

“But I really wish to kiss you!”  

“No!” Satoru dodged the next lunge and, in one fluid motion, jumped back, landing perfectly in a defensive stance.  

Sukuna straightened his back, admiring Satoru’s pose. “You are a little dancer.”  

The way he carried himself was simply magnificent. With a light bird-like step and a relaxed but strong grip on his swords, Satoru’s whole body resembled a weapon. A sharp blade of a sword that Sukuna desired to lick all over. Ah, the thirst and the need to taste Satoru’s blood and his skin—it was driving him crazy.  

“And you’re a little poet.” Satoru gave him a cheeky smile before he struck with his sword.  

The sound of clashing metal resonated through the forest, warming the air. Leaves swirled around their feet as they fought, seemingly without end. They quickly learned to anticipate each other's moves. For Satoru, with his keen eyes, it was child's play. Sukuna used all his cunning to penetrate Satoru's seemingly impenetrable defense.  

Soon, their fight became a circling dance. They were predators vying for dominance. No longer did they clash swords; the battle of strength had transformed into a battle of willpower.  

As Sukuna mirrored Satoru's movements, he noticed a part of Satoru's body that seemed beyond his control. Moving smoothly like a tidal wave and swiftly like the wind, Sukuna surged forward, swinging his sword in an unexpected direction. As Satoru dodged the strike, he failed to realize that Sukuna wasn't targeting his shoulder as he thought.  

Sukuna swung his sword with speed and precision.  

Strands of Satoru's hair floated in the wind like bird feathers, drifting slowly to the ground until a breeze carried them toward Sukuna. Instinctively, he caught them, clenching his hand around the soft strands. As Satoru's eyes widened in realization, Sukuna's lips curled into a smile. He opened his palm and blew the hair away. 

"Was that part of your body, little bird?"  

Satoru quickly replaced his shock with a frown. "The deal was to deliver a scratch!"  

"And I did even more." Sukuna, satisfied, twirled his sword in his hand. "But if you desperately want to see me spilling your precious blood, little bird, we can continue."  

"You wish!" Rage twisted Satoru's face as he lunged forward, gripping his sword tightly.  

Sukuna ducked slightly, anticipating the clash. Just a step away from Satoru, he drew his sword, aiming for Satoru's weakest point: his neck. The angle was risky, and he knew there was no way to avoid Satoru's blade touching him.  

However, Sukuna had counted on that. The reward, even in defeat, was too tempting. Win or lose, both outcomes brought something valuable to him. But what was even better than tasting victory or failure was a tie.  

They remained in their final positions, both feeling the sting of their wounds. Sukuna could easily cheat and heal himself, but he refused to do so with Satoru. Never with him.  

The scent of blood filled the air. Sukuna's sensitive nose detected the tiny wound on Satoru's neck. Driven by primal instinct, like an animal, he tossed his sword to the ground and grabbed Satoru's shoulder, yanking him forward.  

"Wait!" Satoru dropped his sword, pushing against Sukuna's chest with frightened eyes.  

Facing each other, with Satoru pressed against him, Sukuna lowered his head to Satoru's neck, inhaling his scent deeply.  

"I believe you lost," Sukuna's voice dropped to a breathy half-whisper. 

Satoru gasped, his body visibly shivering. "S-so did you," he stammered. 

"Indeed." Sukuna dipped his nose into the bleeding wound. When the scent wasn't enough to satisfy his thirst, he flicked his tongue over it, tasting Satoru's life on his lips and in his mouth.  

“Sweet.” Finally, Sukuna closed his lips around the wound, sucking on it and kissing the bleeding testament of his victory, failure, and balance.   

Held firmly by Sukuna, Satoru struggled to stay upright. He clenched Sukuna’s shirt with one hand while the other sought out the spot on Sukuna’s biceps where he had inflicted an injury.  

Groaning at the pulse of pain in his arm, Sukuna bit into the sensitive flesh of Satoru's neck, smearing his blood all over his own face and Satoru’s neck.  

“Ryō...” Satoru gasped, his breath rattling like wind through a narrow gap. He collapsed as gently as a snowflake. Sukuna caught him with all his arms, holding him tenderly. One pair of arms encircled his waist, and another supported his shoulders and cradled his head.  

“You are sweeter than life." 

Sukuna gently lowered them to the ground, cradling Satoru securely in his protective embrace. He settled Satoru on his thighs, nuzzling his neck, and wishing he could drink from him like a well whenever he desired. 

The forest around them grew silent, with only the cold wind rustling the leaves as their witness. Sukuna felt the chill on his bare arms and realized the afternoon sun had vanished from the horizon. Clouds drifted across the darkening sky. Feeling a duty to protect Satoru, he tucked him under his chin, shielding him from the wind to keep him safe and warm. 

“Was that...” Satoru murmured against Sukuna’s chest. “Was that normal?”  

Smiling, Sukuna rested his cheek on top of Satoru’s head. “What do you think?”  

Sukuna held his breath, his heart racing as he awaited Satoru’s reply. The warmth between their bodies quickly became something Sukuna never wanted to lose. 

“It was weird. But in a good way.” Satoru squirmed in his arms. "Intense." 

“The fight or the bite?”  

Satoru groaned at the teasing question, using Sukuna’s shoulder to sit up properly. His appearance was disheveled from the fight, but in a charming way, with his hair tousled and cheeks flushed with exercising. Sukuna smiled, tucking a strand of Satoru’s hair behind his ear. 

“It seems I gave you an unplanned haircut,” he muttered, brushing his knuckles over Satoru’s cheek.  

“Is it too much?” Satoru’s voice tingled with worry. As he flicked his eyes up at Sukuna, his snowy eyelashes curled up, reminding Sukuna of daisy petals. 

A frown crossed his face, and before Sukuna knew it, Satoru was wiping the blood from his face with the sleeve of his haori. 

Laughing softly at the gesture, Sukuna leaned back and waited until Satoru lowered his hand. 

“Hmm...” Sukuna reached behind Satoru and twirled the bottom of Satoru’s ponytail around his fingers. “What do you consider too much?”  

Satoru reached back, loosening the silky tie and allowing his hair to cascade over his shoulders. He ran his hand through it, assessing its length. It was Sukuna’s first time experiencing Satoru with his hair down. The scene unfolding before him was serene and domestic. Sukuna's eyes glowed with unspoken desire as he gently combed his fingers through the back of Satoru's hair. 

“I can’t wait to see you during the winter.”  

"You won't see me coming! I'll be like a hunter stalking his prey!" Satoru turned his head toward Sukuna, narrowing his eyes at him through his bangs. However, his serious expression quickly gave way to a cheeky grin. 

With a lingering, subtle smile, Sukuna brushed the hair away from Satoru's face. "I can't wait." 

The gesture made Satoru recoil slightly, his expression shifting to gloom as he lowered his gaze. His hair fell like a curtain, shielding his face. Sukuna's brows knitted in concern as he gently scooped Satoru's hair and tucked it behind his ear once more. 

“What’s with that crestfallen face?” Sukuna's voice was laced with worry. “What’s troubling you, Satoru?” 

“Honestly?” Satoru let out a bitter chuckle. "Everything." 

“You can’t let them get to you.”  

Satoru sighed and threw his head back, trying to organize his thoughts. “That’s easy for you to say...” He lowered his head. “I’m turning seventeen this year, and I still have a curfew. When my sorcery skills aren’t needed, they treat me like a child. 

"I look at you and can't help but envy your freedom." As he spoke, Satoru nervously picked at his obi. His pale, slender fingers gripped the cloth, stretching it to the point of tearing. Sukuna reached for his hand, halting his movement. Carefully, he unfurled Satoru's fingers from the belt and lifted their hands together. 

“You told me you see yourself as just another face in the crowd. But I see you as a strong warrior.” Sukuna placed Satoru’s hand on the cut on his shoulder, drawing him closer until their faces were just a heartbeat apart.  

“You’re a man. A child wouldn’t stand a chance of injuring me.”  

Satoru’s voice dropped as he spoke. “Didn’t you let me?”  

“No, Satoru. I would never patronize you.” Sukuna smiled soothing Satoru’s worries with gentle strokes on his back. “Now, I believe you still have a reward to claim.”  

Satoru sighed in frustration. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe we’re supposed to be the same age.”  

“Well, I grew up in a temple,” Sukuna revealed. “I picked up the manners of the priests and maidens.”  

A sheepish smile spread across Satoru’s face, his eyes brightening as he fully turned to face Sukuna. “You’re an old man already.”  

“Strangely, sometimes I feel that way,” Sukuna sighed wistfully, gazing up at the darkening sky. “Sometimes I feel like an old soul wandering around.”  

“Hm,” Satoru nodded. “You are full of nostalgia.”  

When Sukuna looked down, he met Satoru’s intense gaze. Every thought vanished from his mind as Satoru’s closeness took his breath away. If he leaned in slightly, he could kiss those pink lips. He wanted Satoru. Every instinct screamed at him to claim and never let go, even if he had to run away with Satoru. Imagining that scenario, Sukuna possessively tightened his grip on Satoru’s waist, pulling him closer.  

“Tell me...” Sukuna murmured. “What do you feel when we are this close?”  

Satoru stared at him, unmoving, his eyes brighter than ever, growing more tender with each passing moment. His brows arched slightly, his gaze dreamy. No one had ever looked at Sukuna like that. He felt irresistibly drawn to Satoru by an unearthly force. Just when Sukuna felt there was no escape from Satoru’s sweet trap, Satoru suddenly snapped out of his trance and forced himself to take a deep breath. His mind quickly caught up with his body as his cheeks flushed a shade of red reminiscent of the sweetest apple Sukuna had ever tasted. 

“I uh...” Satoru muttered, trying to steady himself. His grip on Sukuna’s biceps tightened as he said: “I believe I still have a reward to claim.” 

Sukuna didn't anticipate what would happen next. Satoru tilted his head and drew closer, his warm breath materializing like a puff in the cold air as he pressed his soft lips against Sukuna's cheek. 

A surprise worth thousands of stars. 

Sukuna’s eyes fluttered closed as he inhaled Satoru’s scent, letting it seep into his lungs, his blood, and his heart. A surge of indescribable joy washed over him, breaking through all his defenses. He let the happiness take over, wrapping all his arms around Satoru in a tight embrace, hiding his face in the crook of Satoru’s bloodied shoulder.  

“Ah, Satoru...” he murmured, swaying him gently. “My beautiful bird. You are my only blessing in this world.”  

Friend, lover, or enemy—it didn’t matter to Sukuna at that moment. The blissful warmth flooding his heart blinded his rational thoughts. If he had to die right then, even by Satoru’s hand of betrayal, he would die happy. Satoru’s feelings might have been untrue, but as long as Sukuna’s heart spoke the truth, it didn’t matter. It was a poem of few words, a love that was one-sided and directed toward an enemy. 

“I wish to be your nest, my little bird.”  

Satoru hummed softly against Sukuna’s cheek, the warm puff of air tickling his skin. “All because of a tiny kiss?”  

Smiling, Sukuna turned his face, brushing his lips against Satoru’s. “Then give me a big one.”  

“Hmm...” Satoru closed one eye, feigning deep thought, then swiftly pulled away with a playful smirk. "No." 

A shadow fell over his smile as Satoru noticed his own bloodied hand. His gaze flickered to the wound on Sukuna's shoulder. He had smeared the blood around Sukuna's biceps as he clutched his arm. Curious about what Satoru would do, Sukuna watched as his eyes examined the red stains on his fingers and palm. 

“Have you ever spilled a human’s blood, Satoru?”  

Satoru nodded hesitantly. “But it feels fresh every time.”  

"See..." Sukuna cupped Satoru's hand. "Imagine you're holding a flower. It blossomed under the sun, but as the season changed, it weakened. The wind plucked away its petals one by one. All that remains are the seeds." He closed Satoru's hand. "Now, all you need to do is wash it away so the flower can bloom again." 

When he glanced back at Satoru, he noticed a peculiar veil clouding his typically bright eyes. Perhaps he was lost in memories. Sukuna refrained from asking more questions to avoid making him uncomfortable. Satoru retained his unique innocence, yet he was no stranger to taking lives. This aspect of life had been with them since childhood. While love was their distant friend, death was a faithful companion.  

"It's different when it's yours," Satoru finally spoke, lifting his gaze to meet Sukuna's.  

"Why? Because you train to kill me?"  

Satoru nodded, his eyebrows knitting in concern.  

The gentle gesture warmed Sukuna's heart. "Don't worry about me, Satoru."  

"How can I not?"  

It was impossible for Sukuna to comprehend that someone genuinely cared about his well-being. He was considered the best sorcerer in the Heian-kyō. Despite Satoru being his closest rival, Sukuna was confident that if Satoru ever turned against him, he would win the fight.  

"I'll make sure I'm always stronger than you."  

Satoru snorted, shaking his head. “You wish. I’m already as strong as you.” 

Sukuna laughed. He achieved the exact outcome he had hoped for: a break in the tension and a new objective for Satoru to focus on, rather than constantly thinking about the life his family had shaped for him. 

"I can beat you anytime I want." He placed his hand on Sukuna's shoulder, slowly lifting himself up. 

Sukuna loosened his grip on Satoru, allowing him to rise. The cold wind swept through Satoru's body, tousling his hair and slipping under his clothes, making him shiver. Sukuna could only gaze at his beauty, adorned in white, like a cunning fox in its winter fur. 

“Ah! I lost my tie!” Satoru exclaimed, looking around helplessly as he scooped his hair into his hand to keep it out of his face. “I should cut my hair. It only makes me look young and stupid!” he spat angrily. 

“The wind probably took it,” Sukuna stated, “bring me my haori. It’s over there,” he pointed to the ground next to the bushes.  

"Don't you have two working feet?" Satoru pivoted on his heel, quickly walking over to the discarded top. “Fearsome Ryōmen Sukuna, the living legend, and he can’t even stand up. Not only are you old, but you're also conserved." 

Sukuna smiled, finding Satoru's annoyed pout endearing. When Satoru returned and handed him the haori, Sukuna motioned for him to sit in front of him. "Turn your back to me," Sukuna instructed, searching through the sleeves until he found the blue ribbon Satoru had tied on the branch. 

“I need to go home already.” Satoru sat down, crossing his legs. “But it would be nice to sit by a campfire with you.”  

“I would love that, too.” Sukuna gently raked his fingers through Satoru’s tousled hair. “Maybe I should carry a comb with me,” he teased.  

“Or maybe I should get a haircut,” Satoru remarked, his voice tinged with irritation.  

“Now, that would be a shame.”  

“I’m almost seventeen. It’s inappropriate to have such long hair.”  

“Just because they say so doesn’t mean you have to follow.”  

Satoru sighed, tilting his head. Sukuna didn’t need to see his expression to know he was rolling his eyes. “You see my struggles as if they mean nothing. But it’s not that easy for me to break the rules. I’ll get punished.”  

Sukuna fixed Satoru’s posture and threaded the ribbon under his gathered hair, wrapping it around and fastening it with a knot.  

“You will get punished?” Sukuna scoffed. “You just said that you’re as strong as me.” 

“So?” Satoru retorted. 

“ S o , it means you get punished because you let them.”  

Satoru snorted, reaching back to adjust and smooth his hair. “You’re a bad influence on me, Sukuna.”  

“I assume that’s one of the reasons your family wants me dead.”  

Though Sukuna spoke casually, without blame, he felt Satoru tense up. The silence between them deepened, blending into the dusk and making it seem even darker. Sukuna could only wonder what was going through Satoru’s mind. If he asked, he was sure Satoru wouldn’t tell him the truth.  

“Earlier, you called my name...” Sukuna decided to change the topic. He didn’t want to part with Satoru on such a serious note.  

“I did.” Satoru’s reply was low, barely audible over the rustling leaves.  

“I liked the way you said it.”  

Satoru glanced over his shoulder with a bright glint in his eye. The little hope and joy remained even as he lowered his head. “I don’t know when I can meet you again. My clan is hosting the Fujiwara.”  

“What a joyful company,” Sukuna snickered.  

"Well..." Satoru's lips tightened, but a small, sad smile broke through. He reached out and gently squeezed Sukuna's ankle.  

The simple touch sent a tingle to Sukuna's toes. He gave Satoru a suggestive smile, but Satoru quickly stood up.  

"If you find my hair tie somewhere," he said, adjusting his haori, "you can keep it." 

Sukuna watched carefully, knowing Satoru was about to disappear as he always did, vanishing into thin air like a spirit.  

"Are you going to disappear without a goodnight kiss?" Sukuna prodded, making Satoru turn his head. 

They exchanged a short, but intense stare before Satoru’s lips stretched into a smirk. "I'm shy." 

And just like that, Satoru was gone. 

Chapter Text

“I told you not to return!” the stooped old man shouted angrily. His Shinto priest robe, worn and tattered from time and use, hung loosely on his frail frame. In his trembling hands, he clutched a ceramic bowl.

Sukuna could see that it wasn’t just the priest’s old age causing the erratic movements. The priest couldn't stop shaking, causing water to spill from the bowl. It was a pitiful sight. The man who had once taught Sukuna to read and write had fallen into the depths of prejudice and contempt. Sukuna had never been foolish enough to call the priest a father or teacher. From a young age, Sukuna had known that forming relationships with other humans was futile. They withered away like flowers. Either they died or betrayed you. Nobody stayed because they wanted to. They stayed because they needed wealth or a roof above their head. Such were marriages and friendships of all kinds.

“Hayashi-san,” Sukuna addressed him politely, “I believe I stayed by your side of my own will. You are not my owner. I was, and still am, free to walk wherever I wish.”

The priest’s jaw tightened, and his wrinkled face contorted into a hateful grimace. His sharp gaze bored dark holes into Sukuna’s calm posture. Hatred had accompanied Sukuna since his childhood. The only person who had ever truly loved him, despite his physical differences, was his mother. That was the only kind of love Sukuna had ever known—expressed through singing, knives, blood, and tears. Hot, loud, and powerful as death.

“Calm down,” Sukuna said, his voice steady and devoid of any ulterior motives. “I only came to seek certain knowledge.”

“I don’t think I have anything more to teach you,” the priest replied coldly, though he didn’t dare to move.

Sukuna inhaled the crisp, cold air into his lungs and exhaled a hot cloud. No matter how picturesque the winter was, he didn’t enjoy its freezing touch. It only reminded him of how cold his heart had become. Not even the cruelest tongues of ice could match the icicles in his chest. No season could turn his heart toward the sun. No woman, no man... no man. Maybe one could. One man certainly could. That’s why Sukuna paid a visit to the elderly priest at the temple.

“I need you to tell me more about a certain person. A man of your age and position would surely know,” Sukuna said, waiting patiently for the priest’s response.

The priest’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked away. Sukuna could see the old man wrestling with his morals. Should he let the sorcerer in, or should he banish him and risk his life? Sukuna himself couldn’t guarantee the priest's safety if violence erupted. After a moment of contemplation, Hayashi let out a resigned sigh and gestured for Sukuna to follow him.

As they approached the temple, childhood memories flooded Sukuna. The roof was heavy with freshly fallen snow, and a warm flame flickered behind the windows. Sukuna remembered his younger self running around, training his newfound techniques. The temple maidens had taught him to build snow animals, and when he pierced them with his invisible blades, the young women scattered like birds startled by a thrown stone.

After completing the cleansing ritual, Sukuna removed his shoes and followed the priest into the temple. He looked around and found the rooms devoid of people.

“Where are the maidens? Are you alone here?”

“Not many people come here anymore. They have a new idol to pray to.” The priest put the nearly empty bowl on the ground and carefully sat on the cold floor. No tatami, just floorboards.

“I’ve heard.” Sukuna nodded as he walked around the holy area of the temple to peek out of the window at the backyard.

There, he saw someone cleaning the snow from the garden. What a waste of time. Sukuna chuckled softly, recalling how the old priest had given him the same chore to keep a curious Sukuna occupied.

“Who’s that?”

“Nobody,” Hayashi retorted. “Now, tell me what you came for, so I can return to my chores.”

Sukuna turned from the window, looking the priest over, uninterested. “I met someone early at the beginning of summer.”

“And what do you want from me?”

“I’m certain that it’s a trap.” Sukuna pulled away from the window, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his haori. “An alluring, sweet trap.” Despite the looming danger, Sukuna smiled.

“Don’t tell me that someone like you can fall in love,” the priest scoffed. “Even if you did, I taught you better than to follow blindly.”

“You did,” Sukuna agreed. “That’s why I am here. I need you to tell me everything you know about Gojo Satoru.”

The priest’s eyes widened in shock. He gasped, struggling to find words. Sukuna watched him with amusement. He had already gathered as much information about Satoru as possible from the villagers and other sorcerers. It was no secret that the treasure of the Gojo clan was constantly on the move. Satoru was a playful, deceiving fox in white fur. Sukuna was no fool to naively fall for him.

“Your reaction speaks for you.” Sukuna stood beside the priest.

Hayashi lowered his eyes and balled his hands into fists. “How did you two meet?”

“That’s not important. I want to know where they hold his parents.”

Another shocking expression ran across the priest’s face as he whipped his head toward Sukuna. “Even if I knew...”

“I was not asking, Hayashi-san.” Sukuna interrupted him. “I want you to tell me. And if you don’t know, I want you to find out.”

Based on the priest’s sincere reaction, Sukuna concluded that Satoru wasn’t lying about his family.

“How do you want me to do that? I’m just an ordinary Shinto priest. Ask those with the new idol. They know better, more.”

“Don’t try to mislead me!” Sukuna warned. “I will not be made a fool of! The soldiers of Fujiwara are tearing down Buddhist temples. If you want to set a trap, at least make it less obvious.” He scoffed.

The priest frowned slightly, bowing his head in embarrassment. After a short, calming silence, he took a deep breath. “I know only a little.”

“Tell me everything.”

The priest hesitated, gripping his robes nervously. He was grappling with another moral dilemma. Did he view speaking of Satoru as a betrayal? It wouldn’t be a surprise if the Gojo clan had forbidden everyone to speak of their treasure.

“Do not fear the clan; fear me,” Sukuna said sternly. “I have no more use for you, old man, than the Fujiwara or Gojo do. Now speak!”

The man’s dark eyes fixed on Sukuna with a look of hurt. His wrinkled face resembled crumpled paper. Sukuna knew he was responsible for some of those lines etched into the priest’s distressed features. Years of stress and worry caused by Sukuna had left deep scars on the man’s skin and soul. However, Sukuna could not muster any sympathy for someone who had so readily sold him to the Fujiwara clan.

Sukuna caught the priest staring at the criminal markings on his wrists.

“What’s with that look, Hayashi-san? Are those regrets I see?” Sukuna chuckled darkly. “Don’t you think it’s too late for that?”

“You have so many of them...” he muttered, visibly uneasy.

“Aren’t they pretty?” Sukuna looked over the double bands on his hand. “Those two, I have because of you.”

Hayashi lowered his fearful and worried gaze. “What are your intentions with the young master?”

Sukuna arched an eyebrow, trying to read more from the priest’s face. “I believe you are in no position to question me.”

“Why him?” the priest pressed.

“One more question, Hayashi-san, and I’ll burn this temple to the ground.” He narrowed his eyes at him. In his sleeves, Sukuna rubbed his cold fingers, itching to start slashing across the holy grounds.  

“I would think of you as a murderer, a butcher, but not a blasphemer.” Disappointed, the priest shook his head. “This place used to be your home.”

"Home?! The sorcerers destroyed my mother's house!" Sukuna shouted. "I have no place to call home, and it's all because of people like you."

"Didn't I give you a roof over your head and food to fill your stomach?" Hayashi snapped, his eyes burning with desperate fire.

Sukuna ended his outburst by slicing the tips of the candles in the lanterns at the room's corners. Cold gloominess enveloped the temple. Sukuna approached the stooped priest with calculated steps, sensing his fear palpably across the room, like a warm streak of light cast by the morning sun through the trees.

"Tell me, Hayashi-san, do you wish to die by my hand? I can grant you that wish."

"Do you think the young master would favor a criminal like you? Someone who threatens the priest?" He trembled with a mix of fear and hope. "You can still redeem your corruption..."

A cut marred the priest's face. He gaped in horror as he touched his sliced cheek.

“I said no more questions. I am too benevolent with you.” Sukuna sighed. “Now, stop blabbering and answer: Do you know anything about Gojo Satoru’s parents?”  

The priest remained petrified from the unholy attack in the temple, staring at his bloodied fingers. Sukuna could hear his heart pounding wildly against his crooked ribs, like a dying bird trapped in a rotting cage. Pitiful.

“Speak, or you’ll have no hand to be worried about!”  

Jolting in fear, Hayashi let out a suffocated whimper. How naive he had been to believe that the Gojo or Fujiwara clan posed a greater threat than Sukuna. Who was the real blasphemer here? Hayashi's hesitation was offensive. The man would surely take his secrets to his grave, but Sukuna knew what worked on a man like this priest.

“The kid outside...” Sukuna chuckled viciously. “What if I bring them here and start cutting limb after limb right in front of your eyes?”  

Hayashi gulped, cold sweat glistening on his forehead as he clutched his hands within his robes. It was a delightful sight. Sukuna crouched beside him, lifting a finger to tip the man's head up.

“I can keep bringing villagers here. I will kill them one by one until you reach your breaking point. I can give you such torture you’ll lose your mind.” Sukuna whispered with a dark suggestion. “But you will tell me what I want to hear no matter what.”  

“W-when...” trembling, the priest stuttered. “When did you become like this?”  

Sukuna's lips twisted into a sly smile as he directed his technique toward Hayashi, severing his ear. The priest collapsed onto the floor, wailing in agony. 

“They say the third time's the charm,” Sukuna called out over the commotion. Unfazed, he watched the man writhing in pain, clutching the remnants of his ear.

“Do you remember the story you used to tell me? The one about the fox and the woman...” Sukuna tilted his head, his eyes locked on the blood streaks marring the priest’s face. “It’s my favorite story.”

Sukuna stood up. “A woman shielded a baby fox.” He pouted slightly, adding a touch of drama to his storytelling.

Hayashi whimpered on the floor, his body trembling. Such a tiny cut, and the human was already on the verge of losing consciousness. Pathetic. Sukuna reached into his haori’s sleeve and pulled out a clean white cloth, which he used as a scarf to shield himself from the freezing wind.

“One day, the fox stopped coming...” Sukuna continued the story as he rolled the priest onto his back, forcing his hand away. “The woman was sad, feeling the deepening loneliness. But somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to hate the fox...”

Sukuna folded the cloth and pressed it against the priest's wound.

“Tell me about Gojo Satoru’s parents,” Sukuna demanded, gripping the man's chin. Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by a sudden presence.

Sukuna turned his head towards the backyard door, where the child from the garden stood. They gazed at each other with uncertain expectations. Sukuna couldn’t tell if the child was a boy or a girl. The design of their kimono suggested a boy, but the gentle features and shoulder-length white hair were quite striking for a boy.

Like a ghost. Fascinating. Where had those creatures been hiding from Sukuna?

“How does the story continue?” the child asked.

“Uraume!” the priest suddenly called out. “Run! Run, you foolish child!”

Sukuna flicked his eyes at the priest and then back at Uraume. A mischievous grin appeared on Sukuna’s face as he let go of the priest and stood up.

Despite Hayashi’s desperate cries, the child didn’t move. Sukuna couldn’t discern Uraume's emotions at that moment. Their face was stoic, their posture relaxed. A foolish child indeed. Their lack of a sense of danger, however, intrigued Sukuna. He wanted to demonstrate the consequences of such a character trait.

However, his warrior instinct told him that using violence against this child would be futile. The cold aura around them seemed to burn, transcending the air and grasping Sukuna like a ghostly hand.

Wonderful.

"The woman was poor, and she often stole from the merchants,” Sukuna continued the story as he slowly approached the child.

He purposefully avoided the entire holy area, which even to him was strange behavior. He didn’t hesitate to spill the priest’s blood, but he was still respectful enough not to cross the holy ground with the sacred objects.

“She was on the run that day when she hid in the bushes. Suddenly, the fox appeared. It was happy, and you know how loud foxes can be...”

Uraume turned their head towards Sukuna, impatient and curious about what happened next. Behind their cold demeanor lay a child’s innocence.

“The merchants found her because of the fox and beat her.” Sukuna placed two of his hands on his chest.

Uraume frowned slightly. “But the fox couldn’t know.”

“That’s true.” Sukuna snorted, pausing near the child. “What lesson did you take from the story?”

Their eyebrows knitted gently as they processed everything. “That kindness is a weakness?”

An amused, huffed laugh escaped Sukuna’s throat. “If you look at it that way. But it means that even if we mean no harm, we can cause pain.” He lifted his hand and ruffled their hair.

“I’m not a child!” Uraume complained about that gesture, but despite that, they let Sukuna keep ruffling their hair. “I’m already a young man!”

“Is that so?!” He chuckled. “What does this foolish priest mean to you?”

“I help him around the temple because no maiden wants to anymore.” Uraume held his head high, looking at Hayashi's pitiful state.

“Why?” At first, Sukuna thought the priest had dismissed the maidens. But the revelation that they refused to come and help the old priest piqued Sukuna’s interest.

“Someone cursed Hayashi-san. Every day, new spirits come to haunt him,” Uraume explained.

Sukuna’s face brightened with a broad smile. “Karma has found you!” He laughed at the priest’s misfortune.

“Maybe you should try seeking some blessings in the Buddhist temples!” As Sukuna was speaking, something else caught his attention.

“And you, Uraume, you are not scared of the spirits?”

“I’m a sorcerer,” he muttered plainly. “I gave my services for a roof and a meal.”

"Excellent. What splendid news." Sukuna laughed at Hayashi’s endless suffering. He clasped his hand over Uraume’s shoulder, gesturing for them to stay and wait.

As Sukuna approached the whimpering priest, he stepped onto the holy ground. After descending two steps, he crossed the tatami and arrived at the altar where the chests were stored. Only a few people were aware of the sacred tools that the temple had been holding for years.

Sukuna used his technique to rip off the top of the altar, then kicked away the empty chests that served as decoys. The fake items the temple priests had stored in the chests fell and scattered across the floor.

“How dare you!” the priest yelled in anguish and fury.

“You fool, do you believe that someone has cursed you?!” Sukuna laughed as he cut through the flooring. “Who would want to curse a nobody like you!”

“Wait...” Uraume gasped. “Those items...” He pointed at the blade and charms on the floor.  

“Remove yourself from the sacred place!” Hayashi’s face turned red from yelling.

Sukuna crouched next to the hole he had cut in the planks and reached inside to take out a medium-sized wooden chest with iron lacing. Seals protected the chest from all sides. Sukuna ran his fingers over the rope and chuckled. What a fortunate find.

“I knew you were hiding something, old man!” Sukuna stood up, tucking the chest under his arm.

“Return it!” The priest shook with rage, still holding the cloth against his ear.

"You went from questioning me to commanding me around..." Sukuna feigned offense. “We can’t have that, Hayashi-san.” He ran up the two stairs to face the man writhing in pain.

“I have a huge, loving heart, Hayashi-san.” Sukuna offered a tiny smile as he gripped the priest’s chin. “But unfortunately, my patience runs short. You should have told me what I wanted to know. We could have spared ourselves all of this.”

The priest heaved. “Uraume...” he gasped, clearly losing strength. “Uraume! Redeem your soul! Run and tell everyone what happened!”

Sukuna tilted his head, amused. “Do you want more people to die, Hayashi-san? I told you what would happen if you didn’t tell me what I wanted to know.”

“You’ve already stained everything holy!” Hayashi rasped, coughing. “I won’t allow you to stain the young master, too!”

Sukuna sighed, disappointed. Rage finally coursed through his veins. “What do you think I want to do with his parents? Chop them up and eat them?” He spat angrily and pushed the priest to the floor.

Hayashi whimpered, his frail body barely able to endure more rough treatment, but Sukuna's long-held hatred for the priest burned fiercely within him.

“You are like the rest of them." Sukuna hissed. "I wouldn’t be surprised if it were you who started to spread the lies about me eating people!”  

Sukuna gazed down at him, his expression cold and devoid of empathy. "And you know what?" His face twisted with disgust and hatred. "Maybe I should start doing that. And I'll begin with you!" 

“He’s an old, wrinkled man,” Uraume suddenly spoke. “He doesn’t have much meat on him,” he added with a playful glint in his eyes.

Sukuna laughed derisively at the priest. It was astonishing to think that a decade ago, this same man had sheltered Sukuna under his large haori and brought him into the temple to feed him. Hayashi was one of the few who never turned away from Sukuna's disfigured form. However, when Sukuna's curse began to manifest and his fascination with sorcery grew, Hayashi didn't hesitate to sell him to the Fujiwara.

“You are too dangerous to run around freely. ”   

Luckily, Sukuna managed to escape after severely injuring one of the sorcerers. They caught him later in the village and forced the bands upon his arms. "A murderer," they told the villagers. "A bloodthirsty murderer who rejected the emperor’s mercy." Sukuna had never tried to cover them up. He wore his stigma proudly. At least everyone left him alone.

“Say, Hayashi-san...” Sukuna spoke in a much calmer tone, trying to suppress his anger. He rolled his shoulders, releasing some of the physical tension. “Is it so hard to believe that I want to help Gojo Satoru?”

A brief silence settled between them. "You want to help him..." the priest said cautiously, though Sukuna could detect the thinly veiled doubt in his tone.

“I cherish what I like,” Sukuna answered truthfully.

“Why?” he asked in disbelief. "Don't you know they're training him to kill you?"

“I know.” Sukuna’s expression softened. “Yet I want to help him. I’m sick of having only enemies.”

“You can’t possibly turn him into your ally.” Hayashi finally looked at him, his eyes fluttering as he balanced on the edge of reality and sleep. “You are a tiger, and he’s a dragon...”

Impatience surged within Sukuna once again. Urgency took over his body as he gripped the priest’s shoulder, pulling him closer. He searched the man’s empty eyes.

"Tell me where his parents are!" he demanded, his teeth clenched.

"If you think finding his parents will break his chains..." The priest lost consciousness momentarily before snapping back as Sukuna shook him.  

"It will give him the push to fight for his happiness!" Sukuna said, confident in the success of his plan. He gripped the priest's robe so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"He's not like you..." Hayashi muttered.

It didn’t matter to Sukuna that Satoru’s heart still beat to the rhythm of sacred, ceremonial drums. The pale flame burning in his eyes was a perfect contrast to Sukuna’s scarlet one. He knew that the brighter the flame, the hotter it burned. Satoru’s passion for life was his greatest strength—not his Infinity, nor his exceptional eyesight. It was his desire to live. Sukuna was determined to unleash the chained beast within him. If it meant finding Satoru’s parents or fighting the Gojo or Fujiwara, then so be it.

Sukuna was alive, and he lived solely for what he found pleasurable and interesting.

"One day you’ll understand he’s only using you."

Sukuna’s eyes darkened. "Quit the nonsense!" he demanded, raising his voice. "Tell me what you know!"

“You don’t remember...” Hayashi heaved, fainting again.  

“Damn you, old man!” Sukuna shouted, shaking him aggressively.

The priest snapped his eyes open at once. “You’ve already met him as a child.” His ghostly, blank stare signaled he was already halfway gone.

The revelation didn’t shock Sukuna. After all, who wouldn’t be curious about the blasphemous child rumored to have devoured his brother in the womb? At least, that was the priest’s conclusion about Sukuna’s condition.

“You...” Hayashi murmured, “murdered your mother... and you will murder him too...”  

Sukuna glared at the priest, fury coursing through his veins. While he relished punishing foolishness, he despised the lies people spread about him. They painted him as a murderer and a cannibal. To the villagers, he was either a demon or a godlike figure. But what Sukuna loathed most was when someone blamed him for his mother’s death. As a child, he had witnessed the curse creeping over the walls, trapping his mother in its cold, deadly grip.

A curse had taken his mother away. A curse Sukuna had never been able to find.

“Stop wasting your breath and tell me what you know!” Sukuna grabbed the priest by his collar. “You know something!”

Hayashi exhaled his final breath, his weary eyes closing for the last time.

Defeated, Sukuna laid the lifeless body on the floor. It was all due to his impatience. If only he had negotiated more with the priest if he hadn’t rushed everything, if his pride hadn’t taken over. Sukuna drew in a sharp breath, clenching his fists. Cursed be his wild nature! Cursed be the tiger claw that constantly tore at his heart, leaving him restless.

“Alright, then...” Sukuna lifted his head, giving the priest one last stare. “You won. Keep your secrets.”

“May I suggest something?” Uraume spoke up softly from behind him.

Sukuna turned his head slightly, indicating that he was listening.

“I know someone.” 

Chapter Text

Clouds of smoke mingled with the falling snow. Orange flames licked the horizon as they burned down another village that, to the Fujiwara, was insignificant but had dared to raise a modest Buddhist temple on the border of Heian-kyō. Initially, the emperor had only requested that temples be kept out of the big cities. Over the years, however, people’s boldness had grown, and as they moved closer to the expanding cities, they tried to camouflage these temples as Shinto shrines. Sukuna had seen many such attempts, and the soldiers had thwarted them all. 

It had been hours since the fire started. Sukuna could hear the villagers' screams all the way to the mountain temple above the village. The terrace gave Sukuna a great view of the valley. 

He sipped his tea, staring at the massacre. If anyone had asked, he would have helped them. But lately, he had been chased away from every village like a rat. It had stopped being amusing. He no longer found it fulfilling to slit their throats. This—this burning punishment was more to Sukuna’s taste. Buddhists called it karma. 

“In what times do we live...” the young maiden shook her head, pouring another cup of tea for herself. “Do they think the gods would agree to this unholy slaughtering?” 

Sukuna didn’t reply. He didn’t like to assume things, especially when it came to questioning the spirits. Fighting an incarnated deity was no easy task, even for him. Since the day he desecrated Hayashi’s shrine, he’d been seeing blue flames rising from random places around the woods. Someone was tracking him, and it wasn’t human. That’s why he came here to make a peaceful offering to the gods and demons. 

“It’s cold...” the maiden put her small hand on his shoulder. “Allow me to warm you up again.” 

Her sweet, alluring voice wasn’t strong enough to drag Sukuna’s attention from the burning grounds. Fujiwara, Sugawara, Gojo, Zenins... Clans of fools who thought they could control everyone. He despised them all, powerful or not. Sukuna refused to be anyone’s property, and he was sure that if he had been born into a noble clan, he would have had the same mindset. 

That was why Satoru’s current position in the Gojo clan bothered Sukuna. He knew that the Gojo clan’s alliance with the Fujiwara would doom Satoru sooner or later. 

“It’s sad...” she muttered, tracing the muscles in Sukuna’s arm gently. 

“Indeed...” As he spoke the word, he caught a glimpse of movement beneath the temple. A flicker of cursed energy, like a signal flag. 

The night was slowly falling on the mountainside, and only fools would walk through the forests in winter. If not curses, then the cold would certainly end their poor lives. Down there, however, was someone whose survival skills were top-notch. 

A sly, joyful smile crossed Sukuna’s face as he pushed the empty cup into the maiden’s hand. “Bring my clothes! Shoes, too!” 

“Leaving me already?” she pouted, running in small steps into the room and gathering a handful of Sukuna’s clothes with shoes on top. “Can I help dress you?” 

“I’m good. Go back to your chores!” He shooed her away with his hand as he started to get dressed. 

When he slipped his legs into the hakama, he couldn’t help but smile, remembering Satoru’s complaints about the pants making his kicks look like bird wings. Faster. Sukuna couldn’t get the clothes on fast enough. Finally, after shoving his arms into the haori, he slipped into his shoes and jumped over the railing. The fall was long, but he calculated the landing perfectly. 

Like a bird, he landed gracefully right in front of Satoru. 

“Are you lost, wanderer?” Sukuna chuckled, eager to put his arms around Satoru, but he was met with silence and surprise from Satoru. 

Sukuna frowned gently. Was Satoru not searching for him like before? Perhaps the first time Sukuna saw his alluring flame, it wasn’t meant for him. Satoru’s wandering could mean nothing or everything at the same time. Either Satoru was hunting something, or he was searching for the fire survivors. 

“The fire! Was it you?” Sukuna asked, his frown deepening. 

Satoru’s confusion grew as his eyes widened and he gasped in realization. 

“Answer!” 

“No!” Satoru blurted out. “I was—no! Of course not!” 

Suspicious of Satoru’s intentions, Sukuna started circling him, ready to strike if necessary. “Where are the Fujiwara?” 

“Beats me!” Satoru threw his hands in the air. “They dislike taking me on missions. I’m too good and take all the glory.” 

Sukuna arched an eyebrow, snorting. “You’re wasting your life and potential.” 

“Trust me, I know!” Satoru sighed, throwing his hands up again. 

The way Satoru's winter attire, much fluffier than that time by the river, moved with him made him look warm and comfortable. All the layers made him appear two sizes bigger. It must have been difficult to maneuver and fight in it. Sukuna masked his amusement behind his hand, pretending to rub an itch under his nose. 

“What?” Satoru put his hands on his hips, making himself look even more ridiculous. He resembled a round Jizo statue. 

“Nothing.” Sukuna shrugged, indifferent. 

“You clearly have something on your mind.” Puffing his cheeks, Satoru knitted his eyebrows in frustration. “I have good eyes, remember?” 

“Ah!” Sukuna waved all four of his hands at Satoru. “You simply look adorable in the kimono.” 

Frustrated, Satoru threw his head back, groaning. “I can barely breathe! It’s too heavy!” 

Sukuna no longer tried to hide his amusement from Satoru. The Gojo maids truly had their ways with him when it came to dressing him up. Not even the most noble women wore so many layers of silk. At seventeen Satoru's pride as a man was stripped away by the elders, who forced him to dress like a child. 

However, Sukuna couldn't help but appreciate how the attire highlighted Satoru's innocence. 

“If you have no business here, then up there is a temple. Currently, there’s only a maiden there. You can rest and shed some of your feathers, little bird.” 

“You!” Furious, Satoru bent to make a snowball but almost toppled over from all the layers wrapping his body. 

“You look like a snowman.” Sukuna laughed. 

How could a man be as cute as Satoru? Seeing him like this, Sukuna would forgive him even for the burning of the village. But the more he watched Satoru struggle, the more certain he became that it wasn’t him. Perhaps the Gojo forced Fujiwara to take Satoru with them, but they sent him away as they went to sow the flames of despair. 

What would Satoru say if Sukuna went to do some slicing down in the valley? It was tempting, but Satoru was much more interesting than some puppets. 

A snowball hit Sukuna’s chest, snatching his attention to Satoru. “That was your full force?”  

“No.” Satoru’s lips stretched into a sly smile, and before Sukuna could register it, snow from the nearby tree fell straight on him. 

Satoru burst out laughing, even jumping a little in his satisfaction with the results of his plan. Pure joy suited him like a color suited to a flower. Seeing the happiness in Satoru’s life made Sukuna’s struggles feel less impactful. His life as an outcast might have been lonely, but meeting Satoru, even once per season, gave Sukuna enough of the warmth he missed. 

“Hey...” Satoru approached him, his smile flattening slightly. “You’re not mad, right?” 

“No, of course not,” Sukuna replied calmly, brushing the snow off his shoulders and chest. 

“Wait, here too.” Pulling himself up on his tiptoes, Satoru swept the snow from Sukuna’s hair with a concentrated frown. 

The sudden closeness made Sukuna pause. It had been so incredibly long since he had seen Satoru. They had met only once, for a short talk, after Satoru announced that his clan would be hosting some of the Fujiwara. It was about politics, and Satoru himself had no idea what was about to happen, but he had to be careful around those people. Sukuna understood. Satoru’s safety was most important to him as well. 

Sukuna remembered the old priest’s words about the dragon and tiger. Were Satoru and he condemned from the beginning? From his experience, Sukuna knew that fighting against fate was like trying to turn the direction of a stream. Maybe Satoru’s extraordinary strength and beauty made him delusional. But the more he stared at Satoru’s beautiful face, the more he wanted to believe they could have had a chance. 

“Were you doing alright?” As the words slipped from Satoru’s mouth, Sukuna outstretched all his arms and hugged Satoru tightly. 

“I was,” he muttered, wrapping his arms tighter around the fluff of Satoru’s attire. “You’re soft.” He buried his nose in Satoru’s silky hair. 

“What a deadly grip you have!” Satoru gasped, despite being dressed like an onion, as Sukuna’s biceps pressed against him. 

“Never deadly with you. Never,” Sukuna assured him, pulling away with a smile. “So, what did you decide? Do you want to warm up in the temple, or do you have to be somewhere?” 

The last question made Satoru scowl. Sukuna had never seen him this frustrated. He quickly understood the annoyance behind Satoru’s words as his Infinity flickered in the cold air, making Sukuna take a step back. 

“I’m actually looking for the road to the temple. That stupid Fujiwara told me I should seek shelter there. I could beat them all. They are weak! I hate them!” 

Everything Satoru said made sense. But it could also be a trap to make Sukuna believe that he was no friend of Fujiwara and that he shared Sukuna’s hatred towards them. Satoru’s eyes softened as he noticed Sukuna’s hesitation to respond to his outburst. He parted his full lips, the scarlet color so alluring, his blue eyes like frozen ponds. 

“I understand that you are cautious,” Satoru spoke up, his voice laced with remorse. “I had to listen to the terrible plotting my clan and the Fujiwara were doing.” He looked down. 

The last words caught Sukuna’s immediate attention. Anger and worry washed over him like a tidal wave. Why was he such a sore thumb for those noble people? There were numerous powerful sorcerers they could have adopted, so why be so obsessed with him? 

Sukuna was nothing more than a criminal, marked on his body and heart. He had gained all his strength and experience in fair fights. His love for sorcery and knowledge knew no limits. All he wanted was to live peacefully according to his beliefs. Every soul was born free, and no man should think about owning it. 

“Pathetic as always,” Sukuna snorted. “What are they sending to me now? Their generals?” 

Lately, Sukuna hadn’t been causing any trouble, all thanks to his meetings with Satoru. Even as he progressed in his search for Satoru’s parents, he avoided confrontation and, when he had to kill, he did so quickly. 

Yes, sometimes his hot, cursed blood won out, and he made fighting sorcerers a spectacle, but he truly tried to keep a low profile. 

“What will they do once I am gone...” Sukuna shook his head, his lips twisting in displeasure. “Obsessed fools. I should go there and end their lines!” 

Only after Sukuna let the words out did he realize the impact they might have on Satoru. Quickly, he turned his attention to him, intending to apologize, but then he remembered all the years he spent fighting the clans and gritted his teeth. He would not apologize! 

Satoru lowered his head, lacing his fingers. “Are we that terrible?” 

Sighing, Sukuna’s shoulders dropped. “I didn’t want to sadden you, Satoru.” 

“I understand your anger,” he offered sympathetically, “I do. Truly. But...” 

Waiting for Satoru to finish, Sukuna gently took Satoru’s face between his cold palms and tipped his head back slightly to meet his eyes. “Will you ever take over your clan?” 

The question made Satoru widen his eyes. “I don’t know.” 

“Then, I will never find peace until you do.” 

Baffled by the confession, Satoru could only stare into Sukuna’s eyes. His surprise was sincere. Once again, a strange tugging in Sukuna’s chest made him indecisive about Satoru’s real intentions. On one side, he was sure Satoru was part of a complicated plot to kill him, and on the other, Sukuna was certain that Satoru was on his side. There was no way to find out. 

“I, though, hate to imagine you getting married,” Sukuna confessed. “I’d rather see you happy by my side.” 

Satoru’s whole face turned red; his cheeks heated up like stones in the sun. His eyes widened. For a moment, Sukuna thought he saw fear in those heavenly eyes.

"I don’t know what to say...” Satoru mumbled, barely audible. He looked lost, like battling his inner thoughts.   

“I know what I would say...” Sukuna whispered back as he caressed the apples of Satoru’s cheeks. “You are beautiful.” 

Sighing softly, Satoru turned his gaze up and then to the side where the road to the temple was hidden behind the trees. It was strange to see Satoru act this uneasy—not quite uncomfortable, but more like he was frightened of something. 

“I’ll take you to the temple.” Sukuna’s voice promised safety as he let his hands slip from Satoru’s cheeks. 

There was no hope for him when it came to Satoru. Even if everyone pointed to Satoru as the worst enemy Sukuna should fear, he couldn’t help it. He was deeply attracted to Satoru; to his innocence and deadliness. Sukuna felt that Satoru struggled the same way. They were like two wild animals circling each other. 

“Alright.” 

They climbed the mountain while Sukuna tried to ease the tension. He could tell Satoru had a lot on his mind that he wanted to share in private, but he didn’t want Satoru to feel nervous about it. Since Sukuna knew about the looming betrayal, the chance of getting mad at Satoru was almost nonexistent. Was it even a betrayal if Sukuna already knew about it? 

“Say, Satoru...” Sukuna waited for him at the top of the hill. 

Satoru looked up at him, cursing the clothes that made him move clumsily. He felt ridiculously heavy. 

“What?” Satoru stopped, putting his hands on his hips. 

“Would you marry me if you could?” 

In the dark, Sukuna couldn’t properly decipher Satoru’s expression, but Satoru didn’t hesitate to retort to his proposal. “Never!” 

Sukuna let out a hearty laugh. “But I’m strong, tall, and treat you well,” he boasted. 

“Maybe, but you can’t give me a child!” 

“There are plenty of women who can. Or does it have to be only through marriage?” Sukuna taunted. 

“Of course, it does! I am a nobleman!” Satoru opened his arms, showcasing his expensive clothes as if to prove he was no peasant. He looked cute doing so, and he must have been aware of that because as Sukuna laughed fondly, Satoru bolted into a run and, when he met Sukuna at the top, he crashed into his arms. 

The gesture warmed Sukuna's heart. He enveloped Satoru in his protective embrace and kissed the top of his head. “I see something is truly bothering you, gorgeous.” 

Worries tried to consume Sukuna, but he quickly swept them away. He was the strongest, and there was nothing he wouldn’t be capable of doing for Satoru. Anything he needed, Sukuna could make it happen. 

“Come, let’s get inside.” Sukuna released him from his hold and put his hand on Satoru’s back. 

As they approached the temple, the snow on the ground began to thin out. 

“Sukuna-sama! You’ve returned! I’m so glad!” The maiden made her way to them, smiling and carrying an armful of firewood. Satoru quickly offered his help and took the load from her hands. She bowed and laced her hands together. 

“Come inside. I just prepared fresh tea.” 

Satoru bowed and followed her tiny footprints in the snow. How unfortunate. Sukuna considered clearing the snow from the path but shrugged off the thought as unimportant. Old habits die hard. 

Once in the back room of the temple, Sukuna closed the door tightly. The warmth instantly embraced his prickling skin. He glanced at the fireplace and the messy futon sprawled on the floor. The damned woman hadn’t cleaned up after he left. She really believed he would come back for the night. 

“Here, for you.” The maiden sat by the fireplace and poured Satoru a cup of tea.

“Thank you,” Satoru accepted it with both hands, “may I know your name?”  

“Hanemura Misao.”  

“That’s a pretty name.” He offered a gentle smile. 

Sukuna stood by the fireplace, tucking his hands into the wide sleeves of his robe. “Misao, leave us,” he urged her out. 

The maiden bowed before standing up. “I’ll be leaving,” she said. As the door closed with a silent thud, Sukuna turned to close the terrace door, keeping the cold out. He could still see smoke rising from the village, though the fire was already extinguished. 

“We should talk while we can,” Sukuna said, returning to the fireplace where Satoru was sipping tea. Wrapped in all those layers of clothes, sitting by the fire must have been suffocating. 

“I’m sure the Fujiwara are on their way here,” Satoru agreed with a nod.

“Do you really not want to shed some of your feathers, little bird?” 

"Haha." Satoru rolled his eyes and set his cup down. He reached for the empty one, filling it with tea in a series of meticulous, efficient movements. Once he placed the cup on the opposite side, he gestured for Sukuna to sit. 

Once Sukuna settled, Satoru started to speak. 

“The next time we meet, they will try to seize you.” Satoru’s voice was cold, tinged with frustration. 

Sukuna quickly understood what that meant. Not only were Satoru’s family and the other clan spying on him, but they were also so stealthy that Satoru didn’t even sense them around. With his eyes and his ability to sense cursed energy, it was hard to hide from him, yet those sorcerers managed to come close enough. 

“Seize me, you say,” he huffed, unimpressed. “Well, that would happen sooner or later, with or without you in the picture.” 

“They want me to fight you!” Satoru said, outraged and worried. 

“You are still not strong enough to win a fight against me.” 

Satoru sighed, frustrated. “Maybe…” he frowned, admitting the difference in their powers. “But they won’t hesitate to jump you all at once. Can you defeat a whole group of elite sorcerers at once?” 

“We will see,” he shrugged, indifferent to the whole situation. “I face all challenges, Satoru. If I’m meant to die, then I’ll die. Death, in comparison to the punishment for cowardice, is merciful.” 

“That’s not facing a challenge, that’s suicide!” Satoru balled his hands into tight fists. 

Sukuna shook his head, amused. “Then why don’t you help me, instead of fighting against me?” 

Satoru’s frown deepened into a scowl. Sukuna knew that Satoru was in a difficult position. He didn’t want to fight his clan, nor did he want to fight Sukuna. If he were older, he would be seen as wiser, and more clan members would heed his words. Despite his strength, Satoru’s power didn’t match his wisdom. Any respect he received was solely due to his strength. 

Held captive by his clan at a young age and trained as a warrior, Satoru had been reduced to nothing more than a weapon against Sukuna. 

“You give me the trickiest questions!” Satoru fisted his pants nervously. “Can you imagine how many people would die if I did what you’re asking me to do?” 

“I don’t ask you to do it, Satoru,” Sukuna replied calmly. “And you should fight for your freedom no matter who is standing against you.” He took the cup and sipped the tea. The earthy taste mixed with jasmine soothed the next rough words on his tongue. 

“Or do you think it’s alright for them to threaten me as long as you and your family are safe?” 

“My family is not safe!” Satoru snapped. “I don’t even know where my parents are or...” He bit his tongue, his shoulders slumping. 

Sukuna watched him in complete silence and peace. Finally, he could see a natural response from Satoru—the anger that was poisoning his veins and eating him alive. He could see his overwhelming desire to break the chains around him. It was a sad picture, one Sukuna wished to burn down just like the Fujiwara burned down the village. Why should Sukuna watch his beloved suffer for nothing? 

Those weaklings knew they had no chance to fight Sukuna, and that was why they decided to use Satoru against him. 

“Aren’t you tired of being someone’s tool?” Sukuna asked. “You, my Satoru, haven’t lived a full day in your life. You want to protect your family, which keeps you locked up like a phoenix. It’s time to turn everything into ashes and rise again.” 

Satoru’s expression changed. The mad wrinkle between his eyebrows shifted to one of desperation. He was contemplating his next words, but deep inside, he knew he was defenseless and too scared to even try to break through. He had too much to lose and didn’t know if it was worth the things he could gain, as Satoru knew nothing about the beauty of freedom. 

There would be no family behind his back. No guards, no maidens, no teachers. Just Satoru against the world. 

“You should fight me if that will ensure the freedom of your family.” Sukuna shook the wide sleeves down his arms to relieve himself from the heat. 

Satoru gasped at him in disbelief. 

“But it’s up to you how long you want them to use your parents as leverage against you.” 

“It’s not that easy! If I turned against them, my whole clan would fall into Fujiwara’s hands and...” He tried to busy himself as his nervousness took over. The words Sukuna spoke to him obviously had an impact. Shaking his head, Satoru grabbed the teapot to pour himself more tea. 

“You should let go,” Sukuna said firmly. “Your parents might already be dead.” 

Satoru’s hand almost slipped from the teapot. He managed to steady it but burned his fingers as he put it down on the floor. 

Sukuna watched as Satoru struggled, pain contorting his shocked face. Disappointed, he saw Satoru put his finger in his mouth to suck on the burn. An instinct. He still hadn’t learned the reversed cursed technique. If only Sukuna could heal him with his own. 

Instead of expressing his concerns aloud, Sukuna stood up and walked to the terrace. He opened the door and instantly felt the cold wind and snowflakes swirl around his feet. From the top railing, he scooped snow into his palms and then closed the door with his foot. 

“Here.” Sukuna knelt down next to Satoru and opened his palms for him. Satoru immediately put his hand into the relieving snow. 

“Tell me the truth, Satoru,” he said softly. “Have you already tried to find your parents?” 

Defeated, Satoru slowly closed his eyes. “Many times.” 

His sorrow and remorse were almost palpable to Sukuna, and they completely reflected Sukuna’s heart. The snow burning his hands was nothing compared to what he felt deep in his chest. 

They remained silent until the snow in Sukuna’s palms melted and the water started dripping on the tatami. Satoru withdrew his hand to dry it on his kimono sleeve. Sukuna finally broke the stunned silence. He stood up, throwing the water randomly on the floor, and used the wetness of his hands to slick his hair back. 

“But every time I thought I found an ally in my clan, it would turn out they were ordered to give me false hope.” Satoru’s voice was no longer a cheerful tweet, but more like a smoldering coal. His fire was being extinguished by the pressure of his family. 

“Is that why you reached out to me and gave me clues about your clan?” Sukuna tucked his hands into the wide sleeves of his haori. “You knew their plan to befriend me would never work.” 

Satoru lifted his head, his eyes brimming with desperate hope. “But you must trust me that our first meeting was a coincidence.” Barely finishing, Satoru jolted as Sukuna pivoted on his heel and dropped to his knees in front of him. 

“You were raised by liars and opportunists.” Sukuna’s heart hammered in his chest as he took Satoru’s hands and brought them to his lips. 

“Ryō...” Satoru’s tone dropped with hopelessness. His hands trembled against Sukuna’s lips. “I thought I could make it, but I’m losing the battle. In that pit of vipers, I have no friend. I don’t know what to do.” 

Sukuna’s brows furrowed. He clung to Satoru’s cold hands as if he were a rope and Satoru were drowning in the sea. 

“I don’t care if they use you to trap me.” Sukuna gently squeezed his hands. “Your heart speaks the truth, and that’s what matters to me.” 

“Don’t talk like that...” Satoru’s voice quivered. “They will force me to fight you one day.” 

“I believe we’ve already had a similar conversation.” He fixed their gazes, pausing as he stared into Satoru’s heaven-promising eyes. “Only you can allow them to force you.” 

Satoru inhaled deeply, pushing the tightness in his throat down. “How can you be sure I am not deceiving you? That all I do is not just for...” He paused, unable to continue his cruel words. 

“I will never know,” Sukuna said, releasing Satoru’s hands. “But that’s the beauty of life. We learn from our mistakes.” 

As Satoru’s hands were freed from Sukuna’s grasp, he lifted them gently. Carefully, he reached for Sukuna’s wrists, but despite his long fingers, he couldn’t encircle them completely. Satoru’s hands were cold despite the burning fireplace and his clothes. 

“Those marks you have...” Satoru covered them with his palms. “They are distorted.” 

A peculiar smile of contentment lingered on Sukuna’s face. Perhaps it was the softness of Satoru’s hands or the way his fingers encircled his wrists like shackles. For the first time, Sukuna didn’t mind being bound. 

“I got them when I was nine,” he explained. 

“Nine?” Satoru looked into his eyes, surprised. “Those are criminal marks.” 

Sukuna sighed. He only half believed that Satoru wasn’t familiar with his childhood story. Many versions were circulating. The villagers had their versions, and the noble clans had theirs. The truth was known only to a few of the Shinto priests and maidens. 

“I’ll tell you a story, Satoru.” Sukuna twisted his hands in Satoru’s hold and wrapped his fingers around Satoru’s wrists. Like that, they held each other, displaying mutual trust. 

When Satoru nodded, Sukuna began his story, aware of the little time they had. 

“I lost my mother when I was just a brat,” Sukuna said calmly. “I could no longer live in my childhood house because it became haunted. One night, I’d had enough. Since I couldn’t fight properly at that young age, I ran away into the woods. 

“A priest found me a few days later. I was feeding on a raw rabbit. I was really young and didn’t know how to make a fire. I was simply hungry. The priest took me in, and as I grew stronger, I started interacting with more people in the temple. Rumors began to spread about me. Some stories say that I’m an evil spirit and the priest found me eating a dead man.” 

Satoru didn’t even try to act surprised. It was evident he was familiar with that version of the story where young Sukuna resorted to cannibalism. 

“It started like that...” Sukuna sighed, annoyed just thinking about the rumor. “My unusual strength and powers soon became well known, and you know how fast information spreads. Then, when I was nine, the Fujiwara sorcerers appeared. They said I was to serve the generals, as that was my only purpose and my powers the only reason a criminal like me was kept alive.” 

“According to them, I was a criminal because I was protecting my life against bullies.” Sukuna shook his head in disbelief. 

Satoru’s gentle hold morphed into a tightening grip. It was warm, hot even. Sukuna could feel all of Satoru’s rage in his trembling hands. A flick of cursed energy sparked between them. Satoru bowed his head deeply. 

“I know what happened back then...” His voice came out choked. “I know everything. I’m tired of pretending that I don’t know. I know and I am so sorry!” 

A gentle smile spread on Sukuna’s face. “Why are you sorry? It wasn’t you.” 

“But I’m working for them. And I am meant to marry a Fujiwara.” 

Sukuna’s brows shot up, feeling his heart seize. “What did you say?” 

“I’m sorry!” Satoru’s voice broke with a whimper as he lowered his head to their joined hands. 

Sukuna knew that this day would come eventually, but he never imagined that the Gojo clan would sell their jewel for politics. Who would act so foolishly? Was the Gojo clan blackmailed, or were they so power-hungry? 

“Does that mean your clans will fuse?” 

Nodding, Satoru gritted his teeth. “I hate them. Hate them so much! They took my parents, they order my people around, they burn villages, the—”

A noise from downstairs disturbed them. Satoru quickly pulled away, his eyes glistening with unsaid emotions. They both knew who had just arrived at the temple and that the maiden was being loud on purpose. Sukuna acted quickly. He slipped into his shoes and hid the extra cup in his sleeve. Before Satoru could do or say anything, Sukuna was by the terrace, giving Satoru one last smile over his shoulder. 

“I guess it’s my turn to disappear this time,” he smirked at Satoru before slipping out the door. 

Chapter Text

The wind howled through the sparse leaves of the spring trees. A thick mist crawled around the trunks, swirling and falling back to the ground. The night forest echoed with the wail of a lone wolf in the distance, sensing the disturbing presence of a curse.

Sukuna could distinguish the odor of rotting meat and the coppery scent of fresh blood. Clearly, the curse was powerful enough to kill a human and leave traces in the real world. The snapping of twigs followed the spirit’s movement through the burial grounds. The dragging noises approached Sukuna, who sat on a tree, above the mist that swam over the ground like clouds.

A curse rarely moved from its location and even less frequently followed a specific individual. Sukuna didn’t try to hide his presence from the strong spirit. Showing fear was a weakness. Everyone should face what life threw their way. Only then could people get stronger and survive.

As soon as the curse sensed his presence, it began to gurgle, as if choking on blood. A guttural sound emerged from the thick substance filling its mouth, followed by a shriek. Sukuna heard the screech of metal, perhaps two swords or a spear. He scowled at the curse's audacious manifestation. Something was terribly wrong. This was clearly not an ordinary spirit, nor was it an Oni.

Sukuna reached into his haori's sleeve and pulled out a talisman. After warming it with his palms, he used his cursed energy to propel it. As the wind carried it closer to the creature, the talisman blazed red, signaling it was a summoned cursed spirit.

Wonderful news. A predatory grin split Sukuna's face.

"Just come at me, you cowards!" Sukuna shouted, his deep, rough voice filled with resentment, echoing through the forest.

This must have been the moment Satoru warned him about during their brief meeting two weeks ago.

"They want me to meet you at the old battlefield. But instead of me, they will show up."

Satoru chose not to get involved, preferring to immerse himself in hunting and training. It was unfortunate how empathy could weaken one's resolve. Sukuna noted that Satoru opted for temporary peace rather than confronting his weakness. Every action was a choice, and Satoru had made his.

“ I refused to show up. I won’t be able to fight you. Call me weak, be mad at me.”

Those were the last words Satoru muttered before he turned away, his newly shortened hair swaying at his shoulders. He disappeared into the woods.

Sukuna wanted to return the blue ribbon Satoru had lost, but before he could speak, Satoru was gone. Now, Sukuna wore that ribbon tied around his wrist, adorned with a bell-like charm. For good luck? Hardly. To ward off vengeful deities? Yes. Some spirits couldn't be confronted, no matter how powerful or wise one might be.

The mist parted, revealing the cursed spirit at last. It wore ancient battlefield armor and wielded two swords. When it tilted its head back to lock eyes with Sukuna, its eyes burned like aquamarines, swirling with white sparkles.

Sukuna frowned. It couldn't be. The resemblance to Satoru's eyes was striking.

"What filthy liars!" he grinned, excited by the revelation. He leaped down, slicing through the space between him and the curse. An invisible wall blocked all his attacks.

"Let's see what you're capable of, General." Sukuna let out a sinister laugh that echoed low and shallow through the mist around them.

The fight was evenly matched from the start. However, Sukuna, having experience with the barrier Satoru called Infinity, knew what to expect when facing the previous holder of Satoru's techniques. The sorcerer wore military armor. Sukuna wasn't as surprised by the Fujiwara's measures to capture him as they might have hoped.

Breaking the dense armor was only possible within a domain Sukuna didn't want to use in front of prying eyes. He knew those bastards were watching from a safe distance. They hadn't unearthed the corpse to kill Sukuna, but to strain him, hoping he would reveal all his secret techniques. Sukuna had two choices: refuse to entertain the elite swine or fight with what he had and test his limits.

"I know someone who has eyes like yours," Sukuna's lips curled up. "I know you understand what I'm saying, cursed spirit. They hold you in chains. You were once a general, but now you're just a dog on a leash.

The curse lunged, its blades sharp as it attacked Sukuna, who cut through the old swords with his technique. It seemed the general could only wrap himself in Infinity.

"I can break your chains, General!" Sukuna chanted under his breath, expanding the perimeter of his cleave. The ground beneath the spirit's legs trembled, and it abruptly launched itself into the air.

Sukuna followed, kicking the general and sending him hurtling down among the trees at neck-breaking speed. The wood creaked, and a few birds flew away. A suffocating eruption of cursed energy disrupted the stillness of the night.

A red, ominous light spread out, gradually fading into the darkness. Sensing the dense energy directed at him, Sukuna frowned. He braced himself, rooting his legs into the cold dirt and extending his arms to meet the impact. The sparkling ball of energy struck with breathtaking force, scorching the sleeves of his haori and etching his skin up to his forearms.

Moments later, the ball disintegrated into sparkles that dispersed in the air. Sukuna felt the pain pulsating through his arms and grinned."You have a blue one in there too, don't you?" Steam rose from Sukuna's wounds as he healed himself. It had been a long time since he experienced such excitement during a battle. Humans or cursed spirits made no difference. Everyone wanted to fight him.

"Well, I won't give you the chance to use it!"

The air cracked, bending to Sukuna's will as he sent slashes across the space between him and the General. The attacks whipped the man mercilessly, giving him no time to execute any technique. Sukuna leaped onto a tree, slashing its trunk at the base and letting it fall on the curse. When he landed on his feet, he minimized the range and showered the general with an onslaught of cursed blades.

Sukuna grabbed the sword, rotating it in his hand. "You are nothing but a chained dog, General." He targeted the cursed symbols on the spirit's neck and slid the metal through them. The invisible barrier sparkled, desperately holding Sukuna back.

"Let me break your chains!" Sukuna called out, his vibrant, dominant words rippling through the air.

The blue in the General's eyes rotated strangely, the white dots disappearing. Suddenly, the barrier gave in, and Sukuna, who had been pressing against it, fell forward, slicing the General's throat.

Sukuna stepped back, examining the curse that stubbornly lingered in their world. Strange, why was he not decomposing already? Were his bonds with this world stronger than Sukuna thought? Or was this not the end at all? Perhaps it was a binding vow, and Sukuna needed to find the sorcerer who resurrected the General. If he was facing a necromancer, he had to account for a dozen sorcerers guarding them.

"Splendid," Sukuna smiled contentedly.

The wind picked up, soothing his burning skin. What a beautiful night for a fight. Sukuna shed his destroyed haori, letting it fall to the ground. He used one pair of arms to chant a cleansing mantra and the other to track the energy connecting the dead General to his puppet master.

Once he locked onto the target, Sukuna bolted like an arrow, slicing through everything in his path. Sukuna decapitated two sorcerers hiding in the bushes and crossed a spear with the third one.

"Give me the Necromancer!" Sukuna snarled at the guard. "I promise I'll kill you fast!"

The sorcerer's legs trembled as he clutched his weapon. "I have a letter."

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. "What did you just say?"

"I have a letter from Fujiwara Akihito," he replied, his voice carefully measured.

"Did one of the divine generals write me a letter?" Sukuna snorted in amusement. "How romantic." He pinned the sorcerer with his eyes as he outstretched his hand.

"I'm just a messenger." The man slowly placed his weapon in the crook of his arm and pulled out the scroll tucked beneath his belt. With a trembling hand, he handed it to Sukuna, who slid it under the collar of his shirt.

"Now, tell me where the Necromancer is."

"You won't read it?" The man's eyes widened in worry. "His Majesty said you should read it."

"I am sure His Majesty has dozens of impressive ideas about me, and one of them is that I would listen to whatever garbage he wants to offer." Sukuna scoffed. "But I am not interested in anything the Fujiwara can give..." he suddenly trailed off, his brows knitting slightly.

The messenger gripped his weapon. "I don't know where the Necromancer is. They keep him guarded by the strongest sorcerers."

"He must be close to controlling his puppets." Sukuna looked around. "Tell me, little messenger... Is your precious gem Gojo Satoru among those guarding the Necromancer?"

The question nearly brought the man's eyes to bursting point. "I don't know, but they are all elite."

The ground beneath their feet began to shake and crack. Through the splits, an ominous, pale light emitted as skeletal arms speared up, trying to grab anything they could. Sukuna grabbed the poor messenger, who was yelling as the stumps gripped his feet. He threw the man outside the Necromancer's barrier and picked up the spear he left behind. The ground shook violently as Sukuna cut through, slicing the bones into pieces thinner than droplets of water. The dust settled, but the ground remained split open.

"Elite sorcerers, you say," Sukuna hummed. He still had his domain up his sleeve. He had only recently managed to complete it. He wasn't close to mastering it, but it could trap and dismember the best sorcerers. Next, there was the weapon he had confiscated from Hayashi's temple.

Sensitive to every whisper and movement, Sukuna sensed a presence far off, moving stealthily among the trees like a predator. Without hesitation, he threw the spear in that direction and lunged forward to meet his enemy. They landed almost simultaneously. Sukuna grabbed a young woman's throat, pinning her against the nearest tree.

"Who are you?!" Sukuna hissed.

The woman's eyes sparkled with unnatural mischief. "Uraume sent me."

Sukuna frowned slightly, releasing his grip on her throat. "You're—"

An arrow infused with cursed energy and poison hit Sukuna's shoulder. Enraged, he ripped it out along with a chunk of his flesh to prevent the poison from spreading.

"That was something..." The woman laughed behind her hand. "You're used to being handled rough, aren't you, handsome?"

Sukuna frowned at her and grabbed her hand. "Why are you here at this hour? Who are you conspiring with?!"

"As I mentioned, Uraume reached out to me!" She offered a sly smile. "He informed me that you were searching for someone's parents."

"Why are you here now?!" Sukuna persisted, his grip tightening on her shoulder. He could tell she was a sorcerer, but not well-versed in battles. She looked more like someone's concubine than a warrior. Her long black hair fell over her shoulders, and she dressed in the finest robes. In the pale, eerie light of the midnight woods, Sukuna could see a faint scar crossing her forehead. A thick layer of white powder covered her small nose, hiding her freckles.

"Well, let's say I heard a certain Necromancer was supposed to be here to capture you."

"How can you possibly know that?!"

Her smile spread. "I know lots of things, Sukuna. That's why Uraume asked me to help you with a certain Gojo Satoru."

Sukuna's interest was piqued instantly. He would love nothing more than to sit down with her and listen to what she had to say, but he was still surrounded by enemies.

"You are stupid to come here at a time like this!"

She laughed. "Oh, don't worry, my strong warrior. I can take care of myself."

Before Sukuna could react properly, she pressed her curved body against his. Shamelessly, he inserted her thigh between his legs and nuzzled at his chest. “You are big and strong.”

Sukuna felt his body react to the softness and swell of her breast pressed against his middle. Needy. She was as needy as a feral animal. Her little moans vibrated against his body, distracting him from the real battle. Sukuna grabbed her shoulders, swiftly turning them around. With his other pair of hands, he caught the arrow aiming at him.

"Stay back, you minx!" He pushed the woman against the tree.

As he advanced, her cold laughter trailed behind him like a serpent. Whoever she was, she clearly possessed the skills to survive. Sukuna needed to discuss this woman with Uraume. What was her name again? Sukuna couldn't quite remember. Something like Kina or Jin.

Sukuna swiftly tracked the archer, rendering him unconscious before breaking his neck. Seizing the fallen bow and arrow, he quickly aimed in the direction of the oppressive cursed energy. Sukuna found himself face-to-face with Satoru, the arrow pointed directly at his head.

"You're bleeding." Despite Satoru's calm tone, his eyes were as tender as the last time he saw him.

"Blame your clan."

Satoru slowly raised his hands. "Please don't aim at me. You know it won't work on me anyway."

"Then you have nothing to worry about."

"I don't want you to point it at me." Satoru's voice grew urgent. "Please, Ryō."

Hesitating momentarily, Sukuna gazed into Satoru's eyes. He compared the blue, swirling like water in the general's eyes, with Satoru's more vivid ones. They were strikingly similar. How was that even possible? If the Gojo clan had more than one sorcerer with this technique, why did they fear Sukuna so much? Why did they need him on their side? Was it a matter of honor or simply their arrogance?

Sukuna eventually lowered the bow. "They lied to you terribly, my little bird."

"I know!" Satoru whizzed through his teeth, visibly shaken. "I shouldn't be here, but I needed to see for myself."

"To see what?" Sukuna approached cautiously. "To see them capture or kill me?"

"No," Satoru muttered, his eyes softening at the accusation. "To see with my own eyes how they keep betraying and lying to me."

Sukuna narrowed his eyes. "The general."

"Yes!" Satoru clenched his teeth. "They treated me as special, told me I was the one, but they knew all along that someone with abilities like mine was born before me!"

"Of course," Sukuna nodded. "They wanted full control over you, so they pretended to know nothing about your powers."

They locked eyes until Satoru suddenly grabbed Sukuna's shoulder, pulling him close. Sukuna nearly crushed Satoru's smaller frame. A cold, mysterious wave washed over Sukuna as their bodies collided, followed by a series of soft thuds behind him. When Sukuna glanced over his shoulder, he saw a dozen arrows scattered on the grass.

"I must return before they know I'm here." Satoru looked up into his eyes.

"Satoru, you don't have to do this!" Sukuna cupped his face firmly. "Come with me!"

"No. Not until I uncover the whole truth!" Satoru held Sukuna's hands in a brief, tender moment. Savoring the final moments of their brief time together, Satoru caressed the ribbon around Sukuna's wrist with his fingers.

"Seven days from now, look for a trail of blue ribbons. I'll be waiting." Satoru lowered his hands, nearly completing the hand sign, but Sukuna caught his wrist instead.

Satoru's eyes widened. "They can't see us together!"

"Be careful." Sukuna kept their gazes locked as he brought Satoru's hand to his lips. "If you don't appear eight days from now, I'll consider you my enemy."

Satoru's eyes widened in shock. "What are you saying?!"

"The truth," Sukuna muttered, his voice resolute. "Fight for what you want! Destroy yourself for your needs; let them feel your power. Even if you have to die!" He gripped Satoru's hand. "Die as a free man."

Satoru tightly closed his eyes, swallowing the lump he felt in his throat. On the verge of tears, he sniffled softly. "I'm not like you, my fierce tiger. I am a bird; I fly away when scared."

"Then become a dragon!" Sukuna insisted. "And burn them all to ashes!"

Satoru's resolve was crumbling. His lips trembled under Sukuna's pressure. Taking a shuddering breath, he let Sukuna cradle the back of his head and press him against his chest.

"I must go..." Satoru insisted. "Please."

"No, you want to stay in my arms."

"Ryō..." The name slipped from Satoru's lips like a divine mantra. He lifted his hand, placing it against Sukuna's pounding heart.

"Get a grip of yourself!" Sukuna captured his hand, shaking him slightly. "We must be smarter. You are no weapon, Satoru! You have your mind! Make your own decision! Rebel!"

Satoru opened his mouth, but no words came out. The deep hopelessness in his eyes made Sukuna seriously consider kidnapping him, taking him somewhere far away to help him heal and restore him to the person he had first met by the river. The Satoru before him now was merely a shadow of the man he once knew. Each time they met, Satoru seemed to fade more and more, torn between his heart's desires and the pressure of his clan.

Although running was against Sukuna's beliefs, sometimes fleeing to save one's mind was the only way to keep fighting. A man whose soul was shattered could barely comprehend anything.

"I don't know how. I only began coming out last year. I'm just so confused. I..." Satoru jerked his hand away, on the verge of snapping.

Sukuna knitted his eyebrows in anger as he grabbed Satoru's chin. "Stop whining, Satoru! Enough of this!"

The tension between them grew, each breath increasing the risk of the sorcerers finding them. But for Sukuna, it was a gamble he could afford. If Satoru wanted to be free, it was time for him to start fighting, even against Sukuna himself.

However, Satoru remained still. Despite the fire in his eyes, he did nothing, as if debating whether it was right to strike Sukuna or not.

"Dammit, Satoru!" Sukuna squeezed his cheeks, and when Satoru hissed at him like a feral cat, he covered his mouth. Satoru bit him fiercely, and Sukuna grinned.

"That's it! Keep that spirit alive!" He released his grip, examining the marks left by Satoru's teeth. "Remember this anger next time, my bird."

Sukuna stepped back, giving Satoru the chance to complete the hand sign. Instead, Satoru grabbed Sukuna's shirt, pulling him close to whisper against his neck, "Birds don't bite."

A wide, satisfied smile spread across Sukuna's face as he wrapped an arm around Satoru's waist, pulling him flush against his body. "I could hold you like this forever."

He felt Satoru's hot, quickened breath against his chest. Sukuna's broad frame shielded Satoru from curious eyes, with an oak tree behind them providing further cover. They were safe from prying eyes, but Sukuna knew he had to eventually let go. As much as he pushed Satoru to fight for himself, he respected his independence and understood that not all of Satoru's decisions revolved around him. It was a bittersweet feeling to let go of him in the midst of a battle, especially after witnessing Satoru's heartbreak caused by his own people.

"You fools! They're trapping you!" The woman from before appeared from behind the tree, her long nails digging into the bark. "Quickly! Switch places!"

Sukuna stared in confusion as she grabbed Satoru and took his place. It all happened so fast that Sukuna barely noticed the hurt in Satoru's eyes before he vanished into thin air.

"Woman!" Sukuna gritted his teeth, but he had no time to unleash his anger as he sensed a cursed technique approaching. He grabbed the petite woman and leaped up into the massive tree.

The ground beneath them opened like a wound, spewing bones, blood, and organs. Fascinating. Where was the Necromancer getting so many bodies? Or was it just an illusion? Perhaps he had been planning this attack for months. That would explain the sudden burning of villages and the increase in bandit activity. Sukuna bet they were well rewarded.

The plan was impressive. A wicked grin broke through his stoic expression. "Hmm..."

"Why are you smiling?" the woman asked, her brows knitting together.

"This is all for me!" Sukuna laughed heartily, throwing his head back. "They split the Earth and unleashed the demons just for me!"

"And you're pleased about that?"

Sukuna couldn't stop laughing even as the skeletons began climbing up the tree. The flesh that once enveloped them began to crawl behind them, resembling a mass possessing its own consciousness. The crackling of fire nearly drowned out the agonizing noises spilling from the empty skulls. It was a terrifying display of horror, yet Sukuna found beauty in the flesh torn from bones and in the pain and sorrow so immense that its curse hovered over the mass of bodies like a heavy storm cloud.

"This is disgusting," she said, climbing higher up the tree. "Do something, or they'll eat us alive."

Chuckling fiercely, Sukuna clawed at the tree, his nails darkening at the tips like an animal's claws. Giggling, he kicked down one of the skeletons.

"What was your name again?" he asked the woman.

"Ena, but I go by the name Kenjaku."

Sukuna's smile flattened slightly. "You're the infamous bounty hunter? You, a petite woman?"

"I think we have a bigger problem here than my physique, Sukuna-sama!" she retorted, clearly mocking him.

"But why? Enjoy the display, Ena!"

The ground and everything above it began to burn. The bushes ignited first, followed by the rotting, dying trees. Within a perimeter of at least ten meters, everything blazed in orange and red flames, intertwined with crawling skeletons. Then the ground shook, and the tree began to tilt. A massive hand emerged from the pit, drawing in all the meat and bones. Roaring, a demon of flesh and fire crawled out.

As Sukuna slowly descended to the ground, his smile broadened. When the tree finally fell, he remained standing on top of it, while Ena used the opportunity to flee. Sukuna pressed his fingers together, forming the shape of a roof.

"Domain Expansion: Malevolent Shrine!" A malicious grin spread across his face behind the hand sign as his domain opened.

The surroundings dimmed. An onyx floor anchored the fire pits beneath his feet, and an eerie shrine materialized behind him. Two lanterns illuminated the rooftops, soon accompanied by a pair of skulls. The beast stood before Sukuna, its hollow eyes locked onto him.

"Thank you for inspiring the decoration of my shrine!" Sukuna exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. "How do you like it?" Bones and skulls from both animals and humans lined the path to the shrine. The meaty beast roared loudly, causing the fragile lanterns to tremble. Sukuna's smile faded, replaced by a frown. He was displeased by the lack of appreciation.

"I expected a better reaction from a Necromancer."

The beast's response was a primal attack! It hurled a mixture of fire, meat, and bones at him. Sukuna slashed it to pieces and leaped away, his feet landing in the shallow pond of blood by the shrine. The temperature in his domain was rising rapidly. Still adjusting to the setting and learning everything about his domain, Sukuna risked using it against something as vile as a necromancer's creation.

There was a chance the beast would keep building up until the Necromancer ran out of cursed energy. Fortunately, Sukuna was sure that this single creation consumed a large portion of the sorcerer's energy. It was only a matter of time before it would start falling apart under Sukuna's attacks. But he didn't let this slight hope cloud his mind. He had learned never to let his guard down. A full attack was always the best solution to prevent complications.

"Ah, my fierce dragon, if only you could see what I see now." Sukuna placed one pair of his hands over his heart, wishing for Satoru to be with him in this crucial moment of his life.

"Let's see what's inside you, beast!" Sukuna unleashed a rain of blades over the golem.

The battle seemed endless, and Sukuna was running out of ideas. His domain was scorching hot. If only he could open it to the world, paint it like a picture in the air, and be free to wander anywhere. If he could expand it further, like when he expands his cleave technique—

Sukuna landed on the ground, feeling the onyx barrier slowly crack under the explosive fire. What beast had they released against him? A mere young man. Fear. 

Risking burns, Sukuna cut through the stone floor and hurled the pieces at the beast. He managed to tear its arm off for the second time. He watched as it tried to reattach itself.

"I see what you're doing..." He grinned, sending more slashes to its legs. Then he cut the floor again, releasing more burning heat. The ground shook and broke, and the dismembered beast fell into the river of flame. Sukuna slashed its hands and legs into dust. As the beast's enormous body sank, it splattered lava, which licked across Sukuna's face and burned his face.

He hissed, and as he quickly used his reversed cursed technique, his domain collapsed. The forest opened around him, silent, with no trace of fire or bones. It was as if Sukuna had hallucinated the entire battle.

He struggled to breathe, scanning his surroundings with his good eye. The enemy now understood his true power. Sukuna was drained, and he knew that if the elite sorcerers attacked him now, he wouldn't stand a chance. His eye was slowly healing, consuming a vast amount of his cursed energy.

"Very well, necromancer..." Despite his injuries, he smiled. "We're not done yet. Come out with your guardian dogs!"

"That's a bold request from someone who's blind in one eye," a rough, deep voice responded.

"I still have three more!"

"Two of them are blind, aren't they?"

Sukuna's lips curled into a sly smile. That's precisely what he intended Satoru to believe. And it seemed Satoru had indeed passed that information to his clan.

"Am I going to talk to the forest, or will you come out?" he shouted impatiently.

A shadow emerged from behind the bushes. A tall, older man, with white hair and dressed in black, stepped out in front of Sukuna. His appearance was unmistakable—one of the Gojo clan. He must have been the elite sorcerer.

"I don't understand your stubbornness," he said, shaking his head. "You could have it all. Fame, money, assets... just name it!"

"I don't belong to anyone." Sukuna measured him with his eyes. "I'm well aware of your sense of freedom."

"Ah, you fool!" The sorcerer sighed. "We all belong to someone! I belong to someone!" He stabbed his finger into his chest and then paused. "Satoru belongs to someone."

At the mention of Satoru's name, Sukuna narrowed his eyes at the man. It seemed the sorcerer wasn't aware that Satoru was here. "And I shall follow blindly?"

"Like a warrior! All warriors follow a general!" he said, convinced of his own words. "And who knows? Maybe one day, you'll become the one everyone will follow."

"What do you want with Satoru?" he asked instead of answering. "Why the lies about him being the one?"

"Satoru is indeed the one. It's only good that he doesn't know anything about the previous..." The man abruptly halted before he could reveal the truth. "But that's not why we are here."

"You expect me not to tell him? Or is this just another calculated move on your part?" Sukuna asked, holding a neutral expression. "Is it to keep control over him, or does it have a different meaning?"

Sukuna intended to extract as much information as possible from the man, but he knew the veteran was adept at keeping secrets. The clan must have collectively decided that Satoru discovering the truth was an acceptable risk.

"Let's say it's for his own good," he responded mysteriously. "You seem to care for him a lot. Strange for a beast like you."

Sukuna kept his straight face. "I find his case interesting; that's all."

The sorcerer huffed a short laugh under his breath, obviously amused. "Well, you could study him if you joined us."

"Study?" Sukuna tilted his head, looking the man over. "Is that what you do with your strongest sorcerer?"

He scoffed, "I wouldn't call him the strongest ."

"I see, that's why you wish to include me in your collection of monsters , don't you?" Sukuna put his hand on the handle of the ceremonial dagger of thunder he stole from the temple.

"You've received a great offer!" The man spread open his arms. "None of us had your chance. Noblemen and warriors, we all had to prove ourselves to the Fujiwara generals. But you..."

Sukuna reached under his shirt with a smug smile, pulling out the letter from the general. "You mean this piece of paper?"

His eyes widened, and a pleasant smile spread across his face. "Yes."

"Let me guess; it's a peace offer if I join his army," he snorted. "After all the years of hunting me and trying to kill me, the Fujiwara suddenly want to negotiate?"

"You see, Sukuna, you possess incredible powers. It's better if you're on our side than against us."

"I know only one side," Sukuna tucked the letter back. "And that's my side."

The man shook his head in disapproval. He clearly had something on his mind that he couldn't share with Sukuna. Beneath the fancy words were layers of lies. They fed everyone with it, including their own people, just to maintain control.

"That eye of yours is not healing..." He smirked, pleased. "The fire that burned you was not ordinary."

"You are wasting your time with me!" Sukuna suddenly felt a familiar tension prickling through the skin on his chin. He breathed harshly, realizing what the Gojo sorcerer was doing.

An inferno of rage erupted in Sukuna, and he unleashed a rain of blades upon the sorcerer. They sliced through him as he stubbornly tried to endure the power of thousands of sharp needles. Sukuna clenched the handle of the thunder dagger in his fist, then bolted forward, driving it between the man's ribs and into his heart. The air around them cracked with a loud rumbling. He ripped the weapon from the lifeless body and let it fall to the ground. The forest fell silent once more.

Heaving furiously, Sukuna noticed movement behind him. As he sharply turned, he met Ena's pale face surrounded by darkness.

"Vulgar," she said solemnly, her expression cold. "They are such vulgar bastards."

Sukuna lowered his gaze as he lifted his hand and ran his fingers over the new marks of a criminal on his chin.

Chapter Text

All Satoru could focus on were the chirping birds and the warm breeze rustling the leaves. The teacher before him passionately held an unrolled scroll, pointing at words and spouting empty wisdom. Satoru cared about politics as much as a wolf cares about insects. His mind wandered, and his eyes drifted to the nearby pond with its tiny Kappa statue. It had been eight days since he last saw Sukuna in the woods. Since then, there had been no news of him. The mission to capture him had failed miserably. Not even the necromancer could tame a beast like Sukuna. Maybe he wasn't even human; perhaps he was a free spirit, a soul.

Satoru sighed, unable to stop thinking about the way Sukuna had pulled him against his body before they parted, and about the woman who had suddenly appeared, looking like she was Sukuna's acquaintance—acquaintance, sure, if that was what Satoru wanted to believe. Sukuna was probably involved with that woman.

Frowning gently, Satoru caught his mind sliding into the dangerous territory of jealousy. He knew he shouldn’t let his emotions take control, but Sukuna wasn’t a subject to study or a curse to exorcise. He was a man! A man... a big, muscular, strong man. Satoru sighed dreamily, his lips stretching into a subtle smile, when suddenly the teacher clasped his hands in front of his face.

"You are not concentrating!" His teacher scowled deeply, eyes filled with disappointment and anger. "Young master, you are idle! This is the fourth time this week!"

Satoru looked up at his teacher, eyebrows knitted, unable to pretend he was sorry. "It's boring. I'd rather study sorcery—"

"Boring!" The teacher threw his arms up in disbelief. "How do you expect to become one of the generals with this attitude?!"

Well, he clearly didn’t want to become a general and lead an army. As a sorcerer, he wanted to help people by hunting and breaking down curses. He doubted he would ever wake up one day regretting that he chose the path of enlightenment over the path of destruction. The mere thought of following orders to chase often innocent people made him nauseous.

Satoru sighed, averting his gaze from the teacher, which filled the older man with a fresh wave of rage.

"Politics are the basics of our country! The Fujiwara clan is all about politics! You must know the foundation of the clan you're marrying into!"

"Again with this!" Satoru snapped, whipping his head toward his teacher. "And why should it be your concern? You are a teacher, and I will decide what I should learn!" He stood up from the mat, furiously fumbling with his haori's sleeves until they ended up twisted around his arms.

"Young master!" the teacher warned him. "Don't make me speak with Lord Masako about your disobedience!"

"Feel free!" Satoru pivoted on his heel and stormed out of the room. He quickly slipped into his shoes and ran down the stairs into the garden.

Lord Masako was Satoru’s guardian, the person he was closest to. He never tried to act as Satoru’s parent but guided him through life. He taught him to read and write before placing him in the care of other teachers. If anything troubled Satoru, he knew he could always go to Lord Masako. Until recently, he had Satoru’s full trust. But the recent events had made Satoru doubt even his own shadow.

After the last battle with Sukuna, trust became a scarce commodity. Satoru had witnessed firsthand how Sukuna fought the cursed corpse of the general, who had eyes similar to Satoru's own. Satoru was intimately familiar with the general's techniques, including the barrier and the red orb of energy. Even though Satoru had never shown Sukuna the Limitless technique, Sukuna adapted to it effortlessly. His battle skills were unparalleled; he weaponized his environment with ease. In the general’s final moments, Satoru realized that the general hadn't failed—he had chosen to surrender and let Sukuna destroy him. The necromancer couldn’t chain the essence of such a strong warrior or completely bend his will.

Satoru wanted to stay longer, but he feared his people would find him and force him to fight Sukuna. It took him days to convince the elders that he wasn’t prepared to encounter Sukuna, and after seeing him in action, he knew he was right.

No matter how many curses Satoru had exorcised, he lacked the experience of standing against humans. He had never been in a real battle, and though he had killed humans before, they were mere murderers or thieves, not sorcerers of Sukuna’s rank.

Satoru walked down the corridor of the main house, searching for Isao, the maid who served him exclusively. He found her descending the stairs to the backyard, her hands full with a basket of laundry.

"Isao, go get dressed and meet me by the gate; we’re going to the city. I’ll be there shortly." 

She blinked at him, confused. "Yes! Yes, right away!" With a slight bow, she hurried back into the house.

Satoru needed to leave the premises before Lord Masako returned from his seven-day trip to the Todai temple. He knew he would have no chance to sneak out without everyone discovering his true intentions. As the lord of the residence, Gojo Masako held absolute authority. While Lord Masako was away, Satoru took advantage of his absence to visit the archives and peruse the old tomes locked in the chest of his room. He had never had reasons to behave like this until that fateful night with the general.

However, if Satoru wanted his plan to work, he needed to let as many people as possible know where he was going. He had been locked in the compound for the past six days by his own choice and desperately needed a breath of fresh air.

Satoru stepped into the garden to pump fresh water into a bucket. He transferred some water into a bowl and refreshed his face, feeling relief from the scorching summer sun.

"I heard you're going to the city."

"You heard right." He slicked back his hair before scooping water into his palms again. "Why? Do you need something, Emiko-san?"

The lady stood tall next to him. "You should be studying. Isado-san told me that you left in the middle of the lecture."

"I'm sure he also mentioned that I couldn't concentrate." After splashing the water on his face, Satoru stood up and gazed at the older woman, dressed in silk with her hair pinned up. She was the wife of Isado’s oldest son. And, of course, she had to poke her nose into everyone’s business.

"I find it fruitless to sit and listen to something I can't concentrate on," he said, feigning disappointment. "I haven't left the house for the past six days. I need to take my mind elsewhere, if you understand."

"Is that so?" She looked at him, her eyes softening. "Well, the past events were truly saddening. The death of Yua-san in that horrendous battle..." She shook her head. 

"Alright. But be careful," she said before leaving, "you never know where the Ryōmen Sukuna beast will strike again."

Satoru stared at his reflection in the bowl. He saw a young man capable of spilling blood, yet not wise enough to distinguish between darkness and light. Nothing seemed to be as it appeared. Black was white, and white was gray. Nothing in this world was purely one thing. If people saw Ryō as a monster, did Ryō see them as monsters in return? A person can only endure so much abuse...

A person can only endure so many lies and so much heartbreak. Satoru grabbed the bowl and splashed the water into the pond and over the Kappa statue.

"Dragon..." he whispered under his breath as he tossed the bowl aside and turned around, picking up his pace to meet the maid by the gate.

**

The city was vibrant. The streets were brimming with people, and merchants yelled over each other to sell their goods. The air was rich with the scents of meat and honey. It was only the beginning of summer, yet people were dressed in light robes; women carried their colorful umbrellas, and men shed their yukata undershirts.

Satoru didn’t really care about what he was buying, nor did he look at the prices. He purchased various fabrics and dried fruit. When he was sure Isao’s hands were full and she couldn’t carry more, he sent her home.

"I’ll go visit the onsen," Satoru informed her. "You go back, and if Lord Masako asks about me, tell him I will be home before sunset."

"Understood!" Isao bowed and strode away.

When Satoru lost sight of her, he quickly continued down the street, encountering fewer and fewer people. Once he was certain no one was watching, he used his cursed energy to leap over the river, shortening his path to the woods. There, he ran, his sensitive eyes detecting every obstacle and guiding him left and right. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a fistful of blue ribbons. Deep in the forest, he began tying the ribbons to the trees, continuing all the way down to where the river turned into the valley, where Sukuna had his favorite spot.

A soft smile appeared on Satoru’s face as he walked among the rose bushes. It had been a full year since he met Ryō for the first time, and the roses were in full bloom. Satoru tied one of the ribbons to a bush and plucked a single flower. With a lingering smile, he descended to the riverbank.

He sat down, rotating the flower between his fingers as he watched the sparkling water tumble down the mountains. While waiting, Satoru thought about Sukuna’s fight with the necromancer and Yua-san, wondering if Sukuna even wanted to see him again. They had caused Ryō so much pain, and yet Satoru had chosen not to help him. Ryō was right; he was a coward, too weak to fight Sukuna or for his own freedom.

After what felt like an eternity, Satoru began losing hope that Ryō would show up. He hugged his knees, staring at the flower. Maybe he was too late, or the blue ribbons weren’t clear enough for Sukuna to follow, though the cursed energy sparkled like little dragonflies in the air. Losing his last hope, Satoru dropped the flower on the grass and lowered his face to his knees. A sudden wave of suffocating loneliness and sorrow wrapped him in a cold embrace.

The summer sun was impatiently lowering to the west. He needed to return home.

"I am sorry for being late."

Satoru instantly turned around, his eyes sparkling with hope, and his lips stretching into a smile. But when his gaze fell on Sukuna, all he could do was gasp—gasp in horror.

Burn marks scarred the right side of Sukuna's face, and criminal marks marred his chin. Satoru’s heart seized with sorrow and regret. Why had no one in the clan told him that they had hurt Sukuna this severely? Why was he suddenly left out of the mission details?

For an entire year, Satoru felt like he was walking on shards, torn between his loyalty to his clan and his love for Sukuna. He balanced on a thin thread, worried that each word he spoke could be his last with either side. And this was their gratitude? Keeping secrets from him? Or maybe they wanted Satoru to see for himself the damage they had done to Sukuna, all thanks to him.

“What happened?” Satoru asked carefully, his brows knitted in worry. “Why isn’t it healing?”

Sukuna waved a hand indifferently as he settled next to Satoru. “Necromancer, lots of your people. Same old, my dear.”

Satoru stared at him in disbelief, utterly taken aback by Sukuna’s apathetic demeanor. “You have burns that obviously cannot be healed. You’re lucky your eyes aren’t affected!"

“And…” Sukuna paused, rolling the next words on his tongue. “What would you do if I did turn blind in my right eye?”

Satoru's frown deepened. The guilt over his clan's wrongdoings to Sukuna was already eating at him, and if Sukuna were to lose his eye on top of that, Satoru wouldn't be able to face him anymore. That, of course, wouldn't stop Sukuna from pushing through as if nothing had transpired. Losing his eye or getting burns made no difference to him.

The only way to make Sukuna quit anything was to kill him. The very thought made Satoru's skin crawl with shivers, his guts tighten, and his throat constrict.

Satoru shook his head. “You know what? I should treat you the same way you treat yourself!” he said, his voice full of disagreement with Sukuna’s approach. "That will teach you a lesson."

“And what would that be?” Sukuna leaned closer to him. His body radiated warmth and ominous cursed energy, leaving Satoru’s head fuzzy.

Whenever Sukuna entered his space, Satoru's heart would tighten with a mix of fear and desire. Initially, Satoru was frightened of Sukuna, but he soon realized that his fear stemmed more from the rumors surrounding Sukuna than from the man himself. At first, Satoru was hesitant to accept the mission to get closer to Sukuna. He wasn't even supposed to reveal his clan affiliation or display his powers. However, from the moment they met, Sukuna's approach shattered all the barriers his clan had built around him. Sukuna didn't care about nobility, status, or wealth—none of that mattered to him. All he wanted to know was if Satoru was strong enough to endure his presence. And Satoru was. For the first time, someone treated him like an ordinary person who had to prove himself, with no privileges.

“You should work harder. You weren’t strong or smart enough!” Satoru wrinkled his brows, his voice stern and scolding. “They managed to give you a permanent scar! Shame!”

Sukuna rested his chin on Satoru’s shoulder, a low rumble escaping his mouth that soon turned into laughter. Satoru’s eyes widened as he turned his head toward him, his heart hammering in his chest from both the clean, melodic laughter and Sukuna’s intimate gesture.

“What’s so funny?” he inquired, arching an eyebrow. But as Sukuna kept laughing, Satoru’s resolve began to crumble, and soon the corners of his lips curled upward.

"I don't get it!" Satoru giggled. "Why are you laughing? I'm serious—" he yelped as Sukuna suddenly wrapped one pair of arms around his waist and pulled him down, taking them both to the ground.

Satoru braced himself with his hands next to Sukuna's head, his legs encircling Sukuna's broad hips. The position left him completely speechless. Sukuna, however, didn't give him any time to recover, wrapping his lower arms around Satoru's middle while his upper hands cupped Satoru's cheeks.

Astonished by Sukuna's boldness, all Satoru could think about was how easily Sukuna manhandled him and how much he liked it. Satoru’s cheeks burned crimson, the fire spreading across his body.

“Thank you for reminding me of what truly matters.” A smile lingered on Sukuna’s face as he gently stroked Satoru’s cheekbones.

Satoru could practice in front of his reflection for hours, repeating Sukuna’s sweet phrases to lessen their impact on his psyche. But he was not prepared to be touched this intimately or find himself in such a provocative position.

“Shall we train together?” Sukuna suggested, his voice low with a hint of secrecy.

Satoru didn't have to guess what was on Sukuna's mind, as the mischievous grin on his face gave him away. Then something odd happened with Sukuna's face.

"Hm..." Satoru let Sukuna's question linger in the air a bit longer, his attention abruptly stolen by the subtle movement of Sukuna's extra pair of tiny eyes.

Up this close, Satoru could see the fierce gaze in Sukuna's eyes. The two red orbs were brimming with life, sending shivers down Satoru's spine. He had never seen anyone like Sukuna. Was it nature's curse or the gods' blessing? Only then, when Satoru studied the embers of Sukuna's additional eyes, did he realize that Sukuna had once told him he couldn’t see through those eyes, and yet—ah! New determination filled Satoru's veins. It was understandable that Sukuna kept secrets from him, but why would he lie about something so easily uncovered?

Satoru cocked his head, his eyes fixed on the tiny red orb. “How well can you see me through those eyes?”

“Perfectly,” Sukuna replied, sliding his hands down from Satoru’s face to his shoulders. “That’s why I was surprised I couldn’t see the splash of lava coming.”

Satoru brought a hand up, pointing a finger at the tiny eye, and gently poked it as it closed. He giggled. “You’re so fascinating to me. In the best way possible.”

“Is that so?” A playful smirk stretched Sukuna’s lips. “I have way more secrets to unravel, my fierce dragon.”

Satoru raised his eyebrows in interest. “Like what?” he asked eagerly.

"Hm..." Sukuna mused, amused by Satoru's curiosity. "Everything has its time, Satoru. First, let's make sure neither of us loses an eye in the future, shall we?"

“Is it about the strange divot on your belly?” Satoru grinned, proud of his observations. “I heard stories about it.”

“Ah, stories…” Sukuna rolled his eyes with a chuckle. “Don’t you want to hear it from my mouth and see it with your own eyes?”

A small frown appeared on Satoru’s face as he narrowed his eyes at Sukuna. He was full of wonders and secrets. But more than that—more than a sorcerer and a wonder of nature, Sukuna was a man, and this fact Satoru’s body kept reminding him of more often than not. Just like now, when Sukuna shifted underneath him and pressed Satoru closer. His palms were flat on Satoru's back, warm and large, like a comforting blanket.

Satoru swallowed and inhaled sharply, aware that his body was betraying his feelings. Sukuna, on the other hand, acted as if nothing was happening.

“What a wondrous expression you have,” Sukuna muttered with a triumphant smile, lowering his hands to Satoru’s biceps and squeezing them gently. “Satoru, my dear, you should be more mindful after I killed three of your people.”

A surge of cold entered Satoru’s veins, clashing with the blazing fire inside him. “If you attack, you must be prepared to die!” he said flatly. “We go to war ready to be defeated.”

“Hmm…” Sukuna gave Satoru’s words a short, thoughtful hum. “Is that what they teach noble sorcerers?”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“So, you're saying everyone who goes to battle wants to die?” Sukuna asked, his eyes carrying a calculating glint.

Satoru frowned. “That's not what I said.”

“But if you go to war with the mindset that you should be ready to die, then it means you want to die.”

“You’re twisting my words!” Satoru bolted upright, sitting on Sukuna’s lap. “I just said that if you go to war, you must be ready to encounter someone stronger who can fatally hurt you.”

“I understand,” Sukuna said, clasping his hand on Satoru’s thighs and gently squeezing them, causing Satoru to tense. “But what if I go into battle with a clear mindset of winning? Is that a wrong approach, Satoru?”

“No, but…” Satoru paused, searching for the right words in his mind clouded by Sukuna's bold touches. “It honestly doesn’t matter when you’re fighting. You just want to survive.”

Something dark shifted in Sukuna’s expression, and his grip on Satoru’s legs tightened. It was then that Satoru finally realized the position they were in. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to the topic at hand, as his mind was distracted by Sukuna’s attractive body. He was so muscular and broad for his age. Satoru wanted to caress the planes of his chest and feel the ridges of his stomach muscles.

“That’s the mindset of someone who fights unwillingly,” Sukuna declared thoughtfully. “So, tell me, my dear Satoru, if they put us against each other, will you come at me with the mindset of a weakling?”

A sudden wave of unease and anger washed over Satoru, and he scowled deeply. “Why must we talk about fighting all the time? Can’t we just enjoy each other’s presence? I don’t want you to be constantly on alert around me!”

Sukuna’s eyes widened at the words, but that initial surprise quickly morphed into a gentle smile. “Very well, my little bird.”

“And don’t call me a little bird!” Satoru pouted, smacking Sukuna’s chest. The sound of their skin meeting created an echo of everything but violence. Satoru’s cheeks turned scarlet. He had heard too many erotic sounds throughout his life while living in a house with shoji walls.

“As you wish, Satoru,” Sukuna chuckled, clearly pleased with the outcome of Satoru’s fury.

Satoru’s shoulders dropped, and he sighed. Drawing a deep breath, he closed his eyes and then opened them as he exhaled sharply. “Now, where were we?”

“You said I should get stronger.”

“Right!” Satoru clasped his hands together. “As you said, we should train so nobody can ever take our eyes.”

Sukuna’s lips stretched into a broad, sly smile, and he grabbed Satoru’s waist, forcing him to quickly brace his hands next to Sukuna’s head.

“I have something on my mind,” Sukuna muttered as their faces drew close.

Satoru froze under the firm hold of Sukuna's warm hands. His heart raced as he couldn't tear his eyes away. He was so close that he could count Sukuna’s eyelashes.

“When I fought the general, he used a technique similar to your Infinity. I noticed he could envelop that barrier only around his body, not the weapon. But what you did to protect me from the arrows was that you took me under your technique.”

Satoru could hardly comprehend Sukuna’s words as he stared into his unearthly eyes. They were deeply red, like blood spilled under the amber light of a lantern, tinted lighter around the pupils. Satoru thought of a heart brimming with young life. There was so much energy and will to live in the depths of the curse Sukuna carried in his soul that Satoru couldn’t help but want to touch it, drink from the source, and...

His trance was abruptly broken when Sukuna took his face in his hands. “I have a perfect training for you, my smitten dragon.”

Satoru blinked at him, feeling enormously foolish. His face burned with newfound embarrassment, and it was futile to try to hide it anymore. He was visibly flushed from head to toe.

“W-what exercise?” He stuttered slightly.

“Put the Infinity between us, keep it as dense as possible, and don’t allow anything to penetrate it.”

Satoru stared at him, baffled, as if he had asked him to move clouds at his will. They were in a delicate position, and Satoru already felt his manhood reacting to it, yet Sukuna preferred to discuss Satoru’s cursed technique. Satoru's thoughts spun in a swirl, none of them catching his attention. All he could think about was Sukuna's vulnerability. The strongest warrior was pinned on his back under Satoru's weight. How could Satoru's body and heart not react to that?

“Satoru…” Sukuna called his name gently to attract his attention. Something in his eyes and tone told Satoru that Sukuna shared his desire, but there were more important things to do.

“I—uh…” Satoru bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I had a long day.”

“I believe a sorcerer’s day never ends.”

A muffled, pitiful laugh escaped Satoru’s lips. “You have no idea how right you are.”

"I know you are perhaps confused about what is happening," Sukuna said attentively, caressing Satoru's flushed cheek with the back of his hand. "But have no worries; soon, everything will be revealed. Just give me a few more days."

The words immediately halted the whirlpool of Satoru's thoughts. "What did you find?" he asked impatiently.

"As I said, I need a couple more days."

"Is it about the necromancer? About the scroll?" Satoru pressed, desperate to discuss the events at the burial place and the monster the necromancer had summoned. He had so many questions that nobody wanted to answer. Day by day, he felt more like a tool for others' whims than a person.

"You must trust me in this, Satoru," he said softly, "the less you know right now, the better. I want to keep you safe."

Satoru gritted his teeth, exhausted from everyone treating him with kid gloves, tired of the golden cage, and frustrated with being too impulsive for others and not skilled enough. He was so tired of...

"I would never decide for you without you," Sukuna assured him.

Satoru relaxed when he realized there was no sign that Sukuna was acting behind his back. He found himself in a delicate position, having to choose every day whom he would hurt. He yearned to uncover the truth about his parents and his powers more than anything, but not at all costs.

"Now..." Sukuna squeezed Satoru's side slightly after releasing him. “How did your training proceed with your teachers when they pretended not to know anything about your technique?” Sukuna asked, once again stealing his attention back.

"They compared it to other techniques that I thought had little in common with mine. But I believed them."

Sukuna hummed in understanding. “Remember when we met and I pushed against your barrier?”

“Yes.” Satoru finally lifted his head, determined to concentrate. If there was a possibility to unlock more of his powers, then he wanted to grasp it. After realizing that he was merely a weapon in his own clan, he understood that they would never let him reach his full potential.

As if reading his mind through his fierce glance, Sukuna smiled as he said, “They fear you because they know what you are capable of. People will always fear the strong.” 

Satoru pressed his lips into a line, clawing at the dirt. “You said I need to put Infinity between us?” 

“Yes, make it as thick as possible and rely on nothing but that energy.” 

“It’s going to hurt you,” Satoru warned him, his heart racing. 

"I count on that," he chuckled. "Now, lie down on me." 

Satoru gazed into Sukuna's eyes one last time before leaning away. Without warning, he enveloped his body in cursed energy, pressing it as much as possible into the small space between them. Slowly, Satoru lowered himself over Sukuna, their faces just a breath apart. He saw the pressure against Sukuna's body, weighing it down. The ground beneath them dipped slightly, causing them to sink just enough for Sukuna to gasp, a smile spreading across his face.

“Good…”

“You sound breathless,” Satoru smirked smugly as he locked their gazes. “I like the color of your eyes.”

A realization crossed Sukuna's face. "When you enable your technique, the color of your eyes slightly changes.”

“I know,” Satoru confirmed, “they observed my eyes and wrote thick tomes about it.”

Sukuna took a deep breath, causing Satoru to rise just a hair's breadth, yet Satoru could still feel the power. His eyes widened as he sensed a sudden disruption and pressure against his technique.

“What are you doing?” he asked, alarmed.

“When the general dissolved his technique, the white sparkles in his eyes disappeared. But you have no white in your eyes. There’s something off.”

“What’s off?”

“I couldn't pierce through his barrier, but I sure can pierce yours!” After Sukuna's words, Satoru hissed in pain as a slash cut through the soft flesh of his neck. Panicked, he immediately pulled into a seat, pressing his palm against his neck.

“I see you’re still unable to use the reversed technique.” Sukuna sat up, raising his hands to Satoru’s anxious face. “Let me—”

“I don’t understand how!” Satoru called out desperately.

“Satoru, please let me through.”

Blood rushed through Satoru's ears as the plea resonated. He knew he still couldn’t compare to Sukuna, but why was there such an enormous difference in their powers? What more could Satoru do to stand on the same level as Sukuna? His swirling blue eyes sent waves of confused anger and envy into Sukuna’s calm gaze.

“The cut is shallow.” Sukuna tried to reach out, but Satoru’s technique blocked him. “Let’s figure out what is wrong, alright? I want you to be powerful, Satoru. So strong that one day you won’t have to worry about anyone’s approval.”

Satoru's breath began to steady as he lowered his hand. He imagined a world of freedom where he stood on top and no one could command or harm him anymore. Safe, surrounded by his own rules with no tears to shed.

When Sukuna carefully touched his wound, Satoru turned his head to give him more space. Despite everything they had been through, Satoru still expected Sukuna to simply nod and be satisfied with cleaning the wound with the sleeve of his white haori. To his surprise, Sukuna grabbed Satoru’s chin and pulled himself closer to lick the dripping blood.

Satoru tensed, grabbing the wrist of the hand Sukuna used to grip his chin. “How will I know what to do? I want the power the general had!”

“Through pain, of course.” Sukuna nuzzled his neck. “Everyone learns through pain, Satoru.”

Sukuna pushed away to face him. “Come, let’s try again.” He lay down, pulling Satoru over his body. “The same tactic. I won’t tell you where I will strike.”

This time, Satoru was sure he had it figured out. He concentrated on protecting his body, determined not to let anyone cause him pain again. It seemed to work for a moment, as Sukuna’s observing stare turned into wonder. But then Satoru’s mind wandered for a second, and he felt his stomach getting wet. He fell on Sukuna, hissing and groaning.

“I thought I got it this time.”

“You did for a moment, then you stopped concentrating.” Sukuna cupped the back of Satoru’s head, twirling his finger over the loose end of the tie holding Satoru’s hair in a bun.

“I have a theory that once your eyes learn to see what they need, they will protect you unconditionally.”

Satoru propped himself on one hand, clutching his wounded stomach with the other. “I’ll sooner learn the reversed technique than that.” 

Sukuna huffed an amused smile. "That would be delightful. But back to your Infinity.” 

“So, what you’re saying is that my eyes are connected with my technique?” 

Sukuna hoisted himself up on his elbows. "I believe your eyes connect with every technique you use."

It was as if Sukuna’s words unlocked a part of Satoru’s brain that had been hidden behind an obscure spell. He had always somehow known what to do, always certain about things, but couldn’t explain why. His teachers hadn’t bothered to investigate further, or, as he recently learned, they refused to help him.

“The general had a cursed technique that could create a red ball of energy. Locals have told me that a certain gem from the Gojo family has the ability to create a blue ball that glows in the darkness."

Satoru’s eyes snapped to Sukuna. “That’s the Limitless technique.” 

“I assumed you’d have both,” Sukuna nodded. “If you want me to help unleash your true power, Satoru, you must be honest with me.”

“I know!” Satoru groaned, lowering his head. “I'm trying.”

Sukuna gently pried Satoru's hand away from his wound and brought it to his cheek.

Satoru couldn’t grasp what fueled Sukuna's determination or why he was so convinced that helping Satoru understand himself was the right thing to do after the battle with the necromancer. Sukuna had been hurt by Satoru's family as much as he had hurt them. It was a vicious cycle that Satoru knew he couldn't break, at least not in his current weakened state. He gently drew his hand back, leaving red streaks of blood on Sukuna’s cheek and his scarred temple.

“Will you be honest with me, too?” Satoru asked, his heart aching for the truth.

“As much as I can.”

Given their circumstances, Satoru couldn’t ask for more. They were in a dangerous position with each other. Anyone else in Sukuna’s place would have already fled and cut off all ties with Satoru. Perhaps that was the whim of the strongest sorcerer in Heian-kyō, seeking a balance between sanity and insanity. Sukuna could afford to step onto the enemy’s ground and hold Satoru’s hand only because no one could stop him.

“Now, wipe those worries off your lovely face,” Sukuna said, lying back on the grass and pulling Satoru down against his body. “Let’s try again.”

Satoru instinctively reached for his neck to inspect the wounds.

"It has stopped bleeding already," Sukuna assured him.

Lowering his hand, Satoru locked his gaze with Sukuna's seemingly larger and more vivid eyes. Their depths threatened to swallow him whole. The longer he looked, the more Satoru felt like he was gazing into Sukuna's soul, yet he merely touched the surface.

“Engulf yourself with your Infinity…” Sukuna muttered, appearing incredibly vulnerable beneath Satoru’s intense stare.

Carefully, Satoru placed his hands beside Sukuna’s head, never breaking their eye contact. Curious about what that thoughtful, yet gentle, face was hiding, Satoru examined him for a moment before finding the courage to bare his heart to get the answer he wanted.

“What do you see when you look into my eyes?” Satoru’s whisper fell between them like the first shadow of sunset. As the clouds shifted, an orange hue painted a stripe across Sukuna’s eyes, turning them into a color Satoru had never seen before.

“A chained sky.” Sukuna’s hands moved from Satoru’s waist to his rib cage.

“I see a burning sky…” Satoru lowered himself, his breath mingling with Sukuna’s. “A fire that can melt my chains.”

Satoru didn’t hesitate. Closing his eyes, he pressed their mouths together. He drew in a sharp breath, as if trying to inhale Sukuna’s very essence into his veins. The grip on his ribs tightened, and he felt Sukuna moving gently against his lips, encouraging him.

When Satoru parted to look at Sukuna, his lips still tingled with the ghostly shape of Sukuna’s mouth. Holding his breath, Satoru gazed into Sukuna’s hooded eyes. A warm shiver ran down Satoru’s spine, wrapping him in a blazing flame. He felt like he was melting under Sukuna’s intense stare.

“Tell me it was your first kiss…” Sukuna brought his hand to Satoru’s lips, brushing his thumb over them. 

Satoru closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply and steadily to calm himself. Despite his shy nature with Sukuna, he wasn’t so innocent as to have never kissed anyone, but he could easily say that this kiss was the one that counted, the one he would remember forever.

“First that I count.” He lowered his head, kissing Sukuna again.

As Sukuna deepened their kiss, he cupped Satoru’s neck to hold him steady and prolong the moment. Satoru hissed slightly as Sukuna’s thumb dipped into the shallow wound on his throat, reopening it.

Satoru broke the kiss. “What will I tell them about my wounds?” he asked, breathless from the intensity of their intimate moment.

“Exactly what they want to hear,” Sukuna craned his neck, brushing their lips in a tender kiss, “that you battled Ryōmen Sukuna.”

As Satoru closed his eyes, immersing himself in the depths of Sukuna's warmth and gentleness, he knew there was no turning back. When their lips separated, still under the spell of closeness, Satoru nuzzled his nose against Sukuna's cheek.

"I want to introduce you to someone," Sukuna whispered, his warm breath brushing against Satoru's ear. "Meet me by the Myoho In temple."

"When?"

"In three days..." Sukuna ran his fingers up Satoru's spine and higher, yanking the tie from his hair harshly before grabbing a fistful of it and pressing their lips together in a searing kiss. Despite the burning pain in his skull, Satoru's lips parted in a broken moan. He felt enthralled by the bruising kiss that lingered on his lips. Everything in his body craved more touches and tenderness. All his life, he had been hiding behind his Infinity, thinking it was a perfect shield, until Sukuna decided to give him a better one.

Sukuna tilted Satoru's chin, making him open his eyes. He smiled, taking in Satoru's disheveled state. Satoru's cheeks burned, his lips glistening and puffy from the kissing, his white hair messily framing his face.

"It's time for my dragon to decide if he wants to learn to fly or forever crawl among his slavers."

Chapter Text

Satoru ran through the rain until he saw the temple's rooftop peeking between the spruce trees. He avoided using Infinity to stay unnoticed by the Fujiwara spies that Lord Masako had sent after him. The clan was tired of waiting, and Satoru's excuses for not confronting Sukuna were starting to annoy the impatient lords and generals. Satoru was many things: the supposed strongest, the one who could tame Sukuna, the future of the Gojo clan, the link between the Fujiwara and Gojo, the one with cursed eyes, the one with kidnapped parents, and Lord Masako's favorite. Only because the lord had a soft spot for Satoru had he been allowed to shirk his responsibilities for so long. 

But something had changed recently. Satoru could tell that the Fujiwara were pushing for results. To evade the supervisory board, he resorted to desperate measures. During training, he injured the sorcerer assigned to the Jingu shrine mission. Taking over the case, he fled the compound as quickly as possible, but not without soldiers on his tail. 

Listening to the pitter-patter of the rain, the rustling leaves, and the occasional birdsong to detect any differences, Satoru almost missed Sukuna's cursed energy. It was like sparkles in the dark, a bright white with crimson inside—a blinding light. Sukuna landed next to Satoru with the grace of an eagle. 

"Enjoying the rain?" Sukuna smiled, lifting his haori over Satoru's head. 

Satoru looked at the makeshift roof and then at Sukuna. "Are you—aren't you taller than the last time we saw each other?" 

"Are you implying that I managed to grow that much over the past three days?" Sukuna chuckled, amused. 

"Maybe. One never knows with you." 

Sukuna's expression softened as he leaned toward Satoru. "Let me greet you properly." 

With a nervous gulp, Satoru lifted himself on his tiptoes, his brows slightly arched in expectation. Was this how they were now? A couple? Could he kiss and hold Sukuna's hand anytime he wanted, or did he need to ask for permission? 

"Your confused eyes are just so lovely. You look so vulnerable." Sukuna sheltered them from the world under his haori, pressing his lips against Satoru’s. 

Instinctively, Satoru brought his hand to Sukuna’s exposed chest to ground himself, feeling the coolness of the rain on his soft skin. Satoru was still new to intimacy; every touch he shared with Sukuna left a fresh imprint on his heart and soul. He was like unformed dough, shaped by Sukuna to his liking, and Satoru couldn't be more excited to see the results.  

Their lips moved gently in a soft dance of tender kisses. Satoru smiled as Sukuna’s tongue flicked over his bottom lip, bringing a new sensation. He caresses Sukuna’s chest, gliding his hand up to his neck, a soft moan escaping his lips. His fingers ran across Sukuna’s pulse, feeling the powerful rhythm of his heart. Sukuna’s warmth drew him in like a consuming fire. He tightened his grip over Sukuna’s nape, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. 

Satoru parted his lips, meeting Sukuna’s tongue in a slick exploration. He moaned into the kiss, his fingers digging into the taut muscles on Sukuna’s neck. Sukuna’s presence was intoxicating, a heady embrace of safety and freedom. At that moment, he knew of no safer place. 

Absorbed in the heated moment, Satoru barely realized how he pressed his body against Sukuna’s, making breathy moans and gently biting Sukuna’s lips. Sukuna grabbed his hips tightly, steadying Satoru and pushing him away slightly. Their lips separated abruptly, leaving Satoru craving more with his eyes still closed.  

"You're a minx, Satoru," he muttered, his voice breathy and husky. "Only the importance of our meeting stops me from taking you right here and now."  

Satoru slowly fluttered his eyes open, his chest heaving. The rain kept beating the soaked haori over their heads. Droplets of water trailed down Sukuna’s tanned chest, and Satoru desired nothing but to lick him dry. 

“Ryō, I want more.” Satoru sighed wantonly, placing his shaking hands on Sukuna’s wide hips. He felt the unyielding firmness of his muscles as he pressed their lower halves together, craning his neck to ask for more kisses. 

"I can give you all the kisses you desire after we're done here." Sukuna pushed him gently, but Satoru rooted his feet and wrapped his arms around Sukuna's middle, pressing his face between Sukuna's pectorals with a satisfied smile. 

“Satoru!”  

“Make me,” Satoru mumbled stubbornly. 

Sukuna lowered his haori, allowing the slowly ceasing rain to fall on their bodies. Satoru whined in disapproval, tightening his hold around Sukuna. The past three days had been difficult for him. Instead of asking for the mission, he simply announced it and fled. He felt like a prisoner in his home, while Sukuna embodied the perfect opposite. Content and cherished in Sukuna’s arms, Satoru quickly lowered his guard. 

For a moment, it appeared like Sukuna had surrendered to Satoru's affection. The intimacy was almost intoxicating until he registered a subtle pressure, a small, soft touch through his shirt. He snapped his eyes open, a wave of incredulity washing over him. They were too close for anything to have slipped between their bodies. Only one explanation remained, the rumors Satoru had heard about the enigmatic divot in Sukuna's abdomen. 

"Ryō?" Satoru's voice rang with confusion.  

“Yes, my dear?” Sukuna cooed, cradling Satoru’s face with a smile and tilting his head back to look at him. “What is it?”  

Satoru watched him with uncertainty, waiting to see if it would happen again. To his frustration, Sukuna didn't repeat whatever he had done. Annoyed, Satoru pulled away and, with a sharp, irked look, examined Sukuna’s belly. He poked Sukuna’s stomach, feeling the muscles under his fingers, then traced the enigmatic divot on his belly. Squinting, Satoru looked up at Sukuna, who wore an amused expression, clearly enjoying Satoru’s examination and cluelessness. 

"Let’s go inside before it starts raining again," Sukuna smiled, slipping his hand into Satoru's.  

Satoru let him lead the way with a suspicious glint in his eyes. "Don't think I'm letting that slide."  

"I would never dream of it, my curious bird."  

"I am not a bird!" Satoru raised his voice, clearly annoyed as he pouted. "I'm a mighty, fearsome dragon."

"But of course, anything you say," Sukuna smirked.  

Though it wasn't Satoru's first time in a Buddhist temple, he remained unfamiliar with the new culture and religion. It was vastly different from their beloved Shinto; Satoru didn’t even know how to address the significant differences properly. All he knew was that Buddhism was about self-discovery. Lord Masako had a few scrolls in his office, but they never read anything specific. 

Satoru looked at the Buddha statue with curiosity. “Are you a follower, Ryō?”  

"I'm never against an opportunity to educate myself." 

They entered a small room at the back of the temple, where the scent of incense was most prominent. A small cloud of smoke hovered in the room, and two other people sat on pillows in complete silence. 

"Wait, I thought women couldn't enter Buddhist temples," Satoru said, immediately pointing at the woman he recognized from before. She was the one who had so abruptly interrupted them and hugged Sukuna. 

"It's a little more complicated with... Ena," Sukuna said mysteriously, a small frown appearing between his brows. 

"Nice to see you again too, young lord," Ena smiled, fanning her long eyelashes at Satoru. "Have a seat with us."  

Her cursed energy resembled spilled ink on paper—dark and mixed with a vastly different essence. To Satoru’s eyes, everything appeared perfectly in order—she was a sorcerer with an outstanding amount of cursed energy. Yet, inside, Satoru felt triggered. The feeling her presence gave off was unsettling. 

“Ryō, I don’t like her,” Satoru confessed openly, his posture firm as he held his head high, glaring at Ena.  

Ena huffed an amused laugh. "Is it because of the passionate embrace I shared with your sweetheart?" 

Satoru’s cheeks flushed with hot blood as he frowned at her. “It wasn’t passionate, and he didn’t return it!”  

“So, you admit that he’s your sweetheart?” Ena smirked at him, taking a cup of tea from the tray.  

“Well, of course, he is!” Satoru replied proudly. “Which makes your presence unwanted here.”  

Ena laughed in amusement as she covered her mouth with the wide sleeve of her kimono. The dark flames in her eyes danced mischievously. Satoru was suddenly overwhelmed by an urge to strike her with RED. Outraged, and without realizing it, he began to raise his arm when Sukuna gently lowered it, slipping his hand into Satoru’s and tugging him closer to the two figures by the fireplace.  

“This is Uraume; he’s a great help. One would never guess what a petite creature like him is capable of,” Sukuna commented, ruffling the boy’s hair. “I see an immense potential.”  

“Sukuna-sama, I’m not a creature; I am a boy.” Uraume announced patiently.  

Satoru smiled at the determined answer. “He likes to give nicknames.”  

Before Sukuna could bring attention back to Ena, Satoru pointed at the basket full of onigiri next to the tray with tea. Surprised, he turned to Sukuna. “Where did you get so many?”  

“Some of the nearby villagers think Sukuna-sama is a deity. This is his daily offering,” Uraume replied, causing Satoru to gasp in shock. 

“Ryō, you cannot pretend you’re a deity! You already have so many angered spirits following you!”  

“Those are my devoted followers.” Sukuna turned his nose up proudly. “I can’t tell spirits what to do.”  

“You wear charms!” Satoru pointed at the blue ribbon tied around his wrist. He was still in awe that Sukuna used his hair tie to craft a protection charm. The two amber beads were snuggled next to each other above the knot.

“That’s a reminder of your devotion.”  

“It’s a protection charm,” Satoru deadpanned, twisting his mouth in annoyance. 

“One simply cannot hurt the deities.”  

“They would get reborn.”  

“And haunt me even more.”  

“Ryō, I clearly remember you killing a deer,” Satoru reminded him, frowning. “I think you like being haunted.”

Despite Satoru’s worries and accusations, Sukuna kept smiling smugly. “They keep following me; it almost makes me their leader, don’t you think?”

Satoru pursed his lips in displeasure and shook his head. With a heavy sigh, he held back the scolding on his tongue, knowing that Sukuna wouldn’t listen. He was stubborn and had a penchant for exposing himself to danger.  

Their exchange was thankfully interrupted by Ena clearing her throat. She smiled at them with a sly, fake smile and gestured to the two empty spots by the fireplace. Satoru watched her with predatory eyes while Sukuna folded his large frame into the small space. Continuing to glare, Satoru allowed Sukuna to pull him down by the hand, maintaining strict eye contact with Ena the entire time. 

“I appreciate all the attention, Gojo-san, but I’m afraid I can’t return the sentiment,” Ena said, pouring him a cup of tea.  

“Let's get to the point before anyone starts cursing,” Sukuna said, shrugging off his soaked haori and pouring himself tea. 

Satoru noticed Uraume wiggling restlessly, frowning at the discarded clothing. Barely listening to what Sukuna was saying, the boy’s discomfort grew with each passing second. Finally reaching his breaking point, Uraume stood up, collected the wet garment, and left through the door to the backyard to let it dry in the peaking sun. Satoru giggled under his breath.  

“What is it?” Sukuna turned his head towards him curiously.  

“Nothing,” Satoru dismissed, crossing his legs comfortably on the pillow.  

“I see you’re finally wearing kyahan,” Sukuna muttered with a tiny smile, his crimson eyes admiring the tight pieces of clothing that secured Satoru’s hakama from knee to ankle, preventing the pants from flapping around.  

“I told you, I’m no bird.” Chuckling, Satoru dusted off the knees of his expensive black, silky hakama.  

“You look like a samurai or a commoner,” Ena said nonchalantly. “You could blend in with us, except for that expensive fabric.”  

Satoru scowled. “You—”  

“Enough!” Sukuna exclaimed firmly. “I have little patience, and it’s not reserved for your quarrels!”  

Satoru exchanged cold glances with Ena. Somehow, she was always one step ahead of him. She bowed, apologized for her earlier comment, and gestured for Sukuna to proceed. By then, Uraume had returned with a satisfied smile and took his place at Sukuna's left side. 

"I wanted you to meet Ena because she has important information about your family," Sukuna said, wasting no time.  

"Oh?" Satoru raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing the young woman. He still couldn’t get rid of the feeling that there was something off about her. She was beautiful, graceful, and well-mannered, but somehow, it all felt calculated.  

He decided to let it go for now, more curious about the information she could bring to the table.  

“Your family, young lord, is in Shiga.”  

Satoru held his breath, staring at her in disbelief. After seventeen years, someone finally had relevant information about his parents. It felt surreal—hard to believe that what he couldn't achieve in years, Sukuna had managed in mere months. Satoru clenched the cloth of his pants, his jaw tensing as he continued to gaze at her.  

"How can I believe you?" Satoru asked, dropping his voice. "How do I know you're not working for the Fujiwara, and this isn't just a trap?"  

Ena sipped her tea with a contented smile. "I was present when the Fujiwara took your parents from you," she said calmly. "I remember the carriage had two beautiful black horses."  

"Is this some kind of a joke?" Satoru shot an enraged glance at Sukuna. "She's not old enough to have witnessed all that firsthand!"  

"Calm down," Sukuna soothed him by gently touching his hand. "Let her speak."  

Scowling, Satoru turned back to the woman who had just pulled out a folding fan from her sleeve and started fanning herself. Her bangs moved in the breeze she created, revealing stitches on her forehead. The thick, black thread was imbued with cursed energy as if it had to hold a wound that was impossible to heal.  

It was a shocking sight. Satoru clenched his fists, fighting his anger and the urge to leave the temple. How could Sukuna think Satoru would be okay with this foxlike witch interfering in his affairs? She was unreliable, maybe even crazy. 

"My cursed technique is quite specific, Satoru..." Her smile widened as her true nature finally emerged. "I’m older than you, boy. I saw you come into this world."  

Satoru narrowed his eyes at her. "Is this a soul swap technique?"  

"No," she shook her head, her annoyingly sly smile prevailing. "A soul swap technique only lets you stay in the body for a certain amount of time, and you must relearn all the techniques from scratch. My powers are more specific."  

"She swaps the brains," Sukuna said impatiently. "Which lets her keep her original techniques and adopt the new ones immediately."  

Ena sighed, disappointed, and stopped fanning herself. "You kill all my joy, Sukuna."  

"We're not here for your amusement," Sukuna reminded her with a stern look. "Keep playing games, and you won't leave here in one piece." 

Satoru gripped the fabric of his pants tightly, staring at Ena in intense disbelief. Although Sukuna seemed to trust her at some point, Satoru knew better. His whole life, someone had been deceiving him and laughing at his misery. He wouldn't be taken for a fool again. 

"I'm not here to judge your initial cursed technique," Satoru said in a low, steady voice. "I want proof that what you say is the uncorrupted truth." 

"I'm a bounty hunter," she said, locking her gaze with Satoru. "The more one pays, the more precise the information." 

"You’re getting nothing from me until I know I can trust your words."  

Ena let out a light laugh as she looked away. "But my dear Satoru, I am not doing this for your poor self." She opened her fan, covering her smiling face as she pinned her seductive gaze on Sukuna.  

“I’m doing it for the price of spending a night with the strongest sorcerer.”  

“I have no recollection of agreeing to such things,” Sukuna replied dryly.  

Satoru’s blood boiled. The vivid blue in his eyes paled as pearly white dots began to flutter around. The teapot clattered, drawing the woman’s gaze. When she lowered her fan and revealed her smug grin, all the cups exploded into shards, which Satoru took control of, now pointing them at Ena’s neck. 

“Don’t mess with me, you witch.” Satoru’s scowl deepened. “I have no problem shrinking your brain to the size of a grain of sand.”  

Ena’s gaze darkened. “Jealous.”  

“Stop provoking!” Sukuna commanded firmly. “Speak yourself, Kenjaku! Don't believe for a second that I won't allow him to tear you apart."  

Satoru's anger quickly turned to awe as he realized who the person before him really was—Kenjaku, the notorious bounty hunter. An infamous spy with a mysterious past and no confirmed roots, Kenjaku was known to go by many names and wear different faces. Satoru had read about this enigmatic figure in the scrolls. 

The ceramic shards clattered on the floor as Satoru took a deep, calming breath and straightened his spine. "So, you're not just a child's story, then." 

"I wanted my identity to stay hidden from you." She wore a displeased expression, avoiding Sukuna’s glare at any cost. "Your people have been hunting me down since that day."  

"Only the weak hide," Sukuna said firmly. "Die like a sorcerer or don't live at all."  

"You're such a motivational speaker." She snorted.  

Satoru pinched the bridge of his nose. "Speak, or I promise you'll be crawling out of here."  

"Or you won’t leave at all." Uraume’s voice interrupted unexpectedly, and Satoru felt the room’s temperature drop drastically. His breath turned into clouds, and his damp clothes frosted over.  

Ena had it much worse—her legs froze to the floor. "Dammit, Uraume, you’re so annoying!"  

"I brought you to Sukuna-sama, and I won’t let you make a fool out of me! Now speak!"  

Satoru watched in awe and slight amusement as the kid maintained perfect control over their temper. Maybe it had something to do with the type of cursed technique they possessed. He caught a glimpse of Sukuna's proud expression and wondered if he had anything to do with Uraume’s technique. 

"Alright! You got me!" Kenjaku sighed, resigned. "I promise to stop seducing your sweetheart." She glared at Satoru.  

"You better!" Satoru replied coldly. "Now speak!"  

Next to him, Sukuna shifted closer to Satoru, placing his arm on the small of Satoru’s back in a comforting gesture. The mere touch helped Satoru relax his tense posture. 

Kenjaku looked at the mess of their cups, clearly longing for a warm tea as the ice on her legs chilled her to the bone. A thin layer of frost covered her skin, turning her lips purple. Any ordinary person would have already succumbed to hypothermia. She clearly could use the reversed technique, which only irritated Satoru even more. 

"Every time a Gojo baby is born, someone from my coven must be present to ensure the eyes are not reborn," Kenjaku began in a steady voice. "It was my turn to see if you, as a baby, were born with the Six Eyes or not." 

The frost on Kenjaku’s feet started to melt, creating a puddle of water underneath her clothes. Satoru watched her robes absorb the liquid absently as he learned more about himself and the secret coven. His body tensed again when she mentioned the supposed name of his inherited eyes. 

"Why Six Eyes?" Sukuna wondered. "What made your coven name his cursed technique like that?"  

"It's not a cursed technique; it's part of his Gojo heritage. Only his bloodline can create eyes like those," Kenjaku nodded at Satoru's face. "The honored General Takano Gojo was the first documented case of his kind to bear them. He was your direct family."  

Satoru felt overwhelmed. He had been forced to believe someone else's truth his entire life. Manipulated into oblivion, he feared he could no longer distinguish between what was real and what was an elaborate fabrication. His stomach twisted, and his body tightened under the weight of Kenjaku's words. Despite having Sukuna by his side, Satoru felt incredibly isolated and lost in that moment.  

"We named his eyes based on the sixth sense to see the cursed energy.” Kenjaku continued. “Just like animals, you can sense what others cannot."  

"Why are my eyes such a threat to you?" Satoru asked, already regretting his question. 

"Because with those eyes, you can see our unique aura and track us down one by one. Our coven is sacred, marked by a specific cursed energy."  

"I indeed can see it," Satoru confirmed with a grim expression. "The black sparkles rising from the ink spilled on your soul."  

"That's why you're dangerous to us. You see that we are not who we appear to be. Even before I told you about my cursed technique, you knew I wasn’t who I claimed to be."  

Satoru drew in a harsh breath, feeling his hands tremble slightly. "If I am this dangerous, why didn't you get rid of me when I was just a baby?"  

"I tried." Her casual tone sent shivers down Satoru’s spine. "But Lord Masako was always around you, and he wouldn’t let anyone except him reach you. By the time he became the head of the clan, you already knew how to use Infinity."  

So, this was why Lord Masako always insisted that Satoru use Infinity, regardless of where he was or what he was doing. 

"You are killing newborns?" he asked, incredulous.  

"We aren't the only ones," Kenjaku replied mysteriously.  

The revelation about newborns being killed solely for possessing a certain gift made Satoru nauseous. The urge to twist the witch's neck or, worse, puncture her brain prickled his fingers. Despite his overwhelming need to avenge his people, Satoru recognized that Kenjaku was an important witness and a valuable source of information. For now, he had to coexist with this abomination.  

“I abhor you,” Satoru said with open disgust as he stood up, shooting a glare at Kenjaku. “If you ever try to trick me, I’ll put an end to your line.”  

“We made a binding vow,” Sukuna divulged. “For her help, we won’t go trace her coven.”  

Kenjaku sighed. “When Uraume revealed that the greatest Ryōmen Sukuna is interested in my services, I simply couldn’t reject.”  

“I don’t care about your reason.” Satoru grimaced in disgust. “You will tell me everything about the Fujiwara plans and then bring me to my father. Is that clear?”  

A satisfied smile spread across Kenjaku’s face. “Very clear, Gojo-san.”  

“I warn you!” Satoru’s eyes sparkled coldly. "If you betray me, I'll turn your life into a nightmare." 

Chapter Text

Satoru was shattered by what he had learned from Kenjaku about his mother’s fate. Accompanied by the witch, Sukuna, and Uraume, they talked more about Satoru’s family and discussed their next steps as they made their way to the shrine where Satoru was sent—or rather he sent himself, to investigate.  

Upon reaching the Jingu shrine, they parted ways. Sukuna had offered to stay by Satoru’s side, but he gently declined. He wished to be left alone with his thoughts. That night, Satoru dedicated himself to exorcising the haunted grounds, eventually uncovering the grim source that fed the spirits’ power. 

In the forenoon, Satoru collected his belongings and spent the whole way home pondering about the deeply disturbing discovery he made at the shrine. A cursed item with Sukuna’s name engraved in it. It wasn’t that hard to connect the findings with the Fujiwara. Their malice and machinations had no boundaries. The case of a cursed shrine truly wasn’t Satoru’s to take, yet it was too late for them to conceal the evidence. 

Amongst all their scheming, the Fujiwara and Gojo clans made their biggest mistake was their main triumph—Satoru. They underestimated Satoru’s desire for freedom and truth. The Fujiwara’s control over him for his entire life only fueled Satoru's hatred, and that hatred brought him closer to the one they cursed the most—Sukuna.  

Lord Masako, Satoru’s patron, overlooked this aspect and only realized the depth of Satoru’s anger when it was already too late. 

Just before sunset, Satoru returned home, his exhaustion compounded by a deep sense of disappointment in his own people. He slipped off his shoes and checked the sacred dagger tucked under his sash—a gift from the Shinto priest meant to aid in cleansing the shrine. Tied beside the dagger was the cursed object: a small leather pouch he had discovered, carefully concealed beneath the shrine's floorboards. 

As he walked through the corridors of the main house, damp footprints trailed behind him on the floor. His socks were still wet, and his kyahan were caked with mud. Normally, Satoru would have used Infinity to shield himself from the rain and dirt, but after the grim discovery, he needed to feel something beyond the burning hatred and despair consuming him. He welcomed the pain and cold with open arms.  

After Satoru reached Lord Masako’s room, he paused for a brief moment, gathering the mental strength needed to face the man who had raised him—a man whose entire existence in Satoru’s life had proven to be a lie. Taking a deep breath, Satoru lifted his hand, his cold fingers grazing the wooden frame of the door. He had no choice; he had to confront the lord. There was no turning back now. Satoru could no longer endure this stretched, unbearable existence. 

Inhaling deeply, he pushed the door aside and stepped inside the room with renewed determination.  

“Your disheveled state is alarming.” Lord Masako commented on Satoru's unusually dirty appearance. “Is your technique giving you trouble?” he asked, worried. 

Satoru’s now dry hair was matted into strands from the earlier heavy rain. His white haori was stained with mud and the remnants of the purple cursed blood that only sorcerers could see. His pants had a tear, and his leg was bruised. 

"A strange thing happened at the Jingu shrine," Satoru said as he closed the door, ignoring the question. His voice was measured and calm, despite the tight grip he kept on the dagger tucked behind his belt. 

Lord Masako sat on the tatami floor, serving himself tea. He always did this after dinner, never requesting the maids to serve him at sunset. He sought solace so he could reminisce. 

"Amongst the sinister things that were already happening in that shrine, you managed to discover something even stranger?" he asked with an amused tone, bringing the cup of tea to his lips. 

"Imagine my surprise when I came across this cursed pouch hidden under the shrine’s floorboards." 

The lord looked up at Satoru with curiosity in his eyes. He placed the cup on the tray and watched as Satoru untied the cursed object from his belt. It was an ordinary leather pouch tied with a blue string. However, when Satoru turned the pouch around to show the symbols written on it, the lord paled, and his eyes widened in horror. 

“Why did you bring that here?!” Lord Masako demanded. “What demon has possessed you?!” 

“That’s my question, Masako-sama.” Satoru weighed the pouch in his hand as he read over the four characters clearly written with chicken blood. “Most peasants can’t write, and they are too scared to use chicken blood to play with curses.” 

“Satoru!” the lord called out firmly. “Immediately take that thing outside this property!” 

"So, I thought..." Instead of obeying the command, Satoru pulled the dagger from his belt, skillfully flipping it between his fingers before pointing the tip at the blue string tightly wrapped around the top of the pouch. "Who could hate Ryomen Sukuna enough to write his name in chicken blood and tie the pouch with my blue hair tie, he keeps inside his haori?" 

"Satoru..." His voice dropped, low and dangerous. 

"Who would hate him so much to curse his very soul?" 

"Enough!" Lord Masako bolted to his feet, his chest heaving with ragged breath as anger coursed through his body. "How dare you bring such an abomination into my house?!" 

Satoru narrowed his eyes at him, lowering the dagger to test the lord’s reaction. The moment the lord’s shoulders dropped slightly—though it was only a little—he relaxed, and his posture changed to a less stiffened one. Contemplating his next move, he tucked his hands into his sleeves and took measured steps toward Satoru. 

"Your disobedience and obsession with that monster know no bounds!" 

"I could say the same thing about you." Satoru brought the cursed pouch to his chest as if protecting Sukuna’s name from the vile things tucked inside of it. 

Satoru had witnessed people harming one another over trivial matters. Blinded by hatred and pain, they often forgot the darkness their negativity could release. A curse needed only a human element. While sorcerers couldn’t curse directly, they could manipulate others to act as their instruments of vengeance. 

All it took was spreading lies and fear among the naive villagers. 

Satoru felt the weight of despair when simply mentioning Sukuna's name drove people to flee without a glance back. 

Lord Masako paused by the ajar door, the amber sunlight casting deep shadows behind him. Satoru stood ready, observing the lord’s every movement. No words could redeem the lord in Satoru’s eyes now. The Fujiwara clan, cold and calculating, led a small, spiteful faction of sorcerers who reveled in their perceived superiority. Everything Satoru had trusted until now had been a carefully woven web of lies. 

“Listen, Satoru...” he muttered lowly as he closed the door, dimming the room. 

“That’s why I am here, Masako-sama,” Satoru said resolutely. “And no more lies.” 

"You've grown bolder and cheeky. I don't remember raising you that way." 

Satoru followed him with his eyes. "You raised a weapon and ended up cutting yourself." 

The floor creaked softly beneath the lord's weight as he stopped before the painting of a plum tree. Satoru saw through the act—it was merely a stalling tactic. Lord Masako must have known his web of lies would unravel eventually. Perhaps he believed ignorance would keep Satoru in check, or maybe he thought Satoru would never grow powerful enough to defy him. The latter seemed unlikely, which was why he permitted the Fujiwara to take Satoru’s parents—to keep him bound. But today, the leash would break. 

Satoru had no intention of revealing what he had learned from Kenjaku. He was done being the messenger between two feuding hounds. Sukuna had shown him the truth, taught him to think independently and prioritize himself.  

Lord Masako’s silence in this matter spoke louder than he wanted, and Satoru’s patience was running low. 

"I don’t know what games this family plays with the Fujiwara, but I refuse to be the object you toss around." 

The lord turned around, lacing his hands behind his back. "There are matters more important than our lives, Satoru. Our world is not only good or evil." 

"Trust me, I am well aware," Satoru retorted. "I didn’t come here to get a history lecture. I want answers." 

"What answers?" The lord tilted his chin up, looking at Satoru from his superior position. "Don’t you rather want to question your loyalty to your family?" 

Satoru tightened his grip on the pouch. "About this!" 

"Foolishness! A trap!" he scoffed, barely glancing at the cursed item in Satoru’s hands. 

"I am the one who perceives cursed energy!" Satoru snapped, his patience fraying at the seams. “I will decide if a cursed object of this magnitude is a foolish trap!" 

"You are too prideful!" Lord Masako raised his voice. "A child like you—" 

"No child!" Satoru hissed at him, frowning and taking a step closer. He sensed the hesitation and a trace of faint fear in the lord's voice and posture. "Shall I open the pouch to show you the power of the hatred you sealed inside?" 

Lord Masako sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "You dare bring such an abomination into my home? I should cast you out for this treachery!" 

Satoru took another resolute step forward, weighing down the pouch in his hand to enhance the gravity of his words, "I’m the one with threats here," he said, his tone unwavering. 

"Foolish child! You have no idea what powers you’re playing with!" he stood tall, refusing to yield to Satoru’s intimidation. 

"What will happen when I open it?" Satoru asked, threatening to cut the tie with the dagger once again. "I sense sinister energy." 

"How am I supposed to know?” He retorted. “That's why Tetsuo was sent to banish the evil spirits before you broke his arm and took over!"  

Satoru's eyes narrowed as he noticed the sweat beading on the lord's temples. He realized why the lord was nervous about a simple cursed object. A sorcerer of Masako's caliber could exorcise it in the blink of an eye. But the problem with this cursed object was that the person who crafted it made a terrible mistake. Satoru glanced at the pouch, ignoring his words. There could be only one reason behind his nervous behavior, which he futilely tried to hide behind anger. A dark chuckle of realization appeared on Satoru's lips. 

"You didn't know they tied with my ribbon." He glanced up at the lord. "The person who crafted the cursed pouch stole it along with Ryo's haori and thought it was his." 

Satoru could still clearly recall Uraume’s face contorted in rage upon discovering that someone had stolen Sukuna's haori as it dried under the sun. Sukuna, however, remained unfazed—not by the theft, nor by the fact that someone had tracked Satoru to the temple. He simply waved it off and puffed out his muscular chest, as if inviting Satoru to marvel at him instead. 

For a moment Satoru took comfort in his memories, only to have them abruptly shattered by lord Masako's cutting voice. 

“Do you hear yourself?! Calling that cursed sprout by his name?!” The lord shouted, outraged by Satoru’s impudence. “Don’t you see that he has you under his influence?! His curse has reached you!” 

A laugh of sheer disbelief escaped Satoru’s lips. “I can’t believe it! The snake has bitten its own tail!” 

“Remove that thing from my house at once!” Lord Masako lifted his hand, pointing towards the door. 

“No, I want to open it.” Satoru swiftly twirled the knife between his fingers before tucking the sharp blade beneath the string. 

"I dare you!" he lunged forward, trying to snatch the pouch, but Satoru jumped back with an amused grin. "Don’t you see how you have changed, Satoru!" 

"Tell me what’s inside, or I’ll open it right here to see for myself." Satoru threatened, pointing the blade directly at him. 

Lord Masako glared. Satoru saw him trembling with rage, probably yearning to break Satoru’s will and bring him to his knees. But Satoru was no longer the boy he once pretended to be. He had become strong—strong enough to defeat any sorcerer in the Gojo compound. Sukuna, the greatest enemy, had stolen the Gojo's weapon and turned it against them. For the first time, Satoru didn’t mind being used, because he was accustomed to fighting for his freedom and the truths his family had concealed for seventeen years. 

"I’m curious what will happen to me," Satoru said spitefully, loosening the knot with the blade’s tip. 

"If you open it, you’ll curse not only yourself but also Ryomen Sukuna." 

Satoru snorted. "Pulling at my heartstrings already, huh?" 

With each movement, Satoru could see the lord's chest rising higher, his body tensing. Just as Satoru was about to undo the knot, Masko abruptly raised his hand. 

“Wait!” He barked, his eyes burning with fury. “Have it your way, you ungrateful brat! Better that than risking you losing your mind.” 

Satoru’s lips spread into a satisfied smile, and he tightened the knot back. “I think I know when it started.” 

“You think you know.” Lord Masako dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “But you only know half-truths and lies.” 

"Finally, we're getting somewhere," Satoru muttered scornfully. "I read an interesting scroll in a Naraka temple once. It talked about how the first step to redemption is to admit our faults." 

"I left you unsupervised too often," he replied coldly as he sat down on the cushion next to the tea tray. "I sent you pure, with the best intentions, to the monster Sukuna. And each day, he returned you more corrupted." 

“I will take that as a compliment.” He tucked the pouch into his haori’s sleeve and took a seat at a safe distance from the lord.   

“I trusted you, Satoru, and this is what I got in return.” 

"And I trusted your lies, so it’s what you deserve!” Satoru retorted. 

"My lies are far less damaging than what Ryomen Sukuna can do to you—to us!" he said, his voice laced with icy disdain. 

Tales of Ryomen Sukuna, the demon in flesh, were everywhere. People blamed him for misfortunes, from failed harvests to illnesses. But as Satoru grew closer to Sukuna, he saw the truth: the man had committed none of those atrocities. Today, he discovered that the source was sorcerers crafting cursed objects and making up stories, amplified by chanting and cursed energy.  

The oldest tales painted him as a man-eater. Even Satoru, at times, flinched when Sukuna licked his blood or bit him with ferocity, the haunting stories flashing through his mind. The thought of believing them, though only in a fleeting moment, left a bitter taste, shame, and concern gnawed at him. The curses people cast were slowly reshaping Sukuna, molding him into the monster they feared. 

“You were a boy when it happened,” the lord said after pouring himself a fresh cup of warm tea. “Around five years old, I believe. The Fujiwara royal squad was hunting outcast sorcerers to brand them and cast them away from the city.” 

Satoru shifted, uncomfortable with the lord’s casual tone. 

“You were with them because of your ability to see the cursed energy.” he paused to sip his tea. He rolled the taste of jasmine green on his tongue, purposefully stretching his speech. 

“A villager gave the squad leader a tip about a deformed child living in the Forbidden Forest with his mother.” 

Satoru’s throat tightened, and unease spilled in his stomach. His fingers clenched the fabric of his hakama. Sukuna had shared what happened to his mother and him as a child, but now Satoru was about to hear the story from the other side. 

“The sorcerers observed the child, but he didn’t show any kind of sorcery, until you came into the picture, Satoru.” A cold, satisfied smirk crooked the Lord’s face. “You could see his cursed energy. 

“We gave the mother an ultimatum. Either she would give us her son, and we would sell him to the Zenin, or she had to kill that abomination she brought into the world.”   

Satoru's chest felt hollow as the lord's words etched a vivid, haunting image in his mind. The terrifying truth buried within them left an indelible mark on his soul. His gaze drifted absently to the painting of the plum tree behind the lord. A part of him withered like a flower succumbing to frost. Memories he wasn’t even certain were his flooded in. Masako could lie or twist the truth once more, and Satoru would never know—unless he ripped the raw, unfiltered truth from the man's venomous heart. 

“She must have heard about the terrible methods of the Zenin because she chose to kill her son instead of handing him over.” Masako sighed, showing at least a little remorse. 

“Unfortunately, or fortunately, you chose,” he waved his hand, “little Ryu, after his mother stabbed him, started healing himself. He used the reversed cursed technique at such a young age! When others would simply bleed out and perish!” His voice graduated with uncontrollable outrage and envy. 

When Masako calmed down after a while, he sipped his tea again, his eyes distant, reminiscing the long past. 

“His name is Ryo,” was the only thing Satoru managed to say through the turmoil stirring in his soul. 

"He might’ve mistaken his given name for the nickname the villagers gave him later," Masako said with a dismissive wave. "They called him Ryomen—the four eyes. It’s no wonder his true name got lost in the mix." 

Satoru turned his head towards him with utter disgust. He was in awe at how easily the lord spewed such cruel words as if Ryo were just a mere mangy animal. 

“Who killed his mother?” Satoru asked, his voice low and steady, tinged with restrained fury, as though honoring the memory of the deceased. 

Masako locked their gaze with intense focus. The dreadful silence stretching between them clawed at Satoru’s soul and through his already torn heart. In this situation, there were only two truths, and both were equally, tremendously terrifying. 

“Ah, Satoru...” Masako’s voice softened, almost tender, as he shook his head, his brows furrowed in a show of regret. “You were just a child, so young. You only wanted to protect him.” 

Satoru stared blankly, the words hanging in the air like a sinister omen, a blade poised to strike and pierce him. Their truth burned with an acidic sting, carving into his face, his core, and even his soul. Part of him longed to flee, to escape the horrors and never return, while another part, drowning in confusion, rejected Masako’s words outright, branding them as venomous lies and turning Satoru furious. 

“You lie!” He hissed through his teeth, fist clenched painfully. “You lie about everything!” 

“You were an exceptional student, Satoru, mastering object manipulation at such a remarkable level for someone so young.” He sighed, a wistful smile appearing on his face, as though reminiscing about better times long gone. 

“Enough!” Satoru shouted, his voice sharp with icy anger. “I was just a child! I would never have used my powers for something so vile!” 

Masako’s shoulders dropped. “Your instinct told you to protect your peer. I never blamed you for throwing those knives at her.”  

Satoru’s eyes burned with a mix of anger and desperation as he glared at him. “You faked the records from that night!” 

“Yes, to protect you from him!” Masako pressed, his voice ringing with anger. “Can you even fathom what he’d do to you if he ever learned what you did to his mother?” 

Satoru shook his head in disbelief. This had to be another ploy to bend him back into submission. He couldn’t accept that a child could act with such calculated coldness. Yet, deep down, a small, unwelcome part of him believed Masako might be telling the truth. The weight of his own words about being raised as a weapon mocked him cruelly, echoing in his mind. 

“I see it will be hard to persuade you,” Masako sighed, his tone heavy as his expression darkened. There was something in his demeanor that tugged at Satoru, making him believe his words. 

"You see, Sukuna has been haunted his entire life," he began, his tone casual, almost as if he were narrating yet another of his tales to pass the time before dinner. "A villager’s wife assisted in bringing Sukuna and his twin brother into this world. Two brothers. One was a grotesque twist of nature; the other was underdeveloped and stillborn." 

Satoru hunched over, rubbing his forehead in frustration, battling himself and the undeniable truth. He no longer knew what to believe—lies and twisted truths had been his loyal companions for as long as he could remember. Lord Masako played his role so perfectly, that Satoru couldn’t recognize when he was lying and when not. He was manipulated beyond fixation. 

One thing, however, Satoru was certain of: Sukuna had been born loved and wanted. It was people like Lord Masako, who tried to paint him as a killer, an unwanted abomination. But why? Was it truly to protect Satoru? To punish Sukuna for his natural strength and defiance? Or was it all just part of a twisted experiment? 

Satoru wanted to ask all those questions, but his disgust allowed him only to spit a short, “You are sick!”   

"If it weren't for you, my dear Satoru, none of this would be happening," Masako said pointedly. "The unusual fabric of Sukuna’s soul has been attracting curses his whole life, causing his mother's poor health.  Despite all of that, she loved her son. Witnessing his beloved mother’s death heightened his desperation. The place swarmed with curses, and he used the chaos to escape. The only one who could find him said he couldn't see him anymore amidst the swirling curses." 

Masako's voice was cold and distant, barely containing any emotion. What a wicked individual this man was. On one hand, he had sacrificed so much to protect Satoru, yet on the other, he allowed to spill innocent blood without hesitation. Satoru’s upper lip trembled with contempt. Inside, he felt a twisted satisfaction knowing he had foiled whatever the Fujiwara had planned for Sukuna. Perhaps that was why he had become a prisoner in his own home—deemed too unreliable and rebellious. 

“You said the report about that night was changed to protect me.” Satoru didn’t hide his disgust. “The only way you can know about it is that you were there.” 

Masako’s lips curled up and he nodded, satisfied by Satoru's cleverness. “I wished you could take my role one day. I had a beautiful wife ready for you.” 

Satoru disregarded his backhanded compliments. Nothing this man could say would hurt him anymore. His disgust for Masako was so profound that no positive memory could pierce through the thick layer of revulsion. 

"You let people think he killed his mother." Satoru gripped the dagger tightly, grounding himself to prevent lunging at the man. 

“It was either you or him.” He shrugged, unbothered by Satoru’s open disgust.  

Satoru shook his head, pressing his lips. “If you wanted to protect me, then why did you let me get closer to him? Why are you so heartless?!" 

"Control, Satoru," Masako declared, his cold eyes narrowing. "Control. I would use the truth against you the moment you started rebelling." He drew a sharp breath, his fists clenching tightly. "I gave you a chance to repair the damage you caused, and once again, you ruined it!" he shouted, his composure shattering as his fist slammed onto the tray, sending the teapot rattling and the cup toppling, spilling the last of the tea. 

"You used me as a child to hunt the innocent!" Satoru snapped, leaping to his feet. "You lied about my eyes, made me believe my powers were unstable, that I needed you to stay safe. And now you think telling Ryo I killed his mother will turn him against me?" His voice echoed win the room with unleashed fury. 

Masako's expression hardened and his brows knitted sharply. With an icy tone, he said, "I have nothing to say about your technique." 

"Of course, you don't! Even now, you act like you still have leverage over me!" 

"Ah, you think you're so smart..." Masako mocked him with a snort. "I wanted to spare you, but you're being awfully difficult." 

“I think I heard enough!” Satoru dismissed him coldly. 

"What if his mother knew about his healing ability and tried to deceive us by stabbing him?” he sneered, his tone dripping with cruelty, mocking Satoru’s anguish. “There’s a possibility she knew about his healing powers. A mother notices things, like how her child’s injuries suddenly vanish…” 

Satoru’s face contorted with fury. “Are you enjoying tearing my life apart all over again?!” he snapped, his voice trembling. 

“Satoru....” his expression turned grim. “I give you one last chance to redeem your actions. Sukuna is no fool, and the number of curses sitting on his soul makes him greatly unstable.” 

Redeem? Satoru saw red, his heart trashed in its cage like a wild animal. Dum, dum, dum in the rhythm of a war drum. His chest heaved with each breath while he clenched his fist painfully. He was balancing on the edge of simply walking away and wiping the whole house off together with the disgraced lord. 

“Pick the lesser evil and maybe one day, you’ll see your parents again.” 

The last string holding Satoru's heart together snapped. In an instant, his self-control vanished. Knowing the whole truth about his parents and that his mother had died trying to escape her prison, Satoru could no longer contain himself in the face of such blatant lies. 

"I’ll fucking kill you!" Satoru hissed through his gritted teeth, striking his hand up, aiming the red ball of energy between his fingers at Masako.   

Not even that managed to frighten the older man. He still believed he had Satoru trapped. But for Satoru, who had learned the truth from Kenjaku, there was nothing that held him back anymore. Seventeen years had passed, and Satoru knew his father had moved on from him. What mattered now was the truth and the reasons behind the complicated lies. Satoru wanted to look into his father’s face and ask the questions he needed answered. 

"Isn't it wonderful?" Masako huffed a short laugh, keeping his mocking tone. "The man whose mother you killed is now trying to help you save your parents. What a tragic twist of event.” 

“You talk too much!” 

“If you kill me, the truth will be out.” his smile fell, his tone threatening. 

“You think Ryo will believe all those twisted lies you spread about him his whole life?” Satoru scoffed. “Try harder.” 

"You rely on the love of a monster.” 

"He’s not a monster!" Satoru insisted, Red hovering over his fingers, casting sinister shadows over his face. "You turned him into the man he is today! If he's done anything wrong, it’s your fault!" 

"You think too high of me, Satoru,” he said, his voice low, “I’m a mere pawn in this game. If you want to blame someone, blame the Fujiwara who took your parents.” 

"You let them! It was never about them giving birth to a cursed brat!" Satoru spat angrily. "You say how strong we Gojo are, yet all you can do is stand by as the Fujiwara plunder the villages for their hideous plans!"   

Masako pressed his lips into a line. "Necromancer’s powers aren’t cheap." 

So, it was all connected after all, just as Sukuna had predicted. Numerous innocent lives were sacrificed to serve the whims of the powerful. They masked their outrageous acts by claiming to suppress riots protesting the closure of illegal Buddhist temples. All the while, it was nothing more than a lie carefully constructed by the Fujiwara. 

Satoru’s anger flared into bright white flames, consuming him completely, and burning him from within. Through his glowing fury, he suddenly could see Masako's true intentions and the fear of Fujiwara that clung to his face like a bloodthirsty leech. Pity surged through Satoru’s veins—a pity he hadn’t realized he held for this man. Slowly, he lowered his hand, letting Red dissolve. With a disdainful glare, he untucked the pouch from his sleeve. 

"This! What’s inside?!" 

"His blood and ashes from the burned village,” Masako replied flatly. 

Satoru’s face twisted with disgust. “You never wanted Ryo to join. And since you can’t kill him without me, you stooped so low as to curse him—spreading hateful stories amplified by cursed objects. The entire drama with the necromancer had one purpose: to gain his blood and curse him more.” 

“You are correct. The letter from the Fujiwara was fake,” he admitted, his voice calm and lacking the determination it once held. “Sukuna's deformities make him unfit for the court, and he has already taken too many lives to ever be pardoned.” 

“You’ve treated him worse than a feral animal since his childhood,” Satoru spat, his voice laced with disgust. “You poke, bite, kick, and curse him as if he’s some abomination created solely for your amusement. I’m relieved I never followed your schemes or tried to persuade him to join you.” 

“Indeed. You only made it worse.” Masako’s fury diminished as he finally started to realize that he no longer could change Satoru's mind. 

“You know what?” Satoru asked, towering over him with defiance etched into his face. “I’m actually glad I’m part of this curse.” 

"Satoru..." Masako looked at him with worry. "Don’t do anything reckless! You don’t know what Sukuna is capable of after learning the truth."  

"Weren't you scheming all along to make us fight?" Satoru replied spitefully, tying the pouch tightly around his sash, and turned around to leave. 

“Yes, but in a controlled environment!” He called after Satoru. “You’re risking the safety of your family and the whole city!” 

The floor creaked under Satoru’s feet. There were two nightingale floorboards he knew about in the room: one near Masako and one under Satoru’s feet. The sound was ominous—a symbol of the revelation of truth, the banishing of evil, and death knocking on the door. On the other hand, it brought judgment for the interrupter—Satoru—who had stepped on the trap that revealed what was obscured in the mist. 

“If you walk away, I’ll consider you a traitor.” Masako’s tone was bone-chilling. 

Satoru stood facing the door, his back turned to the mentor who had cared for him his entire life. After what he had learned from Kenjaku the previous day, he had no intention of staying. While he felt a sense of gratitude for Lord Masako's guidance over the years, Satoru couldn't bring himself to forgive the lies or Masako's role in allowing the Fujiwara to take his parents away. With resolve, Satoru took a step forward. 

"Do you want to abandon your family for someone who will kill you in the end?!" 

The question settled deep inside Satoru’s heart, weighing it down and making it drop to his gut. He felt disgusted by himself, his family, the Fujiwara, and everyone around him. People would sell their souls just to shift the blame onto someone else. If dying was Satoru’s redemption, then he was ready to leave by Ryo’s hand. 

Satoru slid open the door and stepped onto the porch. The sky had already darkened enough for the servants to start lighting up lanterns. The path across the front yard, with its pond and petite Kappa statue, led to the main gate. Satoru had walked this path countless times in his life, but he knew he would remember this time forever. 

"See you in hell." Satoru shut the door behind him with a loud thud. 

Chapter Text

Waves of cold autumn rain pelted Satoru and the horse he rode through the forest. Nightfall came early under the heavy gray clouds drifting above the treetops. The mist-covered road ahead blurred his vision, making it difficult to navigate even with his keen eyesight. Beyond the fog's veil, the faint outlines of curses prowled through the Forest of Lost—the most haunted place in Heyan-kyo. It was here, in this burial ground of dark woods, where Sukuna was born and once battled the necromancer.

Satoru’s grip tightened on the leather reins as his thoughts drifted back to the cursed pouch tied securely to his sash. It held the ashes of the villagers from the settlement he and Fujiwara had been sent to cleanse—the very same village Sukuna had once questioned him about, asking whether he was responsible for its destruction. At the time, Satoru had denied it.

The mission’s orders had been clear: powerful curses were besieging the village. He had assumed the fire was a consequence of the battle. But after learning the grim truth from Lord Masako, guilt weighed on him like a stone. He had possessed the power to stop the massacre, yet he had done nothing. He had let the Fujiwara push him aside, proving to them—and perhaps to himself—that he was merely a tool in their hands.

Like the coward he had always been, he let everyone else decide the course of his life. He was born as a mindless weapon in the hands of greed and cruelty. 

He gritted his teeth, angry tears burning his eyes as his mind drifted to the revelation about Sukuna’s mother. He still refused to believe it. Lord Masako was a master of deceit and manipulation. Surely, Satoru would remember something as horrific as taking a life at such a young age. It seemed impossible! It was nothing but an absurd lie!

Satoru squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face and blending with the relentless rain. The horse, as black as the night, galloped through the storm in a wild, frenzied race, carrying him farther and farther from his past. Yet, no matter how fast or far he fled, he couldn’t outrun the crushing weight of his pain and guilt. In that moment of utter despair, Satoru knew certainly that Sukuna would kill him if he ever uncovered the truth about what Satoru had done. Lies or not, Sukuna remained deeply sensitive about his mother’s death—a wound that had scarred him for a lifetime, with people blaming him for it ever since he could remember. 

Satoru had done nothing but bring heartbreak upon heartbreak into Sukuna’s life. 

“I’m so sorry...” he sniffed, and when he opened his teary eyes to the rainy reality, it was already too late. The horse didn’t see what Satoru saw in the fog; it tripped over a log, stumbling and then falling. The crash tossed Satoru upward, sending him meters away in the mud and water.

In his desolate state of mind, Satoru forgot to envelop himself in infinity, resulting in bruises on his arm. He pushed himself up, coughing as the fall knocked the breath from his lungs. Gasping, he spat out the mud mingled with his saliva. His heartbeat pounded in his ears like war drums—two heavy beats followed by a brief pause, repeating in relentless rhythm. 

Lifting his gaze, Satoru's blue eyes blazed against the milky darkness. The hazy mist seemed to part, revealing a silhouette moving through its shroud. 

Satoru saw him—tall, strong, and unshaken by the malevolent presence that lingered between the trees and hung heavy in the air. The forest, like a pulsating heart of death, seemed to fold around them, yet Sukuna moved with unyielding ease, commanding his surroundings as though he were the sovereign of this cursed domain. His black haori clung to his soaked frame, as did his undershirt and pristine white hakama, drenched but no less regal.

Drawn by an uncontrollable yearning, Satoru's gaze lingered on him, filled with a desperate adoration he couldn’t suppress. He longed to lose himself in Sukuna’s embrace, to anchor his heart in Sukuna’s unshakable safety and love. He wanted to etch this feeling into his soul, to hold onto it forever—even knowing he would eventually lose him. 

Sukuna crouched before him, cupped Satoru’s face gently, and lifted his head. “I see that the bird has finally left the nest.” 

The wind grew stronger as the rain began to fade. Sukuna helped Satoru to his feet, gently wiping the mud smudges from his face with the sleeve of his haori. Satoru’s gaze drifted to Sukuna’s neck, his focus softening as he noticed a fresh criminal mark burned into his skin. Overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions, Satoru felt numb, as though he were unable to process anything more.

If Sukuna were to leave him here, Satoru knew he would remain, rooted by his guilt and slowly decaying into the hands of grace.

Sukuna steadied Satoru and helped him onto the horse, which, despite the restless spirits drifting through the forest, had stayed faithfully nearby. As a sorcerer’s steed, it was well accustomed to the presence of curses. 

“There’s an abandoned house nearby,” Sukuna said, his voice firm yet calm, as Satoru settled into the saddle, gripping the reins tightly. “You will tell me what happened there.” 

The journey to the house stretched long and cold. Satoru shivered atop the horse, which Sukuna led steadily by the bridle. His gaze wandered from Sukuna's nape to the shimmering blue lights scattered within the mist—curses lurking, their presence faint yet undeniable. Strangely, none dared to attack. 

As they walked on, the crushing weight of guilt pressed heavily on Satoru, each step feeling like it dragged him deeper into the earth. Sukuna walked just ahead, unaware of the accusations looming over Satoru. His throat tightened, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

Amid the desperation gnawing at him, anger crept in, its claws tugging at his heart. He couldn’t break free from the chains no matter how hard he tried. Every time he shattered one, another took its place. Satoru felt trapped, sealed tight like a force that wasn’t meant to be unleashed. 

By the time they reached the desolate house with its pitched roof and the towering, untamed apple tree looming overhead, Satoru was a crumpled mess, his breath ragged as he fought to keep himself from screaming his frustration.

For a man of his standing, showing emotions so openly was a shameful indulgence. Yet as his gaze remained fixed on Sukuna’s back, an unbearable sorrow gripped him—so deep, so suffocating that it threatened to overwhelm him. The thought of losing Sukuna was unthinkable.

At that moment, led by a profound fear, Satoru made up his mind. He had to keep the truth a secret, at least until he could find evidence to prove his innocence. 

The decision offered only fleeting relief. Deep down, Satoru knew he was merely delaying the inevitable. The worst scenario would be Sukuna discovering the truth of their first real encounter from someone else. It was the choice Satoru had made—to side with Sukuna, leading to the downfall of his clan. Now, there was so little he could do to protect them or change Sukuna’s mind. With the curse devouring Sukuna’s soul, his hope was put to a difficult test.

“You’re so lost in your head.” Sukuna’s concerned voice pulled Satoru sharply from his thoughts. His eyes widened, his heartbeat momentarily quickening, clouding his senses and leaving him startled. 

“We’re here,” Sukuna announced, tying the reins to the hitching post in front of the house. 

Satoru, stiff from the cold rain, wind, and his inner turmoil, gripped the saddle and carefully dismounted. His knees buckled slightly, and he hissed in discomfort, wrapping his arms around his freezing body. The emotional shock he was experiencing only made his condition worse.

“Come here, you’re freezing.” Sukuna draped an arm around Satoru’s shoulders, enveloping him in immediate warmth. 

“How come you are still so warm?” Satoru asked through chattering teeth. 

“I’m a big man, Satoru,” Sukuna replied lightly, pushing the door open with a squeak.

The house was furnished, a clear sign that its owners had left in a hurry. Once Sukuna lit the candles by the window, the dim light revealed a worn table and mats scattered across the floor. A stack of dusty bowls sat in one corner. Sukuna moved to the fireplace, filling it with logs from a nearby basket. 

“Isn’t it amazing what you can do with cursed energy?” Satoru commented on Sukuna lighting up the candles, then quickly shed his soaked haori and socks before settling near the fireplace to blow warm air onto his freezing palms. 

“You could have used your technique to stay dry or to dry yourself,” Sukuna remarked with a knowing look. “There was no need to let yourself freeze like this.” 

Satoru remained silent, believing his silence to be sufficient. He was so consumed by distress and inner turmoil that tending to his wet clothes—or his needs—had been the farthest thing from his mind. If anything, the harsh, cold rain offered a strange solace, keeping him tethered to reality, however grim. 

“Still, your ability to wield fire is… intriguing,” Satoru said, deftly shifting the focus away from himself. 

“I wish I had that knowledge when I was a child,” Sukuna admitted with a wistful smile, adding more logs to the flames. “It would’ve saved me a lot of trouble later.” 

Sukuna rose to his feet, and Satoru’s gaze instinctively followed, tracing the lines of his figure. “Because of the rumors?” he asked softly.

“People are fearful creatures,” Sukuna replied, his tone calm as he began peeling off his soaked clothes. “They’re quick to resort to the wildest imaginings.” 

Satoru watched as Sukuna shrugged off his undershirt, revealing broad shoulders and the flawless musculature of his two pairs of arms. Although it was not the first time he'd seen Sukuna partially undressed, Satoru had never allowed himself such detailed observation. His gaze drifted to the waistband of Sukuna's pants, clinging to his pelvic bones. Daring a lower glance, he saw the wet, now faintly translucent cloth plastered against Sukuna's rounded buttocks. Crimson flooded Satoru's cheeks, and he swiftly looked away.

“There’s a hot spring behind the house. It’s not big, but it will fit us.” Sukuna pulled his pants down, staying only in his underwear.

Satoru watched as Sukuna hung the praying beads amongst his damp clothes over the rack by the door. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of Sukuna's muscular, wide thighs, those powerful pillars supporting his tall, broad torso. Each movement sent ripples through the ripped planes of muscle, a vivid proof of his strength. Satoru had seen men unclothed before, in the onsen, but Sukuna was different. Sukuna was his sweetheart, the object of his affection, and seeing him like this stirred not just admiration but a pure, untamed lust. 

“Does my mighty dragon still have problems with my nudity?” Sukuna teased with a smirk as he turned around, giving his body on display for Satoru.

“I’ve never had a problem with your... nudity,” he mumbled, his voice trailing off as he averted his gaze. He hoped the amber glow of the flames would hide the flush creeping across his cheeks. 

“Amazing!” Sukuna smiled cheekily as he strode to Satoru. Each of his steps made the prominent bulge in his underwear closer to Satoru’s eyes. Damned be his Six Eyes that could see such details as the fabric gliding over Sukuna’s manhood.

Satoru covered his eyes instinctively. “Too much, Ryo!” 

“Ah, my innocent bird,” Sukuna said softly. “If we soon don't do anything with your chastity, you’ll end up wearing a blindfold.” 

“It has nothing to do with my chastity.” Satoru protested, feeling his ears burning with shame. “I simply see too much.” 

“You simply see too much of my dick?” 

Satoru groaned, irked by Sukuna’s continuous, raw teasing. “Ryo! Tease me more, and I’ll kick you. I still can sense where your most sensitive parts are.” 

“Is that so?” Sukuna laughed heartily, the sound rich and brief. Moments later, Satoru felt Sukuna’s fingers softly wrap around his hands, pulling them down with care. His grip was firm yet comforting, his thumbs tracing gentle circles over Satoru’s knuckles. 

“I know you feel overwhelmed, but don’t shy away from the world, as the world will never stop watching you,” Sukuna muttered as he leaned in, pressing a light kiss to Satoru’s forehead.

“There’s nowhere to hide, is there?” Satoru murmured, his brows furrowing with quiet desperation. 

Sukuna held his gaze with unwavering intensity, gently squeezing Satoru’s hands. “Tell me, Satoru, is it too much for your eyes to see, or for your heart to bear?” 

The question only deepened Satoru’s urge to hide. His eyes dropped to their joined hands as a hollow ache spread through his chest. If only Sukuna understood the storm of emotions his questions always unleashed within Satoru. It was his gift with words—a cursed gift, born from a life that had forced Sukuna to grow up far too quickly. 

“Perhaps both,” Satoru replied, uncertain. “So much has happened, and I struggle to comprehend it all.” 

“Let me hear you out. We are in this madness together, Satoru.” 

Satoru took a deep breath, his grip tightening briefly on Sukuna’s hands before he nodded. “You’re right.” 

“Now,” Sukuna said with a faint smirk, “why don’t you go ahead and soak in the warm water? I’ll join you shortly.” 

Satoru stood, his wet clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin. “You’re not going to ogle me while I strip, are you?” He teased, the soft sadness clinging on his face. 

A low growl rumbled from Sukuna’s throat. “Don’t tempt me.” 

A faint, satisfied smirk lingered on Satoru’s face as he stepped outside. Their playful teasing had eased the tension, if only slightly. The rain had stopped, and even the sharp wind had mellowed into a gentle breeze. The hot spring Sukuna had mentioned revealed itself as a small lake nestled behind the house, surrounded by rocks and untamed greenery. Rising steam mingled with the mist, enveloping Satoru in an odd sense of peace. 

The stony path to the lake was barely visible beneath the moss and grass. Satoru’s smile widened as he couldn’t wait to probe the soft carpet of moss under his bare feet. Before undressing, he carefully untied the pouch and placed it on the windowsill. He had to be careful about it. A single tear could release the curse.

As Satoru quickly disrobed, he decided to tell Sukuna about the cursed object later that night. With a newfound determination, he reached to pull down his pants and glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to catch Sukuna watching him. But there was nothing but the flicker of flames through the window. A shadow of disappointment crossed his face before he finally pulled off his pants and rushed toward the lake, naked.

He stepped carefully into the water, its warmth enveloping him like a gentle embrace. A contented sigh escaped his lips as he sank deeper, allowing the tranquility to wash over him.

Sukuna emerged shortly after, still clad in his underwear. The white fabric concealed so little, and Satoru steeled himself, dipping his face halfway into the water as he watched Sukuna bend to collect his scattered clothes, draping them neatly over the wooden railing. 

“Now, young lord, I believe I’m not your servant, am I?” Sukuna chuckled, his tone light but laced with a teasing edge. 

Heat surged to Satoru’s face, making him feel as though he might boil in the hot spring. Sukuna approached the lake at a leisurely pace, clearly savoring Satoru’s discomfort. A sudden wave of frustration with himself swept over Satoru. He had grown tired of his own timid behavior. A man of his age and status should stand tall, unshaken by any challenge. Despite sukuna being his love interest, he was still just a man like him and had nothing Satoru didn’t have except for an extra pair of arms and eyes. But otherwise— 

Satoru’s thoughts halted, and his eyes widened as Sukuna stripped his underwear down. His thick manhood had bobbed between his muscular thighs.

“Little bird, little bird, ” a voice whispered near Satoru’s ear. Without hesitation, he grabbed the tiny creature that had emerged from the mist and forcefully shoved it underwater.

“So violent toward such a fragile soul,” Sukuna remarked as he stepped into the water, a serene smile gracing his face as the water enveloped him with warmth. “This is exactly what I needed.” 

Satoru raised his hand, squashing the curse in his hand until it exploded. “I’ve only seen a talking curse once,” Satoru muttered. 

“I call them Osha. From oshaberi .” 

“You gave them a name?” Satoru asked, incredulous. “Do you really spend that much time in these damned woods?” 

Sukuna’s smile turned wistful as he leaned back against the rocky wall, unfazed by the jagged stones pressing into his skin. His gaze drifted upward, as though trying to pierce through the dense mist. His features smoothed into a serene expression, and he closed his eyes before finally speaking. 

“I was born here, Satoru.” He replied, his voice low and strangely fitting into the croaking and chirping of frogs and crickets. In that cacophony, Satoru could also hear haunting whispers of cries from the spirits who were endlessly wandering in the woods.

At that moment, Satoru recalled Masako’s haunting words about Sukuna’s ability to draw curses and relentless spirits. For decades, the unmarked burial grounds had been brimming with ghosts and malevolent energy, and when Sukuna was born, it seemed as though all that accumulated force had converged on a single, unborn child.

Satoru let out a weary sigh, resignation washing over him. “Tell me, Ryo, do you know who your mother was?” 

“Certainly. She was a temple maiden,” Sukuna replied, his tone light and unbothered. “She became pregnant by a wandering sorcerer. He vanished before she had the chance to tell him.” 

“Did you ever try to find him?” 

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his sharp gaze scrutinizing Satoru with curiosity. “Let’s just say I have no desire to know.” 

“I respect that.” Satoru lowered his eyes, his voice heavy with understanding. 

“Don’t tell me you know who my father is.” Sukuna leaned closer, the water rippling around them. 

“The Fujiwara have gathered a decent amount of information about your family, but unfortunately, your father is not mentioned,” Satoru admitted, his heart already pounding in his ears. The suspicious look Sukuna gave him only deepened his fears of being exposed.

He desperately wanted Sukuna to know the truth, to clear his name, to grant him some closure, an end to his endless suffering. But at the same time, Satoru feared losing the only person who had ever truly cared for him. 

“Is that so?” Sukuna tilted his head with a curious smirk. “You seem tense, Satoru. I can almost hear your heartbeat all the way here.” 

Underwater, Satoru’s fists tightened. He wanted to enjoy a tranquil bath time before telling him about the cursed object, but it seemed like Sukuna didn’t like to waste his time.

“I fought with Masako-sama,” Satoru said, his voice tense and edged with cold resolve. 

“Is that why you left?” 

“During the mission in the Jingu shrine, I found a cursed object that attracted strong curses.” Satoru began, trying to sound steady. “When I threatened Masako-sama with opening the cursed pouch on the premises, he finally revealed what was inside.” 

Satoru felt the weight of Sukuna’s intense gaze, his own eyes faltering as he hesitated. “Ryo, they’ve been crafting cursed objects using your belongings,” he finally admitted, his voice strained. “That object is a pouch filled with ashes from the burned village, mixed with your blood from the battle with the necromancer. And it was tied...with my blue ribbon.” 

If there was an inner thought process in Sukuna, it was a short one because he reacted immediately, as if being familiar with such objects tarnishing his soul and name.

“Where’s that item now?” Sukuna asked, his voice steady but laced with impatience. Clearly, he was in no mood to fool around. 

“I brought it with me. It’s on the windowsill,” Satoru replied, nodding toward the house.

Without hesitation, Sukuna rose from the lake, steam rising from his body like a shroud. Satoru watched as he strode toward the house, his every step deliberate. Sukuna picked up the pouch, weighing it in his palm, testing its smell and texture. After a brief moment of contemplation, a mischievous smirk tugged at his lips. 

He turned his piercing gaze toward Satoru, his bright, burning eyes locking onto him. Before Satoru could fully process what was happening, Sukuna hurled the pouch toward him in a perfect arc. Satoru stretched out his hand, reaching for it—but before he could catch it, the pouch erupted mid-air in a burst of power. 

Horrified, Satoru watched as the crimson ashes ascended toward the lake, brushing against the barrier of Infinity that surrounded his skin. Slowly, the ashes drifted into the water, dissolving into its depths.

“A real sorcerer fears no curse,” came Sukuna’s voice, calm yet commanding. He appeared beside Satoru, his grip firm around his waist. Ashes continued to fall, settling like a dark veil on Sukuna's hair and shoulders. 

Below them, the blue ribbon slid silently across the lake’s surface, soaking in the bloody water as it floated away.

Satoru’s eyes widened, stunned by Sukuna’s willingness to embrace curses born from the violent deaths of hundreds. The weight of their wrath pressed heavily on Satoru’s soul. Blue flickering lights swirled around them like fireflies, their buzzing filling the air. The mist swimming through the trees was overflowing with spirits, their presence overwhelming. Satoru had never encountered so many at once, each one radiating a hatred so intense it sent a chill deep into his bones. 

“A weapon can always be broken, but our souls prevail,” Sukuna murmured, his other pair of hands cradling Satoru’s face with tenderness.

Their lips met in a passionate dance. Sukuna's lust was almost a tangible thing, digging into Satoru's pelvis, caressing his cheeks, tasting his lips and tongue. Satoru was quickly overpowered by the wanton passion and surrounding malevolence. Love, need, blame, suffering, and anguish—he was immersed in a sea of life and death, all while Sukuna held him protectively. His eyes began to flutter closed, and through the soft whiteness of his eyelashes, Satoru perceived the looming creatures, almost as if in a dream.

Sukuna ended their burning kiss with a tender nip, followed by nuzzling at Satoru's cheek, kissing his jaw and pulling him closer.

"To defeat evil, you mustn’t fear evil." His hands slid into the water, and Satoru, in breathless anticipation, waited until he felt his palms move down his thighs, gripping them and lifting him into his arms. With clumsy eagerness, Satoru wrapped his legs around Sukuna's waist, trapping his shamefully hard arousal between their bodies. The water rippled around them, splashing and adding to the forest’s eerie cacophony. 

"Set them free, Satoru," Sukuna whispered, his hot breath ghosting across Satoru's neck, his lips tracing a path up and down as if in worship. 

Satoru moaned under Sukuna's touch, his grip tightening on his shoulders. Every movement, no matter how slight, sent shivers coursing through him, an intense warmth unfurling in his core. The world around him faded into a dreamlike haze. The flickering blue lights, hovering in the mist, seemed to echo the ethereal paintings of the afterlife he had once studied in ancient scrolls. 

The spectral blue flames flared brighter, their wild dance casting ghostly shadows across the misty surroundings. Sukuna’s voice cut through the chaos, steady and commanding, as he urged Satoru once more to release the cursed souls from their torment. 

"Ryo..." Satoru's breath hitched, his chest heaving, and his eyes rolling back. The inevitable climax surged through him. Digging his fingers into Sukuna's back, he bounced in his strong arms, his arousal caught in the delicious friction between their bodies. Satoru expanded, his energy flaring into the night, crashing against the looming souls and curses that shamelessly observed their sinful dance.

"Crush them, Satoru!" 

Satoru heard the splintering of wood, the shrieks of animals, and the ghostly whispers rising into anguished cries. It all culminated in a haunting crescendo—a cursed song that shattered the air—before falling into an eerie silence.

Clinging tightly to Sukuna, Satoru buried his face in the crook of his neck, his breaths ragged and uneven. He hesitated, almost too afraid to open his eyes and face the aftermath of his actions. But Sukuna's voice, both proud and tender, encouraged him to continue.

“You, my dearest Satoru, are a force!” 

Encouraged by the words, Satoru slowly opened his eyes. Over Sukuna’s shoulder, he took in the devastation he had wrought. Infinity, once his shield, had become his weapon. The world around them bore the scars of his unleashed power. 

All the curses were gone. 

An uncertain smile flickered across Satoru’s face. On one hand, he felt a swell of pride in his growing strength—the way Sukuna trusted him and guided him to follow his instincts. But on the other, a quiet unease gnawed at him. Watching Sukuna coexist so easily with curses troubled him deeply. Had Sukuna’s solitude drawn him so far into darkness that only spirits remained as his companions? Could that also be Satoru's destiny if he continued to pursue freedom?

He thought about the countless cursed objects infused with Sukuna’s blood or belongings scattered around. Satoru could see the consequences unfolding before his eyes. Sukuna was rapidly and inevitably changing, shaped by the tales people spread about him and the cursed objects conjured into existence. 

How could he silence a world of voices?

Satoru let his eyes fall shut, his arms tightening around Sukuna’s neck in a silent prayer.

** 

The house was warm when they returned from the lake. Their clothes were still drying on the racks, but that didn’t stop Sukuna from going on a quick hunt. Barely wearing anything, he left and soon returned with a pair of rabbits, which he skinned outside before skillfully chopping them. 

Satoru watched him while lying on one of the mats, his head resting on his crossed hands. He didn’t mind being naked as long as he could bask in the warmth of the flickering flames, their orange glow casting a soft hue on his pale skin. 

In the golden glow of the fire, Sukuna’s tanned skin appeared even darker, a striking contrast to Satoru’s fair complexion. Satoru embodied the image of a lord—one who had never needed to hunt or work on the fields. Though a warrior, he was still of noble blood and had to follow strict rules about his visuals. 

Lifting his hand, he held it up against Sukuna’s lingering summer tan. He was breathtaking, as if sculpted by Amaterasu herself. A soft smile curved Satoru’s lips as he let his gaze linger on his lover, drinking in the sight. The vivid memory of their intimate moment in the lake resurfaced, painting his cheeks a deep crimson. Overwhelmed by the fresh memories, he buried his face in the crook of his arm, seeking shelter from curious eyes. 

A sharp thud jolted Satoru, drawing his gaze upward. He saw Sukuna stab the cleaver into the cutting board with force. In the flickering flames of the fireplace, Satoru watched as Sukuna licked the blood from his fingers before popping a chunk of raw rabbit meat into his mouth. Satoru’s stomach clenched, his chest hollowing as his breath caught.

Only an hour ago, Sukuna had shared how, as a child, he had longed to create fire from cursed energy. He had hated being seen as a human eater, a devourer of raw meat. And yet, here he was now, embodying the very image he once despised. 

Maybe Satoru should have paid closer attention to what was happening to Sukuna from the very beginning—from the moment he lapped at Satoru’s blood as if it were honeydew.

“Ryo?” Satoru called softly, his voice laced with concern. “Can we talk about the cursed objects?” 

Sukuna wiped his hands on an old towel, his tone dismissive as he replied, “Don’t bother with such things, Satoru.” 

A flicker of irritation crossed Satoru’s face as he straightened, sitting up. “Such things?” he repeated, his voice sharper now. “How can I not, when I can see how the curses placed upon your soul by my people are changing you right before my eyes?” 

"In curses, I find my strength!" Sukuna declared as he rose to his feet, his towering figure radiating dominance. As he approached Satoru, sitting on the makeshift bed, Satoru’s eyes caught a single drop of blood clinging to Sukuna’s chin before it fell, landing on his stomach. 

"For how long do you think you can keep living like this?!" Satoru exclaimed, his voice tinged with both disbelief and desperation. 

Satoru barely finished his sentence when Sukuna’s stomach suddenly split open—like a grotesque mouth lined with sharp teeth and a slick, bloody tongue. The tongue slipped out, licking the droplets of blood with an unsettling eagerness.

Too shocked to move, Satoru could only stare, frozen in place. His mind struggled to process the horrifying sight—a mouth impossibly opening in Sukuna’s stomach.

“What in the…” he gasped, his voice barely audible as his wide eyes, struck with awe, darted from Sukuna’s stomach to his face.

“Are you disgusted?” Sukuna asked, his voice low and deliberate. “Repelled, even?” 

Satoru was sure that many emotions swirled in his eyes, but neither disgust nor fear was among them. He struggled to find the words, stunned by the realization that for two years, Sukuna had managed to conceal such a secret from him. Sukuna possessed extraordinary control over his body—never losing it, never revealing more than he intended. 

People spread stories, of course—tales of Sukuna possessing an extra mouth, one capable of devouring souls. But he had never believed them. He had imagined it to be something silly, something Sukuna would laugh about before showing him a scar shaped like a mouth. Not this. Not an actual, living, grotesque mouth.

“I was born like this, Satoru. Born with teeth that can bite the very soul. A cursed beast,” Sukuna said, crouching beside him. “I know my mother wanted to kill me because of how I look. Because I killed my brother. I know it all.” 

Satoru’s throat tightened, his chest heavy with an oppressive pity he never thought he could feel for Sukuna. He wanted to tell him how sorry he was, how deeply unjust it was that Sukuna had to endure it all. From the depths of his heart, he wished he could say that his mother had loved him so dearly that she would rather take his life than sell him as a possession. 

And maybe—just maybe—she knew about Sukuna’s miraculous ability to heal. Perhaps it was Satoru who had unknowingly robbed Sukuna of the family that might have protected him. 

Satoru couldn’t breathe. His chest tightened, and his eyes glassed with unshed tears. The crushing weight of guilt melted him, yet he couldn’t bring himself to speak the truth. He knew unveiling it would only add to the horrors that were transforming Sukuna into cruel tales the villagers whispered to each other. 

“Don’t shed tears for me,” Sukuna said softly, his voice tender as he crouched in front of Satoru. He brought his fingers to Satoru’s face, tucking strands of long hair behind his ear. “I’m all well. Don’t worry about the shape of my soul. I fear no weapon and no person.” 

Overcome by his emotions, Satoru flung his arms around Sukuna’s neck, his grip filled with an almost desperate intensity. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling as though another set of chains clamped down on his ankles and wrists, binding him to his lies. Freedom, he realized, was never meant for him—just as Sukuna was never meant to possess love untouched by shadow. 

“I could never be disgusted by you.” Satoru’s desperation was muffled by Sukuna’s shoulder as Satoru pressed his lips against his neck, holding him tightly. “But you have to understand that I will always be worried about you.” 

He felt Sukuna’s hands on his sides, pulling him closer onto his lap. Satoru accepted, straddling him and pressing their bodies together. Never in his life had he felt this vulnerable—so open and raw with another person. And though Sukuna’s trust had its limits, Satoru believed he trusted him more than anyone else. As they healed in each other’s arms, absorbing their shared warmth, Satoru silently vowed never to break that trust. 

“Satoru...” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath against Satoru’s ear.

A pleasant warmth rippled down Satoru’s spine as he turned his head slightly, meeting Sukuna’s blazing gaze. Their lips hovered close, sharing the same air. 

“Tell me,” Sukuna said softly, brushing his nose against Satoru’s cheek. His arms tightened around Satoru, enveloping him in a cocoon of safety. 

“Anything you want,” Satoru murmured, leaning their foreheads together and letting his eyes flutter closed. 

After a brief pause, as they basked in their shared intimacy, Sukuna’s voice broke the silence, carrying a gentle vulnerability. “Do you think love is a curse or a blessing?” 

The question, as always, stirred a storm within Satoru. Uncertain about such a profound force, he found himself unable to debate the pillar that upheld civilizations. He was too young and inexperienced to truly understand love.

“Another one of your complicated questions,” Satoru teased with a smile, pulling away slightly as he opened his eyes. Despite Satoru's attempt to avoid the question, Sukuna's gaze remained steady, patiently awaiting his reply.

“Well...” Satoru drew a long breath to steady his thoughts before he placed his hands on Sukuna’s shoulders, and continued, “In my inexperienced opinion, I think it’s a little of both.”

“A twisted curse?” Sukuna asked.

“And a twisted blessing.” Satoru nodded, his smile gentle as he cupped Sukuna’s face in his hands, leaning in to kiss him tenderly.

He took a long, deliberate look at Sukuna’s face, his gentle, warm fingers tracing the cursed marks as if transferring his forgiveness into them. His thumbs brushed over Sukuna’s eyebrows, then glided beneath the delicate skin under his small eyes, finally coming to rest as he tenderly caressed his lips. When their eyes met after Satoru’s careful examination, Sukuna’s gaze burned vividly red, like embers in the depths of a dying fire.

“Whatever it is, Ryo...” Satoru murmured. “As you said, a sorcerer fears neither curse nor blessing.” 

Chapter Text

They traveled along the mountain road to Shiga and came upon a small village nestled in the valley, exuding an ominous energy so intense that Satoru had to soothe the horse that carried their stocks, which had begun to panic. The hills and trees seemed to trap the mist like a lid on a pot. It swirled restlessly atop the trees where the wind was strongest. Observing this eerie phenomenon, Satoru felt a shiver crawl down his spine. 

Satoru stroked the horse’s head, soothing it with murmurs as he held it close, while Sukuna’s gaze remained fixed on the village below. A flash of lightning tore through the sky, startling a flock of crows into flight. The atmosphere was heavy with gloom and an unseasonal chill. Autumn storms carried a distinct eeriness, and Satoru couldn’t recall the last time he had witnessed weather quite like this. 

“The lightning is wild,” Satoru said, his voice nearly drowned out by the wind humming through the trees. “I don’t think this is normal.” 

“I agree.” Sukuna turned, his eyes faintly restless, brows drawn together in concern. 

Both could feel the oppressive energy emanating from the valley. Satoru was convinced it was a powerful curse tormenting the villagers. He had seen it happen before—curses taking hold of people, making them act irrationally, even descending into madness. They turned on each other, pointing fingers and fighting over the most trivial things. It was all too easy to take the destructive path, obliterating everything in sight, rather than seeking out the root of the problem. Curses were a relentless plague, sparing no one in their path. 

“Do you want to stop there and take a look?” Sukuna asked, though it was already clear they would go to aid the villagers and relieve their suffering. 

“Of course.”  

“Are you sure? It’ll slow us down,” Sukuna warned, his piercing gaze steady. 

“It won’t take long,” Satoru assured him. Almost as if understanding their words, the horse began to protest, nearly ripping the reins from Satoru’s hands. 

“Enough!” Sukuna snapped, a sharp blade of cursed energy slicing through the air above the horse’s head, severing a single strand of its mane. 

“Ryo! You could’ve hurt him!” Satoru scolded, his voice sharp as he cooed to the horse. The animal now stood silently, cowed more by Sukuna’s presence than by the ominous atmosphere of the valley. 

Sukuna sighed in annoyance. “I know better how to tame animals, Satoru. I’ve been living in the wilderness my whole life. Now, let’s not waste time.” 

The twigs cracked beneath Sukuna’s feet as he began his descent into the valley. Satoru’s gaze lingered on his broad back, watching how the wind played with the hem of his haori. The sight of Sukuna walking alone only underlined his self-sufficiency. He could leave Satoru behind at any moment and move on with his life as though they had never met. The realization that Sukuna had used people left him cut through Satoru like a freezing blade, chilling him to his core.  

“Satoru!” Sukuna called out, his voice echoing through the thunder. 

Gripping the reins tightly, Satoru led the horse as he followed Sukuna’s path down toward the village. The overgrown greenery was wild and unruly, with an unnatural number of fallen trees lying across the trail like barriers. It was as if something—or someone—was determined to keep outsiders away. 

Satoru tied the horse to a sturdy branch before approaching Sukuna, who was chewing on the dried meat they had prepared back in the Woods of Lost. Sukuna’s scarlet eyes were locked on the distance, his sharp focus suggesting he was already several steps ahead of Satoru in unraveling the mystery of the lost village. 

“We should deal with this annoying storm first,” Satoru said, reaching into the small leather bag Sukuna held and pulling out a piece of a cooked rabbit meat. 

“This is a good opportunity for you to train Infinity,” Sukuna replied, tightening the laces of the bag before handing it to Satoru. “Here. You’ll need it more than me.” He chuckled, his tone laced with teasing. 

Satoru watched as Sukuna channeled his cursed energy to lift himself into the air and vanish in the swirling mist. A moment later, Satoru glanced down at the bag in his hand. Realization struck, and his expression shifted into a scowl, offended. 

“Hey! I said no more bad-mouthing my butt!” 

Upon reaching the village, Satoru immediately grasped what Sukuna meant by this being a great opportunity to train Infinity. The village was in a desolate state—rooftops rotted away, some houses barely standing. There was no sign of cattle or poultry. The villagers themselves stood still, sickly and hollow. Their faces were ashen, their bodies gaunt, resembling little more than skeletons draped in skin. Satoru could tell they had been in this condition for weeks, if not months. 

“It’s a plague curse,” Satoru concluded quickly, his sharp gaze scanning the scene. He instinctively reached for Sukuna’s shoulder, enveloping them both in Infinity. 

“The best course would be to burn it down. There’s no hope for them,” Sukuna said coldly. 

Satoru shivered at Sukuna’s merciless words, though he knew it was a natural conclusion. This tragedy wasn’t born from supernatural forces alone—it was fueled by human folly. His shoulders sagged as he absorbed the grim reality before him. Even though they had uncovered the plight of the villagers, a deeper mystery lingered—the relentless storm overhead that bore no rain. 

“Who can control the weather?” Satoru asked, incredulous. 

“Uraume can control the weather—in a way.”  

“But a whole storm?” 

Satoru had barely finished his question when the clouds above swirled, and a figure glided down on the wind, landing gracefully, exuding elegance and self-assurance. It was a man with dark brown hair styled into two buns, his cheeky grin enough to reveal his intentions. 

“Ryomen Sukuna!” the man called out. “They say no one can rival your strength! I’d like to prove them wrong!” 

“I told you this would happen,” Sukuna muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Satoru. 

“Does this happen to you often?” Satoru asked. 

“Quite often,” Sukuna replied with a small nod. 

Satoru cleared his throat before speaking, this time louder. “Excuse us, but we’re a bit busy at the moment. I suggest we meet another day—preferably one less windy, less noisy, and not surrounded by, well… walking corpses.” 

“I believe I’m not speaking to you, Gojo Satoru,” the man said with a stern tone. 

“He knows my name!” Satoru beamed, a delighted smile spreading across his face. “We are famous now—like two wandering samurai!” 

Satoru felt Sukuna’s hand press lightly against the small of his back, stroking gently, which tempered his excitement just a bit. Still, the thought of someone recognizing him—and attaching his name to his growing reputation—filled Satoru with pride. His name was quickly rising within the sorcerer community, and he couldn’t help but feel proud of himself. 

“You want a fight?” Sukuna’s calm expression shifted, spreading into a mischievous grin directed at the unknown sorcerer. 

“That’s exactly why I’m here!” the other man replied, mirroring the grin as he took a combat stance. “My name is Kashimo—” 

Satoru barely had time to process before Sukuna unleashed his shrine technique with shocking speed and force, slicing through everything in its path. Houses were obliterated, the lifeless villagers were severed in two, and deep claw marks tore through the wet ground. Satoru could hardly follow the double attack—one targeting the upper part of the village while the other swept along the ground, leaving destruction in its wake. 

Kashimo had little chance to evade, but he didn’t need to. Unlike Satoru, he knew how to wield the reversed technique to shield himself. Satoru stood still, watching their fierce battle unfold with bated breath. It was his first time witnessing Sukuna fight so closely. Protected by his Infinity, he felt no fear of the flying debris or the flames filling the air, allowing him to focus solely on the terrifying elegance of Sukuna’s power. 

On the other hand, Kashimo was fast, and his technique was particularly... loud. Satoru winced, covering his ears. He had always considered his cursed energy manipulation to be excellent, but watching Sukuna effortlessly switch between techniques and use just the right amount of energy humbled him in an instant. If not for his sharp eyes, Satoru wouldn’t have been able to follow Sukuna’s movements, just as Kashimo struggled to. 

The final slash came from above, paired with Dismantle. It severed Kashimo’s arm, and by the time Sukuna was by his side, pressing a hand to his chest, Satoru knew the fight was over. 

But just then, Satoru caught sight of a violent blue flame streaking toward their position. His eyes sharpened, tracking the detail beyond the trees until they landed on a man’s face marked with a royal sigil. 

“Fujiwara’s procession!” Satoru shouted, halting both men in their tracks. 

Sukuna grinned, a glint of amusement in his scarlet eyes. “Let them come. I’m in a good mood.” 

“It’s a general with five sorcerers!” 

“Are you scared, little bird?” Sukuna turned his head, his hand pulsating against Kashimo’s chest as Cleave tore through his flesh. “Do you want to return to your nest?” 

Satoru watched as Kashimo’s body collapsed to the ground with a dull thud. The feral expression on Sukuna’s face was something Satoru struggled to comprehend. He had never seen him this bloodthirsty before. The hunger for power, death, and destruction was etched into every line of Sukuna’s face. These battles were his lifeblood, the essence of his existence, and Satoru knew he had no right to take that away from him. 

“No, I want us to move forward and not attract more attention than we already have,” Satoru said, his voice calm and reasonable. “What will we gain by battling everyone we meet on the way?” 

“Strength,” Sukuna replied with an ultimate resolution. “Experience, power, and respect.” 

Satoru took a deep breath, briefly closing his eyes in an attempt to steady himself. “I don’t need that right now! I have to get to Shiga to save my father!” 

“You don’t need that?” Sukuna’s voice was sharp, his tone icy. “That’s exactly why you still can’t use your eyes with your techniques! Your Infinity is useless against me, and I had to ask you three times just to exorcise the curses!” 

Satoru’s throat tightened at the cruel yet truthful words. He clenched his fists, struggling to suppress the rage bubbling just beneath the surface. Years of pent-up frustration surged forward—frustration from being treated with kid gloves his entire life. He had always been told he was strong, one of the strongest, but never the strongest. It was always Sukuna they compared him to. They demanded he reach Sukuna’s level, all while concealing the truth that lay hidden behind his eyes. 

“Seeing you squander your potential when you could thrive saddens me deeply,” Sukuna said, stepping closer, his scarlet eyes locking onto Satoru's. “I refuse to stand still, Satoru. I will grow, and I will move forward. Do you want me to leave you behind? Because I won’t wait for you.” 

In the distance, Satoru saw the squad approaching, still unaware of the danger lurking in the valley. He wanted to keep it that way. If possible, he would rather not interact with the Fujiwara until he reached his father, but for Sukuna, the Fujiwara were enemies to be destroyed without hesitation. Chaos didn’t concern him. 

“I’m only asking you this once!” Satoru implored, his voice unbending. “For my family.” 

“Tell me, my fierce dragon, are you walking with me, or am I walking with you?” 

"I’d like it if we walked together—willingly," Satoru said patiently. "Please, Ryo, don’t make this harder for me." 

Sukuna’s piercing gaze bore into Satoru. Behind the fiery intensity of his eyes, there was no conflict—he was already resolved. To him, Satoru was merely an obstacle to overcome. Satoru’s heart ached as he watched Sukuna turn away, desperation taking hold. Before he realized it, his feet had already begun following Sukuna. 

"Ryo, don’t let them separate us!" Satoru called out, his voice trembling with urgency. He saw Sukuna’s pace falter slightly, a hint of hesitation. "Come back to me," Satoru pleaded, "and let’s leave together!" 

For a brief moment, Satoru thought he had persuaded him—that Sukuna would turn around and flash that sweet, familiar smile reserved only for him. But instead, Sukuna vanished, swift and silent, disappearing among the trees. 

Wasting no time, Satoru gave chase. His sharp eyes locked onto Sukuna’s figure ahead, weaving through the dense forest. With his wider field of vision, Satoru spotted shortcuts and used them to close the distance. It wasn’t long before he managed to catch up. 

Satoru descended from above, landing squarely in Sukuna’s path. The last thing Satoru saw before Sukuna crashed into him with intent was that wide, taunting grin. The infinity between them held their bodies mere fractions apart when Satoru’s back slammed into a towering spruce, the impact cracking the trunk and nearly splitting it. 

Before Satoru could recover, Sukuna had him pinned against the tree by the neck. His face was so close that their lips hovered a hair’s breadth apart, never truly touching. 

“Good. Go after what you want,” Sukuna whispered, his voice a dangerous tease. “Stop me if you can, Satoru.” 

“I don’t want to fight you!” Satoru protested. 

“Well, then you can’t stop me.” 

In the blink of an eye, Sukuna was gone, leaving Satoru grappling with the fleeting moment. But even a fraction of a second was enough for Satoru to realize what was at stake—and enough time to act. Without hesitation, he pursued Sukuna, his determination burning through the hesitation. 

The air split with another crack of thunder, the storm drawing closer to the valley. Trees bent and swayed under the force of Sukuna’s presence as he carved a path toward the squad. Above the treetops, Satoru could just make out Sukuna moving swiftly among the trees. Wasting no time, Satoru launched himself downward with full force, like a predator diving onto its prey. 

He collided with Sukuna in mid-motion, sending them both tumbling to the forest floor. They recovered quickly, almost as if the impact had fueled their momentum rather than hindered it. 

Once on his feet, Sukuna launched his attack openly this time. Spiraling through the air, he sent a blade of energy slicing toward Satoru. It cut into Satoru’s infinity, forcing him back as the impact rippled through his core—a force like an ocean wave threatening to sweep him off his feet. 

“It’s a dance, Satoru!” Sukuna laughed, his voice brimming with mockery as he leaped into the air, unleashing another barrage of attacks. 

Satoru gritted his teeth as Sukuna’s cursed energy pierced through the gap, grazing his cheek. Irritation flared within him. With each exchange, they drew closer to the general and his squad, yet Satoru hadn’t landed a single blow on Sukuna. 

The battle unfolded like a relentless game of cat and mouse. Sukuna slipped effortlessly from beneath Satoru’s grasp, his movements tauntingly fluid. The stark difference in their agility gnawed at Satoru’s pride. Each dodge and counter was another bitter reminder of where Sukuna proved superior, and Satoru loathed every moment of it. 

They maneuvered through the forest, their movements swift and calculated, until they broke into a clearing. Here, Sukuna was exposed, unable to retreat into the shadows of the trees. Satoru seized the opportunity and pressed forward, only to be met with a suffocating assault from Shrine. The intensity of Sukuna's attack bore down on him, making every step toward his opponent a battle in itself. 

His best chance was to close the distance, but that meant taking a risk. Limitless was an option, but one he was reluctant to use. Its predictability would expose him, and staying unnoticed by the Fujiwara was crucial. For now, he had to play for time, waiting for an opening. 

“You don’t seem all that interested in stopping me,” Sukuna sneered, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “Here I thought you’d be more protective of your precious in-law family.” 

Sukuna’s last words froze Satoru in his tracks. Was Sukuna suggesting that he wasn’t striving for strength to break free from the Fujiwara? Or was he referring to the chains of Satoru’s arranged marriage? Two questions burned in Satoru’s mind, but he didn’t need answers. Sukuna’s infuriating, cheeky grin was enough to make it clear—he was taunting Satoru, goading him into action. And he was doing a damn good job of it. 

“Come for me!” Sukuna spread his arms wide, an open invitation laced with defiance. “Claim me, Satoru. Make me yours. Or…” He tilted his head with a smirk, his voice dripping with mockery. “Do you prefer being the one who’s chained?” 

"Enough!" Satoru shouted, imbuing his leg with cursed energy as he stomped on the ground. The earth trembled, cracks splintering beneath Sukuna’s feet, forcing him to rise. Satoru followed, faster this time, but he still couldn’t avoid being cut again. The closer he got, the more powerful the cutting attacks became. 

The pressure on Infinity squeezed him relentlessly, like a rice cake pressed between palms. Satoru held his breath, and when Sukuna’s hand reached his chest for a cleave, he expanded the field of Limitless, burning Sukuna’s hand and kicking him away. 

Satoru caught a glimpse of Sukuna’s wide grin as he was flung back into the woods. Satoru cursed under his breath—this had been Sukuna’s plan all along. Without missing a beat, he gave chase, the trees quaking in his wake. He had nearly forgotten about the squad entirely until an arrow suddenly came hurtling toward him. Adjusting instantly, Satoru veered in the air, redirecting his course before diving back down to meet Sukuna on the new battlefield—with the General. 

He had never been part of a battle like this before. Uncertain of what to expect, his attacks were purely exploratory, mere tests against the chaos unfolding around him. Worse still, Satoru found himself fighting both the squad and Sukuna. It was utter madness—arrows, swords, and various cursed techniques filled the air like a storm of destruction. Sukuna even deployed a simple domain when Satoru attempted to intercept his attack on the general. Instead of the general, it was Satoru who was struck, blood seeping from his lips and chin. 

It was a bloody inferno. The speed of their attacks made Satoru’s head spin. His eyes struggled to keep up, overwhelmed by the onslaught of details, until he lost track entirely. The last thing he saw before everything went black was Sukuna forming the domain sign. 

Darkness enveloped the battlefield, leaving Satoru blind and trembling. He heard the clash of weapons, the stomping of feet, and voices shouting amidst the chaos. He could feel the heat searing his skin and smell the sickening scent of burning flesh. They were inside Sukuna’s domain now. Its sure-hit rule meant one thing was certain—if Satoru stood in Sukuna’s way, he, too, would be struck down. 

Yet, something felt profoundly wrong. A prickling unease crawled over Satoru’s skin, twisting his stomach into knots. Everything pointed to Sukuna’s victory, and then Satoru felt it—the domain shattered. 

Attacking the general was a bold move even for Sukuna. As powerful as he was, one of the strongest sorcerers alive, he still couldn’t rival the experience of the Fujiwara generals. 

“Attacking me?!” A deep, angry voice roared, and in that instant, Satoru knew it was the Fujiwara. He turned toward the sound. “Your arrogance knows no bounds!” 

“I wouldn’t speak so loud if I were holding my guts in my hands,” Sukuna retorted, his usual cheekiness lacing the words, though his voice carried a hint of weariness. 

Satoru’s sharp senses assessed the general, recognizing the toll the battle had taken. The reversed technique was likely burned out, prolonging his recovery. This was Sukuna’s moment to strike—to finish it—but something about him was undeniably off. 

Trying to read the situation blindly, Satoru sensed a surge of energy hurtling toward him at great speed. He raised his hand, catching one arrow, then another. It was then that he saw an explosion of white light coalescing into a single point. His vision returned—but not in the way he had expected. Before him stood Sukuna, vivid and pulsating like a living vein. Satoru’s eyes traced the wounds Sukuna was bleeding from, each one stark against the surreal landscape. The grass beneath Sukuna's feet glimmered in a colder shade of green, and when the lightning split the heavens, Satoru could see the heat imprint of the skies. 

His heart pounded with the rush of newfound skills and energy coursing through his veins. Was this what Kenjaku had spoken of? The Sixth Sense is the animal instinct. Satoru’s hand shot out, catching a flying dagger in mid-air and snapping it between his fingers. He knew he had to deal with the remaining squad members and evacuate Sukuna from the woods—quickly. 

After the last body fell to the ground, an intense wave of heat and blinding light erupted across the sky. For a moment, it seemed as though the clouds themselves were aflame. The phenomenon lasted only seconds before the world fell eerily silent. Satoru stood still, watching the warmth linger in the air, his chest heaving as he processed what had just unfolded. His astonishment at his new eyes remained fresh. Sukuna had been right. Only in the heat of battle could Satoru unlock his true potential. 

Following the trail of falling ashes, Satoru finally found Sukuna hunched over the general’s burned body. 

“Do you know…” Sukuna murmured, his voice low and weary. “Do you know how your blood tastes, Satoru?” 

With each step Satoru took toward him, the sense that something was terribly wrong grew stronger. His heart pounded in his chest as his eyes picked up the heat radiating from Sukuna’s hands and face. If Sukuna was injured, why wasn’t he healing himself? Had his reversed cursed technique burned out as well? 

“I do,” Satoru replied evenly, taking another measured step forward. 

“And do you know how the blood of others tastes?” Sukuna asked, his voice laced with something dark and unspoken. 

Satoru felt an evil, cursed energy concentrating in a single point emanating from Sukuna. With his heart pounding in his throat, he could no longer wait. He lunged forward, falling to his knees as he reached Sukuna and turned him around by the shoulder. 

Their eyes met, and Satoru’s breath hitched. His own eyes widened in horror at the sight before him. The burns inflicted by the necromancer on Sukuna’s face were bleeding, the skin punctured in several places by what looked like protruding bone. Sukuna’s eyes were bloodshot, streaked with crimson rivulets. 

“Dear gods!” Satoru gasped, his voice trembling as he noticed faint black smoke rising from the scars around Sukuna’s eyes. 

“Disgusted? Repelled, even?” Sukuna murmured, his voice soft, almost vulnerable. 

Satoru’s heart sank. His bright blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears, mirroring the blood that stained Sukuna’s. Eyes were the windows to the soul, and the necromancer had defiled that sacred doorway—preparing it for demons to cross. 

A profound sense of helplessness and desperation swept over Satoru. Paralyzed, unable to move or speak, he let his emotions surge unchecked, flooding his entire being until he remained frozen in place. It was his fault that all of this was happening to Sukuna. Instead of asking for his help to find his parents, he should have helped Sukuna escape from the tormentors of his clan. But now, it was too late. The curses had coiled around Sukuna’s bones, twisting and tightening like poison ivy. 

Satoru tensed as Sukuna raised a hand to his face, gently tracing the scars and the protruding bone. Blood trickled down his cheek, dripping onto his chin and staining his pants. Satoru couldn’t bear to look any longer. A sudden, searing anger surged within him. How much hatred and pain could Sukuna endure before he finally shattered, obliterating them all like mere ants? The curses enveloping him were growing stronger, and to make matters worse, he was physically cursed by a necromancer. 

“Let me...” Satoru finally found his voice—raspy, breathless, but resolute. Yet, as he raised his hand, Sukuna recoiled, avoiding his touch. 

“I’d rather you not touch my blood,” Sukuna said firmly. 

“Don’t talk nonsense—” 

“I said no!” Sukuna’s voice rose, sharp with urgency. “You don’t know what could happen!” 

“Ryo, I’ve tasted your blood before! Let me look at your face,” Satoru insisted, shifting onto his knees. But before he could reach Sukuna, he swatted his hand away. 

“Don’t be stubborn—” 

“Stubborn?!” Sukuna snapped. “Is it me, or is it you, who’s been thoroughly woven with curses spat from the tongues of your family?” 

Satoru froze, realization crashing over him—Sukuna, his Ryo, was afraid of his touch. Afraid of the man whose family had stolen his chance to live a proper life. They had taken everything from him, and the very person who once whispered tender words beneath a starry night had also taken his mother. 

The helplessness returned, hollowing Satoru’s chest with brutal force. With a heavy heart, he sank onto his haunches, his fingers laced tightly together in a desperate grip.  

“Did I do this to you?” Satoru’s voice trembled as he took a shaky breath, his glassy eyes betraying his turmoil. There were no bitter tears left to shed for Sukuna—they had become a hollow, unacceptable apology. 

“That was your purpose all along,” Sukuna replied, rising slowly to his feet. All four of his arms tugged at the torn undershirt, soaked through with blood. His warm, black haori lay discarded on the grass, too ruined to wear. 

Satoru’s gaze followed Sukuna’s retreating figure, his heart pounding and hands trembling. Every movement Sukuna made—the way he carried himself, the icy aura surrounding him—spoke of his intent to leave.  

Panicking, Satoru scrambled to his feet and ran after Sukuna. “Let me tend to your wounds! Let me take care of you!” He pleaded, crashing into Sukuna’s back. He wrapped his arms tightly around Sukuna’s waist, pressing his cheek against his back. 

A heavy, oppressive silence settled around them, broken only by the distant rumble of thunder. The air was thick with the metallic tang of tension radiating from Sukuna’s very core. Satoru could feel it—pain so profound that no healing technique could ever reach it. 

“If I’m your curse, then be mine!” Satoru exclaimed, his voice strained but steady with resolution. “I’ll walk with you until our souls are equally stained.” 

Satoru remained cloaked in ominous silence, silently pleading for the gods to hear his selfish prayers. Against all odds, he hoped that he and Sukuna hadn’t sunk so deeply into despair that even the deities had turned their backs on them. 

After what felt almost like an eternity, Satoru felt Sukuna’s body loosen slightly. It was a good sign that brought a new flame of hope to Satoru’s dark heart. And when Sukuna’s fingers brushed over Satoru’s hand, the sun moved again. Satoru finally allowed himself to start breathing freely.  

“Very well...” Sukuna squeezed Satoru’s wrist encouragingly. “I didn’t mean to leave you behind. I gave you my word.” 

“You did,” Satoru muttered softly, the single word carrying a depth of profound gratitude. He tightened his grip around Sukuna, his heart clenching as emotion surged through him. 

“Let’s get this madness over with, Satoru.”  

Sukuna gently pried Satoru’s hand away from his waist and bent down to pick up his tattered haori. It was a prudent choice, given that Sukuna’s belongings were often used to craft cursed items. Satoru waited in silence as Sukuna shook the dirt from the fabric and slung the remains over his shoulder. Only then did Satoru reach out, slipping his hand into Sukuna’s. Their fingers intertwined in a fragile connection as they stepped forward together, leaving the battlefield behind. 

Chapter Text

Night descended swiftly, cloaking the sky like a heavy coat, shielding it from Satoru’s gaze. As a child, when he was but a tender sprout, his nanny used to tell him tales about a cunning kitsune who once stole all the stars from the heavens. She was a sly little thief, with four agile paws, sharp ears, and a scheming mind. The kitsune had hidden the stars inside the hollow of a great tree trunk. But when she momentarily left to witness the reactions of the other animals, the squirrels dwelling in the tree’s canopy seized their chance. They crept down, pilfered the stars, and stuffed them into their cheeks. 

“At night, the squirrels glowed,” Satoru said as he closed the waterskin and tied it back onto the horse's saddle. “Leaping from tree to tree, they looked like little spirits.” 

He gently wrapped his fingers around Sukuna’s ankle and looked up at him. From his perch on the horse, Sukuna’s tall frame was hunched forward, his eyes shut as he swayed unsteadily with the animal’s movements. 

“The kitsune was furious when she returned,” Satoru continued. “In her anger, she cursed some of the squirrels, making them see terrible things. Their stars turned icy cold, glowing blue.”

Satoru’s concern deepened as he watched Sukuna. He feared the man might collapse, but carrying someone so much larger than himself was impossible. 

Shortly after the fight with the general, Sukuna’s condition deteriorated rapidly. He fell ill without warning, his body steadily losing its strength. 

His wounds, inflicted by the necromancer, weren’t bleeding anymore, but something worse was happening. The protruding bones on his face continued to grow from the injuries, forming an eerie, grotesque mask.

Satoru didn’t know where this change had originated, what it signified, or how they could possibly stop it. Every fiber of his being was attuned to Sukuna’s condition. The sickness weighed heavily on him, and his mind swam with confusion. That was why he had placed Sukuna on the horse in the first place. 

Though the healing technique had sealed the battle’s wounds, the abnormal growth persisted, warping Sukuna’s face. Every time Satoru paused to give him water, the bone appeared to have grown slightly larger.

Physically, Sukuna was still recognizable as his beloved Ryo, yet inwardly, the curse had burrowed like a worm gnawing through an apple. The transformation was insidious, and now even his body bore the mark of this horrific change. The metamorphosis unnerved Satoru to his core, chilling him down to his bones.

He tried to stay composed, to be a pillar of strength for Sukuna. But inside, he had never been more terrified.

“Just hang on a little longer. I’ll find us a place,” Satoru muttered, his fingers brushing Sukuna’s calf in a gesture of comfort.

“W-what happened...” Sukuna stammered, his voice so faint it barely reached Satoru’s ears. “To the rest of the—the squirrels?” 

Satoru’s expression softened as a trace of melancholy flickered across his face. “They got scared,” he said gently, “and spat out the stars, sending them back into the sky.” 

“Are we...” Sukuna paused, his chest heaving as he struggled for breath. “Are we the blue stars?” 

The question lingered, heavy and unspoken, in the still air. Around them, the world seemed to hold its breath. No whisper of wind, no owl’s hoot or wolf’s call, not even the faint rustle of a fox in the undergrowth. The silence was unnerving, seeping beneath Satoru’s skin like a chill.

“Perhaps,” Satoru answered with a gentle, light tone. “Would you like to be a little squirrel?” 

Inside, Satoru cradled a flicker of hope, a fragile little candle he carried in his heart. He longed for Sukuna to say something, perhaps a soft laugh, a clever remark, anything to break the silence. But Sukuna remained wordless, swaying on the horse like a lone leaf caught in the wind. Fragile. Vulnerable. Exposed to anyone who might dare to attack. 

Pressing his lips into a tight line, Satoru moved back to the front of the horse and gripped the leather bridle tightly between his fingers. He drew in a deep breath, grounding himself, and urged the horse forward.

All he desired now was shelter, maybe a modest house, someplace with four walls where he could light a fire. In his mind, he pictured holding Sukuna close, wrapping him in warmth, and easing the pain that gripped him so fiercely. He imagined he had the power to heal Sukuna and break his curse. 

The walk felt endless, the forest stretching in all directions with no edge in sight. Satoru’s mind kept wandering, barely registering where he was headed. He did not know this part of the land, and his eyes failed to find anything that could serve as an anchor point. 

Normally, with his new eyes, he could see the heat prints of animals even in the dark. He could spot insects crawling across the ground. But now, he was either blind or this forest was utterly devoid of life. 

As they pressed onward, his exhaustion deepened, not merely from the journey but from maddening desperation born of endless, mindless chatter. He turned to check on Sukuna, who lounged atop the horse, one arm wrapped firmly around its neck. 

A sudden gust of cold air swept over him, prompting a sharp glance behind.

In the distance, a solitary figure was approaching. What had begun as a vague heat signature gradually sharpened into the unmistakable form of a person. 

“Uraume?” Satoru asked in disbelief as he stepped forward while still holding onto the horse. 

“Gojo-san,” the young boy greeted, vaulting over a fallen tree and immediately hurrying to check on Sukuna’s condition.

Satoru could only stand silently, dryly swallowing as he watched Uraume’s calm expression transform into one of horror and worry. The boy’s eyes widened in utter disbelief as he quickly locked his gaze on Satoru. 

“What happened?” Uraume asked softly, his voice low and tinged with fear. 

“I don’t even know where to begin…” Satoru confessed, his voice carrying a hint of hesitation. 

“And your face? Those wounds...?” 

“We got caught in a fight,” Satoru replied, his tone flat.

For a moment, Uraume pressed his lips together, his fingers curling around the strap of his bag. In an instant, his face hardened with determination. The abrupt change startled Satoru, yet it also imbued him with renewed strength. He was no longer alone; if there was anyone he could trust with Sukuna, it was Uraume.

“We must leave this forest,” Uraume declared, rummaging through his bag and untying it to reveal a worn wooden box. Opening it, he offered Satoru some food. “Eat. You look like a ghost.” 

“More than usual?” Satoru remarked while reaching in for a rice ball. “How did you find us?” 

“I didn’t. Kenjaku did.” 

Satoru’s hand froze mid-reach. At the mere mention of that name, his appetite vanished. With a heavy sigh, he lowered his hand and scanned the surroundings for any sign of the witch. 

“Don’t worry,” Uraume said as he moved closer, “she’s frightened of you because she knows you can see much more now.” 

“How?” Satoru asked, frowning as he released the reins so that Uraume could lead the horse while he tried to find solace in a meal. 

“She’s a witch,” Uraume explained in a hushed hiss, “and I can’t shake her off.” 

"Then we’ll at least know when she’s nearby. Next time I see her, I won’t be so kind." 

"Hmmm, that's rich coming from you, Gojo-san," he retorted, his voice laced with dangerous mockery. "Aren't you headed for Shiga—the town where the witch claimed your father is?" 

"Yes, I'm going to confirm that, not attack the stronghold recklessly!” Satoru looked at him, offended. “Besides, it must wait. I have to take care of Ryo.” 

Satoru watched as the boy led the horse, shaking his head slightly. “How old are you again?” he asked. 

“Old enough to regret ever bringing the witch to Sukuna-sama,” Uraume muttered, his voice heavy with guilt as he quickened his pace, pulling the horse along with him.

The confession struck Satoru like bitter tea, leaving a taste he could not quite shake. He was not one to judge; decisions had never been his forte. Mistakes were inevitable, an essential part of learning, as Sukuna had once told him. The beauty of life lay in its unpredictability, in the delicate mix of deceit and joy that each new day carried. 

Satoru glanced down at the onigiri in his hand. His throat felt tight, and food was the last thing on his mind, but Uraume was right. He needed to eat. His body felt weaker than usual, more fatigued. Normally, he could go an entire day without food and feel fine, but ever since his new eyes had opened, it was as if they were slowly draining his very life force. 

With a reluctant sigh, he forced himself to take a bite, chewing slowly before swallowing. The rice ball was plain but freshly made. Sukuna would love to get a taste. 

Brushing off his hands, Satoru slowed his pace, waiting for the horse to catch up so he could walk alongside Sukuna. Reaching out, he slid his hand beneath the haori draped over Sukuna. His skin was cold and clammy, a stark reminder that they needed to find shelter as soon as possible. 

“Uraume, do you know where we’re headed?” Satoru asked, his hand resting on Sukuna’s forearm.

“Every road leads somewhere, doesn’t it?” 

“Maybe,” Satoru grumbled, “but I’ve been walking this one for hours. There are no animals, no buildings.” 

“What do you mean?” Uraume glanced over his shoulder, his expression curious. 

Satoru parted his lips to reply but hesitated as Sukuna stirred. His hand slipped from the horse’s neck, fingers twitching slightly before falling still. 

When Satoru looked up, Sukuna’s eyes were open, one veiled in a murky haze, partially obscured by the horse’s mane, the other barely visible, shielded by a layer of bone. 

“It’s under a deity’s protection,” Sukuna whispered, his voice weak. “You must find a shrine or statue. Offer three things.” 

The horse halted abruptly as Uraume rushed forward in alarm. “Sukuna-sama!” 

“Make an offering…” Sukuna rasped again, his tone strained. “Then you’ll be able to see everything.” 

Uraume’s worried eyes lingered, gripping the strap of his bag with trembling fingers. The deep yearning to fix everything was evident in his gaze, compelling Satoru to make a decision. 

“You’ll move faster alone,” Satoru said, gently taking Sukuna’s hanging hand in his own. “Do what’s necessary. We’ll stay here, at this spot.” 

Hesitation flashed across Uraume’s face. Leaving Sukuna behind weighed heavily on him. Satoru’s reasoning was practical, but that logic held little sway against Uraume’s concern for Sukuna’s safety. Despite his reluctance, Satoru felt strongly that no one could protect Sukuna better than he.

“Go, Uraume…” Sukuna muttered faintly. “Do as he says.” 

With a firm nod, Uraume departed, disappearing into the shadows of the woods. 

Satoru exhaled deeply, leaning closer to Sukuna as his thumb gently brushed the back of his hand. Regret weighed heavily on him, so many moments lost, so much left behind, all because he had been consumed by chasing his past. Part of him longed to abandon the search for his father and simply focus on living. Yet the side of him that refused to yield was still winning, driven by guilt and anger.

He could not ignore the manipulation he had endured. If anything, it made him more determined to uncover the truth. He wanted to reclaim his father from Fujiwara's grasp, to take back what was rightfully his. 

Satoru’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a painful hiss from Sukuna. He reacted quickly, snapping his gaze upward. “Is it getting worse?” 

“No...” Sukuna muttered with a sigh. “My thighs hurt. I’m not used to sitting on a horse for this long.” 

Relief washed over Satoru, and a smile crept onto his face. “Good. I can tell you’re improving when you start complaining.” 

“Brat,” Sukuna said with a soft laugh. “Just wait until I’m better…” 

“You will complain even more,” Satoru teased, his tone warm. To soften his jest, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Sukuna’s hand.

It filled him with joy to see Sukuna improving, not just physically but in spirit. Even his speech was clearer now, his stammer and slurring far less frequent than before.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Sukuna murmured. 

Satoru chuckled, resting his head against the horse’s neck. “You really must be feeling better if you’re in the mood for joking.” 

“I’m not joking,” Sukuna said quietly, his crimson eyes framed by the mask flickering with unspoken emotion. “You really are pretty.” 

“I am sure I am pretty to you,” Satoru replied softly, a gentle smile tugging at his lips, “or else you wouldn’t kiss me.” 

Sukuna didn’t answer, but Satoru noticed a shadow cross his face, as ominous as a gathering storm. Whatever was happening to Sukuna, it terrified him. For the first time, Satoru saw fear etched into his features, rendering him completely vulnerable. 

“Be careful, Satoru…” Sukuna said quietly, worry lacing his voice as he gently squeezed Satoru’s hand. “I feel like this is one of the last moments when my mind is truly clear.” 

“No,” Satoru said with determination, bringing Sukuna’s hand to his face and leaning his cheek into his palm. He pressed a firm kiss against it, as though sending his strength to Sukuna.

“Satoru…” 

“We’ll find a way to fix everything,” Satoru reassured, his voice steady despite the storm raging in his heart. 

Satoru nuzzled Sukuna’s hand, feeling the coldness of his fingers gradually draw warmth from his own. Soon, Sukuna would be alright again, able to heal his fatigue with the reversed technique. Afterward, they would break the curse and leave this place far behind, finding somewhere peaceful where they could finally live the life they dreamed of. 

“I’m glad we stayed together…” Sukuna murmured, brushing his hand softly against Satoru’s cheek. “Life is better with you.” 

The simple words carried a weight that felt almost unbearable to Satoru, each syllable as heavy and solid as stone. Instead of bringing joy, they crushed him under the weight of guilt. 

Sukuna was grateful for his presence, yet Satoru knew he was partly to blame for his suffering.

His bottom lip trembled. Unable to hold back his tears any longer, he turned his face away, releasing a broken sob.

“Hey, what now…” Sukuna’s voice held a note of surprise at the outburst. “You act as if I’m dying.” 

“You can’t say things like that.” Satoru bit his lip, swallowing his tears forcefully. “I’ve brought nothing but pain into your life.” 

“And kisses. I like the kisses part,” Sukuna countered, smirking faintly despite his exhaustion.

Satoru looked up, his tear-filled eyes meeting Sukuna’s. That playful smirk, even amid weariness, warmed Satoru’s heart, and he couldn’t help but smile in return. He wiped his eyes with the back of his free hand, gently lowering their joined hands. 

“I like them too.” 

Suddenly, the forest around them brightened as moonlight pierced through the treetops. The hoot of an owl echoed in the night, mingling with the rustling leaves and the faint babble of a distant brook. The cacophony of sounds was almost overwhelming, yet Satoru felt an immediate sense of relief. 

“Uraume was successful,” Satoru said with palpable relief. 

“A blessing disguised as a curse,” Sukuna muttered as Satoru felt his hand slip away. He turned to see Sukuna carefully shifting into a seated position, Satoru’s purple haori sliding off his broad shoulder and pooling behind his waist. 

“A moment longer on this horse,” Sukuna remarked, slightly breathless, “and I won’t be able to put my legs back together.” 

Satoru’s gaze sparkled as he watched Sukuna. Joy surged within him—his reversed technique must finally be working, easing Sukuna’s exhaustion. 

“Good for me,” Satoru chuckled slyly, his cheeks deliberately flushing pink.

** 

A small village lay between them and Shiga. Satoru could count the number of houses on his fingers, each built closely together.

It was late, and the atmosphere carried the natural unease of the hour. Yet, something far more ominous stirred beneath the veil of darkness, sending shivers through Satoru’s core.

The first man to greet them was a distrustful, gray-haired elder with skin like a dried apple. He gave Satoru and Uraume the cold shoulder, staring at them as if they were the first humans he had seen in years. They tried to speak to the man while Sukuna lingered in the shadows, tending to the horse by the watering trough. 

“I can sense you have a problem with a deity here,” Satoru ventured, offering their services in exchange for a roof over their heads.

Sukuna was improving. He could walk unaided, but he fatigued faster than usual. He constantly had to rely on healing techniques to stay upright, preventing the curse etched into his skin from sapping all his energy. If a fight broke out, Sukuna would burn through an enormous amount of cursed energy alarmingly fast. For him, combat was simply not an option.

“How can you see us?” The old man snapped at Satoru, his glare cold and sharp. “Do you carry a curse in those strange eyes?” 

“My eyes are not cursed,” Satoru shot back, his voice low and commanding. He scowled at the man, the white in his eyes swirling in warning. “But I can tell you've angered a deity with your false offerings. You attempted a blood sacrifice and failed to deliver.” 

The old man recoiled as if struck, his eyes widening in shock. He gasped at Satoru's blunt revelation, which had clearly struck a nerve. 

“A ghost! You must be a ghost!” The old man’s voice trembled as he backed away, nearly stumbling over his own feet. “The ghost of Fujiwara Takano!” 

Satoru’s brows shot up in confusion as he watched the frail man retreat in hurried, shuffling steps, his dried-up body barely holding together. “I’ve never seen someone this old. What a blessed age.” 

“Do not be fooled,” Sukuna’s voice drifted from the darkness, low and firm. “Just as you said, the dark deity is siphoning their life energy. If we stay here any longer, we will suffer the same fate.” 

Uraume glanced at Satoru, who sighed, a silent but telling response. It was enough for both of them to understand. He was not about to let these miserable villagers perish because of their foolishness. Perhaps they deserved their fate, the consequences of the lives they had led. But this village had not seen a helping hand in a long time. No matter the circumstances, survival was their only choice. 

“We need shelter,” Satoru said, his voice firm. “Exorcising the deity will be good for us as much as for them.” 

He watched Sukuna tie the horse to the barn before stepping out of the night to stand beside him beneath the glow of a lone oil lantern perched at the edge of a stone well. The moment Satoru caught sight of Sukuna’s hardened expression, he looked away.

“I do not need you lecturing me,” he muttered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear. The wind was picking up, colder, sharper.

“Surely?” Sukuna folded his arms across his chest, leaning back slightly as he held Satoru’s gaze. “Then you must know a deity can never be fully exorcised.” 

“Yes, I know.” Satoru hissed through his teeth.

“Then I suppose you also know the rest, that when it returns, it will be stronger and more spiteful.” 

Satoru’s eyes gleamed with defiance. “That could take anywhere from days to hundreds of years.” 

“Ah, so you are saying it will not be your problem anymore?” Sukuna chuckled, reaching up to brush aside Satoru’s wind-tossed hair, his fingers lingering as he cupped his face. “There is a reason I do not fight the deities trailing me.” 

“Then, should we just leave?” Satoru looked away, irritation creeping into his voice. “You need rest. The cold is settling in. It might even start snowing soon.” 

“Well...” With a light shrug, Sukuna let his hands drop, trailing behind him. He placed them on Satoru’s shoulders, squeezing gently before gliding his cold fingers up his spine, sending shivers rippling through him. Then, with a soft tug, he loosened the hair tie, letting Satoru’s hair tumble freely into the wind, which eagerly snatched it up.

“A blood offering can appease the deity for a time,” Sukuna mused, deftly gathering Satoru’s wild strands. He rolled the loose ends around his fist, skillfully tying them into a neat bun. 

“I don’t exactly have a living baby on hand, do you?” Satoru shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Sukuna secured the tie. “You surprise me, Satoru. I never expected you to even entertain the thought of sacrificing a human life.” 

“I do not!” Satoru spun around sharply. “It’s madness that these people do!” 

“Poverty strips away morality, my dear.” Sukuna’s gaze swept over the desolate village. “This place is forsaken. We might as well put them all out of their misery.” 

“We are not—” 

“I agree,” Uraume cut in abruptly. “The deity will drain them until their last breath.” 

“I doubt there’s a single child left in this village.” Sukuna’s voice was matter-of-fact. “They’ve resigned themselves to their fate. We will leave…” He strode forward, deeper into the village. “Right after we find the old man who recognized you as your great-grandfather.” 

Satoru drew in a sharp breath, pressing his lips into a thin, irritated line. Once again, he was reminded of his inexperience beyond the confines of his familiar world. Sometimes a solution lay right within his reach, but that didn’t mean it was the right one. Still, it didn’t change the fact that he felt responsible for protecting the villagers, no matter how reckless their entanglement with dark, blood magic had been.

“Sometimes, all we can do is stand by and watch,” Uraume muttered. “I learned that the hard way.” His voice was subdued as he followed after Sukuna. 

It turned out they did not need to search for the villagers; they came to them. A gathering of frail, aged figures, holding torches and whispering in hushed, eerie tones. 

Satoru had seen countless shapes of curses, demons, and deities. He had encountered the walking corpses in the village before this one. But there was something uniquely unsettling about the dozen unnaturally twisted, withered bodies that sent a shiver down his spine. 

They approached in tiny, halting steps, old, crooked bones creaking with each movement, like a congregation of skeletons. 

“They remind me of gashadokuro,” Sukuna remarked, his voice laced with amusement. 

Satoru felt another shiver crawl over him. “Can you not?” 

“Have you seen the big one?” Sukuna continued teasing, resting a hand on the small of Satoru’s back. “If you dare to look at him, he’ll eat you!” He snapped his teeth playfully.

“Ryo!” Satoru yelped, elbowing him in protest. 

Sukuna let out a short laugh, though even in his laughter, the exhaustion was unmistakable. This place, for all its horror, was perfect for resting and regaining their strength. If only they could rid it of the deity draining every last drop of life and energy from its people. 

Sukuna needed proper sleep. And a real meal. 

As the villagers approached, they suddenly halted, murmuring among themselves. The man who had mistaken Satoru for the honored general stood among them, craning his neck for a better look. 

Satoru took a deep breath, steeling himself for a long night. 

“We mean no harm!” he called out, his voice steady. “We only wish to speak about Gojo Takano, also known as Fujiwara Takano, the honored general. One of you mentioned his name.” 

The group exchanged uneasy glances. Their murmurs escalated into a debate, which quickly erupted into an argument. Then, someone shoved the man forward. He stumbled into another pair of hands that pushed him again, and they continued to jostle him until he was forced out of the safety of the group, standing just a few steps away from Satoru. 

“We won’t hurt you.” Satoru raised his hands in a placating gesture. “You have my word.” 

“A word from a curse means nothing!” The man spat on the ground in contempt. The crowd behind him cheered in agreement.

“We don’t have time for this,” Sukuna grumbled. Shrugging off Satoru’s haori, which he had draped over his shoulder, he handed it to Uraume before stepping forward. The villagers gasped in shock at his appearance. They recoiled, while the man before him collapsed onto his knees, curling into himself. 

“What do you know about Fujiwara Takano?” Sukuna demanded. “Speak, and I will turn your torturing days into moments.” 

His threat landed with precision, immediate, and effective. The man raised a trembling hand in surrender and nodded.

“Anything for you, kami-sama.” 

Satoru’s brow shot up, his eyes widening. He had once met someone who revered Sukuna as a benevolent deity, one who had protected them from the ruthless Fujiwara soldiers and politicians who had plundered their lands. But this, this was different.

The villagers knelt, their crooked backs bowed, their devotion unquestionable. They were worshiping another deity, one who could end their lives with a mere whim. 

“This is madness,” Satoru whispered. 

“Kam-sama, please save us from our suffering!” A desperate voice rang out.

“The deity has cursed us with endless life. We cannot die.” 

“The deity feeds on us forever.” 

Sukuna stood tall, his expression unreadable. “I promise I’ll help you,” he said, his voice unwavering. “But first, tell me everything about Takano Fujiwara.” 

Satoru scowled. He could see past Sukuna’s composed facade. Something lurked beneath those red-rimmed, exhausted eyes, something dark, something lethal. The mask of bone only intensified the ominous aura emanating from him.

“He was a great general!” the man rasped. “His eyes were hauntingly blue, and he could merge red and blue into a color we had never seen before.” 

“Purple?” Satoru asked, confused. “But that color has existed for centuries.” 

Uraume exchanged a knowing glance with him. “I think they have been alive much longer than that.” 

Satoru lowered his voice. “Are you saying the deity has kept them alive all this time, feeding on their souls?” 

“You heard them,” Uraume replied with a shrug. “They are cursed to never die.” 

So, they were not simply people drained of their youth. They had been alive for centuries, hidden by a sophisticated veil technique. That explained why no Fujiwara sorcerer had ever crossed these borders. This village had long been forsaken, its land forbidden. 

“You said Takano was a Fujiwara, not a Gojo?” Sukuna asked. “How is that possible?” 

“He was born a Fujiwara, Sagawara by name. Then, he married a woman from the Gojo clan,” the man replied. “They called him the one with the Eyes.” 

“Honored one!” Another voice cried out. “A great sorcerer!” 

“Betrayed on the battlefield!” 

“A poor soul!” 

Satoru stumbled back, nausea twisting his gut. His chest felt hollow as realization struck. Who he was, who his ancestors had been. 

He had always belonged to the Fujiwara clan; he was a part of them. The marriage between Takano Fujiwara and a member of the Gojo clan had birthed the lineage of those infamous eyes, feared, revered, and considered the most powerful weapon. 

No wonder the Fujiwara’s grasp on him had always felt suffocating. No wonder they insisted he marry into their clan. 

“The Gojo clan is rebellious,” the old man muttered. “They have always refused to be part of it.” Then, his voice grew desperate. “Please, kami-sama, free us from our suffering.” 

“Why did he take the name Gojo?” Sukuna asked. “That’s unusual.” 

“We don’t know. Please, kami-sama!” the man pleaded. 

Sukuna ignored the desperation in his voice. “What do you know of necromancy?” 

Satoru tensed. His fist clenched as he realized where Sukuna was steering the conversation. He knew the question might unearth something he wasn’t ready to face. Souls as old as these villagers might carry valuable knowledge, but given their isolation, they could just as easily know nothing about the world beyond their cursed, immortal existence. 

“Not much,” the man admitted, shaking his head. “They bring death to life. Put spells on the living—horrible, terrible curses.” 

“Show me the shrine of your deity,” Sukuna commanded. “Tell me everything you know about it, and then I shall free you from your suffering.” 

The road to the shrine was swallowed in pitch-black darkness. Even the lantern Uraume carried barely bit through the thick, ink-like void. Satoru struggled to keep track of the villagers’ movements as they led the way through the whispering woods. He tightened his grip on Sukuna’s hand while Uraume clung to the back of his shirt as they followed.

“Ryo,” Satoru murmured, unwilling to speak too loudly in the ominous night. “Do you think the necromancer is tied to this curse? To the deity?” 

“My love,” Sukuna replied, his voice low and certain, “I think they are the same person. There is no deity.” 

They stopped abruptly, and Uraume collided with Satoru’s back. The suffocating darkness lasted only a moment longer before a red flame flickered to life above Sukuna’s palm, tearing through the void with its stark brilliance.

Before them stood a shrine. Its altar was carved from black stone, lifeless and unyielding. Around it, not a single plant grew. The vegetation stood at a distance, its forms bent away as if recoiling from the shrine’s presence. 

Satoru lowered his gaze to the earth. The dry soil crumbled beneath his feet, dead and drained, but beneath the surface, he spotted something unnatural; a pulsating red root snaking toward the shrine before vanishing into the depths of the woods. 

“It’s siphoning the life from this land,” Satoru murmured.

“Yes.” Sukuna’s voice was measured. “It seems our little necromancer has kept themself alive for centuries by stealing life from the villagers and the land itself. There must be other forsaken villages like this one. It’s a miracle we stumbled upon it.” 

“Could it be because we’re close to Heian-kyo?” Satoru wondered aloud. “Dark sorcery is weaker here.” 

“And there’s no veil to conceal it anymore…” Sukuna mused, shaking his head. “Perhaps they want to be found.” 

“She.” A quiet voice interrupted, hesitant and timid. “Our deity is a beautiful woman with black eyes.” 

“What’s her name?” 

“Tengen.” 

**  

Satoru was restless. Every time he closed his eyes, the massacre Sukuna had wrought at the shrine resurfaced in vivid, brutal detail. Deep down, he knew Sukuna never intended to spare the villagers. There had never been an alternative. Liberation, in Sukuna’s mind, was death. Yet all Satoru could see was ruthless butchery. Those ancient souls, trapped under Tengen’s veil for centuries, deserved a better fate than being torn apart and set ablaze. The acrid scent of burning flesh still clung to the air. 

Was Sukuna always this merciless? Or had the curse twisted him beyond recognition? Had Satoru even truly known him before the darkness consumed him? And was it really the curse? The questions gnawed at him, refusing to settle. He curled into himself, arms wrapping tightly around his knees, his stomach so knotted that he hadn’t been able to stomach the meal Uraume had prepared from the small deer Sukuna had hunted. Now, Sukuna lay beside him, asleep and exhausted on the futon of the very people he had slaughtered.

Leaning against the wall, illuminated by the amber glow of the fireplace, Uraume sat with his eyes closed, his breathing steady. Yet he stirred too often for Satoru to believe he was truly asleep.

There was no escaping these thoughts. No way to push the memories away. Masako-sama had warned him that Sukuna was different. But had he always been this way? Or had relentless pursuit and endless curses molded him into something darker?

The forest was gone, burned alongside Tengen’s shrine. Satoru had heard the name before. He had heard about a woman with extraordinary barrier techniques. She had served the emperor and nobility. One of Satoru’s teachers had once told him she was the reason their country thrived in peace. 

Never in his worst nightmares had he imagined that Tengen, the one who built barriers to protect, had been capable of causing a tear in Sukuna’s soul and siphoning life itself. 

The night stretched on, thinning toward dawn, yet sleep still evaded him. He hadn't moved from his place. Eventually, even Uraume succumbed to exhaustion, curling up on the floor. 

Satoru reached for more logs, feeding the fire and keeping its warmth alive. It was the only barrier between him and the cold death waiting behind his eyelids. 

“Did you get any sleep?” Sukuna’s raspy morning voice startled Satoru as he fed another log into the pit. It slipped from his fingers, thudding against the floor.

“No.” His answer was blank and detached as he tossed the log into the fire.

Sukuna sighed, sitting up. “Some problems can’t be solved by exorcism, Satoru.” 

“Has life always been like this for you?” Satoru asked, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. 

“If you mean making decisions on the run, then yes.” 

“They thought you were a deity.” Satoru turned his head slowly, his voice quiet but pointed. 

Sukuna growled tiredly, rubbing the back of his neck before dragging a hand over his face, only to hiss as he forgot the mask covering it. Cursing under his breath, he threw the covers off, irritated, and got to his feet, swaying slightly. 

“They thought Tengen was a deity,” he muttered coldly. “They’d worship a barking dog if it meant relief from their suffering.” 

Satoru shook his head, turning his attention back to the burning wood. For a moment, he found solace in the crackling flames and shifting embers. But then, Sukuna grabbed the bucket, pouring water into the kettle before hanging it over the fire. The motion was simple, routine. He wouldn’t move and stand abruptly if Sukuna didn’t reach for his hand.

“Why are you even mad at me?” Sukuna frowned, looking up at him. “I don’t go around forcing people to believe I’m a god.” 

“I am not mad,” Satoru answered firmly. But inside, he was burning. Questions clawed at him, fear gnawing so deeply it felt like it could hollow him out completely. The fear of losing what little remained of the man he loved. 

Sukuna’s words from the woods haunted him, lingering like a specter. If this was the last glimpse of Sukuna’s old self, then what came next? What happened when healing no longer worked, when he succumbed fully to the curse?

“If you start lying to me, Satoru, we might as well go separate ways right now.” 

Satoru’s head snapped toward him, his jaw clenching, his pulse hammering in his chest. His eyes widened in shock. Sukuna, on the other hand, was composed, his expression unreadable, frustratingly neutral. Satoru could not tell what was going through his mind.

“You say that so easily…” Satoru murmured disbelief and hurt thick in his voice. “You keep saying you will leave me behind.” 

“Your secrets, your guilt, your dishonesty—they are dragging you down.” Sukuna’s tone was sharp, unwavering. “You are paralyzed by fear and indecision.” 

Satoru stared at him, momentarily stunned by the bluntness. Sukuna had always been brutally honest, never one to soften his words, never one to mask the truth. If he meant something, he said it, cruelty be damned. 

But right now? Right now, after everything they had endured together, after all the wounds and battles, they were past the point where Satoru could handle such words. 

After the fight with the Fujiwara, Satoru could leave him behind in the woods. Could have packed up his things in the dead of night and walked away without a second thought. 

“You can’t even grasp the true weight of your own choices!” Sukuna pressed, standing up. “Your will keeps cracking under the reality of life outside your gilded cage.” 

“I am not indecisive!” Satoru shouted. “I know exactly what I have to do!” 

“And yet, you lie—pretending nothing is wrong?” 

Satoru’s body trembled. He was strung tight, tense as a bowstring, ready to snap, ready to fire the fastest, deadliest arrows straight at Sukuna. Guilty? Yes. Scared? Yes. Dishonest? He could admit to all of it. He had kept secrets from Sukuna. 

But indecisive? No. 

“Why are you even asking if something’s wrong?!” Satoru snapped. “Don’t you see the position we’re in? On the run, cursed, fooling ourselves into thinking our petty goals can mend the damage of a lifetime?” 

Sukuna regarded him thoughtfully, his expression unchanging. “Tell me, Satoru, what will you do after you find your father?” 

“I’ll help you find the necromancer to break the curse!” Satoru replied without hesitation, his honesty shining in his eyes. “We’ll go to Shiga, find my father, and if we’re lucky, one of the Fujiwara generals might know more about it.” 

“So, you think you can free your father without a fight? And even question a general about the necromancer?” Sukuna scoffed, shaking his head.

“I know I have to fight!” Satoru snapped, his voice sharp with anger. “Don’t treat me like a stupid child!” 

“You will use your cursed technique against the people living there, killing men with families and women with children, all to liberate your father. But me? Putting those miserable villagers out of their suffering was the wrong decision?” 

Sukuna’s words cut deep, his tone cold and unyielding.

Satoru froze, staring at him. Sukuna sighed, his expression softening just enough to reveal a flicker of pity, tinged with disappointment. He picked up the bowls they had used earlier and rinsed them in the remaining water from the bucket. 

“You really do not know what you are doing, baby bird,” Sukuna said, opening a small fabric pouch of herbs. “You are so inexperienced, so full of chaos.” 

“Does it make you feel good to tear me down?” Satoru hissed, his voice trembling with anger and hurt. “Do you think I asked to be locked away for my entire childhood?” His fury burned hot, but deep inside, it began to melt into something softer, something that made his chest ache and his eyes sting with unshed tears.

“And yet you doubt my decisions,” Sukuna said, setting the bowls aside. “You stayed up all night, letting your doubts consume you, instead of simply talking to me.” 

Satoru looked away, folding his arms tightly across his chest in a futile attempt to shield himself. But Sukuna was not finished. He stepped closer, his presence heavy, and that was when they heard a soft thud. 

Satoru realized Uraume had been in the room the entire time. Now, he was slipping away, retreating as their argument grew too intimate to witness. 

“You will not even look at me now,” Sukuna murmured, his voice low and resonant, striking a chord deep in Satoru’s heart. Guilt twisted inside him. 

“Satoru,” Sukuna said, gripping his chin firmly and tilting his face upward, forcing their eyes to meet. “Are you scared of me?” 

Satoru gazed at him, his eyes shimmering with the weight of his emotions. Among all his uncertainties, his true feelings for Sukuna remained untouched, clear, and unwavering. His heart could still recognize the man Sukuna truly was. 

Satoru’s voice trembled with raw emotion, yet his gaze remained unwavering. “No,” he declared firmly. “I am not afraid of you, Ryo, nor the curse that grows in your bones.” 

A dangerous glint flickered in Sukuna’s crimson eyes as he pulled back slightly, studying Satoru with an intensity that felt almost invasive. 

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, but Satoru held his ground, bracing himself for whatever Sukuna might deliver, whether it be harsh words or cold indifference. The prolonged tension only made Satoru’s posture stiffer, yet his stare never faltered.

“You’re conflicted with yourself, Satoru,” Sukuna murmured, his tone low and measured. “You say you’re not afraid of the curse, yet you want to break it for me. Why would you want to break it, if not because you fear what I might become?” 

Satoru’s voice softened, but his conviction remained. “You said it yourself, these days might be the last when you act like yourself. I do not want that man to disappear, but each day, you are distancing yourself from me.” 

“I am not, Satoru…” Sukuna’s reply was quiet, almost tender. 

“You would never talk about leaving me behind,” Satoru pressed, his voice cracking as unshed tears brimmed in his eyes. “And now, it is all you talk about.” 

Sukuna sighed, his expression shifting ever so slightly, a flicker of frustration tempered by restraint. He cupped Satoru’s face, his palms firm yet gentle against his cheeks. Satoru could feel the tension in Sukuna’s touch, the effort it took to keep himself composed. 

“I know I am pushing you to your limits,” Sukuna admitted, “but the world will not stand still just so you can take a breath.” 

Satoru’s hands reached up, pulling Sukuna’s away from his face. His voice was quiet but resolute. “What will become of us when I can no longer recognize the man I fell in love with?” 

The vulnerability in his words hung heavy in the air, unspoken truths lingering between them like shadows. 

Satoru dropped his gaze, turning away, but Sukuna surged forward, capturing his face between his hands once more and kissing him fiercely.

The first touch, the warmth of Sukuna’s lips, the way he poured his very soul into that kiss, made Satoru’s knees weak. He moaned softly, his brows knitting together as heat blossomed in his cheeks and belly. 

Sukuna kissed him as he did everything else, with the fervor of a man who had only moments left to live, with a heart that beat its final rhythm. He held Satoru close with fierce protectiveness, daring anyone to harm him. He was a fortress, a blazing sun that left indelible marks on Satoru’s soul.

The divine had felt tangible, leaving Satoru adrift in a haze, until Sukuna’s lips and teeth grazed his jaw, trailing down the vulnerable curve of his neck. Deep down, Satoru knew this would not end with mere kisses.

Sukuna’s canine teeth, always sharp, had broken skin before, but this was different. Never had he bitten so savagely, drawing blood in rivulets and latching onto the raw wound with an almost feral hunger.

While his reflexes screamed for action, Satoru didn’t activate his Infinity, allowing Sukuna to drink from him. It was always safer for Sukuna to indulge his desires with him than to rip the neck of an innocent person with such brutal force. 

Satoru might still be unable to use the reversed technique, but he was sturdier than a mere person, and if he wished, he could easily incinerate Sukuna with Red. All it would take was the press of a finger against his stomach.

A strangled moan tore from Sukuna’s lips as he abruptly pulled away, coughing and choking. His grip on Satoru’s face slackened as he gagged on the blood he had swallowed. Alarmed, Satoru caught him under the arms, struggling to hold him upright. But Sukuna’s legs gave out, and he collapsed, retching blood. Satoru’s breath hitched in horror as he carefully lowered them both to the floor. 

“Ryo!” Satoru cried, clutching him tightly against his chest. He held the convulsing man as he retched and coughed violently.

“No… no…” Sukuna rasped, his breath hitching as his eyes rolled back. “Not Satoru, not Satoru, not him.” His teeth clenched, his trembling body wracked with heavy, uneven breaths. 

The door slammed open, and Uraume rushed in, his expression twisted with terror. His gaze froze on Sukuna, thrashing in Satoru’s arms, muttering fragmented words as though trapped in a trance. 

Satoru met Uraume’s horrified eyes, his own filled with a mix of fear and helplessness. 

Chapter Text

Sukuna tasted blood on his tongue, a burning coppery intrusion into his body. Despite the revulsion, deep inside, he savored the taste. He was drifting in darkness, lying still. The air was warmer than he remembered. Silent. Unsettlingly so. 

Until he heard a creak. Then a voice, faint at first, growing more vivid, clearer. 

Someone was singing a lullaby, familiar words carved into Sukuna’s very soul. At first, he could not recognize the voice. It changed too fast, too often, like a nightmare looping endlessly. Then, beneath it all, he noticed the cicadas singing in the background. Their chorus sharpened, stirring a long-buried memory. Soon, the words took shape, forming a distinct melody, and Sukuna recognized the voice of his mother. 

  Lonely child   

Wait for me

Her forgotten voice was soft and loving, unlike the echoes from his dreams. It was soothing, like a caress on the cheek. Just as the thought crossed his mind, he felt a gentle touch brush against his damp forehead.  

“It’s a hot night today.”   

Sukuna opened his eyes at once. For a moment, his vision was blurred in the dimly lit room. But soon, he recognized the pale face of his mother. She smiled down at him, her deep brown eyes appearing crimson in the candlelight.  

“I can’t sleep. Can you sing me some more?”    

She laughed sweetly, “Ryu, you are so full of energy.”   

Ryu. All this time, he had believed his name was Ryo. Hearing his true identity from his mother’s lips felt like liberation. A missing piece of himself finally clicked into place.  

It took him a moment to grasp who he was, lying in the futon, watching his mother tend to him before sleep, spreading the scent of sage to ward off irritating insects and lingering spirits. As he lay there, trapped in the body of the boy he had once been, his mind overflowed with memories from both the past and the future.  

He couldn’t control the body of his younger self, only observe through his eyes and witness the past he had forgotten long ago.  

Everything seemed perfectly fine. It was another bedtime routine, the little boy smiling and asking for more cuddles. Ryu felt serenity in his tiny heart, love seeping through every pore of his skin. He was the happiest child.  

“Mommy, you should stay with me,” he chirped, kicking his legs up and down like any cheerful child would.  

She smiled down at him as he lifted the thin cover to shield himself from insects. Sukuna noticed her hands trembling. The boy groaned, irritated by the additional warmth. His complaints fell on deaf ears as she pulled back, placing her hands on her knees and lacing her fingers tightly until her knuckles turned white. She was shaking even more, her eyes cast downward, brows furrowed in a silent sign of desperation.  

Sukuna knew what was coming. There was no way to alter the past from a memory. Whatever trance held him, it did not allow him to manipulate anything. So, he endured his impending death once again. Ryu’s heart was warm, filled with love, while Sukuna’s was drowned in bitterness and darkness.  

Behind his mother, the walls twisted into trees, their branches bleeding into the room. Heads, like ripened apples, hung from them, their vacant eyes turning toward Sukuna, watching, knowing he could see. His younger self was afraid, unable to understand. He wanted to warn his mother, to tell her to turn around, to see the monsters lurking behind her. But before he could, a loud cry shattered the already ominous silence.  

His mother’s voice broke into sobs as she pulled a knife from behind her back. Her burning eyes brimmed with tears that slipped down her sharp cheekbones. She appeared ethereal, a woman composed solely of skin and bones. So fragile, yet strong enough to drive the blade into Sukuna’s chest.  

The door groaned as it abruptly swung open, and a cold blue light flooded the room, consuming everything in sight. Sukuna watched as his mother’s hair lifted in a wind that came from nowhere. Her eyes remained unchanged, but the red ribbon in her hair drank in the light, turning a deep azure.  

Ryu tensed, fear gripping him as the unknown loomed ahead. His tiny hand reached upward, then another, and another. Four in total, clawing at the void, desperate to stop what was coming. Blades slashed through the air, and monstrous demonic hands reached for his mother.  

“Mom!” he cried, his voice raw with desperation, ignoring the stinging pain in his lungs.  

Blood seeped from the wound in his chest, rising to his throat, choking him, and dragging him toward the abyss beyond the walls lined with shadowed trees. The knife clattered to the floor, and a painful apology escaped his mother’s lips.  

She wept bitterly, shaking her head, the blue ribbon in her black hair catching the dim light. Behind her, a root rose from the ground. Ryu tried to warn her again of the demons with blades. The root lunged forward, intercepting the knife aimed at her. The metal attacker burst from the kitchen, tearing through the wall and splintering wood as it struck. The blade crashed against the root before plunging deep into his mother’s chest.  

“Run!” a voice urged, echoing through the space as white light spilled around Sukuna.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a flicker of blue and white, reminiscent of a winter sky. The knife wrenched itself from his chest, flying away. 

Ryu gasped, his chest swelling as heat pulsed through him, itching and burning with each breath that echoed through his very bones. Warmth coursed through his body, pooling in the wound. He had used the healing technique again, and it wasn’t the first time. The pain lingered for a moment before vanishing all at once. 

Around him, the walls crumbled, and the trees studded with human heads scraped down from the remains, coming to life. Their twisted branches and roots writhed through the air, whispering in ominous tones. Sukuna had never been able to trace the origins of those demonic trees or determine whether their murmurs were meaningless whispers or actual words. Not then and not now.  

However, another voice cut through the air, male, sharp with anger and reprimand.  

“If he escapes...”   

Ryu rose to his feet, his gaze lingering on his mother one last time. Tears streaked his face as his lips quivered, a quiet hiccup slipping out. His beloved mother’s eyes were vacant, fixed on the ceiling, while beneath her, a red flower bloomed. The ribbon in her hair was drenched, its vibrant hue swallowed by crimson.  

It was strange. His whole life, Sukuna had believed his mother tied his hair with red ribbons. Did it mean something, or were two memories simply bleeding into one?  

A loud rattling shattered the silence, wrenching Ryu from his grief. Someone was struggling to force the door open, the same door that had stood wide not long ago. It refused to budge, as though an unseen force held it shut, offering Sukuna a fleeting chance to escape.  

“Young lord, what have you done?!”   

“Gojo! They were always unreliable!”   

The window behind Sukuna slid open, and he saw a boy peeking inside. His hair was pristine white, shining in the darkness like snowflakes. His bright blue eyes locked onto Sukuna. He waved his hand.  

“Go!” was his last word before he vanished.  

Sukuna’s world shattered. He could no longer process what was happening around him. His younger self, however, did not hesitate and climbed through the window. His thoughts clung to the angelic figure who had saved him, but Sukuna saw only a little demon, the one who had killed his mother.  

“We didn’t ask you to kill the woman! Are you blind?!”   

The men’s angry voices echoed through the woods as Sukuna ran, his breath quick and shallow, his chest tight. He leaped over tangled roots, sharp twigs scraping his skin as he pressed on. The haunted forest was veiled in mist, always lingering, draping the ground like a delicate spiderweb. Sukuna’s small figure was easily swallowed by the milk-white fog. 

He ran until the voices faded into silence and continued running until he found a burrow beneath an ancient tree. Crawling inside, he curled into himself, his heartbeat pounding furiously in his ears. Over time, as his fear ebbed, the frantic drumming in his chest softened into the rhythmic hum of insects and caterpillars shifting in the damp soil.  

While Ryu wept in silence, Sukuna’s mind grew blank. His heart had stopped aching long ago, but he always cherished his mother, no matter how cruel she had been. After all, he was an abomination, and she was starving, unable to afford more food or even a proper roof over her head. They lived in an old, abandoned house. But now, after seeing her cheerful, loving gestures and knowing that they both were a target of the might... Sukuna fell deeper into the void.  

Ryu’s eyes, still burning from tears, slowly closed, and they both drifted into empty darkness.  

When they awoke, they stood before his childhood home. Its walls loomed darker, and the surrounding plants lay scorched. All the windows gaped open, staring at him like blank, lifeless eyes. Each step weighed him down, his chest hollow and heavy. When he placed his hand on the front door and slid it open, it creaked, a sound it had never made before.  

As Ryu stepped inside, his bare, soiled foot pressed against the floorboards, which groaned beneath him. The house seemed to whimper, as though every part of it was alive.  

With each step, he left behind small footprints, a trail leading to the horrors hidden within the bedroom. The door lay broken on the floor, chipped and torn from its hinges. Taking one final step, his heart pounding and breath held, Sukuna stood in the doorway. 

His mother lay exactly as he had left her when he fled. Above her loomed a dark, menacing shadow, its long arms stretching downward, thin, spindly fingers probing the wounds on her body. The bloodstain beneath her had spread through the night, dark and unyielding. Scattered around her were knives, and among them lay a red ribbon, unknown, its once vibrant color now dulled by the surrounding horror.  

Sukuna’s breath hitched, just as the boy, who stood frozen, his eyes locked on the terrifying scene before him. The same ribbon that Sukuna had seen in Satoru’s eyes when he peered through the window. It swayed in the wind, far too long for a small boy.  

In that instant, the walls began to tremble. Hundreds of small black hands emerged, clawing and grasping, desperate to escape. Ryu screamed as the roof split apart with a violent crack, revealing a massive skeleton towering over him. The tiny hands latched onto him, tearing, poking, pulling, and beating him mercilessly. The house swarmed with creatures, their whispers and laughter filling the air.  

Sukuna thrashed on the floor, kicking, groaning, and yelling at the monsters tormenting him. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the vicious chaos, the relentless pain. Then, suddenly, a sharp stab pierced his back, forcing his eyes open. The ground beneath him shook and fractured as the monsters erupted into pieces.  

A woman with long dark hair appeared above him. Her black eyes stared down like the night sky. Her pale face was void of expression, like a doll carved from snow. Sukuna gazed at her in awe.  

"Remember now," she whispered in a steady velvet voice. She reached down and pulled the dagger from his back. "Your time has come."  

Everything around Sukuna shifted as his consciousness moved from his younger self to his older one. The setting was unmistakable. A temple deep in the woods, and before him stood Hayashi, not yet old, holding a peculiar box in his hands. Sukuna realized it was a cursed object. Its presence vibrated with malevolence, not unlike the walls of his childhood home.  

"This will help you with your nightmares," Hayashi said, his voice reassuring. And the child in Sukuna believed every word.  

But as a young adult, Sukuna saw the hesitation, the fear looming over Hayashi like a shadow. He had the knives of his lords dangling over his head. When he opened the box, Ryu was filled with wonder and excitement. He truly believed he had found a way out of his suffering. Yet, Sukuna, with his current knowledge, recognized those symbols.  

When Hayashi picked up the item between his fingers, Sukuna saw a leather pouch tied with a blue string.  

Ryu took the cursed object in his hand, examining it cautiously. “One day, when I find the boy, all my nightmares will be gone.”   

He clutched the pouch as if it were a sacred tool that could help him avenge his mother. He truly believed Hayashi was helping him, and until the moment Sukuna linked the offered pouch with the one Satoru had shown him, he had no reason to doubt it. 

Hayashi had betrayed him far more than Sukuna had ever imagined. Even now, the boy Sukuna once was, still trusted the old monk who had cared for him. He remembered clearly that Hayashi had always been kind, never treating Sukuna differently despite his deformities. But then came the memory, hazy yet undeniable, of his mother and Hayashi together. Sukuna quickly realized they had known each other.  

“I wish we didn’t have to do this,” Hayashi murmured, his heavy hand tightening on Sukuna’s shoulder, his voice trembling slightly. “But we are mere pawns in the game of the mighty.”   

Sukuna’s heart sank as realization dawned. He had been thoroughly cursed since childhood, forced to forget, and shaped into a mere plaything for the Fujiwara. From the moment he had stepped into the temple, they had fed him black magic, molding him into what he had become. He had never been free. It had all been planned.  

He felt the bond tying him to his past self tighten and thin. The temple trembled at its foundation. Sukuna sensed that this was not part of what had happened before. The fragile bond finally snapped, and he watched as he drifted from his younger self’s body like smoke rising into the clouds.  

“Don’t worry...” The woman's face from before materialized before him, swirling like a cloud of mist. Her bright blue eyes were soothing and warm. A ghostly hand touched his cheek.  

“The boy who murdered your mother is now within reach. Kill him and free yourself.”   

Before Sukuna's spirit could hit the temple’s ceiling, the roof disintegrated, collapsing onto itself, while the air grew frigid, and the temperature plummeted drastically. Above him loomed a shadow of ice, its blue eyes gleaming like the gems of a demon. The wind howled violently, tossing snowflakes into chaos and entwining them with the spirit’s white hair. A red tie fluttered in the storm. Sukuna’s eyes widened as he instinctively reached out, gripping the beast’s neck with a fierce hiss.  

It was the same tie he had found lying on the floor beside his mother’s corpse, steeped in death, secrets, and deceit. Sukuna tightened his grip, his teeth clenched as the spirit drove its claws into his forearm.  

Hissing hatefully, Sukuna rolled them around, pinning the demon on the debris and knocking his breath away. He straddled his hips, pressing his weight down on him.  

"Ryo, it's me..." the beast pleaded, his voice clear even as he choked him. 

Sukuna pushed, trying to break his neck, but something was between them, a barrier that kept him away. He tried to search in his mind for anything similar. Hundreds of techniques ran through his mind, faces, and names. He couldn’t properly remember anyone having such a technique.

“It’s me, Satoru.” The voice was soft, deliberate, and gentle, as if he were more to Sukuna than just an enemy.  

Blue eyes, white hair, and a shield that seemed to repel any harm from reaching him. And there, across the ground amidst the first snow, his hair merged with the purity of winter’s whiteness. A blue ribbon lay tangled among the strands, its vibrant hue a stark contrast against the icy landscape. 

“It’s you!” Sukuna groaned, pulling Satoru up by his neck, and then smashed him to the ground. He repeated that movement again and again, his muscles straining as he kept smashing Satoru down. But the only damage he made was the cracks on the ground.  

The ribbon drifted before his eyes, a quiet taunt, an echo of laughter. It was Satoru’s, the one his heart claimed he loved, a feeling buried deep within his soul, trembling like a timid creature. Yet rage and resentment loomed over it, ready to swallow the fragile emotion whole. 

He grabbed Satoru by his hair, pulling him up, yanking him, and gripping hard at his scalp. “You killed my mother!” He hissed straight into Satoru’s frightened, shocked eyes.  

There could be no other explanation for his reaction. Sukuna could sense the fear coming from him, along with the regrets, the sadness, and the pain. His grip on Satoru’s hair tightened, and his eyes burned with a cold, relentless fire, while Satoru’s eyes filled with tears.  

“Ryo...” Satoru’s voice emerged as a soft, regretful whimper.  

“It was your red ribbon! The same model you wear in your hair!” Sukuna’s voice faltered despite his attempt to sound steady, and the hand gripping Satoru’s hair trembled. “It was yours!” he cried out, his lips shaking. 

Satoru’s tears streamed freely, carving icy trails down his frostbitten cheeks. He whimpered openly, the blue of his eyes shimmering like the ocean. Sukuna felt as if he could be swallowed by their endless depths.  

Piece by piece, with every passing second spent watching the fading light in Satoru’s eyes, Sukuna began to piece it all together. Fragments of memories that connected to their reasonings that were unknown to Sukuna until now. 

He remembered drinking Satoru’s blood, not out of impulse, but by command. Something deep within him had drawn him closer, compelling him to sink his teeth into Satoru’s flesh. It was not the first time he had been commanded to do something so gruesome. 

His gaze dropped to the wound, to the torn fabric of the undershirt soaked in blood. It had never been his free will to hurt, bite, or consume. It was done to strengthen the curse through blood magic.  

The one responsible for his curse had been meticulous. They had the power to manipulate and control him in his weakened state, granting him strength when it suited their purpose, pulling his strings as though he were nothing more than their puppet. Yet everything he saw now, everything revealed through Satoru’s blood, was undeniable. It was real, the only truth that could not be shaken. 

“Ryo...” Satoru muttered as he raised his hand and placed it gently on Sukuna’s cheek. 

Sukuna’s body trembled, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions unleashed by his uncovered memories. It felt as though he had been transported back to that house, watching his mother being stabbed, the walls seeming to come alive around him, closing in with dread.  

Back then, it had been a loving hand that struck him, deceiving everyone into believing she had meant to end his life. But his mother had known the truth. She had seen the extraordinary power within him, had witnessed his ability to heal. Her stab had never been meant to kill him. It was an act of desperation, her final attempt to protect him from the hunters pounding at their door.  

Then, it had been his mother’s loving hand that stabbed him to save him. Now, it was Satoru’s loving hand that was tearing his heart apart. 

“Did you do it?” Sukuna’s voice came out low and venomous, as his eyes burned with the sting of long-buried tears. 

Satoru’s lips parted to take a sharp breath, but his teary expression crumbled. He hiccupped, sobbing as his fingers curled around the back of Sukuna’s neck. His touch was still tender, though insistent and apologetic, mirroring the raw emotion in his cries. 

“I saw it all...” Sukuna rasped, gritting his teeth as he fought to hold back his tears. “You used to wear red ribbons. They changed it to blue when they realized you lost it after that night.”  

“I didn’t know...” Satoru sobbed harder. “You have to believe me. I didn’t know!”  

“But you did it!”  

“I don’t remember anything!”  

Sukuna tried to peer past the veil of tears and desperate pleas for understanding and mercy. Surely, there must have been deceit, the cruelty that only the Fujiwara could embody. Yet, no matter how he tried, Satoru's eyes revealed nothing. They shifted like turbulent, clouded skies, obscuring the depths of Satoru’s soul. Perhaps even Satoru himself was unable to glimpse into his own heart.  

“Ryo, please...” he begged, his voice trembling with anguish. “I didn’t want to hurt you! I don’t remember how or why, but my heart tells me it was to protect you—”  

“You killed my mother!” Sukuna roared, releasing his grip on Satoru’s hair and letting him fall to the ground. “All this time, I let the color deceive me! Her ribbon was blue, and I thought it was red! But the red one—it was yours!”  

“I’m so sorry...” Satoru whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of his guilt. 

“People like you!” he hissed, his anger so intense it felt as though it was seeping into his very bones, embedding itself in their marrow and anchoring there for eternity. “What gave you the right to come to my mother’s house and threaten her with death?”  

“I was just a child!” Satoru cried, his breath hitching between sobs. “I didn’t know any better!”  

“You knew it happened, and you didn’t tell me!” His body shook from all the pent-up frustration and anger.  

“I only found out when Lord Masako told me!” Satoru insisted, “I know it changes nothing, but I didn’t remember anything about it... I was just a boy, like you!”  

“You killed my mother!” Sukuna shouted, his lips quivering as he pressed them together, his eyes brimming with unfamiliar, warm tears that traced silent paths down his cheeks. His chest felt hollow, as though everything inside him was being drawn into an endless void.  

“But I won’t allow you to kill me too.”  

He watched as Satoru’s eyes widened in shock, confusion clouding his gaze. His eyes were blank and empty, his posture frozen as if his very soul had been uprooted. Silent teardrops slipped down his bruised cheeks, trailing to the corners of his quivering lips.  

Sukuna felt every tear, every tremor, every fragment of pain hollowing out Satoru’s chest, forcing him to heave as if breathing had become an unbearable effort. He felt the wild beating of Satoru’s heart, the desperation clawing at his being as his own. 

They mirrored their broken hearts.  

Sukuna’s chest tightened, heat spreading with ragged breaths. Flames burned at his throat, forcing him to catch his breath, to steady himself against the storm within. Chaos swirled inside him. He stepped back, his fists clenched, his gaze shifting away—away from the love of a man as twisted as everything else in his world.  

The blue in Satoru’s eyes haunted him, the icy stare piercing through him even when he refused to look. Tears turned into snow, lips tainted red faded into purple, and a cursed blue string wove itself into spilled blood.  

Hatred rooted itself deep within Sukuna’s heart, winding through its chambers, locking them together in a relentless knot of rage and loathing. It squeezed him, drained him, purging every lingering drop of love. He didn’t want to love Satoru anymore. If there existed a force capable of tearing this connection from his soul, he would surrender to it. He wished to slice through Satoru’s chest as he had done to his mother. Stab him, rip his heart out, and feed it to the crows.  

Sukuna ran a trembling hand over his face, desperate for something solid, something to tether him to the present. His fingers grazed the bone circling his right eye, a stark reminder of what he had become. 

He was cursed, doomed to exist as something unlovable. A monster meant to be chased, cornered, and tormented for the amusement of others. Satoru should have been the one to shield him, to stand beside him, not to shove him further into their cruel hands. 

Despite the betrayal and the pain Satoru’s deception had caused, Sukuna could not help but raise his guard against his urge to punish Satoru. Everything they had been through could not have been a lie. Not the kisses, not Satoru’s gentle touch, not the passion they shared when the skies turned black. 

“That night when you ran away from home...” Sukuna rasped, finding his voice oddly soft for such a grave situation. “Did Masako tell you anything about blocked memories?”  

Sukuna refused to look at Satoru, but the sound of his broken sob made his chest tighten painfully. He could feel it, a deep tremor of anguish that clung to him and refused to let go. 

That night, Satoru had fallen apart, shattered under the weight of his fight with Masako. But Sukuna was not convinced that was the only reason. A breakdown like this could not stem solely from battling a man who, as Satoru had always known, had deceived him his entire life. 

It was not rage consuming him. It was something far worse. He was fractured in spirit, stripped bare, and afraid. 

“No.” Satoru sounded sincerely shocked by the nature of the question. “Nothing like that.”  

Since that night, every one of Satoru’s reactions had been raw, painfully exposed. He moved carefully, as if walking on shards of glass, always hesitant, always wary. It was as if something had been ripped from him, something far deeper than betrayal, something unnamed yet ever-present. Sukuna felt it hovering between them, an unspoken truth that neither of them dared acknowledge. 

"I don't want to hurt you, Satoru," Sukuna murmured, his voice dropping to hide the tremor of heartbreak. "Please, leave."  

"Ryo, no!" Satoru shouted through ragged sobs. "I beg you, please! We can solve this together!"  

"Leave!" He pressed, coldness seeping through his voice.  

Satoru did not respond, but Sukuna heard the rustling of fallen leaves and the screech of debris beneath his soles as he stood. Then a strong presence and rapid footsteps, and Sukuna felt like imploding, shrinking into himself to avoid Satoru, to keep him from ever touching him again. 

When Sukuna whipped his head toward Satoru, he was close enough to reach out and pull him into his arms. Just a whisper away from surrendering to their tragic fate. But when Satoru reached for him, his eyes desperate with love, Sukuna shoved him back, his hand pressing against Satoru’s bare flesh, his bleeding shoulder, sending him tumbling to his knees in the dust. 

"Would you live side by side with someone who murdered your mother?" Sukuna asked, his voice cold and unyielding. "Would you spend your entire life looking into the eyes of the person who did it?" His voice rose, sharp with anguish. 

Satoru bowed his head, his body collapsing further as he fell from his knees to his backside. His sobs were heart-wrenching, each one cutting into Sukuna like a blade, crushing his very existence. Sukuna wanted to look away, to push the pain from his mind, but when he saw Satoru hunched, powerless, and broken, he wanted nothing more than to scoop him up and forget everything again. 

"Gods, how I wish you could deny it all," Sukuna murmured, his gaze shifting away, eyes squeezing shut. 

"I love you," Satoru’s voice trembled with devotion, striking Sukuna like a blow. "I have always loved you. Loved you so much that I denied my family."  

Sukuna clenched his eyes tighter as if the words themselves could wound him. They were daggers made of water, washing over him, forever shaping him as the tide shapes stone. Deep inside, he was eroding, his love spilling into his wounds, trying to salvage what remained of his heart. 

"I can’t return your mother to you," Satoru continued, his voice breaking. "I understand that you feel betrayed. Gods know how much I understand." He emphasized his last words, his tone dropping into darkness. 

Sukuna took a sharp breath, slowly opening his eyes. "I hope you find your father and return home," he said, bracing himself to spare Satoru one last look. "Here, our paths separate."  

A wretched sob escaped Satoru’s lips. "Please, Ryo..." he begged. "Let me help; let me make it better."  

"Go, please..." Sukuna turned away, finally taking a step back. "Your betrayal runs far deeper than what I have accused you of. I do not want to see your face anymore."  

"What if they lied? What if everything they told us was a lie?" Satoru called after him, desperation thick in his voice. "Look at what they have done to us, Ryo! From the beginning, they tried to make us fight. How could your memories return just like that? Don’t you think it’s suspicious?"  

Sukuna frowned at the accusation. He had always carried the memories of his mother’s death, only buried beneath a veil. What he saw was not a fabrication, not a manipulated tale. It was his past, a truth etched into his very soul. The curse that surrounded him, seared into his existence, might have been woven by unseen hands, but he knew the difference between dreams and memories.  

Ever since the bone began to form, his dreams had twisted into nightmares, vivid, grotesque visions of his brother’s corpse crawling from their mother’s womb. He had never told Satoru, never dared to voice the horror of the hallucination. And now, gazing at the vision of himself, he saw the truth. He had been tormented by nightmares his whole life. 

He understood what had latched onto him, a corpse, the soul of a dead child chained to him, now resurrected by the necromancer.  

"They know we are close to discovering something awful, something that would compromise them," Satoru continued. "They want us gone!"  

Sukuna turned abruptly, scowling. "Are you denying that you killed my mother?"  

"I don’t remember!" Satoru shouted, his voice raw. "Gods, for everything I hold dear! I swear on our love that I do not remember! My mind tells me to believe it, but my heart refuses! I won’t rest until I find the truth!"  

Sukuna’s scowl eased into a wary frown. He pressed his lips together, searching Satoru’s tear-stained face for deception. If the mighty were able to block Sukuna’s memories, they could easily do it to Satoru, too. It would mean Satoru was a victim just like Sukuna. 

"Hayashi told me that we met before. He was an old fool, but he was a Shinto priest. He would never lie to me."  

"I don’t deny that I was there," Satoru admitted, shaking his head. "I truly am the only one who can see cursed energy. But I don’t believe I could have stabbed your mother so easily. I was just a boy, Ryo."  

Sukuna’s gaze darkened, his expression turning rigid. "I was a boy too, Satoru, and I killed. I killed those who came hunting me."  

"I don’t remember it," Satoru murmured, bowing his head, shaking it resolutely. His words slipped out in repetition, like a trance. 

A heavy sigh left Sukuna’s trembling lips. Exhaustion weighed down on him, his body weak and feverish from the endless healing forced upon him by the curse. With Satoru lying at his feet, begging, crying, Sukuna almost felt like this was another nightmare—a relentless cycle of suffering. The broken whimpers, one after another, like a wounded animal gasping for life. The echoes of every fracture in Satoru’s heart reverberated in Sukuna’s mind, cracking his sanity. 

"I believe that you don’t remember it," he said, looking away. "But it doesn’t change the fact that you were in your right mind when you did it."  

Satoru looked up, his tear-filled eyes impossibly bright and vulnerable. His gaze held a mesmerizing pull, promising solace, love, and the escape of forgetting.  

The wind stirred, cutting through their thin clothing and weaving through Satoru’s loose hair. His blue ribbon tangled in the unraveling bun. Red or blue, it was both; it was neither. Perhaps he was right; perhaps their senses deceived them. Yet the undeniable truth remained: the old priest had known about Satoru all along and had refused to reveal it until his final breath. 

Sukuna took a careful step closer to Satoru. He desired to touch him one last time, to look into his eyes up close, to be sure that Satoru’s love couldn’t heal the crime he had committed against him. If there was a possibility, maybe, just maybe...  

Before Sukuna could fully decide, his sight suddenly blurred. A pulse ached behind his eyeballs. The picture of Satoru before him twisted into a grotesque monster. Six round eyes with tiny hands reached for Sukuna. They looked like the same grabby, shadowy limbs as those in his mother’s house. 

He stumbled back despite his instinct screaming at him to kill. A voice whispered in his head, speaking of uncovering the truth. To see with the eyes of a king, someone who could no longer be deceived. It was the same voice he had heard during the revelation about his mother.  

“Truth is truth, no matter how terrible it sounds.”   

Sukuna pressed his hands to his temples, squeezing as he tried to force the voice out. He struck his head, clenched his teeth, and shut his eyes tightly, desperate to block out the illusions forced upon him.  

“Do you wish to forget about your mother and live happily with her murderer?”   

“Leave me alone!” Sukuna yelled, his voice tearing through the cold.  

Amid the cacophony of children’s cries and the woman’s whispering, he heard Satoru’s muffled voice. His words were unclear, but even the melody, the distinct sound of his voice, was enough to grant Sukuna a brief moment of clarity. 

When he snapped his eyes open, he saw Satoru standing before him, his blue eyes filled with worry and fear etched across his face. Though his lips moved, no coherent words reached Sukuna’s ears.  

Part of Sukuna believed this was all Satoru’s doing, that he was somehow connected to the cursed objects devouring his soul. Another part clung to the thought that Satoru was the only one who could pull him from the inferno. 

"He is leading you to the Fujiwara prison. That was his plan from the very beginning. You are weakened, and yet he guides you straight into a nest full of enemies!"   

Sukuna growled, his arms shooting forward as if he could strike the voice itself. He didn’t care what he hit as long as his rage found a target. Cursed energy surged through his veins in waves, heavier and more immense than anything he had ever felt before. It twisted and sliced through the air, cutting everything around him. 

“Betrayed by love again and again! First, your mother, now the man you claim loves you!”   

A touch on his shoulder burned like fire, making Sukuna yell in pain, unlike anything he had ever felt before. Every word and every sensation intensified as if he were nothing but exposed flesh and blood. All skin gone. Stripped bare in the fire of his enemies.  

“He uses your love to deceive you just as she did!”   

He grabbed at the touch, curled his fingers around the wrist, and severed it. A loud bang echoed in his head, a sound similar to a hammer striking iron. His skull throbbed in agony. He stumbled back, clutching his head, his fingers aching from the pressure. The noise reverberated through him until it faded completely, taking all his pain and voices with it. 

His first moment of clarity allowed him to see, though his vision was still blurred. But at least the hallucinations were gone. Through the mist, Sukuna saw a trail of blood streaking across the dusty ground. Drops and stains all lead to one place. He blinked, but it did nothing to clear his sight. 

The bloody trail ended at a crouched body. Beside it, another figure.  

With each passing moment that Sukuna spent staring, grappling to comprehend, and forming a coherent thought, the scene before him sharpened into stark clarity. Two figures. One bled profusely; the other frantically attempted to mend the damage. 

“...have you done?!" A voice, both familiar and chillingly cold, cut through the silence, its blame directed squarely at Sukuna. 

An absolute stillness descended upon him. No words escaped his lips, and no breath of wind rustled the surrounding leaves. He found himself utterly isolated, locked away from the world. 

It was Uraume, kneeling beside a grievously wounded Satoru, whose hand had just been severed. Uraume's appearance was abrupt, as if they had been biding their time in the shadows, observing the resolution of the conflict. Perhaps a calculated plan had been in motion, awaiting its cue. 

Sukuna gazed at them, disbelief warring with sudden understanding. The entire deception unraveled. Their journey to Shiga, the very suggestion of it, and Satoru's desperate pleas for Sukuna's aid in recovering his father, it all converged. They had shamelessly leveraged his humanity, his deepest feelings, and his very heart, guiding him down this treacherous path to inevitable doom. He had been cursed, deliberately led astray, systematically weakened, and ultimately delivered to the stronghold of the Fujiwara, where only death lay in wait.  

His power blinded him to the signs of planned betrayal. From the very beginning, Satoru had been set up to lower his guard. And through his cunning plays, he had finally succeeded. The blame rested solely on Sukuna. He had been naive, trusting that someone out there could still be fair and accept him for who he was. 

The curse that revealed the truth had been his blessing. The same curse that Satoru wanted to remove to save the naive man. 

“Sukuna-sama,” Uraume’s voice pierced through and echoed in his head. “It’s the necromancer playing tricks on you. Please, Gojo needs your help. I can’t heal him.”  

Sukuna scowled, his gaze falling on Satoru clutching his wrapped hand, blood seeping through the fabric of Uraume’s haori as he tried to stop the bleeding. A pang of guilt seized his heart but vanished as quickly as it came. He had given Satoru many opportunities to learn the reversed technique.  

“Then you should take him to Shiga. It’s just beyond those woods,” Sukuna replied, his voice steady and unyielding. “That’s where your masters are waiting for you.”  

“What are you talking about?” Uraume cried out, desperation lacing his voice. “I’m loyal only to you.”  

“You brought the witch into my life, and if I hadn’t agreed to help Satoru find his father, I wouldn’t have needed to keep you around.”  

“Ryo...” Satoru hissed in pain, fatigue visibly overtaking him from blood loss. He pulled forward, his blue eyes simmering with determination. “I know I lied to you. You feel betrayed; you put pieces together to ease your wounded heart, but...”  

“No,” Sukuna demurred sternly. “I was blinded by my love. I refused to see the path you were leading me down. All I saw was your freedom, your whims, and your desires to fulfill. I wanted to make you so happy that I failed to see your true intentions.”  

“I love you...” he whimpered, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. “I have never lied about my feelings. I am ready to die to break your curse.”  

“Then you are ready to break me.”  

Satoru’s eyes turned impossibly pleading, frustrated, and desperate. Sukuna took joy in seeing him suffer for his failed attempt to capture him. All his enemies should perish like this. No more pity, no more sympathy for those who hunted him like an animal for their own amusement.  

“I must admit, you played your role well.”  

“This is not your real self!” Satoru shouted, his voice raspy. “I swear on my life that I will find the necromancer and kill it with my own hands, even if it takes me thousands of years.”  

Sukuna gazed down at him, his scarlet eyes cold and calculating, searching the depths of Satoru’s determined, hateful stare. Finally, it was there. The resentment Satoru had been fighting against. Now it had surfaced. Though it was not directed at Sukuna, he took pleasure in watching violence bloom in the bird’s heart, finally transforming him into a dragon. 

“Then you shall remember your vow forever, my love,” Sukuna smirked. “Remember your betrayal and the pain. Remember it as I murder your family, the ones lurking in the woods, waiting for their opportunity to take a piece of me.”  

Satoru’s breath was turning rigid, and his eyes were hooded with fatigue and weakness. Sukuna knew all too well how it felt to lose a limb. He had often experimented with his own healing technique, cutting off his hand or leg and then restoring it. Sometimes he waited hours, letting himself teeter on the edge of fainting, healing only at the last moment. He had even severed a curse’s limb, trying to learn a healing technique that could apply to others. 

“Don’t let him bleed out,” Uraume pleaded. “You can stop the bleeding.”  

“Have more faith in your cursed technique,” Sukuna remarked as he turned away. “Seal the wound and make sure he keeps his promise to me.” He hesitated briefly, reconsidering. “If you truly believe a curse speaks through me, Gojo Satoru, then you will never find peace until you free me.”  

Sukuna’s eyes fixed on the humming woods, hearing the whispers of hidden curses and the rustling of leaves as someone moved. His senses sharpened, and his vision expanded. The cursed energy coursing through his veins felt like a bottomless well. The sheer force surging through his body made him light-headed. 

“My mother may not have wanted to kill me,” Sukuna said, his voice low and almost soft, “but she did not want me either. That was why we lived in isolation and poverty. She was ashamed of me. I have never seen a city, never met people.”  

“You cannot trust what the necromancer has shown you,” Satoru pleaded, his voice frail. “They are using you like a puppet, making you do their bidding.”  

“You are mistaken. She never revealed anything like that to me. I simply know.” His tone was cold as he turned his head slightly toward Satoru. “Save your strength, Satoru.”  

"What is your plan?" Uraume’s voice tingled with urgency. "Take me with you."  

Sukuna hesitated for a moment. The boy was loyal, always obeying his commands. Perhaps bringing the witch into their lives had been a mistake, and now he was ready to atone for it. After all, if he ever tried to deceive Sukuna again, he could end him in an instant. A fool was only ever a tool. 

“You can follow me if you think you can keep up,” Sukuna decided, stepping forward, finally breaking his ties and setting himself free when he felt a blast of energy behind his back.  

A red hue illuminated the surroundings, and he chuckled. “Are you trying to exorcise me, Satoru? Is this your way of saying that I’m a curse to you now?”  

“Stay with me!” Satoru heaved, the red veil of light blinking and cracking as he struggled to keep his cursed energy under control. 

“But my dear,” Sukuna laughed shortly, running his hands through his hair and pushing it back. “I am with you. I will always be with you.” He turned his head, his eyes finding Satoru’s anguished ones. “We are bound by the blue ribbon curse.”  

It was beautiful to watch the revelation unfold in Satoru’s eyes. The red sphere at his fingertips flickered out at once, like a flame over a candle. His own family had bound them together forever as a curse. Instead of a red string of destiny, they were entangled in the blue string of a curse. The cruelty of humans was etched into both of their souls. 

Satoru was meant to remember it for as long as he lived—all the crying spirits, the blood of Sukuna splattered across him, and the ashes symbolizing the cycle of life. Like a dragon, Satoru had been reborn through the suffering poured onto Sukuna. Without him, he would have never become this strong, nor would he have understood just how sinister humans could be.  

“Heal yourself and stop me if you can,” Sukuna declared, his voice unwavering. “Perhaps I am a curse now; perhaps I am not. But today, I will end the lives of everyone who has ever stood against me.”  

This time, when he stepped forward, he had no intention of stopping. Each step was lighter, carrying him into the woods where sorcerers lay in wait, ready for their turn to face him. From the very beginning, it had been Satoru’s and his family’s plan. The great Gojo general had been betrayed on the battlefield, and now his heir, the one who bore his legendary eyes, was betraying Sukuna.  

It had all come full circle.  

“Stay!” Satoru shouted, his voice fading as the distance between them grew. 

But inside Sukuna’s soul, the echo of Satoru’s voice couldn’t stop. It bounced against the wall of his soul, framing him, begging him to turn around one last time, to etch Satoru’s face to his very essence. Inside his stitched heart was a thread that Satoru pulled. A pulse that resonated in his bones like a war drum, forcing him to fight.  

Sukuna couldn’t place where that part of him was coming from or what it meant. He recognized his pain and love, but the man he used to be stood in the mist, away from him. The further he walked from himself, the faster he was fading. And yet, he couldn’t stop proceeding. He was torn apart between the force that called him to the woods and Satoru’s desperate voice. 

A bright blue flash of light shot past him, catching his shoulder and pulling him along its trajectory. Sukuna wavered on his feet, and the clarity that had been forming inside him shattered under Satoru’s surprise attack. 

He turned swiftly to see Satoru standing much closer than before. Now enveloped in his Infinity, Satoru surely had some advantage over Sukuna. 

“I see you used Infinity to stop the bleeding,” Sukuna grinned, pride swelling in his chest. “Finally. Now you should learn the reversed technique and heal yourself.”  

Satoru breathed heavily. Despite stopping the bleeding, he had already lost too much blood. His skin was an unhealthy pale, and his shoulders rose high as he struggled for breath. The fatigue was clear. Sukuna found it interesting that Satoru still had enough energy to shoot BLUE at him and actually harm him with the pull.  

“You are staying!” Satoru ordered, his tone unyielding. 

“You have lost this fight, Satoru. If you don’t want to die, give it up.”  

“I let my guard down and lost my hand. It will not happen again!” he hissed, lifting his hand threateningly. 

Sukuna narrowed his eyes, calculating. “I can open my domain and cut you to pieces.”  

“Then do it!” A slow grin spread across Satoru’s face. “I’ll be reborn, and I’ll find you again. As you said, we are bound together.”  

A similar chuckle appeared on Sukuna’s face as he raised his hands, pressing his fingers into the sign of his domain. “I can’t wait to see all the ways you will betray me in the future.”  

“Your head is clouded by the necromancer’s curse!” Satoru rasped.  

“It’s more than that!” Sukuna shouted proudly. “It’s another part of my brother! I can feel the pain of his unborn soul. It’s bound to me now, giving me more power!”  

Satoru slowly lowered his hand. “Don’t you see what they have done to you?”  

“They?” He scoffed, mocking Satoru’s choice of words. “It was you all along. Your pretty words, playing the victim, and then leading me into a trap.”  

“It is not a trap!” Satoru groaned in desperation. “I am loyal to our love! Every word I have spoken to you came from my very heart!”  

“That’s why only a loved one can betray,” he replied lowly, frowning. “I expected everything from my enemy. You should have had at least enough courage to stab me from the front like you did to my mother.” 

“I have not betrayed you!” Satoru cried, his voice echoing in the crisp air.  

“Say that again, and I will kill you.”  

A heavy silence fell between them. The tension grew significantly, pressing onto Sukuna’s chest. It was the same force pulling at his heart, calling him back to Satoru. An itch impossible to reach, a reminder of a memory he couldn’t form. It kept bugging him, distracting and yanking his attention.  

Sukuna frowned, disturbed by the worm gnawing at his mind. If only he could remember. 

“Sukuna-sama!” Uraume’s voice shattered the tension like lightning.  

At that moment, Sukuna snapped out of his trance, reacting on instinct. From behind his belt, he pulled out Kamutoke, the blade he had confiscated in Hayashi’s temple. It flashed with unnatural light as he stabbed it toward Satoru, the lightning piercing Infinity and striking his chest. He felt Satoru’s hand on his face, reaching for him, desperate, his technique burning his skin. Sukuna kicked him away, his expression darkening. For a moment, he stood there, holding his breath and keeping his anger at bay, held back by the last remnants of resistance that grew from within him. 

The pull toward Satoru grew stronger, the thread tugging, slipping from his wound, unstitching. Pain coursed through his chest, and his mind became a white noise, humming, whispering nonsense.  

“Finish him. Kill him, avenge your mother!”   

Sukuna groaned, his face contorted in pain. Unwillingly, he moved closer, dropping to his knees in the dust beside Satoru’s body. He was alive, clutching his stab wound, blood seeping through his fingers.  

“Sukuna-sama...” 

He heard Uraume’s footsteps like thunder in his head. He hissed, gritting his teeth. 

“Stay away!” he commanded.  

Before him, Satoru rolled onto his side, trying to get up, but he was losing too much blood from his chest. Sukuna rocked himself, trying to grasp what remained of his sanity. Nothing that was happening was right. The orders barking in his mind, his fight with Satoru, nothing he had ever done felt right. And yet, inside his wounded soul, he thrived on the pain he caused. It felt justified, like winter’s morning sunlight. 

The hatred finally seeped through his open wounds. Years of bottled-up resistance spilled out, punishing those who had hurt him. But it was also consuming him. 

“Satoru...” He reached forward, his vision blurred.  

His hand met Satoru’s, soaked with blood. “It’s... alright...” Satoru coughed.  

Sukuna leaned in, letting Satoru’s palm cradle his cheek. He lowered his head, pressing their foreheads together. As he did, his hand slipped between them, seeking the wound in Satoru’s chest. He couldn’t restore Satoru’s hand; his healing technique didn’t work that way for others, but he could stop the bleeding. Warmth gathered at his fingertips, pulsing and flowing into Satoru’s body. 

Satoru eased his hand down, leaving wet smudges of blood on Sukuna’s face. 

“Don’t go to her,” Satoru whispered brokenly. “You know it’s not only a curse and death binding us together.”  

“She’s tearing my soul apart...” Sukuna pulled away, feeling hazy, his head pounding, his vision blurring like he was underwater. 

“She can’t...” Satoru whimpered, his tears cascading through Sukuna’s blurred vision. “Your soul is mine just like your heart.”  

A faint smile flickered through Sukuna’s pained expression. He could barely see Satoru, but he tried his best to remember the blue hue of his eyes and the snowdrop shade of his hair. 

Each passing second devoured more of his newfound clarity. By now, he knew what was coming. He was losing himself to the necromancer’s whim, to her power. The curse she had transferred into Sukuna’s very blood was strengthened by the hatred of thousands. Every moment, someone wished for Sukuna’s death. 

“Uraume will take care of you,” he said weakly. 

“I need you to take care of me.” Satoru protested, his voice fragile through his tears. 

“Then you must find me...” Sukuna reached out, desperate to touch Satoru one last time.  

A black spear of cursed energy pierced Sukuna’s hand, then his chest multiple times. Hooks tore into his flesh, chaining him, violently pulling him away from Satoru. It dragged him into the woods fast, like he was nothing but a leaf in the wind. His heart hammered in his chest while his mind refused to grasp the fear clawing at him. After all, Satoru was a traitor and a coward.  

A traitor who had betrayed him.  

Nothing but a Fujiwara tool.  

Sukuna’s expression hardened as he was pulled into the darkening woods. The last thing he heard was Satoru’s voice calling him back. 

Chapter Text

PART TWO: THE PURGATION

The forest parted, drawing Sukuna into its depths with eerie grace. Its ominous presence under the night sky yielded to him, as if he were a part of it. The restless murmurs of spirits had long become the rhythm of his existence. His steps dragged through the damp grass and brittle twigs, each movement weighted, as though the earth itself sought to claim him. With every stride closer to the forest's border, resistance grew. An invisible force thickened the air around him, slowing his progress, trying to make him stay.

This cursed soil and shadowed water had begun stitching his fractured mind back together. It patched the broken pieces with quiet persistence. Imperfect, yes, but enough to grant him a fragile sense of peace. Here, in this place of darkness, he felt a strange belonging.

The artificial light slicing through the canopy tormented his sensitive eyes. Sunlight was a crueler torment still, searing straight through flesh. If Kaori truly understood him, she would have let him remain. This forest was home. It had to be.

Sukuna leaned heavily against a spruce. His breath hitched in ragged bursts, and his eyelids trembled under the weight of exhaustion. He had strength left for only one final task. It was for her.

The forest beckoned again. Its cursed roots tugged at him, whispering soft promises of a painless descent. But Kaori’s presence gripped him like iron. She reached across the veil with black spears that hooked into his soul and pulled him back from surrender. Shadows curled around him like smoke as her call echoed through the silence. She was waiting, expecting the results of his mission.

Sukuna couldn’t resist. His skin burned with an unnatural chill, and each breath barely made it to his lungs. It was far too early for him to be awake. A few years of rest had done little to restore him. He wasn’t strong enough. The dead clung to him more fiercely than ever, their grip on his soul tightening with each step. He existed between worlds, and Kaori knew this. Still, she sent him after the boy, demanding he undo the damage.

When he failed to kill, she spat venom, calling him a walking disaster and nothing more than decayed, useless flesh. But when he pleased her, she worshiped him. Her voice would tremble with awe as she called him her angel, her divine creation. She could go on forever about her love for him.

Kaori named him her miracle, laid him upon soft sheets, and touched him with reverence. Her kisses ignited like liquid fire. Yet tonight would be different. Tonight, she would bind him in chains and treat him like a mangy stray for failing her once more.

A strange pull began at his heart, distant but insistent. He didn’t recognize it. These sensations had only started surfacing recently. The first time it happened, it had clenched his throat at the sight of a newborn. The next had stirred within him today, twelve years later, a warmth he couldn’t explain when he looked upon that same child. Sukuna didn’t know what to make of it, and he would never dare speak of it to Kaori. He couldn’t afford to show such weakness.

A sharp tug at his core pulled Sukuna away from the tree, guiding him toward the cold blue glow waiting for him on the road. She lingered in the shadows, too ominous to dismiss. Their collision was no longer something to be avoided. It was already unfolding.

The fern brushed his fingertips, its dew-kissed chill sending a tremor through his body. Never before, in all the times Kaori had summoned him back from death, had he felt something like this. Fire had consumed him. Ice had encased him. Yet neither had pierced him as deeply as these last two returns.

It was too soon. His body had not healed enough to be ripped from death's embrace. He should have remained embalmed a while longer. Even more disturbing than the cold and warmth was the sunlight. It etched against his eyes with merciless clarity, as if he had never been meant to see it. It hurt, not like wounds or burns, but with something far more intimate.

Until now, this feeling had been a distant echo. Nothing had touched him where it mattered most. But this time, something broke inside. His chest clenched, tight as a locked cage. In the back of his mind, a quiet urge had always lingered. He had ignored it easily, dismissed it without thought. Now it surfaced, sharp and real. This time, it whispered with clarity.

Pain.

Something had gone wrong in the last ritual. Sukuna had awakened hollow, his thoughts emptied and his will bent entirely to his queen. Yet the moment he stepped into the forest, it was as if a thousand unseen hands reached from the ground and dragged him beneath its surface. They held him there, refusing to let go until something stirred inside him—something he had nearly forgotten.

Despite their powerful grip, Kaori’s spell remained unbent.

The greenery around him began to thin. Stray shafts of streetlight filtered through the trees, growing stronger with each step. When he finally broke free of the forest, the city stood before him. Its towers blinked with restless color, watching him like a living creature made of steel and glass.

“You failed again.” Kaori’s voice swept in with the wind, brushing against the strands of hair fallen across his brow.

He knew he should beg. It was expected. But the words had become hollow, like everything else. She might lock him away in the crypt again, seal him in silence for another decade.

And honestly, that wouldn’t be the worst thing. He was spent. His legs barely held him upright, and all he wanted was to sink into something cold and quiet, let sleep take him without resistance.

Behind a heavy sigh, he heard the disappointed click of her tongue. Then she stepped from the shadow of the car like a ghost made of fire and silk. Sukuna saw the coat in her hands. Without speaking, Kaori lifted it and draped it gently across his shoulders.

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…” Kaori’s voice sank as she scowled.

“I didn’t fool you,” Sukuna muttered, his gaze drifting toward the glowing specks of Kyoto scattered across the horizon. “I couldn’t pass through the barrier.”

Kaori’s expression twisted with sudden fury. The shift was so sharp that, despite his exhaustion, it startled him. He almost retreated. There had always been something about her that unsettled him, something beyond her power or words. It was woven into him, like a buried splinter in the folds of his mind—a quiet conviction that she was truly dangerous.

“You couldn’t, or you didn’t want to?” she hissed, her upper lip trembling.

“You are the only one who understands how to breach Infinity. And now you expect me to believe you suddenly don’t?”

Sukuna lowered his eyes. “Something has changed.”

“Something?” Her voice danced on the edge of boiling rage and patience. “And what exactly is this mysterious something, my dear? You were meant to be the strongest sorcerer alive. Yet now you cannot explain what has shifted?”

The harshness of her words scraped a raw nerve. Something surged within Sukuna, a violent urge to retaliate, to throw her against the car and silence her sharp tongue.

“What’s with that look?” Kaori leaned in, her earthy scent wrapping around him like a net. “Are you defying me?”

“No,” he whispered, his voice dragged down by exhaustion. His vision blurred in her presence. She was a veil of darkness, pressing into the space around him, stealing the breath from his lungs. The closer she came, the more the air thickened.

Kaori sighed and stepped back just enough to pull the hood of her coat over her head. As she moved, the first raindrop landed on Sukuna’s cheek. Within moments, the pavement beneath him darkened and the rain gathered, falling in heavy bursts and splashing against the ground and the leaves behind them.

“I shouldn’t have brought you back that time,” she said, her voice low and laced with weariness. “It was a mistake. But Noritoshi was such a thorn in my side.”

She didn’t move again. She stood in the downpour, hands buried deep in her coat pockets, still and hollow. Sukuna tried to remember the last time he’d seen her like this. He couldn’t. Maybe it was because the fog in his mind had thickened so much that only a few fragments of the past remained clear.

One thing, however, remained certain; Sukuna would never forget who Kaori truly was. She could change her name, reshape her face, wear a thousand guises—but he knew what lay beneath. Her beauty masked the truth. Beneath it lived a demon, a desperate creature chased by ghosts. He was meant to help her, just as he was meant to help himself, to break the curses that held them both to this fractured world.

“I understand...” Kaori turned to him, her face blurred by shadow and rain. “You need more than a few years of rest.”

Sukuna tensed, leaning back. He knew what she meant. She would return him to the crypt. Cold stone. Endless sleep without dreams. The idea should have soothed him. Part of him longed for that silence, for the embrace of darkness. But fear gnawed at the edges of that comfort. What if she never called him back? What if this time, the stillness would last forever?

“Come.” She reached for him, her smile soft, warm, and entirely deceptive. “Let’s go home, my dear.”

Her honeyed voice pulled him in, soft as silk and just as binding. Two steps brought Sukuna into her arms, where she held him tightly, her lips brushing his neck with a strange tenderness. Kaori's strength always startled him. For someone so small, her grip was unyielding. It wasn’t only her power as an ancient sorcerer. The gleam in her eyes didn’t belong to her, not entirely. It belonged to whoever she had overwritten, just like the name she wore.

The ride home passed in near silence, broken only by the car radio. Kaori hummed softly to passing melodies, tapped her fingers against the wheel in rhythm, and laughed at the hosts' banter. She moved like someone untouched by cruelty, as though she had never torn lives apart. As though she were just another woman driving home in the rain.

Then the pain started. Sharp, rhythmic pulses behind Sukuna’s eyes, growing deeper with every mile. He studied it with the precision he had learned in silence. It wasn’t natural. It was something she had done, planted within him to hush rebellion. A quiet spell designed to smooth jagged edges, to silence the part of him that dared to question.

But it had begun to fail.

Fragments emerged, forbidden memories rising like steam. Each one pressed against his skull, then sank into his chest. The ache settled there, deep and constant.

He had remembered from other time, but now the memories returned with force. They were no longer vague impressions. They came sharper, clearer, shaped by purpose. Each fragment clawed at his mind with renewed intensity. And the pain, Sukuna realized was punishment from Kaori. It surged in waves, a reminder of what it meant to disobey.

Yet something had changed.

Kaori’s grip on his soul had weakened. The chains and spears still lingered, embedded in the corners of his spirit, but her dominance over his thoughts was faltering. Perhaps it was because his body had not fully regenerated, still hovering on the border between life and death. He existed on the line separating her necromancy and the abyss meant to claim him. Neither realm wanted to let go.

Despite the spell she had cast, Sukuna’s mind remained sharp enough to keep his thoughts buried. The doubts were fresh. The rebellion was quiet. But it stirred within him like a sleeping creature. He told her nothing. Let her believe what she wanted.

Still, sorrow took root in him.

There would be no time to search for the truth of who he was. No space to discover what he had lost. The moment was slipping through his fingers. Kaori was preparing to return him to the tomb, to silence him again beneath stone and sleep.

**

Their home stood at the far end of the road, hidden behind trees in an abandoned church in Fushimi. The building had long been forgotten, shaped now by Kaori’s whims. Though muted by time, the stained-glass windows remained intact, casting faded colors onto the stone. She had purchased the church twelve years ago. The main hall still stood, and the cross remained untouched.

Kaori lived in the back room, once meant for a priest. It was spacious enough to offer her comfort. Sukuna’s place lay beneath her, buried in the cold, damp crypt, among others who were fortunate enough to stay dead. When she first resurrected him in her new form, she let him sleep in her bed. She had touched him, had basked in his presence, but those moments had grown rare.

Sukuna no longer remembered his former face. Still, one look in the mirror was enough to know this was not how the strongest sorcerer should appear. His skin had grown pale, with deep purple shadows under his eyes. His cheeks hollowed, muscles fading. He was in no condition to carry out Kaori’s demands. Yet she was desperate enough to send him again, insisting on the boy’s death inside a house full of sorcerers.

The door closed behind them, sealing away the sound of rain. Without protest, Sukuna followed Kaori into her room. The spectral chains binding him to her stirred faintly in his thoughts. He was nothing but a dog, tethered by her will.

Kaori locked the bedroom door behind them. She smiled, shrugging off her coat before settling at the edge of the bed. Her presence beckoned, and Sukuna obeyed. He sat beside her and waited.

“You are weak and tired. You need more rest,” she said, her voice smooth as she tugged his coat from his shoulders. “But I can’t afford to wait for you. The boy grows stronger every day.”

Sukuna lowered his head in shame, eyes downcast. If he had succeeded, the curse might have already been broken. All it would have taken was a single life, the boy’s. The first time, pity had held Sukuna’s arm from taking the baby’s life; the second time, it had been a matter of the heart. Thousands of spirits whispered in his ear, urging him not to do it yet.

“And for that, my dear...” Kaori lifted his chin with a single finger. “I need a plan. I should have done this back when the Gojo brat was born.”

A slow, knowing smile curled on her lips, her eyes darkening as she rose. Lifting the hem of her dress, she straddled Sukuna’s thighs, her fingers cradling his face with surprising tenderness. The warmth of her touch and the intimacy of their position made his breath stutter, caught between anticipation and restraint. He didn’t know where to place his hands. He didn’t know how to move. Without her explicit command, Sukuna was a wolf stripped of fang and claw.

Kaori’s lips met his, her fingers gently grazing his cheeks. “You are mine. And when I tell you to do something, you will obey.”

“Anything you ask of me,” Sukuna whispered obediently. Beyond her words, his mind quieted, emptied of resistance and thought.

A serene smile graced her face. “We are going to do something we have never done before,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. “You are going to give me a child.”

Sukuna’s eyes widened in shock. It wasn’t the thought of Kaori bearing his child that stunned him. It was the audacity of bringing new life into this crooked world through their cursed loins. The child would be powerful, but thoroughly condemned.

A flicker of worry slipped through his barriers. He looked at her. “Will that child be alright?”

“Oh, you’re already a caring father,” she cooed, her thumbs stroking the sensitive skin beneath his eyes.

He leaned into her touch instinctively, seeking the warmth, the strange, twisted comfort carried by her velvety, smooth, and dark voice. In the whole world, Sukuna had nobody but her. Anything she gave was better than having nothing.

“I promise, the child will be alright,” Kaori said, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’ll take care of them while you’re sleeping.”

In the back of his mind, a thought hovered through the mist like a bird above the clouds. It was an obscure sign, something he couldn’t name. A warning, maybe. But against what? Perhaps a fear that the child would end up abandoned or lonely without their father. He wanted to be there, but it was a foolish wish from a rotting man hoping to belong to the living.

“Do you agree, my dear?” Kaori purred, swaying her curves against him, arching to emphasize the swell of her breasts. “Make your queen a happy woman.”

Her hands found his in a gentle grip and guided them to her waist. Sukuna's slender fingers held her with worshipful reverence. With a gloom blooming in his chest, he pulled her closer, his mouth brushing the hollow of her neck. Kaori sighed contentedly, lifting a hand to thread through his hair.

"Like that, my dear. Give me your seed. Make us stronger." Her promise came with a low moan, her fingers burying deeper into his hair as she cradled his head to her face.

"It is time for a man to take this matter into his hands."

Sukuna groaned in agreement. His hands tore at her blouse, ripping the fabric in half and baring her until he felt the silky warmth of her skin, the vibrant life and power thrumming beneath his touch. With a renewed breath, he pulled back slightly, his gaze sweeping over her body.

Just above the subtle swell of her womb, a strange symbol glowed. He traced the lines with his fingers, a question poised on his lips.

Before he could speak, she cupped his face and drew his gaze to hers. “I want a son. Strong, fearsome, with your cursed techniques.”

Her eyes burned with desire and undeniable command. Sukuna was too astonished to question its importance. He could only stare at her with reverence, his hands caressing her hips. There was so much to discover, so much to claim.

“Will you give me that?” Kaori leaned down, planting soft kisses across his face. “Say you will.”

“I will,” he answered without hesitation, pulling her even closer against his body.

Kaori released a contented sigh. When he looked at her again, a serene smile graced her features. She closed the distance between their lips until Sukuna felt her mouth on his. He closed his eyes and surrendered to the kiss of life.

Her lips were impossibly soft, yet she was forged of ice. Her touch burned. Her words carved through him. But her lips—those were tender as feathers. Sukuna gave in to her allure, drawing her close as if they were true lovers.

**

Sukuna woke to the soft sounds of piano music and the steady rhythm of rain against the windows. For a while, he simply listened, letting himself sink into the rare peace of the moment. He couldn’t tell if it was morning or night since the curtains were always drawn.

Moments like this were rare. He never dared to call what he endured a life, but in that fleeting instant, as the piano swelled into a melancholic melody of violins, he felt something unfamiliar. He felt as though he could truly listen, truly rest, as if his presence in this bed were a choice born of free will.

Such thoughts were dangerous, and their consequences arrived swiftly. The moment the idea of freedom flickered through his mind, his heart pounded violently, and his eyes flew open. He curled into himself, clutching his chest, breath ragged.

The vision of life on his own, of choice, of agency, collapsed into dust before it could take shape. Kaori’s web had caught him in his slip and dragged him back. Before he even recognized it, his body relaxed, and his mind settled into its old obedient patterns.

Sukuna propped himself on an elbow, his expression tightening as a dull fog crept through his thoughts. Pain echoed faintly in his head, and a disorientation made him question how he had ended up here. His gaze locked onto the cup on the bedside table just as the sound of a door opening reached his ears.

"Ah, you are up..." Kaori's voice drifted from the bathroom doorway.

She stepped into view, smiling, wrapped in a black silk bathrobe, damp strands of hair clinging to her neck. She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, placing her hands gently on her thighs. Despite the warmth in her expression, Sukuna sensed the intent behind her presence. She had come to tell him it was time to return to his bed.

A familiar unease stirred at the back of his mind, linking this moment to countless others. He knew, with the certainty of repetition, that his time had come. He had endured this ceremony too many times for it not to be woven into the fabric of his soul.

"I made you tea," she murmured, brushing the fallen strands from his forehead. Her lips curved into a measured smile, and she lingered, drawing out the farewell. She played with his hair, shifting it from side to side before finally pushing it back and leaning in closer.

“You look the best like this.” Her voice was strangely soft, stripped of its usual hidden meanings.

Sukuna searched her gaze for any hint of change, but her brown eyes remained in the same, dark, unreadable depths. Whatever she was concealing, she buried it so deeply that not even death could reach it.

"Before you go..." She drew back just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes narrowing. "Tell me, do you know anything about the Blue Ribbon Curse?"

The question weighed heavily on Sukuna’s mind but caused no reaction. There was no memory, no recollection, nothing that would let him know he had once known such a curse. Whatever it was, it was important enough for Kaori to ask. He wanted to understand why, but he knew his curiosity would meet only stubborn silence. Kaori shared only when she deemed it fitting for him to know.

She stared at him for a long moment, her sharp gaze boring into him as if searching for any sign of deceit. When she found none, she drew a deep breath and stood up.

“We need to become stronger. Only then can we break our curses.” Kaori reached for the cup on the nightstand and turned to him. “Come, it’s time to get some power and beauty sleep.” She smiled.

Sukuna knew he had no choice, and a small part of him even looked forward to sleep—to return to a place where his eyes didn’t ache and his soul could rest. The realm he would soon enter was warm, peaceful, bathed in soft amber light that soothed his vision. It was a dome of protection where he could rest, though he remained alone. The solitude wasn’t unbearable.

The only fear that lingered was the fear of Kaori forgetting him, leaving him forever locked in his coffin. She was his only hope of reclaiming his past life. His existence might lack honor, but once he finally killed Gojo Satoru, he would be free.

A sharp pang gripped his heart once again, and Sukuna was forced to lie back down on the bed.

“You’re straining yourself,” Kaori frowned. “The more you try to remember, the more painful it is. Losing your memories due to the rebirth ceremony is a price we must pay.”

It didn’t even matter anymore, as she was about to put him to sleep. Maybe it was better not to remember what he had done in his past lives. Only the gods could decide what would become of him once the curse was broken.

“Can I watch the rain for a while?” Sukuna asked, turning toward the curtained window.

Kaori neither replied nor moved to comply. Her silence was replaced by the gentle piano music still playing in the room. He knew he should listen to her and rest, but another part of him wanted to stay a little longer; wanted to open the window, stretch his arms out, and feel the rain on his skin. He was just human, so why was a simple human need considered a whim?

“I’m afraid I can’t open the curtains.” Kaori dismissed him. “Come, before your tea gets colder. Next time I summon you, I promise I’ll let you watch all the rain your heart desires.”

Next time . Sukuna frowned slightly at the words, trying to recall any past promises she had kept. He only hit a wall—nothing to show, nothing to remember. A hollowness he couldn’t explain. Like a book with only a few, random pages written, covered in scattered nonsense.

His life depended solely on Kaori and her decisions. He was hopelessly lost, with a fraction of memories that could have been as well manipulated by the curse.

With striding thoughts, Sukuna gave one last look at the heavy purple brocade curtains and then tossed the blanket away. He stood before Kaori, naked and ready to follow her guidance. She handed him a cup that stood beside him, linking their arms. With a gentle tug, she led them forward, each step bringing them closer to the crypt’s door.

The heavy iron door squealed as she pushed it open. A soft orange candlelight danced on the cold stone walls. The steps heading down were lined with burning candles.

Sukuna set his bare foot on the stone steps, immediately feeling the cold and dampness. As they descended, he realized he didn’t remember ever performing this ritual. He knew he had done it before, but he couldn’t picture any details. The sudden thought stirred a mild panic in him, and he halted on the last step, his hand shaking, tea spilling over his fingers.

Immediately, Kaori’s hand steadied him. “Careful! It takes hours to prepare this tea!”

“I’m sorry...” Sukuna stuttered, the cup in his hand blurring before his eyes. His breath hitched, becoming shallow and quick.

“You are more exhausted than I thought.”

Sukuna licked his lips as his mouth was suddenly very dry. The moment he stepped inside, the comforting anticipation of refreshing sleep slipped away. Deep within, a muffled voice screamed. He didn’t understand, but he felt he should stop, even though he couldn’t. He was like a horse galloping toward the edge of a cliff, powerless to slow down.

“I know it must be confusing for you right now,” Kaori pressed a firm hand against his lower back. “It’s the exhaustion. You are hallucinating. Come, sleep.”

Reluctantly, though his body obeyed, he took the last steps toward the tomb. Kaori pushed the heavy stone lid aside, uncovering the depths of Sukuna’s home for the next eternity. Despite the gray stone’s uncomfortable appearance, the inside was lined with soft sheets and a pillow.

Sukuna tensed, gripping the cup in his hand as he stared into his coffin.

“Drink your medicine,” Kaori urged while picking up a candle from the ground. “It will help you regain your strength faster and efficiently.”

“What does it contain?” Sukuna eyed the sooty liquid in the ceramic cup.

“It’s a potion I crafted solely for you to draw strength from the earth herself, from her power, from her core,” Kaori spoke softly, her warm palm resting against Sukuna’s bare chest. “Nature will nourish you with her milk. And when you wake… the mountains will tremble.”

The words strongly resonated within Sukuna, and his doubts started to disperse slowly. He longed to be as powerful as she described.

“Will it make me as strong as I used to be?” He looked up at her with hope. “You said I’m supposed to be the strongest sorcerer alive.”

“Oh, absolutely! You’ve given too much, and your body starts showing the toll. This tea will mend the damage quicer.”

So, it meant that she was planning to summon him sooner than she should again. It was definitely because he failed to kill the boy again. He still could see the deep blue eyes watching him through the dark like cursed flames flickering in the wind.

“Now, no delay.” Kaori settled her hand on his wrist, urging him.

Her touch silenced Sukuna. Every question vanished the moment she wrapped her fingers around his hand. The sudden silence was so profound that, for a moment, Sukuna felt as though he had lost his hearing. He stared at the potion, hypnotized, bringing his hand closer to his lips. The warm ceramic touched his bottom lip, and the liquid spilled into his mouth.

Sukuna couldn’t describe the taste, but he could say how it felt. Like his veins were on fire, burning him to ashes one moment and then cooling him the next. The sensation settled slowly, making him dizzy and weary. Cold and heavy, his body grew difficult to move.

The cup fell from his fingers, the shattering a proof that he hadn’t lost his hearing.

Kaori helped him into the coffin, maneuvering his stiff body until he lay comfortably. Then she sat on the edge, smiling softly down at him as she reached for his hair, pushing his bangs back.

“I’ve managed to discover the location of an extremely rare, cursed item that can seal Gojo forever and end our suffering.” She said with quiet determination. “Rest well, my love. When I summon you next, it will be to end him for good.”

She slipped from the edge and walked around Sukuna’s cold, stony bed. His eyes followed her, watching as she pushed at the lid, slowly lowering a roof over him. The light began to fade, his vision narrowing to the cracks in the crypt’s ceiling and the darkness in Kaori’s eyes. With a final push, Sukuna’s world stilled.

Chapter Text

Satoru slipped a finger beneath his blindfold, scratching the persistent itch under his right eye, the same one that had been tormenting him since he woke up. His eyes always found the most bizarre and inconvenient ways to rebel, stubbornly resisting even the effects of his Reverse Cursed Technique as if it were the plague. Lately, the discomfort had become more frequent, like a thorn lodged beneath his eyelid. His right eye kept watering, and not even Shoko could do anything about it.

Naturally, the more Satoru thought about it, the worse it became. The itch grew into a maddening urge to gouge the eye out and punt it across the room like a ping-pong ball. Nothing in this world could stop the insanity. He had tried everything that science and jujutsu had to offer, but nothing worked.

Itching, itching—as if his eye wanted to remind him of something, like wanting to leave Satoru. It was never this terrible.

“I have a question!” Nobara propped her chin on her hand. “If you gouged your eye out, would RCT regrow the same eye with the same technique?”

“I think that’s the top thought he has right now,” Megumi joined.

“Maybe try ice?”

Irritated, Satoru yanked the blindfold from his head and tossed it on the desk. His eyes fell right on Yuuji, who offered the ice solution. His wide, brown eyes stared at him innocently, with no malicious motive, no intrusive thoughts like those two had.

As he stared at his student, Satoru forgot himself for a moment. For a mere heartbeat, he could see him. The wonder he had in his gaze when he watched Satoru, the softness that lined the sharp edges of his red eyes... It was as if Satoru could feel the warmth of the Heian sun and wind on his skin, hear birds chirping in his ears, and hear merchants chanting; he was holding Satoru's hand.

“Sensei?” Yuuji asked, his voice worried. “Are you alright?”

Satoru’s gaze lingered a moment longer on Yuuji’s face, the itch forgotten, fading to the back of his mind. Perhaps his eyes were yearning too. A thousand years was far too long to recall the details of heartbreak, yet far too short to stop feeling it.

Sighing, Satoru turned around and sagged on the chair, crossing his legs and nervously raking his hair with his fingers. Since the day he laid eyes on Yuuji, he felt like he was dreaming lucidly. With just a single gaze, Satoru was transported back to the river in the year 989, where he found himself stupidly giggling behind the rose bushes. On that spring day, Satoru’s life began, but it also ended.

Whoever brought this cruel fate in the shape of Yuuji to him knew how much it would hurt him. Yuuji’s resemblance to him could mean many things, but Satoru never found a real answer. Searching for the past in the future was taking a toll on him. Obsessed with trying to resolve who brought Yuuji to his life, he forgot to pay attention to the people around him.

Satoru began to believe that he was never meant to be happy, no matter the era.

“We’re done for today.” Satoru decided broodily, knowing that he couldn’t concentrate on teaching anymore.

The students started gathering their stuff from the desk, creating nothing but a white noise background for Satoru, whose eyes were pinned on the blindfold. With him, he never needed to cover his eyes. With him, he was free to discover everything, to see how far he could go. With him, he wasn’t bound to anyone.

All those centuries, when Satoru fought for his freedom, were gone. He never gained it; he only trapped himself further in his gilded cage. It was comical, and if one day he managed to bring Su—

“Sensei!” Yuuji’s voice interrupted his thought.

When Satoru snapped out of his trance, he quickly realized how fast his heart was pounding and how close Yuuji was standing to him, even though the desk separated them. He clutched his notebook to his chest, his backpack hanging over his shoulder. There were worries written all over his face. He was sixteen, so young, naive... a little rebel, too powerful for his own good.

Satoru cleared his throat, pushing his thoughts back. “What is it, Yuuji?”

“You were talking about the Great Fire of Angen...” he began, completely unaware of Satoru’s inner turmoil. “I was going through the archive, and it says it was a surprise attack from Ryomen Sukuna when most of the army was gone.”

Satoru let out a brief, ironic smile. “Old documents are often altered. It’s the victorious side who writes the history after all.”

"But how do you know about it? Does your clan have different tomes?” Yuuji wondered, scratching the back of his head.

A sly smile crossed Satoru’s face. He loved how curious Yuuji was. His thoughts often followed simple paths, but he wasn’t afraid to dig deeper or ask bold questions. He learned in the field faster than anyone Satoru had seen. Maybe he wasn’t the best with theory, but when it came to real-world instincts, he was exceptional. Watching him hunger for knowledge always gave Satoru a quiet sense of pride.

Satoru leaned in, grinning. “Can you keep a secret?”

Yuuji’s eyes widened, and he leaned in too. “I can!” he whispered conspiratorially.

Up close, Yuuji’s eyes were impossibly deep and softly brown, but when the evening sun caught them just right, they looked like burning skies. Satoru couldn’t shake the feeling of how much Yuuji reminded him of—

“Sensei?” Yuuji frowned and pulled back.

Gods, at this point, the boy would probably think Satoru was a molester. If he suddenly blurted out that Yuuji, bathed in evening sunlight, reminded him of the King of Curses, the fire would be on the roof. He could already picture how fast that situation would spiral with Yuuji panicking, thinking his teacher had finally lost it. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Satoru was odd, maybe even unhinged, but his eccentricities had never involved his students directly.

“The truth is in the eye,” Satoru said, pointing briefly at Yuuji, who visibly relaxed.

“You can’t tell anyone. Ever. Do you understand?”

The wild curiosity returned to Yuuji’s face, and he nodded sharply, clearly excited. Satoru nodded back, then glanced around the room as if to make sure no one was listening, adding a layer of theatrical suspense. With exaggerated care, he walked around the desk, rubbing his hands together and craning his neck toward Yuuji like he was about to reveal the secret to the universe.

“I was there…” Satoru whispered, the weight of those words carried in their simplicity.

As he spoke the words, the vision ignited behind his eyes. It was a sight that could never be forgotten. Blazing red flames, taller than him, licked hungrily across the buildings. People screamed, begged, and scattered in panic. And in the center of that inferno stood Sukuna, not a boy who left Satoru in Shiga, but a man. His technique unfolded like a masterpiece, devastating in its beauty and deadly in its precision.

Until today, Satoru could see the scorching inferno melting down the city.

Satoru swiftly snatched up the blindfold and replaced it over his eyes before his feelings could cloud his judgment. The light faded, and the cursed energy in Yuuji’s core dimmed into a softer, less vivid swirl.

“Right...” Yuuji snorted, crossing his arms over his chest as he shook his head. “I knew you could teleport, but I didn’t know you could do it through time, too.”

“Young man, who taught you to taunt your teacher like this?” Satoru placed his hands on his hips. “Should I have a word with Nobara?”

“Sensei! You’re the one taunting me with lies!”

“Lies?!” Satoru groaned, narrowing his eyes at Yuuji as he slowly raised his hand, a single finger inching dangerously close to Yuuji’s forehead.

Yuuji yelped and stumbled back. “The deadly finger!” He raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“Right! Now go spend some time with your friends before the mission—or I’ll knock you out with my deadly finger, and you’ll sleep straight through until it begins.”

Yuuji stiffened slightly, then snapped into a salute. “Roger that, sir!” he said with a serious face, lowering his hand before heading out of the classroom without looking back.

Satoru straightened, letting his hands fall to his sides with a sigh. It was exhausting to carry the memories of his past lives, to bear the consequences of actions that echoed across time. The memories from lives that didn’t matter were a blur. He didn’t need to remember the dull existence without sorcery, the one so unremarkable that even Kenjaku hadn’t bothered to end it. If anything, Kenjaku had shown pity, as there wasn’t a merciful bone in that wicked witch.

But the lives that did matter, the ones where Satoru was born a sorcerer, were always short-lived. In the past thousand years, he had been murdered by the same shadow with red, burning eyes so many times that he had lost count.

Hardly a mere shadow—Satoru scoffed as he dropped into the chair.

A wistful smile tugged at his lips as painful memories surfaced. Everything he had experienced, everything he had survived, was locked away in his mind. No one else remembered. He was like a thousand-year-old letter passed between scholars, each one doubting its authenticity.

But one truth remained undeniable: Satoru was the first Six Eyes user born in thousands of years to reach adulthood. And it was all because of the mercy Ryomen Sukuna had shown him twice.

**

The winter sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the city. The air was crisp, and the wind cut sharply, slipping into clothes like a thief, especially when standing atop a tall building. Fortunately, Satoru was immune to such discomforts. Yuuji, on the other hand, stood beside him, visibly shivering, shoulders hunched against the cold.

They were hunting a special-grade curse, one that possessed human bodies and left trails of carnage in its wake. For this mission, Satoru had specifically requested Yuuji. His innate technique made him uniquely suited for dealing with a threat like this.

“But Shinjuku is huge!” Yuuji groaned, his shoulders slumping. “We could watch the district for days, and the curse might still slip right through our fingers.”

“Have some faith in my eyes, Yuuji.”

With a deep sigh, Yuuji resigned himself to the task and fixed his gaze on the streets below.

Even with Satoru’s vision, it was difficult to spot anything unusual in the constant swirl of people. He was searching for an anomaly, a sudden spike in cursed energy. Watching over all of Shinjuku was no easy feat, which was why they kept changing vantage points, leaping from rooftop to rooftop like grasshoppers. Or more precisely, Satoru leapt while carrying Yuuji on his back.

“This special grade is cunning, huh?” Yuuji said this in an attempt to break the silence.

Satoru knew that kind of quiet was rare for him. But right now, he wasn’t in the mood for banter. He wanted to catch the curse as soon as possible. There was no room for fooling around, not when lives were at stake, and especially not when the curse was using people as puppets.

“Sensei...” he tried to get Satoru’s attention again, this time his tone was lower, more careful. “I wanted to ask earlier, but...”

A pause followed—one that left Satoru hanging in the anxious silence quickly building between them. He could sense Yuuji’s hesitation, the nervous energy radiating off him. Satoru shot a worried glance at him, catching the way Yuuji’s eyes were zoning out, fixed somewhere in the distance over the city.

“...Is something wrong with me?” Yuuji’s voice cracked slightly, his gaze still pinned to the horizon. “You keep looking at me like something’s off.”

Satoru’s face fell as he watched the boy slowly crumble under the weight of the unknown, struggling to understand what he had done wrong. Never, not even once, did Satoru want Yuuji to feel unwanted or out of place. But he didn’t know how to explain one thousand years of longing for someone who so painfully resembled his cursed, undead boyfriend.

What was he supposed to tell Yuuji? That there was a possibility that Sukuna had a child back in the Heian era? That the bloodline had somehow endured, quietly flourishing through the centuries until it reached him? Satoru had too many unanswered questions. He had searched tirelessly for Yuuji’s parents, but all he found was a woman with no known family, who, based on the police report, committed suicide right after she abandoned Yuuji. No father. No distant relatives. Yuuji was like an island in the middle of the ocean.

He could always lie. But Satoru knew too well where lies could lead. Even the smallest white lie could unravel into betrayal, death, and sorrow.

“You’re so awfully quiet today...” Yuuji muttered, lowering his gaze.

“If I offer you the truth, will you accuse me of lying again?” Satoru asked, shifting nervously from foot to foot and crossing his arms.

Yuuji looked up at him, eyes wide, filled with confusion, but also a deep desire to understand. It was in moments like this that Satoru forgot himself. His mind, stretched across centuries and timelines, often drifted, searching for connections. It was like déjà vu, except his were not illusions. They were memories, triggered by presence. The ghost living in Yuuji’s eyes was a constant reminder of what Sukuna could have been if someone had shown him compassion.

There was a connection Satoru could not quite grasp. Maybe it was just a coincidence. The eyes, the extraordinary shade of hair—maybe it was all meaningless. Or maybe it was something he didn’t want to accept, so he chose not to give the idea a single thought.

"You remind me of someone I used to know," Satoru said, his gaze lowering from those vulnerable eyes. "I love him dearly."

Yuuji turned his head away, folding his arms as if hugging himself after receiving the truth. He was young, and Satoru knew this kind of answer could easily make him uncomfortable. But beyond seeing a piece of Sukuna’s heartbeat inside Yuuji, there was nothing else. Satoru loved the ghost that lived inside him, the one that possessed Yuuji’s features and resembled Sukuna.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Stepping aside, Satoru sighed. “It is just... There is something about your eyes I cannot place. And your technique...”

Yuuji snapped his head toward him. “My technique?”

Satoru saw the fear and confusion flash in Yuuji’s eyes, turning his usually soft gaze into something guarded. “My innate technique? Do you know anything about my—”

The air shifted. A sudden wave of rotting seed and a blast of cursed energy surged up from below, sweeping all the way to the rooftop. There was no mistake; the curse was right beneath their feet.

Without hesitation, Satoru grabbed Yuuji’s shoulder and yanked him off the building with him. They dropped fast, slicing through the air, missing floor after floor until they were just meters above the sidewalk. At the last moment, Satoru slowed their descent and released Yuuji, who landed safely on his feet.

Yuuji had described the curse perfectly: a cunning spirit that relied on a sorcerer's reluctance to harm a human in order to perform an exorcism. But with the combined force of Satoru and Yuuji, the malevolent ghost had no choice. Satoru pinned it down, and Yuuji used his soul technique to separate the curse from the host. It was an exorcism at its finest.

Once the spirit was gone, the person left behind was disoriented and terrified. Satoru called Ijichi to handle the explanation. He was never good at consoling people, but that did not mean he didn't care. Even after countless deaths, he was still the same person—someone who wanted to live and to show others that they mattered. No matter how weak, broken, or unloved they felt, they mattered. Love had a way of arriving in the most unpredictable forms.

Yuuji sat with the middle-aged man, trying to soothe him, nodding at everything he said. Though there was a resemblance to Sukuna, their personalities mostly clashed, but it was because of the difference in their backgrounds. The undeniable determination, quick wit, and abnormally fast learning process—that all resembled Sukuna—

A strong sense of danger reached Satoru at once like a sharp wind.

He ripped off his blindfold at once, narrowing his eyes toward the narrow alley framed by rows of buildings. The sun reflected off the windows, bathing the street in yellowish light. In that winter brightness, at the very end of the long road, he saw it, a black smudge standing out against the glow. It was approximately five hundred meters away.

Satoru's body tensed, every muscle coiling, threatening to shoot forth like an arrow and pierce the oppressive darkness that loomed over the road. He drew a calming breath, his eyes fixed on the shifting smudge. He'd never mistake that blotch of pitch black, the one that had haunted him since their encounter at the temple.

Kenjaku stood before him, unaware of Satoru's proximity.

A bloodlust awoke within Satoru, seeping through his veins. He needed to consume that traitorous bitch, rip her brain from his best friend’s head, and sink her into a glass like dead meat, suitable only for experiments.

Back in Heian-kyo, Satoru couldn't track her down because of Sukuna's binding vow. But with Satoru's death, that promise was shattered. She made sure that Satoru would die each time, as a baby or as a mere child, every time he was born a sorcerer. It didn’t matter whether he had Six Eyes or not.

What a treat it was to see her now, as if she'd been waiting to be discovered. It didn't matter if it was yet another one of her traps, like the prison realm Satoru saw through. Satoru was stronger than she could ever comprehend. Not even her combined watchdogs could rival his strength.

Excitement crackled inside Satoru like a live wire. A slow, malevolent, deadly grin spread across his face.

"Stay here and wait for Ijichi!" Satoru ordered Yuuji, and before his student could react, he was gone.

Satoru moved directly toward his target, abandoning all thought of calculation or strategy. He bent space to his will, using the greatest possible distance to bridge the gap between himself and Kenjaku in an instant. He phased in and out of existence, a blur of motion, until he hung directly above her. She waited by the crosswalk, flanked by three additional special-grade curses. It was only a few seconds after his arrival when Kenjaku looked up, Suguru's eyes meeting his, a grotesque masquerade of stolen flesh.

The moment their eyes met, a single, potent heartbeat, Satoru's concern for collateral damage vanished. He craved Kenjaku alive, intent on inflicting every horror she'd visited upon Sukuna, upon Suguru, and upon the countless husks she'd left in her wake. But above all, he demanded to know where she'd hidden Sukuna.

Kenjaku's hand shot up, fingers splayed against the sharp sunlight, Satoru's form partially blocked. The truth of who stood above her struck with brutal speed. Her eyes bled to black, and a wicked grin stretched, cruel and knowing, across her lips.

"Satoru!" A mocking wave accompanied her call. "Long time no see!"

"Are those your last words?"

A ripple of panic surged through the crowd. Screams erupted as people scattered, seeing Satoru suspended in the air like a specter. Some remained, mesmerized, convinced it was a prank or a film shoot, their phones already raised to record. But their lives held no weight for Satoru then. He was colder than he'd been in centuries, consumed by a hatred so crystalline, so absolute, that the humans around him were nothing more than blurred flickers of life. And there, amidst them, stood the most vile creature of all, a dark stain on humanity, a black hole, consuming everything.

"Do you want to risk killing all those nice people with children?" Kenjaku goaded him, her gaze Suguru's, her voice his, tugging at the strings that bound Sukuna to her.

Inside Satoru, hell erupted. The devil's eradication was worth every single one of those lives. Worth his life, everyone present, all of Tokyo! All would perish instantly, consumed by Satoru's millennium of wrath.

Satoru snapped, appearing in front of Kenjaku in a blink. The instant he moved to twist her neck, an amber veil crashed down, engulfing their surroundings. He hissed as his sight glitched, failing to center on Kenjaku, who wore a taunting grin.

"Are you familiar with the power of the amber stone, Gojo Satoru?"

The curtain's fierce light stabbed Satoru's eyes, a painful push-back that felt like staring into the sun. His blindfold offered no protection. Even with his eyes clamped shut, the light burned through, invading his brain and disrupting his technique.

"Amber is used in purifying rituals," Kenjaku stated, answering her question. "It cleanses what's stained and washes away curses like water washes dirt. You and Sukuna? Born cursed, die cursed!"

Satoru instinctively covered his eyes, jamming the heels of his palms into them. His body was a roaring inferno, consuming him from within, tearing at his flesh and boiling his blood. He could feel his eyes slipping from his control, a critical failure that would cripple his Limitless technique.

"Remember that blue ribbon you loved?" Kenjaku advanced, Suguru's voice a menacing velvet. "The beads were amber. To control your eyes. That's why they let you keep long hair, even as an adult. And Ryuji, that fool..."

Satoru sucked in a sharp breath, his palms grinding into his eye sockets, pushing harder, deeper, agonizingly smashing until his teeth clenched. He forcefully shut down his RCT, squishing and crushing. Gasping, Satoru dragged in air, funneling all his willpower towards one last, desperate strike.

"Itadori Ryuji, Ryomen Sukuna..." Kenjaku's short, derisive laugh sliced through the air. "That fool wore your ribbon willingly around his wrist, chasing away malevolent spirits. You were always so easy to fool, and now you've stepped into the same trap again. But this time, I'm stronger. I don't need him!"

Kenjaku's voice dropped, a dangerous, low thrum. It was the signal for Satoru's ultimate choice. His ears rang, his eyes saw only darkness, and his cursed techniques sputtered. Kenjaku was trying to shock him, to weaken his determination. Yet, the past, even this revelation, held no power to break Satoru now. He had been reborn too often; his emotional spectrum narrowed to the purest hatred and love. No Blue Ribbon curse could alter the truth: Kenjaku would perish by his hand.

Satoru let out an agonizing yell, reversing the flow of Infinity and forcing it through his eyes, melting them. He then shut off his healing. Just as he had done against the Fujiwara general, he launched an attack while completely blind. His hunter's instinct roared, fueled by a singular desire: to crush Kenjaku.

"You freak!" Kenjaku hissed, a hint of admiration beneath her scorn.

"I don't need my eyes to see your bitch aura." Satoru's arm was up in an instant, unleashing RED at Kenjaku. "Your cursed friends can't step into this Amber barrier, can they? So, it's just us."

"You think you can fight me blind?"

Satoru grinned, liquid fire surging through his veins. "I told you at the temple, didn't I? I don't need my eyes to smell your rotting flesh."

The world went pitch black around Satoru, every remaining sense honed to Kenjaku's presence. He knew her arsenal intimately: Suguru's Curse Manipulation and the poisoning necromancy rituals she stole.

"It will be my pleasure to kill you!" she hissed, yet Satoru felt no shift, no attack.

"You made a binding vow, didn't you?" He narrowed his focus, a predator sniffing the air. "You'd have struck by now. So, what did you give up for locking me in this purifying veil?"

The silence confirmed Satoru's suspicion. Kenjaku had indeed trapped him, rendering his eyes useless and crippling his technique. However, in exchange for creating such a powerful veil, Kenjaku was also unable to use her own powers. What a reset. Satoru had to laugh at such a desperate attempt. She could only flee, not fight. Or they could gamble, blindly firing cursed techniques at each other and hoping they didn't kill themselves.

“You failed to seal me before—like a total loser. You used my best friend’s body to capture me, and now you’re flaunting another pathetic tactic: veils to mess with my eyes.”

“I’d say it shook you up nicely,” she snorted. “Gave me just enough time to slip away.”

“Shaming me for having a heart. That’s so you, Kenjaku.”

Her laughter was sharp and merciless. “I told you your little sweetheart would be mine—you didn’t believe me.”

“Hearing you say that in Suguru’s voice is creeping me the fuck out,” Satoru spat, disgust curling his lip.

“Ah, but you know,” she replied, light as air, “we could have had fun.”

“I’ve got nothing against freaks,” he snapped, “but you’re a psychopathic, murderous bitch with a spine twisted like a spiral staircase.”

“A girl’s gotta make her way in a man’s world.”

“Try that attitude a thousand years ago,” he growled, fed up with her games. “Just let me fucking kill you. Even a girl like you needs a few centuries of rest.”

Kenjaku burst out laughing. “I really do like you, Satoru. You and Ryuji were such a cute couple. It almost broke my heart to tear you apart.”

“Fuck you, too.” He shot back, senses locked on her presence.

“You pretend to be tough, but I know that bleeding little heart. If only you knew where your beloved Ryo is right now…” She feigned sympathy, capping it with an exaggerated sigh.

“I assume it’s not a king-sized bed lined with silky sheets on some sunny island.”

“No,” she let out a short, wicked laugh. “It’s a dark, damp, suffocating little space filled with chill and death.”

Satoru’s jaw tightened. His guts twisted, fury boiling under his skin. He stayed composed, but barely. If he could lay a hand on her, he’d tear her throat open. It was a gamble; his own technique might blow him apart, but it wouldn’t be the first time.

Instead, he kept his face cool and senses strained.

"One blind, the other blinded..." Satoru snorted, a whiff of twisted affection. "Aren't we a pair? Always completing each other."

"I can leave this veil and leave you trapped here forever."

"Hardly!" Satoru scoffed, amused. "You don't have the capacity of cursed energy to do so. The moment I'm out, I'll hunt you down."

He heard a soft shuffle, the grinding of tiny stones against concrete. Kenjaku was walking, the sound fading. She was leaving the veil silently, sneakily. She was always a coward, scared to face him, scared to die under the weight of her sins. Satoru should have trusted his instinct and killed her in the temple.

"He killed you hundreds of times..." Her voice carried a dark promise: "And he will kill you again. This time for good."

Chapter Text

Only two people knew about Satoru’s curse, and both came to understand the truth through tragedy.

After losing Suguru, Satoru thought about leaving his teaching post at Jujutsu High to focus entirely on tracking down Kenjaku. The idea haunted him, resurfacing every time he walked the school grounds before morning lectures. But whenever he met Yuuji’s eyes, his determination faltered. Guilt stirred inside him, bitter and relentless.

Suguru was gone, and no revenge could bring him back, but Satoru’s students were still here, still growing. They had futures waiting for them. No desire for vengeance, not even his own, should be allowed to put that at risk. If the gods had given him power, it wasn’t meant for settling old scores. It was meant to protect, to uplift, and to serve and save.

The world couldn’t keep revolving around Satoru and Sukuna. Only when that changed could peace return and happiness take root. He had to find a way to balance his personal mission with his role as a teacher. Over the past thousand years, he had lived many lives, most of them quiet and unremarkable. Again and again, he had walked away from family and friends to shield them from Kenjaku. That cycle had to end.

Now, as the strongest sorcerer alive, he refused to bow to anyone’s will. No longer a puppet tangled in the elders’ schemes, Satoru had taken back the present. The world of today belonged to him. He set the rules. Not even Kenjaku could dictate how he lived or who he sacrificed. The days of being hunted like a stray were over.

This lifetime would be the final act, and Satoru intended to end it swiftly, no matter who stood in his way. He had endured assassination attempts, unbearable loss, and centuries of despair that clung to sleep like shadows. It had to end now, while Kenjaku’s trail was still fresh and burning.

Thirty-five hours had passed since his last encounter with Kenjaku, and he was still hunting, relentless, tracing the faint trail of cursed energy like a fox terrier on the scent. Once the amber barrier collapsed and his eyes recovered, Satoru went straight to Tengen, hoping for answers about Kenjaku’s veil. But Tengen had nothing useful to offer. Without hesitation, Satoru set out to search the city.

He stayed in contact with Shoko, exchanging messages while seated atop the Tokyo Skytree. From there, the city stretched out beneath him in every direction. He didn’t need to catch Kenjaku herself. Tracking one of her minions would be enough. After their encounter in the streets, their faces and cursed energy were etched deep into his memory.

Shoko: Any idea why Kenjaku’s acting so strange? You didn’t find a single clue in two years, and now she’s suddenly right in front of you?

Satoru’s brow furrowed as he read the message, a cold twist settling in his stomach. Three possibilities came to mind. Only one felt likely. In the quiet corners of his thoughts, missing pieces began to fall into place, forming an unsettling picture. Kenjaku’s carelessness was revealing more than she meant to.

Satoru: Pick one. Coincidence, amber barrier test run, or spy.

That last possibility gnawed at him. The thought of someone watching him, feeding Kenjaku information, made his blood boil. He had spent his life preaching that loyalty and truth were the pillars of existence.

Even when he was trying to be reasonably honest with everyone, he knew how tempting the offer of powers was. Kenjaku had everything—dark magic, forbidden techniques, hidden seals. She was a living archive. He could have been one, too, if Sukuna hadn’t kept killing him every chance he got. He’d been denied the chance to learn, to teach, and to share.

With a sigh, Satoru unlocked the screen and checked Shoko’s reply.

Shoko: Nothing is a coincidence with that witch. Test run is too reckless, so…

“Damn it,” Satoru muttered, gripping the phone tighter. His leg bounced as he stared out across the city, bathed in evening light. The air shimmered around him with glittering frost, so clear it felt like he could reach out and touch it.

A new message pinged.

Shoko: If it wasn’t a coincidence, then her spy is probably already gone .

Satoru tapped back quickly. The idea of anyone keeping up with him felt ridiculous. He barely slept, disappeared for days, and rarely said where he was going.

Satoru: Could it be someone really close to me?

Shoko: Nobody’s that close to you. Unless you’ve got a secret lover. Poor Sukuna.

Satoru: You spend too much time with Yuta.

Shoko: Whose fault is that?

Satoru: BYE.

With a bitter grunt, he locked the screen and slipped the phone into his jacket.

There were more pressing matters than entertaining Shoko’s jabs.

His gaze shifted to the city below—fluid, restless, saturated with cursed energy and the everyday hum of traffic. Cars rumbled through intersections, horns echoed, and trains clattered in the distance. It all pressed against Satoru’s Six Eyes. The stream of data flooding his mind each second was staggering. He registered the train’s speed instantly, caught the cut of fabric on a passerby’s coat, and could even identify the dishes being served at a sushi bar six blocks away.

Patience had never been Satoru’s strength. But the circumstances had forced a brutal lesson on him. He’d been denied, dragged through the dirt, slaughtered, and handed opportunities only to have them ripped away. Kenjaku was a master of torment. She enjoyed every encounter with that smug, unsettling smile that Satoru always imagined melting off her face with acid.

But not today. He was determined to watch over the city like a gargoyle, patiently waiting in the shadows when the demon would dare to approach him.

Even a narcissistic piece of bitch like her had to know the day would come when Satoru rose again. Especially after Sukuna spared his life twice. The failed attempt to seal him had been her only real shot. It might’ve worked if Satoru were cut from a different cloth, but thanks to Sukuna’s curse, he remembered every moment he was deceived and killed. That memory kept him sharp and alive.

Now Kenjaku had no choice but to stew in her mess.

The closer Satoru got to her, the more his old self began to surface. His facade was melting, releasing a calamity of his own making. The clearest sign was that he was ready to blast her in the middle of the street, with civilians all around.

Satoru sighed at the memory. It had been such a great opportunity to capture Kenjaku. With her, it wasn’t about expecting the unexpected; it was pure madness. No matter how prepared he was, she always found a way out. That time under the amber veil, she used the very eyes she feared against him.

Cursed or not, they were the only things that could find her and her minions.

As if insulted by his thoughts about being cursed, Satoru’s right eye began to itch again. He groaned, slipping a finger under the blindfold to relieve himself.

Despite all the mastery he had gained over the years, his eyes remained the one thing he could not fully control. They were intrinsic and constant. And unlike a technique, they could not be dismissed at will.

He had long wished for a way to ease their exhaustion, not only because of the strong migraines but also because he hated covering his face. Yet no solution had ever surfaced. Even Tengen, whose barriers and connection to the Six Eyes allowed him to perceive the deeper layers of the world, had offered no remedy.

Still, some fragile ember of hope lingered within him. If Sukuna stood at his side, Satoru believed the two of them could find a way to transcend it.

"You’d probably think I’m out of my mind for wearing this," he murmured, removing the blindfold with a faint smile. He rubbed the fabric slowly between his fingers—worn, familiar, and the closest thing he had to rest.

"A caged sky..." he whispered, gripping the cloth tightly, jaw tense. He shut his eyes, feeling the irradiated one release a tear.

He had become the strongest, but without Sukuna to challenge him, he felt like a kite pinned to his hand. Sometimes, he wished the rope were real, that he could climb down from the heights and pull Sukuna out of the shadows. The rest of their years, they would spend together. One lifetime with Sukuna was worth more than a thousand years chasing dreams.

A sharp ring broke the silence. Satoru exhaled slowly to steady himself, then pulled his phone from his pocket. Shoko again. The moment he placed it to his ear, he already knew what she was going to say. An ominous weight blanketed the city all at once, arriving without warning. Satoru’s chest tightened, and he gripped the phone next to his ear.

"Ijichi just reported an unidentified cursed presence. He said he’s never felt anything like it. It made him nauseous."

Satoru froze, eyes locked on the golden horizon. His grip on the phone became so strong that he felt the metal cover bend slightly. Shoko kept speaking, but her voice faded beneath the hum in his head. His senses were fully drawn to the cursed energy pressing in from every direction.

He squinted into the blinding light, his eyes slowly adjusting. It took far too long to realize it wasn’t the sun. It was cursed energy. Not ordinary, not even special. It was brilliant and disorienting. Like an explosion from the sky, stretching in every direction. It was godlike and definitely not Kenjaku’s.

"Gojo? Gojo!"

A crack rang out near his ear. The call ended as his hand crushed the phone. No one should have been able to blind him like this.

Satoru launched forward, leaving behind the shattered remnants of his phone and his blindfold. He surged upward, cursed energy propelling him through the air. Buildings blurred past as he accelerated, barely avoiding collisions at breakneck speed. His Six Eyes guided him, though they were still stunned, half-blinded by the relentless flood of information. It felt like being trapped in a spiral.

The cursed presence tugged at a bittersweet memory buried deep—a feeling, not a picture.

His heart pounded like a war drum, driving him faster, pushing him past his limits. The path twisted, branched, and circled, but he didn’t stop. Not once. Not even when doubts whispered. There was no mistaking it was Sukuna’s cursed energy, not even after thousands of years. It had been the very air Satoru breathed back then. He had slept wrapped in his light. He had Sukuna’s soul imprinted in his eyes.

He bounded over a rooftop, brushing the surface with his foot, when he suddenly sensed a change. Another cursed presence. Dark and rotting. Like ink dropped in milk. Hard to read. Smothering.

Stumbling slightly, Satoru paused at the edge. Two powers pulled at him, one glowing, one corroding. On the western horizon, where the sun was melting into dusk, Sukuna waited. Beneath him, buried in the tangled veins of the city, lurked Kenjaku.

It wasn’t a matter of choice for Satoru, even if it was a trap he should have predicted. For seeing Sukuna just for a moment, he would risk far more than falling into a trap.

Satoru needed to see Sukuna, hear his voice, and maybe, if the gods allowed, touch his hand. It wasn’t a need or a necessity; it was the very part of Satoru that had been separated from him a long time ago. He was dying of a longing so strong that his heart was breaking his ribs to free itself. This suffocating need tore at his soul and caused his breathing to turn into chokes. Satoru was like a drowning man desperately trying to swim up to the sunlight breaking through the water.

“I’m coming, just hang on,” Satoru promised to the setting sun and leapt. He jumped over the gap between two buildings, closing the torturous distance. Faster and faster. His yearning clawed at his skin, cracked through his bones, and burst from his chest like flame.

The closer Satoru got, the more confused his eyes grew. They couldn’t sharpen in on what Satoru was looking for, as they couldn’t understand what his heart wanted, the very existence that Sukuna held—his soul, his words, his breath, and the way he looked at Satoru. He wanted to merge the past with the present and take the Sukuna he used to know into his arms.

Satoru halted on the parapet wall, fist tightly clenched, heaving and looking around. The sun was inclining to the west behind him. He felt its warmth on his back, tickling his undercut while the freezing wind played with his white hair. Was Sukuna feeling the same warmth as Satoru? Was he still used to the cold?

Would he even recognize Satoru?

The weight of his emotions dropped heavily on Satoru’s shoulders. He felt like he was breathing under a heavy blanket that was slowly suffocating him. His Ryo was close, yet Satoru’s eyes failed to capture him. What was he even looking for? A ghost of his love, or a whole person who came to kill him?

“I know you’re here…” Satoru whispered to himself.

His eyes wandered, brushing across the surfaces of the buildings in front of him. Forcing patience on himself, Satoru waited. If Sukuna was meant to fight him, eventually, he would show up.

The air was freezing, turning Satoru’s breath into a cloud. He imagined Sukuna waiting for him too, his breath mingling with the frosty air, his heart beating on the same wavelength as Satoru’s.

Eventually, patience paid off. Satoru noticed the light folding slightly, outlining the shape of a body approaching the edge of the building ahead. As the light slipped away from the figure, Satoru finally saw him. He stood tall, fearless, and powerful, with the freezing sunlight behind him and… changed.

A millennium would leave its mark on anyone. In Satoru’s case, it made him doubt everything, hide his heart and soul from others, and grow more secretive. On the surface, he was, however, still the white-haired boy with cursed eyes. Sukuna, on the other hand, changed on the outside, while his personality was brazenly filling the open space.

The world around Satoru fell through a time hole, taking him back to the mountains in Kyoto. Back then, Satoru was used to Sukuna’s immense presence. He drank it like water. What he had experienced back then was merely a glimpse of the threat that was now directed at him. Sukuna’s cursed energy was oppressing; a thick avalanche rolling down toward Satoru. The amount of energy was twice as large as Satoru’s, so pure in its consistency that he doubted he was approaching a human.

What Kenjaku had done to his Ryo over the past thousand years was an abomination, a violation of a soul.

Satoru’s brows knitted, and his tightly pressed lips quivered. The tears he had held back for years brimmed over his eyes like a flood. He gasped, inhaling the cold air. No, it didn’t matter what Ryo looked like, nor whether he remembered Satoru. All that mattered was breaking the technique Kenjaku had chained him to and finally letting him rest. That was Satoru’s promise, the one that had haunted him all these years. Yet inside, the thorn of everlasting love urged him to become greedy and take everything he wanted.

Determined, Satoru finally moved, his foot stepping on the air, jumping forward. Each second brought him closer to Sukuna. His eyes finally recognized what his heart was looking for.

Sukuna’s hair was black, slicked back with deliberate ease. His crimson eyes burned with a mischief as timeless as their souls. Down his chin were two black marks pointing downward. He wore the traditional haori and pants, paired with winter socks and sandals. Every detail was immaculate, except one. It was impossible to miss. Sukuna bore only one set of arms and eyes. He looked shockingly ordinary, no more divine than Satoru. Just a man. It could mean only one thing: Sukuna had been forcibly incarnated.

His eyes absorbed everything before Satoru stopped, levitating just above the wall before Sukuna. For a moment, time betrayed him. His heart stuttered when their gazes locked, and in a single glance, he was transported centuries into the past, back to the riverbank where he had once lain in the grass and shared his first kiss with Sukuna. The body before him was unfamiliar, but the eyes remained unchanged. And if the eyes were the same, then surely the soul was too.

“Ryo?” He uttered the name with a velvety voice filled with a yearning that had lasted dozens of lifetimes.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. The thirst for blood remained, but a flicker of confusion passed through the scarlet hue. They stood in silence, aching to move, to touch, yet holding still, circling one another with loud danger. Satoru waited. He understood Sukuna's body language better than anyone. And right now, he could tell there was calculation behind his patience.

Satoru lowered himself so he could see better. The endless circles in Sukuna’s eyes were gone, replaced by vast crimson seas. When Sukuna tilted his head slightly, his eyes squinted. Inside them, Satoru could see a struggle, as if he were trying to remember.

The thought of being forgotten by the one who had cursed him to never forget was unbearable. It set Satoru's heart on fire, no matter how much he tried to convince himself he had expected it, that he was prepared for Sukuna to recall nothing beyond the manipulation of Kenjaku. His heart ached in a way that made his cursed energy spike. He swallowed his sorrow like a bitter, poisonous pill and forced himself to remember why he was here in the first place.

Satoru stepped down from the wall, a soft smile blooming across his face. His cheeks flushed along with the warmth he had long missed—a warmth that always came when Sukuna was near.

"I found you," he whispered, disbelief trembling in his voice. His eyes glistened with tears. "I found you, my love."

Sukuna recoiled, astonishment shifting into a cautious frown. Satoru’s heart skipped at the retreat. He couldn’t recall a single memory of Sukuna ever stepping back from anyone. The gesture, subtle yet distrustful, clutched at his chest. He couldn’t begin to imagine what horrors Kenjaku had forced Sukuna to endure or the twisted lies she had whispered about him.

Slowly, Satoru lifted his arm and offered his hand.

"Don't be afraid," he muttered, breath catching. "It’s me. Satoru. Your little bird."

He watched Sukuna’s eyes widen, as though a memory flickered across his mind. His lips parted, as if he meant to speak, but no sound came. Satoru was left only to guess. Gods, he needed to hear him say something. Anything. He longed to hear his name spoken as it used to be. The truth was etched into Sukuna’s puzzled expression. He just needed to reach out and find it.

Satoru couldn’t take his eyes off him. The body Sukuna wore wasn’t the same one Kenjaku had torn from his arms all those years ago, but it was still him. Still Ryo. The same soul reshaped into a new vessel. His face bore extra marks, but beneath them lay the features Satoru knew by heart. That sharp jaw. The round chin. Those hooded eyes, even the signature slit. Whatever magic Kenjaku had used, she had done her best to preserve what made Sukuna recognizably himself.

“I won’t…” Satoru barely managed the words when Sukuna’s expression twisted into bitter and uneasy.

Satoru spotted the reason behind it in the blink of an eye. Dark energy materialized behind Sukuna, clawing at him and hooking him like a fish, wrenching him backward out of Satoru’s reach.

No. Not again. Not in this life. Not anymore.

Satoru forced his body forward faster than ever before, cursed energy blazing at full intensity. He had to keep up with Kenjaku’s long fingers, which gripped Sukuna mercilessly. Sukuna struggled against the pull, reaching out with an outstretched arm, desperate for anyone to stop the madness. His eyes were painfully empty. All of his thirst and confusion vanished in a single pull.

“Stay with me!” Satoru shouted desperately, hand reaching toward him, their fingertips brushing for an instant.

The single touch sent a jolt through Satoru's body, vibrating deep within him and igniting a new surge of determination and strength. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself forward and burning through his cursed energy faster than it could renew. The ghost of Sukuna's presence tingled at his fingertips.

Restlessly, he kept chasing after Sukuna, always a breath away, trailing the black cloud that twisted around him like a living thing. It wrapped and coiled, veiling Sukuna’s form, keeping parts of him hidden in shadow.

But those red, now silent eyes still stared back. The warmth inside them faded, the flame shifting from crimson to dusky sunset, distant and vanishing.

“She won’t take you away from me again!” Satoru’s cries echoed, his voice sharp with fury.

The path twisted abruptly. Sukuna began to plummet, free-falling between buildings clustered around the crossroads. The dark shadows behind him formed a grotesque pair of wings, morphing and pulsating. Satoru dove after him, tumbling through the air in pursuit.

He landed on the road in Shinjuku moments later. Cars screeched to a halt, and people scattered in panic, screaming as they fled. Behind him, a burst of cursed energy pulsed, but he didn’t dare to look. A single moment of distraction with Sukuna meant death.

The temperature dropped drastically. Down here, between the concrete walls where sunlight barely reached, the ground was covered in a thin layer of ice that had sprouted overnight. It was a surprising change in the weather. The day before had still been warm, but around five in the morning, when Satoru settled in a nearby bakery to appease his hunger, he had seen frost beginning to paint the windows.

A strange, short-lived feeling had possessed him back then—a mix of nostalgia and obscurity. His hunter senses told him to stay alert.

Winter was long in the city; this was something different that had come to pay a visit. It was a horror that crawled out of its crypt to feed while everyone still slept. The feeling lingered when early evening came, and Satoru saw an orange hue forming in the sky, so untypical for winter.

All of that melted into a single painting with deformed faces, broken wings, spilled guts, and sprinkled with snow.

When Satoru looked at Sukuna, he saw the perfect interpretation of those feelings and signs—a lost, forgotten man, tortured and stripped of his humanity.

The wave of absolute hatred and disgust that bloomed in Satoru like poisonous ivy exploded, destroying everything in its wake. If before Satoru had wanted to throw Kenjaku’s brain into a jar, now he wanted to stab him with a million burning needles, all while capturing her in an endless loop of her torture.

Cold settled in Satoru’s heart. The kind that no longer burned, only claimed and froze everything living into a moment of nothingness.

If Sukuna was the one he had to fight to get to Kenjaku, then Satoru had no choice but to go through him. History repeated itself. Back then, it was summer; the flames in Angen were as tall as Satoru. Now it was freezing, and Tokyo was bathing in the burning sunset.

Satoru inhaled sharply, steadying his breath and heartbeat. He would prevail, no matter what the outcome of the day would be. No rest should fall upon his soul until he would free Sukuna from the grasp of Kenjaku.

The witch stood behind Sukuna in Suguru’s stolen form like a cloistered hermit. On either side of her loomed two familiar curses—one with a volcano sprouting from its skull, the other crowned with a flower blooming from its shoulder.

Today, all of them were meant to die. He wouldn’t fall for any amber veils anymore. No pulling at his heartstrings with Suguru’s face. It was only Satoru and Kenjaku, the meat.

A sick satisfaction filled Satoru’s veins. Finally, it was time to break vertebra after vertebra in Suguru’s body and disconnect him from the parasite living inside his skull. The witch was nothing but a moldy mushroom sitting upon Sukuna’s soul.

Yes. For the first time in a thousand years, Kenjaku was shaking in her boots, because she knew there was no way Satoru was going to lose. Her foolish attempt was merely a misguided effort to convince Satoru that she was strong.

Satoru knew she was dead the moment Sukuna hesitated and stepped back in front of him.

With his breath and heart steady, Satoru narrowed his eyes at Sukuna, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’ve changed, my love,” he called out, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “But it’s all right. What matters most is what we carry inside our hearts.”

His eyes darkened, the blue fading into midnight. The smile vanished, replaced by a fierce determination pinned on Sukuna.

“And I’m going to take yours back,” he said, slamming his fist against his chest. “Put it right where it belongs.”

Chapter Text

Airless and suffocating, Sukuna’s fists pounded in vain against the seal of his tomb while a desperate, commanding voice urged him back from sleep. It was too soon; he was still bound to the deity reigning over the underworld and to his bone-masked brother. Through blurred vision, he glimpsed his smoky reflection as he struck the unyielding roof above.

He was not meant to be awake, nor even alive. The cold crypt was never his true resting place, and the voice echoing in his mind didn't belong to his own thoughts. No coffin was ever meant to contain his power so completely.

Sukuna’s breath caught as he clawed at the cold stone, his nails scraping deep while he tried to lift the heavy cover with his knees. Nothing worked. He was trapped like a mouse, helpless, even as his queen’s voice echoed again and again: “Come, come, come,” a mantra meant for him alone, yet he couldn’t break free.

His mind unraveled into a tangle of fragmented memories and half-formed dreams. Fear seeped into his soul, stirring panic as he dug his nails into the stone until blood smeared the surface. There was no light, no warmth. He should never have been awakened like this.

Every instinct screamed as shards of images and broken conversations surged through his thoughts, each one slicing through him with unbearable pain. He scratched, kicked, and ground his teeth in terror. Never before had fear gripped him so completely. His bones felt brittle, as if the slightest movement might shatter them. His lungs burned, and the oxygen-starved air made him shrink inward. In that suffocating crypt, he felt himself fading, vanishing into the dark.

Kaori, Kaori, Kaori—her name echoed through his mind like a fading chant. Or was it Kamo Noritoshi? Perhaps Hanako Akari? The voices blurred, indistinct, like ghosts whispering from the edges of memory.

Suddenly, an external force seized his hands, dragging them from the confines of the coffin and pinning them tightly against his body. He tried to move his legs, but they refused to obey. Paralysis took hold as a strange, tickling sensation coiled around his wrists and chest. It tightened like a rope, then brushed his neck like a noose, leaving him utterly breathless.

Red splattered the darkness before his eyes, and his slowing heartbeat marked the silence of the grave. The burning cords around his limbs and throat seared his flesh, yet he felt no loss, only the flames licking his skin, penetrating deeper, consuming him from within.

Just as Sukuna believed the end had come, that the gods of death were reclaiming him, his arms surged upward of their own accord. With a burst of unnatural strength, he pressed against the heavy stone lid and hurled it aside, sending it crashing across the chamber. He bolted upright, the noose around his throat loosening as he gasped for breath. Musty, stale air filled his lungs. He heaved, coughing, and clutched his throat with trembling fingers.

The darkness receded, revealing a blurred scene: the flicker of distant candles, the cold surface of gray stone, and a pitch-black square looming at the back of the room.

Sukuna looked down, hoping it was only the lingering shadows that had distorted his vision, not lasting damage to his eyes. Squinting, he brought his hands closer. Around his wrists, pairs of black band tattoos had been etched into his skin. Even his nails had turned dark. He stared in visceral dread as a memory, half-buried and pierced by a thorn in his heart, warned him that he was witnessing something profound. His temples throbbed, and his face twisted in desperation as his chaotic thoughts unraveled into confusion.

He couldn’t understand why he looked this way, though a haunting familiarity whispered from the depths of his mind.

“G-gods…” Sukuna stammered, his voice hoarse and uncertain as he examined his exposed body. The black bands marked not only his hands but also his thighs and ankles.

A distant thought urged him to see his face. He needed to know.

Then a loud voice rang out: “Take the tea.” The command surged through his mind, silencing every other thought.

Sukuna gripped the edges of the coffin and slowly turned himself around. His gaze locked onto a simple cup resting on a stone stand. Perhaps it was placed there to comfort him, to sever the lingering ties that bound him to the realm of the dead. As he reached for it, a fleeting thought crossed his mind: a revitalizing bath awaited him upstairs.

There was a top floor in his crypt, a space where he could move freely and search for answers.

He brought the cup to his lips and took a few sips. The taste defied description, but he frowned as a cold sensation spread through his body. Lowering his hand, he watched his veins shift to shades of purple and blue. The feeling unsettled him deeply. Despite the disembodied voice urging him to finish the tea, he splashed the remaining liquid onto the floor.

With a firm grip on the coffin’s stone walls, he slowly rose to his feet.

Naked and cold, he remained weak, even though his body had begun to stir with life. A strange fatigue clung to him, keeping his powers just out of reach. He felt intoxicated—charged with energy yet unable to control his form. As he examined himself, he noticed new markings etched across his chest and stomach. He traced the ridged contours of his abdomen, his fingers trailing downward until they brushed against the coarse hair at his groin.

"Take the bath and dress in the clothes I prepared for you."

Sukuna frowned as the voice echoed in his head once more. Its persistence was grating, though he could offer no resistance. Beneath the brightness of his thoughts lay dark and mysterious depths, capable of swallowing him whole if he dared to defy their command.

He had no choice but to comply.

Stepping out of the coffin, he glanced back and saw the satin lining stained with a black fluid, as if something had seeped into it from below. Turning his head, he noticed the cracked lid lying across the room. Sukuna raised his hands to examine them. At first, he could barely move, his nails scraping against the stone. Moments later, he summoned enough strength to hurl the heavy cover aside as though it weighed nothing.

He could sense that his powers had grown, yet they remained beyond his control.

Each step away from the crypt brought pain. The skin on his bare feet stretched with every movement, his calves throbbed, and his back bent under the weight of his own head. After climbing the candlelit staircase, he pressed his shoulder against the massive door and pushed until it opened with a low squeak.

A room bathed in soft amber light greeted him. The familiar setting and carefully arranged furniture stirred a torrent of memories that surged through him. Crimson bedsheets caught his eye, and for a fleeting moment, he saw himself entangled with a woman in a passionate embrace. That vision faded quickly, replaced by another fragment that carried him into a rainforest, dense with foliage and heavy with the scent of rain.

The uncontrollable onslaught of flashing images left him dizzy. He stumbled over the bed, nearly collapsing, and managed to catch himself against a nearby chair. Gasping for breath, he steadied himself, forcing his focus onto a single task: the bath.

Kaori wanted him to bathe. That was the command.

He had to obey.

Obey.

**

Sukuna stood atop a tall building in Tokyo, the sunset blazing directly ahead. Its orange, almost blood-tinged glow stained the cotton-like clouds drifting across the sky. Below him, the city pulsed with chaotic energy, a sprawling anthill without order. Strange sounds echoed through the streets, unfamiliar and unsettling, though he couldn’t quite place their origin.

Yet the curse Kaori had sent made everything clear.

He had been summoned back earlier than expected. Just fifteen years after his last sleep, though he was meant to slumber for twenty. His queen had encountered trouble.

The closer he drew to her, the less resistance he felt. Her commands reached him effortlessly, and he obeyed without hesitation, even as a storm of conflicting emotions churned within him. He knew he had to confront Kaori, and he had to do it soon.

According to the Jogo curse, Kaori found herself in a tight spot, hiding in Tokyo from the only person who could resolve their curse, Gojo Satoru. Sukuna was meant to help her and escort her back to Kyoto. Yet, for reasons he could not fathom, he doubted the plan’s success. He sensed strength coursing through his veins as power surged like fire, but his control remained poor. He was still confused; his body felt heavy and different, as though he had been transported from another era. Although nothing about this place felt like home, it was the first time he truly felt himself.

Unable to untangle his thoughts, he focused only on his raw feelings and keen senses, which rarely disappointed him.

As he stood on the edge of the roof, he felt an unsettling presence hiding between the towers. It was as if something already knew he was around; the overwhelming sensation brought back the memory of his stone prison.

The orange sunset turned Sukuna’s pale skin a warm orange, evoking a strange nostalgia. He once loved sunlight, but now he could barely endure its brightness and warmth. He lived on the edge of every possibility. He was neither truly alive nor completely dead—cherishing light yet dwelling in the shadows, consuming the night even as he longed for day.

Whatever lurked in the maze of concrete, Sukuna welcomed it much like shadows greet the light.

His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, captivated by the vibrant colors that illuminated his face, until he became aware of a blemish in the vista. A figure stood on the opposite building. Sukuna felt their energy radiate directly toward him.

A surge of excitement, like a burning white flame, ignited within him and set his heart and soul ablaze. After years of living like a walking corpse, he suddenly felt incredibly alive. New energy filled his veins, and his once thoughtful scowl quickly transformed into a wicked smile.

Someone powerful was challenging him, and nothing, not even Kaori and her commands, could overpower the primal instincts of the hunter within Sukuna. The very animal in him awoke at the brazen display of strength emanating from that person.

Sukuna shrugged off his haori, letting the black garment fall to the ground. His fist tightened as a blaze of cursed energy enveloped him.

There they were, appearing like a burst of white light in the dim sky as the figure moved across the air as if it were their domain. Sukuna’s heart brimmed with excitement to the brink of overflowing. He was elated to meet someone who lived beyond Kaori’s control, someone whose intense presence managed to drown out even her insistent commands.

His eyes narrowed as he stepped back, ready to strike the sorcerer’s face, when the figure suddenly appeared before him, hovering at the edge of the roof. The soft summer wind played with the man’s messy, white hair, revealing two strikingly blue eyes wide with vulnerable wonder. In that instant, every trace of his defense and hostility seemed to vanish.

The young man gazed down at Sukuna in awe, as if he were witnessing something impossible. Sukuna found himself unable to look away; he was captivated by the strange, swirling patterns reflected in those blue eyes. The shock on the young man’s face slowly transformed into deep, sorrowful emotion. When he raised his hand, his brows furrowed and his cold eyes softened immensely, reflecting a profound longing.

"Ryo?" he asked, his voice smooth and velvety, like a long-forgotten poem that had lingered in the recesses of Sukuna’s mind.

Sukuna regarded him as if he were the living embodiment of the angels depicted on the stained glass in an old church. He watched as the young man lowered himself to his feet and then stepped closer, his wondrous expression growing even gentler.

"I found you..." he muttered in disbelief, his eyes glistening with tears. "I found you, my love."

A soft hiccup escaped his lips, and Sukuna recoiled as astonishment gave way to a frown of caution. It had to be some form of sorcery. He had heard of these mystics who styled themselves as angels and believed themselves to be heaven-sent.

"Don't be afraid," the man muttered, his breath catching. "It's me, Satoru, your little bird."

For a moment, Sukuna's eyes widened before he felt his body pierced by that familiar conflagration and encroaching darkness invading his heart and soul. Ghostly anchors seized him and yanked him as if he were nothing more than a wild animal on a chain.

Kaori was calling him back.

"Ryo!" Satoru shouted, bolting forward with his hand outstretched in a futile attempt to stop him.

Sukuna lost control of his body; his feet stumbled as an unseen force dragged him backward. His hand shot upward, reaching out in vain, grasping nothing but air. His gaze fixed on Satoru’s hand, where a blue string fluttered around his wrist.

"Stay with me!" Satoru's plea broke through Sukuna's haze, and he looked up to meet the teary eyes of the man before him.

Gojo Satoru was the one who had cursed him to a restless death. It was him, unmistakably. The very man who had doomed Sukuna to a life surrounded by decay and phantoms was now crying and calling his name as if he had done nothing wrong.

A name? Sukuna wondered how it had occurred to him that his name was Ryo.

Their fingers brushed briefly before Sukuna lowered his hand, surrendering to the pull of the necromancer. There was no use in defying the queen. His face softened as he was dragged away with force, leaving Satoru behind. Satoru yelled after him, quickening his pace as he raced through the air, appearing and disappearing, leaping from building to building like a restless demon.

Sukuna watched through the haze as Satoru followed relentlessly, never easing his pace.

Little bird, huh? That name suited him well.

A sudden shift in his trajectory sent Sukuna free-falling between buildings toward the concrete. He spotted a lone figure standing below and quickly manipulated his cursed energy to slow his descent until his feet met the ground.

Next to him stood someone he had once known as Kaori. However, it was no longer the woman he remembered but a man—tall, with long hair tied neatly at the back and dressed in a monk’s suit. Kaori had transformed her vessel as easily as one might change clothes. There was no mistaking her presence in that man’s body. Only then did Sukuna realize that the voice calling him was not female at all. Slowly, his confused mind began to connect the dots.

Before he could ask any questions, a suffocating energy returned, barreling toward him at a dangerous speed. Instinctively, he leaped in front of Kaori and blocked Satoru’s fist with his palm. The impact was immense, nearly sending Sukuna reeling backward. He glared at Satoru and immediately counterattacked, his strike meeting the resistance of his barrier.

Satoru jumped back to create enough distance for Sukuna to catch his breath.

"You've changed, my love," Satoru called out, his strong voice bouncing around. "But don't worry; what truly matters is what we hold in our hearts."

The atmosphere shifted swiftly. Sukuna felt the enormous, oppressive presence pushing against him and entering everything around him.

"And I intend to take yours back, putting it right where it belongs," Satoru declared, thumping his fist against his chest.

The words resonated strongly in the silence. They weren’t a promise or something Satoru would try to do; they were a declaration, a fact.

Sukuna’s lips stretched into a grin. So, Gojo Satoru would like to get some of his heart, huh? Reach into his chest and rip it out.

Behind him, a low hiss escaped Kaori’s lips. "Do not trust anything that rat has to say! Remember why we are here—to kill Gojo Satoru and break our curse!"

Sukuna barely registered the collision with Satoru. The sorcerer's presence was suffocating, not only due to his immense power but also because he was a ghost from Sukuna's past, haunting him even a millennium later. Only Kaori's unforgettable words, burning within him like an eternal flame, remained vivid in Sukuna’s mind.

He remembered little upon waking from his slumber, but one truth always remained crystal clear: he was cursed by Gojo Satoru. This knowledge was an immutable, ancient certainty. For Sukuna, there was no escape; seeing the resolve in Satoru’s eyes suggested that there might be no happy ending either.

As he stood before Kaori, shielding her, with Satoru looming over him, Sukuna felt a hollowing void consume his core. He had never experienced anything like it—a swarm of new emotions crawling like poisonous spiders along his spine. He finally faced his greatest enemy, yet felt no surge of excitement, only the wind whistling through the countless holes age had carved into him. He felt an exhaustion so profound that none of the wandering people around him could possibly comprehend it.

And yet, teetering on the precipice of his grim fate, a ball of incandescent anger refused to let him fall. Forever balancing, Sukuna was a bird clinging to a twig in a gale, but this time, the strong winds threatened to shatter his wings.

"What are they doing?" the curse Jogo asked from behind Sukuna, his voice too curious for a curse, too palpable, too human. What was this era, where curses mirrored humans and humans mirrored curses? A man who could raze a city stood before Sukuna, unmoving, his eyes extraordinary—a compressed sky framed by his gaze. A true artist painted Satoru's canvas, while a butcher carved Sukuna from bone.

"I saw you that night," Satoru said suddenly, his voice wistful. "Do you know what it's like to carry adult memories as a child?"

Sukuna remained silent. At least Satoru had memories. Sukuna could only recall what he was permitted, waking each time like a book with a randomly inscribed page. What was the point of standing here, debating anything? Had the long centuries softened Gojo Satoru's resolve, making him regret their fateful encounter? It was far too late to apologize for cursing Sukuna into this undead state.

"A child’s heart can’t carry so much pain…" Satoru’s voice trembled with emotion. "And yet, there was not a day I would blame you."

Until then, Sukuna's eyes had passively observed his surroundings, the fleeing people, and ushering children, a mere background blur, a side violin to the main event. But at Satoru's words, Sukuna's gaze sharpened, locking onto the sorcerer.

"When I see you," Satoru murmured, his eyes glistening, "I can hardly imagine a worse fate."

If wandering as a mindless corpse was Sukuna’s fate, then it must have been ordained by his very birth, not by a single human. As the thought flared in his mind, a sharp throb lanced through his head. He winced, his face contorting, and turned away from Satoru.

“Enough!” Kaori’s voice sliced through the air. Sukuna felt her cold hands on his shoulders, a chill that paradoxically warmed his skin, coursing through him with intoxicating silence and strength.

His head spun, a pulse drumming against his eardrums and throbbing in his temples. The ground beneath his feet trembled. Looking down, he saw a root cracking the stone, vibrating with ominous red and black. He didn't have enough time to connect with the siphonic curse, feeling only a fleeting lick of the roots against his foot before a blinding red light erupted, engulfing the surroundings. Sukuna’s instincts took over instantly. He shoved Kaori aside, bringing up his hands to negate RED with Domain Amplification.

When the light shattered into fragments and the energy dissipated, Sukuna, driven more by instinct than a desire for battle, surged forward. He knew he held no advantage against the Six Eyes user; all his cards were laid bare. Yet, he was still Ryomen Sukuna, and that had to mean something more than merely being a curse.

“Don’t fight me!” Satoru roared, gritting his teeth. “I’m here to break your curse! I’ll do it willingly! I swear!” His shouts were desperate, raw.

Sukuna’s expression hardened, his body coiling tight. He'd been warned of such blatant lies. No one would trust their enemy's sweet words; they were merely bait, a trap. Sukuna wasn’t a naive fool. He might have been a nicely wrapped rotting corpse, but he wasn't stupid.

As a reward for such an offer, he unleashed Simple Domain, negating Satoru’s Infinity and cutting through him, slicing his neck and shoulder. The wounds healed instantly, only for Sukuna to tear into them again and again, thirstily watching the blood stain Satoru's clothes.

Satoru endured a relentless assault of slashes, bleeding, and healing. It felt like a maddening loop: no progress, just constant torture. Sukuna’s cursed energy seemed bottomless; he felt as if the very universe was feeding him. They could truly go on like this forever, until Satoru’s healing costs would finally outweigh his gains. And perhaps it was in that same moment that they both realized their trap, because Satoru abruptly stopped healing himself. With the roar of a fatally wounded animal, he surged forward at a speed Sukuna could barely perceive.

Before Sukuna knew it, those long legs were wrapped around his chest, and a finger pointed at him. Satoru was impossibly close, his eyes sharp and cold. The sky itself seemed frozen, like Vivaldi’s winter serenade.

Sukuna’s eyes widened in realization—a shock, a fragment of memory, a crack on a mirror. A mirror? The slide of a violin’s bow, an impulse, a missed heartbeat. All of it happened in the same second: Satoru’s brows furrowed, and his bloody lips parted to whisper...

“I’m sorry…”

He fired RED straight into Sukuna’s face, sending him meters away to crash into a kiosk, crushing the booth with the impact of his body. Sukuna felt the debris under his arms, his fingers curling over plastic shards, cutting himself to clear the fog from his mind. His eyes narrowed at Satoru, who stood before him, fists tight, his many wounds steaming as they healed.

Sukuna slowly rose, his head spinning. The single slide of the bow over the violin repeated in his fractured mind like a needle stuck on a broken vinyl record. So many unknown words poured into his head, making him dizzy. But no matter how disoriented or confused he felt, he had to fight to finally break this vicious circle.

Throughout his lives, Sukuna had only one task: save Kaori, save himself.

The same thought must have struck Satoru again. But this time, it was a matter of speed. Sukuna moved first, crashing into Kaori before Satoru could reach her, flinging her out of harm's way. Then he launched himself at Gojo, all fists and limbs, grazing past him, dodging his counterstrike, and landing on his feet behind him.

“I’m the one you will fight,” Sukuna hissed, squaring his shoulders and puffing out his chest, though his vision was still a haze.

Satoru tugged down the broken zipper of his ruined jacket, letting it fall to the ground. His black shirt hung in tatters, his pants torn in places. Pale skin and sculpted muscle caught the light; no longer a boy, already a man.

A memory flashed like lightning behind Sukuna’s eyes: blue irises wide with wonder, never fear; a boy in his bed who met the demon of the night with blades as sharp as stormlight.

“I didn't come to harm you!” Satoru shouted, voice trembling.

Sukuna staggered back. A flood of memories, fragmented and chaotic, stormed his mind. He couldn’t focus and couldn’t push them away. Pain bloomed hot behind his eyes, throbbing like fire in his skull. His heart pounded in his chest. He called on his healing technique to stop it, to silence it, but it was of no use.

“Ryo, let me help you, my love, please…”

Again, those words—striving to deceive him, to turn the tide, and to switch sides. A betrayal, once more. In the back of his mind, a voice warned him of another bloody betrayal from Gojo Satoru. Just like that time… But which time?

Sukuna clutched his head, his eyes widening as he tried to endure the chaotic flood of memories, mere fragments like pictures scattered in the wind. And when he thought he was finally there, on the brink of losing his mind, something wrapped around his ankle. He felt multiple stings pierce his skin, a pulsating energy sucking his blood, draining his veins. Then another painful cut on his arm, around his biceps, and when he looked down, he saw his veins filling with black.

He gasped, shocked, as he watched the siphonic spell feeding on him, drawing memories from his mind and replacing them with emptiness. Was this what Kaori did to him every time he was on the… he was… Sukuna’s mind grew emptier, calmer.

“Kill Gojo Satoru!” Her voice resonated in his head like thunder, but it was abruptly cut short as Satoru appeared before him, ripping the roots from Sukuna’s body and crushing them in his hands as if they were nothing.

Sukuna’s hands shot up in defense, colliding with Satoru’s chest and pushing him back for a brief moment. But Satoru charged again, reaching for Sukuna’s face, leaving his torso exposed. Sukuna struck fast, his fist driving into Satoru’s gut, feeling the Infinity splinter beneath his knuckles.

The opening didn’t last.

Satoru’s hands were already on his face.

He had given himself up for a single touch, risking everything with one move that could have ended him in a breath.

“You still remember my weakness,” Satoru said, his voice low, lips streaked with blood.

Sukuna tried to ignore the pull, to stay clear-headed. But Satoru’s soft, unwavering eyes were filled with something deeper. Not fear, not regret, but the kind of tenderness found only in the oldest stories. They reached into Sukuna, searching for something broken, offering a kind of grace he hadn’t known he still longed for.

And Kaori… she was drowning too. But Satoru had never offered her the same hand.

Sukuna’s features relaxed. Quietly, he drew his hand from Satoru’s stomach. Their eyes stayed locked as he raised his arms between them, shaping the roof of the Malevolent Shrine.

Their clashes over domains were even. One time, Satoru managed to crack Sukuna’s. The next time, it was Sukuna who expanded his own so much that it shattered the walls of the Infinity void. The whole time, Sukuna kept himself as close to Satoru as possible. He was a fast learner and realized that the closer he was to him, the better chance he had to dodge or read his movements. The less space the man had, the worse he could concentrate. Sukuna quickly realized that his immediate proximity was a weakness for Satoru, and in some twisted way, it worked the other way around, too.

Sukuna was safe within Satoru’s domain only as long as he maintained physical contact, a fact that aided his survival. However, the sorcerer's close presence was suffocating, as if Gojo Satoru, like Kaori, could control aspects of his very body.

When Satoru’s domain shattered, Sukuna was already stumbling again. His senses screamed that he was draining cursed energy too rapidly. Yet, he hadn't used that much. It should have been fine, to—

Satoru abruptly ended Sukuna’s thought with a punch delivered square to his face. A sharp crack echoed in Sukuna’s head as his cheekbone fractured, the shock-wave sending him reeling backward.

He healed automatically. When Satoru struck with his fist again, Sukuna seized it, using Cleave-Spiderweb to slice through him. Satoru’s forearm was severed instantly.

They separated as Satoru leaped away. Sukuna watched him land on a traffic light, crouching as his limb knitted itself back together. Then, simultaneously, they both felt an abrupt surge of cursed energy. Sukuna sensed a wave of chill from behind him. Before he could turn, he saw hundreds of curses surge past him, all aiming for Satoru.

To his surprise, Sukuna found Kaori in her new body, grinning maliciously as she unleashed the curses against Satoru. So, this was her new technique—curse manipulation.

“It’s our only chance now!” Kaori shouted. “We will kill Gojo Satoru right now!”

At her command, the two curses beside her moved forward, joining the army Kaori had already sent toward Satoru. It was a black mass of grotesque bodies and faces. The sky darkened under their negative assault. Sukuna heard the humming, the whispering, and the crying agony of each curse. Hundreds of souls begged for release, for rest, or simply shrieked, thirsty for more blood.

Through the cacophony of hell, he discerned human voices. When his gaze shifted, he saw the last remaining people fleeing. Vehicles with strange blue and red lights pulled to a halt. Sukuna recognized them: the modern Fujiwara, dread cloaked as justice.

“Sukuna...” a gentle, feminine whisper reached him amidst the pandemonium. “Ryomen Sukuna.”

Toryanse, Toryanse

Whose narrow path is this?

This is the narrow pathway of the Tenjin shrine.

Please allow me to go through.

Sukuna took a hesitant step closer, every sense honed to the voice that beckoned him. Drawn by curiosity, he followed, his mind singularly focused on the softness emanating from the blasphemy swirling around Satoru.

When other curses obstructed his path, he simply cleaved through them, exorcising them without a second thought. He carved his way forward, seizing a hissing curse that lunged toward Satoru. He crushed its head and tossed the remains aside. It was then that he felt a surge of chilling energy. He spun around, but his hand moved faster, seizing a wrist. Their eyes met: his crimson, hers deep brown.

“Our king, have you forsaken us?” she asked in a whisper. “Return home.”

“Ryomen Sukuna…” another spirit cried, then another, and soon all of them turned their attention to Sukuna, encircling him, their presence directed solely at him.

“Come home with us…” they chanted, swirling around him, brushing against his skin, fingers touching his cheeks. Above them, a small dragon soared. Sukuna watched it spiral, then vanish into the black mass. A single raindrop landed on Sukuna’s cheek.

“Help us, our king,” the woman murmured against his ear before instantly disappearing.

A cruel crack, an ominous surge of energy, slashed through, severing the heads of the spirits surrounding Sukuna. Drop after drop began falling from above him. It started raining.

“What have you done?!” Kaori hissed next to Sukuna’s ear. “How did you do that?! They are my weapons! They only listen to me!” She gripped his shoulder.

“I don’t… know…” he replied in a weak, faraway voice.

“What is this? Why are you wet?” Confused, Kaori released him.

Only then did Sukuna realize he was the only one drenched. He looked at his hands, rubbing his fingers to test the rain, but it felt strange against his skin, not the soft, smooth texture of water. Curious, he brought his fingers to his lips, tasting the liquid.

His eyes widened. "Tears."

"What?"

"It's tears..." Sukuna gazed up at her. "I'm soaked in tears."

"What are you saying?! Have you lost your mind?!" she yelled, but her deep, masculine voice resonated even more powerfully within Sukuna.

Furious, she clasped her hands together. Sukuna watched the black aura swirl around her new body, sweeping her hair and clothes in a vortex of energy like wind. Instantly, the ground beneath Sukuna's feet trembled and cracked, revealing dark, massive roots. Lava splashed onto the surface. Sukuna barely dodged the burning eruption.

"Kill Gojo Satoru!" Kaori demanded firmly. "Or this hellish hole will become your home forever!"

Dust and smoke choked the air, swirling around them. Sparks flew, fire crackled from the pit, and roots groaned. The heat was immense and familiar, reminiscent of his burning domain, yet it was also different—red, raging, and seething with vengeance. Sukuna couldn't recall where he'd seen it before or its purpose. The flames' red was so blindingly bright; their intensity made him squint. Then, a random flashback crossed his mind—a brief one again, yielding no clear information, but he felt it: an immense pain in his right eye.

"Kill Gojo Satoru!"

The words reverberated inside his head, chanting, summoning him, clawing at him with black, steel hooks, tying him with chains, squeezing his soul, and choking him until he finally submitted. Like a puppet, Sukuna turned, heaving, seething. He crossed the fire in search of Satoru, spotting him in the distance, still fighting the remaining curses and Jogo.

"It doesn't matter what you remember when you'll be soon dead," Kaori whispered in his mind, her voice soothing, a familiar echo of cold saturation and wet tombs.

He had heard those whispers before.

"Out of my way!" Satoru hissed, irritated, a blue ball of energy forming in his hand.

Sukuna watched as the blue energy drew all the curses toward Satoru. They had no chance of survival. The next step was obvious: RED blasted, exploded, and obliterated every spirit instantly. Jogo stumbled backward, both arms missing, groaning like a pitiful animal.

Having Jogo by his side felt like an insult, a cruel joke from Kaori. Sukuna snarled, not sparing a single glance for Jogo, who vanished from his presence.

“It’s just us again, my love…” Satoru hovered above him. “Do you understand now who put you in this situation? I didn’t curse you.”

Sukuna had no words to offer. He was fueled by a primal urge to bite, tear, and claw. Transformed into a feral beast, he unhesitatingly leaped, manipulating his cursed energy to create steps in the air. This way, he reached Satoru, aiming for his neck. Satoru seized his hand and, with neck-breaking speed, spun them around. Then, bouncing off the air, he dove headfirst toward the ground.

“It will hurt.” Satoru’s eyes sparkled, a glint of something not quite danger.

They crashed into the concrete, forming a crater. Chunks of concrete flew, along with steel and water from broken pipes. Sukuna found himself pinned beneath Satoru, who had his hand curled protectively behind Sukuna’s head, shielding him from a fatal injury. An odd, barely-there sensation tingled on Sukuna's skin, like a rush of blood.

Satoru then engulfed him in his Infinity.

Abomination. Satoru showered him in pity.

Sukuna growled low, teeth bared in a snarl, and gripped Satoru’s neck with crushing force. Satoru remained unmoved, still gently cupping Sukuna’s head, his other hand coiled around Sukuna’s wrist. That’s when he noticed the blue string looped twice around Satoru’s wrist again. It was actually a hair tie, its ends adorned with two loose amber beads.

It was another detail Sukuna should remember, but it was buried under layers of centuries-old dust.

"I've never betrayed you," Satoru whispered, his voice strained. "Never me."

Sukuna’s attention snapped back, and he gritted his teeth, applying more pressure to Satoru’s windpipe. A surge of healing energy coursed through Satoru’s body, keeping him intact but breathless. In the back of his mind, Sukuna knew Satoru could end this fight at will. Something, however, held him back from crushing the weakened Sukuna. Nothing made sense anymore. His mind spun in a chaotic mess of thoughts, scattered fragments of a broken world. He was losing his sanity, plummeting into a pit of despair from which even Kaori wouldn't be able to retrieve him.

"I won’t let you go with her again..." Satoru's voice broke, his eyes pleading. The glint from before was nothing but tears.

A single eyelash fluttered, and a tear dropped onto Sukuna’s cheek. His grip on Satoru's throat loosened slightly. Desperately, Sukuna wanted to understand why he was so important to someone who had cursed him to exist between life and death. Or, was it even true? Where did the betrayal truly lie? In whose hands was the thorn that pierced his heart raised?

Those questions blossomed in Sukuna’s mind as he watched Satoru’s glassy eyes. Satoru was speaking, forming words that couldn’t penetrate the thick mist of Sukuna’s confusion. Perhaps there was a way to kill him definitively. If anyone possessed that power, it was Gojo Satoru.

“You betrayed me!” Kaori’s furious voice resonated in his head, cold, accusatory, and unforgiving.

Sukuna’s eyes widened, his body tensing, just as his deadly grip around Satoru’s throat returned. Nothing made sense to him anymore. Satoru could break free, but he refused. Sukuna, unable to free himself, so desperately sought an escape.

“Gojo-sensei!”

An unfamiliar voice struggled to pierce the bashful string of curses from Kaori. A young boy's voice sounded worried, urging, and familiar. Like a ray of light, it cut through the mist, revealing a piece of blue right behind Satoru’s head. A halo that perfectly framed his eyes. Sunlight struck Sukuna’s eyes, blinding him. Through it, a silhouette appeared, too bright for Sukuna to recognize, but he acted on instinct.

When he attacked, his strike connected with something, but he missed hitting his actual target. He heard a hiss and smelled blood, and then Satoru tightened his hold on Sukuna's wrist, crushing, bursting, and slicing. It wasn't a technique from Satoru. It was...

“Yuuji!” Satoru called out, his voice higher, desperation dripping from it.

Sukuna watched his arm fall amidst the scattered debris. He knew he should begin healing, but the warm light was simply too comforting, embalming him in a gentle embrace, drawing him back to a familiar home, a land where he was king of the forsaken.

The voices above him faded, becoming mere background noise. Sukuna’s eyes fluttered tiredly, welcoming whatever fate approached. Whether it was the freezing embrace of his tomb or the warm arms of death, it no longer mattered. He yearned to cease thinking.

The boy suddenly blocked the light as he leaned closer, abandoning the safety of Satoru's presence. He bent over Sukuna, his brown eyes wide, lips parted, and pink hair ruffled by the wind. His cheeks were a healthy, vibrant red.

Sukuna opened his eyes fully, staring at the boy and then at his own reflection. The face he saw was disturbingly familiar.

“Use your soul technique!” Satoru urged. “Snap Kenjaku’s strings that hold him!”

“But he’s human. It could kill him,” the boy argued, though his hand was already clenched into a fist.

“Do it before Kenjaku claims him again.” Satoru crouched beside Sukuna, carefully slipping one arm beneath him and lifting him onto his lap.

Yuuji’s brows furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. A flicker of apology passed through his eyes as he raised his hand above his head. Sukuna didn’t know what kind of cursed technique it was, and he didn’t care. All he could do was stare into those soft brown eyes he had seen before.

“Now!” Satoru commanded, and Yuuji’s hand struck Sukuna’s chest.

A wave of cursed energy surged through Sukuna, sharp and blinding like a lightning strike. It burned through him, setting every nerve ablaze. His ribs expanded, his lungs and heart strained to contain the force. Sukuna gasped for air but couldn’t breathe. His gaze stayed locked on Yuuji’s. He knew those eyes. They were familiar. They were something he had seen before.

“Again!” Satoru shouted, tightening his hold as his hands instinctively wrapped around Sukuna's head.

Another soul punch landed, then another, and another. It became harder to stay conscious, harder to think. All he could see were those eyes and the light, bright and warm, a clean blue sky, and a red ribbon fluttering in the wind.

“Mother...?”

Chapter Text

Birds chirped around him, a symphony of the spring and summer. With the first flutter of his eyelashes, he could feel how warm it was around him. The memory of cold marble seeping through his skin was pushed behind for once. Sukuna knew the cold would return eventually, as it always did. A little bit of sunlight, then back to underground. He was like a mushroom, sitting in the shadows, breathing for mere days.

This warmth wasn’t different from those fleeting moments of comfort. Not even the soft sheets tangled around his feet, caressing his shoulders and body, were permanent.

Sukuna finally opened his eyes, the dim lights blinding him. He immediately reached to cover his face with his hands. When he lifted one of them, he felt how impossibly heavy his limbs were and how clumsy he was in controlling his body. Instead of covering his eyes with his palm, he slammed his hand over his face, missing his eyes and hitting his nose.

A low, irritated groan escaped Sukuna. Being this clumsy after waking up from the long, sleepless night was always taking a toll on his self-esteem. He was supposed to be as elegant and fluid as water, and as graceful as the wind dancing with fallen leaves, yet he struggled to even place his hands where he wanted them.

If his arms weren’t cooperating, then he could simply roll onto his side to avoid the sun without messing anything up. Slowly, he lifted his foot and tried to put away his arms over his torso, but his leg felt even heavier than his arm before. It was as if someone filled his bones with iron.

As Sukuna wrestled with his stubborn body, the light in the room dimmed at once, prompting him to turn his head on instinct, despite the pain each movement caused.

By the window, shaded with beige curtains, stood a man. His silhouette was imposing and easily filled the modest room where Sukuna was settled. Sukuna blinked rapidly, chasing the wetness and sensitivity from his eyes. Soon, he could finally see who stood there. Dressed in black, with a blindfold over his eyes and crispy white hair falling over it… It was…

Sukuna’s eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat. The visuals told him a little, but what spoke loud enough to silence his chaotic thoughts was the powerful presence the man had. Unyielding and dominant, yet soothing at the edges. Sukuna quickly realized there was no danger of being looted over him, despite the display of power. The man’s cursed energy packet filled the room to each corner, yet he felt comfortable and safe.

There was only one person who ever made Sukuna feel like this, but that man was…

A deep frown settled upon Sukuna’s face as a vivid memory opened in his mind. A cheerful, giggling boy with white hair swaying in the wind, trying to catch Sukuna, who stole his hair tie. It was a blue ribbon with two yellowish beads on the ends.

Sukuna kept exchanging the tie between his four hands, teasing Satoru to…

His eyes widened at once, the scowl disappearing like the remnants of the morning fog. How could he even remember what happened so many years ago when he couldn’t even properly remember where he was the last night? He should be bound away, sitting in his dark corner and absorbing darkness and curses to become stronger to fight… Satoru…

“Oh my, I’ve never seen your face like this before…”

Sukuna could barely move as he was stuck in a trance. Satoru’s voice matured, but the teasing, sweet undertone was still here. He always spoke like a melody whistled by herdsmen. There were too many memories and stories his mind was trying to tell him. He cherished all the joyful moments, even during the rainy evenings. When he held Satoru, or when they fought and bled side by side. They were always together.

Warmth swelled up in Sukuna’s chest, expanding quickly in his body, melting the last barriers in his mind. The chains that kept him connected to Kaori… no, to Kenjaku, melted. That was correct; he always knew who the witch was. In the very core of his soul, he had always known. Every time he was close to remembering, she locked him in the dark, wet tomb and—and…

“Ryo…” Satoru’s soft voice pierced through his anxious thoughts like a beam of light.

Sukuna’s breath hitched, his body tensing despite the weakness he still felt in his limbs. His mind protested against the flood of memories. Confused that he was lying on a soft bed instead of the hard coffin. Flickering candles and wet stone flashed before his eyes, and Sukuna closed his eyes tightly, his hand firing up, fighting the lid of his coffin to close over him.

“Ryo, it’s alright.”

He felt the mattress dipping, Satoru’s comforting presence closing on him. Then a hand touched his cheek, and Sukuna’s eyes fluttered open, catching the sight of Satoru’s blue eyes lined with snowy eyelashes. His skin was perfect as he remembered it. Albatross, silky smooth, his lips pink and glossy.

“Take it easy.” Satoru smiled, his thumb stroking gentle lines under Sukuna’s eye.

“How…” he muttered, barely recognizing his frightened voice. “How come I can remember?”

“I know you have many questions,” he muttered, his voice velvety, smooth, and so mature, “but first things first. You need to gain strength, then we’ll talk.”

Sukuna stared at him, still in disbelief. He remembered Satoru as a young man, a boy who nervously stepped into adulthood. But right now, before him was a solid man. He was so painfully beautiful that Sukuna’s heart ached. Sukuna remembered those blue eyes that looked at him tenderly, which were filled with fear and tears.

“How old are you?” Sukuna blurted out, his fingers curling around the duvet.

“Twenty-seven.”

Sukuna inhaled sharply as the realization hit him square. For one thousand years, he was haunting Satoru like a living nightmare, chasing, hurting, and killing him. Yet for some reason, Satoru was here, gently touching him as if he had never sliced his throat or allowed the many babies to choke on their blood.

The painful pictures were vivid in Sukuna’s mind, popping up one after another, overpowering him. Before he knew it, he felt wetness in his eyes. Similar to when he woke up, but so much more bitter.

“Ryo…” Satoru stuttered, his voice glistening. “Whatever you are thinking about, please don’t let it consume you.”

Sukuna felt tears rolling down his cheek. Pulsating pain exploded in his head, showing more and more of the awful things he had done. There was no timeline, only a flood of memories sharp like knives.

The boy Satoru used to be was long dead, buried beneath the ground, away. He could go and collect all the ashes from his past lives and build his own tomb. There was no future for a soul as fractured as Sukuna was. He should recollect his past sins and lay down forever. He never had the opportunity to fix the damage. Not even another thousand years would help him.

Sukuna let out a shuddering breath, his hands shaking uncontrollably. The darkness was still present, no matter what spell or technique Satoru used on him. Everything rotten and filthy was glued to the walls of his consciousness. He wore them—blood, tears, and decaying flesh—like his only skin.

A short but piercing sob penetrated the rattling of the skeleton in his head. When he opened his eyes, he saw Satoru shedding tears, leaning closer, resting his forehead on Sukuna’s, and cupping his face.

“I forgive you,” Satoru whispered, his voice a promise, stronger than any binding vow.

The words unleashed a storm inside Sukuna. He was never open enough to share his burdens or fears, not even with Satoru back in their era. But after everything that happened, no barrier separated him from the outside world. He was a bare, pulsating vein, exposed to everyone’s sharp gaze.

“Why do I remember?” He whimpered, his chest tightening. “I don’t want to…”

“Shh…” Satoru cooed. “Memories cannot hurt us anymore. We are here now. For the first time in a thousand years, we are finally together.”

Sukuna turned his head, leaning more into Satoru’s touch. “Is that enough? All that anguish was worth this moment?”

“Yes!” Satoru’s reply was immediate and breathless. “I love you. I love you, love you, love you, love you…”

It couldn’t be the right thing to say to someone who committed such atrocities against a baby. Sukuna closed his eyes tightly, his jaw flexing. He was torn between the need to take Satoru in his arms, to finally feel and smell his skin, to lose himself in his protective embrace, and the suffocating guilt that was repulsed by his touch on Satoru’s innocent flesh.

“You don’t know what you're saying—”

“Love you so much. Always.” Satoru pressed his lips to Sukuna’s cheek, one hand slipping in the hollow under his neck.

He was so tender with Sukuna, who felt undeserving of such affection, as if nothing bad had ever happened, and Sukuna couldn’t handle it. He hurt Satoru, and for all that he ever cherished, he would rather never remember the bloodbaths he caused him.

The urge to free himself and hide in a dark corner was growing bigger inside Sukuna. Like a spider, he wanted to crawl back to his coffin and let his flesh become one with Earth again. The dark spell would erase his memories, and he would be…

What would he be? What was he before all of this?

“Satoru…” He mumbled against Satoru’s palm, avoiding as much of Satoru’s presence as he could.

Touching Satoru, feeling his skin felt so ancient, it threw him back under the rose bushes lining the riverbank where they shared their first kiss. None of this could have existed. At his worst, Sukuna put them through a fate worse than hell.

Above him, Satoru let out a soft whimper, nuzzling at Sukuna’s cheek. “I’ve waited to hear my name from your lips for centuries.”

Sukuna managed to slip his hand between their bodies, gently pushing against Satoru’s chest. All the affection and sentiment weren’t doing well for his shattered psyche. He was dragged around by a strong wind, drenched in dust, water, and dirt, and there was nothing he could do against it. No anchor, no helping hand. Because the wind right now was Satoru himself.

“I need…” Sukuna swallowed the forming lump in his throat. “I need some space. I can’t…”

Satoru stopped at once, slowly lifting himself, his fingers curling around the back of Sukuna’s neck. “I’m sorry. I know you’re overwhelmed… It’s just…”

“I know…” Sukuna muttered, understanding the passion and need that always burned between them like thousands of suns.

But right now, he needed to take a deep breath and collect all his thoughts. Everything confused him, and though Satoru was his only anchor, he was suffocated for too long, held down by many hands. So much happened, and he didn’t even know where to start or how to act. He had too many questions and was worried about finding answers to them. Because if this was just another era of hunting him, then by all means, Satoru could’ve killed him on the spot in Shinjuku.

Satoru pulled back, but he stayed in the bed, the messy white bedsheets pooling around like a snow scene. The bright, beige walls and curtains with modest dark wood furniture completed the soothing atmosphere.

Seeing him like that, vulnerable, sitting, legs folded by his side, hands cupped in his lap, eyes impossibly soft and radiant, Sukuna found himself sucked into the swirl of Satoru’s charms. It was just as in the first moment he laid eyes on Satoru. Beauty and innocence beyond measure, yet inside, he carried the same thorn of corruption as any other person.

Satoru’s beauty was different because Sukuna was in love with him. And the fact itself made Satoru shine brighter than any star in the sky. Made his touch more desirable than a drop of water in a desert, his voice more soothing than any pain medicine.

Once again, Sukuna found himself being awestruck, unable to think about anything else but Satoru.

With a low snort, he closed his eyes. “You make it hard for me to concentrate.”

“I gave up the second I entered this room.” There was a hint of amusement in Satoru’s voice as he pulled closer once again.

Sukuna scoffed, shaking his head and opening his eyes again, but avoiding Satoru’s gaze. “I’ve changed. I’m not the man you used to know.”

“Oh, I would have to be blind not to see,” Satoru quipped, shuffling a little to rest his legs properly.

Carefully, Sukuna propped himself up on his hands and took a moment to catch his breath. Every time he moved his eyes slightly, they caught blurry lines, as if he had problems sharpening. It was nauseating. Something was wrong with his RCT because the level of his cursed energy was full. He felt powerful, yes, as if he was leaking through his skin.

“I was still not healed when she summoned me,” Sukuna murmured, rubbing his cold fingers together and testing his texture and movements.

A wistful smile appeared on his face. “I’ve never had the space to look at myself.”

Satoru shifted slightly closer again. His need to be as close to Sukuna as possible was almost palpable. The natural attraction between them was difficult to ignore and was certainly messing with Sukuna’s concentration.

“We should ask…” Satoru paused, carefully posing his next words. “Tengen, about what actually happened to your body.”

Incredulous, Sukuna raised an eyebrow. He turned his eyes to Satoru at once. Hearing Tengen’s name this year and from Satoru’s mouth as if they were great friends was a lot to process.

“Let me explain quickly…” Satoru lifted his hands in a placating gesture.

Sukuna hadn’t had a choice anyway. He just wasn’t expecting to hear Tengen’s name a millennium later and from Satoru. Of course, he wanted to know everything about what happened to him; it was just too surprising that old enemies were suddenly allies.

“Alright…” Sukuna sighed, “Don’t spare me any details. I’ve had enough of secrecy for another thousand years.”

Satoru’s eyes softened as he slightly pressed his lips together. The warm light cast golden shadows on his face. His skin could never reflect light in a way that created anything other than shadows. His pale features always stood out. Satoru resembled a being from his own world who had mistakenly wandered into this one.

“Damn, I can’t stop thinking about you even when you’re right before me…” Sukuna laughed shortly, massaging his forehead.

“It’s been too long… ” Satoru smiled, carefully reaching for Sukuna’s hand resting on the duvet. The slight brush was electric and made Sukuna’s body shiver, filling it with comfortable warmth.

“I assume you know that Tengen and Kenjaku are two different people.”

Sukuna nodded, his eyes focused on the pale hand covering his own cold and unnaturally pale one. Finally, they matched even in the physical aspect, not only the freaky one.

“Kenjaku was Tengen’s student. She was clever, a quick learner, and also a stealthy thief. Over the five years she spent by Tengen’s side, she secretly studied numerous of the sacred scrolls.”

“What was in the scrolls?”

Satoru exhaled deeply before he continued: “Dark siphonic spells, barriers, and necromancy scrolls Tengen brought from overseas.”

A bitter realization fell upon Sukuna’s face. Despite asking for every detail, he really didn’t need to hear more to see the whole picture. He felt sick to his stomach, the truth spreading through his body like a disease, liberating him from centuries of lies.

“I knew she was rotten thoroughly…” Sukuna felt his throat tighten. “I just… hearing it is different.”

“She was the one you fought in the woods…” Satoru clutched at Sukuna’s hand. “She plotted with Fujiwara against us and then with us against Fujiwara. All she ever cared about was her interests.”

Sukuna knew he lived under a curse, brainwashed, never allowed to ask questions or think beyond the frame Kenjaku set for him. He was nothing but a weapon in her arms. A human reduced to rotting flesh with razor-sharp bones.

“I should’ve known better than to pact with such a snake like her…” Sukuna averted his gaze, ashamed.

“We were young and foolish.” Satoru pulled closer, leaning his chin on Sukuna’s shoulder. Now, they were back as they were before. They were two halves that couldn’t be separated for too long.

Satoru’s consoling presence, however, couldn’t soothe the growing unease and etching sensation melting all of Sukuna. When the truth finally washed over him, it took all the lies and deception he was made of and left nothing but foam.

“My foolishness hardly can stand against all your deaths.”

The words dropped like a snowflake, chilling the room profoundly. Satoru tensed beside him, his breath halted, and for a moment neither of them moved. Sukuna knew that forgiveness couldn’t erode the horrors Satoru was cursed to live with because of him.

“I did this to us!” Sukuna’s voice resonated through the chilly atmosphere. “I made us this way!”

“I don’t care! She would find another way.” A warm murmur fell across Sukuna’s ear. “I refuse to live in the past when you’re now a part of my future.”

Sukuna frowned, gripping the lining. “You can’t—“

“I can!” Satoru interjected firmly. “You spent my life, and it’s up to me to forgive you.”

“You’re acting like that again!” Sukuna shook his head, anger filling his veins. “Always stubborn and reckless.”

“Yes, I blindly led us to a certain trap,” Satoru said firmly. “I live with that decision every day. We weren’t able to let go of our past; that was why we ended up like this, and I refuse to make the same mistake again.”

Sukuna sighed, the wounds still too raw for him to handle. In his head, he lived the same betrayal thousands of times; he was backstabbed by the one he was willing to give his all for. In the cold, suffocating darkness, there were only Kenjaku’s whispers and cries from his mother. He was still dancing on the edge, still surfing the waves of agony, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself it was a long time gone.

“I love you…” Satoru moved closer, raising his hand to cup Sukuna’s face and turn it toward him so that their eyes would meet. “It’s the only thing not even you can take from me.”

Satoru’s eyes shone, glistening in the soft amber light of the bedroom. He was pouring his whole heart into Sukuna’s soul, trying to penetrate the same barrier made of the lives Sukuna spent. Tiny hands, blind eyes, wisps of white hair, a smile—they were haunting him now. Everything he couldn’t remember was resurfacing, chaining, and bringing him down. Yet there was the same face, loving and forgiving.

“How can you forgive so much pain and despair?” Sukuna wondered, lowering his eyes.

“I told you before,” Satoru whispered as he leaned their foreheads. “I can hardly imagine a worse fate than yours.”

Sukuna found himself relaxing in the embrace of Satoru’s hands. His eyes fluttered slightly. “How can you know?” He murmured, his voice weak.

Satoru frowned as he lowered his gaze, remorse written all over his face. “You relied on the help of a person who was never strong enough to help you. I’m sorry.”

“You were a baby, Satoru…” He could barely hear his voice. The emotions were too much, making it hard for him to speak, to truly express with words what turmoil he felt inside.

“I promised you in our first life that I would find you and break your curse. I failed.”

Sukuna’s brows furrowed as a shard of memory cut through the fog of his mind. A flash of great fire flashed before his eyes. Screams, dust, smoke, and a night sky filled with sparks and embers. Rooftops were engulfed in flames, and water was dripping onto the stone. A hiss escaped Sukuna’s lips, and he pulled away, shielding his eyes with his hand as if he could stop the incoming flashbacks.

Two strong, yet gentle hands gripped around Sukuna’s wrists, prying them away. A soft pair of lips pressed against Sukuna’s eyelids with a purring, soothing whimper. Satoru’s body inclined, bent, and covered Sukuna like a willow tree. His thighs enveloped Sukuna’s sides; their cores met in a hot, intimate embrace. Sukuna’s heart reached out immediately, waving his arms around Satoru’s waist, letting the tiny drops of Satoru’s tears wash over him like summer rain.

“We’re walking this path together…” Satoru stuttered, pressing his lips against Sukuna’s cheek. “No matter where it leads, Ryo, forever.”

Sukuna closed his eyes, tiredly resting his head against Satoru’s shoulder. Greedily, he allowed himself a moment of peace, a touch of life and comfort. Everything soft and light was supposed to wither away in his presence. The only soft thing under his skin should be the silken sheet in his coffin, and the only warmth should be the flickering candles.

Yet, even a monster like him couldn’t resist when love called. Kenjaku showed him love’s drastic sides—the sourness and darkness of it. The bounds around his wrists were woven from the fabric of every innocent soul Sukuna took. He was never meant to be loved or learn to love. A mere weapon couldn’t even talk.

Maybe alone, he had a better chance to escape the fate Kenjaku and Fujiwara prepared for him. But then, he would never experience the softness of Satoru’s skin, the gentleness of his hold, and the innocence of his kisses.

“Satoru…” he murmured, his voice sleepy. “I’m not sure if our love is worth all the suffering.”

The world behind Sukuna’s eyes turned black. He didn’t remember the last time he could dream peacefully. Dreams were a distant concept for him. The soothing veil of rest and sleep, different from rotting and siphoning, was a forbidden lore. He was thoroughly robbed of his basic human needs so that he forgot how they felt. Food, drink, sleep… loving arms.

Sukuna didn’t hear Satoru’s reply; he only heard his embrace tighten before he drifted off to sleep. The darkness that came wasn’t cold nor suffocating. It felt like a velvet blanket.

**

Sukuna woke up with Satoru by his side when the world outside was already asleep. It was a relief for his sensitive eyes. After sleeping what he assumed was half of the day, he felt much better than before. His muscles didn’t strain that much, so he could easily sit up. Physically, Sukuna was doing alright, but mentally, he was like a fish stuffed in a bottle without being able to even turn around.

Everywhere Sukuna looked was an object he couldn’t name. Over the past centuries, he saw the world blooming, but only from behind a glass. He didn’t know what all of those things were called, but he was familiar with them. Kenjaku never gave his enlightenment enough importance. Even when he learned something new about the technology, he soon forgot it during the revitalizing sleep.

The room was dim, the curtains tightly drawn, but when Sukuna looked at Satoru, he could see him well enough. Pale skin. Snow-white hair. He looked like a canvas stretched across the fabric of the cosmos, waiting to be marked. Sukuna was the artist; however, he used knives instead of brushes. Too many times, he had driven them through Satoru’s willing, innocent flesh. The memory blurred into motion: cries, pleas, tiny hands clutching his robes.

“You foolish man,” Sukuna whispered, curling his hands together to keep them away from Satoru.

He only wanted to watch him a little longer before everything collapsed. It was not a possibility; it was a certainty. Calamity was coming, and Sukuna was its harbinger. Every era had someone waiting to stop him. Sometimes a monster of flesh and blood. Sometimes, a ghost who stalked the night. Sukuna had become the nightmare that haunted the jujutsu world. The last thing he wanted was to pull Satoru into it. He had finally grown into an adult man. He had a life that mattered.

And yet, Sukuna was torn between surrender and selfishness as he contemplated claiming Satoru one more time. Love was cruel. It was a blade with a dull and sharp edge. It slid into flesh both slowly and without mercy. For them, there was never any middle ground.

If he left, Satoru would suffer in ways the world couldn’t imagine. If he stayed, that pain would stretch across decades. That thought continuously echoed in Sukuna’s mind. He believed love would make him stronger until he met Satoru. Once arrogant and afraid, Sukuna now found himself torn between hiding in Satoru’s arms and walking away. Both choices were made only for Satoru.

Where had his selfishness gone? Where was the pride he once wore like armor? Love was meant to be a weapon. A brutal truth. A reminder that even those we cherished most could leave the deepest scars.

Sukuna leaned closer, careful not to stir the air between them. His red eyes skimmed over Satoru’s face, counting the pale lashes that fanned across his cheeks like a soft veil. He looked like a snow fox, delicate and watchful, trailing after Sukuna in silence. The image stung; it echoed the story he once told Uraume too vividly.

As quietly as possible, Sukuna slipped out of the bed. His steps were steady now, his hands sure. The ache in his stomach had settled, leaving only hunger behind. Gods, how long had it been since he tasted food? A simple grilled fish with soba, buttered noodles dusted with sesame, rice wine, or fragrant tea...

The thought made his mouth water. But there would be time to satisfy his cravings later. Right now, he needed air. He needed his mind to settle and a plan.

He eased the curtain open and looked outside. A wide stretch of green lay before him, quiet and untouched. There was a sitting area scattered across the space. Sukuna was sure there was a word for this kind of complex, but it was buried under layers of heavier things.

He turned, glancing over his shoulder at Satoru curled sweetly around a pillow, the duvet caught between his pale thighs. A quiet smirk rose to Sukuna’s lips. He might have been a thousand-year-old corpse held together by a necromancer’s spell, but he was still a man, and those thighs stirred a primal need within him.

So many nights he had spent beside Satoru, touching him, kissing him, pressing his lips to that smooth skin like it was scripture carved into flesh.

It was now nothing more than a dusty memory, one that barely felt like his own.

His mood sank, just as the corners of his lips did, and he turned his head toward the balcony door. The treetops gleamed brighter, and a line of golden light seeped through. It faced east. Morning was coming. He must have slept through the entire night.

The view softened him. It warmed his heart and made him feel the faintest sense of home, a rare comfort after being locked in the concrete chaos of Kyoto or Tokyo. The mountain air was clearer here. It made reading cursed energies easier and helped him notice subtle shifts, like someone creeping toward him.

That very thought snapped his focus to movement on the field below. A figure darted across the open grass. Pink hair. Then came another, taller and heavier, chasing him.

A feral, ancient instinct stirred inside Sukuna.

Without hesitation, he unlatched the balcony door, no longer concerned if he would wake Satoru up. Every movement flowed with ease, as natural as water sliding across stone. His grace had returned. Speed surged through him, massive and exact, like a heartbeat echoing in his body. In one gasping moment, he landed between the boys, fire coursing through his veins. His fingers clamped around the taller one with deadly precision.

A loud, panicked gasp ripped from Yuuji’s throat. He stood frozen behind Sukuna, senses razor-sharp. The boy in front, half-naked and sporting a bizarre haircut, raised his hands slowly in a placating gesture.

“We’re training…” he hissed through clenched teeth. Sukuna didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, it tightened.

It felt incredible to have full control over his body, to be responsible for his decisions, and to even create ones.

He was caught in the bliss of the moment, enjoying the horrifying effect he had on the boy. The red in his eyes burned with unstable fire. Even when Sukuna felt great potential in this boy, he was no challenge for him, and the boy knew it.

“Alright, that’s enough of the mama hen behavior,” Satoru’s voice rang out, loud and firm with a trace of alarm.

“Sensei!” Yuuji’s footsteps hurried toward the voice, distancing himself from Sukuna.

Sukuna released his grip immediately, turning to see Yuuji now beside Satoru, who stood with his hands on his hips, wearing only his pajama pants. Sukuna’s gaze drifted downward, catching on the contour between Satoru’s legs, unavoidable and distracting.

A precious wave of serenity rolled over Sukuna as he gazed at Satoru. His mind quieted, emptied of everything but him. That undeniable pull tugged at him once more, soft and alluring.

Satoru had to feel it too. With those cursed eyes that saw everything, he surely followed the path of Sukuna’s gaze, shameless and raw. But Sukuna didn’t flinch. It didn’t matter. Nothing did; only the peace settled over Sukuna like snowfall, silent and absolute.

Satoru cleared his throat awkwardly, breaking the spell partly. “Todo and Yuuji are friends,” he said with practiced patience.

“Best friends!” Todo chimed in with smug cheer, still rubbing his sore throat.

Sukuna sent him a glare sharp enough to slice through granite. He scanned Todo’s absurd haircut with cold disdain. How could Yuuji tolerate someone who styled his hair like a used scrub brush? Absolutely disgraceful.

“You look like a filthy ronin,” he said, voice thick with judgment.

“Oh, my my…” Satoru clapped his hands with exaggerated drama. “Ryo, darling…” He cleared his throat again as the sweet name slipped from his lips.

“Walk with me, won’t you? We need to discuss why attacking people isn’t an acceptable way to say good morning.”

“I didn’t attack anyone. I protected Yuuji,” Sukuna retorted, brushing past Todo with one last withering look. His gaze then settled on Yuuji, who stood in stunned silence, staring at him as if Sukuna had stepped out of legend and into daylight.

His soft brown eyes brimmed with confusion, brows delicately furrowed. Wonder shaped every inch of his face. He looked at Sukuna with the raw openness of a deer. Those doe eyes held all his secrets, all his feelings, without a trace of defense. His pink hair stuck out in disarray, tousled from sleep and trimmed into a messy undercut. Sukuna liked the undercut. Maybe he should get one too.

“You’ve grown into a man,” Sukuna said, nodding at Yuuji. The boy’s mouth parted, but no words came.

“The technique you used…”

“Alright!” Satoru burst in with feline speed, grabbing Sukuna’s shoulder and tugging him back. “Like I said—walk with me.”

“You’re wearing only pants,” Sukuna muttered, but didn’t resist. The warmth of Satoru’s touch soothed him. That closeness grounded him, even as a deeper part of him recoiled, raw and vulnerable, tempted to shove Satoru far away.

The thought looped again—leave or stay, abandon or surrender. Sukuna couldn’t decide. Yuuji, standing before him, oblivious to the tangle of longing and uncertainty, didn’t help.

He needed answers. He had to know what Yuuji truly was. Needed to hear his story and confirm that this connection wasn’t just a flicker of delusion. It felt too visceral. Like they shared the same lungs, the same heart… the same blood .

“Ryo,” Satoru’s voice softened, squeezing Sukuna’s shoulder, coaxing his focus back.

They walked quickly, their bare feet brushing against the cool grass soaked in morning dew. It reminded Sukuna of the old days so much that he could almost feel the Heian sun warming his face. It wasn’t a flashback, not exactly, but a feeling his skin remembered, a warmth he deeply craved.

He glanced over his shoulder one last time at Yuuji, who was now speaking with Todo in the distance.

That dark thorn in his mind twisted again, impossible to dislodge. It held important memories and every answer Sukuna had been searching for. Right now, his memories only leaked one into another, shadows overlapping without shape. But he knew if he could pierce through the clog, if he could find the thread buried deepest, it would all come rushing back. Not in fragments, but in a flood.

They stopped abruptly at the corner of the building. Satoru stood close, blue eyes shimmering with unease.

“Ryo, you can’t just attack people like that. We’re already walking a tight line. With—”

“Who is Yuuji?” Sukuna cut in, voice slicing through the morning calm. “His name has stuck with me since Shinjuku.”

The silence between them was immediate and heavy. They stared at one another until Satoru, realizing Sukuna wouldn’t relent, looked away. He crossed his arms over his chest, stepping back.

“Satoru!”

A sharp click of his tongue broke the quiet, and frustration rippled across his features. “Why don’t you tell me?” he snapped.

Sukuna’s jaw clenched as he watched Satoru recoil. His mad tone only made Satoru step further away. How could he be angry over something Sukuna didn’t remember and had no control over?

Each prolonged, silent moment felt like sinking deeper into a vast and suffocating darkness. He was used to surrendering to pain without blinking, but this time it threatened to crush him before he could make it right.

“I don’t remember…” he whispered, turning his back to Satoru.

His breath caught, locked in his throat. It pounded in his skull like nails driven into a sealed coffin. Cold and wet stone embraced him and sealed his last heartbeat into a silent loop. It was the moment when he should wake up from the dream, when the darkness should be the only thing he would see after opening his eyes.

Then the crypt should open to a damp, foul-smelling chamber filled with flickering candles and inhuman demands. She stood behind him. No, Satoru. There was never a Satoru. No, Satoru.

“I’m sorry…” came a soft voice that pierced through the deathlike silence. One candle flickered in the back of his mind.

With his eyes shut tight, he placed his palm against the rough wood of the building. It felt real. Solid. His nails scraped at it, awakening echoes of voices long lost.

"You abandoned us, Ryomen Sukuna."

"I didn’t mean to snap," Satoru said, voice low and heavy with remorse. "I know you’re hurting. I was cruel."

Sukuna leaned forward, resting his head against the wall. The ghostly whispers swirled around him, but Satoru’s voice burned through them. Deep within, a laugh slithered into his thoughts. His freedom was an illusion.

"It will never stop…" Sukuna breathed. His hands fell to his sides. He pulled away from the wall, pulled by an invisible force that had tugged him loose, then slammed his head into it.

Chapter Text

Satoru laced his fingers with Sukuna’s, gently holding the cold hand in his warm grasp. The death was immediate, like a bird turned to stone and dropped into a lake. No hope for resurrection. He beat his fists against Sukuna’s chest and poured all his breath into Sukuna’s lips, but the body didn’t react. Lying across the damp grass, bathed in the yellow glow of morning, Sukuna’s red, vacant eyes stared into the sky.

Wrecking sobs broke through the soft chirping of birds, their song warped like a scratched vinyl record. The world held its breath in a single frozen moment, as if touched by a divine pause. Coldness seeped from Sukuna’s skin into Satoru’s blood, into his heart and soul, freezing him from within.

He didn’t know how long he cried, hunched over, cheek pressed to the silence of Sukuna’s chest. Satoru felt hollow, broken, like every bone in his body had been shattered, like his lungs had been ripped out and used to beat the last breath from him.

In that single moment, Satoru lost everything.

It had to be his fault. He had snapped at Sukuna, crushed his fragile heart, and made him question his very existence. A soul already shattered couldn’t take more violence. Satoru made him retreat into whatever abyss had claimed him. Just as he had gotten Ryo back, just when he could feel that presence like a healing sunrise, it was cruelly stolen from him.

“Satoru…”

“Satoru…”

Someone was calling him. A hand tugged his own, then yanked his hair sharply, desperate to tear him from the trance. He didn’t respond. His gaze was locked onto Sukuna’s face. The red eyes were vacant, yet Satoru felt as though they stared straight into his soul. He could spend eternity like this, waiting, unmoving, until their bodies rotted into the earth and not a trace remained. Perhaps that was the only right way to live for them. They were relics, out of place in the timeline that no longer welcomed them.

And Ryo… he was a once divine, now desecrated icon. The most beautiful creation ripped from light by a devil’s hand; corrupted, remade in darkness. All of it was Satoru’s fault. From the moment he saw Sukuna by the river, he’d known. Yet he approached anyway. And began unraveling a life that had never deserved it.

“Satoru!”

Fingers clamped around his shoulder, yanking him back from Sukuna. He sucked in a breath, tearing away from the grip and collapsing once more onto the lifeless body. With a sob that shattered him, he cradled Sukuna’s face, thumbs brushing gently beneath still eyes. He looked so peaceful, asleep, untouched. Like a cherub etched into a cathedral’s archway. They looked just like Ryo. Eyes tilted to heaven, a little distant. But they were immortal. Watching, always.

Ryo was his angel. Just tired. Just resting. That was all.

“Satoru, stop it!”

The voice rang behind him, urgent and sharp. More hands latched onto him, trying to drag him back.

Satoru yelled, kicked, and tore his arms free. His technique burst out in a wild surge, dragging everything into its orbit: rocks, twisted metal, splintered wood. They spiraled into a ball and exploded like a shotgun shell. Shards scattered, slicing, bleeding. The blue inferno lasted only a fraction of a moment before everything stilled in dust. Satoru turned, fury flooding his eyes like molten fire. His teeth clenched. His fists gripped so tightly he felt blood pushing through his skin.

“I beg you.”

The voice struck through the noise. Deep, smooth, and tender, but laced with authority. It carved through Satoru’s mind like a tuning fork in thunder.

Nanami stood before him, petrified, shielding someone behind his broad frame. Satoru caught a flicker of brown hair as the figure peeked over. One curious, frightened eye met his.

It was Shoko.

His mind snapped back. His breathing stalled.

“You scared everyone,” Nanami said softly, shoulders sinking as he released a long breath.

“Sensei…”

Satoru’s head snapped toward Yuuji, who stood beside the building. The entire corner had been ripped apart, a gaping maw of plaster, wood, and metal poles. As Satoru looked back at Yuuji, he noticed a scratch beneath his eye, shaped like a crescent moon. He stared in blank shock, his gaze hollow, the eyes of a tortured, exhausted soul. He couldn’t endure this punishment anymore. He was so tired, so ready to lie down and rot into the Earth.

“Hey…” Shoko’s voice was soft as she approached, careful not to startle him. She wore her white coat and probably hadn't slept since yesterday.

She knelt, both hands resting on Satoru’s bare shoulders. He bowed his head, a wrenching sob rising from his throat as his body trembled.

“I can’t do this anymore…” he whimpered, leaning forward until his head pressed against Shoko’s chest.

“Satoru…” Her arms hesitated, then slowly wrapped around him.

No one spoke. He simply let himself rest. The world hushed. The only sound was the white noise of blood in his ears, the thunder of his pulse crashing into his eardrums. He had survived hundreds of deaths, yet he was still here. If he could, he would trade every remaining life for Sukuna.

This dreadful, burning feeling was familiar, too fresh, even after a millennium. He kept losing Sukuna. And it was always his fault.

“He’s not dead yet,” Yuuji said, his voice firm and resonant. The words sliced through the silence, pulling everyone’s attention toward him. “I can see a strange black string coming out of his chest like the one in Shinjuku.”

Satoru’s eyes snapped wide. He stumbled from Shoko’s arms, still on his knees, dragging himself across the grass toward Sukuna’s body. He waved Yuuji forward with frantic urgency, his movements wild. When the boy came within reach, Satoru grabbed his wrist and pulled him down to eye level.

“What exactly do you see?” Satoru rasped, voice coarse from crying.

“A black energy,” Yuuji said. “It looks like dust and ash. It forms into a hook.”

Satoru’s breath caught. That meant Kenjaku still held some thread of control, because he was able to reach past the school’s veil, beyond death itself. It was unthinkable, even for Satoru. But Kenjaku was the second strongest veil user and had studied with the best. She could breach even Tengen’s defenses enough to kill Sukuna, but not strong enough to rip his soul away.

“Yuuji, we’re going to do it like last time.” Satoru placed both hands on Sukuna’s chest. “My Six Eyes can’t see the anchor anymore. You have to do this alone.”

“Alright,” Yuuji nodded, determined. With sudden ferocity, he raised his fist and drove it into Sukuna’s chest.

The powerful energy flowed through Sukuna’s body, sending waves of life into him. Satoru could not see the black hooks snapping this time, so he placed his trust entirely in Yuuji’s vision. With each strike, he became more certain that Yuuji was not just an extraordinary boy with rare powers. He was the only one who could unravel Kenjaku’s spells and restore life to Sukuna. That gift, that ability, was something inherited through blood.

Satoru’s eyes fluttered as a wave of fatigue passed over him. The truth he had resisted for most of his life now stood in front of him, undeniable.

When Sukuna’s chest rose and he gasped for air, Satoru was stunned into numbness. He stared, realizing Sukuna had returned to him. Yet inside, he felt too drained to react. Too tired to move. The weight of hope was heavier than despair.

“You know what, my love?” Satoru whispered, not caring that Yuuji or anyone else could hear. “We should go to Tengen right now.”

**

The only sound in the room was the rustling of fabric as Satoru helped Sukuna dress in the most comfortable clothes the school could provide. He wrapped him in the softest cotton half-juban his fingers had ever touched. Then he tied the hakama pants over it with careful precision, forming the knot into a perfect bow. He eased Sukuna into a black haori, smoothing it over his shoulders, and finally knelt before him, slipping on warm winter socks and lacing the sandals securely around his ankles.

Every movement was measured and filled with quiet tenderness. Satoru said nothing, and Sukuna helped only when needed. The silence was gentle, full of unspoken comfort. No words had to be exchanged. Sukuna's heart and soul lay scattered at Satoru’s feet, and no matter how carefully he stepped, there was no avoiding them. Even now, with Satoru kneeling before him, he knew he was still hurting Sukuna.

Their past and present were tangled in a knot too complex to undo. They could not live without each other, and Satoru had no desire to try. But the pain they brought into each other's lives often felt like more than either of them could bear.

All Satoru wished was to heal their hearts and mend their souls. He desperately wanted to see Sukuna smiling, running through the forest, chasing after him, lifting Satoru into his arms, and spinning him wildly before falling onto the grass with flowers scattered around like colorful stars. Satoru would shield him from angry bees and wasps, and Sukuna would hold him tight, kissing his neck as if Satoru himself were a sweet nectar.

A silent, pleading sob escaped Satoru’s lips as his forehead came to rest gently against Sukuna’s thigh.

“Ryo, I’m so tired...” he whimpered softly, hidden beneath the fabric of sorrow that wrapped around him.

A cold, soothing hand rested atop his head. It felt like real snow, and Satoru imagined himself becoming a winter landscape, a corpse buried underneath snow. He drew in a calming breath and angled his head to nestle his cheek against the inside of Sukuna’s thigh. His scent hadn't changed, still fresh, but now layered with the coolness of damp stone and the sharpness of ozone before a storm. He smelled like damp earth.

“I know you can’t hold me now…” he murmured, closing his eyes as his fingers wrapped around Sukuna’s ankle, brushing against the leather straps of the sandals. “But I really need you. I need you so much.”

Sukuna moved just slightly, gently freeing his leg from Satoru’s grasp. In that moment, Satoru feared he had grown tired of the sentiment, of the torment Satoru had laid upon him by tearing him away from Kenjaku. He bowed his head, nails digging into the floorboards. No, he couldn’t give up and let Sukuna slip away again. He would rather rip his heart out than let him return to the witch.

Gritting his teeth, Satoru raised his head sharply, the blaze in his blue eyes burning like white fire. But then, to his surprise, Sukuna sank to his knees with all his lethal grace, soft as a butterfly.

“My arms have no meaning if I cannot use them to hold you,” he said, slipping his hands around Satoru’s waist and lifting him onto his lap.

Their bodies aligned effortlessly as Satoru buried his face in the crook of Sukuna’s neck, drawing in a sharp breath. He wrapped his arms around Sukuna’s back and gripped the folds of the haori. The unnatural coldness of Sukuna’s body seeped through the layers of cloth; it felt like holding something that belonged to death.

Satoru didn’t care. He held onto Sukuna with quiet desperation, pouring all his will into the embrace, even though he knew it must have felt like needles piercing fragile skin. Sukuna’s body was more delicate than ever. Physical contact had become a form of violence. Everything Kenjaku could violate, she did. She took every piece of him, twisted it, and made him grateful for the ruin.

“I remember you from fifteen years ago,” Sukuna muttered, his voice laced with painful nostalgia. “You knew who I was. The shadow had been haunting you since childhood.”

Satoru closed his eyes, pressing his face into Sukuna’s neck and tightening his hold. He wore those memories like a necklace, each life a pearl threaded by time. Everyone carried a shade of darkness Sukuna left behind. The newest were faint, still forming. But the oldest were vivid, stretching across centuries. They shimmered like stars on a night sky, not distinct enough to name, but clear enough to feel their gravity.

“You knew I could breach your Infinity,” Sukuna whispered, his hand drifting up between Satoru’s shoulder blades. “But you never tried to fix it. Not even now.”

“That opening is for you to reach my heart,” Satoru replied softly.

Sukuna let out a shuddering breath and pulled him closer. His hold became fierce, possessive. Satoru yielded even further, pressing against the stone of Sukuna’s chest with an odd comfort.

“In Kyoto,” Sukuna began, “many centuries ago. You wore a blue kimono and were surrounded by children.”

“I was a teacher,” Satoru said with a short laugh, his chest loosening as his shoulders relaxed.

“Like now?”

“Yes. But before, I taught ordinary children. Now I am a jujutsu teacher,” he replied calmly.

“I killed you.”

The moment broke abruptly, and the smile that had begun to form on Satoru’s face disappeared. He sighed and pulled back, his gaze dropping to the floor. His hands slid along Sukuna’s back, drifting downward until they came to rest in his lap.

There was sorrow in Sukuna’s voice, too grave for Satoru to dare to meet his eyes. He feared what he might find there. Another heartbreak. One more wound that hadn’t healed. Instead, Satoru gently shook his head and reached behind himself to take Sukuna’s hand, folding it into his own.

“I forgave you,” he whispered, rubbing his thumbs across Sukuna’s pale fingers.

“You wielded no powers. I didn’t have to—” Sukuna’s deep voice faltered near the end.

Satoru swallowed the lump rising in his throat. When Sukuna leaned their foreheads together, Satoru bore the weight of his sins with steady resolve. His spine remained straight, even though the burden threatened to break him.

“When I saw you on the roof…” Satoru’s voice turned velvet, barely louder than a breath. “I thought, oh, he’s different. And I immediately missed your other pair of arms. They used to be the safest place in the world for me.”

Sukuna lowered his head, tilting it slightly before leaning it against Satoru’s temple. He slipped one hand free from Satoru’s grip and lifted it to cup the side of his neck. The coldness made Satoru shiver, but he gave in to the touch instantly. Sukuna drew him closer, resting Satoru’s head on his shoulder, and then came the cold press of his lips against the crown of Satoru’s head.

“I wish I could say that nothing about that has changed,” he whispered into his hair, swaying him gently.

“Me too…” Satoru bit his lip, trying to keep the tears from spilling. “Every day, since Angen, I’ve wished we could have burned together.”

It wouldn’t have changed the outcome, but at least Satoru’s first death would have been in the embrace of the man he once knew. He wished Sukuna had held him back then with all his arms, with a heartbeat stronger than anyone’s, and those small eyes always watching the very soul of him.

“Oh, my love…” Sukuna cooed, pressing soft kisses into Satoru’s hair. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Until our souls are equally stained,” Satoru said, steady and certain, as he slowly pulled back and finally met Sukuna’s gaze.

A flicker of ancient fire passed through the scarlet of Sukuna’s eyes. Divine and dangerous, crossing time and space to join them in this moment. Satoru saw the untamable flame that had always lived within Sukuna. He liked to believe it had never truly vanished. Even in Sukuna’s darkest hours, it had been the quiet light that warmed him, the strength that refused to die.

Sukuna cupped Satoru’s face with steady reassurance.

“Until our souls are equally stained,” he whispered.

Then came a kiss pressed to Satoru’s forehead; cold as frost, solemn as a vow. A mark. A promise.

**

They walked in silence down the road toward Tengen’s temple, the falling snow completing the hush with quiet perfection. Satoru stole glances at Sukuna, whose red eyes watched the soft layer of snow drifting over the earth. Patches of greenery peeked through beneath it. The contrast between the warmth in Sukuna's gaze and the chill underfoot made Satoru reflect on the way things were so many centuries ago. Winter felt different then. It was more picturesque, more bitter, and more unforgiving. Sukuna had always loved the snow. He could spend hours playing with Satoru. Those moments had been rare and delicate. They were sixteen when they met. In today’s world, they would be considered still children, but they shouldered more than any grown person did now.

Sukuna suddenly came to a stop, unfolding his arms from inside the wide sleeves of his haori. He turned his head toward Satoru, who paused a moment afterward.

“There are so many Torii gates,” Sukuna said with unease, pressing his lips together.

The corridor leading to Tengen’s temple stretched ahead, framed by Torii gates in perfect order. They were secure, preserved, and still functioning. Occasionally, on tranquil evenings like this, when the school lay in slumber, Satoru would find himself awake. In those quiet hours, he would sometimes catch a flicker of light moving through the corridor. It always made him smile. He recognized the kami traveling through, a brief glimmer of their passage. Just a flash. Only for a second. And only a watcher with eyes as keen as his would ever notice.

For thousands of years, the gates had operated the same way. Nothing evil could slip through. And yet, Sukuna hesitated, visibly uneasy at the thought of walking beneath them. Satoru stepped closer, tilting his head slightly before brushing Sukuna’s pale cheek with the back of his fingers.

“Why are you worried?” he asked, his voice gentle and free of mockery.

“Satoru, I’m not exactly…” Sukuna trailed off, his eyes filled with fatigue and uncertainty.

A flicker of pain passed across Satoru’s face. He hated seeing Sukuna like this, stripped of the certainty that once defined him. The man who had always been powerful and self-sufficient now stood shattered. Satoru knew that Ryo, as he used to be, was gone. But he couldn’t help himself, and long after the overly confident man.

“I’ll tell you what…” Satoru said, smiling softly. He took Sukuna’s hand and drew him closer until their bodies aligned. “I’ll lead you through. Nothing will happen, Ryo. I brought you to this school. We have passed through countless Torii gates, and you are still here.”

Sukuna gave him a dry look. “I am definitely not fine, my love. That much I know.”

“Enough of this gloom,” Satoru said, waving the thought away. “Come on, see for yourself.” He tugged at Sukuna’s hand, guiding him eagerly toward the first gate.

“You’re no demon, Ryo. Not even Kenjaku could ever turn you into one.”

As they crossed under the gate, Satoru felt Sukuna’s grip tighten around his hand. The strength was crushing, and for a moment, he feared Sukuna might break his bones. But he endured, walking steadily along the right edge of the path, leaving the center empty.

“See? Nothing is happening...” Satoru mused, casting a reassuring smile over his shoulder.

But when he met Sukuna’s gaze, he stopped short. Sukuna’s eyes were wide, haunted. Satoru had expected hesitation, maybe a flicker of discomfort, but not this. Not a look that suggested Sukuna was seeing something dreadful. Sorcerers were trained to witness the bizarre and terrifying, yet Sukuna’s expression said he had never seen anything Satoru had seen before.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, confused, his smile fading.

“I can see them,” Sukuna muttered. His eyes shifted uneasily from side to side, as if trying not to meet whatever lingered in the corners.

A heavy silence settled between them. The winter wind grew sharper, tugging at the longer strands of Sukuna’s black hair. Snow twisted around him like pale silk, blending with his hair until he resembled a figure from legend. There was something otherworldly in the way he stood, like the ghost of winter itself.

The sight only deepened the mystery of his words.

Satoru opened his mouth, hesitated, then asked, “What exactly do you see?”

A slow breath escaped Sukuna’s lips, rising into the cold air like a fading memory. He glanced toward the center of the path, then back to Satoru. His eyes were enough to hint at the answer, but Satoru needed the words. He needed to be certain he understood.

“Do you remember the Forbidden Forest in Heian-kyo?” Sukuna asked, his voice quiet, almost conspiratorial. “You used to wonder how I could live among so many spirits without losing my mind.”

“Yes. It’s different now.”

Sukuna’s eyes flickered. “Were you there recently?”

“My clan reclaimed the forest and built a large residence there,” Satoru explained, watching Sukuna’s gaze widen slightly. “I was born in that house.”

“That explains…” Sukuna murmured, his brow furrowing as he slipped his hand from Satoru’s and tucked it back inside his sleeve.

“Ryo, please. Enough with the secrecy.”

Sukuna drew a long breath and shook his head. “We need to move faster. They know I can see them.”

“You’re starting to scare me,” Satoru said, but he followed quickly, stepping in line behind Sukuna. He placed his feet into the prints Sukuna left behind in the snow, a growing unease gnawing at him with every stride.

Once they stepped beyond the gate corridor, Sukuna let out a slow exhale and relaxed. His shoulders dropped, and he tilted his head back with visible relief. Satoru watched him silently, giving him space to settle into the feeling of safety.

He had never witnessed a reaction like this before within a Torii gate, at least not from anyone other than a trapped entity. And even then, such a presence had only appeared once to his own eyes and remained otherwise a subject of old family tomes and quiet legends.

Sukuna lowered his head, his gaze lost in the snowy forest stretching before them. With a deliberate sigh, he stepped toward the well nestled to the side. Satoru couldn’t help but notice how much smaller Sukuna seemed now, how fragile he appeared compared to the body he once inhabited. Yet within that frame lay a deadly power. Satoru could tell Sukuna hadn’t lost a trace of his cursed energy. On the contrary, it had nearly doubled since they last met in Heian Kyo.

It was astonishing and painful at once. Imagining what could have triggered such immense energy made Satoru’s throat tighten. The force radiating from Sukuna now surpassed what Yuta and Gojo held combined.

“They are still following me,” Sukuna said as he bowed before the shrine. He reached for the ladle and drew water from the well. “All those deities I angered long ago and throughout the last thousand years, they haven’t left.”

Satoru watched quietly as Sukuna washed his hands and mouth, spat out the water, and bowed once more. Then he moved to the doorway of the shrine.

“But this time, they are pleading for my help.” He loosened his sandals and stepped onto the cold floor before sliding the door open and entering. “They want me to join them.”

The final words slipped into the shadows beyond the threshold. A chill crept along Satoru’s spine. Something in Sukuna’s voice rang with inevitability. It felt like the truth set in motion. The sorrow Sukuna carried deepened that feeling. He was exhausted, craving rest, and the deities offered peace.

“Are you coming in?” Sukuna asked from the doorway before disappearing farther inside.

Satoru approached the well, his throat tight and heart sinking. Moving without thought, he performed the cleansing ritual and stepped forward. Just as he reached the entrance, he paused and slipped a hand into his pocket. That morning, he had bought hot drinks from a vending machine, which had returned five yen.

He tossed the coin into the offering box and made a wish. Reckless. Selfish. Far too bold.

The temple reminded more of an underground city than any tabernacle. The last time Satoru was here was after Riko had become Tengen’s vessel. Sending her away did nothing good to Satoru, but it was still better than anything that would have happened if they hadn’t merged. Satoru had too many memories and information about how Tengen’s life depended on others and how their barriers worked. It was a balance that was taking a toll on. Immense protection for one life once in a while.

But just because Satoru turned into the asshole who forced Riko to become a part of Tengen, it didn’t mean he became friends with Tengen immediately. Suguru resented him for that decision. They had a fight that forever changed their friendship. But how could he explain to Suguru that Satoru simply knew, that he was there thousands of years ago and understood that Tengen couldn’t live from siphonic spells, she needed a vessel. Sukuna was the best example of it.

In the past years, he lived with the knowledge that Suguru never knew who he really was, and then lost him to Kenjaku because he was scared to tell him the whole truth. A thousand years and Satoru kept making the same fucking, miserable mistakes.

“It’s a bit bloody here for a temple…” Sukuna examined the stain on the floor and then the ruins around. “In my days we had more respect…” Then he paused and snorted. “Forget I said it.”

Satoru huffed a pout, following Sukuna and avoiding the blood Suguru spilled here ten years ago. It was a story Satoru would tell Suguru after everything was settled.

“You violated every possible rule that was there…” Satoru reminded him cheekily. “Messing with shrine maidens, killing priests, angering deities by killing sacred animals, hunting generals, stealing, destroying…”

“I didn’t kill any priests. He… he died of a stroke.” Sukuna defended himself clumsily as he stood before the stairs that led down into a hall. “I’ve never seen a temple like this. It’s like a little city.”

Satoru joined him on the top of the stairs, his hand sliding across the lower part of Sukuna’s back. The sole contact almost made Satoru purr from happiness. He was touch-deprived, dreamed of touching Sukuna for centuries, and now, when he had him around, he couldn’t—couldn’t take the man that was always meant to be his.

Kenjaku was cruel in so many ways.

“Strange that we remember Hayashi,” Satoru pondered loudly.

Sukuna tensed under his touch, and when Satoru looked at his face, he saw him frowning. Instinctively, he lowered his hand to avoid triggering another panic attack that would lead to weakening Sukuna’s soul.

“That was his name…” he murmured shortly, but before that thought could settle, he stepped down the stairs. “Lead the way, Satoru. I don’t feel well being here.”

“Me neither.”

Chapter Text

The main hall was still the same: unkempt and partly destroyed from Suguru’s fight with Toji. Lanterns and torches flickered around, providing lonely place with a ghostly yet oddly warm atmosphere. Perhaps Satoru found comfort in it because he had lived with ghosts his entire life.

He was, however, worried about Sukuna, who had not taken the passage through the Torii corridor well. When Satoru looked over his shoulder, he saw Sukuna examining the place, holding his hand over his nose, the haori sleeve concealing it. The air was thick with dust and cold despite the flames blazing around them. It was strange to see Sukuna show discomfort, but understandable after everything he had gone through. A place like this temple was bound to unsettle him.

If they wanted to catch Kenjaku without serious obstacles, Satoru needed to address everything that was troubling Sukuna. They had to drag all the buried filth, death, gore, and grief into the sunlight and let it dry out and crumble like moss.

“I can’t believe she lives in here,” Sukuna muttered, his voice muffled by the sleeve.

“Lucky me, protected by Infinity,” Satoru giggled, stretching out his hand toward him. “Come here, my big baby. I’ll wrap you up in my infinite protection and love.” He smirked.

Sukuna squinted at him, one eyebrow raised as he looked Satoru over. His judgment was obvious, almost theatrical, and Satoru couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer honesty of it.

“I’ll show you a big baby…” he mumbled. The complaint didn’t escape Satoru’s ears, and he smiled fondly.

Seeing Sukuna so openly vulnerable stirred something deep in Satoru. His protective instincts surged. He didn’t want Sukuna to suffer any discomfort while being here. No hand should reach him anymore except Satoru’s, and every cruel word should pass through Satoru first. It was his turn to shield Sukuna and guide him out of the prison built by his scars.

Satoru waited until Sukuna came close enough, then offered his hand again. He still didn’t know what Sukuna could remember or whether his memories connected clearly, but he seemed to trust Satoru and recognize the bond between them. The real question was whether Sukuna could recall the moment Kenjaku fully took over his body. If he remembered the betrayal, the fury, and the fact that Satoru had killed his mother. Satoru needed to know if Sukuna was aware of the manipulation they had both endured. Most of all, he needed to know if Sukuna remembered the moment he cursed Satoru to live this everlasting life.

The hand remained outstretched a bit longer than Satoru liked. All the while, Sukuna’s brows drew closer together, furrowing with suspicion.

“What’s that on your wrist?” Sukuna asked.

Satoru glanced down at the blue hair tie, now faded to a dull gray. Cracked amber beads hung loosely at the end. His jaw clenched, and he lowered his hand.

“You noticed it just now?”

“No, but I just remembered something about a blue ribbon Kaori asked me about,” Sukuna replied, his tone colder than Satoru would have preferred.

“That’s the curse that bound us together,” Satoru said, folding his arms across his chest. “Over the years, since we were children, my clan scattered my belongings around you and yours around me. They turned our things into cursed items.”

The memory weighed heavily on him. Thinking about the past felt like inviting a raven to perch on his soul. It made him cold inside, and tight with dread. He was walking a dangerous line. Any small detail from their history could trigger a stray memory in Sukuna, and Satoru had no way of knowing how it would connect or how Sukuna would respond.

Still, no matter how brutal or volatile the past had been, Satoru refused to lie again. Every terrible thing that had happened to Sukuna stemmed from Satoru’s deception. If he had not broken Sukuna’s trust, his will would have remained intact and their bond unshaken. That fracture had given Kenjaku the opening he needed to slip in and sink his claws deep into Sukuna’s soul.

Sukuna stared at the ribbon around Satoru’s wrist, then met his eyes. “Is it safe for you to remove it?”

The question caught Satoru off guard. For a moment, he had no answer. The reason he kept wearing the powerless scrap was more sentimental than practical. It was a reminder of their tragedy, of all the sorrow he had brought upon Sukuna and himself.

“Satoru?” Sukuna asked again, more urgently.

Satoru opened his mouth, but only a breath escaped. He kept staring at his wrist, tension crawling up his spine. Before he could speak, he lowered his arms and slipped his hands into his pockets. It wasn’t the time to let go of it. And deep down, he doubted that time would ever come.

“Alright…” Sukuna nodded, turning away and stepping toward the final barrier. “It’s your decision if you want to be tied to a curse forever.”

“This is not the curse that keeps me here for a thousand years, Ryo. It died with me in the Angen fire.”

The words surged from Satoru’s throat before he could even draw breath. They came like an avalanche, crashing toward Sukuna in waves.

Sukuna halted. Slowly, he turned his head and met Satoru’s gaze. Their eyes locked for a brief moment. Nothing in Sukuna’s expression suggested he understood what Satoru was referring to. Only confusion lingered between them, and it was quickly broken by the squeal of heavy stone doors shifting open.

Both turned their attention to Tengen as she stepped out. She wore her usual white robes, and her black hair, which had once belonged solely to Riko, was tied in a ponytail. It was unsettling to see her wearing that face, the one for which Satoru and Suguru had nearly died. Even that had been orchestrated by Kenjaku. The enormous bounties placed on Satoru’s head had all been her doing.

“Ryomen Sukuna,” Tengen said, her voice smoother now, more mature. “Or should I call you Ryo? Which name do you prefer?”

Sukuna stared at her through the final barrier that separated them. He was studying her, calculating her next move while quietly preparing his own response. Even in his most impulsive moments, there was always a strategy behind his actions. He had learned to think quickly, always staying two steps ahead of everyone. Satoru believed that this part of him had remained untouched, despite all the mind-numbing spells Kenjaku had cast upon him.

“Sukuna is fine,” he finally replied, stepping back and scanning the pink barrier that separated them. “You don’t expect me to cross this veil, do you?”

“It’s utterly safe for you.”

Sukuna snorted and took a few more steps back until he stopped beside Satoru. “Safe for me? You should be more concerned about your safety.”

“If you’re wondering whether Kenjaku can spy through you, there’s no need to worry here. Not even she can penetrate this many layers of barriers.”

“Famous last words.” He shook his head, still reluctant to cross the final veil.

“To be honest,” Satoru clicked his tongue, “I don’t like the barrier either. It reminds me of cotton candy. Sweet, comforting at first, but sticky and always ends with a bellyache.”

A low, amused laugh escaped Tengen’s lips. “Satoru, you will never change.”

“That’s my bright point,” he chuckled, leaning his head closer to Sukuna and whispering, “I used to visit her a lot back in Heian-kyo. Now she thinks we’re friends.”

Sukuna sighed through his nose and shook his head. “It’s sad to live this long willingly.”

“Her memories lose strength with each new merging, but as the bearer of Six Eyes, I have a deep connection with her.”

“I can imagine,” he scoffed, pulling away from Satoru.

Satoru gasped. “Ryo, are you jealous?”

He snapped his head toward Satoru, frowning with a small pout forming on his left cheek. He looked absolutely adorable, and Satoru was battling every demon and angel inside him not to lean in and kiss that pout.

“I don’t even remember us properly. Why would I be jealous?”

A sly grin spread across Satoru’s face. “Well, you remembered enough to hold me back at the school. And besides, your heart knows where it belongs.” He placed a hand over his chest. “You are mine, Ryo, and I am yours. It was like that for a thousand years, and it will be the same in the next one.”

Sukuna’s eyes widened in pure horror. “Are you implying that we’ll have to live another millennium like this?”

“No!” Satoru panicked, waving his hands. “I meant like soulmates, bound to always find each other in every life.”

A loud clearing of the throat interrupted them. Both turned their heads toward Tengen, who waved her hands, gesturing for them to come closer to the veil. They could still speak through it, though it felt impersonal. Tengen likely longed for company after so many years of solitude, but the presence of a stranger with such power was the last thing Sukuna wanted. Crossing that veil would feel like stepping into another prison.

“I’ll take your offer now,” Sukuna muttered, subtly opening his palm for Satoru to take.

Satoru’s expression softened, and he smiled. “It means a lot, my love.” He slipped his hand into Sukuna’s, moved by the quiet display of trust and vulnerability.

They approached the veil, hand in hand. With each step, Satoru felt Sukuna’s grip tighten, just like it used to when they were in school. The amount of willpower Sukuna had to gather to enter this sacred place was admirable. Satoru promised himself he would tell him later how much he appreciated his courage and how strong he truly was.

“Let’s not waste time,” Tengen said, reaching into the sleeve of her robe and pulling out two scrolls tied with an ordinary gray rope. She offered them to Satoru through the veil, only the tips visible. Satoru took them.

“I told you I would explain everything about Sukuna once you brought him to me. This is all I know about his situation.” Her blue gaze shifted to Sukuna. “In case I forget any crucial information.”

Sukuna looked at the scrolls tucked between Satoru’s fingers.

“I want to know what happened to my original body,” he said, cutting straight to the point. “Did Kenjaku force reincarnation on me somehow?”

Tengen’s gaze remained steady, emotionless, yet filled with ancient wisdom. Satoru had always wondered why she refused to tell him everything about Sukuna. If she had, he might have found Sukuna sooner and spared him years of suffering.

“She is a necromancer,” Tengen replied. “She captured your soul after your death and waited for your brother to be reincarnated. When he was born, she forced his soul out and inserted yours in its place. You now wear your brother’s body. But since you are identical twins, there is no significant difference.”

Satoru stared at her, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. She had said it with such ease, as if she were reciting a recipe. No warning, just cold, bare truth. Slowly, he turned to Sukuna, who stood beside him with a stone-cold expression, his eyes locked on Tengen.

“Your original form was too conspicuous. It did not suit the era of rapidly advancing technology.”

“I assume my brother’s body was the only one that could contain my powers,” Sukuna said.

Tengen nodded. “Soul techniques are incredibly difficult to master, and Kenjaku had a thousand years to perfect hers.”

“But…” Satoru frowned, shaking his head. “How do you know all of this? Why didn’t you do anything when you knew? Why not tell someone who could save him?”

“There was nobody who could save him. Only the Six Eyes user can kill Kenjaku and destroy her entire coven. That’s why she wanted to seal you. With your soul captured, she could prevent your reincarnation.”

“Well, lucky me that she didn’t find the Prison Realm sooner.”

“How can I break the curse she has over me?” Sukuna asked. “Is there a way I can pull her out of my head?”

Tengen nodded toward Satoru. “Yes, there is. I wrote the method into the scroll. I believe Kenjaku keeps part of your original body, or perhaps the entire thing, hidden somewhere. Your soul is deeply connected to your body, and through that connection, she maintains control over you.”

“Like soul resonance or voodoo?” Satoru asked, his voice low with curiosity.

There were only a few cursed items capable of reaching the soul itself, and even fewer techniques that could manipulate one. It seemed that one belonged to Kenjaku, the other to Yuuji. Then there was Mahito, the curse who had fallen by Yuuji’s hand a year ago, during Kenjaku’s attempt to seal Satoru.

“Hmm…” Tengen rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Not exactly. This goes beyond body manipulation. It involves the mind as well. I’ve studied necromancy for centuries, and I’m certain the only way she can keep controlling you is through the connection you still have to your original body. A part of you remains trapped inside it.”

“Wait!” Satoru raised his hands. “So that’s how Kenjaku could manipulate Ryo even behind your veils?”

“I’m still not at full strength,” Sukuna said, lifting his hand. The sleeve slid down, revealing the band around his wrist.

“Correct. But the difference is subtle. Kenjaku needed access to all of Sukuna’s powers, so she turned a piece of his soul into a cursed object. Through that, she can control him.”

“So it could be any part of my body,” Sukuna muttered, his voice heavy with frustration and exhaustion. “And what am I supposed to do when I find it? Eat it?”

Silence fell between the three of them. Sukuna groaned as the meaning settled in. He rubbed his forehead, visibly annoyed.

“I fought for so long to stop being seen as a man-eater, and now look at me. I’m going to eat myself.”

Sukuna’s words sank like lead into Satoru’s stomach. It had never occurred to him that one day he would have to speak seriously with Sukuna about the cannibalism accusations. The worst part was that he had no idea how to address what Sukuna had done while under Kenjaku’s control. Because of her, Sukuna had earned the reputation of a man-eating calamity.

There were so many things Satoru needed to discuss with him before the memories returned and anger followed. Some things had changed about Sukuna, but Satoru was certain that his fury at being mocked had not. Sukuna could snap quickly. Being controlled by someone like Kenjaku must have wounded his pride in ways Satoru could barely comprehend.

He knew Sukuna well enough to recognize that he was hiding many of his true emotions.

“That is a strangely awkward silence,” Sukuna said, raising an eyebrow and darting his gaze from Satoru to Tengen and back. “Is there something I should know about me eating people?”

“It’s—”

“Only rumors!” Satoru cut in before Tengen could speak. He flashed a bright smile and lifted Sukuna’s hand to his lips. “People loved to gossip before, and they love it even more now. The internet is like a massive marketplace where millions of people gather every day and never stop talking.”

Sukuna studied him, his expression unreadable. “You talk too much when you’re nervous.”

“Ah, come on!” Satoru laughed, waving the scrolls in his hand. “I’ve always been talkative, Ryo. You just don’t remember it that well.”

“Maybe,” Sukuna replied, narrowing his eyes. “But the tone you use…”

“We don’t have time for this,” Tengen interrupted, her voice sharp and her frown deepening. “You need to find where Kenjaku hid the piece of your soul as soon as possible. The council is right behind you.”

Sukuna’s frown twisted into a full scowl as he shot a death glare at Tengen. It was a look Satoru had seen many times before—one that warned people to know their place. Sukuna was still himself, despite everything that had been done to his soul. The core of him, the essence that defined his character, remained untouched. He was who he had always been. And right now, Tengen should be grateful for the barrier between them.

Perhaps that was the only reason she dared to interrupt him.

“I should kill you,” Sukuna said, his voice low and cold. “For every life you siphoned. For the false shrines you built.”

Tengen met his gaze with her large, dark blue eyes, empty of emotion. “I had to preserve my life for the greater good. It was the only way I could survive without evolving uncontrollably.”

“Greater good?” Sukuna snorted, his voice dripping with mockery. “Who gave you the right to decide that?”

Satoru felt the shift instantly. It was like a drop of black ink falling into clear water. A burst of hatred and cursed energy surged, something the barrier should have suppressed. Sukuna’s aura had always overwhelmed Satoru—blinding, radiant, volatile. There was nothing more dangerous than the sheer force of cursed energy Sukuna could command.

“You think using other people’s bodies to get what you want is somehow beneficial for all of us?” Sukuna laughed, the mocking, cruel kind he reserved for his enemies.

“You denied people the chance to evolve by protecting them too much. And the first thing I hear after regaining myself is that sorcery is a dying art.” He shook his head, his hand slipping from Satoru’s as he tucked them into the sleeves of his haori.

“It’s not protection. It’s control,” he said, turning away. “And don’t worry about the council, Tengen. I’ve dealt with worse.”

Satoru didn’t follow him. He simply took a slow, calming breath. Every word Sukuna spoke rang true, but the world no longer moved in ways that could be repaired or reversed. It had become a mass of frightened, confused people. Maybe a thousand years ago, they could have changed everything. But those capable of doing so had been stripped away by the very council that claimed to protect, only to secure their own power.

“You knew he would snap,” Satoru said, looking at Tengen with quiet sympathy.

“Just like you did, many years ago,” she replied calmly, stepping back without concern. “Go. And don’t take your eyes off him, Satoru.”

Satoru watched her retreat until she vanished behind the massive stone door. Tengen rarely intervened. She was known as a neutral force, standing between two worlds. But something had pushed her to act. Whether it was guilt over being deceived by Kenjaku, or the quiet hope that Sukuna might finally bring change and allow her to rest, Satoru couldn’t be sure.

What he did know was that too many people had hidden motives when it came to Sukuna. And he didn’t like that at all.

**

Once outside the temple, Satoru found Sukuna standing before the Torii corridor. His hands remained tucked into the sleeves of his haori, his posture tall and relaxed, as if he belonged in the snow that dotted his black hair. Satoru wondered if the color was a result of Kenjaku’s siphonic spells. Then there was the desecration of Sukuna’s brother. Once twins, they had shared an immense soul bond.

Satoru walked toward him, fitting his steps into Sukuna’s footprints like he used to. When he was close enough, he stopped, his eyes tracing the lines of Sukuna’s broad back. And yet, despite the strength in his stance, Sukuna looked small, wounded, and fragile in Satoru’s eyes.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” Satoru said softly, pressing his lips together and letting the silence, filled with falling snow, speak for him.

“Don’t be. I know he’s not mad.”

The words fell gently, like the snowflakes themselves. There was no bitterness in them. Satoru wondered if Sukuna’s ability to see the kami had something to do with his certainty that his brother held no anger.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Satoru said, stepping beside him and gazing out at the peaceful scenery.

“I have a feeling someone is always watching me,” Sukuna murmured. “Back in Shinjuku, during the fight. The curses Kenjaku summoned, they spoke to me.”

Satoru’s heart skipped. A hollow sensation bloomed in his chest, the same one he used to feel walking through the Forbidden Forest as a child. He had liked to pretend the place was cursed, that its powers inflicted that feeling upon the soul. But the truth was simpler and darker. The forest held overwhelming negative spiritual energy. No matter how many curses he had exorcised over the years, the feeling never left. It was as if sorrow had taken root in the soil and trees. The blood spilled in the graveyard was eternal.

“I studied necromancy to better understand what you went through…” Satoru laced his fingers together, resisting the urge to reach for Sukuna’s hand and pull him close. He wanted Sukuna to find strength in him, to feel safe.

“I have no idea,” Sukuna said, turning his head slightly, dismissing the thought. “And you shouldn’t bother with it. Some things aren’t meant to be understood, only lived through.”

Satoru’s grip on his own fingers tightened. “Ryo, I don’t like what you’re hinting at with all this cryptic talk.”

“You remember all of your previous lives, correct?”

“I do.”

“Then you understand why I’m tired.” Sukuna turned fully, standing just a breath away. “Your many lives feel like one long nightmare. Mine feel like crawling through filth, like a worm in vomit and rot.”

Satoru’s eyes stung. The understanding hit too close, too deep. But those tears weren’t for himself. Despite being cursed and doomed to violent deaths at Kenjaku’s hand, he had still tasted beauty in life. His memories were sharp and painful, but he had lived with his own will. He had been loved.

“Ryo, I would lie if I said I truly understand…” Satoru’s throat tightened. “And you might call me selfish for wanting you to stay by my side, but…” He looked away, swallowing hard. “I still love you. Through all those years, I never stopped.”

Sukuna closed the distance between them, his lips cold against Satoru’s warm forehead. It lasted only a moment, but it slipped into Satoru’s heart and carved out a fifth chamber, one meant only for Sukuna.

“You promised to break my curse, and you did,” Sukuna whispered, his nose brushing Satoru’s cheek. “Your part is done. The next time you die, you won’t remember me anymore.”

So, Sukuna did remember the curse he had inflicted upon Satoru in Shiga.

The tears Satoru had been holding back burst forth like a flood, crystallizing his blue eyes and drowning them in salt. He could barely see Sukuna, but his Six Eyes remained precise, revealing the white veil of clouds that was Sukuna’s cursed energy. Even blind, even dead, he would still be able to see and feel him. Whoever inherited the Six Eyes next would be born with the knowledge of Sukuna.

“You can’t tell me this after one thousand fucking years!” he snapped, tears streaming down his face. “Dammit, Ryo! I did what I could! I know I’m fucking useless for not saving you sooner, but you can’t dismiss all my love like this!”

Sukuna didn’t respond. He simply lowered his gaze and sighed softly, stepping back. It was another quiet resignation, and Satoru hated seeing it on him. On one hand, Sukuna fought like a tiger. He had threatened Tengen and was ready to tear the world apart to reach Kenjaku. On the other hand, he had already given up on continuing to live.

“I know you fought every day of the last thousand years. You didn’t rest, not even after death,” Satoru continued, his voice trembling with desperation. “Let me make it up to you.”

Boldly, he stepped closer and lifted his hands, cupping Sukuna’s face with care. “Let me love you. This time freely, without bounds.”

Sukuna curled his fingers around Satoru’s wrist, a gentle pull, a silent command to let go. But Satoru held on, his thumbs brushing the tender skin beneath Sukuna’s eyes. His heart pounded wildly, his stomach twisted, and his breath shortened. He was just a step away from collapsing.

“I can’t make you forget the pain and fears, but I can show you why I kept fighting for all those years just to reach this short lifetime I want to spend with you.”

A silence fell between them, brief but piercing, like a needle slipping beneath the skin. Sukuna’s face remained unreadable. The words sank in, but they didn’t stir the emotion Satoru remembered from the school days, when Sukuna had held him and soothed his fears.

Despair reached the very core of Satoru’s bones. His hands slid from Sukuna’s face down to his shoulders.

“Dammit, Ryo, I know you’re not alright. You weren’t back then, and you’re not now.”

“Satoru, that’s enough.” Sukuna pulled away, and Satoru’s hands dropped.

“Oh, no,” Satoru said, shaking his head with stubborn resolve. “We need to talk about this. We are still lovers. You cannot take that away from me.”

The air cracked with something vile, a spark that blinded a spot in Satoru’s vision before quickly fading. He didn’t move. His feet stayed rooted, ready to fight for their future on the very ground where he had nearly died years ago.

Sukuna’s eyes hardened, the red deepening into something colder. “You can’t be this desperate, asking a corpse like me to love you.”

“A corpse?” Satoru gasped, nearly laughing at the absurdity. “Do you know how old this body of mine is? How many times has it been recycled? Oh, my love, no, we are not that different.”

“Tell me then, Satoru,” Sukuna said, lifting his chin slightly, his gaze sharp and unearthly. “How many times have you killed me? How many times have you haunted my dreams and very existence?”

“I’m not letting something Kenjaku forced upon us dictate my future,” Satoru shouted, furious. “I know you’re hurt. I know you regret the pain you caused. My forgiveness was real. Forgive yourself, too.”

A bitter laugh escaped Sukuna, quiet and dry. “You’re still as stubborn as I remember.”

“And you’re still trying to fight the world alone.”

Sukuna sighed, his shoulders falling. With quiet grace, he tucked his hands into his sleeves, his posture as elegant as ever. “So demanding.”

Satoru took a careful step forward, but in his heart, he was already standing right in front of Sukuna, holding him close and kissing him with a passion so deep it could reach his soul. Sukuna’s features were nearly the same as before. The extra eyes were gone, but his narrow nose, sharp square jaw, and deep, hooded eyes remained. Those eyes still cast the same spell on Satoru every time they met his gaze.

“Is it a sin to desire you?” Satoru asked, his voice trembling with raw, physical need. “I know you’re still learning to accept my touch. But please, at least don’t reject the idea of us being intimate in the future. Don’t let some thoroughly rotten bitch separate us again.”

A loud, tired sigh escaped Sukuna’s lips, deliberate and heavy. “That thoroughly rotten bitch might have given me something you don’t want to talk about. And it can change everything between us, Satoru.”

Satoru gritted his teeth, frustration rising like a tide. Sukuna had shifted the topic so smoothly that he couldn’t even protest. Worse, he had steered it toward something Satoru avoided like fire avoids water. The very thought of what Sukuna was implying twisted his insides. It was a bitter pill he hadn’t even dared to touch, let alone swallow.

“What are you talking about?” Satoru asked, throwing his hands into the air.

“Don’t play with me, little bird,” Sukuna said, turning his back to Satoru as he walked toward the Torii corridor. “You know I’m talking about Yuuji.”

“And where are you going now?”

“Somewhere warm, where we can talk about Yuuji and you can show me how to make tea with all this modern machinery.”

Satoru’s frown melted into a pout that puffed his cheek. It was hard to stay angry at Sukuna when he acted so adorably. Fighting him had always been futile. Sukuna would win with logic and stubborn charm, and Satoru would end up in his arms every time. He used to love that their bond was stronger than anything. At least, back then. Now, their love felt more like the corpse Sukuna had spoken of.

With a sigh, Satoru tilted his head back and closed his eyes, letting the soft snowflakes cool his flushed skin.

Snow fights. He wondered if he would ever play with Sukuna again.

He opened his eyes and shook his head at the thought. The corridor was empty. No sign of Sukuna. Then it struck him—Sukuna must have fled through it because of the discomfort it brought him.

“Ryo!” Satoru called out. “Wait for me! Don’t go without me! Who knows who you’ll run into!”

Maybe it would be Todo. Or worse, Nobara with her cut tongue. She was far too young to carry trauma from men.

Chapter Text

Sukuna sat on the tatami floor, sipping the tea Satoru had prepared. The door to the garden stood open, offering a view of the peaceful, falling snow, which covered everything in a silent, white veil. Winter was the most soundless season, a time when everything slept, resting beneath the cold, crisp sheets.

It reminded him of his crypt. Winter’s long, cold fingers crept beneath his warm layers, slipping in with quiet malice. Yet, it was never as cold as the frost he'd known in his grave, the kind that clung to the bone, the kind that felt like death guarding its own secrets. He had slept in ice, preserved like a relic, untouched by time. Then Kenjaku came, prying him from that silence, dragging him back like a cut of meat meant for a feast.

The season carried a strange serenity, a graceful hush that Sukuna admired. Winter made everyone equal in her presence; no one stood out, and no one escaped her chill. He didn't feel alone. Everyone was cold. Everyone left tracks in the snow. Everyone hungered. But in this era, it was different. His soul had watched empires rise and fall, seen centuries of blood and brilliance, but his mind lagged behind, unable to grasp the world's current shape. Kenjaku had tethered his vision, feeding him only fragments. In his captor's grasp, Sukuna was nothing more than a dog straining against a leash.

The door closed with a soft thud, nudging Sukuna from his gloom. He turned, just slightly, and watched Satoru approach. The purple kimono caught him off guard. It shimmered faintly, a bold contrast to the pale white hakama. It was unexpected, yet somehow perfect.

“You look comfortable wearing your clan’s colors,” Sukuna murmured, sipping his tea, his eyes drifting back to the open door as if it might offer an escape.

“I thought it would make you more comfortable to see me dressed like this,” Satoru said, spreading his arms slightly and glancing down with a faint smile. “But I don’t own much that’s traditional outside of this. It’s for clan meetings.”

Sukuna paused mid-sip, the porcelain cup hovering near his lips. “Clan meetings?” His voice cracked with disbelief as he turned to face Satoru fully, eyes widening.

“Yes.” Their gazes locked, and a subtle smile curved Satoru’s lips. “I’m the head of my clan.”

Sukuna could only stare. Satoru settled across from him, pouring tea with a practiced ease. Every movement was deliberate, elegant, possessing the kind of grace that came from years of tradition, not just raw power. The tea ceremony hadn’t changed, not even after centuries. Sukuna remembered the boy he’d met at sixteen, the hidden jewel of the Gojo clan, kept behind silken curtains and golden bars. Now, here he was again, still tethered to the same legacy. But no longer a boy; a man. One Sukuna had longed to see rise.

“You may not remember,” Satoru continued, straightening his posture and placing his hands neatly on his thighs. “You once said you’d join my clan only if I were the head of it.”

Sukuna leaned back, arms folding across his chest, a dangerous smirk tugging at his lips. “Is that why you became one now?”

“I don’t know…” Satoru’s gaze dropped, his mouth flattening into a line. “It’s more like I had no choice. I am the strongest.”

“Still bound, I see.” Sukuna’s tone was dry, devoid of sympathy.

Satoru raised his head, brows knitting together as he laced his fingers. Sukuna watched him closely. There was something distant in Satoru’s eyes, a quiet ache, as if he were drowning in a nostalgia Sukuna couldn’t reach. For Sukuna, memories were scattered—pearls spilled from a broken thread. Most of them felt foreign, like photographs from someone else’s life. He remembered, but he didn't feel.

“It’s not that bad,” Satoru said, his voice low. “I have more freedom now. My words carry weight.”

“They obey because they fear your power,” Sukuna replied without hesitation. “Politics isn’t about doing what’s right for everyone. They’re about serving the few who benefit.”

Satoru sighed, his shoulders sinking. “I know you’re right. And if my power is the reason they submit, then so be it. I don’t care anymore.”

A short, dry laugh escaped Sukuna. He lifted his cup again, savoring the warmth. “You should tell me more about yourself, Satoru. What you enjoy now. Who’s in your life?”

“Ah, that’s easy, I—” A sudden, sharp ringing cut Satoru off, and he reached into his pocket.

Sukuna blinked, surprised. “Hakama has pockets now?” He leaned forward, patting curiously at his own hips. His fingers found the hidden seams, and he slipped his hands inside the tailored garment.

“Oh, this is nice!” His face lit up with genuine delight as he looked up at Satoru, who stared at him like he’d just witnessed a miracle unfold in real time.

Sukuna could hear the muffled, rapid voice on the phone, someone nearly shouting, but Satoru didn’t react. He just kept staring, eyes fixed on Sukuna as if he’d forgotten the world existed beyond him. It was amusing to watch Satoru so openly smitten. Sukuna had seen that look before; he had worn it himself, once, long ago.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Sukuna withdrew his hands from his pockets and eased his haori down his shoulders, revealing the crisp folds of his juban beneath. Satoru’s lips parted, his hand rising instinctively, drawn by some invisible thread.

“Gojo, are you even listening to me?” The voice on the phone barked, snapping Satoru out of his trance. He flinched, pulling the device away from his ear slightly, irritation flickering across his face.

Sukuna snorted, amused, and adjusted his haori back into place. He rose to his feet and walked to the door, leaning against the frame with quiet elegance. His hands tucked into his sleeves, he gazed out at the garden, which was now vanishing beneath a soft, relentless snowfall.

Behind him, Satoru’s voice grew sharper, laced with annoyance. Sukuna caught fragments of the Kyoto dialect, then the shift to clipped, fast Tokyo slang. That was when he stopped listening entirely.

His attention drifted to the field before him. Dusk was settling, and the snow glowed under the scattered amber lights dotting the property. The warmth of the lamps contrasted with the cold, casting long shadows across the pristine white.

Sukuna shifted slightly, his gaze catching on an old oil lamp hanging from the roof above the terrace. It was more ornament than utility now, dusted with snow and forgotten by time. But Sukuna noticed its wick, dark, soaked, waiting.

With a subtle squint, he activated his technique. A flicker of energy, barely visible, passed through the air. The wick ignited, a small, potent flame blooming in the cold. There wasn’t much oil left, but it would burn for a while. Enough to remind the long night that something ancient still lingered here.

“Oh, I missed that technique of yours,” Satoru’s voice came from behind, warm and teasing. “You always manage to ignite a fire in everyone.”

Sukuna smirked, glancing at him over his shoulder. “Like in the people of Angen?”

“Out of all my deaths, that one was my favorite.” Satoru stepped closer, and Sukuna could feel the subtle presence of his fingers hovering near his back. Satoru wanted to reach out, to touch, but held himself back. Their argument at Tengen’s temple still lingered between them like smoke.

“I don’t remember it clearly…” Sukuna admitted, his hands retreating deeper into his sleeves. “I see fire. I feel heat. And I see your face, flames dancing across your blue eyes.”

Satoru shifted, his fingers brushing lightly against Sukuna’s back. They moved with hesitation, then settled gently on his shoulder. He leaned in, his gaze deep and dark, the color of the evening sky just before nightfall.

He was searching for comfort and steadiness in the turbulent situation they were in. Sukuna wasn’t sure he had any of that left to offer. He could hold Satoru, speak the words he had memorized long ago, but they felt hollow now. Rehearsed.

Love had become a distant idea, blurred by centuries. What remained was longing, worn thin and quiet, slowly unraveling into sadness and resignation.

“It happened three years after Kenjaku kidnapped you…” Satoru began softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, laced with the hush of drifting snowflakes.

“Soon after they found me in Shiga, they realized what kind of game Kenjaku had been playing. The panic spread quickly. They started a witch hunt, and I was the one leading it.”

Sukuna’s brow furrowed. “After Shiga?” He turned, a flicker of memory surfacing. “Did you find your parents?”

The question struck Satoru like a blow. His eyes widened, mouth falling open. “My parents? I…”

“You were searching for them. Did you ever find them?” Sukuna pressed.

Satoru lowered his gaze, the full weight of the past settling over him. “No. It was a trap from the beginning. My father was already dead. There was no one, Ryo… I led you straight into disaster and…”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Satoru shook his head, his voice breaking. “Don’t be. I deserved it, didn’t I?”

“Hey…” Sukuna stepped forward, pulling his hands from his haori and cupping Satoru’s face, the long sleeves still draped over his fingers. He gently lifted Satoru’s chin.

“I don’t want to hide anything from you anymore,” Satoru whispered, his eyes brimming with fresh tears. “Even if you don’t remember everything yet. I can’t bear the thought that my secrets, my lies, might cause you more pain.”

Sukuna wiped the tears away, offering a soft smile. “Oh, my little bird, I know what you did. Kaori used to tell me the twisted story every night. It was her favorite bedtime tale. She fed the flames of my hatred with it. She told me how you killed my mother, how you were the reason for everything. She said you cursed us both, that she had to possess others or live in a rotting body forever.”

Satoru scoffed, shaking his head sharply. “No. Nothing like that. I would never hurt you willingly. But I know I did, by keeping the truth from you.”

“You were scared. I didn’t give you much understanding back then. The pain was raw, the shock unbearable. And Kaori…” He sighed, correcting himself. "Kenjaku manipulated me. We were victims of twisted minds.”

“I was supposed to kill you…” Satoru’s voice cracked, barely audible. “But you were just a boy. Like me. I thought your mother wanted to hurt you…”

“So you believe it now,” Sukuna’s voice was quiet, yet heavy. “I loosely remember you fighting me over it, swearing you’d never do something like that.”

“I had my chances to read the sacred scrolls. The forbidden history of my clan, hidden in Hayashi’s shrine.”

Sukuna let out a scornful laugh. For all those years he had been hiding in the shrine, Hayashi knew exactly who Sukuna was and what Satoru had done. When the priest mentioned that Sukuna had met Satoru before, he had meant the incident with his mother. The whole time, the old, sneaky priest knew and took that secret into his grave. Seeing it now, Sukuna understood: Fujiwara and Kenjaku were more dangerous than Sukuna ever was.

There had never been anything more than obligation between Sukuna and Hayashi. For all the years the priest had taken care of him, it was because someone had told him to.

“It’s hard to comprehend how my whole life was just one manipulation,” Sukuna sighed, shaking his head.

“I know how you feel,” Satoru’s voice fell low, so silent that he seemed not to want Sukuna to hear him at all.

“I’ll hold onto my old beliefs: I’d rather die than serve anyone.”

Satoru leaned his cheek quietly against Sukuna’s shoulder. The familiar weight of his head felt like a warm blanket. It was still strange for Sukuna to see Satoru trust him this immensely, despite Kenjaku still having her hook in Sukuna’s soul. She could always tug at it and cause more damage, and this time, Yuuji wouldn’t have enough power to save what was left of Sukuna.

“I’m sure there will be enough time to reminisce,” Sukuna murmured, leaning his head back, gently resting it against Satoru’s. “But now I must make sure to survive to get there.”

“I know…” Satoru mumbled, rolling his head and shifting his body until he was in front of Sukuna, his forehead now resting on his clavicle.

There was a subtle movement that Sukuna caught, despite Satoru trying to be sneaky. The way he pressed himself closer, masking the action as a slip of his shoe. With a grunt, Satoru caught himself against Sukuna’s body, his fingers curling on his side. He was so smooth, trying to make Sukuna believe he had simply slipped or misplaced his foot. His Six Eyes were like a detailed map; they led him unerringly.

“Satoru…” Sukuna sighed, his body tense and cold as ice. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Then push me away.”

“If I push you away, you’ll get mad at me.”

“So?” Satoru murmured, his cheek pressed against Sukuna’s shoulder. “There’s still something I might learn from you.”

Sukuna turned his head, seeing only the flood of Satoru’s white hair. “You want to fight me?” He blew lightly at the strands as if they were a beetle resting on his shoulder.

“I’m a master of wielding any type of weapon.”

“Except your eyes.” Sukuna snorted and blew at him again, repeatedly, until Satoru whined in protest. Satoru then tilted his head back, piercing Sukuna with an irritated, blue gaze.

“I don’t even wear a blindfold. Why are you like this?” He pouted and pressed himself even closer.

“Trying to impress me, by taking your weapon out of the sheath, hm? Making me think you can handle everything.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

“I can handle everything.” To prove it, Satoru wrapped his arms around Sukuna and gripped him tightly. “I can take your anger.”

Sukuna drew a deep breath, feeling cursed energy gather rapidly in his fingertips. He was being handled, provoked, and dared—always a dangerous mix. Now, after everything, having Satoru this close felt like a fever dream. When he’d woken up from passing out, he'd felt grounded and in control, but that clarity was slipping. Soon, he would need Yuuji to use his technique on him again.

“I’m not angry. I don’t want to hurt you,” he warned. “My body and soul were manipulated for a millennium to be hostile toward you. I don’t know what I’m capable of when you’re this close and my soul starts shifting toward Kenjaku.”

Satoru pulled back slightly, though his hands remained on Sukuna’s sides. “You held me so lovingly before. I feel like—”

“No assumptions!” Sukuna interrupted sharply. “My fingers are on fire, Satoru. You know better than anyone what I’m capable of, and right now, I don’t trust myself enough to let my guard down around you. And you shouldn’t either.”

“I understand.” Satoru lowered his hands to his body. “But maybe your body just needs to learn to trust me again.”

Sukuna sighed. “We are not here to have this talk.”

“Right…” Satoru turned around, returning to the room.

Sukuna watched him settle back on the floor. “You wanted to talk about Yuuji.”

“We can go through this quickly, Satoru. There’s no need to drag it around anymore. Just tell me everything you know about Yuuji. Let’s get over this with.”

“Drag around…” Satoru took his cup, hugging it with both hands. “You think the possibility of you... You think that’s easy to say aloud when I can’t even comprehend that it could be reality?”

“Dammit, Satoru! I can’t remember half of the things I’ve done!” Sukuna snapped. “You are supposed to help me, not drag me around. Stop hiding the truth from me!”

Satoru turned his head, his eyes glistening with fierce anger. “I hate every single day I let you suffer in her grasp. The sheer thought of…” he paused, looking away.

Sukuna pulled away from the wall, coming closer. “Out of all the pain and suffering, Yuuji might be the only light that came out of my darkness.”

“You can say it so lightly…” Satoru whispered, his voice shuddering. He fisted his hakama, head lowered. “She violated you in every way possible.”

“But that’s not Yuuji’s fault.”

“I…” Satoru’s voice broke with a hiccup. “Since the day I found him sitting on the curb, he has been my greatest strength. I saw a piece of you in his eyes. It hurt because I knew what that could mean, but it was a part of your heart beating inside him. It meant you were alive.”

“Have you ever thought that finding Yuuji could be a trap from Kenjaku?”

“I did. But as you said, it wasn’t his fault. I couldn’t just let your... son sit there.”

Sukuna sighed, taking his place in front of Satoru. “She might have spied on you through him all these years. That was why you couldn’t find her.”

“Huh?” Satoru looked up, his glistening eyes confused. “Impossible through the barriers. It’s…” The realization hit Satoru, and his confusion immediately turned to white-hot anger.

He must have realized that if Kenjaku could reach Sukuna beyond the school barrier, she could certainly spy on everyone through Yuuji. Maybe not constantly, but the time she could was enough for her to evade Satoru.

“Why would she set him up like that?” Satoru hissed.

“To hurt us, of course. He was supposed to forever remind you of me. You were supposed to believe that she and I were now lovers. It was her display of power. Her way to force you to stop searching for me.”

“But you don’t think she can control him like she can control you.”

“No, she would have done that already if she could. I think Yuuji is immune to her spells. He developed his own Reversed Cursed Technique.”

“But it’s not strong enough to break the spell.”

“It would be,” Sukuna said, his gaze intense. “If my soul were complete.”

“Dammit, that fucking witch!” Satoru gritted his teeth, his hands clenching into tight fists as he stared at the tea set. “I swear I will rip her brain out of Suguru’s body and throw it into a jar with acid.”

“Whose body?”

Satoru turned his head away quickly. Sukuna waited, giving him the space to answer.

“Suguru. My best friend.”

“Shit.” Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose. “As you said, she’s really good at tormenting us.”

Sukuna reached for the teapot and refilled their cups. “I need to know more about Yuuji’s technique. I need to know more about him.”

“He uses slashes,” Satoru finally gave in. “It’s Dismantle, but it’s not as lethal as yours. He doesn’t have such a great understanding of Cursed Energy yet.”

Sukuna frowned slightly. A memory surfaced: a soothing voice coming to him in a seductive whisper, talking about the ‘strongest son.’ There was a possibility that Kenjaku wanted to use Yuuji in a fight against Sukuna, but something went wrong. Perhaps he didn’t inherit all the powers she intended. Or she believed he would find the weakness in Satoru’s Infinity. But then, Satoru's vulnerability was a matter of the heart, not a flaw in his barrier. Then again, she could have manipulated Yuuji into believing the same lies Sukuna had, that Satoru was the evil one who cursed her parents. She could use him to get closer to Satoru and attempt a kill when his guard was down.

“Do you ever lower Infinity around anyone?” Sukuna asked curiously.

“Never.”

“Then she truly used him only to torture and spy on you. She knew you wouldn’t be able to reject someone who might be my son.”

“Do you…” Satoru started nervously. “Want to tell him who you are?”

“What does he think about Ryomen Sukuna?”

Satoru looked at him, surprised. “Actually, he is really interested in your story. He keeps asking me about you a lot.”

“But what does he think?”

“Well, I told him the truth about Angen and about how the old tomes about you lie, but I don’t think he truly believes me. He might be captivated by your legend and strength, but beyond that, I don’t think he believes you were a good person.”

Sukuna snorted, amused. “I am not a good person, Satoru.”

“You should tread very carefully now, Ryo. He doesn’t know anything about his father. You have never been in his life. He believes you were just a fling to his mother.”

“It would be nice to believe I was just a one-night stand to Kenjaku,” Sukuna murmured, massaging the back of his sore neck. “I feel like having some saké.”

“Yeah?” Satoru let out a deep sigh. “I could go for a shot of bleach.”

Sukuna blinked. “Bleach... that sounds familiar. Is that a type of mushroom? Do you ferment it…”

A flicker of surprise crossed Satoru’s face, but it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a soft, tender smile. “Oh, Ryo,” he mused. “My love, how I missed you.”

**

Sukuna would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he was nervous to talk to Yuuji. The boy had saved him from Kenjaku twice, and Sukuna had much to share beyond that. There was only a slight doubt that meant almost nothing to Sukuna: Yuuji had to be his son and Kenjaku’s tool for tormenting Satoru.

But that would end today. No matter what Yuuji might think about his father, he deserved to know the truth. The rest of the battle was on him.

Yuuji was still wearing Satoru’s surname. He had been a boy without a name, and Satoru had taken him in, fought for him, and given him the name of one of the three noble Jujutsu clans. Sukuna didn’t need to ask if Satoru had ever mentioned to anyone who he thought Yuuji was; to do so would have been a death wish.

From Satoru’s description, Sukuna could tell that Yuuji was a fighter. He never gave up just because an obstacle seemed insurmountable. But this time, the obstacle was different: it was his own father, the infamous demon from ancient times. Sukuna knew he had the most difficult task ahead of him—explaining to Yuuji why he was in danger.

It was late when they finally finished the tea, and Sukuna had thoroughly debated their next step with Satoru. The plan was simple, but it would be hard to execute. Without Yuuji’s help, it would be impossible. There was a chance Yuuji would refuse, out of sheer disappointment and anger at his parents. Sukuna couldn’t just ask Yuuji to help him kill his own mother, and there was no way to keep the truth from him now. It would only bring more trouble.

They stopped in front of Yuuji’s door, with Satoru turning to Sukuna for the last time.

“Are you ready, daddy?” Satoru asked, his voice a half-whisper, laced with dark humor.

“Don’t call me that.” Sukuna frowned, though he knew it was a joke on Satoru's part, and knocked on the door. “You were more of a father figure to him than I’ll ever be.”

“I’m just his teacher, Ryo.”

Sukuna felt the gentle gaze on him, the brush of Satoru’s fingers against his hand, but he didn’t reciprocate the touch. Instead, he knocked again, more urgently this time.

They both heard a groan from behind the door, followed by a creak and Yuuji’s annoyed muffling. Sukuna tensed, knowing that each second brought Yuuji closer to finding out the full horror of his life. It was a truth of its own category, and Sukuna hated to deliver it as something he simply had to accept and live with.

The door opened, and a sleepy Yuuji looked at them, his lips in a half-pout. He was wearing only his boxers, and a healing wound marked his shoulder from his last mission.

“Sensei?” The sight of Satoru and the realization of who stood beside him quickly awakened Yuuji, and he stepped back from the doorway to let them in.

“Put some clothes on, Yuuji,” Satoru told him, closing the door behind them. “It’s going to be a long talk.”

While Yuuji was pulling on a hoodie and sweatpants, Sukuna looked around the modestly furnished room. There was a closet, a drawer, a desk with a tablet and phone, and a few books on the shelves—too little for Sukuna’s liking. His eyes caught a strange poster of a woman in… Sukuna stared, trying to recall the word for the attire. It wasn’t underwear; it was a different word, something about a suit or swimming…

“That’s Jennifer Lawrence,” Yuuji said proudly, attracting Sukuna’s attention back to him.

“She’s an actress,” Satoru expanded on the lore, pulling out a chair from Yuuji’s desk to sit on. He straddled it, crossing his hands over the backrest, clearly giving Sukuna all the space to handle the situation.

“The thing she’s wearing,” Sukuna squinted at the poster. “It’s a suit for swimming?”

“Yes,” Satoru laughed shortly, “a swimsuit, or bikini in this case.”

“Bikini…” Sukuna let the foreign word roll on his tongue.

So, this Jennifer was the kind of girl his son liked, huh? Blonde hair, tanned skin, brazenly showing her body on a poster. Sukuna knew the modern world was different; he wasn’t that left behind. He remembered fragments of eras, but it was difficult for him to connect each one to the correct time. He had an enormous amount of memories to process, and for a single brain, it was incredible to manage.

“Uh…” Yuuji cleared his throat. “Sensei, what’s going on? Why are you dressed like that?”

Satoru laughed, waving his hand as if to brush away Yuuji’s fear that something severe was happening. “Don’t mind it. It’s just Ryo likes it better when I wear traditional clothes.”

“I didn’t have the opportunity to thank you for forging my soul,” Sukuna said, his voice firm but soft, bowing his head slightly.

“Whoa!” Satoru beamed behind him. “This is a huge moment, Yuuji! He never bows to anyone. Not even me. I remember when he broke my bow that time and made me bow instead.”

"That's too many bows in one sentence," Sukuna countered, turning his head to Satoru with a clearly judging, raised eyebrow.

Satoru zipped his mouth, offering a tight-lipped smile.

“It was nothing,” Yuuji said lightly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I was just doing my job.” He continued, lacing his fingers nervously. “May I ask… How did that happen to you? You seem to lose control over your own soul. That’s…”

“Crazy?” Sukuna finished for him, then sighed. “It’s a long story that I will tell you, but we have more important things to discuss first.”

Sukuna looked around and, seeing nowhere to sit, glanced at Satoru. They exchanged a brief, confused look before Sukuna spoke to him.

“Won’t you let an old man sit?”

“Sure,” Satoru chirped, standing up to turn the chair around. But instead of offering it to Sukuna, he sat down again and patted his thighs. “Here. The best throne for the king.”

Sukuna gave him a flat look. In any other situation, he wouldn’t have cared. He would have crushed Satoru without hesitation, even in his previous form. Satoru was much shorter, but Sukuna had never let him feel that difference. Right now, though, his son was waiting nearby: confused and vulnerable, not curious about two ancient men teasing each other.

“Right, right…” Satoru stood up with a smile. “Just teasing.”

Finally, Sukuna sat down, glancing at Satoru, who leaned against the wall, hands crossed in his haori’s sleeves. He looked perfect, the synonym for a clan leader. His powers were radiating from him, and the way he carried himself was nothing but noble. But it wasn’t the time to admire his former lover now. If the gods allowed, they would have enough time when everything was over.

Sukuna turned his attention back to Yuuji, who sat on his bed, clearly distressed by the unusual late-night visit.

“I wish I could tell you this in a more sensitive way, but I don’t think one can sensitively deliver such… news. It’s horrible as it is.”

“Sensei?” Yuuji looked at his mentor, eyes wide and worried.

“Don’t worry, Yuuji,” Satoru muttered gently. “I trust Ryo.”

Those were bold words from someone who had died by Sukuna’s hands numerous times.

Sukuna knew the conversation would be hard, but not like this. Seeing Yuuji so openly uncomfortable, worried about what was going to happen, made Sukuna step back from his original plan. There was a strong possibility Yuuji would react violently if he were approached in this anxious state; he carried Sukuna’s blood, after all, and Sukuna knew himself.

“I heard you like the legend about Ryomen Sukuna,” he tried a different tactic. “I know lots about him.”

“It’s an interesting story, and there are too many versions of it, so one doesn’t know what to trust,” Yuuji replied, his confusion growing even more.

“Satoru told me that he shared the secret about his past life with you.”

“That…” Yuuji chuckled, his expression relaxing slightly. “It was a prank. I know it…”

But Sukuna didn't smile. He watched Yuuji, his expression utterly serious. “It wasn’t a prank, Yuuji. He was really there, in Angen, fighting Ryomen Sukuna together with Fujiwara and all its vassals.”

Yuuji looked from Sukuna to Satoru and then back. “Excuse me?”

“It’s hard to comprehend, but as a sorcerer, you’ve seen things no ordinary person has. If there are cursed spirits, demons, and gods, why can’t we reincarnate with memories?”

Yuuji frowned, lowering his gaze to the floor. There was a battle waging inside him, but Sukuna knew he was slowly accepting the premise as truth.

“So, you say that Gojo-sensei reincarnated, but he remembers everything?”

“Precisely.” Sukuna nodded.

“But how can you know?” he asked, his voice laced with skepticism. “Were you there, too?”

“Yes, actually.” Sukuna leaned further into the chair. “I’m the one who caused the great fire of Angen.”

In a moment, Yuuji jumped to his feet, drawing a harsh breath. “Why are you two telling me such things? What does this joke mean? There’s no way! No actual way that Ryomen Sukuna is sitting right in front of me!” He pointed accusingly at Sukuna.

This final section successfully breaks the tension with humor and distraction, making the incredible truth slightly more digestible for Yuuji, before pivoting back to the serious subject.

Yuuji’s mouth dropped open, his eyes bulging. He immediately fell back onto the bed, staring at Sukuna as if he had grown another set of arms and eyes right in front of him. Perhaps, in his mind, he was imagining Sukuna that way now. He was frantically comparing facts and absorbing the information that had dropped on him like bombs.

“You are a smart boy, Yuuji,” Sukuna praised him. “Talented, even. And I’m sure you will quickly understand why we are saying this to you only now.”

“We are cursed,” Satoru joined Sukuna’s story. “Cursed by a person who held Ryo in a prison for the past thousand years.”

“A necromancer,” Sukuna added, “who captured my soul and forced me into this body so I wouldn’t attract attention.”

“Y-your…” a stutter stumbled over Yuuji’s tongue, and his cheeks turned slightly red. “Your another pair of arms and eyes…”

“Yes.” A wave of nostalgia washed over Sukuna. “My previous body was truly a masterpiece.”

“Hmm…” Satoru nodded, his eyes turned up to the ceiling as he reminisced. “I miss the belly mouth. I barely managed to play with it.”

“You mean you tried to feed it?” Sukuna said firmly, pulling the chair closer to Yuuji.

A short laugh escaped Yuuji, who seemed to be more comfortable with them now. It was as if their words had managed to open a locked door inside him. He still looked nervous, probably about the outcome of their little visit, but for the moment, he was astonished by everything Sukuna and Satoru told him.

“W-wait, what does he mean by ‘belly mouth’?” Yuuji asked, intensely curious.

“Well, I was born with a mouth on my belly—” Sukuna shook his head. “It’s not important now. We’re here for something different.”

“Belly mouth,” Satoru nodded, smiling sheepishly.

Yuuji looked from one to the other, confusion etched on his face. “For what?” he wondered. “You—you’re the Ryomen Sukuna!”

“Trust me, I’ve been blamed for far more disasters than I originally caused. There are lots of twisted facts.”

“As I told you before,” Satoru interjected. “The great fire of Angen wasn’t Ryo’s fault. He was manipulated by the necromancer. She forced him to fight.”

“I honestly don’t even know why I was fighting,” Sukuna lied, giving Yuuji the opportunity to join the conversation, to share his perspective.

Yuuji swallowed the bait, his eyes widened comically, and his mouth opened and closed on its own. He was excited and confused at the same time, unsure what to do with all this information. But eventually, he found his speech again.

“The tomes say that it was because you hated the people of Heian-kyo. And some say that you wanted to overthrow the government. You came at night when most of the soldiers were out in a battle.”

Sukuna snorted at that explanation. “They painted me as a coward, huh?”

“I knew there was something weird about the story! Ryomen Sukuna, the king of curses, wouldn’t just cowardly wait for everyone to leave and then strike.” Yuuji clenched his fist.

It was strange to listen to his own son talk about him with a sort of admiration. He knew Yuuji despised what Sukuna did, but he was fascinated by him as a sorcerer. Many were, and Yuuji wasn’t special in this case. But still, seeing his own son react like this, calling for justice even for such a demon as Ryomen Sukuna, was significant.

“The truth was that Ryo was forced to attack the city to lure me out,” Satoru said, joining Sukuna’s story. His voice was gloomy, and he shifted from foot to foot, glancing at the floor. “The necromancer couldn’t get a grip on me because of my technique, so she used Ryo. She knew I would hold back while fighting him.”

Sukuna’s brows furrowed. “But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” Satoru muttered, confirming. “But I wasn’t strong enough to stop you.”

Silence stretched over them. The gloominess of their past, the ghost that had finally caught up, emerged from the depths of hell and reminded Sukuna of the pain and sin he had forgotten. The memories of the fire flashed before Sukuna’s eyes, causing him to close them for a moment, his breath quickening.

“What…” Yuuji hesitated. “What happened to you?”

The question was targeted at Satoru, who replied without delay. “I died. It was my first death of many, I remember.”

“But why?!” Yuuji’s voice grew desperate and confused. “What for?”

“Because Kenjaku’s coven is a cult that survives for centuries by stealing bodies and enjoying the suffering of others. Because I’m the only one who can track them down based on their special cursed energy.” Satoru simplified, pulling away from the wall.

Sukuna opened his eyes, a memory striking him, quickening his pulse. “You hunted them down…” He stated, the realization appearing in him. “She came to Angen to kill you after you hunted down all of her coven members.”

“Yeah, well, she shouldn’t have started a fight with me,” Satoru retorted coldly.

“You didn’t tell me that,” Sukuna said, turning his head to Satoru, the question visible in his eyes.

“I promised that I would kill her and her little minions if she betrayed us. It was a binding vow.” With a shrug, Satoru turned to the window, facing away from them both.

Sukuna stared at his back in disbelief. “Yes, a binding vow I made for you to not track her coven down. You broke it.”

“I did,” he shrugged, his voice devoid of emotion.

Sukuna waited for another reaction from Satoru, but received only stubborn silence. He decided to return to it later. He didn’t remember any punishment coming out of the broken vow, but among his suffering, it could be literally anything, and he wouldn’t recognize it.

Now wasn’t the time to bicker. Those were their personal problems and had nothing to do with Yuuji.

“This witch…” Sukuna continued, reaching the big revelation. “She had me in her possession for a millennium. Almost seventeen years ago, she used my body to bring a child into this world.”

Sukuna carefully watched each of Yuuji’s reactions. A smart boy like him could have figured it out right now. He knew how Sukuna used to look before—much more like Yuuji. And although Sukuna lost a pair of his eyes and arms, it was still him. His eyes were his, deep, bloody-red, haunted by centuries-old tragedies.

“Yuuji,” he said his name softly. “I know you imagined your parents differently. I don’t want to play any fatherly figure to you. I don’t mean to assert my authority over you. You are your own person. You do you. I respect your autonomy.”

The silence prevailed, tense and dark, with Sukuna the only one making any kind of sound. Yuuji stared at his laced hands while Satoru was still facing the window. It was a lot for Yuuji to process. For sixteen years, he had nobody, and suddenly he learned that his parents are two of the most infamous curse users ever.

“I told you because I care. I know you remember your mother only slightly; she left you when you were five, just like I lost my mother at that age.”

Yuuji lifted his head slightly, but his eyes were still downcast. Seeing him like this, Sukuna wanted to sit next to him and console him. But he knew it would be met with rejection. And if Kenjaku managed to listen or see through Yuuji, he didn’t want her to keep enjoying Yuuji’s suffering.

“You…” Yuuji spoke, his voice barely audible. “You didn’t know about me?”

“I wish I could tell you, but…” he paused shortly, rubbing the back of his neck. “My memories are all over the place. It’s too much, like thousands of broken pieces. Some are more vivid, some are just random pictures.”

Another torturous drop of silence descended. Sukuna reminded himself to be patient with the boy. Yuuji could still react negatively, get mad, and yell—who knew. Sukuna had to wait and see where this confrontation would lead.

“I don’t remember anything…” Yuuji straightened, taking in a sharp breath. It was then that Sukuna saw his eyes glistening and his face contorted with strong emotions.

“I don’t remember my surname or where I came from. I just…” his bottom lip shivered, and a solitary tear dropped onto his cheek. “I just appeared in front of the store. Out of nowhere. I can’t remember anything before that.”

Yuuji’s memories must have been wiped away. For some reason, Kenjaku found Yuuji useless to fight for her. Perhaps he was resistant to her control technique, or maybe she couldn't control two souls at the same time and couldn't mold Yuuji to her liking. Yuuji was probably a late bloomer, so Kenjaku used him differently: putting a thorn inside his heart, a little fang of hers to see through him like a mirror.

“I’m not mad at you…” Yuuji suddenly said, a half-smile forming on his face. “And if Sensei says you’re okay, then I trust him.”

Satoru turned from the window, his brows furrowed and his eyes soft.

“But…” Yuuji swallowed, sniffing. “Do I really look like you?”

A little smile crossed Sukuna’s face. “Lots like me. Minus a pair of eyes and extra arms.”

“So, I’m not just a weirdo with pink hair who manifested from thin air!” he said happily, through the tears in his eyes. “I have real roots.”