Chapter Text
“Due to the drought, this year’s harvest has decreased by twenty percent from last year…”
“Your Majesty, I beseech you to reconsider your court ruling…”
“A skirmish has broken out at the Western border. How should we proceed…”
Sukuna sat on the throne, a headache brewing as he listened to his counselors' unending requests and complaints. A twitch of his finger beckoned his adjutant over, who bowed and turned to the council.
Clearing their throat, they announced, “His Majesty is tired, and will be retiring to his chambers. The court is now adjourned.”
Protests erupted in the court, imploring him to stay, but Sukuna simply stood up with a flick of his sleeves. Sensing the king’s irritable mood, the officials quieted down and bowed to their ruler.
Once they left the court hall, Sukuna declared, “We should abolish the court meetings. It is always the same routine; pointless complaints and mindless drivel, enough to drive any man mad. Truly dull.”
In the past century, his civic duties had increased due to an increase in his territory and population. Coupled with the technological and scientific advancements that he pioneered, there was more and more work to be done. Shackled to his responsibilities, ruling a country was no longer enjoyable.
He returned to his bedchamber and glanced at the pile of books on the entrance table. He had read each and every book in his country’s library at least twice. There was nothing left to read, nothing left to learn.
He had spent his entire life in the pursuit of greatness and knowledge. Now that he had reached the pinnacle of life and obtained everything, there was no one who could rival him or give him the satisfaction of a meaningful discussion. No man would dare claim superiority and educate him. No man could.
But a life without challenges was a worthless life, no better than death. As such, Sukuna decided the status quo needed to change.
“Uraume!”
At his shout, his adjutant entered his chambers. “You called, Your Majesty?”
“Tell me,” Sukuna asked, settling down on the tiger skin divan, “How many subjects are in my kingdom?”
Uraume bowed. “According to this year’s census, the recorded population is fifty million, Your Majesty.”
“One in fifty million, then.” The monarch hummed. “Out of fifty million humans, do you suppose at least one can satisfy me?”
Confused, Uraume raised their head. “Your Majesty, are you perhaps looking for a consort?”
With a wave of his hand, Sukuna stopped his aide’s foolishness. “Perish the thought, I have no desire for matrimony or romantic pursuits. I meant satisfaction in the intellectual sense.”
When it came to intellect, a short-lived human could not hope to match him. Uruame paused to ponder his question before they answered. “In that case, I believe it would be difficult. The wisdom of a fleeting human is incomparable to that of a thousand-year scholar such as Yourself.”
Sukuna sighed. “As I thought, it would be difficult. Nonetheless, fifty million is a substantial number. Without meeting all my subjects, it is impossible to know for sure.”
Frowning, Uraume wondered for the umpteenth time what their lord was thinking. In the past decade, Sukuna had shut himself in the palace, losing much of the motivation and ambition he used to have. There was only so much freedom a ruler was allowed, before they were forced to return to their duties.
Just as they were about to propose a vacation of sorts, Sukuna spoke up.
“I have decided. I will relinquish my throne to whoever can satisfy my curiosity and present to me something worth learning.”
Uraume whipped their head up in shock. “Your Majesty, this is… If I may speak, there are too many risks to this plan. Perhaps another solution—”
Sukuna held up his hand to interrupt them. “This is an order. Gather the council and announce my decree to the public. Whoever can fulfill this challenge shall have the throne.”
He grinned at his own ingenuity. Acquiring valuable knowledge while casting off his burdens? This was killing two birds with one stone.
Biting their lip, Uraume held back their opinion and answered, “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
Unsurprisingly, the decree was met with intense uproar, shaking the aristocrats and countryfolk with both fear and anticipation. Despite protests from the nobles and councilors, the decision had already been set in stone. The masses approved of this decree, an equal opportunity for everyone to speak to their king and inherit the throne.
Two months later, the challenge officially began, and the palace opened its gates to the public. For six hours each day, Sukuna sat in the throne room, listening to each contestant present a topic that would hopefully impress their ruler.
The first week went by without any fanfare, nothing sparking interest in the king. Quite a few assassins mixed into the group, but were promptly arrested by the guards or slashed to pieces by Sukuna. There were also plenty of admirers who had no interest in the challenge itself and simply wanted an audience with the king. One woman had even removed her robes and attempted to throw her naked self onto Sukuna. She was quickly subdued and thrown out of the palace.
When the weeks turned into months with nothing to show for it, excitement for the decree died down as people began to gossip. Perhaps no one would be able to satisfy the king, or perhaps this entire challenge was a ruse.
Regardless, the results discouraged many from joining, and the line of people entering the palace diminished.
On a sunny weekend, Sukuna sat on his throne listening to yet another citizen attempt to explain to him a simple mathematical theory. Without letting her finish speaking, Sukuna dismissed her with a wave of his hand. The woman looked devastated as she bowed and turned to exit the hall.
Maybe Uraume was right. This was not the best solution. Yawning, Sukuna closed his eyes and ordered the next person to enter.
“Next.”
He heard some shuffling and hushed whispers, before footsteps echoed through the hall. From the sound alone, Sukuna could tell that this person was confident, their steps even and firm. Massaging his strained eyes, he glanced over to survey the next contestant.
A man bounced up the stairs, not the least bit nervous of facing his King. He took his time, observing the architecture and paintings on the walls as if he were exploring a museum. Interesting. Sukuna leaned forward, intrigued by what the white-haired contestant had to offer.
"On what topic will you be enlightening me today?"
The man smiled brightly, lighting up the throne hall.
“Love.”
Silence filled the hall. Sukuna blinked once, twice, and waited for the punchline. Nothing came. Blue eyes held his gaze in determination.
A grin broke across Sukuna’s face. Truly interesting. He cackled loudly, the laughter made all the more potent by the echoing in the hall.
“Love. I assume we are speaking in the same language, unless there is an alternate meaning to this word that I am unaware of.”
“Nope!” the other man chirped with a pop of his lips. “It’s exactly what you think it is. I’m going to teach you about love!”
Amused, Sukuna scrutinized the man before him. Was this another admirer using his decree as a front to seduce him? If so, this was certainly a unique way of going about it, and an entertaining one at that. Sukuna lingered on his eyes, framed by snowy white lashes. He was objectively pretty, so much so that he put all the other admirers he’d met to shame.
Although love was impossible, he wouldn’t mind fulfilling this subject’s wish and bedding him.
Smirking, Sukuna led with a question. “And how do you hope to teach me about love?”
The man rolled on the balls of his feet, excited to answer. “Well obviously, I’ll show you the best this world has to offer. Food, natural wonders, entertainment, and more. I’m sure we can find something you’ll love!”
Sukuna raised an eyebrow. That was the love he referred to? Love for the world? For inanimate things? It would appear that the king had made a wrong assumption, for this wasn’t an admirer but a man with a few loose screws.
“What is your name?”
“Satoru. Gojo Satoru.”
The man would fail, Sukuna was sure of it. No one knew this world better than himself. Perhaps at one point, he did love the world. Now, it was nothing but a disappointment. However, the very notion of someone trying to teach him love, of all things, intrigued him. “Very well, Satoru. I will allow you to attempt the impossible.”
“Oh wow, you actually agreed,” Satoru muttered with wide eyes. He quickly clapped his hands together and flashed Sukuna a blinding smile. “Great! Then I’ll come back tomorrow! Gotta prepare some stuff first.”
“Hm. Do what you must. I will grant you a token, which you may use to enter.” With a wave of his hand, a servant handed Satoru a tasseled metal pendant.
Satoru haphazardly shoved it into his pocket, causing the servant’s nose to wrinkle in disapproval, and perfunctorily bowed to Sukuna. “Thanks! Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Your Majesty!”
Sukuna watched him saunter off without a care in the world, and looked forward to whatever foolishness the man had in store for the next day.
Tomorrow arrived, but with no sign of the audacious man. Sukuna sat on the throne, dark clouds of irritation covering his expression, as he dismissed dozens of contestants who provided him with nothing of value.
He should have known it was all a scam, the entire idea ridiculous to begin with. With his deceptively beautiful charm, Gojo Satoru was a natural swindler. If Sukuna ever caught him on the streets, he would immediately capture and torture him in the castle prison.
When the six hours were over, the sun had fallen toward the horizon, casting a golden hue across the palace halls. It was a view he would never tire of, and his mood lifted slightly. Cracking his neck, he descended the throne and took his usual path back to his chambers.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a few servants running frantically toward the kitchen. A few words caught his attention: “mess” and “flour”. Curious, he walked toward the anxious servants.
“What prompts such haste?”
The servants froze, turning around hastily to bow to the King. “Your Majesty, we deeply apologize for running in the halls.”
Sukuna raised a palm, dismissing their worries. “I am simply asking out of curiosity.”
One of the servants wearing a chef’s uniform answered. “It is your…guest, Your Majesty. He insisted on using the royal kitchen, and requested that he do all tasks himself.”
Guest? Sukuna sifted through the small list of acquaintances he had. None of them had notified him that they would be visiting. Unless…the white-haired man from yesterday appeared in his mind. A thrill traveled down his spine. Is it him?
“I will see to it myself.”
Without further ado, he paced toward the kitchen. A few servants followed him nervously, hinting to him that the kitchen was not in an appropriate state for the emperor to see. Sukuna ignored them and pushed open the double doors.
White powder obscured his vision, the sound of humming filling his ears. When the dust settled, Sukuna’s eyebrow twitched as he took in the state of the kitchen. As if a snowstorm had swept through the place, the kitchen counters were coated with flour and a variety of colored dough. Dozens of utensils and bowls scattered across the countertop, and in the middle of it all stood the culprit.
Wearing a white chef's uniform, Satoru blended into the landscape with his snowy hair and pale skin. His hands were coated in flour and sticky dough, which smudged onto his nose whenever he wiped his face. Sukuna shook his head at the mess, but there was no fire behind it. Unbeknownst to himself, the sight of the man from yesterday had cooled his temper.
He walked in, side-eying the clutter around him, and made his way to the impromptu cook. Towering over him, Sukuna questioned, “What are you doing?
Unfazed, Satoru continued kneading the dough. “Making mochi and soba noodles, duh.”
At the disrespectful tone, Sukuna tutted. “And how is that supposed to teach me love?”
“Everyone I know loves mochi! So I’m gonna make it for you. And you know what they say, the way to a man’s heart is food.”
…That was all? Sukuna frowned, a bit disappointed by the idea Satoru came up with. “My life eclipses yours by millennia. It is audacious to assume I have never tasted mochi before.”
Satoru shrugged. “Sure, but food tastes best when you make it yourself. And that’s why,” he grabbed a pair of gloves and an apron, passing them to Sukuna, “you’ll make it with me!”
Sukuna grabbed the materials, ready to retort, but Satoru interrupted him with a swish of his finger. “And! Meals should be enjoyed with friends and family. You don’t have anyone, so I’ll eat with you instead. Familial love is love, too!”
Honestly, Sukuna was impressed with this man’s line of thought. How could one conceive some of the most insanely stupid ideas he’d ever had the displeasure of hearing? The king tried to reply, but the sound of knuckles cracking interrupted him a second time. Irritated, he swerved toward the source of the noise, only to find Uraume seething in the corner.
It seemed like his adjutant could no longer tolerate the disrespect, because they looked one second away from tearing into the white-haired man. He sighed, flicking his hand to order the servants to stand on the side. They could observe for now and clean up the kitchen afterwards.
It was foolish, yet endearing all the same. Deciding to indulge the little man, Sukuna put on his apron and gloves. He didn’t know why he was so cooperative today. Perhaps it was the loneliness, built up from decades of solitude and boredom.
The food, however, was unacceptable. Shoving the other aside, Sukuna took the patch of ugly, uneven noodles and recombined them into one ball of dough. Satoru protested, “All my hard work!”, but Sukuna simply ignored him and grabbed a handful of flour, coating the countertop evenly.
Stretching the dough, he began splitting it into strands at lightning speed, creating more and more strands until they resembled thin noodles. Satoru stood to the side watching him, impressed at his skill. Glowing with pride, Sukuna smirked at the awestruck expression on Satoru’s face.
He coated the strands with flour to separate them and held them out to Satoru. “Now, do as I have just demonstrated.”
Eyes sparkling, Satoru swiped the dough from his hand and immediately began picking at it. The action reminded Sukuna of a cat playing with yarn, and he chuckled at the thought. Ever the fast learner, Satoru stretched the noodles like Sukuna had taught him and split the dough into thinner strands. On one of the pulls, he swung a little too hard, causing one strand to fly onto Sukuna’s cheek.
Splat.
“Oops,” Satoru whispered, having the gall to snicker.
Silently, Sukuna brought a hand up to his face, peeling the dough off his cheek. Under the watchful eyes of the mischievous cat, he placed the dough on the edge of the counter. Then, he pinched a piece of wet dough and slathered it onto Satoru’s face.
He grinned. “Oops.”
Satoru’s eyes widened as his mouth dropped open, blushing in indignation. A pretty color, Sukuna noted, like drops of blood on snow, or the pink underside of a kitten’s paw.
“Oh, that’s it!” Satoru smirked and grabbed more dough from the pile, flinging it at Sukuna.
Thus began the first food war Sukuna had ever participated in. Satoru flung balls of dough onto Sukuna’s body with surprising accuracy, and Sukuna returned the favor with vigor. It was childish, it was senseless, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.
Hours later, the two finally made some presentable dishes, with the help of Uraume, who could not stand by any longer. Along with the food prepared by the royal chefs, the dishes were placed on the dining table. Two plates were placed on opposite ends of the twenty-foot-long table, all according to Sukuna’s orders. Feeling charitable today, he had decided to humor the young adult by dining with him.
Walking toward his usual spot at the head of the table, Sukuna sat down and motioned for Satoru to do the same. However, Satoru took one look at the table and tutted in disapproval. “You dine like this every day? No wonder you’re depressed.”
Anger flared up in the king as he lashed out defensively, “Watch your tongue. A king does not get depressed, child.”
“Uh-huh.” Satoru grabbed his plate from the other side of the table and marched toward Sukuna. He shamelessly plopped down on the seat next to the king, setting the plate so close to Sukuna’s that he could reach over and touch it if he so wished to.
Scooting forward, Satoru nodded to himself and smiled in satisfaction. “Much better.”
Silence filled the dining hall as all the servants lowered their heads in worry. No one had ever dared to sit in the seat closest to the King’s side without express permission. Now, they feared another head would roll on the palace grounds.
Sukuna reflected on himself. Had he done something to make this man so bold, so daring, in front of him? He thought back to his actions thus far—hmm. It would appear he did. A word lingered in his mind, spoiled, and he quickly shoved it back down. He had only known this fellow for one day. It was only a passing interest, something to stave away his boredom.
Yes, that was all.
Feeling resolved, he steeled a firm look at Satoru, ready to admonish him for not knowing his place. But just as he opened his mouth, Satoru cut him off again and stood up from his chair, grabbing a metal tong from the porcelain bowl of utensils.
“Let’s get the healthy stuff out of the way first!” Satoru exclaimed and scooped up a big serving of salad. He plopped it onto his plate, then turned to Sukuna. Blinking his owlish blue eyes, he pointed to the monarch’s plate. “May I?”
Stunned, Sukuna forgot what he planned to say. He nodded against his better judgment, and Satoru happily took the plate from him and loaded another serving of salad.
Sitting back down, Satoru picked up his fork. “Let’s eat! The sooner we finish, the sooner we can get to the main course.”
Sukuna watched as Satoru dug into his food without even waiting for the king to start eating. Following suit, Sukuna robotically picked up his own fork and shoved a piece of lettuce into his mouth.
What the fuck was he doing.
Where was his regal demeanor…where was his common sense? Why was he letting this plebeian do as he pleased and dictate his actions?
No, wait. In the first place, why did he even let the man join him for dinner? He always dined alone, and could count on his hand the number of times he had dined with a friend in the past century. And yet, he hadn’t thought twice before ordering the servants to prepare another set of plates.
Worst of all, he didn’t even feel anger at the blatant disrespect displayed before him. Perhaps it was because Satoru held no animosity toward him and seemed genuinely oblivious to the court rules. He sighed. Better to dismiss the servants first, before they witnessed anything more appalling.
With the room now empty save for the two of them and Uraume, who was shaking with rage by the doorway, Sukuna could finally relax. He ate in silence, listening to Satoru ramble about his day and his favorite foods. Despite his nonchalant attitude, he mentally noted every word the man said.
Satoru was surprisingly attentive, refilling Sukuna's plate whenever he was close to finishing. Amused, Sukuna would eat at different speeds to see if Satoru would catch on and add more in time. The man did not disappoint, consistently adding more food, though the frequency of him glancing at Sukuna’s plate increased.
Eventually, Satoru caught on to the king’s schemes and stopped refilling his plate. Stomach and mood satiated, Sukuna returned the favor and placed a matcha mochi on Satoru’s plate. “Eat.”
Satoru frowned. “I can get it myself, you don’t need to do it.”
“And who was it that kept piling food onto my plate like a dutiful servant?” Sukuna retorted.
“That’s different!” Satoru protested, the pretty pink back on his cheeks. “I wasn’t acting as a servant, but as family! Like…like how mothers prepare their children’s meals.”
“Oh?” Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “So you were acting as the King’s mother. No one has ever dared to claim that title before.”
“I’m not—you’re twisting my words!” Satoru glared at Sukuna, a pout on his lips. Sukuna chuckled and grabbed two more mochi pieces, placing them gently on Satoru’s plate.
“I was teasing. You worked so hard to make these. Come, eat.”
Reluctantly, Satoru picked up a piece and took a small bite out of it. His eyes sparkled with simple happiness, something that Sukuna sorely lacked. “Wow! This tastes so good! It was worth it to buy the expensive flour.”
Sukuna furrowed his brows. “You bought the ingredients yourself?”
Nodding, Satoru replied, “Yep! It cost me a fortune, but seeing how well these turned out, I say it was worth every penny.” He seemed to realize something and sheepishly glanced at Sukuna. “Oh, but don’t worry. Your servants checked for poison or anything bad, so it’s perfectly safe to eat this.”
The king had assumed that Satoru used the ingredients in the kitchen to make the food. Knowing the truth, Sukuna picked up his chopsticks and selected a red bean mochi. He placed it in his mouth, savoring the taste and texture; the sweetness from the anko, and the soft chewiness of the mochi dough.
“It is good. Thank you, Satoru.”
Satoru ducked his head down, his own chopsticks pushing the mochi around on his plate. The tips of his ears turned pink, and he murmured, “...It’s nothing. As long as you like it.”
This was an unexpected reaction. He had thought Satoru would be pleased with the compliment and accept it with pride. Does he have difficulty accepting praise? Or is he simply unaccustomed to people appreciating his actions?
Nevertheless, Sukuna was a man who gave credit where it was due and would not hold back his praise for those who deserved it.
“You have pleased me with your cooking today. As a reward, you may use the second kitchen whenever you wish. Should you require any ingredient, notify one of the cooks, and they will acquire it for you.”
In case the younger man still insisted on spending his own money, Sukuna emphasized, “The palace treasury has more than enough funds. You need not purchase the ingredients yourself.”
He listened for a reply, but none came. Instead, Satoru stared at Sukuna, dumbstruck. A commoner receiving a reward from the King was likely a significant, life-altering event for them. Sukuna understood this, and waited for the shock to pass.
A moment later, Satoru wet his lips, eyes darting to the side. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
His expression seemed distant, almost sad. Sukuna frowned at the lukewarm reception. Just what was going on in that perplexing mind of his? He wanted to ask, and he almost did, but the rational part of his mind stopped him. Sukuna was a king, and Satoru was his subject. Asking after the well-being of a mere commoner, like a concerned friend, was unbefitting of a king.
Instead, he picked up a mochi and placed it on Satoru’s plate. “There is a greenhouse on the palace grounds. I shall have the gardener plant some edamame, which should be ready for harvest in approximately ten weeks. At that time, let us make some kikufuku together.”
During his ramblings earlier, Satoru had mentioned that his favorite mochi was kikufuku. The man looked startled, as if he didn’t expect the king to remember. He smiled tentatively, warmth blooming in his cheeks.
“Okay.”