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Summary
“Can I tell you something, Sukuna?” His voice came out quieter than he meant—rough, frayed at the edges.
Sukuna tilted his head, regarding him the way a cat might regard a wounded bird: mild curiosity, no real concern. “Shoot.”
Yuji stared at the scarred tabletop, tracing a knife-carved initial with his thumbnail. His chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped steel bands around his ribs and kept tightening.
“My labs came back,” he said. The words tasted like ash. “Semen analysis. Turns out…” He swallowed hard, throat clicking. “I’m shooting blanks.”