remi !

Thea wished her life with Sukuna was garnished with seasons of torment and misery, if only to stave off the suffocating boredom. 

There were only so many times she could wander the perimeter of the gate or play kemari by herself before she sat down in the gardens to rot with the flowers.  At least that way, her corpse could have some use before she inevitably turned to dust.

Better to become dirt than mud beneath Sukuna's heel.  At least, that was what she had thought.  His reputation preceded him, but even the gory details never did him justice.  Only fools didn't fear Sukuna Ryomen.

Instead of twisting her like a reed between his fingers, he treated her like gnats in the wind.  He didn't speak to her, didn't even look at her.  He couldn't spare her a single glance even with two sets of eyes.

The last time that he had actively engaged her in conversation was the day he had dragged her from the temple and to his territory.

Even then, she had been the first to speak.  Feet shuffling across the ground, her wedding garb snagging on branches and twigs, she stared at the back of his head as he walked her through the dense forest.

“What are you going to do to me?” she had asked.  Her throat was raw from screaming hours earlier.

“Nothing,” he answered.  He had the nerve to sound bored, like upheaving her life was an inconvenient favour. “If you behave.”

“Behave,” Thea echoed, the word burning her tongue.  Bile rose in her throat. His head turned, one of his vertical-slit eyes on the right side of his face meeting her gaze. “What, exactly, does behaving mean to you?”

His response was immediate.  He looked forward. “Not asking me insipid questions.”  

Grinding her teeth, she forced herself to ask: “Are we going to share a bed?”

“No.”

Her steps faltered.  Brows knit together, sweat pouring down her neck, she recalled the highlights of the afternoon: she arrived with her father at the temple, discovered Sukuna had showed up in her betrotheds' stead, cut down her father when he had tried to step between them, then made his intentions clear and told her that she was to be married to him instead.

Yet there he was, acting as if the thought of touching her made him nauseous.

“So why am I here?”

“To be quiet,” he responded immediately. “Until I call for you.”

Thea’s sulky fine was lost in the snap of twigs beneath her feet.  She resigned herself to be quiet, to save herself from facing his wrath, and she would start immediately.

She had thought the conversation was finished, so when he spoke again, she jumped out of her skin.

“Don't go past the gate,” he said, turning and looking her dead in the eye.  The blood red irises seemed to glow against the shadows thrown across his face.  She had to crane her neck to look at him while he glared at her down his nose. “And do not speak to anyone with sutures on their forehead.”

She nodded mutely. That was that.

Naturally, after the aches of boredom settled under her skin, she broke his first rule.  The first time she was buzzing with excitement, terrified and jittery that she might be caught.

The nearby town was polite, full of traders and fisherman passing through, but none of them were stupid enough to help her.  None of them wanted to attract any kind of attention from the beast that lived so close to their homes, not when his favourite pastime was razing settlements exactly like theirs.

Sukuna must have known that she was sneaking away.  Maybe one of the people eager to earn favour had tattled on her, or maybe he had actually noticed her absence on some days.  He never brought it up.

Every night, Sukuna's only companion, Uraume, cooked enough food for the three of them.  Sometimes Thea didn't eat, but in those cases she was left to deal with Uraume, because she wasn't important enough for Sukuna to deal with himself.

She wasn't important enough to be acknowledged, even when she so blatantly broke one of his only two rules.

Occasionally, he would leave, taking his stifling presence with him.  She had no idea where he went, nor what he did while he was away.  At first, she was relieved, but as his escapades grew more frequent, it was becoming difficult to ignore the pit in her stomach.

He was scheming something, obviously, otherwise she wouldn't be in the predicament she was in.  There was no physical evidence of anything, no matter how many times she combed through his private room while Uraume was distracted.  

When he was around,  he spent his days minding his own business: reading, training, lounging like a gigantic cat in the sun.  He didn't care if Thea watched him from a shadowy alcove, he was comfortable enough to sleep with his door unlocked and the gate open.  

She figured he was putting effort into not being provoked.  Not that such a thing would stop her from trying.

What else was she supposed to do?

“He left.”

Uraume was curt with their words, cutting as sharp as the blade in their hands.  The hunk of meat that they were carving glimmered in the early afternoon sun.

“Where?” Thea asked from her position, peaking over their shoulder.  She would have asked what animal such a disturbing slab of flesh came from, but she knew that Uraume only had the patience for two of her questions at a time.

“That doesn't concern you,” Uraume said, continuing to carve, not sparing her a single glance.  Their robes were pushed up to their elbows, brows pinched in concentration, sparsely blinking.  Their trimmed white hair was tied out of the way, the plum stain on the back of their head distorted.

Thea lingered, even though she was no longer welcome.  Uraume’s eyes slid over to where she stood, their glare cold enough to dampen the clement afternoon.

“The gate is open,” Thea said, as if framing her next question differently would coax Uraume into answering.

Their eyes focused on their hands and the syrupy sound of meat being hacked apart filled the room.  The sound carried, following Thea as she exited through the corridor, then wandered out to the garden.

There was no point in sneaking around, so she walked right out of the front gate, out of the estate that oozed with Sukuna's energy, and into the treeline.

The estate had been originally constructed for some warlord, then gifted to Sukuna as a sign of good faith, or so Uraume told her.  The original owner was a recluse, so the surrounding forests were ideal for his tastes.  Thea wondered if Sukuna enjoyed them, too, or if he looked right through the swaying branches just like he looked through her.

The paths crawling up to the estate were overgrown because no one in their right mind would actively seek out Sukuna unless he were unfathomably stupid or prideful and stupid.

One of her favourite paths winded around a small clearing that meandered towards the village.  It was easier to see the bright sun when there wasn't a veil of green and brown in her way.  The grass twirled in the breeze, birds warbling to each other while pecking at the earth.

So engrossed by the sight before her, she didn't acknowledge the cursed energy approaching until it became impossible to ignore.  The energy felt like rot, tasted like spoiled meat filling her nose and making her grimace.  Her head turned, eyes locking onto a tree barely visible from the dirt path.

A moment.  Then another, then the figure stepped out from behind the tree and began to stroll closer, narrowing the distance between them.  Thea watched with a blank expression on her face, her body still angled away.

The figure wasn't poised to attack, nor were they exceptionally large.  The eyes that stared back at her were narrowed, studying her with a smile on their lips.

“What a neat trick,” the person called out, stopping close enough to be heard while remaining in the shade. “Perhaps you could teach me sometime?”

“Why are you here?” she asked, cringing as soon as the words left her lips.  Why else would someone be skulking around on a path that leads to Sukuna's territory? “Why were you standing in the trees like that?”

The person's smile never faded and never reached their eyes. “I'm looking for Sukuna.”

“He's not here.”

“So I've heard,” the person said.  Had the villagers seen Sukuna storm past?  Had he been eager, giddy with delight at the prospect of flattening another nation?

“What are you doing here?” the stranger asked, tilting their head to the side.  “Looking for an audience with our dear Lord?”

Thea would have rolled her eyes if she dared to peel her eyes from the sorcerer still hiding in the shadows.

“Something like that,” she said.

The person grinned, mouth full of sharp, glittering teeth.  “I don't often see people wander from the direction of his domain.”

Thea didn't answer the silent question.

“It's not often I see people live long enough to make it through the gates.”

“And do you often watch?” she asked, a lump crawling up her throat.  No, she would have surely felt something as slimy as them if they were anywhere close enough to spy on her.

Their smile widened. “Something like that.”

They stepped onto the path, the sunlight illuminating their face.  Soft jaw, gentle sloped eyes, and spindly limbs ought to have pieced together a kindly young man.  Yet there was something slimy and poisonous caged deep within their irises, barely restrained by the sutures lining their forehead.

The wind felt cold.

“Who are you?” She struggled not to sound like she was barking at this strange new person.

“I told you, a humble farmer looking for an audience with Lord Sukuna,” he purred, smirking at a joke only they could ever find funny. “And you-?”

“What's your name?” she clarified, as if knowing would gain any kind of advantage.

“Call me anything you'd like.” After a pause, he added: “Though most call me Kenjaku.”

Thea nodded, allowing the silence to linger.

“And you?” Kenjaku asked, as if she were a spooked animal.

She hadn't strayed too far from the eastern gate; it would be a quick walk and an even faster run to turn tail and hide in her room.  Despite being in the process of disobeying one of Sukuna's rules, the idea of breaking both at the same time made her hesitate.  There was a palpable wrongness to Kenjaku, and the fact that Sukuna bothered to remember him was reason enough for her to be wary.

Then again, her deep-set boredom had fanned the flames of her curiosity.  She had no guarantee that she would ever have the opportunity to interact with someone who knew Sukuna and seemed willing to speak.

“Thea,” she said, somehow feeling like she gave up a little piece of her soul in doing so.

Kenjaku’s eyes crinkled with mirth.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Kenjaku loved to speak about nothing at all.

The townsfolk knew him, recognized his face, and greeted him with warmth, but she never once heard any of them say his name.  Kenjaku acknowledged each person that called out, pausing to give someone a wave or a smile.  From those same people, Thea received nothing but a furtive glance.

Kenjaku offered to buy her something to eat, and she accepted.  His posture was lax, his tone mild and controlled.  If she couldn't feel the rot permeating from under his skin, Thea might have felt at ease, might have even enjoyed herself.

As it was, Kenjaku's demeanor reminded her more of a snake waiting for its target to relax.  That way, it would be easier to swallow her whole.

Still, she trailed after him as he guided her from the village and towards a small patch of grass overlooking the river.  She sat down a respectable distance from him, uncaring that her robe would definitely stain.  The rice cake that Kenjaku had purchased for her was dry and definitely not as good as something Uraume could cook.  She ate it anyway.

“And I can understand, because it's quite a beautiful day.” Kenjaku was still speaking. “But I wonder, why would a beautiful woman such as yourself seek out someone like our Lord?”

If the familiar greetings and well-wishes weren't enough proof, the fact that Kenjaku didn't utter Sukuna's name near the village solidified his status as a frequent visitor.  Which was strange, because Thea had never seen him before.

“Why would anyone?” Thea asked, wry and curious all at once. “It's not like he listens to prayers.”

“So flagrant,” Kenjaku said with a charming smile. “I'm sure our Lord appreciates your spirit.”

Her nose wrinkled at the word appreciate.  As if Sukuna had the capacity to respect anything outside of himself.

Kenjaku laced his fingers together and leaned forward, propping his chin on their steepled knuckles.

“You don't know him well, do you?” he asked softly.

“Do you?” she replied, eyes raking up and down his figure.

“As well as anyone can know someone like him.” Kenjaku was staring at her with unblinking focus. “Something so enigmatic and fleeting can't truly be defined.”

Most of her willpower went into trying not to roll her eyes back into her skull.

“I believe the ones who have come closest to understanding him are the challengers who die at his feet,” Kenjaku said, a honeyed wonder painting his words. “Those who are brave enough to ask to be cut down by someone so powerful.”

“You like him a lot, huh?” Thea asked, her tone flat.

Kenjaku smiled at her sweetly. “More than anything.”

For the first time, his expression was honest.  The ravenous hunger churning in the depths of his seedy black eyes was endless.  Looking at it made her stomach lurch, so she swept her gaze over the river churning west.  

“You don't?” Kenjaku prodded.

“No, I don't like him,” Thea responded, her words clipped.

“Ah,” he said, as if they knew anything at all. “He took something from you?”

Her fingers twisted into the fabric of her hitatare.  Froth from the river bubbled up the side of the banks, worn from centuries of the same repetitive force.  The water was weak, but persistent and victorious over the unforgiving land all the same.

“I see,” he said, an aggravating hint of pity in their voice. “If I may…” He shifted and Thea spared them a glance from the corner of her eye. “Whatever it is, let it go.  You're asking too much when you want him to care about the things he takes.”

If Thea had the capacity to become enraged at him, she might have told Kenjaku to keep his useless advice to himself.  

“Thanks,” she said, flat and uninspired.

Kenjaku moved slowly, but still the sensation of his hand settling over her own made her jump.  He leaned forward, collapsing the polite distance between them.

When was the last time someone had touched her of their own accord? Her mother's caressing goodbye?  Her father's bloodstained fingers scrambling to hold her, or Sukuna wrenching her free from her father's feeble grip?

It had to have been Sukuna.  Everything in her entire miserable life had been boiled down to nothing but Sukuna.

Now, Kenjaku laced his fingers through hers and lifted her knuckles to his lips.

“You'll die for nothing if you keep holding a grudge,” he said, voice lowered to a whisper.  The hairs at the nape of her neck stood upright. A thrum of warning pulsed at the back of her mind.  As much as she knew she ought to wrench herself free, she was mesmerized by the feeling of someone else's skin against her own. “I could help you.  I can make sure your father is safe and healthy.”

She flinched, white hot panic rippling through her body as he mumbled those words against her knuckles.

“I know,” Kenjaku said, eyes twinkling as he finally let her in on the joke. “I know all about how he stole you away, keeping you hidden.  I know you're only staying because he promised he wouldn't kill your father if he did, I know-”

She snatched her hand away, his touch burning her clammy skin.  She used that same hand to rear back and slap him across the face hard enough to loosen the tight knot of hair on his head.

Her ears rang, the roaring sound of the tepid waves left her disoriented.  She stood on shaky legs and stared at Kenjaku with abject horror as he recovered from the blow.

“Ah,” he said, flexing his jaw and looking up at her with an impish grin. “Have I offended you?”

No, she wanted to spit out, but she couldn't.  Her mouth was pressed shut so she wouldn't start screaming.  In that moment, she wondered if every single person she had ever met and spoken to knew everything about her.  Had the man who sold them rice cakes known that she had begged for her father's life at Sukuna's feet?  Did everyone in the entire world know that she had been utterly humiliated, reduced to nothing, reduced to being quiet until he called her?

She would have kicked Kenjaku in the face had he not stood to his feet.  Despite his hair being in disarray and a red imprint forming on his cheek, he looked no less pleasant.  That thrum of danger was pounding against her ribs, leaving her unsteady.

“There's no reason to be afraid,” Kenjaku crooned, lifting his hands, showing his belly, pretending to be docile.  “I can help you.  We could help each other…”

Once the thrumming became unbearable, Kenjaku winced in dismay. All at once, she realized what an idiot she was.  

That drumbeat of panic and rage in her chest didn't belong to her at all.  Kenjaku looked over her head, to the trees behind her, and all of the fire in his expression was snuffed out in record time.  It might have been funny, if she wasn't in the same position.

Thea couldn't bear to look, frozen in place.  Still, Sukuna's cursed energy suffocated her, his displeasure roiling off of him in thick waves that filled her lungs.

Kenjaku put down his hands and smiled again, but the expression was hastily pinned on his face. 

“Sukuna…” Kenjaku greeted, nodding his head. “I was told you were out.”

“Leave.”

That single word made fear skitter up and down her spine, giving her an unexpected burst of energy that she should have used to flee.

Instead she turned around to face him.

Bathed in shallow shadows, it was easy to make out the blood red eyes that burned into her retinas like four boiling suns.  The pink flesh mask on the right side of his face gave nothing away, while the more humane half was curled in disgust.  The pink strands of his hair stood out against the greenery, the tips scraping the higher tree branches.

He was huge, she knew that.  Yet there was a difference between seeing his mountainous form reclined while sunbathing, and standing in his gargantuan shadow while he loomed above her.  

His scowl was so severe that she could only stand to look at it for a single moment before her gaze fell to his chest.  His lower set of arms were folded across his stomach, and she was glad she couldn't see the monstrous maw’s too-sharp teeth.  His upper arms hung loose at his sides, contrasted sharply with the tense line of his shoulders.

In that moment, despite everything, she almost wished Kenjaku would stay, to share the weight of Sukuna's ire.  

In front of Sukuna, everyone was a coward.  She heard Kenjaku's sandals crunch against the ground as he trudged back into the direction of the town.

She glanced up at Sukuna's face through her eyelashes.

“You're more stupid than I gave you credit for,” he said.  His voice was controlled, but she could hear the roaring anger sealed behind each word.  

She looked to the side, then back to his face, her head still angled down, unwilling to look him dead in the eye.

“Did you think I wouldn't know?” he continued. “Did you think you were being clever?” 

He took a half step closer and she struggled not to give into her panic and dive into the river below.  The current was quick, she would be swept away in no time at all.  Maybe she could float down the river far enough to reach the ocean, then drift off to sea and float up into the sky.

More likely, she would hit her head on the jagged rocks below and flail until she died.  The idea of drowning while Sukuna impassively watched from above made a chill run up her spine.

So, she stayed still.

“You have no idea what a thing like Kenjaku would do to a stupid little girl like you,” Sukuna said.  Even in the light of the sun, he was no less intimidating.  His tattoos cut apart his tanned skin just like he was trying to cut her open with his words. “You’d be unrecognizable once he was done with you.  If there was anything left to recognize.”

A surge of something vile churned in her stomach.  Hearing someone like Sukuna echo the nagging thoughts in the back of her head made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

She narrowed her eyes, pressing her lips into a thin line.

“Funny,” she said, surprising herself with how tempered her voice was. “He said the same thing about you.”

Maybe she was an idiot, because there was no good reason to try and irritate Sukuna.  Even with that intention in mind, it still came as a slight shock to see that her words deepened his scowl.

Whatever vile love Kenjaku had for Sukuna was certainly not reciprocated.

“Oh, is that supposed to hurt my feelings?” he said.  “Did he tell you he could save you from me?  You think you'd be that lucky?”

“Maybe,” she said, even though she ought to have stayed silent.  “You seem scared of him.”

In the next few moments, she forgot how to breathe.  The grass rustled beneath her feet, the river behind her bubbled, uncaring that Sukuna had stopped and was staring at her mutely.

Then, a smile so grotesque it might as well have been a sneer split his face.  Laughter bubbled up from deep within his chest, slow chuckles devolving into hysterical giggles.

She watched him, her lips pursed as he laughed in her face.  Even the maw on his stomach curled into a grin.

“Scared?” he echoed, running a hand down his face to compose himself, a smirk lingering on his lips. “Of Kenjaku? You must have hit your head on the gate while sneaking out.”

She didn't think she ever wanted to hit someone so badly in her entire life.  Her fingers twitched, itching to form a fist and knock his teeth out.

Spending her days in his territory must have infected her mind.  She'd never understood how he could cut down others in search of self gratification until she lived with him.

Now, all she wanted was to kick his knees and drag him down to her level.

“He knows,” she said quietly.

“Hm?” Sukuna said, seemingly in much better spirits now than he had been a few moments ago.

“He knows about me.”

A cloud rolled across the sky, blotting out the sun.  The shadow crossed Sukuna's face, wiping any trace of mirth from his expression.

“What?” he asked after a few moments.  There was a dangerous spike in his cursed energy, flicking like a hunting tiger's tail.

“Are you deaf or something?” she asked, too busy revelling in his darkening mood to consider the consequences.

“And what, exactly, does he know?” he said, calm for only a moment.

She said nothing, watching him watch her.

His eyebrow twitched. “What did he say to you?”

“None of your business.”

“Oh?” he hissed. “Everything you do is my business, considering you don't belong to yourself.” 

Her ears started ringing. Thick, red fog seeped into her mind.

“Did you forget this was your idea?” he continued, pulling the string and watching as everything unraveled. “Perhaps you would be more agreeable if your runt of a father was present for this conversation-”

She shifted her weight and he noticed instantly, bracing himself.  Unfortunately for him, she was faster. She jumped forward and used the momentum to slam her fist into the underside of his jaw.  The ache of her fingers was delicious, the pain radiating from her hand sweet and invigorating.

His fist connected with her riba, but it was nowhere near as powerful of a blow as it could have been.  Stumbling to the side, she watched with no small amount of glee as his head snapped back from the force of her hit.  He swayed, almost losing his balance.

When he straightened out his posture, she was able to see the extent of the damage; a misaligned jaw.  He grabbed his chin, cradling it in the palm of his hand, and wrenched it back into place.

A long, arduous sigh left his lips.  He cracked his neck, tilting his skull left and right.  When he finally opened his eyes, there was a deadly, burning light gleaming back at her.

“You are so tiresome,” he lamented.

She refused to blink.

His upper left hand flexed.  So focused on bracing for a hit, she was in no position to run.  Before she could finish taking a half step back, he darted forward and snagged the collar of her hitatare in one massive fist.

Her heart stopped for a moment.  His face was close enough to hers that she could count the red rings lining his tiny pupils.

“Don't make me ask again,” he said.  The fabric of her robes cut into the nape of her neck.  Digging in her heels wouldn't work.  She could spend the rest of the evening and all of her strength trying to escape his grip, and all she would get was a ripped hitatare.

Then what would he grab? Her hair? Her throat?

“He said he could help my father,” she whispered, watching his pupils dilate.  The fine silks of her robe creaked in his grip.

“And?” 

“And that I should stop hating you.”

“And?”

“And I hit him in the face.”

Standing so close, she could see the wrinkle of his brow.  If he had two eyebrows, he might have pinched them together.

She blinked and the expression was gone, ruthlessly suppressed behind a grin.  Being so close to his teeth made her palms sweat.

“Is that what I interrupted?  A lover's spat?” She didn't like the switch of his demeanor. “And how did you hit him?”

“With my hand.”

“With your hand?” he repeated, his tone light.  She nodded. “This one?” 

He snagged her right wrist, her joints creaking under his grip.  Another nod.

“You'll have to wash it,” he said, pushing his thumb against her palm.  Even as his eyes moved to look at her hand, she didn't dare stop watching his face. “You don't know where someone like him has been.”

He flexed his arm, the motion dragging her closer, so their foreheads nearly touched.  Each placid word spoken was a stab to the gut.

“Lying to get a reaction out of me?” he mused, her hand still ensnared in his deadly grip. “How foolish.  You're far more lascivious than you let on.”

All the air escaped her lungs when his massive, vertical eyes met hers.  His pupils were so large, bright red against his clear white sclera.  The sight reminded her of blood on freshly fallen snow.  Goosebumps raised up and down her arms.

“If you ever speak to Kenjaku again, I will slaughter every single woman and child in that village,” he said. “And leave the men alive so you can hear their wailing every night when you try to sleep.”

Blood roared in her ears.  She jerked her body away from his, but his grip on her hitatare had never let up.  With her pinned in place, he leaned in further.  His skin was scalding, the rough grooves of his flesh plate mask pushing against her skull.

“Do we have an understanding?”

“Let go of me,” she said, her voice a breathless wheeze.

“Good,” he said, straightening his posture and looking down his nose at her once more.  Any relief she might have felt was squashed the moment his hand moved from her wrist to her shoulder. “You reek of that weasel.  Don't come back until that horrid stench is gone.”

Reasonably, she knew that Sukuna was strong, but feeling him hoist her into the air as if she weighed nothing at all made her stomach drop.  The world tilted, then air rushed past her ears.  He had released her, and was getting smaller.  The horizon tilted with startling violence and then she could see nothing at all.

With hardly any effort, he had thrown her off of the ledge and into the river.  The impact knocked the breath out of her lungs and made all of her teeth feel loose in her mouth.  Water punched past her lips and bullied its way into her nose.

Panic bloomed and she pushed herself in the direction she hoped was the surface.  She refused to drown, refused to die unless she was dragging him down with her.

When she erupted from the waves, she vomited all of the water from her lungs while struggling to stay afloat.  Her hitatare weighed her down, so she shrugged it off and began to swim for the shore.

With burning lungs, bleary eyes, and withered skin, she reached the jagged rocks near the shore and hauled herself out of the rapids.

Her bare feet slipped on the stones.  Her hitatare, her hair clip, and her sandals were lost to the waves, but she was alive.  Trembling, freezing, furious, but alive.

Hair clung to her neck and forehead as she vainly tried to rub the water from her eyes.  She had no idea how far she had drifted down the river.  In her disoriented state, every landmark was identical.

Sukuna was nowhere in sight.

That moment would have been the perfect time to scream, but she couldn't unclench her teeth.  She wrapped her arms around herself and trudged in the direction of the village.  Maybe if she looked pitiful enough, they would spare her a robe.

Or maybe Sukuna had already burned it down and she was heading for nothing but piles of ash for as far as the eye could see.

The green expanse opens wide, vivid and radiant beneath the scorching midday sun of summer. The fields stretch endlessly, shimmering under the golden light that pours down from above. Children dart across the open plain, chasing one another, laughing, and playfully jabbing their friends as their joyous voices ripple through the warm air. The echoes of their laughter fill the space. Makes it even brighter and livelier.

Among them sits a boy apart from the commotion, a sickly, fragile child whose frail body contrasts sharply with the energy around him. Draped in a silk kosode and wearing a polished wooden sandal, he sits quietly on the grass, arms wrapped tightly around his knees as if to hold himself together. His posture is reserved, knees drawn close to his chest, the elegance of his garments contrasting the rough play of the common children before him. His gaze follows the other children, eyes wide with silent wait. He blinks, watching them run and tumble and shout, hoping that they might turn toward him, call his name, and welcome him into their games. But the laughter continues without him, and no one seems to notice the small, still figure sitting in the middle of the boundless green.

“U-um… please, I want to play with you all too!” the boy finally says, his voice trembling with a mix of hesitation and irritation. His thick eyebrows draw together in frustration, and his dark eyes glare at the children running across the field.

“No! You’re too slow! You always trip and fall,” one of the kids shouts back, not even pausing in his play.

“Higuruma, you’re such a bother!” another yells, laughing loudly as the others join in.

Hiromi’s small frame stiffens. He rises to his feet, fists clenched tight at his sides, jaw tightening until his teeth grind together. “Then why do you all always ask me to bring tonjiki and eat them, huh?” he snaps, voice breaking with anger.

“Because you’re rich!” one of them calls out, grinning. “Whatever you’ve got, we’d like to eat it!”

The laughter rings in Hiromi’s ears, sharper than the summer sun above. His hands curl into fists before he even realizes it. His jaw tightens, lips pressed into a trembling line.

“What’s so funny?” he snaps, his voice slicing through their laughter. “Say it again.”

The kids pause, startled for a second, then one of them grins. “Oh, the rich boy’s mad now?” another teases.

That’s the last straw. Hiromi storms forward, his silk kosode flaring around his legs. His geta dig into the dirt as he closes the distance in three quick steps and shoves the loudest boy hard in the chest. The boy stumbles back, losing his footing.

“You call me slow again!” Hiromi yells, his voice cracking but fierce. “Say it one more time!”

The taller kid stares at him with shock, “You think you can fight, rich boy?” he barks and swings a hand out, pushing Hiromi’s shoulder. But Hiromi doesn’t back down. He pushes back harder, shoving him again and again until the other kids rush in.

Hands grab at sleeves, someone yells, and the air fills with dust and scuffling feet. Hiromi ducks under a wild swing and hits the boy square in the side, his small fist landing with more will than strength. Another kid tugs his hair, and Hiromi twists, elbowing him away. It’s messy, desperate  and full of childish fury.

“Stop it, stop it!” one of them shouts, but Hiromi doesn’t stop. He lunges at the boy who mocked him, tackling him to the ground. They roll in the grass, dirt smearing across Hiromi’s fine sleeves, the expensive silk creasing and tearing at the edge.

“Take it back!” he yells, breathing hard, his voice hoarse and trembling. “Take it back!”

The boy beneath him squirms, face red, finally gasping, “Fine! Just get off me!”

Hiromi slowly stands, brushing the dirt from his knees, his breath still unsteady. “If you hate me,” he mutters, voice low but firm, “then stop eating what I bring.”

“Get him!” one of them yells.

A kick lands against his ribs, another hand yanks his hair. Hiromi lashes out, hitting, scratching, doing anything to fight back. Tears sting his eyes, not from pain but from humiliation.

“Think you’re better than us, huh?” one boy sneers, panting. “In your fancy clothes?”

Hiromi’s breathing turns ragged. “I didn’t…” he tries to speak, but another shove sends him sprawling again.

Then, from the edge of the group, a thin boy with a sly grin says, “Let’s take him to the Oni’s house.”

The words fall like a chill wind. The others go quiet for a moment, their laughter faltering.

Hiromi looks up, confusion flashing across his red face. “What… what are you talking about?”

The sly boy grins wider. “The abandoned house by the woods. They say an Oni lives there. Maybe he’ll like eating spoiled rich kids.”

The others exchange glances, half scared, half thrilled. The idea catches like wildfire among them. “Yeah,” someone snickers, “let’s see if the Oni wants him!”

“No! Let me go!” Hiromi shouts, struggling violently as two of the boys seize him by the arms. He kicks and thrashes, wooden sandals scraping harshly against the dirt, but they are stronger, their grip does not loosen at all. The others laugh, cruel, as if they have never seen anything this entertaining in their entire life, closing in around him.

Before he can regain any footing, two more boys grab his legs. Hiromi’s small body is hoisted into the air like a cut-down tree log, limbs dangling helplessly as the group starts moving toward the forest at the edge of the fields.

As they march through the forest, hoisting Hiromi like a heavy log, the boys begin to chant in a teasing, sing-song rhythm, their voices louder with each step they take closer to the forest:

“Rich boy, weak boy, what a surprise, Off to the forest where the curse lies! Oni waits with eyes so wide, Step inside, get eaten, no way to hide!”

The sun blazes above as they drag him toward the tree line, where the green turns darker and the air cooler. Hiromi struggles, breathless and furious, the once-bright field shrinking behind him.

“Let me go!” he screams, voice cracking. “You’ll regret this!”

The Oni’s house looms ahead, a dark silhouette against the blazing green of the fields. Every villager has whispered about it in hushed, fearful tones, that this is a cursed place, they say, where anyone who steps inside is doomed to bear the curse forever. Its walls are warped and cracked, the roof sagging like it might collapse under its own weight. Even the bravest of men avoid it, crossing to the far side of the street or running past with quickened steps. The air around it feels heavier, as if sunlight itself hesitates to touch its shadow.

Hiromi struggles against the grip of the older boys, but they drag him closer with cruel insistence. “The Oni will get you!” one of them hisses, half-laughing, half-shivering at their own story. “You’ll be cursed forever!”

His small heart pounds, fear and anger mingling. He’s always been frail, always been careful, yet now he’s being forced toward the house no one dares approach. He glances at the crooked doorway, the broken shutters, and for a moment, the whispered warnings of the village crawl into his mind.

The children throw Hiromi toward the dilapidated hut and then scatter, their laughter fading into the distance. The wooden walls rise unevenly around him, warped and jagged, enclosing him in a tight, oppressive space. A narrow, rotting veranda runs along the front, its planks cracked and splintered, some hanging loose like broken teeth. The faint creak of the boards under Hiromi’s feet echoes through the empty space as he steps onto it, sunlight filtering through gaps in the weathered roof and casting jagged patterns across the dirt floor inside. Shadows pool in every corner, crawling along the walls like dark fingers.

He moves cautiously, eyes scanning the ruined interior, when a low hiss cuts through the silence. On a pile of broken planks near the far wall, a snake coils, tongue flicking, fangs bared toward his ankle. Hiromi freezes, a shiver running through him, small hands shaking in fear.

“A-Ah!” Hiromi screams.

Then, a sudden movement. A boy with messy pink hair, taller and broader than Hiromi, lunges at the snake. His hands clamp around the slick body, twisting and tearing with feral strength, blood spraying across the dirt and the splintered veranda planks. The snake writhes and hisses, but he holds firm, finally tossing its lifeless body aside.

He straightens, chest heaving, and grins at Hiromi. Two teeth are missing from his jagged smile. “Don’t worry,” he says with a shrug, blood smearing his sleeves. “I’ve got this.”

Hiromi swallows hard, the terror of the snake still thrumming in his veins, and glances at the rotting veranda, the splintered boards and warped railings surrounding him.

“T-thank you?” Hiromi stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. He keeps his eyes fixed on the boy before him, studying him with a mix of awe and unease. The boy is larger than Hiromi expected, a bit stout, and somehow carries the restless energy of a wild animal, like a tiger cub pacing in a cage. One side of his face is peculiar, the flesh twisted resembling that of a burnt mark, and also two extra holes as if he has an extra pair of eyes, and his messy pink hair falls in uneven strands over his forehead.

He wears a small, torn-down kimono, clearly tailored from an old woman’s garment. The fabric is patched and frayed, tied hastily around his torso with loose knots, as if he had dressed himself in a rush. The boy sits back on his heels, rubbing his belly absently, eyes lingering on the snake he threw aside, blood still streaking on its body.

Hiromi’s gaze drops and freezes. One of the boy’s feet is bound by a long, heavy chain, the metal link rattling faintly as he shifts. His breath catches. The boy notices Hiromi staring and tilts his head, a small, almost sad smile curling across his jagged grin.

“My mother… she kept me shackled,” he says simply, voice soft yet edged with something like pride. “So I don’t curse other people.”

Hiromi blinks, confusion knotting in his chest. “C-curse…?” he murmurs. He is a just a kid like him, how can he even curse others?

Before Hiromi can even gather his thoughts, the boy’s stomach growls loudly, the sound startling the quiet of the hut. He presses both hands to his belly, eyes squeezing shut, as if trying to quiet the twists inside of his stomach. When he opens his eyes, they land on Hiromi, and that’s when he notices his eye color.

Red orbs look like gemstones, his father often bought from foreign merchants.

“Can I… eat the snake?” he asks softly, voice tinged with hesitation.

“Ehhh!” Hiromi almost yells, stepping back instinctively. “Never! No!” He straightens, fists clenching at his sides, heart hammering with disbelief.

The boy glances down at his belly again, poking it lightly with one small index finger, lips curling into a pitiful little pout. “B-but I’m hungry… I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday,” he mutters, his words soft, almost childlike.

Hiromi swallows hard, and for a moment, his mind flickers to the image of a small, pouty tiger cub from a picture book he once saw, a tiny, round face, pink fur, and wide eyes.

“Hold on a minute!” Hiromi jumps from the veranda. “I will get you something to eat!” Hiromi starts to run towards the greenery but pauses midway and turns his back.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“Sukuna. Ryomen Sukuna.” The pink haired boy says. “And you?” he whispers.

“Hiromi. Hiromi Higuruma. Nice to meet you, Sukuna.” Hiromi waves at Sukuna. “I will come right back with lots of delicious food!”

Hiromi runs away, keeping Sukuna seated on the veranda. Sukuna cannot but think to himself if he has scared the child away, or if eating the snake would be a good choice.

At least he can fill his belly till his mother comes in the evening.

He tries to reach it, but fails, because his feet do not allow him to move that far. He has thrown the snake quiet far away from the house.

Sighing, he presses his belly once again.

He is so hungry, it hurts, his belly hurts.