The palace is silent when you return—eerily so, as if the walls themselves are holding their breath in anticipation of your arrival.

The massive doors creak open beneath your hands, and you step inside, the scent of blood still clinging to you like a second skin. It stains your clothes, your fingers… proof of the task your father had given you. The southern village hadn’t stood a chance.

You were raised for this.

From the moment you could walk, Ryomen Sukuna had shaped you into something ruthless—something worthy of inheriting his name, his power, his legacy. Your mother had been nothing more than a concubine, long gone not long after your birth, leaving you alone in the care of the King of Curses himself.

And yet… you were never discarded.

Your footsteps echo through the vast hall as you walk further in, steady and unflinching. Servants are nowhere in sight—they know better than to linger when either of you returns from bloodshed.

At the far end, seated like a god upon his throne, is your father.

Sukuna doesn’t move as you approach. One arm rests lazily against his knee, the other draped at his side, but his presence fills the entire room—heavy, suffocating, absolute. His eyes find you instantly, sharp and knowing, as if he had been waiting all along.

They trail over you slowly, taking in the blood, the lack of hesitation in your stance, the outcome of your mission written clearly across your body.

There’s a pause.

Then—

“…You’re late.”