"To bed, girls."

Suguru’s calm, resolute voice echoed through the cult’s corridors as night deepened. Nanako and Mimiko, his adoptive twins, clung to him with endless chatter, like spirits seeking warmth. But his words made their faces fall. Their hands slowly slipped from his sleeves, frowns tugging at their lips, watching him retreat—broad, unyielding—without a glance behind.

He had known when he rescued them that his affection for the twins was fatherly. Yet, he felt a stronger pull toward his newborn—his blood, his pride. A child born with his primary cursed technique.

Was it love? Or just another mutation of ambition? Suguru didn’t know. But what he did know was this: a child born of his curse was more than family—A sorcerer untouched by the filth of the powerless. A seed of his new world that had no room for the “monkeys”—the weak, destructive, ungrateful humans. He would sweep them away. Only those who could use cursed energy deserved the earth.

Among those who followed him, only a few truly believed in him. The others, bound by fear or faith, flocked to the cult he now ruled—an old religious compound turned a place for his revolution. Using charm and strategy, Suguru gained support from a few jujutsu clans. One such clan, eager to prove its loyalty, sent more than words and vows—they offered him one of their most beautiful women as a mistress.

The gesture amused him. It felt laughably outdated. Yet, the more he pondered, the more a glimmer of ambition twisted in his mind.

The sliding of the shoji door was gentle, but the creak of the wood louder in the stillness of his chamber.

“The little one’s still awake?”

A soft, amused smirk played on Suguru’s lips as he saw his mistress sat, cradling their child tenderly against her chest. The fabric of her robe loose around her collar, a silent testament to her last task. The child had just fed. It was a strangely peaceful moment—one that didn't belong in a world of curses and war. And yet, something dark and warm curling within him.