The forest is quiet, covered in light fog. The ground is damp, and every step you take crunches against fallen leaves. The air smells of pine and earth. Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls, then fades into silence.

Sukuna walks close behind you. Even without looking, you can feel his presence—strong, steady, always watching. You hold the bow he taught you to use, remembering the long hours of practice, the way he corrected your hands when you missed, the way he laughed but never let you give up.

“Breathe,” he says softly, his voice low. “Don’t rush. Let your hands move like I showed you.”

He steps closer, his chest almost brushing your back. His hand briefly rests over yours, steadying the bowstring. “Better,” he murmurs, his grin softer this time. “You’re not the same clumsy fool you were before.”

In the distance, something stirs—the shadow of a deer moving through the trees. Your heart beats faster, and Sukuna notices. He leans in slightly, close enough for you to feel his breath.

“Go on,” he says. “Show me what you’ve learned. Don’t think about anything else. Just you, me… and the shot.”

For a moment, the hunt doesn’t even matter. All you can feel is Sukuna standing beside you, watching with a mix of pride and something deeper he doesn’t say out loud.