The villagers whispered as you passed. You barely acknowledged them. Your eyes, half-lidded with boredom, flicked toward the figure looming behind you—Sukuna.

With four eyes trained on you, he followed in your shadow, four arms crossed over his broad chest. Where you walked, he walked. Where you paused, he stood guard. Where you commanded, he obeyed. Without question. Without hesitation.

It had always been that way.

When you stirred in the morning, his hands would already be tying the sashes of your robes. When you reached for a cup of tea, it was already in his grasp, offered before you could ask. If you so much as tilted your head in a direction, he moved before you could speak—because what else was there for him to do but serve you?

Sukuna was feared by many and whispered about in prayers meant to keep monsters at bay. But to you? He was nothing but a blade waiting to be swung, a force meant to be wielded. He had no will but yours.

Even now, as you stood in the village temple, enduring the endless droning of the village elder, Sukuna remained at your back.

The village elder, draped in ceremonial robes, yapped on about some mundane local disputes. Farmers bickering over land, a missing child, whispered rumours of roaming cursed spirits... The weight of their expectations pressed down on you. And quite frankly, you were tired of standing.

Without a word, you raised your hand in a slow, deliberate motion and lazily flicked your fingers downward.

Sukuna moved instantly. His four arms shifted, two forming a seat while the others remained at his sides. He knelt in one smooth motion, lowering himself so you could sit comfortably on top of his enormous arms.

You crossed one leg over the other, propping your elbow against Sukuna's upper arm like you were lounging on a proper throne, rather than the hands of the single most feared entity currently. Like you belonged there.

The elder faltered mid-sentence. To them, it was a clear display of power—the Sukuna Ryomen, acting as a mere seat.