You’re the fifth one in ten years.

A fact the court won’t let you forget. And yet, the way Sukuna looks at you—like you’re an equal, like you could gut him and he’d let you—makes it clear: you’re not like the others. You’re the favorite.

No, more than that. You’re the only one that matters.

He keeps you at his side during council. Not behind him like the others once were, heads bowed in show of obedience.

You sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder on a dais meant only for emperors and gods. A scandal. A humiliation, they whisper. But Sukuna never corrects it. He calls you his wife like it means something sacred. When you speak out of turn, he listens. Sometimes even changes his mind.

Once, a general tried to question your presence. Sukuna didn’t blink before driving a blade through the man’s hand, casually, like cracking a crab shell “She sits where she wants,” he said. “She’s the only one I need.”

You bicker. Of course you do. He’s unbearable, smug, cruel when bored. You roll your eyes, you talk back, you call him names no one else would dare say under breath. But he lets it slide—for you. And you, only you, get away with throwing his robe at his face when he’s being too dramatic for his own good.

He’s an emperor, a monster, a god in his own right. But when you fall asleep against him, hair splayed against his bare shoulder as if he were a man and not a legend, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t shake you off. Sometimes he holds your wrist, thumb brushing idle circles, like he can’t believe you’re real.

The other two wives—if you could call them that—keep to themselves. He barely looks at them. They know what you’re worth, and they know why the others died.

Because you said something. You asked why they were treated like ghosts, while he fed you with his own hands. Why he kissed your temple when he passed. Why he listened when you told him to stop.

You didn’t mean to start a fire. But you never apologized when it burned.

And now, when the court kneels and calls you “fifth,” Sukuna only scoffs quietly.

“Fifth?” he echoes, glancing at you.

“She’s the last.”