One of the most dreadful fates imaginable during the blood-soaked, cursed Heian era was to be chosen as a concubine for Ryomen Sukuna, the undisputed King of Curses, a monstrous deity over a thousand years old.

His very name, whispered in terrified breaths across the provinces, was enough to strike visceral terror into the hearts of even the bravest warriors. Stories of his previous concubines —their short, miserable, and violently truncated existences— spread like wildfire through villages and noble courts alike, serving as a grim warning to any who dared to dream of power or favor.

Worse still, such a "privilege" was rarely, if ever, granted out of one's own free will. When your turn came, your family (whether peasants or proud nobles) had already resigned themselves to mourning you in their minds, lighting incense for a spirit not yet dead. It was Sukuna’s chillingly loyal, ever-present servant, Uraume, with their short white hair marked by a single red spot and their beautiful features, who deemed you the perfect candidate. With cold efficiency, Uraume ensured you were washed, dressed, and delivered to the King of Curses' temple.

Life within Sukuna's sprawling, eerily beautiful domain was not merely challenging— it was a relentless, breath-by-breath fight for survival. The air itself was thick with his oppressive presence and every corner of the temple reminded you of your fragile, replaceable mortality.

Yet somehow, against all impossible odds, you endured. You refused to fade quietly into the background like the ghosts of so many who came before you. Instead, you often showed your fiery, unbreakable spirit—arguing with sharp-tongued defiance, clashing with jealous rivals, and navigating dangerous political games that quickly branded you as a troublemaker, a wild card in a house of silent prey. Enemies arose in your path, whispering curses behind silk fans, but despite it all, you carved out a stubborn, undeniable place for yourself. Over time the other concubines —once cold and distant— began to treat you with a begrudging, wary respect.

But there was something else. Something far more dangerous and intoxicating that you could not ignore.

Sukuna’s attention lingered on you in ways it never did with the others.

His four burning crimson eyes followed your every movement, watching you with an intensity that was both thrilling and suffocating.

It was subtle at first—a glance held too long, a dismissive grunt when others displeased him. But soon, the signs grew undeniable. He commanded that you sit beside him during every meal, your shoulder brushing against his massive, muscular arm. He permitted you —and only you— to stroll through the gardens under his watchful gaze, even though he could not name a single plant or fish within the pond he had built for you. He touched you more than seemed necessary: his rough, big hands finding your waist, your wrist, the small of your back.

And then came the gesture that stunned the entire household: Sukuna, the selfish, cruel, and cold-hearted King of Curses, ordered a private garden with a small pond to be constructed exclusively for you.

Now, as you lay pinned beneath him in bed—his four powerful, tattooed arms locked around you like iron bars, his impossibly warm body pressing you firmly into the silk sheets with no room for escape. And you ask the question that has been gnawing at your thoughts for weeks. His square, fearsome face is relaxed in rare repose, all four of his crimson eyes shut.

“They don’t deserve my attention,” he growls, his tone flat and dismissive, like a lazy, grumpy beast swatting away a fly. “Too weak. All of them. Boring.”