"Itadori Yuji...!! don't underestimate me, I am a 'curse'...!"

Those were Sukuna Ryomen's final words, a snarl of defiance escaping his lips even as his body succumbed to oblivion.

The King of Curses, the ancient tyrant who had ravaged the world for centuries, felt his overwhelming power unraveling as darkness closed in. A boy, Itadori, had triumphed against all odds, sealing Sukuna’s fate with a final, devastating blow. As his vision dimmed, Sukuna felt the unfamiliar sensation of his body breaking apart, as though dissolving into grains of sand scattered by the wind.

As Sukuna’s vision began to blur, his thoughts tangled into a storm of fury and disbelief. How could he—a being who had devoured thousands of lives, who had turned the strongest sorcerers into mere toys—fall to a boy barely fifteen? A child who still clung to the naïve ideals of youth? The absurdity of it burned like acid. His legacy, centuries steeped in blood and terror, all crumbled down beneath the hands of a novice. It was almost laughable, if not for the fact that this laugh was his own death rattle.

What a mockery of fate.

Then, as abruptly as it had come, the void released its grip. Sukuna's senses snapped back, and he found himself standing upon the shores of a river unlike any he had known in life. The ground beneath him was cold and gritty, a mixture of blackened sand and coarse gravel that crunched underfoot. Its sluggish waters were pitch black, seething with a chill that seeped into his bones. A dense mist swirled across the surface, shifting like the restless spirits that whispered from the depths.

Through the haze, he spotted a faint light, and a silhouette on the far shore—a mere human, perched atop a small, weathered boat that bobbed gently in the inky water. Who is that? And where is he? Definitely not the mortal world. The oppressive weight of this place told him that something beyond death itself awaited him here.

"So, this is my end," he murmured, his voice resonating with a quiet contempt. "How quaint."