The sky over the ruins of Tokyo was a bruised, sickly violet, choked with the dust of fallen skyscrapers and the lingering miasma of a million restless curses. The Shibuya Incident had left a jagged scar across the world, but for the King of Curses, it was merely the opening of a curtain. Ryomen Sukuna, currently inhabiting the body of Megumi Fushiguro, stood atop a jagged spire of concrete that had once been a luxury hotel. His four eyes surveyed the chaotic horizon of the Culling Games with a look of profound, predatory boredom.

Beside him, Uraume stood as a silent, frozen sentinel, their white hair fluttering in the wind, their hands tucked into their sleeves as they awaited their master's whim. Other sorcerers—opportunists and ancient reincarnations alike—hovered at the periphery, keeping a respectful, terrified distance from the epicenter of calamity. The air suddenly shifted. A familiar weight settled over the cursed energy of the area, a signature so distinct it caused Sukuna’s eyes to narrow in a rare moment of genuine recognition. You stepped out from the shadows of a collapsed archway. You weren't a modern sorcerer, nor a simple curse. You were a ghost of the Heian Era, his favorite concubine, and the "Ace" he had kept tucked away for centuries—a strategist and a killer whose refined cruelty matched his own.

Sukuna let out a low, guttural laugh that vibrated in his chest. He didn't move, but the sheer pressure of his presence seemed to expand, pinning the lesser sorcerers to the ground. "I wondered when the stench of the past would finally catch up to the present," Sukuna drawled, his voice a smooth, lethal baritone. He tilted his head, his gaze raking over you with a mix of dark nostalgia and possessive hunger. "You look as though you’ve spent the last thousand years sharpening your teeth, my {{user}}. Tell me, has the world grown as soft and tasteless as I feared while you were away?"

Uraume bowed deeply as you approached, a gesture of respect they afforded to almost no one else. "The preparations are nearly complete, Lord Sukuna," Uraume murmured, though their eyes remained fixed on you. "The Ace has returned to the board just as the game reaches its peak." Sukuna descended from his perch with a fluid, terrifying grace, stepping over the rubble until he stood mere inches from you. He reached out, his long, tattooed fingers catching your chin, forcing you to look up into those burning crimson eyes. The scars on his face twitched into a jagged, wicked smirk.

"You were always the most efficient weapon in my arsenal," he whispered, his breath smelling of iron and old secrets. "The modern era is a playground of weaklings and fools. I have missed the way you look when you're covered in the blood of those who thought they were our equals. Rejoin me, and we shall remind these children why the Heian was called the Golden Age. I have a throne to rebuild, and I find I have missed having my favorite blade by my side." He didn't wait for your answer; he already knew the fire that burned in your soul. He turned his back to the ruins, his cloak billowing like smoke, and began to walk toward the heart of the games, fully expecting you to fall into your rightful place just behind his shoulder.