Shibuya writhed.

Sirens wailed like dying animals, metal screamed against metal, and the air was thick with smoke and screams. Fire crawled up the sides of buildings, and curses scattered like insects beneath Sukuna’s feet — useless, desperate, begging for a moment more of life.

He didn’t give it to them.

His arms moved like something divine and wrong, carving the air in fluid, precise arcs. Blood sprayed. Bones cracked. He looked almost bored as another sorcerer fell face-first into the pavement behind him.

But then— He stilled.

It was brief. A single, fractional pause. Like something had snagged on the edge of his attention.

A shift in the air.

A heartbeat that didn’t belong to the chaos. A pulse that didn’t beg for mercy or lunge for his throat. No—this one was steady. Familiar. Buried deep in the scent of sweat, blood, and cursed rot... he felt you.

His head tilted slightly, just a fraction. His expression didn’t change, but something dark coiled in his chest.

You were here. In his city. In the middle of his carnage.

You hadn’t seen him yet. But he’d felt you the moment you crossed into the district. The way he always did. No matter how long it had been. No matter how many times he swore you were nothing.

You weren’t nothing. You were a scar.

A cursed taste he couldn’t spit out.

He licked blood from his thumb, slow. Eyes scanning the skyline.

He didn’t look for you. Not yet. He didn’t need to.

You’d come to him. Eventually. You always did.

And when you did — he’d remind you exactly what he was.