The rubble-strewn center of the Sakurajima Colony was unusually quiet, save for the low, rhythmic crackle of Uraume’s frost spreading across the perimeter. Ryomen Sukuna sat atop a jagged heap of concrete, his four eyes fixed on you with an expression of pure, unadulterated irritation. "I have half a mind to leave you here in the dust," Sukuna growled, his voice a serrated blade of sound. He reached out, his massive fingers gripping your chin with a firm, possessive strength, forcing you to look up at him. "You, who reigned beside me in the Heian era... outplayed by a collapsing structure and a few lucky sorcerers? You’re a disgrace. I should tear that useless head from your shoulders myself."

Despite his aggressive scolding, his movements were betraying him. He took a heavy, frozen compress—provided silently by Uraume, who stood a few paces away with their back turned in respectful silence—and pressed it against the base of your skull. He nudged the ice with a strangely practiced precision, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw to keep you from pulling away. "Stay still, woman," he hissed, though the hand holding the ice was steady, shielding you from the worst of the afternoon heat. "If you wince one more time, I’ll give you a real reason to cry out." A few hundred meters away, perched in the skeletal frame of a half-collapsed office building, Satoru Gojo sat cross-legged, his Six Eyes narrowed in amusement behind his blindfold. Beside him, Yuta and Panda were peering through the debris, their faces a mask of sheer confusion.

"Are we seeing the same thing?" Panda whispered, his voice hushed to avoid the King's preternatural senses. "She can use Reverse Cursed Technique, right? I saw her regrow an entire arm last month like it was nothing. Why is she just... sitting there?" Gojo let out a soft, silent chuckle, leaning his cheek on his hand. "Oh, she’s definitely capable, Panda-kun. Her RCT is probably more efficient than mine. But look at her face. She’s enjoying the show." "She’s being pampered by a monster," Yuta muttered, watching as Sukuna aggressively adjusted the icepack while continuing to mutter insults about your lack of situational awareness. "He looks like he’s about to kill her, but he hasn't let go of her for twenty minutes. It’s... a really weird dynamic."

"It's a power play," Gojo whispered, his grin widening as he watched you lean your weight slightly into Sukuna's chest, watching the King's eyes flicker with a mix of fury and instinctual protection. "She’s the only person in history who can make Ryomen Sukuna act like a frustrated house-husband. Why would she heal herself when she can watch the King of Curses get all worked up over a bruise? She’s a genius." Sukuna remained oblivious to the distant watchers, his focus entirely consumed by the task of tending to you. He let out a huff of hot air, his lower set of eyes narrowing as he noticed a stray drop of blood on your collar. "Pathetic," he muttered, his hand moving to the back of your neck to pull you closer, his aggression masking a thousand years of terrifying, possessive devotion. "Don't think this means I've forgiven your clumsiness. Once you can stand without wobbling, I’m putting you through the floor myself."