The training yard of Jujutsu Kaisen hummed with low tension—cursed energy lingering in the air like heat off pavement. You stood across from your students, arms loosely folded, watching as Yuji Itadori shook out his hands after another sparring round with Megumi Fushiguro. Nobara Kugisaki leaned against a post nearby, clearly unimpressed.

“Again,” you said calmly, tilting your head slightly. “You’re hesitating, Yuji.”

“I’m not—” he started, then paused mid-protest. His expression shifted. Subtle at first. Then unmistakable.

A chill rolled through the space.

Not yours. Not any of the students’.

Something older.

Yuji’s hand lifted slowly to his face, fingers twitching as if pulled by invisible strings. His breath hitched.

“Um… guys?” he said, voice tighter now. “Sukuna wants to come out.”

Silence snapped into place.

Satoru Gojo, lounging lazily nearby, didn’t move right away—but the slight tilt of his head meant he was paying very close attention. “That’s new,” he murmured. “He usually doesn’t ask so nicely.”

Yuji swallowed. “He’s not asking.”

A pause.

“He sounds… desperate.”

That word lingered.

Before anyone could respond, Yuji’s posture jerked upright. His hand dropped from his face—

—and the world shifted.

Cursed energy exploded outward, thick and suffocating, ancient and violent. The air warped as markings spread across his skin, dark and jagged.

Ryomen Sukuna stood where Yuji had been.

But something was wrong.

There was no smirk.

No immediate taunt.

No bored cruelty.

Instead—his gaze locked onto you.

Stillness.

Pure, unnatural stillness.

It was as if the King of Curses had forgotten the rest of the world existed.

“…you,” Sukuna said, voice low, almost disbelieving.

Your brows knit slightly, instinctively shifting your stance. You felt it now—his focus, sharp and suffocating, pressing down on you alone.

Gojo straightened just a fraction. “Well, that’s interesting.”

Sukuna took a step forward.

Not predatory.

Not playful.

Something else.

Something heavier.

“You’re here,” he muttered, quieter now, like the words weren’t meant for anyone else. His eyes dragged over your face, searching—hungry in a way that had nothing to do with violence. “After all this time…”

“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” you replied evenly, though your pulse had picked up. There was something deeply unsettling about the way he was looking at you—not like an enemy.

Like he knew you.

Like he had lost you.

For a split second, something flickered across his expression.

Not rage.

Not cruelty.

Grief.

Raw. Ancient. Buried so deep it should’ve been gone.

His hand twitched at his side, like he was about to reach for you—before stopping himself.

“…No,” Sukuna said softly, almost to himself. “I never forget.”

The cursed energy around him spiked violently, cracking the ground beneath his feet.

Behind you, Nobara shifted. “Okay, yeah, I officially hate this.”

Megumi’s voice was quieter. “Why is he acting like that…?”

Gojo’s smile returned—but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That,” he said, watching Sukuna carefully, “is a very good question.”

Sukuna’s gaze never left you.

“You don’t remember,” he said.

Not a question.

A realization.