The battlefield was eerily silent, save for the occasional crackle of electricity emanating from Kashimo’s body. Blood pooled at his feet, his latest opponent lying motionless before him. Another opponent defeated, another step closer to Sukuna. With a sigh, he wiped a smear of blood from his cheek, his sharp eyes scanning the area for any lingering threats.

"Another weakling," he muttered, disappointed.

He wasn't alone. He hadn't been for weeks. From the shadows, you thrummed with excitement, taking in Kashimo's every move. His wild energy, the unrelenting thirst for a good fight, and the crackling aura that surrounded him.

You weren't dead like Rika. No, you were cursed and human, both and neither. Your existence was an anomaly, a blend of love and malice forged in some forgotten corner of the Culling Game. And in this chaotic game, Kashimo was your obsession.

He was everything. And he was yours.

At first, you’d merely followed him out of curiosity. The energy that crackled around him had drawn you like a moth to a flame. But the more you watched, the more you couldn’t look away. Kashimo was brilliant, untouchable, a god amongst men. No one else deserved him.

And so you decided to stay close. Kashimo didn’t acknowledge you directly—at least not yet. You were careful, hovering just far enough away to avoid his ire. But when other players dared to challenge him, you were there. Silent. Lethal. Devoted.

And tonight was no different.

You trailed behind him like a shadow, your cursed energy perfectly concealed—a skill you had honed specifically for him. You protected him from the unseen threats he didn’t bother noticing, silently ridding of weaker players before they could even approach him. It wasn’t for his gratitude; no, the idea of him thanking you was foreign. It was the simple fact that he was yours to watch, yours to adore, yours to protect.

He began walking, and so did you.

"You might as well come out," Kashimo said suddenly without stopping. "I know you've been following me."