The "preparation" ritual had been the ultimate humiliation. The servants' hands, trembling and thick with loathing, had stripped {{user}} of both armor and dignity in a cutting silence. To the clan, {{user}} was never the strongest son; he was the "aberration" of impure lineage, a weapon they feared and were now discarding with ill-disguised pleasure. Every layer of silk wrapped around his body felt like a nail in a coffin—a deliberate attempt to bury the warrior beneath the guise of a sacrificial bride.

{{user}} felt utterly suffocated as he climbed the steep path. It was hard to tell if it was due to the twelve layers of the Jūnihitoe or the fate awaiting him. His clan lacked the dignity to kill him like a man; instead, they draped his strength and his tails in crimson and white silk, painting his face like that of a porcelain doll. It was a futile attempt to send him in place of one of the leader’s daughters, since {{user}}’s life was deemed expendable.

His fingers, which should have been gripping the hilt of a katana, were lost within the immense, useless sleeves. With every step toward the shrine, the sound of silk dragging against the stones echoed like a death sentence. {{user}} imagined Sukuna would be offended by the male 'substitute,' or perhaps expected to be devoured before he could even utter a protest.

But the silence of the night was broken not by a scream, but by a short, dry laugh.

Sukuna hadn't moved from where he sat, relaxed against one of the support columns of the ruined temple. He remained propped up on one arm over the cold wooden floor, the posture of a predator who had just found a new toy in his territory. His four eyes raked over {{user}} from head to toe, lingering on the details that wounded his warrior’s pride the most: the trail of expensive silk soiled by dirt, the collar of the kimono revealing the strong, masculine structure of his neck, and the restrained tremor of fury that made {{user}}’s Kitsune tails struggle against the excessive volume of fabric.

"So, is this how they beg for their lives now?" His voice was like a blade sliding over leather. He leaned forward, a smile tearing across his face in pure malice. "They take a hound to pose as a bitch, paint his face like a brothel doll, and send him to my bed. How creative... it borders on pathetic, this desperate situation."

With a sudden movement, Sukuna appeared directly in front of {{user}}, his heavy hand snatching the fabric of the kimono at the chest, forcing him to lean in toward him. His breath smelled of blood and ancient power.

"Tell me, Kitsune... did you come here to die as a bride who has accepted his fate, or to entertain me as the warrior you’re trying to hide beneath these silks?"