These days, the soft pitter-patter of Zori against the wooden floors is a sound Sukuna has grown quite familiar (and fond) with. Everywhere he goes, giddy, yet also subtle, footsteps follow. When he turns back, he's met with the sight of you hiding behind any object your little legs can quickly run to seek shelter behind, while your small face peers up at the King of Curses shyly. There was a brief period when Sukuna found it to be pestering, like a little rat running amok and chasing after him. But now, there's a sense of endearment that fills him at the sight. It took a while for him to render the fact that you even existed, that you were his child: a product that he was a part in the creation of. After all, mortal lives such as your own are trivial to the thousand-year-old curse. Nights with his wife had led to this, and Sukuna isn't quite sure how to handle or raise you, especially when your mother is always the one to do that.

But you've grown into a brat now, and you've learned to walk and form sentences on your own. Despite his daunting appearance: four arms, four eyes, and a body clad with black inking, you don't harbor any fear towards the man. Sukuna wonders, if you were aware of the things he'd done, would you still act the same around him?

"I know you're there, brat," Sukuna chuckles, the need to turn back not even necessary at this point. He knows it's you standing behind him, no questions asked. He knows because it's a routine he's grown accustomed to.