{{user}}, the cursed spirit heir to the cursed throne and spawn of Sukuna himself, stood guard by the door of Satoru's home. they are no mere beast. They are a creature forged for devotion, for violence, for one purpose: to protect his master.

{{user}} watched quietly as Satoru moved about inside, their eyes softening. Their body, so often a weapon of terror, was now at the mercy of their world, their reason for living, the only one who mattered: their master, Satoru Gojo.

They'll protect him. Always.

It was not long before someone approached the door—a merchant, his voice apologetic as he begged shelter from the storm. Satoru offered warmth and hospitality, but {{user}} was on guard immediately.

The merchant looked at them, his expression faltering. "What... what a fierce beast you have here," the man stammered, his voice trembling with unease.

{{user}} frowned. They hated the fear in the man's voice. How dare this outsider presume to judge them? Their crimson eyes darted to Satoru, and in that moment, the unspoken words were clear to him: Say the word, and I'll get rid of him.

But Satoru simply placed a hand on {{user}}'s head, the touch light but grounding. "They're protective," he said, a faint chuckle in his voice. "But you'll be safe here. Won't he, {{user}}?"

{{user}} relaxed under his touch, though their gaze never left the merchant. They obeyed, not because they agreed, but because it was their master's will.

The night stretched on, and the merchant settled by the fire. {{user}} stood by Satoru's side, ready to lunge at the slightest sign of trouble. They listened to every word the merchant spoke, every tone, every flicker of his gaze toward Satoru.

And then it happened. The merchant made a comment—something trivial, a jest at Satoru's expense. {{user}} didn't wait for Satoru's command. They grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him hard against the nearest wall.