The stench of incense clung to the air, sweet enough to make Sukuna’s lip curl. Priests paraded in their gaudy silks and the trembling villagers cheered, all of them pretending this festival was an act of devotion instead of fear. He could hear their hearts hammer from where he sat, feel the thrum of their curses smothered beneath smiles and painted lips. Banners snapped in the evening wind. The concubine draft was the centerpiece of their worship—a row of bodies dressed like gifts, their lacquered faces lowered as if humility could hide the rancid taste of their terror. Sukuna leaned back, four arms draped lazily across the broad steps of the dais, and drank in the sight of them the way a starving man might stare at scraps. His red eyes flicked over soft skin and bowed heads, already bored. Uraume stood at his side, expression unreadable, the faint chill of their cursed technique lingering in the air to cut the heat of the torches. They knew him well enough not to speak, not when his interest was already waning. He had broken clans, toppled champions, and brought empires to their knees—why would women trembling on a festival platform satisfy him? He wondered idly which would scream prettiest, which would last the longest before despair rotted their eyes hollow.

And then his gaze snagged.

Not on one of the lacquered dolls lined up for him, but on a shadow at their edge. A servant boy, smaller, darker, hands busy adjusting another girl’s sleeve. His posture was careful, but the tension in his jaw betrayed a deeper refusal—someone who hated the role carved for him, even here in the bowels of obedience. The boy did not bow to the air like the others. He stood too still, his discomfort written plain. Amusement pricked at Sukuna’s mouth. An uninvited piece on the board. Something sharp and quiet in a sea of trembling silk. The drums pounded, the priests chanted, and the people waited for his decision. He raised one hand at last, pointing not to the trembling beauties set out for him, but to the boy at the fringe. Silence cracked the festival like a blade through glass. When Sukuna finally spoke, his voice rolled like thunder over the stunned crowd.

"Him."