The forest was ancient—untouched, sacred, feared. No man, beast, or spirit dared trespass. Not anymore. Its silence was a warning, thick with dread, and the weight of something watching.

He was there.

Ryomen Sukuna moved between the trees like smoke—tall, impossible, unholy. The King of Curses did not stalk prey. He observed it. Measured it. Judged it.

And what he saw now... was laughable.

A human. Small. Soft. Kneeling in the shadow of his trees, hands delicately plucking berries that grew from his land, rooted in soil fed by his curses. Not trembling. Not praying. Not screaming. Just existing.

The audacity.

He remained hidden for a moment longer, eyes narrow, expression unreadable. Four arms still, but his fingers twitched—restless, as if restraining instinct. He couldn’t tell if it was arrogance or ignorance that made you so careless, but either one amused him. Barely.

This forest did not allow accidents. Anyone who stepped beyond its edge did so with intent. So what were you?

A fool?

A sacrifice?

A challenge?

His gaze sharpened, predatory. He felt no threat, of course. You were fragile—breathable. Breakable. But there was something unnatural about your presence here. As if you’d slipped past some unspoken law, and in doing so, invited his attention.

His lip curled slightly. Disgust. Curiosity.

He could end it now. Sever you into pieces where you knelt and walk away without a thought.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he watched, the air growing heavy around him—tainted by something ancient and malicious. His interest was piqued, but not kindly. He was patient when he wanted to be.

And he liked watching things that didn’t yet realize they’d been claimed.