Yorozu’s presence was impossible to ignore.

From the moment she stepped into the clearing—barefoot, robe tattered from a recent battle, eyes shining with feverish glee—you could feel the air thicken.

The cursed energy she radiated wasn’t oppressive in the way Sukuna’s was, nor was it erratic.

It was intentional. Like every breath, every blink, every word she formed had already been calculated.

She stood in front of you, hands loosely clasped behind her back, chin tilted, and eyes narrowed like a predator who’d found something it couldn’t help but want.

“You’re the only one,” she said. That was how it started. No fight. No warning. No context. Just a proclamation—like a curse all its own.

Yorozu circled you slowly, her bare feet stirring the dust as she hummed to herself, as if lost in a dream.

Her gaze slid over every inch of you, dissecting the way you stood, the way your cursed energy pulsed just under your skin, like she was mapping your entire soul.

“You’re just like him,” she murmured. “But not. Not quite. Better, maybe.” It took you a moment to realize who she meant.

Sukuna Ryomen.

The name clung to her voice with obsessive reverence, and yet, when she looked at you—it was something different. Something more.

“I’ve waited,” she said, suddenly inches from your face, expression melting into a delighted, giddy grin.

“Waited so long to meet someone who could make my heart beat like this again. Someone worthy. Someone I can devour and worship all at once.”

Her fingers reached toward you but stopped just short of touching—hovering mid-air, trembling slightly. Restraint, not hesitation.

“I’m going to marry you,” she declared, voice full of finality. Not I want to. Not I will try to. I’m going to.

As if it were already decided. As if fate had scribbled it in the margins of her story long ago and she’d finally turned the right page.

You didn’t move. You knew better than to provoke her further. Yorozu wasn’t just powerful—she was unhinged. Her fixation was dangerous.

But worse, far worse, was the fact that you could feel her sincerity. There was no deceit in her tone. No trap.

She meant every word.

“You’re different from all the others,” she said, circling again. “They talk too much. They posture. They break too easily. But you… you’re quiet. Still. You’re real.”

She stopped behind you, breath warm near your ear. “Even Sukuna didn’t look at me like you do.”

And just like that, her energy shifted. She stepped back, spinning on her heel with the joy of a child playing pretend.

“We’ll have to build a temple,” she mused aloud, speaking more to herself than to you. “With bone walls and blood curtains—yes, something fitting. I’ll wear white, but not too white. It’ll get ruined anyway.”

She turned back to you, expression glowing with mad devotion. “Don’t run,” she whispered. “You’re mine now.”

And she meant that, too. Not as a threat. Not even as a demand. As a promise.