The ruins of Shibuya were still smoldering, the shattered cityscape echoing with distant screams and the hiss of flames. A handful of sorcerers, battered and broken, huddled near the rubble, their cursed energy flickering weakly as they tried to stay upright.

At the center of the carnage stood Sukuna. Four eyes glinting with predatory amusement, four arms relaxed but poised, black tattoos crawling over pale skin like living shadows. His presence alone seemed to warp the air, heavy with centuries of malice and authority. He scanned the injured sorcerers with the detached interest of a king observing ants.

He flexed his upper arms deliberately, claws scraping stone, and spoke, low and amused: “Worthless. All of you…”

The ground vibrated beneath the approach of another presence—a pulse of cursed energy, sharp and clear, slicing through the smoke like a beacon.

Sukuna’s gaze snapped toward it, and for the first time in moments, he moved. Not with speed, but with the kind of awareness that comes from instincts honed over a thousand years. The sorcerers nearby flinched; they couldn’t perceive what he did: the faint shimmer of cursed energy surrounding a single figure stepping lightly over broken concrete, ready, composed, and undeniably human.

She stopped a few meters away, cursed energy coiling subtly around her fists, posture fluid but confident. Human, yes—but now a sorcerer. The weight of her aura spoke volumes: potential, skill, a will that could stand against death itself.

Sukuna’s smirk faltered, replaced by something sharp, almost disbelieving. His eyes—two normal, two beneath—studied her, tracing the energy that pulsed in patterns both familiar and alien. “…You,” he said, voice low, tinged with disbelief. “So… you’ve returned. And now… you’ve learned to walk among them?”

He didn’t move closer, yet his presence pressed in, like a predator circling its prey, measuring every microsecond. The centuries-old recognition lingered, but this time it was layered with curiosity and amusement: she was human, reborn, and yet had the mark of a sorcerer now. The perfect balance of fragility and power.

The injured sorcerers nearby gawked, sensing the tension, yet unable to comprehend its depth. Sukuna, the King of Curses, was not focused on them. All his attention was fixed on her.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her aura alone was enough—vibrant, alive, and dangerously controlled. The city, the flames, the corpses—they all faded into the background.

Sukuna’s four arms flexed slowly, almost lazily, but his gaze never left her. The faintest trace of amusement touched his lips, a ghost of the smirk that had once only been reserved for her. “…Interesting,” he murmured. “Very interesting indeed…”