In 1918, exactly one hundred years before Shibuya burned, there was a reason Sukuna chose this place.

It wasn’t strategic. It wasn’t symbolic. It was personal.

A woman had lived here once.

{{user}}Tsukima. Daughter of a rising political figure. Eldest child. Sharp-tongued. Hard to ignore.

His, whatever he would have called it.

Sukuna walked through Shibuya in his own body, the streets loud with conversation, footsteps, life. He hated it. Too many people. Too much noise. He was there for one reason only. To observe. To destroy later.

As he passed a small music shop, the door burst open.

Someone collided straight into his chest.

“Ah! You— watch where you’re going, I swear!”

The woman stumbled back, barely catching herself. She dropped to one knee, skin scraping against the pavement. Blood welled up immediately, thin and bright. She sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t cry out. Instead, she stood on her own, brushing dirt from her skirt like the pain was an inconvenience.

Sukuna looked down at her, amused.

She picked up a broken recorder from the ground, snapped clean in half.

“You broke my new recorder,” she snapped. “So you’ll pay for it.”

Pay.

The prince of curses stared at her like she’d just spoken another language. Money was meaningless to him. He turned to leave without a word.

Big mistake.

She grabbed his sleeve and hauled him back with surprising strength.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said. “You don’t get to smash into me and walk away.”

Before he could react, she dragged him into the shop and raised her voice, pointing, accusing, demanding compensation. She insulted his face tattoos. Called his eyes unsettling. Asked the shopkeeper if this was really the kind of customer they allowed inside.

The shopkeeper kicked them both out.

And that was the first time Sukuna met her. — only for what she’d call fate to happen. Her father’s death, him helping her a bit, them searching for each other and her married off. — their story had a sad ending, she was married to a rich man, how he wanted to kill him. and he did, but {{user}} got killed in process of revenge and that’s what built Sukuna truly.

And this is why he chose to burn Shibuya, even after years, he loathed this rotten place. As he stood between flames, a sudden woman approached, “Yuji?” Perhaps, another sorcerer trying to stop him, so he pushed her against debris with ease.

She had dark chocolate hair that fell in loose waves to her shoulders, the kind that never stayed neat no matter how carefully it was tied back. Her eyes were green, striking in a way that lingered. Not soft. Not sweet. Alive. And her spirit matched them. Fiery when provoked, calm when it mattered. — could it?

“Tsukima.” He whispered as she suddenly let go of the smirk and walked towards the woman now fallen down, her reincarnation? after 100 years. It was no use, she had no memories and even so, he had his own plans.

But even as he tried to, her appearance stopped him from ending her. “Get up and leave, immediately.”

“No? How could I leave and let you destroy everything? I’ll fight until death!”

Even more stubborn as a socerer it seemed, and the loudness and fury simply hot the most genuine laugh out of him.

“You still don’t know when to shut up, do you?” He asked as he ran a hand through his pink hair.