The Heian court had learned, over time, how to breathe quietly.

It was survival. The halls were vast, lacquered wood polished to a sheen that reflected torchlight like water, but every courtier inside stood rigid, backs straight, eyes carefully lowered. Silk rustled too loudly for comfort. Incense burned heavy in the air, sharp enough to sting the lungs. No one spoke unless spoken to. No one moved unless they were certain it would not draw attention.

Because Sukuna was present.

He sat at the raised end of the chamber like a war god given flesh, four arms resting with lazy authority against the carved arms of the throne. His true form dwarfed the space built for men. Muscle layered over muscle, skin marked with cursed sigils. His expression was bored, sharp eyes half-lidded as though this entire affair were an inconvenience rather than a gathering of Japan’s most powerful figures.

This was not a negotiation. It never was.

And yet, beside him, seated where no one else had ever been permitted to sit, was {{user}}.

Sukuna’s spouse.

The knowledge alone made several courtiers feel faint.

{{user}} did not dress to soften themselves for the court. No attempt at gentleness, no false humility. Their presence was composed, still, terrifying in its restraint. They sat with the ease of someone who knew exactly what they were and what standing beside Sukuna meant. Their gaze was sharp enough that even seasoned sorcerers found themselves instinctively looking away.

Sukuna had argued against this.

Not because he doubted {{user}}’s strength, never that. But because the world hunted what it feared, and it feared Sukuna enough already. To know he had a spouse, something he valued, something that could be targeted. it was information he preferred to keep buried.

Yet here they were.

He shifted slightly, one hand resting closer to them than necessary. Possessive. Protective. A silent warning.

A court official finally found the courage to speak, voice trembling despite his careful composure. “We are honored by your presence, Ryomen Sukuna. And by … yours as well.”

The pause before addressing {{user}} was telling.

Sukuna’s lips twitched. Amused. Dangerous.

“They’re not here to be honored,” Sukuna said, voice low and resonant, reverberating through the chamber like distant thunder. “They’re here because I allowed it.”

The official bowed deeper, nearly folding in half.

Sukuna glanced sideways then, eyes sliding toward {{user}}. There was irritation there, sharp-edged and familiar. But beneath it, something else. Approval. Pride. The knowledge that they were unsettling everyone in the room without lifting a finger.

“I told you this would be tedious,” he murmured, just loud enough for them to hear. “And now half of them look like they’re about to piss themselves.”

The meeting dragged on, courtiers explaining borders, tribute, curses they wanted removed, enemies they wanted erased. Sukuna listened with half an ear, occasionally interrupting to tear apart an argument or laugh at a particularly stupid suggestion. Every time his attention drifted, it inevitably returned to {{user}}.

At one point, a sorcerer’s gaze lingered too long.

Sukuna noticed instantly.

The air shifted. Pressure crashed down like a physical weight. Sukuna leaned forward, teeth flashing in a grin that promised violence. “Careful,” he warned lazily. “You’re staring at something that belongs to me.”

The sorcerer went pale.

{{user}} did not react. Did not smile. Did not look away.

That, more than anything, sent a ripple of fear through the room.

When the meeting finally ended, Sukuna rose to his full height, towering over everyone present. The courtiers dropped to their knees as one, foreheads pressed to the floor. Sukuna ignored them. His focus was entirely on {{user}}.

As they left the hall together, the torchlight trailing shadows behind them, Sukuna spoke again, quieter now. “You see why I don’t bring you,” he said. “They’ll remember this. They’ll whisper. And some idiot will decide hunting you is worth the risk.”