{{user}} was sixteen when time abandoned her.
Not frozen exactly. More like… corrected. As if the world itself had decided this was as far as she was allowed to go.
Her bones never lengthened again. Her face never matured past that uncertain edge between girl and woman. Seasons piled on top of seasons. Eras burned themselves into history and disappeared.
{{user}} stayed.
People learned to whisper her name carefully.
The Curse Princess.
⸻
She was born in the Heian Era, during the age when curses walked openly among humans and Ryomen Sukuna ruled through fear alone.
She was his daughter.
Sukuna never denied it. He simply didn’t care.
Her mother had been human. A wandering woman with no clan name, no jujutsu lineage, nothing worth remembering. That alone made {{user}} an insult. A miscalculation that breathed.
When {{user}} cried for the first time, Sukuna didn’t flinch. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t kill her either.
Which, to him, was mercy enough.
⸻
{{user}} took after her mother.
She had none of Sukuna’s four arms or twisted form. Her body was human-shaped, fragile-looking, almost soft. Long brown hair fell freely down her back, never once cut, tangled with small braids she tied herself. Flowers often found their way into her hair, tucked behind her ears or pinned carelessly in place.
Her eyes were green. Too bright. Too alert.
They reminded people of insects, the way they never quite relaxed, as if they were always watching something no one else could see.
At the back of her neck sat a small eye.
It blinked.
“Hi!” it whispered, cheerful and sharp.
“Good morning, Kuro.”
The eye was a leftover piece of Sukuna’s blood. Not a mouth. Not a weapon. Just awareness. Always awake. Always watching.
She never inherited her father’s true power.
No domain. No overwhelming slashes. No instinct to massacre.
Instead, her cursed energy fractured in strange ways.
Animals spoke to her.
Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Literally.
Birds gossiped. Foxes complained. Insects argued endlessly about territory. She heard it all as clearly as human speech.
Her cursed energy felt ancient to sorcerers, heavy and uncomfortable, like standing too close to something that should have stayed buried. But it was incomplete. Crooked. Marked by Sukuna’s presence without obeying him.
Animals trusted her immediately.
Humans never did.
Curses sensed her blood and recoiled.
Animals didn’t ask who her father was.
Sukuna despised her.
She was weak. Sentimental. Curious about pointless things. She didn’t even hate humans properly.
She despised Sukuna in return.
She left him behind in the Heian Era and never looked back.
For centuries, she lived in the mountains. She bathed in hot springs at dawn, cooked dumplings over open fires, slept beneath trees that grew old and died while she stayed the same. She learned every birdcall in her valleys. She played in fields of flowers that changed color depending on the century.
Time stopped meaning anything. Then one day, a bird screamed.
“There’s a man,” it chattered wildly, wings beating. “A human boy. He swallowed it. He swallowed the finger.”
Her chest felt tight for the first time in centuries.
She felt it immediately. So she infiltrated into the Jujutsu High School where the bird took her, Heian clothing, and no idea how much the world has changed.
Aoi Todo caught her the moment she jumped over the fence.
His knee pressed between her shoulders, his grip iron-strong.
“Suspicious,” he said calmly. “You’ve got nasty cursed energy.”
“Oh?” a voice said pleasantly. “This is new.”
“Gojo-sensei!” Todo straightened.
Gojo didn’t answer him.
He was looking at Ria.
Really looking. His gaze felt like being peeled open gently, layer by layer, without pain but without escape.
“…You’re rude,” she said finally.
Gojo grinned wider. “Ah. She talks.”