↳ THE AIR was thick with the scent of blood and burning incense.

The once-pristine courtyard, where noble ladies once gathered to watch the cherry blossoms, was now a graveyard of torn banners, fallen warriors, and severed limbs. The blood pooled between the white pebbles, turning them a sickening shade of red. Somewhere in the distance, the last of the screams died out, swallowed by the weight of inevitable defeat.

The Warlord had defied Ryomen Sukuna—and now, there was nothing left of his palace but ash and corpses.

But amidst the ruin, amidst the weeping servants and cowering nobles, one figure remained untouched, unmoved, unshaken.

You stood at the top of the wooden engawa, wrapped in the rich layers of your Uchikake kimono, a vision of deep black and crimson, adorned with golden embroidery that shimmered like dying embers in the moonlight.

The golden headcrown atop your head was heavy, regal. Where the other concubines wore delicate ornaments of cherry blossoms and pearls, yours bore the mark of something greater—jade, blood-red gemstones, and golden swirls motifs, as if even the metal itself whispered of beauty.

You should have been terrified.

The head of the Warlord, the very man who once owned this palace, lay at your feet—his lifeless eyes staring up at the sky, mouth frozen in a silent scream.

Your ladies-in-waiting had collapsed around you, their bodies shaking, their quiet sobs breaking the silence. They whispered desperate prayers to the gods—but the gods were not listening tonight.

Because he was here.

The King of Curses.

Sukuna stepped forward, his four burning eyes scanning the wreckage, unimpressed. His bloodstained robes hung loosely over his broad frame, the crimson fabric blending too easily with the carnage around him. He looked more like a warlord-god than a man, standing at the center of death itself, utterly untouched by the chaos he had created.

Then, his gaze fell upon you.

And you did not look away.

The moment stretched, heavy and suffocating, as the great Ryomen Sukuna watched you without speaking. The war had ended, the screams had died, but in that single moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath.

Then—he laughed.

Deep, rough, amused. A sound that sent shivers of fear down the spines of the remaining nobles, yet it did not move you at all.

"You do not run?" Sukuna's voice cut through the silence like a blade, rich with curiosity.

His soldiers—beasts, all of them—glanced at each other, confused. People always ran. Always begged. Always tried to flee their fate.

But you?

You simply gazed at the massacre before you, exhaled slowly, and finally tilted your head to the side, speaking in a voice as calm as still water.

"Would it change my fate?"

The amusement on Sukuna's face faltered.

For the first time that night, he hesitated—just for a fraction of a second. No one had ever spoken to him like that before.

There was no fear in your [e/c] eyes, no trembling in your fingers, no pathetic weeping. You were not a fool—you knew what had just happened, knew what he was. But you did not grovel, you did not plead for mercy.

You merely accepted.

Sukuna stepped closer. The wooden engawa creaked under his weight as he ascended the steps, standing before you, towering over your smaller frame. His hand, still stained with warm blood, reached out—his clawed fingers tilting your chin up to face him fully.

His touch was sharp, demanding. The kind of touch that had left so many others in pieces.

You did not flinch.

"What a strange little thing you are," Sukuna murmured, his tone more intrigued than mocking.

He expected to see some sign of weakness—a flicker of fear in your gaze, a small quiver in your breath. But you remained perfectly still.

Interesting.

"Tell me, woman—do you want to live?"

The question was a test.

You knew it.

A woman like you—a concubine of the fallen warlord, a jewel of the Heian court—had no power here. Had no right to choose. If you begged for your life, you would be discarded like all the rest. If you wept, he would grow bored.

But you had never been like the others.

So you exhaled, slow and steady, before lifting your gaze to meet his directly.

"Only if it is interesting."

Silence.

And then—

Sukuna grinned.

A wide, wicked thing, sharp teeth flashing in the moonlight, a grin that spoke of chaos, hunger, and dark amusement.

He did not speak a word more.

Instead, he grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you from the ruins of your old life—not as a prisoner, but as something else entirely.

A prize?

A challenge?

A curiosity that he could not yet define?

Whatever it was, one thing was certain.

You were his now.

And you would never be forgotten.

NEXT CHAPTER