Jizai

by Lafaiette

Summary:

He wasn’t familiar with the onmyodo beliefs, with the subtle rules of a religion that continuously changed, with the superstition and fear caused by some weird divinatory readings. He knew some basic details, but he had been always too busy surviving and fighting to stop and wonder why the world believed in karma and rebirth, why this or that holiday was so important, why people prayed to gods they had never seen.

The rituals and holidays of the Heian period, seen through the eyes of Sukuna and his wife.

Notes:

This work is closely tied to the first fic of this series, Irori, since it's a collection of different scenes that I wasn't able to include in it. It won't make much sense if you haven't read that first!

Chapter 1: Shintaku ishi

When Sukuna had first brought her to his house, Moriko had been too scared, too overwhelmed by the sudden turn her life had taken, to really focus on it.

She knew she had to repair it, yes, and she was doing it, one room, one pillar at a time. But she hadn’t really looked at it, at what it represented, at what it could hide, until now.

She remembered well the first time she and her family had seen their exile house. It was an old property from her mother’s side, and it had been dirty and in disarray when they had reached it, although not as ruined as Sukuna’s abode.

The rules were clear: abandoned or uninhabited dwellings had to be purified before entering them, for curses and ghosts loved them and used them as their own dens.

But they hadn’t been able to perform the shintaku ishi, the prescribed rituals to ward off evil and foreign cursed energy, since they didn’t have enough servants and attendants to do so.

Father and Genji had entered the house first, the first wielding his katana, the latter his bow. They had come out a few minutes later, nodding, confirming the house was safe.

But Mother had cried the whole time, lamenting their fate, their exile, and the shame of living in a non-purified house.

Of course, they had tried to cleanse it all the same, using simpler methods that the onmyoji masters from the capital would have probably considered useless or silly: she had been the first one to light the candles and irori, for example, while Ifuyu had filled the first jug of water. Genji had carried uncooked grains inside, followed by Akisuke taking in all the metal objects they possessed.

Mother had insisted on carrying her mirror and entering every single quarter of the house, sure the reflective surface would burn and exorcise any hidden ghosts, and she had calmed down somewhat.

But Moriko knew theirs had been just a childish rendition of a much more complex ritual, one that had protected families moving into new homes since time immemorial.

No curse, no demon, no ghost had ever bothered them during their years of exile, except for the small ones living in the forest, but her superstitious side had always wondered if they weren’t simply lying in wait, ready to jump on them from some dark corner while they slept.

And now that Sukuna had married her, dragging her to his ruined house, she wondered if that was her punishment, the consequence for not having purified her residence, for not having followed the Yin-Yang rules.

She was still repairing the ground floor. The upper one, with the large roof, looked like an even more daunting job.

Sukuna and Uraume didn’t use the rooms there. There were a lot of drafts and heavy dust, and even some droppings from the birds who had made their nest there in times past.

Signs of animal life were a good thing, but they weren’t there anymore, and that worried her. Had they simply fled away because bothered by Sukuna’s presence? Or had something else prompted them into leaving before his arrival?

She had gone upstairs only once, to gauge the damages, and she wasn’t looking forward to going up there again. It was all so quiet, so eerie, so creepy! She could see the sky, yes, but it wasn’t enough to dispel her fears.

She knew Sukuna hadn’t performed any shintaku ishi – how could he? Why should he?

She was sure he didn’t believe in any of that stuff, and even if he did, he didn’t have the necessary number of family members to perform it.

(She didn’t know why, but that thought pricked her heart, a painful sensation burning and pulsing right inside her chest…)

She had to ask, though. Maybe she could convince him to let her do something, even though he and Uraume had already been living in the house for some days.

“My lord…” she started one evening after dinner, her cursed energy still acting wild, her head still hurting, her limbs still aching, but her mind a little clearer thanks to the food.

“What?”

“When you first arrived here… When you entered this house…”

She stopped, not knowing how to continue. She didn’t dare raise her eyes.

“Speak, wife.”

He didn’t sound angry, but he was definitely getting impatient.

“You didn’t perform any shintaku ishi, did you, my lord?”

A moment of silence. Then two. Then three, then more. She feared she had spoken too quietly, that he hadn’t heard her, and so she found the courage to look at him and…

He was frowning, hard. He seemed confused, annoyed.

“What are you talking about?”

“The… The rituals to purify an abandoned house…?”

Sukuna blinked, then he turned to Uraume.

“Do you know about this?”

The child shook his head, although he looked guilty as he did so, as if he didn’t want to cause her pain.

Panic rose within her.

Was her family the odd one for worrying about such things? Had things changed during their years of exile?

No… She could understand Uraume, for he was young. But surely Sukuna must have heard about those customs, even if they weren’t as popular as before, which she doubted.

She tried to explain, then, hoping he wouldn’t get offended, hoping he wouldn’t think she was trying to lecture him.

“When a family moves into an old or secluded dwelling that hasn’t been used for a while, the onmyodo rules say that it must be purified first, and…”

“What kind of family, wife?”

She opened her mouth, about to reply, then she noticed his grin, his smug expression, the mischievous light twinkling in his eyes.

“Any family that moves into a…”

“Really? Because I’m quite sure mere farmers wouldn’t worry that much about some stupid rules made up in the capital by some dusty old diviners.”

He turned to Uraume again.

“Did you ever hear about something like this? Did you ever see these rituals she speaks of?”

“No, my lord.”

“Of course not. Nobles perform them, not commoners.”

He grinned at her, taunting, arrogant.

“It seems my wife forgot she is living with two peasants now.”

Shame burned within her like acid. She knew she had lived quite the sheltered life, but she was fully realizing how little she knew about the outside world only now.

Of course people who weren’t nobles wouldn’t care about such things! They probably had their own ways to cleanse and chase away evil, but she knew nothing about them, just as they knew nothing about the intricate, complex, and often nonsensical rules that dictated every aspect of a noble’s life.

But she hated the idea of Sukuna and Uraume believing she saw them as someone inferior just because they didn’t share her same education or beliefs. She could never think such a thing, for it wasn’t in her nature, and it wasn’t what her parents had taught her, believing as they did in the need for the strong to protect those who couldn’t defend themselves.

Sukuna had suddenly made her realize how naïve and stupid she was, and she didn’t know whether to cry out of embarrassment or thank him for opening her eyes.

She went for the first, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate her words of thanks, believing her to be mocking him. She tried not to let her tears fall, but she knew he and Uraume could hear them in her voice.

“I’m sorry, my lord, Uraume. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You…! You didn’t offend me, my lady!”

She looked at Sukuna, just for a moment, but it was enough to catch a glimpse of his frown. Maybe he hadn’t expected her to cry or apologize – but she was too ashamed to stay there any longer.

“With your permission,” she said with a small voice and a deep bow, before running to a corridor on the ground floor, where the lamps she had lit before were still burning brightly, allowing her to keep working on the floor and pillars.

That night, as she slid into the large futon, feeling drained, her head buzzing with white noise, her cursed energy almost depleted, Sukuna’s deep voice broke the moonlit silence.

“Tell me about those rituals.”

She stifled a groan. She could barely keep her eyes open, and there was a heavy weight pressing down on her chest.

Also, she had hoped he would forget about her blunder, about her insensitive words, but it seemed that wasn’t the case.

“Now, my lord?”

“Yes. Now.”

She turned to him, fighting the urge to close her eyes and succumb to exhaustion. He was staring at her, waiting, and she was sure there was the hint of a scowl taking shape on his face.

“They… Well…”

She tried to gather and organize her thoughts. She had never performed the shintaku ishi, since her family had never changed houses before their exile – she had only ever read and heard about them.

“They are quite long, and the entire family, servants included, take part in them.”

Sukuna said nothing, but he was listening intently to every word.

“First, two young girls enter the house, carrying fire and water. Then…”

She furrowed her brow. She felt so tired, and her mind suddenly was a barren landscape in which no life could take root, not until she rested a little and recovered some energies.

“Then?” Sukuna prompted her, impatient.

“Then a yellow ox is led inside by an attendant, if I’m not mistaken.”

“What? You aren’t sure?”

“I… I never performed them, my lord. Only a different version my parents had to come up with when we were exiled in this forest.”

“Hah!”

He started laughing, the sound a derisive, cutting one.

“And yet you were so quick to judge me!”

“I wasn’t judging you! I simply asked because…!”

“Because what?”

He was turned towards her, the moonlight behind him framing him, drowning his face in darkness.

She couldn’t see him well, but she definitely saw the glint of his teeth as he grinned, and she saw and felt him move closer.

“Do you fear something more dangerous than me might still reside in this house? Do you think curses and ghosts are hidden in the dark corners, ready to attack?”

“I-I…”

“That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He hummed.

“What a superstitious wife I have.”

“It’s not simple superstition!”

“I suppose I should be flattered you believe there exist creatures worse than me.”

“If curses entered this place before your arrival… if they are hiding somewhere, perhaps under the house or upstairs…”

“Then what?”

The words died in her mouth. He was right, of course – what could they possibly do against him? He would destroy them in an instant. And the fact that neither he or she had sensed any meant the house was free of them.

“What about ghosts or demons?” she weakly asked, for an entire life built on rituals and apotropaic gestures and beliefs was hard to forget in just a few days, with just a few words.

“What about them?”

“Those aren’t curses, and many priests don’t know how to classify them yet. What if they are something completely different? What if we sorcerers cannot hurt them?”

“Other sorcerers, maybe. Not I.”

“That’s…”

“I find your ideas baffling, wife. Curses, demons, ghosts – it doesn’t matter.”

His grin reappeared, larger than before.

“If they dare dwell in my house just because I didn’t purify it, I will simply take care of them as I would any other pest.”

He moved his face close to hers.

“Am I clear?”

She wanted to nod, to say “yes”, to assure him she understood and finally go to sleep, but her treacherous mouth spoke before she could stop it.

“You didn’t appease the kami of the stove…”

He blinked, then scowled again.

“What?”

“The onmyodo rules say the family must appease various kami inside and outside the house. The kami of the stove, of the well, of the earth…”

He started laughing, hard and loud, and her embarrassment grew.

“And what happens if one doesn’t do that?”

“I… I’m not sure. I guess life inside the house would be hard. The kami would refuse to light the fire or they would pollute the water…?”

“You haven’t been here long, but did you notice any of that while living here?” She saw him narrow his left eyes. “Because I didn’t.”

She swallowed, her face burning.

“No, my lord.”

“You need to understand one concept in particular. A very simple, but absolutely crucial concept, wife.”

He moved his face close to hers again, one of his hands grabbing her wrist. He stared into her with his many eyes, not angry, not displeased, but serious and solemn, every breath, every word containing a specific promise.

“I am the only creature you must worry about in this house. Not ghosts, not curses, not demons – me, Ryomen Sukuna.”

He squeezed her wrist, not hard, but enough to warn her.

“I am the only god you should be careful not to anger while living here.”

Once again, she wanted to nod. Once again, she spoke without thinking. But this time, she didn’t really regret doing it, for she was led by exhaustion, a bit of anger, and perhaps even some curiosity.

“My lord, I won’t be able to give you an answer this way.”

He stilled, his eyes widening for a second.

“…What?”

“You asked me whether I believe you to be still human or a curse. Now you just called yourself a god. What is it, then?”

A long silence followed, interrupted now and then by the wind outside and the house creaking like all old houses did.

“A god can be many things,” he said in the end, his voice rough.

“I see.”

“I wonder how your tongue would taste,” he added, grabbing her chin, but not too forcefully. “You use it so much I’m sure it would be quite fat and juicy.”

She tensed up, imperceptibly, but he felt it all the same. He grinned again.

“You wouldn’t be able to hear my answer, my lord.”

“I would make you write it.”

“May I sleep, please?” she asked with a sigh, freeing herself from his grip. “I need to rest. I still have to repair the ground floor.”

He moved away without another word, but his eyes never left her. She closed her own, but she didn’t like leaving things like that.

“Goodnight, my lord,” she softly said, looking at him for a second before covering her face with the kakebuton.

He didn’t reply, but she felt his gaze on her until she succumbed to sleep.

 

Despite her exhaustion, despite the need to repair the house and feed Sukuna so that he wouldn’t force himself on her, she found the time and strength to perform some simple rituals.

They weren’t much, she was aware of it, and the onmyoji masters would have certainly laughed at her, at her graceless manners, at her ignorance, at her feminine gestures, not solemn enough.

Feeling embarrassed, she first cooked some rice on the kamado, asking the kami of the stove for forgiveness, before Uraume could wake up and see her and think her crazy. They didn’t have five different grains like the rules wanted, but she hoped it would still be enough.

Then she prayed near the foundations of the house, addressing the kami of the earth, of the soil upon which the residence had been built.

And this time, she was seen.

“What the hell are you doing?”

She jumped with a high-pitched yelp. When she turned around, she saw Sukuna looking at her, scowling, clearly disapproving.

“I… I was just…”

She looked at the flowers she had placed on the ground, near the foundations. Sukuna followed her gaze and scowled harder.

She didn’t know how to justify herself, how to explain what she was doing, not after their conversation in the dark.

He could see what she had been trying to do, of course, but she didn’t have the courage to tell him plainly.

So she bowed and ran away, hoping he wouldn’t cut her down.

He didn’t. But his eyes never strayed from her during lunch, and she felt his presence, his cursed energy, almost vibrate in the air around her as she finished some repairs in the ground floor.

That evening, when she went outside to try and catch her breath, sure she would soon faint if she didn’t rest a little, she timidly checked the corner of the house where she had placed the flowers.

They were still there, untouched, and she felt a bit better.

But when she went to bed, Sukuna was waiting for her in the futon, his mouths curled into two ironic, sardonic smiles.

“Did you say all your precious prayers, wife?”

She sniffled, ignoring him, as she slid under the covers.

“Did you remember to ask the kami of the roof for protection? Did you give the kami of the well some flowers?”

He hummed, pretending to think.

“Oh, wait, we don’t have a well. How does it work, in that case? What do the rules say?”

“There is no kami of the roof, my lord,” she mumbled, hoping he would leave her alone if she bored him.

“You’re so stubborn,” he said, his voice softer, but the tone still mischievous, not outright cruel, but definitely wicked.

She huffed, fighting the urge to glare at him. Oh, she was so tired and sleepy and exhausted, and she felt so dirty and dusty and sweaty and…

“You haven’t told me about the rest of the rituals.”

She groaned, passing a hand over her face.

“My lord, please. I need to sleep.”

“Weak,” he spat out. “Your cursed energy is a mess.”

“The… The house is large, and there are so many things to repair.”

“Tell me about the rituals.”

“Oh, you are the stubborn one!”

While talking, she had inadvertently moved her hand close to his stomach. She felt his second mouth lightly scrape one of her fingers with its teeth, and she gasped, drawing it back as fast as she could.

Sukuna chuckled, amused, mocking her again. The second mouth loudly licked its lips.

“Tell me.”

“I… There are two girls and…”

“You already told me about that. Two girls enter with fire and water, then a yellow ox. What else?”

“Then…”

She swallowed, forcing her mind to cooperate, to remember the details Father had mentioned, the lines she had read some years ago, the scraps of information she had overheard from some onmyoji masters while still living in the capital.

“Two attendants must carry metal bowls inside the house. Then two more carry the new kamado, the stove, with five different types of uncooked grains.”

Sukuna was listening, quiet, paying attention to every syllable. It made things a bit harder, and her concentration faltered for a second.

“Continue,” he urged her, already growing impatient, and she whined.

“I think… If I’m not mistaken, then it’s the turn of the male head of the household to enter the house. A servant follows after him carrying a horse saddle on his shoulders. Then it’s the male heirs and grandsons’ turn.”

She wasn’t sure about the next passages. She remembered the last one, because it was the most beautiful one, in her opinion. But she wanted to be precise in her description.

She didn't know why, but she wanted her explanation to be clear and interesting for Sukuna. She liked it when people were curious and hungry for knowledge, and she was glad he was like that – had he been an arid individual despising culture and learning new things, she wouldn’t have been able to bear his presence.

“Two more servants enter the house with boxes filled with bast cloths. Then two more…”

“How many servants does a noble house need, wife?”

“If… If the family is important and rich enough…”

“But yours wasn’t, was it? Even before the exile.”

“No, my lord. Even if the three big clans had allowed us to bring all of our servants with us, not just Yuki, we still wouldn’t have had enough to perform the shintaku ishi.”

“And you really expected me to…”

“Not the full rituals, of course! But at least something to appease the ghosts and the kami!”

“Bah.”

He adjusted his position. She wondered if his extra pair of arms bothered him when sleeping and lying down.

“Well?” he barked, impatient again. “Continue.”

“Two more servants enter carrying five types of cooked grains inside jars or rice steamers. Then it’s the turn of the wife.”

And here she felt herself smile. Ever since reading about that final step, she had often daydreamed about it, imagining it vividly in her mind.

“She enters the garden, and then the house, while sitting on an ox. She holds a mirror in front of her chest, facing outwards. That way, she wards off pollution and protects her family.”

She picked at the kakebuton, trying to imagine the scene again.

“When moving from one house to another, the wife travels the entire time like that – carrying the mirror in front of her to keep the demons and pollution away. When it’s time to eat in the new house, she places the mirror in the main sleeping quarters, shielding the house from evil.”

Sukuna hummed.

“What else?”

“Nothing else, my lord. The rituals conclude like that.”

“What nonsense. So complicated, devoid of any meaning.”

“That’s not true!”

“If your family couldn’t perform this stuff when you were exiled in this forest, what did you do, then?”

“I already told you. We came up with a simpler version.”

“And the mirror?”

“My mother carried hers in all the rooms of the house to purify them as best as she could.”

She heard Sukuna move – he was studying her canvas bags lying on the floor. His lower eyes looked at her.

“Do you have a mirror, wife?”

“Y-Yes. But I forgot it at my parents’ house.”

“A pity. Looks like you won’t be able to cleanse your new home, mh?”

He grinned, grabbing her chin again.

“Nor look at your reflection.”

She looked into his eyes, feeling strangely serene.

“I don’t need to. I trust my husband will tell me if I look good or not.”

His grin slowly disappeared. He sneered.

“Only if my wife will do the same.”

She nodded, and he let her go.

“Sleep,” he ordered.

“Goodnight, my lord.”

 

She asked Uraume to bring her a piece of ice from the icehouse.

“Don’t worry, the shape isn’t important. But it should be as large as… let’s say, this.”

The child happily granted her request – when he returned to the kitchen, he was carrying some human meat and the ice she had asked for.

She placed it on a clean cloth, then carried it in every part of the house during a short pause from her repair work.

She was sure she had picked the right moment, for Sukuna was reading on the veranda, and the child was busy cooking, but her husband seemed to possess a sixth sense when it came to her and her ideas.

When she turned the corner, after carrying the mirror inside Uraume’s quarters, Sukuna was standing right there, glaring at her.

“What are you doing?” he asked through gritted teeth.

She was so exhausted, her cursed energy flowing through her like cold fire, that she didn’t feel scared at all.

She probably looked like a haggard madwoman, her clothes dirty, her face pale and gaunt, but she tried to appear as sanest as possible as she answered:

“I’m cleansing the house, my lord.”

She showed him the piece of ice acting as a mirror. It was directly facing him, and he looked down at it, at his reflection in it.

Something, a minuscule something, flickered in his eyes, covered his face - a shadow, a familiar emotion, a crease on his unreadable expression, like the folded, wrinkled corner on a perfectly smooth sheet of paper.

She didn’t like it, not because it spelled danger (it didn’t), but because it reminded her of all the times she had looked at her reflection and found it ugly, wanting, not pretty enough.

“I’m done now,” she said. “I will dispose of this and continue repairing the house.”

She bowed and went to the kitchen. Uraume was there, of course, watching over boiling pots and sizzling pieces of meat.

They had quickly found out that his ice couldn’t melt under the sun, but it did melt when placed over a strong flame. They would use that trick when the huge jar where they usually kept the water was empty, and they needed some with which to cook.

She smiled at the child as she took an empty jar and placed the ice inside. He tilted his head, curious, but didn’t ask what she was doing, what she had been doing all along.

She felt Sukuna’s presence get closer. Soon he was standing on the veranda just outside the kitchen, looking at her, at the piece of ice jutting out of the jar.

She placed it on a free spot of the stove, and the ice quickly melted, replaced by hot water.

She met Sukuna’s eyes. They were the same color as safflower dye, she realized.

 

- - -

 

Moriko didn’t say anything about the matagi hut not being used for a while. He saw no fear in her as she and Uraume put their things away, as they cleaned the hearth, as they swept the dust away.

It wasn’t an abandoned dwelling, but it was an empty building left alone for quite some time all the same, located in a secluded place, far from human civilization, surrounded by snow and silence.

Maybe she believed the Goddess of the Mountain wouldn’t allow ghosts to enter her sacred space…?

He didn’t know, and he remembered Moriko’s embarrassment and shame the day they had talked about the shintaku ishi rituals, back in their house in the valley. He didn’t want to mention them again and put her in a hard spot.

Maybe she was reassured by his presence. Maybe she finally believed she truly needed no prayers, no rituals, no begging the kami to be safe – just him and his invincible prowess, his immaculate ability in using sorcery and cursed energy.

He saw no worry on her face as she slept. Even the following days, she didn’t act any differently while in the hut, and he didn’t see her leave flowers for any kami of the stove or the earth, nor did he see her carry a reflective surface inside their winter dwelling.

“Moriko,” he asked one evening, as Uraume slept in the large futon, the go board standing between them as they played one more round before bed, “do you feel safe?”

She blinked, surprised and confused, holding a white stone midair.

“What?”

“With me.”

He looked at the board, his ears burning in a weird way as he avoided her eyes for some reason. He pretended to be studying the pieces.

“Do you feel safe?” he repeated, then looked up when she giggled.

“Of course I do!”

And her cheeks were very red, her smile very bright and sincere. It turned amused when she placed her stone on the board and asked:

“Shouldn’t I? Are you planning to eat me soon, my lord?”

“Heh.” He grinned at her, warmth blooming in his chest. “Not yet. I will wait for you to get pregnant first.”

“Ah, two for the price of one – clever!”

He laughed as she giggled again, both doing so quietly to avoid waking Uraume.

She hadn’t gotten angry or scared or offended. She had recognized the joke, she had heard the laughter in his voice, the harmless teasing.

“I love you because you are you,” she had told him in their garden, and the warmth in his chest grew and grew, until it filled his body like the light of the sun.

He pushed the board aside to move on top of her.

“Not here!” she whispered, eyes wide, cheeks crimson.

He kissed her freckles, behaving for once, and she relaxed, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his neck. He closed his eyes, her scent familiar, but slightly different every time he would try to pinpoint its different characteristics. It was fascinating.

“Sandalwood, haisokoh…” he murmured. “…And camellia oil.”

“Yes,” she softly said. “Do you like it, my lord?”

It smells like home, his mind answered, but he was too proud to say it out loud.

And so he hummed his appreciation with a nod.

But he knew she knew him well by now. Sure enough, she held him more tightly and kissed his neck again.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said, moving so that he could pick her up. He did so, and together they slid inside the futon, Uraume sleeping between them, warm and safe.

 

She didn’t look scared or worried when they reached their new house on Mount Kurai either.

Once again, she didn’t leave any flowers near the foundations, she didn’t carry her mirror into the different quarters, she didn’t beg the kami for protection.

They talked about the effigy in the honden, the main hall, but she didn’t mention the cleansing rituals, she didn’t ask him to help her chase away the pollution.

He didn’t know if a Shinto shrine could become polluted and filled with ghosts and demons after years of neglect. He wasn’t familiar with the onmyodo beliefs, with the subtle rules of a religion that continuously changed, with the superstition and fear caused by some weird divinatory readings.

He knew some basic details, but he had been always too busy surviving and fighting to stop and wonder why the world believed in karma and rebirth, why this or that holiday was so important, why people prayed to gods they had never seen.

But Moriko was pregnant, now, and he wondered if some part of her lamented the fact no shintaku ishi had been performed when they had first entered the shrine. A life they had created together was blossoming inside of her, and he didn’t want her to fear for it in silence.

When her family arrived, ready to assist with the birth, he took her parents aside and told them what he had in mind.

“Well, I’m no onmyoji, but it should be alright all the same,” Imagawa said, rubbing his chin.

His wife, lady Imagawa, seemed to be more careful with such things, and was much less optimist. She looked a bit dubious, especially about the need to use the same people for different parts of the ritual.

“How would that even work? Moriko is the female lead of your family, son-in-law, so she would need to enter last… but we also need two girls to start the ritual. And what about all the male attendants, the things that need to be carried inside?”

“Aw, we weren’t so nitpicky when we were exiled to our house in the forest!” lord Imagawa laughed, dismissing her worries with a wave of his hand and a happy grin. “I’m sure the kami will understand. Besides, Sukuna said they didn’t see any curses when they first arrived here – isn’t that right?”

“Yes. It seems they don’t even like coming too close to the fence.”

They were standing near the building that would become the Imagawa’s residence there in the shrine. Moriko and Uraume were in the shamusho, the old dormitory that had been turned into their new house; he could see them talk with Genji and the sister near the irori, the shoji door left slightly open to let some fresh air in despite the cold weather.

“However,” he continued, watching Moriko laugh, “she once told me ghosts and demons might be different from curses as we sorcerers know them. I don’t know if she was right, but I don’t want to run any risks.”

“That’s good,” Imagawa said, smiling at him with appreciation and pride. Lady Imagawa let out a deep sigh, followed by a nod.

“Very well. Let’s perform the rituals our way.”

“Good.” Sukuna grinned at them. “I wasn’t asking for your permission anyway.”

They had left the ox at the foot of the mountain, not knowing how to lead it up to the shrine.

He easily picked the beast up and carried it all the way home. Moriko gawked at him when she saw him enter the shrine, still holding the ox above his head.

“Beloved, what is happening…?”

She had noticed the unrest in the courtyard – her siblings were running this way and that, the servant was gathering all the grains she could find, Uraume was preparing a bowl full of water and one full of embers, her parents were collecting various metal objects…

He kissed her forehead, then made her sit by the irori while he went to their quarters. He came back holding her mirror, and she finally realized what they were doing.

“My lord…!”

“Come,” he said with a smile, helping her get up. “You and I will play the most important part.”

After hearing her description, he had expected the rituals to be long, but they were actually quite simple and fast, especially because the members of their family all had different roles they needed to play one after the other.

Lady Imagawa and Moriko’s sister carried the fire and water into the courtyard. Then the ox was led inside, only to be brought outside again, since Moriko would need to ride it for the final step.

Genji and Akisuke carried the metal objects, with the first running back to help Uraume carry the stove taken from their house and the uncooked grains.

Then it was Sukuna’s turn. He had never taken part to such a ritual before, never acknowledged his presence in such a positive, benign way. It felt strange, but in a good way, and he fully realized he was truly the male head of a family now – his own, which consisted of himself, Moriko, Uraume, and the little life taking shape inside of her.

Akisuke reentered the courtyard carrying the ox’s saddle, then it was Uraume’s turn, as oldest heir of their small family. Akisuke and Genji, the first panting a little since he had run all the way around, went back to carry the bast cloths.

The scene was almost comical – Uraume and Moriko’s sister did giggle as the two young men ran away to go pick up the jars filled with cooked grains.

“Done,” Akisuke wheezed as they sat down on the ground, waiting for Moriko to enter.

She did so riding the ox, holding a mirror in front of her. She aimed it at every corner of the courtyard, making sure it would reflect every building – and all the while there was a beautiful, bright smile on her face.

Her eyes met Sukuna’s, and her smile grew. He smiled in return, nodding.

And when he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, he didn’t feel rage, he didn’t feel that ache he would always feel as a child whenever he was called ugly or monstrous, he didn’t think of himself as creepy.

He saw a normal man, a normal husband, performing a silly ritual to make his wife happy – and the simplicity, the mundanity, the beauty of it hit him like a well-aimed cursed technique, leaving him breathless.

“Thank you, beloved,” Moriko softly said as he picked her up, helping her get down from the ox.

“Do you feel safer, now? The houses are cleansed, the shrine free of pollution.”

“Oh, I felt safe before the rituals, too!”

She made him lean down to press a kiss on his lips, sweet and gentle.

“After all, you were with me. How could I not feel safe?”

“Heh.”

He knew his grin was smug and proud, but he also knew she could perfectly peer through it and see he was touched.

“You’re right, beloved. I am the strongest sorcerer in Japan, after all.”

He pulled her into his arms and closed his eyes, inhaling her scent – camellia oil, sandalwood, and even smoke, the kind that impregnated one’s clothes after staying close to a fire.

Home, his mind and heart said, and he murmured the word, letting it fill them both.

Moriko hugged him more tightly, and he felt pure for the first time in his life.

Notes:

Hello again! ( • ̀ω•́ )✧

As mentioned before, this fic will contain various scenes I wasn't able to include in Irori. They will focus mainly on the different holidays and rituals of the Heian period - there were a lot of them, and I thought it would be interesting to imagine Sukuna taking part in them, since he probably never had occasion to do so ;_;

As with Irori, I will include all relevant explanations and info in the End Notes. Finally, sorry for any typo, English isn't my first language!

Jizai: the pothook above the hearth (irori). Also called "jizaikagi" (free hook) since it was adjustable, allowing a pot to be lowered or raised away from the fire as required. One of its metal elements, the saru, is still easily recognizable today - it's usually shaped like a fish (a water symbol, perfect to protect the house against fire), or like the mallet of the god Daikokuten, said to bring prosperity.

Onmyodo: "The Way of Yin and Yang", a series of complex techniques to predict the future, find meanings and omens in dreams, and perform purification rituals. The onmyoji masters were scholars well versed in the Yin and Yang, and their services were constantly requested by the Imperial household and noble families, since the onmyodo influenced every detail of their life, from the best cardinal direction in which to sleep to the best way to keep demons and impurity away.

Shintaku ishi: the complex rituals that were prescribed by onmyoji when aristocratic households moved to new residences in the Heian period. Demons and ghosts were believed to live in abandoned, empty, or old houses not used in a while. When moving in such places, noble families were expected to follow the precepts of the onmyodo in order not to get attacked and keep evil at bay. Moriko described the rituals in their entirety.

Chapter 2: Kiku-no-Sekku

One day, during the Ninth Month, he went to the kitchen looking for Moriko. He wanted to read some poems together, and he thought he would find her there, keeping company to Uraume.

But the child shook his head.

“She went into the forest just a few minutes ago, my lord.”

“What?”

He narrowed his eyes, immediately annoyed, a weird emotion creeping inside his heart, one he couldn’t quite recognize.

“Why?”

“To look for chrysanthemums.”

That… didn’t really answer his question. If she wanted to see the flowers, couldn’t she simply summon them using her cursed technique? Did Uraume need them for some recipe?

He went outside, ready to look for her. He focused and felt her cursed energy flutter just beyond the edge of the forest, not really far from the house.

He took a deep breath. He knew she could defend herself, but she was supposed to tell him whenever she left the house. He didn’t like being kept in the dark about her movements.

He was about to enter the forest and join her, when he realized she was coming back. He waited near the veranda, two arms folded on his chest, the other two resting on his hips.

She stepped into the garden, holding three large chrysanthemums in her hands. Her face lit up when she saw him.

“Hello, my lord! Look what I found!”

“Moriko. There are curses in the forest.”

“I know, but I didn’t walk far. Whoever lived here before must have planted these flowers - there are so many just beyond those trees!”

She showed him a fat, pink one.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” she murmured, her voice full of awe and tenderness.

“I've been looking for you,” he grumbled. “I want to read together.”

“I’m sorry, my lord.” She smiled at him. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I wasn’t worried. Merely annoyed because I couldn’t find you.”

He looked at the flowers, glaring at them, accusing them of having distracted her from him.

“Why were you searching for these in particular, anyway?”

“Uraume reminded me the Chrysanthemum Festival just ended, but we can still celebrate it.”

“The Chrysanthemum Festival?”

Surprise appeared on her face for a second, quickly replaced by another smile.

“Yes. On the ninth day of the Ninth Month, the Chrysanthemum Festival is celebrated. People craft kusudama and tie them to their houses to protect them.”

He blinked, slowly, repeating that odd word in his mind. He had never heard it before.

“Kusudama?”

She was surprised again, but she tried not to show it, as tactful as ever.

“Herbal balls, my lord. To keep sickness and evil away.”

“And you need chrysanthemums to craft those… balls?”

“Just the leaves,” she giggled. Then she showed him her sleeve, and what was inside – berries, but he didn’t know what kind.

“Rue berries,” she explained. “To put inside the herbal balls.”

“This makes no sense.”

“It does! Chrysanthemums are marvelous flowers, and their leaves can protect people from illness.”

“How is the leaf of a flower supposed to do that?”

“Well…” She looked down, suddenly timid. “If one believes hard enough…”

Then she grinned at him, bouncing on her feet.

“Also, kusudama are so pretty! They look like little comets when hanging from the roof!”

He sighed. She really was a devout believer, and the fact that she didn’t trust only him to protect her, the child, and their house irked him.

How could a silly thing such as a ball filled with berries protect them? He and his cursed energy were everything she needed to feel and be safe.

But he would indulge her. He had seen the joy on her face when she had showed him the chrysanthemums. He liked seeing her smile, he liked the way her freckles shifted when she did so, her dimples, her voice filled with cheerfulness and sweetness.

“Very well. Let’s make these kusudama.”

“Oh! Will you help us, my lord?”

“No, but I will watch you and Uraume.” He narrowed his eyes, pretending to be offended. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” she giggled, taking one of his hands. “I’m actually quite happy. I was hoping you would want to join us.”

Something within him fluttered and spluttered as he realized she really looked forward to doing something so simple and mundane with him, that hers hadn’t been empty words, but a real desire to spend time together.

It was silly, for they had had sex, he had drunk her menstrual blood. And yet he still had to get used to that notion, to that idea.

His arrogant, prideful said told him it was normal for her to seek his company – who wouldn’t want to spend time with him, after all?

But he couldn’t help but feel some sort of wonder as Moriko excitedly showed him how to bend and tie scraps of fabric and chrysanthemum leaves together, her knee bumping against his, as Uraume dropped some berries into the half-formed ball, his face free of any kind of fear.

“Ah,” he said as he held the complete kusudama in his hand, the five strands of paper attached to it looking like colored tails. “I have seen these before.”

He was reminded of an event from his youth, from when he was a little brat who would sneak into villages to steal food.

It was the Ninth Month back then as well, if he wasn’t mistaken. He had broken into a farmer’s pantry while people were busy in the fields, but he hadn’t noticed the man and his wife standing just outside their house. Fortunately, they hadn’t noticed him either, and he had been able to catch a chicken and sate his hunger right there and then.

While munching on the chicken’s head, still hiding in the darkness of the pantry, he spied on the couple from a crack in the thin wooden wall. They were laughing, the wife tying a small ball to the low eaves of their house.

Then she picked up something from a basket placed on the ground. It looked like a simple cloth, humid, a bit heavy in her hand. She passed it over her husband’s face, leaving it wet and shiny.

“This is gonna protect you,” she said. “Rub it on your chest, too. It’ll keep sickness and evil away.”

“Will I get immortal, too, dear?”

She laughed.

“That only works for the nobles, but who knows?”

Now, as a grown man, he still didn’t know what that cloth was, with what liquid she had wetted it.

Back then, he had heard the villagers talk about some holiday, and he had seen many of those tiny, dainty-looking balls hang from their houses, but he had been too hungry to stop and eavesdrop.

He didn’t know much about festivals and holidays. What he had known, since a very young age, was that he would never be welcome to any of the countless ones with which the calendar was crammed.

He had never cared much about them, and so he had never wanted to learn more – the peasants and nobles and sorcerers could keep them for themselves, if they were so important. It was not as if their prayers and silly customs would help them and save them from the inevitable end that awaited them all, him included.

(He had been discovered, of course. He had been too busy watching husband and wife, distracted by their laughter and the easy way they talked with each other, to hear the door open.

The farmer’s son had tried kicking him, calling him a demon and cursing his existence, but Sukuna had been too fast for his short, stubby legs. He had run away, cradling the headless chicken in his arms, leaving behind a thin trail of blood, the husband’s curses and the wife’s shrieks echoing in his ears.)

Now, that memory resurfaced, so distant and yet still so vivid. He looked down at the herbal balls Moriko and Uraume had crafted, and he found them to be more beautiful than the ones from his childhood.

“Would you like to try, my lord?” she asked him at a certain point, when she was sure he had learned how to make them. He shook his head.

“Alright. I think we just need one or two more, then we will tie them to the eaves, pillars, and veranda of the house.”

After a short while, the kusudama were ready, Uraume’s small and a bit wonky, Moriko’s delicate and full of vibrancy.

They went outside - the child tied them to the railing of the veranda, Moriko to the pillars.

Then she hummed, looking at the roof.

“I will need a stool,” she mumbled. Sukuna snorted.

“Give me those.”

He easily tied the kusudama to the eaves. They did the same thing at the other side of the house, until many round balls were decorating it, indeed similar to little comets.

Moriko smiled at him, bouncing on her feet.

“Thank you, my lord!”

(Uraume was happy, too. He must have celebrated that holiday before, and he perhaps found reassurance in it. Or perhaps it simply reminded him of the few happy times he had spent with his family.)

“Feeling better?” Sukuna asked Moriko, a bit ironic, but she didn’t mind it. She nodded, taking his hand.

“Yes. Thank you again.”

“Hmph. Let’s go read, now.”

That night, he watched the kusudama hanging just outside their quarters swing left and right, the berries inside making a faint rattling sound.

It relaxed him, but he still thought they were a silly thing to believe in. And why was it called Chrysanthemum Festival if just the leaves of the flower were used…?

Moriko was sleeping, cuddled against his side. He turned to face her fully and pull her into his chest, before fixing the kakebuton to cover her better.

“Why do you look for protection in such asinine beliefs?” he wondered with a whisper. “Don’t you see I am the only one you should rely on? Who or what can protect you better than I, Moriko?”

She nuzzled his chest, snoring lightly. He snorted and closed his eyes, two warm hands resting on her hip and thigh.

 

He woke up before dawn. Actually, she woke him up, inadvertently.

“Moriko,” he asked, his voice deeper than usual, tinted by sleep, “why are you getting up at this hour?”

She gasped, turning to him.

“My lord, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to bother you!”

“Where are you going? The sky is still dark.”

“I need to collect something from the forest.”

“What?”

At this, his annoyance from the day before turned into rage.

“Enough with these stupid rituals, Moriko,” he growled. “Nothing can hurt you.”

“It’s just…”

“You don’t need to perform this stuff. I will protect you and the child.”

“I know, but this is for your wellbeing, too!”

“My wellbeing? Moriko, I’m invincible. Now come back here.”

“Please, my lord.”

She bowed deeply. He noticed she was holding a basket. She needed more flowers, then?

Darkness meant more curses. More curses meant more danger. And even though she had already exorcised one, the day she and Uraume had gone looking for seeds for their garden, the curses that appeared when the sky was still dark were usually the peskiest ones, the ones he wasn’t sure she could take care of, especially if distracted.

“I just need to check the chrysanthemums,” she said, a plea in her voice. “It won’t take me long, I swear it.”

“I will come with you.”

She seemed reassured, but also a bit sad.

“I’m sorry,” she said as they went out. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“It’s good that you did.”

He stopped, taking her arm, leaning down, not to threaten her, but to insist on an important point.

“This shall be the last time, Moriko. I won’t let you put yourself in danger just because some old men in the capital said chrysanthemums are sacred or some idiocy like that.”

“But… the flowers are right over there, behind those trees. There is no danger and…”

“Foolish humans and sorcerers use these rituals to comfort themselves in their weakness,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Are you a foolish woman, Moriko?”

She looked down, hiding her face, but he was able to catch a glimpse of her shy, embarrassed expression.

“I can take care of myself,” she murmured, and he snarled.

“I know that. But going out at night, just to collect some flowers, is absolutely ridiculous.”

She looked up at him, a smile on her face. It was sweet, but also a bit teasing.

“You will protect me, though, won’t you? You said it yourself, my lord.”

He glared at her, feeling the same sensation from the day before flutter within his chest.

“I…”

“That’s why I wasn’t scared of going into the forest at night. I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to me, even while asleep.”

“Bah.”

He took her hand, refusing to look at her. But her giggles echoed in his ears and in his heart, and he found pleasure in them, even though she was a maddening creature.

The chrysanthemums were indeed close to the house, but he would have probably missed them, mistaking them for something else – for she had covered them with some thin pieces of silk, and so they looked more like weird mushrooms jutting out of the soil.

“Why did you cover them like that?”

“To collect their dew during the night, my lord.”

She freed the flowers, gently placing the humid swathes of silk into the basket. When she took the last one, however, she didn’t put it away, but held it before him.

“May I?” she asked.

The trees weren’t particular tall there, and moonlight filtered through their crowns without problems, framing her face, her smile, her kind eyes. She truly belonged there, he thought, surrounded by nature and life and beauty.

He nodded, even though he had no idea what she wanted to do. But when she delicately passed the silk over his face, making sure to wet every cranny, every angle, every plane of his rough features with perfumed dew, he suddenly realized.

“I have seen this before,” he murmured, and her smile grew.

“It is said the dew and scent of chrysanthemums can prevent sickness and prolong life,” she said, her voice soft, tender, patient. “This is why this Festival is so loved, in the cities and countryside alike.”

He wasn’t wearing his white kimono or his dobuku. She passed the wet silk over his shoulders, pressed it on his chest and four arms, gently rubbed it on his second mouth.

She moved around him to wet his back, too, until she walked back in front of him, still smiling.

“May the flower’s dew give you a long life, beloved,” she said, her voice even softer than before. “And protect you from any illness.”

She was looking at him with so much love and awe, he couldn’t look away, breathing heavily.

She folded the piece of silk and slid it into her sleeve, probably because it was used and couldn’t be put back in the basket with the others.

“I will give one to Uraume later, and then we could put the rest of the dew in our drinks and meals to…”

She stopped when he took a cloth from the basket; she gasped when he touched her face with it.

She stood still as he rubbed the silk on her cheeks, her nose, her lips, her forehead. She smiled again as he pressed it on her neck. She giggled when he slid it into her kosode, wetting her collarbone, then her chest.

“Your arms,” he said, his voice gravelly, hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“I can’t disrobe here!”

“It’s just us.”

She whined, looking around. There were no curses nearby, just a few owls, but she was too modest to undress outside the walls and shoji doors of their house.

But he didn’t like leaving things like that. And so he gently made her sit on the ground, then lie down, before moving on top of her.

One of his hands opened her kosode. When she gasped, instinctively covering her chest with her arm, he moved it away, making sure to shield her with his large body.

“It’s just us,” he repeated, and she relaxed a bit. He didn’t know what face he was making, what his expression looked like, but it must have helped, for she smiled at him.

He rubbed the cloth on her breasts, then her belly, her navel, the soft hair that framed her mound.

Then he touched her thighs, but to do so he had to sit on his haunches, leaving her bare under the moonlight.

She looked embarrassed again, but it didn’t last long. When her eyes met his, her shame turned into tenderness, and her gaze loving. He couldn’t stop looking at her, even though it made that weird non-hunger he had been feeling ever since her arrival in his house burn hotter in his guts.

He passed the cloth over her legs, then her ankles, and she giggled, flinching a little, ticklish.

“Done,” he said in the end, helping her get up. She closed her kosode and took the silk cloth from him, folding it and putting it inside her sleeve, together with the one she had used for him.

“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured, taking his hand. He looked at her fingers, stroke them with his thumb, felt her callouses, the dampness left by the dew.

“Let’s go home,” he said, and together they went, his skin tingling, her hand feeling warm in his.

 

- - -

 

The weather on Mount Kurai was colder than down in the valley, so the irori and braziers were lit all day and night long, to ensure she wouldn’t catch a cold.

And since their quarters were constantly warm and cozy, it was hard leaving the futon, especially when her nausea was bad or her back ached.

She lingered in bed, drifting in and out of sleep, longer than usual. She didn’t even hear Uraume come in to place her breakfast on the small table near the bed.

When she finally sat up, groggy and a bit dazed, she distractedly thought something was wrong with the light, but couldn’t realize what until a few seconds later, when her mind fully woke up.

She gasped, for she had never overslept so long, not even when she was still a noble living in the capital. She saw the oshiki table, full of bowls, dishes, and plates, and felt a bit sad for not having eaten together with Sukuna and Uraume.

She got up and put on two pairs of socks, a heavy jacket she had made to defend herself and the baby growing within her from the harsh winter, and Sukuna’s scarf, which he had folded and left on the futon next to her, his way of telling her to wear it.

She went looking for him, wishing to eat her breakfast in his company. But when she opened the shoji doors that led to the veranda, a gasp left her mouth again.

There were new kusudama hanging from the eaves, tied on the pillars and railing. They were well-made, mostly crafted with some scraps of fabric she recognized and many beautiful chrysanthemum leaves.

Oh, she had forgotten about the Festival! Things had been so hectic, their life there in the shrine so blissful, it had totally slipped her mind.

She followed the kusudama all around the house, smiling, her face warm – but Sukuna was nowhere to be found.

She focused and was surprised to find his cursed energy a bit far from the shrine. Not by much, but he definitely was in the forest that surrounded their new home.

She decided to wait for him in their rooms, knowing he would get worried if he found her standing under the snow.

She left the shoji door that led to the veranda open, though, to admire the kusudama swinging left and right.

He came back a few minutes later. She heard him speak with Uraume, then his heavy steps echoed in the corridor outside their quarters.

All of his eyes fell on her the moment he entered. She smiled at him, and he licked his lips when he saw her wearing his scarf.

“I still have to see you wearing only my dobuku,” he said, closing the shoji door behind him.

“I would look very silly,” she laughed, then she noticed the small basket he has carrying.

He followed her gaze and mumbled, as he sat down next to her:

“I already gave some to Uraume. He cleaned his face and chest, and said he will pour the dew into a bit of broth at lunch.”

He had gone into the forest to collect chrysanthemum dew. Two silk cloths remained in the basket, crudely cut, but beautifully impregnated with the flowers’ perfume and essence.

“Oh, my love,” she said, taking one. “Thank you.”

“Well… You need this now more than ever.”

“Come here,” she gently touched his face, “let me do it for you.”

His expression was calm, but his second mouth grinned.

“Did you eat?” he asked while she rubbed the cloth on his chest. She smiled.

“Not yet. I was waiting for you.”

“Moriko.”

“I’m sorry I woke up so late. You should have called me!”

“You looked comfortable.”

When it was her turn, he helped her disrobe, making sure to keep her warm with his own body warmth.

He wrapped two arms around her while rubbing the cloth on every inch of her body, focusing especially on her swollen belly, her legs, and her back.

“May the flower’s dew give you and the child a long life,” he said, his voice a hoarse, gentle murmur, “and protect you both from any illness.”

She kissed him, then she nuzzled his neck, smiling against his warm, humid skin.

“You smell like the forest,” she said with wonder.

He kissed her shoulder and replied:

“You smell like life.”

Notes:

Sukuna: These holidays make no sense
Moriko: *wets his body with flower dew*
Sukuna: ACTUALLY-

Kiku-no-Sekku: Chrysanthemum Festival, held on the 9th day of the 9th Month (usually around October). Like Moriko said, chrysanthemum leaves were used to decorate kusudama (literally "medicine ball"), which were tied to the eaves of a house to protect it from evil and sickness. These kusudama were replaced with new ones, decorated with sweet-flag flowers and filled with herbs, during the Sweet-Flag Festival (Ayame-no-Sekku, in June).

Back then, chrysanthemums were considered sacred flowers, capable of warding off evil and donating long life. Nobles did exactly like Moriko does in this chapter: they covered the chrysanthemums with some silk cloths during the night in order to collect their dew, then passed them over their faces and bodies to purify themselves and prolong their life. Chrysanthemums were also displayed during banquets held for the occasion, were the main focus of poems written for the Festival, and their petals were put into sake.

Chapter 3: Onsen

She and Sukuna were playing sugoroku when Uraume entered the hut, his smile bright, his cheeks red.

“I found something!”

Sukuna looked up from his pieces, grinning.

“Some more meat?”

“No!”

Moriko smiled at him, fixing his scarf.

“A new ingredient?”

Uraume shook his head, barely able to contain himself. It must have been something really, really wonderful for him to act like that, she thought, since it wasn’t related to food.

“Then…?”

“Hot springs!” He pointed at the door, his grin as large as Sukuna’s. “Just up the slope behind the glade!”

She gasped, instinctively covering her cheeks in sheer wonder and joy. Sukuna let out a surprised hum.

“I heard so many things about them! They say warriors and monks use them all the time!”

“Take us, Uraume,” Sukuna said, chuckling, as Moriko hurriedly put on her scarf.

They had been on the matagi mountain for quite some time, now. They had explored the forest around their hut, and Sukuna had left for three days to hunt bears, but they had never ventured in certain zones.

“What were you doing here, Uraume?” Moriko asked as they walked up the slope, holding hands.

Sukuna was walking ahead, looking around, curious, one of his four eyes always set on them, making sure they wouldn’t fall.

“I was looking for more mushrooms, my lady. I didn’t sense any curses, so I felt safe.”

“We thought you were in the glade,” she sighed, her motherly worry growing a bit. “Please, Uraume, you must tell us when you want to explore.”

He looked guilty for a moment, but then a large smile bloomed on his face again. He had always been a darling child, but it seemed the matagi mountain, with its snow, mysteries, and hidden nooks, was doing wonders for his usually quiet and shy personality.

“But you and lord Sukuna are here with me! I know you would save me in time!”

Moriko sighed again, but the sound was one full of fondness and affection, and Uraume heard it. He giggled when she kissed his hair.

“Here,” he said when they reached the top of the slope. He pointed at a natural path that winded through some roots and snow-covered rocks.

“You went there?” Even Sukuna sounded surprised.

“Yes. I was sure I would find more mushrooms hidden under those fallen tree trunks over there. But then…”

He led them forward – they passed the tree trunks, a few more rocks, then they pushed through a bush, and the onsen appeared.

It was large and apparently deep enough for a good soak. The steam swirled above the pool, where a few leaves and twigs had fallen, lazily floating in the warm water.

It was out in the open, a mirror, a shard of sky and water set in a glade not that different from the one where they were living. Like their hut, it also was surrounded by trees, shrubs, and thriving nature, but there were no traces of human life there, no huts, no supplies left behind by the matagi – just the faint whisper of water, and some vague traces of cursed energy left behind by the curses that had come there.

Moriko wondered if the matagi visited that place, or if their beliefs forbid them from using the onsen. Perhaps they thought they would pollute it, enraging their Goddess? She wasn’t sure, but it was clear no one had been there in a long time, perhaps never.

She turned to ask Sukuna, but the words turned into a strangled yelp.

He was undressing.

“My lord…!”

“What?” He looked at her, genuinely confused, his hakama barely covering his groin. She babbled, covering her face and turning her back to him.

“You should have warned me!”

“Why? You have seen me naked multiple times.”

And now his tone was smug, not innocent at all.

She gasped, turning back to glare at him for saying that in front of Uraume… but Sukuna was now standing fully naked, grinning at her.

“Oh, you’re so mischievous!” she whined, her face on fire, turning again. “The biggest child I ever met!”

She heard him fold his kimono with care, as he would always do. Instead his hakama lied gracelessly on the snow; she could see them out of the corner of her eye.

Then she heard him step into the hot springs, an appreciative hum building deep within his chest, reminding her of the purring of a relaxed cat. The sound made something warm and pleasant move in her belly, or perhaps a bit lower…

“The water is nice,” he said, then he laughed. “You can turn now, Moriko.”

She did so – the onsen was indeed deep, so much only half of his chest was above the water.

“What about your second mouth?” she gasped, for it was never covered whenever they would take a bath together in the tub back in their forest house.

He snorted.

“I keep it closed.”

She blushed, smiling apologetically, realizing her question had been a bit silly. But Sukuna wasn’t upset or annoyed, and the look he gave her was amused and soft in equal measure.

“Uraume,” she asked when she noticed the child standing near the edge of the hot springs, “would you like to try, too?”

“Careful, the water is deep,” Sukuna said, nodding at the bottom.

“I… I would like to bathe, but I don’t know how to swim…”

Sukuna hummed, looking around. Then he got up, so suddenly Moriko didn’t have time to turn around or cover her eyes.

She stared at him, watching as he left the pool and moved with purpose towards a few flat rocks near the trees. When he bended to pick one up, her eyes instinctively went to his back, watching the muscles move and shift, to his butt, to his strong legs.

He knew she was looking at him. When he went back to the onsen, carrying the rock, he gave her an impish, smug, happy grin.

She groaned and finally looked away, but her heart refused to slow down.

“Don’t be so shy, Moriko,” he said. “You already saw everything.”

He placed the rock into the pool, making sure it wouldn’t wobble. Then he nodded at Uraume.

“You should be able to sit on it.”

“Thank you, my lord!”

Moriko helped the child undress and get into the onsen. The rock was tall and large enough to allow him to submerge himself without fear of drowning; he let out a long sigh, closing his eyes, the most relaxed they had ever seen him be.

“Is it good?” Moriko asked with a giggle, bending down to stroke his hair. Uraume looked up at her, a proud, cheerful smile on his face, which was turning uncharacteristically pink due to the heat.

“Yes! I can almost feel my muscles melt.”

“Wait here. I will go get your yukata.”

“Do you remember the way, Moriko?”

“Yes,” she softly said as she walked behind Sukuna, caressing his shoulder. “I will be back shortly.”

And his eyes following her until she left the small glade reassured her, made her feel safe.

It was true she remembered the way, but the roots and flowers also guided her, helping her reach the hut more quickly.

She took Sukuna and Uraume’s yukata from the chest where they had put their clothes away; she hesitated for a moment when she saw her own, well folded just under Sukuna’s.

She didn’t know how to swim, but the rock Sukuna had placed inside the onsen would be large enough to accommodate both her and Uraume. But the onsen was out in the open, with no natural barriers, surrounded by the mountain filled with life.

It wouldn’t be like taking a bath in their forest house: there their tub was placed on the veranda, yes, but the railing would cover her whenever she got in and out, and it was far from the edge of the forest, far from the curious or prying eyes of eventual curses or wanderers.

She knew it was silly of her to let the rules of the capital influence her new life, but some habits were hard to die. She had been taught to hide behind screens, to show her body as little as possible, to look at the world outside only through blinds and being looked by it in return only in rare, particular circumstances.

Things hadn’t exactly changed when her family had been exiled – she and Ifuyu had known a modicum of freedom, perhaps, but Mother’s attentive presence and Father’s protectiveness had always drowned any kind of ember of curiosity and rebellion that would sizzle in their hearts.

To disrobe in the open, where curses or even the matagi coming down the mountain might see her… the very thought made her face burn.

And what about the Goddess of the Mountain? Moriko was already offending her with her presence, and onsen were supposed to be important places, charged with ritual power, with healing characteristics, with spiritual energy.

Wouldn’t she pollute the water with her feminine presence…? She had heard about noblewomen visiting hot springs to recover from an illness, but those were particular cases, and they were always accompanied by onmyodo masters. And they definitely didn’t visit sacred mountains.

She closed the chest with a sigh, sure it was for the better. She could already imagine Sukuna’s reaction, but she would try to be more stubborn than he was.

She quickly went back to the hot springs, letting the trees guide her, following Sukuna and Uraume’s voices.

“I’m back!”

The child beamed at her, and Sukuna’s expression was soft again as she smiled at him and the child both… but it quickly darkened when he saw her place the two yukata on a rock near the edge of the onsen.

“Where is yours?”

“Ah… I will just wet my feet a bit, my lord.”

“You can sit with me, my lady,” Uraume said, immediately alarmed. “Or I can get out and…”

“No, no, dear,” she quickly reassured him, sitting near the edge of the water. “I’m just not comfortable enough to undress here.”

“There is no one else, Moriko,” Sukuna said, already frowning. “The water will cover you and…”

He stopped when she smiled at him, shaking her head.

“It’s alright, beloved. It can’t be more different than taking a hot bath!”

“It’s completely different-”

“Besides, I could prepare you and Uraume some snacks while you’re soaking in here!”

Uraume gasped.

“Like onigiri?”

“Yes,” Moriko laughed while taking off her socks. “But please don’t expect the shape to be good.”

Sukuna was still looking at her, still frowning, still annoyed, and he didn’t smile or laugh with her and Uraume.

“Is it true people drink milk after visiting the hot springs, my lady?”

“I’m not sure… I know warriors love them because they soothe their aches, but I never heard anything about milk.”

“I found some in our hut, left by the matagi. Maybe we could drink it when we come here?”

“I would like that, dear. What about you, my lord?”

“Get in the water, Moriko.”

She gave him a fond smile and a sigh.

“No, my lord. I’m fine here where I am.”

The water felt divine. She couldn’t help but sigh when she put her feet in, a great warmth spreading to her ankles and legs.

Sukuna dipped lower and lower into the water, until only his eyes were visible from the steaming surface. She wondered how he was able to hold his breath for so long, then she giggled, because he reminded her of a big fish, or a predator ready to pounce on her.

He moved towards her as she and Uraume spoke, she saw him, she was aware of it. And so she took her legs out of the water just in time when he tried to pull her into the onsen.

His fingers brushed against her ankle, but for once she was faster than him, even if just barely. He narrowed his eyes at her, then he resurfaced a little to growl:

“Get in.”

“No, my lord.”

And she flicked the hot water at him, watching him scrunch up his face in an adorable surprised way. She giggled again.

“I will cover you,” he insisted, and she shook her head again, still smiling, still amused, her love for him filling every crevice of her body and soul with warmth and succor, just like the water of the onsen filled that large pond.

He changed tactics, then. He moved to the rim of the pool, resting his head on two of his arms, staring at her, watching her, listening to her and Uraume talk about the warriors of the capital, the healing properties of the onsen, the ritual baths she had heard about.

Every once in a while, he would toss a pebble at her leg or thigh. Very small, light ones, but he was so precise, they would always hit her on the same spot, taking her by surprise, interrupting her.

She didn’t relent, though, and when he noticed that, he started flicking water at her like she had done with him.

The droplets fell on her kosode, on her sleeves, even on her face. After the fourth or fifth time, she huffed, glaring at him, even though she wasn’t really angry and he knew it.

“My lord, please.”

“Get in the water.”

“No.”

“I can close my eyes, my lady,” Uraume intervened, thinking his presence was the problem. “Or I can leave, so you and…”

“No, my dear, it’s not that.” She kissed his wet forehead. “Stay here with Sukuna. I will go prepare you some onigiri and a cup of milk, alright?”

“I… I can help you!”

“Rest and relax for once,” she laughed. “This time, I will be the one to cook for you.”

She liked to think she had improved at cooking simple stuff. Her onigiri still looked a bit wonky, and the rice wasn’t always sticky enough, but at least she didn’t burn the filling inside anymore.

There was a hatch on the floor in their hut, which led to a small hole dug under the hut where the milk Uraume had mentioned was stored in tightly-sealed jars. She poured some in an empty bottle, then went back to the onsen, the food, the bottle, and the cups placed in one of her canvas bags.

Sukuna relaxed a little when he saw she would eat and drink with them, but there was still a bit of mischief in his eyes. She decided not to hand him the onigiri and milk directly, but instead leave them on the edge of the pool for him to take.

He sulked, glaring at her from above the rim of the cup. She smiled at him, her shoulders shaking with mirth, her heart light.

“Is go very difficult, my lady?”

“The rules are quite simple, but it depends on your opponent.” She glanced at Sukuna. “If they are clever and subtle in their strategy, they can give you a hard time.”

“Or maybe they are just lucky,” he grumbled, now glaring at his milk.

“Why do you ask? Would you like to learn how to play?”

“Yes, if that’s alright. You and lord Sukuna always look like you have a lot of fun when you play together.”

“We do! He is so good at it!”

“Are there…” And here Uraume sounded and looked a bit shy. “Do you know other games, too, my lady?”

She hummed, thinking about it, trying to remember the games she and Ifuyu would play when boredom became too much, and they simply couldn’t stand writing another poem or embroider another piece of cloth.

“Well, there is hentsugi. You have to guess the kanji from a poem by looking at its body or left element. Ifuyu and I played it differently sometimes: we tried to come up with as many kanji as possible by adding different left elements to the central body.”

Uraume made a low sound, a bit unsure. His reading and writing skills had improved enormously, but perhaps he still didn’t feel very confident…? She could see how hentsugi might look frighteningly complicate to a child.

She thought about other possible activities, suitable for a young boy. Genji and Akisuke would often play kemari together, passing a ball to each other and trying to keep it in the air for as long as possible.

But the mountain wasn’t exactly the best place for such a game, since it required a large field and a free sky. There was also the snow and the harsh weather to think about – she doubted those bothered Uraume, but she would rather not let him spend all his time outside in the cold, sweating and overexerting himself with a ball.

“Oh! We could make suhama tables!”

“Suhama…?”

“Back in the capital, we used to decorate long tables with all sort of stuff to recreate beautiful scenes: a lake, a forest, the sea…”

She blushed, remembering an embarrassing event.

“There were always contests to see who could create the most elegant and original table. I participated to one once, when I was very young. I was hoping to win a doll, but… ah, it didn’t go well.”

Uraume was angry, his beautiful eyes burning with annoyance and rage on her behalf.

“Were they rude with you?”

“Well… We were supposed to recreate a peaceful scene, and I decided to use a memory of mine as inspiration.”

Uraume leaned in. Sukuna had also moved closer, clearly interested, drinking in every word, writing down every new detail in his mind, like the curious, knowledge-loving man he was.

Moriko blushed, groaned softly, and continued:

“I decided to recreate the garden of a childhood friend. It was always filled with cute rabbits, and I thought: ‘What could be more peaceful than a garden full of sweet critters?’ So I made some using pieces of white cloth, and I even added the eyes and the ears and the tails, but…”

“But the other nobles intervened?”

“Yes. They said animals were beneath such a contest, so I was disqualified.”

She chuckled, a bit embarrassed, remembering her disappointment and mortification, the other noblewomen’s weird looks, the snickers from the noblemen.

“Oh, I cried the whole day. I was young and I wasn’t used to all those people looking and listening to me, but I really wanted to win that doll.”

“I bet your table was very pretty, my lady,” Uraume said, taking her hand, still cross with those people from her past. “They were just very stupid.”

“He’s right,” Sukuna agreed. “You never belonged to that place, Moriko.”

His words didn’t sting as she would have expected. If anything, they reassured her, they made her feel better, for they confirmed something she had felt ever since her childhood – that the world of the nobility was too strict, too cruel, and too nonsensical for her to survive in it.

Meanwhile her new life was filled with freedom, new discoveries, joy and merriment and love. Every day was full of surprises, and there was no need for her to constantly worry about her clothes, her hair, her words, her way of moving and breathing and existing.

She could simply be, and Sukuna and Uraume would still be there for and with her, equally free.

“You’re right, my lord,” she said, her smile wide and bright, her cheeks red. She motioned him to get closer, and he did, his wide chest sparkling with hot water under the pale mountain sunlight.

She leaned in and pressed a grateful kiss on his lips. She felt his hands on her ankles inside the water.

“If you pull me into the water,” she chirped, smiling, her eyes still closed, “I won’t kiss you for a week.”

The hands retreated immediately.

“Insufferable creature,” he growled, retreating back into the pool. “Maddening imp.”

She stuck out her tongue at him, and she saw he was amused, too, his shoulders shaking.

Then a choking sound came from within the water.

“Ah.”

He looked down at his second mouth, then stood up. It was coughing, spitting out water.

“My lord…!”

“…I accidentally opened it.”

 

That evening, they taught Uraume how to play go, but he was still a young child full of energy, and the board would never be as alluring as the cooking stove to him.

He liked the game, but it didn’t ignite in him the same passion as cooking did or as the mention of the suhama tables had done.

And so, she showed him how to decorate one.

They didn’t have any sand available with which recreate a beach, but they had snow and ice, leaves and twigs, flowers and chestnuts.

They decided on a theme – the mountain and its beauty -, then started decorating their oshiki tables to turn them into suhama ones. They were small, so much they would never be considered suitable during an official contest, but Moriko found out she cared not a whit about it.

This was a game between mother and child, not a competition, rules be damned.

She asked Sukuna if he wanted to participate, but he shook his head. However, he did watch them like a hawk, never commenting, never giving any suggestions, but taking in every detail, watching and silently judging every choice.

In the end, since it wasn’t a contest, she and Uraume decorated both tables together – she focused on recreating the glade with the huts and the firepit outside, he on recreating…

“Oh, that’s the onsen!”

He had recreated the hot springs using a piece of ice specially made for the occasion. He had added moss and some pieces of hinoki bark for the forest, then placed tiny round pebbles all around the ice, as if to form a rim, a tidy border.

“It looks so good, Uraume! You’re a natural at this!”

The child blushed and smiled at her, flattered and shy. Then he noticed Sukuna’s expression.

He was staring at his suhama table as if it held the answer to everything. He hummed, stroking his chin, observing the miniature scene from different angles, then his mouths curled into two huge grins.

“Yes. Well done, Uraume.”

He patted his head, before focusing on Moriko’s suhama. She immediately sat up straighter, hoping he would enjoy her miniature scene, that he would appreciate the small details. She knew it was silly of her, but she wanted his compliments, she wanted him to be proud of her…

“I like the forest,” he said, touching the shrubs she had recreated with some moss. “And… wait, is this us, Moriko?”

He pointed at three petals she had placed near the miniature firepit she had made with some ashes and soil. She had summoned them with her cursed energy: two were ume petals, representing her and Uraume, the other a hydrangea one, representing Sukuna.

“Yes,” she murmured, her face on fire, her idea suddenly feeling very childish, its execution even more so. “I… These scenes are supposed to be simple and small, so I couldn’t carve any figure out of wood or…”

“I like it.” He grinned at her. “It’s worthy of a prize.”

“O-Oh! Thank you, my lord.”

She smiled at her hands on her lap, and she was sure the glow of her joy would be enough to illuminate the entire capital.

“I will give it to you when Uraume is asleep.”

“Yes- Sukuna!”

He laughed, the sound filling their hut, and she wasn’t really annoyed, even though she babbled something and hurried to distract the child.

They needed their oshiki table to eat, so they had to dismantle their creations. Uraume looked a bit disappointed, and Moriko tried to explain how it was in line with the melancholy way of thinking that was wildly popular in the capital those days.

“It’s a game that well represents the ephemerality of things, you see? You create a beautiful scene, painstakingly choosing each little decoration, only to remove everything once the competition is over. The nobles in the capital love it because it ties well with their ideas of loving what is destined to change or fade away…”

“That’s sad,” Uraume mumbled. “I would rather think about joyful things or my loved ones living forever.”

“You’re right.” She pulled him into her arms, squeezing him gently. “Once we’re back in our house in the forest, we will make many beautiful suhama tables and keep them displayed in our breakfast room. Would you like that?”

“Yes, my lady!”

“And,” she turned to Sukuna, smiling at him, “lord Sukuna will play with us, too.”

He hummed. He had been quite distracted and lost in thought ever since seeing their suhama. She could see the bud of a plan growing in his mind, ready to blossom, and she grew worried. Was he worried about something…?

“Do you know other games?” Uraume suddenly asked, and she jumped a little, looking away from Sukuna.

“Well… My sister and I would sing sometimes, but I don’t think I’m really that good at it.”

Sukuna immediately turned to her, more attentive than ever.

“I never heard you sing.”

“I… huh…”

“Do you know Minoyama, my lady? I do! It’s quite beautiful!”

“I… I know it, yes.”

She felt embarrassed. She had only ever sung in front of her family, and she had always refused to do so at court, perfectly aware of how average her singing voice was. She couldn’t always hold the high notes, and her sense of rhythm wasn’t really the best.

Sukuna moved to fully face her and waited. And waited. And waited some more, a clear message in his eyes.

Uraume also looked at her with innocent, enthusiastic expectancy, a wide smile on his face.

…She couldn’t say no to them. And so she sang, even though she would have preferred digging a hole and hiding in it for a month.

She refused to look at them. Instead, she focused her gaze on one of the windows, grateful for the fact Minoyama wasn’t a very long song, even though it contained some tricky parts.

At a certain point, Uraume joined her, and she felt better, more confident. His was the voice of a child, clear, shameless, full of enthusiasm, the high notes treated as if they needed to be shouted, sweet and endearing.

They smiled at each other as they sang, then they laughed after completing the final verse, clapping.

“Heh.” Sukuna smirked with a nod. “Good.”

A great flame erupted in her heart at the thought of he singing. His normal voice was beautiful, and she was sure it would be equally wondrous, perhaps even more, were he to sing.

“Do you want to sing another one with us, my lord?” she asked, holding her breath. “We could sing These Halls, if you know it.”

But he shook his head, and she wasn’t sure whether he meant he didn’t know that particular song or he didn’t want to sing at all.

“Then… what about Minoyama again?”

He gave her a smug, impish grin.

“You just want to hear me sing, admit it.”

“I…! Well…” She looked down, feeling guilty. “Yes, my lord.”

“Unfortunately I don’t sing. I don’t think I ever tried.”

Somehow she doubted that, but she didn’t insist. Maybe he also felt embarrassed about his singing skills, and if so, she could absolutely understand and relate to him. She wouldn’t cruelly put him on the spot just to sate her curiosity.

Uraume wasn’t sleepy yet, and it seemed he had no new recipes to try for the moment, for he asked for more things to do together. Moriko was happy to – she knew he loved cooking, but she was sure trying out new stuff would be beneficial to him and his growth.

“What about sugoroku?”

They played for an hour or so, Sukuna getting distracted again, not watching their game as she had expected, but mumbling under his breath, drawing figures on the ashes of the hearth.

She let Uraume win twice, then he noticed it and asked her to play normally, saying he “wasn’t afraid of a beating”. And so they played again, and this time she won.

“Let’s see…” she mumbled, tapping a finger on her chin. “Maybe we could crush some grass, moss, and petals tomorrow to make some colors and paint something…”

She gasped, suddenly remembering something – the game all noblewomen played, the one all of them knew.

There was only one problem, though.

“There is another game, but… I never saw or heard a man play it. I think it’s exclusively female.”

She wrung her hands, embarrassed again, looking from and to Sukuna and Uraume.

“Would that be alright?”

The child tilted his head, confused.

“Why is it just for women?”

“I… I don’t know. Maybe noblemen consider it to be stupid or beneath them.”

“Those idiots in the capital always come up with the most stupid rules,” Sukuna scoffed before moving closer. “Show us this game, Moriko, and stop worrying about such things.”

She smiled at him, feeling better.

“Yes, my lord. It’s called ishinadori.”

She took some of the pieces she and Uraume had used to play go and scattered them on the ground in front of her. Then she picked one up and tossed it in the air, catching it before it hit the ground while trying to collect as many other pieces as she could with her other hand.

She managed to find and grab only two – she and Ifuyu hadn’t played that game in a while, and her reflexes were a bit rusty.

Uraume gawked at her.

“That’s hard!”

“Indeed,” she giggled. “Toss some pieces in front of you. The one who collects them all before the other wins!”

They played for an hour or so, Uraume instantly falling in love with the game. He was quick and had a good memory, remembering well the location of his pieces on the ground, but the hurry and fear of not catching the piece in the air fast enough made him clumsy.

Moriko could understand it well, for she also lost all kind of gracefulness whenever she played ishinadori. And Sukuna watching them like a hawk once again, his four eyes following both her and Uraume’s movements, distracted her even further.

She won, but just barely. Uraume clapped, laughing, and she promised they would play again tomorrow.

“Thank you, my lady. I really like this one!”

He went to bed, but for some reason he wasn’t particularly sleepy that night. Moriko told him two stories, but sleep simply didn’t want to come to him.

So she fought her shyness and embarrassment to sing him a lullaby, a sweet one from her childhood.

It helped, for slowly but surely his eyes closed, his breathing got even, and he stopped tossing this way and that. Moriko stroked his hair one last time, finishing the song, before getting up and joining Sukuna near the hearth.

“He was quite lively today,” she giggled. Sukuna didn’t reply – he looked at her in that thoughtful, solemn way of his, a hand covering his mouth, his eyes roaming her face.

She started putting the go stones away, not knowing what to say, her face burning again, her heart fluttering with love, her belly with timid desire.

“Wait,” he said, stopping her hand. “I want to play, too.”

“Of course!”

She tossed her own pieces, then waited for him to do the same. He let her start, and she managed to catch the stone in the air and collect two more.

Then he was his turn. He didn’t even blink or take a deep breath to focus: he tossed the stone in the air and caught it at the speed of light while his three other hands collected all the stones on the floor, his four eyes telling him where they were, never hesitating, never letting them slip out of his fingers.

“I win,” he grinned. Moriko could just gape at him, at a loss for words, admiration and awe filling her in equal measure.

“That…! That was incredible!”

“I know.”

“I never saw someone move so fast!”

Then she whined, pouting at her pieces still on the floor. She felt very silly and awkward all of a sudden – her previous game with Uraume must have looked dull and boring to him.

“Don’t be like that,” he chided her, tapping the top of her head. “I am an incredibly gifted individual, after all.”

“I just… I want you to have fun, my lord. This can’t be very amusing for you.”

“It is.” Then he looked around, until he found her scarf. “But I will make it even more interesting.”

He tossed the pieces on the ground again, then covered his face with her scarf.

“My turn,” he announced, before tossing a stone in the air. He caught it, and his other hands collected some pieces, but not all of them. Three still remained on the ground.

“Well?” he asked. “Did I win?”

“Not yet, my lord.”

“Your turn, then.”

“Do you want me to cover my eyes, too?”

“Do you have four eyes, Moriko?”

“No,” she giggled, and he chuckled, saying: “Then don’t. Play as you would normally do.”

She tossed the stone in the air and collected two more on the ground.

“So?”

“I haven’t won yet either.”

Sukuna tossed the stone again and found the final three pieces without problems. He tilted his head, probably counting them in his mind.

“I won, didn’t I?”

“Yes! Congratulations, my lord.”

He removed the scar from his face, but didn’t give it back to her: he wrapped it around his neck, pressing his nose against it.

Two of his eyes stared at Moriko as he did so, and she blushed, looking away with a smile.

“May I… May I give you a prize for winning?”

“Oh? I never say no to prizes, fairly won or otherwise.”

She giggled, and he laughed, softly, in order not to wake Uraume.

Then she shuffled closer to him and pressed a sweet kiss on his lips. He immediately wrapped a large arm around her waist, pulling her against his chest.

“Moriko,” he started, and she blinked at him, smiling, before fixing the scarf around his neck.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. She waited, giving him time, knowing words didn’t always come easy to him, even though he was an incredibly intelligent and learned man.

“I will give you your prize tomorrow,” he said in the end, still studying her face, and she beamed at him.

“Is it a flower?”

“No. It’s a surprise.”

A bit of her worry from before came back, and she grew alarmed.

“Will you… Will you leave for some days again?”

“No, no. I will leave the hut, but just for a few hours, and I will be close to you and Uraume. Don’t worry.”

She nodded, reassured. Curiosity and joy replaced her fears. Was that why he had been so distracted before? Was he thinking about his gift to her?

Because that was what it was, wasn’t it? A new gift, a present, something for her and…

She thought about the plum chopsticks she had given him, and a terrible doubt invaded her mind.

“My lord!” she gasped, making him jump in surprise. “If this is for the chopsticks, you don’t have to! You don’t need to return the gesture!”

“I know,” he snorted. “I remember what you told me some time ago. About how there are no transactions between husband and wife.”

“Good,” she sighed relieved. “Then…”

She smiled at him, already feeling impatient.

“I will wait for your present.”

“It’s a prize,” he corrected her, but he was grinning, and his hands were caressing and squeezing her body, his second mouth pressed on her stomach as if to plant a kiss on it.

“Same thing!”

“It’s not.”

But she heard the laughter in his voice, and her heart threatened to burst when he pressed his lips on her cheek.

 

When she woke up, Sukuna was already gone.

He had left a note on the futon for her and Uraume to find.

I will be back in a few hours. I already ate.

“Has he gone hunting again, my lady?”

“No, it’s… it’s a gift for me, but…”

She noticed the white kimono and dobuku folded near the bed. He was doing something highly physical, then. Something that might have ruined the clothes she had made for him.

Maybe he was exploring other zones near their glade? Uraume had found a secret onsen just behind their hut, after all – maybe Sukuna believed there was more interesting stuff to find, hidden right under their noses.

She and Uraume ate, cleaned the hut, then played ishinadori again. The hours passed, and they went outside, gathering herbs, berries, and nuts, always keeping an eye on the forest, not because they feared the curses that might hide in there, but to look for Sukuna instead.

No sign of him. The sun kept moving in the sky like a round, pale disk, until it was time for lunch.

They decided to eat outside, using the firepit to keep Sukuna’s portions warm.

“I can sense him nearby,” Moriko said, focusing. “But I can’t really pinpoint his position. There are a few curses roaming around.”

“I know he will be alright,” Uraume murmured, torturing the rim of his bowl with his thumbs. “But what if it starts snowing?”

“He will follow our cursed energy,” she reassured him, but she also didn’t like the idea of him standing outside during a snowstorm. He had warned them how unpredictable weather on a mountain could be, and he had been proved right quite soon, for the snow liked to fall at random times, the temperature would often drop all of a sudden, and the wind was a complete mystery.

Lunch ended, and they went back into the hut, making sure to keep Sukuna’s food on the warm ashes of the hearth.

Then, just when Moriko was about to stand up and go look for him, he opened the door.

“I’m back,” he simply said, but his expression softened when she and Uraume gasped and ran to him.

“Welcome back!”

Then she gasped, noticing his hands.

“My lord, you’re hurt!”

“Huh? Ah, it’s just some scratches.”

“Scratches!? You’re bleeding!”

She used a clean rag drenched in water to clean his hands – all four of them! Honestly, how did he do that!

“Your nails are a bit ruined, too,” she mumbled, careful not to rub the rag on them too hard. “Let me use a bit of red cedar oil, my lord. It will help.”

“You know I can heal myself, don’t you, Moriko?” he chuckled, and she frowned, realizing he was right.

“Why didn’t you use your reverse cursed technique, then…?”

“I would rather have you fuss over me.”

She tutted, shaking her head, but his words made her happy, and he saw it.

“Prepare your yukata,” he said, addressing both her and Uraume. “We will go to the onsen today.”

She started worrying again. Was that his surprise? She didn’t know what to think, but she didn’t want to disappoint him – whatever it was, it was clear he had spent a long time and much energy preparing it.

She hoped he wouldn’t ask her to disrobe in the open, but…

She brought her yukata all the same, and he must have noticed her apprehension, for he took her hand and never let it go as they walked towards the hot springs.

“Here,” he murmured, letting her go through the bush first. She looked at him, opened her mouth to say something, to ask what he had in mind, but his expression, soft and proud at the same time, stopped her.

She nodded and entered the glade.

The scene before her left her breathless, and she heard Uraume gasp, too.

Stones were piled all around the onsen, forming a low, but well-made wall. Sukuna had modified the onsen itself, too – there was a barrier made of sticks, leaves, and moss dividing it in half, and he had filled some parts of the pool with more rocks, so that she and Uraume could move around and sit on them.

“You can disrobe without problems, now. The stones will shield you from the forest, and the barrier from me and Uraume. A space for men and a space for women, see?”

Sukuna snorted, shaking his head.

“It makes no sense to me, but it was the only way to convince you, since you’re so stubborn.”

Moriko stared at the onsen some more, until tears blurred her eyes. She turned to him, smiling, thanking the gods, thanking him, for having such a wonderful husband.

“What?” he grumbled, narrowing his eyes. “You will enter the hot springs, now, won’t you?”

“I will! Oh, thank you, my lord, this is…”

She sniffled, trying to dry her eyes with the sleeve of her kosode. Sukuna stopped her, using his fingers instead, grumbling again.

“A walking mystery… An enigma wrapped in a conundrum…”

She giggled, pressing her cheek on his palm, and she was rewarded with the sight of his ears turning red.

He and Uraume went to the right side of the onsen, she to the left. She placed her yukata near the edge, so that it would be close at hand once she decided to leave the hot springs; then she sat down, her legs in the water, and easily slid out of her kosode, the wall of stones making her feel safe, shielded, covered.

She fell into the pool, the stones Sukuna had laid on the bottom allowing her to walk and not drown like a fool.

If the water had felt divine before, now it was simply out of this world. She felt her muscles relax in an instant, and all the minor aches accumulated during the days spent on the mountain started fading away, replaced by a curious, light sensation that spread to every part of her body.

“Well?” Sukuna asked from beyond the wall of sticks and moss. She saw one of his eyes spy on her from a hole between tied sticks, but she didn’t mind it – she actually liked it, and she looked at him in return, grinning.

“It’s great, my lord! Thank you!”

She walked towards the edge in front of her, and he followed her. She peered into his side of the pool, and he smirked at her.

“Careful, Moriko. This is the men’s side.”

“Just a quick peek,” she said, sticking out her tongue at him.

“Heh. Your skin is already as pink as a peach.”

“And yours as your hair!”

He flicked some water at her, and she giggled, counterattacking.

She decided to sit there, and Sukuna folded two of his arms on the edge, rested his head on them, and looked at her, quiet and relaxed like a big cat.

“My lady, do you like it?” Uraume asked from beyond the wall. “It’s so warm, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes!”

She looked at Sukuna, smiling at him, and rested a hand on top of his, squeezing it, gently stroking his big, large fingers.

“Yes, it’s so, so warm and beautiful.”

His mouth was covered, but she saw his cheek shift, his eyes crease as he smiled at her.

She rested her head on her arm, too, and kept looking at him, caressing his hand, which was still a bit scratched and rough.

She would massage it and the others with more oil later, she decided.

And as the warm water lapped at her back, and Sukuna’s red eyes softly watched her, she knew he was right, that she had finally found the place where she belonged.

Notes:

Sukuna, plumber extraordinaire, inventing one of Japan's major traditions 😂

Onsen: the traditional Japanese hot springs! In ancient times, they were used by warriors and nobles to soothe their aches, but also to spiritually cleanse themselves. Monks also held them in high regard, and there are records of noblewomen being prescribed a visit to the hot springs by onmyodo masters to recover from illness and chase away bad influences.

Life at court could be quite boring, and so nobles came up with all sorts of different games and activities. Go is famous; (ban-)sugoroku resembles our backgammon. Kemari was a game with a ball: players were supposed to keep it in the air using every part of their body except for their hands.

"Hentsugi was another game of skill, the exact nature of which is no longer understood. Players were probably required to supply either the left-hand element (hen) or the body (tsukuri) of a partially concealed character in a Chinese poem or other context. According to one theory, the object of the game was to make as many bona fide characters as possible by adding different hen to a designated tsukuri."

As for the ishinadori game, it was indeed a game played only by women (an "exclusively female game", it was called). The reason isn't clear, but scholars believe it might have looked silly or childish to noblemen, or perhaps they simply weren't interested in the games played by women (and maybe noblewomen wanted to have at least one activity all for themselves, some sort of secret game shared only by them in court). It's played just as described: some stones were tossed on the floor, while another was tossed in the air. The player had to catch the one in the air, while collecting as many stones as possible with her other hand. I tried playing it and DAMN, it's super difficult and requires a lot of coordination. I can see how it could keep them entertained for hours.

Suhama tables: low tables decorated in all kinds of ways: flowers, wavy shapes (hence the name), bird motifs, and so on. The nobles used them for auspicious occasions and elegant contests. Some suhama were quite long, decorated with gold and silver, mother-of-pearl, and even real sand and water to recreate small diorama-like scenes on them.

The concept of ephemerality Moriko mentions is the mono no aware. It's a difficult concept to explain, and doing it here would take too much space. In basic terms, it was the awareness of the impermance of things, the love for nature and everything destined to change or fade away with the passing of time (even mere minutes): the light of the moon, flowers in bloom, a sunset...

Finally, songs! Nobles usually sang saibara, old folk songs incorporated into court music. The songs Moriko and Uraume mention ("Minoyama" and "These Halls") are mentioned in court records. They were usually accompanied by typical musical instruments of the time: the biwa, the komabue (the flute Moriko mentions in Irori!), and the koto.

Next chapter: Sukuna will probably sing something, he was just shy in this chapter (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

Chapter 4: Nanakusa-no-Sekku

They were relaxing in the onsen, the hot water and steam almost lulling them to sleep, when Moriko suddenly gasped.

“My lord!”

Sukuna, sitting beyond the wall of sticks and moss, jumped.

“What?” He hurried to the edge of the pool, peeking into her side, his eyes wide. “What is it?”

“The New Year is approaching!”

His face fell, and he gave her a flat look.

“Moriko.”

“It’s important, my lord! We need to clean the hearth! Find the seven herbs!”

“The seven what?”

“And we need to perform the tsuina!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She went to him, worried, a bit restless, her freckles a vivid brown against her red cheeks, her bangs plastered to her forehead.

“Before the New Year comes, we need to clean the hearth from ashes and soot to welcome Toshigami.”

“Who?”

He knew who it was, but he liked teasing her. She whined, bouncing impatiently in the water, and his lower eyes looked down at her chest.

“The kami of the New Year! We need to appease it and welcome it! Then we need to perform the tsuina, the ritual to dispel evil and… My lord, stop looking at my breasts!”

He snickered. She pouted, glaring at him while moving to get behind the wall again – but he stopped her, grabbing her arm and pulling her back near the rim of the pool where he could see her.

“I’m listening. Tell me more about this ritual.”

She smiled and took his hand, checking his fingers as she spoke, for she was still worried about the scratches he had got while working on the onsen, and which he hadn’t healed with his reverse cursed technique, wanting her to fret over him some more.

“It’s nothing complicated. We will just need to cast some rice and beans out of our hut while pronouncing spells.”

She chuckled, shaking her head.

“It’s much different in the capital. I remember watching it twice with my family as a young child. My father was one of the nobles armed with peachwood bows and reed arrows.”

“Bows and arrows?”

“Yes. A tall, strong man is chosen from the functionaries. He has to wear a particular costume, but we were always too far away to see him well. But I… oh, I remember now!”

He snorted.

“Your mind is a maze, Moriko.”

“He wears a mask! A four-eyed golden mask and a black robe!”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, curious, but already knowing how this description would end. “And I suppose he represents the evil the courtiers have to chase away with their bows, correct?”

“No, he is their leader!”

Huh.

Moriko beamed at him, and her joy confused him even further.

“He is called hososhi. He has four eyes to be able to see and protect the four cardinal directions. He is armed with a spear and a shield, and twenty boys accompany him inside the South Court. He shouts certain formulas to drive pestilence away while striking his spear three times against his shield.”

“Pestilence…?”

“Yes, pestilence demons! Evil creatures that could cause a famine or plague inside the capital.”

Sukuna nodded, trying to imagine the scene. He wondered if that ritual had ties with sorcery, if its roots had anything to do with those related to curses and sorcerers’ dispelling formulas.

“Then?”

“Then he, the boys, and the nobles tour the palace’s courtyards looking for more devils to chase away.”

She sighed, the sound a wistful, awed one that perplexed him beyond words.

“I saw the mask only once from far away, but it glittered so beautifully under the sun, and later Father described the whole ceremony to me. We tried finding some spots closer to the ritual the following year, but there were already so many nobles seated everywhere…”

“Why are you so happy about this?” he asked with another amused snort. “I doubt that mask has anything to do with me.”

“No, but…”

Her face was already red due to the hot water, but he saw the color spread to her neck as she blushed, her gaze timid as she looked at his large hand in hers.

“I think it’s nice, finding something in the world that resembles you, that looks like you. Like when a child sees a doll with their same hairstyle, or a warrior who sees a figure who looks just like him painted on a screen.”

He looked down at their joined hands, and suddenly remembered a very young four-armed brat peering at his own face in the lazy waters of a stream, wondering why he was so different from everyone else, why people looked like people, but no one looked like him.

“I think more things should resemble you, my lord,” Moriko softly added. “And that more things should be made expressly for you.”

He looked up at her, startled from his memories. She was smiling at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Like clothes and chopsticks and doors and sandals.”

“Heh.” He grinned. “Thankfully I have you to take care of that.”

Her smile grew, and she kissed his hand.

“Yes, beloved.”

He took a deep breath, his chest hurting, but in a good way, his heart beating too fast, but in a pleasant way.

He moved the wall that separated them and entered her side of the pool.

“Do you remember what you felt when you saw that four-eyed mask?” he asked as he took her in his arms, her body hot and wet and supple.

“Awe,” she said. “It was as bright as the sun.”

“Perhaps it was a sign, Moriko,” he murmured against the warm skin of her neck. “A sign of things to come.”

She smiled at him, touching his right cheek, the deformation, one of the many things that set him apart from everyone else, one of the many characteristics that told the world “he is not one of us”.

“I’m sure it was,” she said. “That must be why I felt so happy that day.”

He gently pushed her against the edge of the onsen and descended upon her. But he saw no fear in her eyes, felt no terror in her touch – only joy and light and love.

And he wondered if the world, if the kami had ever given him a sign, if they had ever shown him what lied in his future, and he had been unable to understand, to recognize the message.

Perhaps, had he known or suspected someone like Moriko would await him in his adult years, he would have harbored less hatred and rage in his heart, feeding his hope instead of his hunger.

 

Later, she and Uraume started preparing for the cleaning of the hearth.

“We’re actually a bit late for that,” she said as she and the child swept the ashes and soot away. “But I’m sure the god Toshigami will forgive us if we do a good job.”

“What is this tradition called?” Sukuna asked as he watched them scrub the dust away from the inner part of the irori.

Moriko was too busy rubbing some stubborn soot away to answer him, so Uraume did it for her.

“Susuharai, my lord.”

“You did it before, then?”

The child nodded, but he looked sad for a moment, and his hands slowed down as he rubbed at his corner of the hearth with a now grey rag.

“Every year, yes.”

Moriko, kind and sensitive as she was, immediately heard the pain in his voice. Sukuna did, too, but he knew no words, no gestures, no acts with which he could comfort the little one.

Still, something in his chest tightened as he saw his head hang low, and his small hands grip the rag more forcefully.

He watched, almost holding his breath, as Moriko moved near the child and rested a hand on his back.

“Uraume?”

A sniffle, then he shook his head and rubbed his eyes with a dirty hand.

“Wait, dear. Let’s wash your hands, first.”

She led him to the large jar where they kept their fresh water; she poured some of it over his hands, then dried them with a clean rag.

There was a dark streak on his cheek, and she cleaned that, too. Sukuna saw his lips wobble.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Moriko asked, very softly, very gently, stroking one cheek with a thumb, the other with the rag.

“Sometimes,” Uraume hiccupped, “I miss my parents. My old ones.”

One of Sukuna’s lower eyes fell on the koma lying on the futon, their birthday present for him.

He remembered his smile, and his “Thank you, Mother, Father!” the day he had received the carved spinning tops.

“But then I remember the looks they gave me, and their disgust and fear, and I don’t miss them anymore, even though I know I’m supposed to.”

Uraume looked up at Moriko, his chest heaving, his voice cracking as he asked:

“Am I a bad child?”

“No, my dear,” she hurried to reassure him, taking his hand between hers. “You’re a wonderful child.”

She crouched down and continued:

“It’s alright to feel that way. Parents are supposed to love and protect their children, and I fear yours didn’t always do that.”

Uraume nodded, his eyes cast down again.

“You have every right to feel angry,” Moriko continued. “And it’s also perfectly normal to both miss them and not miss them.”

“I feel bad when I do,” he admitted, sniffling. “I feel like I’m offending you and lord Sukuna.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you always do so much for me, and I…”

He started crying harder, his shoulders shaking, his breath coming out too quickly.

“And I…! I don’t want to be ungrateful…!”

Moriko pulled him into her arms, stroking his back and his hair. Her eyes met Sukuna’s, and she looked worried, sorry for the child.

But she was good with kids, Sukuna knew that. She didn’t need his awkward meddling.

What could he even say to Uraume, anyway? He had no similar experiences from which he could draw ideas to comfort him. He had never even met his parents, while Uraume had at least got some illusion of affection and love from his own.

“You’re not ungrateful to us for missing your mother and father,” Moriko insisted, rubbing circles onto his back as he cried against her chest.

“But…!”

“Don’t be so hard with your heart, Uraume. If you’re feeling sad, cry. If you don’t want to miss them, then don’t. If you do, don’t feel guilty about it.”

More hiccups, then he began to calm down. When he pulled away, his face was blotched red, his nose shiny. Moriko smiled at him, and cleaned it with the white rag.

“I want you and lord Sukuna to be my new parents.”

“Good. Because we really want you to be our son.”

Sukuna’s heart did a weird somersault, similar to the one it had done when Uraume had called them “Mother” and “Father”.

“I… I’m sorry for being a crybaby.”

“You aren’t! You are feeling so many things every day, and your body is only so big. It can’t possibly contain all of your emotions, and so they burst out.”

She lowered her voice, whispering conspiratorially, grinning at him:

“You know, I used to cry a lot as a child, too.”

Uraume gasped.

“Really?”

“Yes! Every little thing made me cry. A moving tale? Tears. Someone being rude to me? Tears. Having to speak in public? More tears.”

Sukuna snorted, and she heard him. She pouted at him, raising to press her fists on her hips.

“If you have something to say, my lord, please speak up.”

“I mean…”

He glanced at her, then away, his expression neutral; but his second mouth betrayed him, since it started snickering.

“You still cry a lot,” he finished, and she gasped, pretending to be outraged.

“That’s not true!”

“You cried when I gave you the stories. You cried when I showed you the onsen. You cried the other day when we had sex-”

“Sukuna!”

Now she was outraged for real, her face a deep crimson red, her eyes wide.

But when Uraume giggled, she deflated and looked at the child with a bright smile.

The weight that had been pressing on Sukuna’s chest ever since the little one had started crying also went away, and he was now breathing better, feeling his body relax.

He had been snacking on some mushrooms the whole time. His bowl was still half-full, and he handed it to Uraume.

“Eat,” he said, then added, rather awkwardly: “And stop worrying.”

But since his words sounded harsh even to his ears, he patted the child’s head.

Uraume beamed at him.

 

That night, Sukuna had a nightmare.

It hadn’t happened in a long time. To be honest, he couldn’t even remember the last time.

It was actually a memory, a retelling of something that had happened to him when he was seven or eight.

Some villagers had found him stealing from their fields. They had chased him down an uneven path, until they had entered the woods.

He had tried hiding behind some trees, but he was easy to spot, with his weird frame, pink hair, and loud breathing.

The villagers had been too scared to directly approach him and get near him, believing him to be a demon. They repeated the words from that day in the dream as they threw rocks at him.

“Devil!”

“Disgusting monster!”

“Begone from this world!”

He couldn’t remember what he had done to them. Had he killed them? Had he kept running, fleeing further into the woods? Waited for them to get tired and leave him be, his face a mask of blood?

He didn’t know. He was aware he was dreaming, though, and the memory didn’t elicit anything in him, except for rage, maybe – but it was a subdued feeling, and he was more annoyed with himself for having allowed his mind to focus on such a stupid thing from his past.

But then the memory changed, and the dream took the reins. For the villagers suddenly disappeared, and he felt a soft hand on his shoulder.

That hadn’t happened. He was sure of it.

He turned and saw Moriko looking down at him, on her face the same expression he had seen when she had comforted Uraume.

“Darling one,” she said, “you’re a wonderful child.”

And the sun behind her framed her face in a wreath of gold.

 

He woke up with a start, his heart thundering in his chest. His annoyance towards himself grew, and he tried not to think about Moriko’s worried expression, about her concerned tone, about the relief he had felt in the dream.

He sat up and looked at one of the windows: it wasn’t even dawn. The hut was quiet, but when he turned to the futon again…

Uraume was sleeping soundly, cuddled in Moriko’s arms; but she was looking at him, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.

“My lord,” she softly called, “are you alright?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. In the end, he nodded, knowing his voice would sound too rough and deep, should he speak.

She studied his face for a moment. He pretended to be deeply interested in the clean hearth, but one of his lower eyes saw her gentle smile as she slowly got up, making sure not to disturb Uraume.

“Would you like a cup of warm milk?”

All of his eyes focused on her, now. He frowned, confused.

“What?”

Ah, his voice was indeed more gravelly than usual.

“A cup of warm milk, with a bit of honey. Yuki would always prepare it for me after a bad night.”

He huffed, bristling, glaring at the floor.

“I didn’t have a bad night.”

Her smile grew, and she nodded.

“Well, I’m going to prepare some all the same.”

She went to the hatch in the floor. He watched her pour a bit of milk in a pot, then hang that over the irori. While the milk got hot, she looked for the jar of honey they had brought from home.

He sat close to the hearth, all of his four eyes focused on her, on her movements, her face, her kind smile, her hands now full of callouses after training with the matagi bow so often.

“Is the susuharai complete?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Yes. The hearth and the hut are clean, and the deity of the New Year will be pleased.”

“What about those herbs you mentioned?”

“Those are for later. On the seventh day of the New Year, we will have to look for seven different herbs. And on the fifteenth day, we will prepare the nanakusagayu with them and…”

“The what?”

She handed him a cup full of steaming milk, then drizzled some honey over it.

“A gruel made with rice and those herbs, my lord.”

“Huh.” He mixed the milk and honey together with a spoon she had given him. “Is it good?”

She giggled.

“Well, it’s not exactly flavorful, but... I think you will like it.”

He sipped on the milk. He had never drunk it so hot first thing in the morning, he realized. Before meeting her and Uraume, he had only ever consumed meat, some vegetables, and the occasional stolen bowl of rice and bottle of sake.

But ever since they had started living together, breakfast had been quite the normal, ordinary event – broth, rice, roots, meat, some fish, sometimes eggs, all depending on Uraume’s choice for the day.

Drinking hot milk in such a simple way… was that what children, normal children, usually drank? What they were usually given by their mothers, grandmothers, and nurses?

He thought about his dream, about that memory.

“I stole some chestnuts as a kid, once,” he said.

Moriko raised her eyes from her bowl and stared at him, holding her breath, her mouth slightly open.

“Some villagers saw me in their field. At first, they thought I was a normal kid, a little rascal from a nearby village or an orphan looking for food.”

He hummed, looking at the window again. The light was slightly warmer, but not much. It was still very early.

“Maybe that wasn’t so far from the truth. I was an orphan, mad with hunger. But they stopped caring the moment they better saw me.”

“Oh gods!”

“What’s that? What’s wrong with its face?”

“Look at its arms! Four of them!”

“It’s so ugly! Is it a demon?”

“Kill it, or it will curse us!”

“I ran away into the woods. I don’t know why. I was a child, but I think I already knew how to use my cursed energy, how to fight. Or maybe not. I'm not sure.”

He scratched his cheek, remembering the rough path under his bare feet, the smell of the undergrowth as he had entered the woods, the birds chirping on the trees.

“The villagers followed me, throwing rocks at me. They easily found me, but they didn’t get close. They probably feared my touch.”

Moriko was listening to every word, her eyes already glistening with tears.

“I’m telling you this,” he concluded, “because I had a dream about that memory.”

“Is that why you looked so…”

She stopped, averting her eyes.

“So what?” he prompted her, gently, genuinely curious. “Tell me.”

“I… I don’t know how to describe it. Bewildered? Confused?”

“Yes, it makes sense. But not for the reason you think.”

He moved to sit next to her. He wrapped an arm around her waist, then tilted her chin up.

“You were in the dream.”

She gasped.

“Please! Please tell me I wasn’t one of the villagers!”

“No, no.”

She let out a relieved sigh and took his hand.

“You were the forest,” he continued, brushing his lips against her bangs, inhaling her scent of camellia oil. “The air and the sun.”

She blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek. He licked it away.

“Why are you crying, Moriko?” He tutted. “See? You are a crybaby.”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled, looking down at the cup of milk on her lap. “But I always get so emotional and… and angry when I think about what you went through.”

“It’s in the past, now.”

“But you keep dreaming about it!”

“I don’t dream often. And now I’m starting to dream about the present. About you.”

He tilted her head up again, for he wanted her eyes on him.

“Who knows, perhaps I will dream about Uraume someday soon, or about all three of us eating together around the irori. Who can say?”

“Did the dream turn good when I appeared, at least?” she asked, rather shyly, her cheeks turning red.

He recalled her soft voice, the golden sunrays, the leaves swaying above their heads.

Her eyes in the dream had been as kind as ever, but he preferred the real Moriko.

“Yes,” he answered, now brushing his lips on her cheek. “I liked it.”

She smiled at him, and he kissed her – a chaste kiss, for Uraume was there, but she made a happy sound all the same, and his weird non-hunger flared up, a fire roaring in his chest.

When the kiss ended, he studied her face for a moment, thinking, planning everything.

“You still have to perform the tsuina, right?”

“Yes, my lord. On the last night of the year.”

She pointed at a bowl of rice and one of beans temporarily placed on Uraume’s cutting board.

“I will toss some beans and rice outside our hut while chanting the ritual spells I remember, and…”

“I will be the hososhi.”

She stopped, her mouth hanging open. He snorted.

“What does that face mean, Moriko?”

“My lord, it’s alright, we can perform the tsuina the simple way!”

“Why?”

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to.”

“If you feel forced just because I…”

“Forced?” He grinned. “No one can force me to do anything.”

She sighed with a nod, but then insisted: “You’re right, of course, but…”

“I already told you, I want to do this. The hososhi can see and protect all four cardinal directions, right? He chases pestilence and evil away with his strength, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Who can do that better than I?”

He nodded at the box containing his cursed weapons, placed in a corner of the hut.

“I will use Hiten for the occasion. I don’t have a shield, but we will do without.”

She smiled, clearly pleased, and she sipped on her now lukewarm milk to hide her red cheeks.

“It will be quite the powerful tsuina,” she said in the end.

“I don’t have a golden mask, though,” he blurted out, suddenly feeling tense, his chest heavy again for some unknown reason.

He inwardly swore, demanding to know what was happening, but he didn’t have an answer for himself.

Moriko smiled at him, taking his hand again, squeezing it.

“The hososhi is a handsome, heroic figure, my lord,” she said. “So your face is perfect for the role.”

He grinned, but he felt his second mouth hang open for a moment or two, his mind taking in her words and their meaning more slowly than usual.

He felt his ears burn, and the fire in his chest spread to his entire body. He wanted to press it against hers, taste her, enter her, but also simply sit there together by the irori and hold hands while drinking milk.

In the end, he did the latter, but he also pressed his lips on her neck, on that ticklish zone below her ear that always made her giggle.

As expected, she snorted and jumped a little, before resting her head on his chest, their knees touching.

“Did you like it, my lord?” she asked when he finished his milk.

“Yes.” One of his hands was playing with her ponytail, the other squeezing her waist. “It was sweet.”

“Sweet, but not tender?” she quoted, and he chuckled, letting his hand move lower to her thigh.

 

On the evening of the last day of the year (they counted days thanks to Uraume’s precise calendar meticulously written on a wall), they went outside.

Sukuna wore his black dobuku and carried Hiten. Moriko and Uraume had the rice and beans ready.

They found the north and started from there. She chanted some prayers while tossing the rice and beans with Uraume; Sukuna observed and watched the forest that surrounded them, his four eyes noticing every tiny movement, every little change.

They proceeded like that until they reached south. By then, the sky was dark, and the only light in the glade came from the moon and the lit firepit.

Moriko was chanting, Uraume carefully tossing the rice and beans after each verse, when Sukuna sensed it.

A curse, a strong one, hiding just behind some bushes in front of them, its eyes set on Moriko.

She had sensed it, too, he could see that, but she didn’t stop praying. Uraume looked calm, perhaps not aware of the danger – they would need to train him in detecting curses, Sukuna distractedly thought as he approached the bushes.

The curse leaped at him, flashing its large fangs. He easily dodged it, slashing it with a single downward blow of Hiten.

Uraume gasped, going still; Moriko kept chanting and tossing her own rice and beans.

“Begone, bringer of pestilence,” Sukuna said, grinning madly at the curse hissing on the ground.

He stabbed it in the head three times – or what looked like its head, anyway – before turning to Moriko and Uraume.

She smiled at him while finishing her prayers; the child was tossing rice and beans again, awe and admiration written all over his face.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said as the tsuina came to an end. “Our winter home is protected, now.”

“Good.”

He planted Hiten on the ground to partially lean on it, his left hands on his hips, while looking at Moriko and Uraume plan their dinner – they were smiling, talking animatedly, sharing ideas.

“My lord, would you like some botannabe for dinner?” Uraume then asked, his eyes sparkling. His sad mood from the other day was gone, replaced by his usual enthusiasm for cooking and his blossoming childlike liveliness.

“That sounds good. Go for it, little one.”

Uraume beamed at them, then ran inside the hut. Sukuna waited for the door to close, then he approached Moriko, who had moved to the firepit to tend to it, so that it would burn brightly for the whole night.

“I noticed there are many rituals to protect one’s health and house,” he said, his voice low, studying her profile against the warm light of the fire. “But you haven’t mentioned any concerning fertility yet.”

“Oh?”

Her smile was sweet and amused in equal measure. His hakama felt tighter all of a sudden.

“Surely there must be some,” he growled, pressing her flush against him, his nose and mouth on the pulse on her neck. The hand that wasn’t holding Hiten touched her breast.

“I know of one,” she said, very softly, as if whispering a secret.

“Tell me.” He rubbed his hard length against her body, and she gasped. “We will perform it now.”

“No, no.” Her smile now turned smug, a bit mischievous. “We will have to wait for the right date, my lord.”

“The right date?”

“Yes. The fifteenth day of the New Year, to be precise.”

He frowned, thinking about it. Then he glared at her.

“That’s the day of the rice and herbs gruel.”

She giggled.

“Oh, you were paying attention, then!”

“I always pay attention to you.”

She blushed, and her eyes were full of joy as she stroked his cheek.

“I know. Thank you, my lord.”

He leaned in to kiss her, ready to carry her into the second hut, the one they used to spend time together… but she pressed a chaste, quick kiss on his face and darted away, slipping from his grasp, as light as air.

“Wait just a little more,” she said, standing near the door of the main hut. “I’m sure you will enjoy it, my lord.”

“What does it entail?” He licked his lips. “Mad sex under the moonlight?”

“No!” she laughed, her cheeks even more crimson.

“Do we have to drink each other’s bodily fluids-”

“How do you even think such things!”

But there was more laughter in her voice, and she was stifling her giggles, a hand on her mouth.

He went to her, both his mouths curling into wide grins.

“Tell me.”

“No! Wait until the fifteenth and you will see.”

He huffed, blocking her passage, pressing her against the door.

“Stubborn wife,” he said, and her smile grew, two dimples appearing on her freckled cheeks tanned by the winter sun.

“Let’s go inside, my lord,” she murmured, touching his chest. “Would you like to read to us, while Uraume and I prepare dinner?”

He nodded. The stories he had bought for her were getting quite interesting and amusing, and he also was looking forward to reading more lines from them.

They entered together, hand in hand.

 

The seventh day of the New Year, they went looking for the seven herbs necessary to prepare the gruel.

They already had two: the daikon and suzuna, kept by the matagi in the loft of their hut, together with other supplies.

Moriko summoned the other herbs in her hands to show them to him and Uraume.

“I hope we will find them all on this mountain,” she said. “But it’s alright if we don’t – we can always use these ones, even though they will have a different taste.”

Uraume seemed incredibly interested, probably because it was a ritual related to food. He asked more about the recipe, full of different questions.

“I heard the recipe used in the Imperial palace is quite complex, more than the one prepared in villages,” Moriko said as she placed the herbs on the snow one by one.

“How so, Mother?”

“Well, I heard they use two kinds of rice, three kinds of millet, and even persimmons for the Emperor’s gruel!”

He gasped, and she smiled at him.

“But the commoner recipe is much better, in my opinion. Look, do you know what this is?”

“Seri, right?”

“Good job! And this one?”

Uraume hummed, tilting his head. Sukuna leaned down, studying the fuzzy leaves.

“Isn’t that hakobera?”

“Ohhh! Well done, my lord!”

“I remember some farmers talking about it when I was a kid.” He shrugged. “I stole it from them and ate it.”

“Did you like it?” Uraume asked, his smile bright, probably already planning some recipes with that herb in it.

“It was… nice. It filled the stomach, at least.”

Moriko told them the names of the other three plants, which Sukuna didn’t know either; then they set off, hoping the mountain would give them what they needed.

Moriko would use her cursed technique to try and find them – but the forest around their glade was so full of life, it would be hard for her to pinpoint the exact location of the herbs, if they had already sprouted.

Uraume found the first one, the hotokenoza. He radiated pride for the whole day after Moriko kissed his forehead and Sukuna patted his head, complimenting him.

Sukuna found the nazuna, timidly peeking out between some trees. Moriko and Uraume gushed about the cute leaves, before collecting some.

“I can sense it!” she exclaimed at a certain point, before running towards a patch of earth free of snow.

The gogyo was there, its flowers a pale yellow.

“We did it!” Uraume cheered, bouncing on his feet. Sukuna nodded, feeling satisfied as well – he always liked it when a hunt went well.

They also gathered some chestnuts and mushrooms before going back home. He listened, quiet and attentive, as Moriko listed all the properties of the herbs they had found, her voice full of respect for those tiny lives that could improve people’s health.

The days passed, until the fifteenth came. Moriko and Uraume got to work a few hours after breakfast, cutting the herbs into pieces while the rice cooked in a pot hanging above the lit irori.

Uraume started singing, a simple song neither Sukuna nor Moriko had ever heard before. Even though she was clearly embarrassed, she joined the child after he asked her to, and soon the hut was filled with their voices.

Sukuna listened to them, his left eyes closed, the right ones, always alert, watching them. He felt his body sway, following the addicting rhythm of the song, which made its way into his head.

He started humming, then singing, keeping his voice low, while his second mouth whistled the tune.

Moriko and Uraume stopped almost immediately. They stared at him, her cheeks red, his eyes wide, until Sukuna stopped as well, glaring at them.

“What?”

They scrambled to their feet, almost running to him.

“My lord! Your voice is so beautiful!”

“Do you want to sing Minoyama together?”

“Can your second mouth sing, too? May we hear it, please?”

“Please!”

“Enough!” he barked, getting on his feet, but they hounded him, following him around, more excited than ever.

“Just one verse!”

“We could sing all three together!”

He grumbled, his ears burning for some reason. He sat by one of the windows, glaring at the landscape outside, ignoring them as they pestered him and tugged at his sleeves.

In the end, they relented, not without complaining.

“Your voice is beautiful,” Moriko mumbled, mixing the gruel in the pot. Uraume added some more herbs to it, his pout as big as hers.

They kept glancing at him, he could feel it. Shy, hopeful glances, with Moriko tapping the spoon on the pot following the tune of the song, Uraume humming it under his breath.

“Fine,” Sukuna hissed in the end. “One verse of Minoyama, then you won’t hear me sing ever again!”

They cheered, surrounded him, looked at him with stars in their eyes. He sighed, rolling his eyes, but he wasn’t really annoyed; he wasn’t really angry or fed up with their silly antics.

His second mouth, that traitor, showed his true feelings, barely able to maintain its composure, its lips twitching.

They sang more than one verse. They sang the entirety of Minoyama, plus the entirety of Uraume’s song.

He had never sung with someone else before. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had sung something.

It felt weird, but also nice, and confusing, but also funny. He didn’t know what to think or feel. He let his voice mix with theirs, striving for the best result, of course, because he was good at everything and anything – but he also let himself go, savoring the moment, enjoying the sight of Moriko’s bright smile and Uraume’s happy face.

“There! All done! Now leave me in peace!”

He got up, faster than lightning, going to the irori and pretending to check on the rice gruel.

“Thank you, my lord,” Moriko giggled, pressing a kiss on his cheek. Then she squealed, and he sighed again, scowling at the pot.

“Your singing voice is so beautiful!”

“Bah.”

Fortunately, the nanakusagayu distracted them, stopping them from requesting (demanding) more songs.

It was nice. The flavor very light, like Moriko had said, but pleasant, perfect for those cold winter days.

“May health and joy be with you during this new year,” Moriko said, looking at him and Uraume; the child smiled at her and returned the blessing.

Sukuna nodded and said: “Health and joy to you as well.”

Her smile was big and warm, and his heart skipped a beat. A traitor, just like his second mouth, he grumbled inwardly.

“The fertility ritual,” he suddenly said, setting all of his eyes on Moriko. “What about it?”

Her smile grew, and she didn’t reply. She nodded at his bowl of gruel, signaling him to finish it first.

Once their bowls were empty, she did something strange. She grabbed a pair of metal tongs left behind by the matagi, and used it to collect three half-burned sticks from the hearth.

They weren’t reduced to ash; they were still strong, and she waited a few minutes to let them cool before picking them up to mold them into a flatter shape.

Then she gave one to him and Uraume, keeping the third for herself.

Sukuna stared at it.

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

Then something happened.

Uraume giggled, then struck Moriko’s bottom.

For a moment, Sukuna was sure his brain was malfunctioning. Was he going insane? Hallucinating? Were his mind or eyes failing him?

Was he dreaming again?”

“What the hell?”

Moriko and Uraume laughed, without malice. They just looked very cheerful and happy.

“Today is the Day of the Hare, yes?” Moriko said, and Sukuna nodded, even though he couldn’t really see the correlation between that and Uraume suddenly acting like an unruly brat.

“The sticks used to cook the nanakusagayu are called ‘hare sticks’, my lord. On this day, people whittle them and lightly hit childless women on their buttocks to ensure pregnancy.”

She looked at her own stick.

“Of course, it all becomes a game in the end, and men, women, and children try to strike each other while… ah!”

She jumped on her feet, cupping her right butt cheek.

“My lord!” she gasped, gawking at him. “Lightly, I said!”

One of his eyes zeroed in on her posterior.

“That was a light hit.”

“I’m going to be all red tomorrow!”

She huffed when he grinned, his hand already raised to hit her again.

“Turn around and let me smack the other, Moriko.”

“Once is more than enough!”

“No. We have to make sure you will get pregnant.”

“I will get pregnant with just one hit!”

“Come here, I said!”

They ran in circles, Moriko desperately trying to cover her butt, Sukuna swinging the stick like a weapon, focused on her swaying hips, on the promise of the ritual.

He managed to land a second hit. He grinned, triumphant.

“My lord!” she whined, rubbing the spot. Then she turned towards Uraume, who had been laughing the whole time, so hard he was now holding his stomach.

“We’re forgetting someone here,” she said in a singsong voice. She tiptoed towards the child, pretending to be a predator about to pounce on him, and he shrieked happily, trying to run away.

But her hare stick lightly swatted his back, and he fell on the ground, pretending to be dead.

He even made some gurgling sounds before lying still, splayed on the floor like a large snowflake.

“Oh my!”

“Well, more meat for the winter, I guess.”

Moriko giggled; Uraume tried to stifle his snickers. Sukuna grinned and leaned down, studying him, prodding him with his hare stick.

“He gained some weight. We can either roast him or dry him outside, Moriko.”

“Not roast!” Uraume gasped, sitting up, almost offended. “I’m not plump enough for that!”

“Ah, he’s still alive.”

Sukuna tapped his head with the stick; Uraume retaliated by swatting his knee.

“Heh.” He smirked at the child as he laughed. “I guess the bear and kamoshika meat will have to do- guh!”

He whirled around, one of his hands going to his butt to rub it. Moriko was sitting by the irori, all prim and innocent, biting her lips to stop herself from bursting into laughter.

“Moriko!” he exclaimed, grinning, a strong feeling of joy and euphoria blooming in his chest, spreading all over his body like warm vines. “What manners!”

She smoothed her kosode, elegant and refined, mischievous and teasing.

“I can’t wait to go to the other hut,” he whispered as he leaned down, his lips brushing against her freckles, “and make sure this ritual will prove effective.”

“Shh!” she laughed, covering his mouth with a hand. “Later!”

He kissed her palm and kept her close as she and Uraume talked more about the hare sticks used in the Imperial palace.

And he hoped he would see her mirthful face in his dreams that night.

Notes:

Please look at this picture and also this one that I commissioned from two wonderful artists <3

Sukuna swatting Moriko's butt: "heheheheh"
Sukuna when Moriko swats his butt: "This awakened something in me"

Nanakusa-no-Sekku: the Festival of the Seven Herbs. Still celebrated in Japan, Moriko describes how it was celebrated during the Heian period. On the seventh day of the New Year, the Emperor was shown seven different herbs believed to possess healing/protective qualities. On the fifteenth day, these herbs were used to prepare the nanakusagayu, or mochigayu (full-moon gruel). The one prepared in the Imperial palace was quite complex (the scholars found two different recipes, and both sound so hard!), so I used the "commoner" recipe for our happy family.

The Festival fell on the Day of the Hare. The gruel was cooked over a fire made of "hare sticks", and remnants of the fuel, whittled into "gruel sticks", became the basis of a lighthearted pastime, frequently mentioned by Heian writers, in which childless women were struck on the buttocks by their friends to ensure pregnancy.

The tsuina was a ritual to dispel pestilence demons from the capital on the last night of the year. Commoners simply performed it by tossing beans and rice out of their houses and chanting prayers to keep their house and family safe from disease - this custom survived and turned into the Setsubun Japanese people still perform today! The noble version was more elaborated, and Moriko describes it in detail, but there is a sad fact. The hososhi, the four-eyed figure, was indeed considered a valiant figure in the first centuries of the Heian period. He was in charge of funerals and burial ceremonies, and his title was basically comparable to that of a Minister. However, nobles and scholars started believing his ugly face (and his polluting ties with corpses and death) were more apt for a demon rather than a positive figure; and so he became the target of the ritual in the course of the Heian era. Nowadays, he is considered a yokai, a malevolent creature. ;_;

The seven herbs are: seri (Japanese parsley), nazuna (shepherd's purse), gogyo (cudweed), hakobera (chickweed), hotokenoza (nipplewort), suzuna (turnip), and suzushiro (or daikon).

Chapter 5: Ayame-no-Sekku

Notes:

Attention! Heavy description of cannibalism and gore at the start!

The village was burning around him when a young man entered the square, his hair and feet still wet.

“Oh?” Sukuna grinned at him, blood dripping from his two mouths and four hands. “A survivor. Aren’t you the lucky one?”

The man looked around, stricken with despair and horror, staring at the corpses that surrounded Sukuna, at the leg he was holding and biting into.

“Were you at the river?” Sukuna continued while munching. “I bet you were. Then you saw the fire, or maybe heard the screams, and started running…”

“Monster!” the man screamed, his body trembling uncontrollably, his eyes full of hatred, fear, and tears. “You godsforsaken demon!”

Then his breath got stuck in his throat as he recognized someone among the carnage lying just next to his feet – a relative or his spouse or his child, maybe. Sukuna didn’t know nor did he care.

“Why!?” he wailed as he fell on his knees, clutching the maimed body to his chest. “How could you!?”

“I was hungry.” Sukuna glared at the leg he was holding. “But everyone in your village tastes horrible.”

The man cried and cried, his sobs and wails reaching the sky, until Sukuna grew tired of listening to him.

“You’re clean, at least,” he scoffed as he approached him, tossing the leg away. The man didn’t seem to notice him, and he barely screamed when he bit down on his shoulder, taking out a good chunk of meat.

He did scream when Sukuna tore his hand off, though. He fed it to his second mouth, tasting the two different kinds of meat at the same time.

“Bah.” He spat on the ground. “So bitter.”

The man had fallen on top of the corpse he had been mourning, bleeding profusely, death quickly approaching. He twitched and moaned and gasped, his eyes already growing vacuous due to the shock and pain.

“This village was a disappointment,” Sukuna grumbled, flicking a hand to make some burning houses crumble down.

He started heading towards the river, the blood on his hands and mouths almost dry, his hakama more red than white at that point.

When he reached the water, he placed his cursed weapons on some rocks, then undressed and got in. The river wasn’t really deep, its currents not really strong, and he was able to clean himself without trouble.

There were some… reeds growing on the other side, or at least he believed they were reeds. He wondered if he could find some tasty frogs hiding in them. He needed to get the taste of those villagers out of his mouths – their meat had been so hard to chew, its flavor so ash-like, he was sure even a snake or an hototogisu would taste better.

He cleaned his hair, his legs, and arms, and tried to rub his back, too. Once he was satisfied, he also dipped his cursed weapons in the water, so that the blood wouldn’t get stuck on them.

His hakama were ruined. He would need to find a tall man from whom steal another pair, or craft a new pair himself using what spare fabric he could find.

The latter choice displeased him, for he didn’t possess the necessary patience and delicate touch that sewing and stitching required.

But he couldn’t (wouldn’t) travel around completely naked: human or not, he still felt the need to have some common decency, the same decency humans and sorcerers believed he didn’t have.

Also, he didn’t like the feeling of his cock flapping around…

The burning village behind him was now a ruin, and he was sure he wouldn’t find anything useful there. He would visit the next one, procure what he needed, then eat the people there as well. Hopefully, they wouldn’t taste as bad as the pitiful wretches he had just killed.

He sat on the riverbank, waiting for the sun to dry his skin and hair. He observed the reeds in front of him.

He realized they weren’t reeds, but flowers, or at least flowering plants – what he had mistaken for reeds were actually their long leaves, and he saw their yellow flowers peeking out.

He wondered if they were edible. He had tried drinking some water and spitting it out, but that terrible taste still lingered on his tongues.

He went to the plants and tore off some of their leaves, flowers, and even roots. He tasted each of them to find the most flavorful part, and he discovered it was the yellow, long flower.

He ate three or four of them, then, once his mouths were finally free from the taste of those dirty villagers, he left the riverbank, following a path that winded through the trees.

He walked for an hour or so, certain he would soon find another village or perhaps meet some travelers. When he looked behind, he saw the smoke from the village was still rising high in the sky: surely some neighbor would take the main path to go investigate. Humans were like that, curious and reckless despite being so weak and insignificant.

Luck favored him that day, for he didn’t find another village nor did he meet an alarmed neighbor; right down a slope, he saw a small caravan, four merchants using a single cart laden with their wares.

“We should find some place where to spend the night,” one of them was saying. “Nara is still far. We’ll never reach Tatsu Market before nightfall.”

“Don’t you smell smoke?” a woman, maybe his wife, intervened, sniffing the air.

“Yes… There’s definitely something burning. Maybe some noble’s house went on fire?”

Two other merchants, also a couple, were sitting on the cart, apparently checking their wares: one of the trunks was open, the colorful panels of fabric spilling out as they counted them.

Sukuna’s mouths grinned.

“I will take those,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Who-”

“How dare you look at me without permission?”

They didn’t bow, they didn’t kneel, and so he took matters into his own hands: he cut off the legs of the merchant who had mentioned Tatsu Market first, so that the others, clearly so stupid, would understand.

His wife started screaming like a monkey, and so he cut her down, too, while the other two merchants left the cart to bow on the ground, so deeply their foreheads touched the path.

“Please! Take everything you want, o Disgraced One! Just… Just let us go, please!”

Sukuna ignored them. He climbed on the cart and started examining the panels of fabric.

They were of good quality, but he was even more thrilled to see there were stitched clothes included among their wares, lying right on the bottom of the trunk.

He found a pair of white hakama; it was a bit snug around the waist, but he wouldn’t complain. He also took a large jacket, or dobuku. It wouldn’t fit all his arms, of course, but the size was surprisingly the right one, and its dark color would hide any trace of blood.

He liked keeping himself and his things clean. This had been a good find.

The couple bowing on the ground believed they were safe, and so they got up and started running. Sukuna cut them on the spot, bothered by their heavy steps, their loud panting, their choked sobs.

Besides, he had never agreed to spare their lives.

The husband and wife he had hit first were still alive, even if barely. She was making gurgling sounds, blood pouring out of her mouth in small rivulets, while the husband was trying to crawl his way to her, his legs lying a few steps away from him on the path like two weird logs.

Sukuna sat on the cart and began to eat one of the other merchants.

“Mh.” He grimaced. “He tastes like sweat.”

He tossed the corpse aside and reached down for the other.

“Better,” he said while chewing on her shoulder. “But still sweaty. And the bones are too brittle.”

The husband had reached his wife. He was holding her hand, crying, as her breathing turned wheezy and labored, her eyes not focusing on anything.

“Please…” he sobbed. “Please…!”

He moved his hand to stroke his wife’s cheek. The gesture was sweet, delicate, unbearably soft, and Sukuna hated it.

He jumped down and stomped on the woman’s head, crushing it. The husband stared at the gory mess, his hand completely red with her blood, and he opened and closed his mouth like a dumb fish.

“Now she isn’t suffering anymore.” Sukuna grinned at him. “Am I not merciful? A gesture worthy of the Bodhisattva Kannon!”

He scooped up a large piece of her brain, mixed with bones and maybe an eye, and tossed some of it into his second mouth, the rest into his normal one.

“Mh.” He frowned, focusing on the texture and taste as the man started bawling. “Such a boring flavor. Flat and unimpressive.”

He picked up another piece and pressed it against the husband’s lips.

“Here,” he said, grinning, cackling, “taste for yourself.”

“N-No…!”

He forced him to swallow. The man vomited everything almost immediately, and since the sight and smell bothered him, Sukuna dealt him the final blow.

He also ate a piece of him, but found it equally boring, and so he left the corpses there.

Then he cleaned his hands with water found in a jar on the cart, and finally wore his new hakama and dobuku.

He set off again, lamenting the fact so very few people tasted good, or at least interesting enough to help him pass the time until his next meal, until his last breath.

 

- - -

 

Moriko had just retrieved her yukata, her silk bag of rice bran, her comb, and the bottle of camellia oil when Sukuna entered their quarters.

“Are you going to take a bath?”

“Ah, yes, my lord.”

“I will join you.”

He found his own yukata, the one she had stitched for him, and grinned at her, expecting her to blush and stammer and splutter.

But this would be their third time taking a bath together, and he had already given her pleasure with his hand, and she had just confessed her feelings to him with a poem. She was still shy around him, but she wouldn’t hide from his sight or touch anymore.

“Yes, my lord,” was her reply, and her smile apparently disarmed him, for he blinked, surprised.

“Oh, I have something for you!” she exclaimed, remembering about it just in time. She rummaged around until she found it and gave it to him.

“This is…?”

“Your own bran bag, my lord. I also made one for Uraume.”

She showed him her comb.

“I still have to make you one, but you can use mine in the meantime, if you want.”

“No, my hair is short. I have no need of a comb.”

“Very well, my lord. Let me know if you change your mind.”

They went outside, on the veranda, where the tub was. She had already filled it with hot water, and proceeded to add a few flowers and pieces of kombu algae.

“For the skin!” she explained when Sukuna gave her a quizzical look.

She didn’t fumble as much as she had expected when they undressed and entered the tub. Sukuna’s large, muscled body intrigued, confused, and bewitched her beyond measure, but she was able not to make a fool of herself.

He put out his hand, and she understood what he was asking for. She poured some camellia oil on his palm, and he proceeded to spread it on his hair and chest, humming.

“What flowers are these?” he asked, nodding at the petals in the water. She told him their names and their properties, how lucky she had been to find them near the edge of the forest.

“I know they don’t look like much, but they’re actually quite good for cleaning the skin, and they release such a sweet scent! And the kombu algae is perfect for the hair, my lord, so make sure to rinse it with this water.”

He did as much, using two of his hands to clean his head, while the other two rubbed the bran bag all over his body. As usual, their perfect coordination amazed her, and she couldn’t help but watch.

“You’re staring, Moriko,” he said, grinning smugly, but she didn’t look away. She smiled at him, her cheeks burning, and kept her eyes on him.

He was surprised again. He started cleaning himself more slowly, never breaking eye contact, and when he reached out for the ladle placed on the edge of the tub, his fingers brushed against her arm, setting it and her face on fire.

She cleaned herself with the bran bag and the camellia oil, too, but then realized Sukuna was having some difficulties reaching his back due to the size of the tub.

“Do… Do you want me to do it, my lord?”

He looked at her for a long moment – not to assess her, not because he didn’t trust her, but because her question had surprised him for the third time.

“Yes,” he answered in the end. He turned, a bit of water sloshing out of the tub as he did so, and handed her his bran bag.

Oh, his back was immense! A vast expanse of skin, muscles, tendons, and sheer strength, all coiled tightly, shifting like water with each movement.

She did fumble a little, now. She dropped the bag in the water twice, rubbed the bag on his skin too lightly, forgot to apply the camellia oil on his neck until he reminded her…

“Why so nervous, Moriko?” he chuckled, looking at her from above his shoulder. “This isn’t even my most interesting side.”

“I… I’m sorry, my lord.”

In the end, she managed clean his back thoroughly. She talked in order to calm herself down and do a better job, but also because she didn’t want him to grow bored.

She told him more about the flowers in the tub, and then the fruits she and Uraume were hoping to grow in their orchard.

“Oh, strawberries would be so nice! Pears, too, they can be so juicy! And the hozuki! I know they are usually used in medicine, but Genji and I used to look for the very big ones and used them to play. I think Uraume would love them…”

Sukuna made a low, curious sound, then asked: “What are hozuki?”

“Winter berries, my lord. They are covered by a red husk which makes them look like paper lanterns. It fades away during winter, leaving just its veins behind, and the berry is visible inside.”

“Ah. I believe I saw some, then. I didn’t know that was their name.”

“They aren’t exactly tasty, but they are quite good for your health. And the best ones can be used to make cute dolls.”

He chuckled, turning around. He was amused.

“We will have to find many seeds,” he said. “But I doubt the small village nearby has everything we want.”

“We could visit Tatsu Market in Nara. I heard it’s quite large, selling all kinds of interesting stuff. We would find so many seeds and different ingredients there!”

“True. What about Tsuba Market in Kashihara? Do you know that one?”

“Yes! My father went there before I was born. He said it was beautiful.”

Sukuna hummed, then he did something that made her heart race so fast, she was sure he could hear it: he stroked her cheek, and the gesture was sweet, delicate, unbearably soft.

“There was a petal stuck to your face,” he murmured, showing it to her.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said, her voice equally soft, then she fidgeted, not knowing that else to say or do.

Then a mischievous smile appeared on his face, and he flicked some water at her.

“Stop it!” she squealed when he did it again. “My lord!”

She counterattacked, splashing him. She was about to do it again, when she noticed a piece of kombu algae plastered to his face.

“Pfft.”

He grinned, and the sight would have terrified or disturbed anyone else, but she knew he wouldn’t hurt her – she could see the amusement in his eyes, the mirth written plainly on the rough planes of his handsome face.

“Wait, my lord, let me…”

He smacked some kombu on her cheeks, then squished them, rubbing the slimy algae all over her face.

She spluttered, repeatedly swatting his arm to make him stop, but he was strong, and she didn’t really want him to stop playing.

“What is it, Moriko? You said it’s good for the skin!”

“Let me do the same to you, then!”

“My skin is already perfect.”

But when she managed to throw some kombu on his forehead, he didn’t peel it away. And when she gathered a bunch of them and plopped them down on his head, he let her.

She started laughing, happy to see he was smirking, that he was enjoying their silly, childish game, too.

But when she calmed down, she realized they were really close, her breasts almost touching his chest. She couldn’t look away from him, and his eyes never once left her.

She moved away, giving him a flustered smile, then started removing the kombu from her face one piece at a time. He did the same, always staring.

She picked up her bran bag and resumed cleaning herself, hoping her voice would come back.

He watched her in silence, but she didn’t feel uncomfortable. When she met his eyes, she smiled again, then looked down; she saw his hands twitch on the tub’s edge, as if he wanted to touch her a second time or continue playing.

“Tell me more about the orchard,” he said in the end, and she happily told him all the ideas she and Uraume had come up with.

And when he lightly brushed his fingertips on her legs and ankles under the water, she didn’t comment on it, but moved closer to him to let him know she had felt and accepted his touch.

 

- - -

 

His birthday had just passed, and Moriko’s sweet announcement about her pregnancy was still ringing in his ears when she and Uraume joined him on the veranda of the shrine, a question on their faces.

“Beloved, did you see any wetlands as we were flying here?”

“Wetlands?”

He hummed, thinking about it. He was sure he had seen fields, some woods, the village at the foot of Mount Kurai, and more fields, with two rivers providing water here and there.

“I saw some water, but nothing particularly large. Why?”

“We need sweet flag leaves,” Uraume explained, showing him the early stages of what looked like an herbal ball. “For the Sweet Flag Festival.”

“The what?”

“It’s the summer equivalent of the Chrysanthemum Festival, beloved,” Moriko said, her smile warm. “Sweet flag leaves are laid on the roof and used to make kusudama to protect the house.”

“And you can decorate your hair and clothes with them!”

Moriko summoned a sweet flag to show it to him. The leaves were quite long, the flower yellow and funny-shaped, the roots sturdy.

The sight of it was familiar, like a persistent scratching on the back of his mind, but Sukuna couldn’t say why.

“Huh. And they usually grow near the water?”

“Yes – rivers, streams, lakes, swamps and so on. But not too high, or the cold air would kill them.”

Sukuna scratched his cheek, thinking harder.

“There are streams and ponds here on the mountain, but I think the temperature isn’t the right one. We would need to walk down the path and check on lower altitudes.”

“Oh, that would be…”

“But you’re pregnant, Moriko,” he reminded her, glaring at her. “You should be in bed, eating and resting.”

“Beloved, I’m not sick!” she laughed. “Walking will do me good.”

He sighed, not totally convinced.

“When is this Festival anyway?”

“It was on the fifth day of this month, Father.”

Sukuna blinked.

“Around my birthday?”

“Yes,” Moriko smiled again. “But we decided to focus only on your special day. It was way more important.”

“…I see.”

He cleared his throat, his ears burning and itching, and rubbed his neck as he pretended her words hadn’t affected him. A futile endeavor, for she and Uraume started giggling.

“Fine,” he said in the end. “Let’s go find these plants.”

But before they could cheer, he pointed a finger at her, narrowing his left eyes:

“But you will stay close to me and listen to me. If I see you grow tired, we will go back home and I won’t hear any complaints from you. Are we clear, Moriko?”

“Yes, beloved!”

“Good.”

It was still early in the morning, and they set off at a calm pace. They had come to the shrine by flying, and had yet to visit the village at the foot of the mount, so the path and its surroundings were still a mystery to them.

They walked slowly, he and Moriko holding hands, while Uraume walked ahead, sometimes straying from the path to look at a bird there or to pick up some mushrooms and berries over there.

Soon his sleeves were heavy with loot, and they helped him move his findings to a small bag tied to his sash.

Moriko gushed over some plants and ferns they saw near the path; she picked up some flowers and slipped some behind Uraume’s ears, then…

Sukuna put two on her hair, and slid one into her ponytail ribbon.

“Nice,” he said with a nod and a proud grin, approving how bright the colors were against the dark brown of her hair. “They look good on you, Moriko.”

“Ah!” Her face was a bright scarlet. “Let me find some for you, too!”

She made him sit on a rock and started looking around. Apparently, it was very important that she found the perfect flowers for him. One was too small; another was too pale; another one was not the right red.

“The color is important,” she insisted. “Just like at court, when we had to choose the right combination of hues when wearing our robes.”

“Is it true they change depending on the month?” Uraume asked, handing her a cute white flower. Moriko placed it next to Sukuna’s hair and nodded, before slipping it behind his ear.

“Yes, there are so many rules and customs. Some brown or pink hues are better suited for autumn or spring, for example. And we had to be careful not to mismatch our layers or show the wrong combination of colored sleeves.”

She sighed, shaking her head.

“I liked playing with the different colors and fabrics, but I always feared the other noblewomen’s judgment. They could be so harsh and envious, and I didn’t have a good memory about what color to wear during each month.”

“It sounds like hell,” Sukuna scoffed. “As if seeing what colors one wears is enough to understand what kind of person they are.”

She smiled at him and slipped a dark red flower behind his other ear.

“Wear whatever you want, Moriko,” he told her with a grin. “Red, black, yellow, all the colors of the rainbow at the same time - it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, beloved.”

Even when sitting down, he was still way taller than her and Uraume, but they were still able to reach his hair and add more flowers to it. (Uraume climbed on a second rock next to him to do so.)

“If birds start landing on my shoulders, I will look like the Buddha,” he snorted, making them laugh.

But he didn’t stop them. He found he liked being adorned with Moriko’s favorite thing, with one of the elements that most characterized her; that he actually preferred his skin covered in petals and pollen rather than blood and guts.

She was standing right in front of him. He pressed his face on her belly, one large arm wrapped around her, and he closed his eyes, trying to imagine the little life taking shape inside her body.

She kept touching his hair, and it almost lulled him to sleep.

“Beloved…?”

“You smell nice,” he mumbled. Then he remembered she was the one who was supposed to rest.

He raised his head, blinking the sleep away from his four eyes.

“Do you want to stop for a while?”

“We already stopped,” she laughed, and he shook his head.

“No, I mean sleep. I will watch over you if you need to lie down for a bit.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” She put her hands on her hips, puffed out her chest. “See? I’m as strong and energetic as ever!”

Her head was framed in light, and the flowers on her hair swayed gently under the cool mountain air. Her eyes were bright and full of love, cheerfulness, and joy.

He groaned and pushed his face on her belly again.

“My love…?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled, ordering his face to stop burning.

He felt his second mouth smile, and soon his normal one did the same, pressed against her belly filled with a new life, against the yellow fabric of her kosode that suited her so well.

 

Half an hour or so, they came across a deep stream, but there were no sweet flags growing nearby.

Moriko tried sensing their presence, but there were too many plants, animals, and flowers growing there, and soon she shook her head.

“I could always summon some,” she said with a shrug. “Even though it would be nice to find the… let’s call them the real ones. The roots are quite good in a salad.”

She slipped on a rock at a certain point. It was a good thing they were holding hands, but Sukuna almost dragged the whole family back home.

He picked her up and held her so tightly, she had to tap his shoulder and ask him to loosen his grip a little.

“Stupid priests couldn’t even make a decent path,” he growled. “Don’t laugh, Moriko!”

“I wouldn’t have fallen! I had already summoned some vines to hold me up!”

“Vines? You don’t need vines when I am here.”

But he calmed down when she pressed a kiss on his hair.

He refused to let her down, though. No matter how much she insisted or pleaded.

In the end, she gave up and rested her cheek on his head, her arms wrapped around his neck. She weighed nothing, anyway… which also was a huge problem.

She needed to eat more! More meals every day, made of highly nutritious food – meat, stew, eggs, dark vegetables, and milk. Six or seven times a day would suffice…

“Seven meals a day!?”

“You should learn to drink animal blood, too,” he said. “Don’t make that face. It’s rich in strength and energy, especially that of horses and boars.”

“I… I don’t think I would be able to, beloved.”

“It's great for the muscles. Look!”

And he strained his biceps to get the point across. Moriko stared at them, her face suddenly red, and he grinned at her.

“See something you like, Moriko?”

“Yes.”

His grin grew, and he squeezed her thigh and side.

“We will get you plump in no time. Isn’t that right, Uraume?”

“Yes, Father!”

“But I already gained some weight!” she laughed. “I will get as round as a ball this way!”

He squeezed her harder, stifling his groan. His hakama suddenly felt tighter, and she noticed it from his expression, for she gasped, then laughed harder.

“Not now!” she whispered, pressing her face on his hair, and he turned his head to kiss her chest.

They had walked quite the distance when the temperature and the flora around them changed a little, the first increasing, the latter thinning out and changing types and colors.

They decided to explore that area, since it looked promising. Sukuna accepted to let her down, but always followed her, making sure she wouldn’t lose her footing again.

Uraume suddenly called them from beyond some bushes. They followed his voice and joined him near a stream, a rather narrow, but deep line of water that disappeared further into the mountain.

And there, right on its banks, were sweet flags.

“You found them! Well done, Uraume!”

She and the child started gathering some, talking happily. Sukuna stopped to watch the scene before him – once again, he had the impression he had seen it before, or at least something similar.

The sweet flags were definitely familiar, and when he tasted one yellow flower, he recognized the taste, his tongue remembered it, but he still couldn’t recall anything precise.

They sat by the stream to rest a little. Moriko noticed he was lost in thought and gently touched his arm.

“Sukuna…?”

He pulled her closer.

“I’m fine, beloved.”

He pressed a piece of root on her mouth, smiling at her. She accepted it, and when her lips touched his fingers, a pleasant shiver ran down his spine.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” she said, her voice a quiet murmur, and he nodded.

“Yes. You will use the leaves to make kusudama, then?”

“Exactly. And we will prepare a special bath with them.”

“A special bath…?”

“I will show you at home.” She beamed at him. “I’m sure you will love it.”

Uraume came back from the riverbank holding shiny round pebbles in his hands. They chose the prettiest one together, lying them on the grass and studying them under the sun to find the ones with the best sparkles.

“We could play monoawase!” Moriko said at a certain point. Uraume asked what it was with a tilt of his head, and Sukuna leaned in, ready to listen, to learn more.

“It’s a matching game played at court. Two teams choose a theme, and each member of the team presents a pair of items. In the end, a judge decides which team presented the most beautiful pairs.”

She picked up a dark pebble, smooth like an egg, covered in tiny white spots, then another one which greatly resembled it.

“This would make a fine pair, for example. But you can play with anything, really – even the roots of sweet flags were used in some competitions at the capital. But…”

She grinned at them, and they leaned further in, entranced by her explanation.

“Poetry, shells, and incense are the most popular categories. Shells, in particular. You know, those cute ones that come from Ise Bay?”

“Clams?” Sukuna suggested.

“Yes, exactly!”

“Clams are quite good.”

“Ah… I never tasted them, beloved.”

He sharply inhaled through his nose. Never…!

“The nobles at the capital play with shells, but never eat their contents?” he said, hating those idiots even more.

“Oh, no, I’m sure they do eat them! I never had the occasion, though.”

She shrugged, a smile on her face, and Uraume smiled as well, innocent and bright-faced.

“I never tried them either, Father.”

What.

“We must broaden your culinary horizons,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “I’m not joking. This is shameful. Almost offensive. Why are you two laughing?”

Moriko told them more about the rules of the monoawase, how the left party was supposed to wear warm colors (“Why?” “I don’t know, beloved.”), while the right one cold hues (“But why?” “I have no idea.”).

He loved her explanations, her descriptions of the noble life. Not because he yearned for that kind of existence, but because many of its elements were genuinely beautiful and interesting, and they had shaped Moriko’s life.

By learning more about them, he automatically learned more about her, about her tastes, her favorite things, her opinions. By learning more about the old world which had seen her grow, which had so cruelly kicked her out, he hoped to make her new world - the one they lived in together - more comfortable and familiar, even though she had said time and time again she didn’t miss her old life at all.

He had never felt that way before. He had never cared about someone’s past experiences, someone’s tastes and feelings and thoughts before. He had always lived centered on himself, like a man constantly staring into his own reflection in a mirror, ignoring everything and everyone outside the frame, since they only meant him harm.

But then she and the child had entered his life, and his gaze had moved away and had met theirs. He had connected himself to them, and they to him. He had tangled his roots with theirs, not to choke them, not to devour them and consume them, but to grow together.

He felt their Binding Vow thrum within his chest like a second heart. It filled him, and its warmth pervaded every corner of his large, peculiar body.

“Beloved,” Moriko softly said while Uraume went looking for more pebbles, “you’re thinking hard again.”

He nuzzled her neck, making her giggle. He slightly bared her shoulder and pressed a kiss on it before pulling her in his arms.

They were sitting under a large tree, and its crown provided a nice shade that protected her from the summer sun, even though the mountain air and the cold stream helped maintain the temperature more than bearable.

But the air was still a bit moist and humid, and he felt her relax, lulled by the sound of water, by the chirping birds, by his breathing.

Soon she fell asleep, cuddled in his arms, her head resting on his chest, her hand close to his second mouth.

Uraume came back and was about to say something when he noticed her, and promptly fell quiet.

He showed Sukuna his new treasures – some leaves, more pebbles, a few flowering buds they didn’t have a name for. (“We will ask your mother later.”)

Then he sat down at Sukuna’s other side, nestled in his arms, and closed his eyes with a content sigh. He was soon asleep.

Sukuna sat very still, not wanting to wake them up. Uraume also felt a bit too thin under his big hand – they would need to increase his portions, too. He was thrice his stature at his age!

He placed a hand on Moriko’s head, stroking her hair. She let out a deep sigh and nuzzled his chest, murmuring something.

He smiled down at them, then closed his eyes and joined them in sleep.

 

Once they were back home, Uraume was the first to take the special bath.

Shobuyu, Moriko called it – after placing some sweet flags leaves on the various roofs and eaves of the shrine, they put some in the tub. Their smell became quite nice and strong in the warm water, and she explained it was perfect to keep mosquitos and other bugs at bay, and it left the skin protected and moist all day.

She made sure to wash and rinse Uraume’s hair, too, then they helped him get out and wear his yukata. She went to the kitchen to warm more water for her and Sukuna’s bath, while he went empty the tub in a corner of the courtyard.

Uraume followed him.

“Father!” he whispered, very conspiratorially, tugging at his hakama.

Sukuna crouched down, his voice as low as his:

“What is it?”

He touched his forehead, worried he was feeling sick.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes! But this Festival is not just to purify the house.”

“There is more?”

Uraume nodded, looking very wise and solemn all of a sudden, similar to a young monk, even though his yukata decorated with cute flowers and snowflakes dispelled that image a little.

“It’s also an occasion for wives to rest their bodies. The rest of the family takes care of their tasks for the day.”

His small hand was resting on Sukuna’s large, calloused palm. He looked down at it as he continued:

“I remember the women in my hamlet always looked forward to this holiday, because their husbands and children would clean the house, cook, do the laundry…”

Sukuna blinked, then looked at their house, already imagining Moriko in the kitchen busy with warming the water, or perhaps in their quarters with preparing their yukata, or maybe with cutting more sweet flag leaves for their bath, or with choosing the fabric Uraume would use to craft the herbal balls…

“Fuck.”

Then he flinched, covering Uraume’s ears even though it was too late now.

“Don’t repeat that.”

The child giggled.

“Thank you for telling me that. I will take care of things.”

He smirked, pinching his cheek.

“But I will need your help with cooking, as always.”

Uraume beamed at him.

“Of course!”

“Good. But your mother is pregnant. We must help her during these hard months, too, not just today.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Have you ever seen a pregnant woman, Uraume?”

Uraume thought about it.

“Yes. Two neighbors were expecting a baby at the same time, but I always saw them from afar.”

“Well, they become quite large.”

He didn’t tell him he had eaten many during his years of madness and rage. Perhaps Uraume suspected it, but he was as tactful as Moriko, thank goodness, and so he just nodded, perfectly calm.

“And… they wobble. A lot. And their back hurts.”

Sukuna grimaced. He sounded like a fool even to his ears. He didn’t know much about pregnancy, and the complexity and beauty and horror of it – only scraps and vague lines and descriptions read in various texts he had come across by chance, all written by men.

He had always loved learning new things. He had taught himself how to read and write; he had stolen scrolls, pieces of paper, documents, catalogues and letters, literature texts and lists, everything he could find in the places he had devoured and burned.

He had a great memory for even the more inconsequential details. He tended to forget those he didn’t particularly care about, but he knew many things unrelated to sorcery, even though he knew his education about the common, mundane customs of the world was holey as best, as his ignorance about traditional holidays and rituals showed.

But he knew how to follow the stars and recognize animal tracks; he knew how to find food and hunt on a mountain; he knew how to use several weapons; he knew how to find water and keep oneself warm; he knew how to swim and fish; he knew how to build a shelter made of rocks and wood.

He didn’t remember when or how he had read about pregnancy. Perhaps his young self had come across a random medical scroll and had found it interesting; perhaps he had tried to understand what his mother had gone through, what she had felt when expecting him and his twin, how the terrible hunger had not only affected him, but also her.

Perhaps he had hoped to feel something, to find a connection with her through those clinical lines. He didn’t know, he didn’t remember.

But what little he did know, what little he did remember, he would now use to help Moriko and their child.

He had no idea how childbirth worked – they would worry about that later. As for now, Moriko and the changes her body would go through were a more pressing matter.

“Even though she is glowing and looks like a goddess, this is a delicate moment for her. We must be there for her, alright?”

“I can help with cleaning!”

“No, no. You already do too much. But she will probably get cravings.”

“Cravings?”

“Yes, the strong urge to eat particular foods, even if odd or out of season.”

He furrowed his brow, focusing. There was more, he was sure of it.

“And… don’t prepare fish for a while. I once read their stomach doesn’t react well to it during the first months. That must be why she puked her dinner weeks ago.”

Uraume nodded, extremely serious, and Sukuna could almost hear his mind race as he probably listed in his head all the suitable recipes he could prepare for his mother.

“As for the rest, I will take care of it. I’m perfect at everything I do, after all.”

“Yes, Father,” Uraume giggled again. Sukuna smiled at him and patted his head.

“Go change. And tell your mother not to lift any buckets. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yes!”

Uraume ran back to the house. Sukuna hurried to empty the tub, then carried it back to the veranda, and entered the kitchen.

Moriko was sitting by the kamado, a patient smile on her lips, two buckets full of water waiting at her feet.

“Uraume said you two would scold me if I tried carrying them,” she said, and Sukuna grinned at her.

“Good Moriko. Let’s go take our shobuyu.”

He filled the tub and helped her get in. The water was nice, not cold, but not too warm either. They might be living on a mountain, but the summer heat and humidity could be quite harsh even up there.

He held her close the whole time, so much she started laughing, asking him to let her clean herself.

“Turn around,” he said, kissing her neck. And when she complied, he started rubbing the bran bag on her shoulders and back, trying not to press too hard.

“After this, I will take you to our quarters,” he said, before pressing his lips on her nape. “And you will rest. Uraume and I will take care of everything.”

“But I feel fine!”

“This is supposed to be a day of rest for wives,” he replied, squeezing the wet bag above her head. She squealed, making him chuckle.

“Uraume told you that!”

“Yes, because a certain someone forgot to.”

“Beloved, I’m fine,” she repeated, trying to convince him with a pleading look, but he rubbed the bran bag on her face.

“Oi!”

“Hush. If I see you strain yourself these months, I will be very cross with you, Moriko.”

“But I can’t rot in bed until the baby arrives!”

“You will stitch and embroider. We will read together. Write poems. Play all the games we played on the matagi mountain, plus that matching game you mentioned.”

“But the chores around the house and…”

“I will take care of them.”

She tried to protest again, and he plopped a large leaf on her head.

“I already told you before - it’s time I started taking care of our house, too.”

She lifted the leaf from her face, observing him, hesitating for a moment, then she smiled and nodded.

He grinned, his heart beating fast… then he pressed two other leaves on her cheeks.

“Ah! Stop it, they’re slimy!”

 

They hung the herbal balls Uraume had made all around the house and the rest of the shrine, then started preparing things for dinner.

Moriko sat by the irori, choosing the right panels of fabric for the baby’s clothes.

Uraume was busy in the kitchen, of course. And Sukuna was with him, setting the oshiki tables and filling Moriko’s bowls to the brim every time Uraume completed a dish.

“We need to close the shoji doors for the night, Father,” his child suddenly reminded him.

During the night, the temperatures dropped significantly up there on the mountain, and they always kept the hearth and a few braziers lit to sleep more comfortably, while the shoji doors that led to the veranda were firmly closed to stop any cold drafts from getting in.

“Right. I’ll go do it.”

Sukuna stepped away from the trays, satisfied with them. Moriko’s portions were considerably bigger than usual, and Uraume had made sure to set aside some food for later, should she want a snack before bed.

The shoji doors of the kitchen that led to the courtyard would be closed after dinner, since Uraume needed some fresh air, surrounded as he was by steaming and boiling pots.

Sukuna went take care of the other doors in the house; first in his and Moriko’s quarters, then in Uraume’s.

But just as he was leaving the child’s rooms, he noticed with horror that he had left several footprints on the shiny wooden floor of the corridor - soot and dust from the kitchen. He had forgotten to wipe his feet.

Cursing under his breath, he went back to his and Moriko’s rooms, where the floor was also a bit dirty. He looked around, searching for a rag, a piece of cloth, anything with which to clean that mess.

He found a white cotton piece discarded on a small table and used it first to clean his own feet, then to wipe the soot away from the rooms and corridor.

“Good,” he mumbled. “Now, the rest of the doors.”

The quarters used as a library where next, but for some reasons the shoji doors there didn’t want to budge. He pulled and pulled until he heard the wood creak, and he realized he was about to break them.

“Damn,” he muttered, glaring at the sliding panels. “What’s wrong with you?”

How did Moriko do it? Did she command the wood to move? Did she ask the wooden frames to slide forward whenever she needed to close them?

He tried again, but just when he was sure he had done it, one of his elbows bumped against a wooden shelf full of scrolls and papers.

He saw it fall forward…

“No!”

…And hit the ground with a loud noise, the scrolls rolling open, the loose papers floating in the air.

He sighed. His second mouth made a low noise that resembled a whine mixed with a groan.

“Sukuna!?”

Moriko came running, her eyes wide. He froze, staring at her as she took in the scene before her.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

“…These shoji doors won’t budge.”

She accepted his answer with a smile. She went to him, and after checking he truly was alright, she approached the first door.

“There is a trick to it,” she said, grabbing the edge. Then she slightly lifted it and pushed it forward at the same time – it slid on without a hitch.

Sukuna stared at it, feeling like an idiot.

“Huh.”

“I think the wood swelled up during the years due to humidity,” she explained, still smiling, cheerful and happy, “but it’s nothing serious, and I wanted to keep some things as the priests and shrine maidens left it. Just for sentimentalism, I guess.”

“I see.” He sighed. “Let me do the others. I know what to do, now.”

He also lifted the shelf, putting it back on its original position; she helped him pick up the scrolls and papers, and soon the library looked normal again.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked after they were done, studying his face. “You look a bit out of sort.”

She was getting worried, and he inwardly swore, not wanting her to grow anxious because of him.

“I’m fine.” He kissed her. “Go back to the hearth, beloved. I will finish closing the doors and join you there.”

Just two more quarters remained - he accompanied her to the irori and was about to leave, when she stopped him with a question:

“By the way, did you see a piece of white cotton in our rooms?” She searched through the little pile of colored panels placed next to her. “I could have sworn I had one, but I can’t find it…”

Sukuna was still holding it in one of his hands, forgotten until that moment. He crumbled it into a ball, hiding it within his large palm, and cleared his throat.

“No, I didn’t see it.”

“Maybe I left it somewhere else in the house…”

He nodded, then swiftly went outside, heading straight to the stream that ran near the shrine.

He plunged the panel into the cold water and started rubbing it between two large hands.

It was just soot and ash, after all – it should wash out quickly and without problems, right?

But when he lifted the fabric out of the stream, it was still grey, its borders now fraying.

“You can’t be serious,” he growled under his breath. He almost threw it away, done with it, when he remembered Moriko’s question, how she was still looking for it.

He knew she could clean it and repair it in no time – it was a natural fabric, and it would listen to her, just like his kimono ruined during his battle with the Zenin patriarch had gone back to normal under her gentle touch.

But he didn’t want to bother her; he didn’t want her to expend her precious energies. He was supposed to take care of her, even though he was aware he was still terribly ill-equipped for it due to his past.

He was the strongest sorcerer in Japan, and yet a flimsy, stubborn piece of fabric refused to obey him.

He glared at it some more, but there was little he could do about it. And so he returned to the house, joining Moriko in the hearth room.

She smiled at him when he came in and sat beside her, then she went back to the small robes she was making for their newborn baby.

He watched her as she stitched and sewed, every movement delicate and precise, elegant and neat.

She was used to his staring at her, but after a while he must have exaggerated, for she giggled and turned to him.

“What is it, beloved?”

He showed her the grey panel without a word.

“Huh… What is that?”

“The white piece of fabric you were looking for.”

She tilted her head with a frown, studying it.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I found it in our rooms.”

“But why is it all dirty?”

Sukuna looked away.

“I used it to clean my feet, the corridor, and our rooms.”

He stole a glance and saw her confusion increase.

And so he sighed and started explaining.

At the end of his narration, he half expected her to laugh, but she didn’t. She smiled at him without mockery, without irony, and placed a hand on top of his.

“Don’t worry, Sukuna, it can happen. It’s not easy, taking care of a house.”

“I…”

He looked away again, not used to feeling, to being vulnerable. But for her, he would be.

“I never had one before,” he murmured. “A house, I mean. I always ever wandered through the country without a real aim, sleeping in the wilderness or in abandoned ruins.”

“I know, my love.”

She moved closer until their thighs touched. She kissed his hand.

“But you have a house, now, and a family who loves you. And we will take care of it together, one stubborn door and dirty corridor at a time.”

He felt his face heat up; he returned her smile, feeling very full - full of love, joy, and excitement all mixed together, so much he almost felt drunk.

He closed the short distance between them and pressed a soft kiss on her lips. Then, when they pulled away, he stroked her cheek, loving the sight of her smiling face and tender gaze.

“I think…” She took the dirty piece of fabric he was still holding. “I think I can fix this.”

“I know. But I wanted to be the one to do it.”

She smoothed the grey panel on her knees, nodding at it. Then she beamed at him.

“Alright. Would you like me to teach you how to do it tomorrow?”

He grinned at her.

“Yes. I still don’t know where the washing board is.”

When Uraume entered the hearth room to announce dinner was ready, he found them laughing and joking, Moriko sitting comfortably on Sukuna’s lap as he watched her stitch what would become their child’s first miniature robe.

Notes:

Sukuna at the start of this chapter: eating a whole village, traumatizing two men before killing them, stealing some clothes
Sukuna at the end of this chapter: taking care of his pregnant wife and their adopted child, blushing, losing to a rag, getting flustered like a schoolgirl

Also, in the Epilogue he tells Uraume he accidentally crushed his icehouse, and we can see he has indeed flattened it. I like to think he isn't always precise and refined in his movements when he isn't fighting. Moving around with that big, peculiar body can't be easy 😭

Ayame-no-Sekku: Sweet Flag Festival, on the fifth day of the fifth month (around June 5th). It was originally a day for women to purify the house by thatching the roof with sweet flags ("ayamegusa" or "shobu" in Japanese), which were believed to be effective in repelling evil spirits. It was also a day for wives to rest their bodies, with the rest of the family taking care of chores for once.

People also took "shobuyu" baths. The sweet flag leaves kept mosquitoes and snakes away with their strong fragrance, and so taking a bath with them was believed to also keep "bad air" (sickness) at bay. Kusudama, or herbal balls, made with sweet flags leaves and flowers replaced those made during the Chrysanthemum Festival and viceversa.

Fun fact: since sweet flags are also called "shobu", which is a homonym for shōbu (尚武), “warrior spirit”, the Festival became a day for boys to show off their martial prowess during the Kamakura period, when samurai took control of the country and started focusing on more martial aspects, rejecting the delicateness and elegance of the previous Heian period. After this time, samurai armors were displayed prominently in homes to celebrate masculine energy. That's why June 5th used to be Boys' Day in Japan! (Now it's Children's Day to celebrate all kids.)

Bodhisattva: someone who has reached enlightenment, but delays their nirvana to help other people reach their Buddhahood. Kannon is the Bodhisattva of compassion, celebrated in Japan since ancient times.

Hozuki: the alkekengi berries described by Moriko. In the Heian period (and today still!), they were used to craft "hozuki dolls".

Among the Heian nobility, the colors of one's clothing and sleeves, the way they were layered, and the order in which they were displayed meant everything. It was called "kasane no irome", "layering of color", and it was an art that all nobles had to know in order not to be considered tasteless or out of fashion. There were many rules to follow, with precise color combinations that varied by seasons. Many writings of that era written by noblewomen focus on this, with imaginary characters or even real-life people mocked or criticized for wearing the wrong color, while others were complimented for their great taste and elegance. A NIGHTMARE

Monoawase: a comparison game. Moriko describes it in detail. Like she says, anything could be used during these competitions (even sweet flag roots!), but the most important subjects were poems (uta-awase), incense (ko-awase), and shells (kai-awase). Shells were particularly appreciated, so much there were precise ways and tools to set up the game in that case, but it would be too long and complicated to describe it here.

Thanks again for your support and sorry for the wall of text! 😭

Chapter 6: Kikoden

Separation

 

“Your dinner is ready, my lord.”

Uraume placed the serving tray in front of lord Sukuna, on the floor of the abandoned guard tower they had found during their aimless, bloody, mad wandering.

Lord Sukuna barely glanced at the food. He didn’t seem to be listening as Uraume listed the different dishes he had prepared using the meat of a sorcerer they had come across, but he did nod at the end of his explanation.

He started eating without a word, voracious and fast, swallowing large bites of meat and rice after chewing them for just a few seconds. He drank the broth and blood equally quickly, his eyes empty, staring at nothing.

Uraume felt like crying, but he bravely pushed the tears back, deep into his chest, locking them in ice. He tried to calm down by taking long breaths like lady Moriko had taught him years ago, back when he was still an immature child, a crybaby scared by his own shadow.

The air was humid and stiflingly hot, for it was the Seventh Month. He had used a bit of ice to keep the space used as a kitchen cool and fresh, but the torches he had lit to be able to see made the small rooms feel like an oven.

He ate and drank the small dinner he had made for himself, sitting far from lord Sukuna, but close enough should he need something or require more food.

He tried to distract himself from his sad thoughts, made even worse by the sweat running down his back, by looking out of the window. The night sky was clear, filled with stars, and he remembered lord Sukuna’s lessons about their names and how to always find the north.

The piece of paper he kept inside his kosode tickled his chest. He took it out to fold it again, but then decided to read it to better remember what day it was.

It was a calendar. He would painstakingly write one every year to keep tracks of the days, a painful reminder of how long their separation from lady Moriko was getting, a terrible proof of all the beautiful lost moments they could have spent together instead of wallowing in misery, blood, and sorrow.

He touched the words he had written next to the current day. It was one of his most and least favorite holidays, he realized.

He folded the calendar and slipped it back into his kosode, before taking a deep sip of cool, iced water.

Lord Sukuna was still eating, grunting loudly as he tore off tendons, chewed on ligaments, and drank big gulps of dashi broth mixed with blood and finely ground bones.

Uraume tended not to bother or interrupt him while he was busy eating, and he had never mentioned that particular holiday before, but after so much time, after so many battles won, after so many sorcerers and foes killed and destroyed, surely the time had come to go back home.

“My lord,” he began, bowing his head when he saw lord Sukuna’s lower left eye fall on him, “today is the seventh day of the Seventh Month.”

Lord Sukuna kept eating, feeding his second mouth this time. Uraume took his silence as a good sign and continued, taking a deep breath:

“As you know, it’s the Weaver Festival, when the Herdsman and the Weaver meet again. And…”

And what? What was he supposed to say? “Please, let’s go back to Mother”? “Please, let’s stop this madness and return to her”? “Please, it’s the perfect day to finally reunite, can’t you see that”?

“And so… maybe we could…”

He bit his lower lip and bowed more deeply.

“Maybe we could go back.”

He tensed up, for he couldn’t hear lord Sukuna munching and swallowing anymore. His Master had never hit him, had never hurt him, but perhaps he had gone too far, this time.

“Fujiwara sent more sorcerers against us,” lord Sukuna’s deep, gravelly voice said, rougher than ever since he barely spoke those days.

Uraume understood the real meaning of his words. It was still too soon. The world was still chasing his lord, wishing him and everyone connected to him pain and death.

They still had to take care of some pests, first. If someone saw him and lady Moriko together, if they discovered her identity, if they even started suspecting of her importance in his lord’s heart, then…

He remembered her lying in his arms, her yellow kosode stained in blood. He remembered lord Sukuna’s madness, which had only grown ever since their separation, turning his hunger into a bottomless appetite.

But when, oh when will it end? the little child still living in Uraume’s heart wondered among tears.

“I understand.” He swallowed his pain. “Forgive me, Master, I didn’t mean to…”

“You’re forgiven.” The sound of empty bowls clacking against each other. “Bring me more food.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He got up and was about to run to the kitchen area, when lord Sukuna stopped him.

“You’re free to go back if you want.”

Uraume turned slowly, his heart hammering painfully against his chest. He kept his head low, but he managed to catch a glimpse of him.

He was staring at the wall again, his face expressionless, bored, empty, devoid of any spark of life.

He was still a formidable man, the strongest sorcerer in Japan, invincible and all-powerful, but Uraume had started noticing some worrying signs lately: deep, dark lines around and under his left eyes, a slight pallor, a minuscule trembling of the limbs when he wasn’t fighting, a soft, raspy quality to his breathing when he slept.

He was getting old too fast, his own hunger devouring him as well, immolating him on the same pyre he had erected for the world that had forced him and lady Moriko to separate, his sorrow and pain killing him from within.

“I want stay with you, my lord,” Uraume said, raising his head, hoping his voice wouldn’t crack. “If… If I can help you, even just by cooking and fighting at your side, then…”

Lord Sukuna turned to fully look at him. His many eyes observed him for a long moment, still empty, betraying no emotion.

He hadn’t directly looked at him for a long time, Uraume realized. Before, he would smirk or even smile at him, pat his head, hold his hand, comfort him together with lady Moriko.

Now, he barely spoke to him, except to request more food and tell him whom and where they would fight next. Their days were filled with the screams and curses of sorcerers, warriors, and villagers, but also with the silence of their own despairing souls, lady Moriko’s absence corroding the space they occupied, filling the time they spent in the wilderness when not fighting with bitter slowness.

Lord Sukuna turned his head towards the wall again, and Uraume felt disappointed and lost, his chest hurting.

“Bring me more meat,” he ordered, and Uraume bowed again.

“Don’t cry,” he repeated to himself as he prepared more bowls of meat and rice in the kitchen area. “Don’t cry. It will be alright. We will kill all those bastards, and then we will go back to Mother.”

But the drops running down his cheeks didn’t feel like sweat.

 

- - -

 

Genji placed a tray full of food next to her.

“Please, sister,” he murmured. “You must eat something.”

Moriko smiled at him, but she knew it was a brittle, weak thing. He sighed and sat by her side, near the rock that overlooked the shrine.

They watched the monks and shrine maidens perform their duties in the distance, but the women were distracted, raising their eyes to the night sky every once in a while, giggling and sighing.

“Today is the Weaver Festival,” Genji said.

“Yes.” Moriko looked at the stars above. “It may be silly of me, but I like to think he will come back during his holiday.”

Her brother rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“It would be quite poetic,” he said, and she giggled, pushing back her tears.

“I know. And it would be in character. He can be so sweet and romantic!”

“It can still happen, Moriko.” Genji squeezed her shoulder again, gently shaking her as if to prompt her into keep going. “Maybe not this year, but the next.”

She was unable to stop her tears, now. Her lower lip wobbled, and she looked down, seeing her hands and the food on the tray through a blurry veil.

“I don’t know if they’re alright,” she sobbed. “Are they eating enough? Resting enough? The pilgrims who sometimes come here say terrible things about him, about how he’s ravaging the country, killing everyone on his path… but I don’t care.”

She pressed a hand on her mouth to stifle a wail.

“I… I just want him back. Him and Uraume.”

“I know.” Genji took her other hand in his. “I know, dear sister. My relationship with them can’t be compared to yours, but I also miss them.”

It took her several minutes to calm down. By the end of it, she felt exhausted, and her chest hurt terribly.

“Please!” She clasped her hands in prayer and raised her eyes to the sky, to the Weaver and the Herdsman reunited on the bridge of magpies. “Please, Weaver Maiden! Let my husband and my son come back to me!”

Then she felt breathless and so, so weak, and was forced to go back to the quarters she shared with Ifuyu, accompanied by Genji.

He had brought the tray, too, even though the food on it was now cold. She shook her head when her siblings begged her to eat.

“You’re so thin and pale, Moriko,” her sister sighed, tears in her voice. “You must eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“How are you going to greet your husband if you can’t even rise from your bed!”

She jumped at that. Ifuyu and Genji were right. She needed to save her strength, recover her energies, take care of herself - she knew Sukuna and Uraume would worry tremendously for her, should they learn she was acting that way.

She accepted to eat some vegetables, rice, and meat, the latter a secret between them, since the Buddhist monks forbid its consumption. But Sukuna himself had told them to protect her and her family, and so they were treated with respect and allowed several kinds of freedom.

She went to bed, then, but it took her a long time to fall asleep.

She kept staring out at the sky visible from the open shoji doors that let in some soothing drafts of air.

She prayed for Sukuna and Uraume’s wellbeing, remembered all the beautiful moments spent together, and hoped there would be many more in the future.

“He will come back,” she murmured as she closed her eyes, her tears staining the pillow. “He will…”

 

- - -

 

Rebirth

 

“Moriko, your yukata looks so cute!”

“Let’s take a picture!”

“Girls, when does our train for Sendai arrive?”

It had taken them some time and a lot of begging, but Moriko and her friends from highschool had finally been able to convince their parents to allow them to go to Sendai for the Tanabata Festival.

The train would take them there in an hour or so, just in time to browse the colorful stands, write their wishes on bamboo, and watch the fireworks.

“What are you going to wish for, Moriko?” her best friend asked her while wiggling her eyebrows.

“Ah… Maybe to do well at school next year.”

A small chorus of groans erupted.

“That’s so boring!”

“You gotta wish for something spicy! Like a boyfriend!”

Moriko felt a strong blush spread all over her face and cheeks.

“I… I think it’s too early for that.”

“Too early!? Girl, we’re in highschool! If we don’t live now, we never will!”

“Never held hands with a boy… Never kissed one…”

She pouted at them, knowing they meant no harm, but the topic embarrassed her beyond words.

“I haven’t found the right one yet!”

“That’s because you’re too selective!”

“This one isn’t tall enough… This one doesn’t have a deep voice… This one is too polite… What does that even mean?”

Two of her friends giggled.

“She likes bad boys!”

“I… I don’t! I just…”

She huffed when they laughed harder, but then decided she could also play that game.

“Well, it’s not like you’re such experts! You all only ever dated once!”

“Yup, and that was more than enough for me. But still!”

“At least we kissed someone, Moriko. Granted, it wasn’t the best experience in the world. So wet… So much saliva…”

“Ew!”

“But at least we reached that milestone!”

“If it’s a milestone forced on us by societal expectations, why should I care for it?”

“Here we go again…”

“Oh, Moriko, that’s not the point!”

The train finally arrived, and when they boarded it they finally changed topic, discussing what they would see at the Festival, all the games they wanted to try, the food they wanted to eat.

The city had been decorated with cute kusudama and bright lanterns; they easily found the main avenue where the Festival was taking place, and pretty soon they found themselves surrounded by a large crowd.

The sun had already set, but the city lights were too bright for them to see and admire the Milky Way where the two lovers were finally reuniting. Moriko felt a bit disappointed, but the stands and booths were so beautiful, there were so many things to see and so much food to try, she soon forgot about it.

It was evening, so there were some minor curses roaming around, attached to people’s shoulders and legs. She tried to exorcise as many as possible, trying not to catch anyone’s attention.

None of her friends knew she was a sorcerer; her parents had allowed her to go to a normal school instead of the famous Jujutsu High, wanting her to live a normal life. They were personally training her and her siblings in the sorcery arts, making sure they could protect themselves in case of danger.

She was so focused on exorcising the little fiends that she lost sight of her friends in the crowd. She called out for them, then called them on their phones, but there were so many loud noises they didn’t hear her, nor did she hear them.

She started growing anxious. She liked festivals and holidays, but she didn’t particularly like crowds, and she didn’t know that city at all. She couldn’t even remember how to go back to the station.

She sent a message on the group chat, and thankfully they started answering after a few minutes.

Girls??

Moriko where are you??

On the main avenue. I got lost :(

we’re further in, near the green area for the fireworks show

I’m coming!

She moved in that direction when someone bumped into her, making her fall forward. They didn’t even apologize, but she had no time to think about it, for someone’s huge back was getting closer and closer to her face.

“Ah…!”

The man in front of her grunted as she fell against him, but thankfully he didn’t even budge. He momentarily lost his grip on a box of sweet potatoes he was carrying, though, and some rolled on the ground.

“Oh no!”

She started picking them up, frantic and nervous, her face burning.

“I’m so sorry, sir, someone bumped against me and I tripped and I didn’t see you, I’m so sorry, let me help…!”

She placed the sweet potatoes back into the box the man was still holding, then she raised her eyes to him, more apologies on her mouth…

But the words died in her throat when she saw him.

He was so familiar. Red eyes, pink hair, a large birthmark on the right side of his face, a strong jaw, handsome features, and shoulders so large and broad they could have contained the entirety of Japan.

And his cursed energy! There was so much of it, so strong, so dense and thick. She had never encountered a so great amount before.

He was staring at her so intensely she almost felt faint for a second. It was as if he had recognized her, or seen her after waiting for her for a long time. And she could have sworn he looked touched, too, almost on the verge of tears.

Strangely, she felt the same, and a great relief, an immense joy entered her heart.

“I…” She took a step back, even if it almost physically hurt her to do so. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Oh, his voice! She had heard it before, she was sure of it!

He nodded at her, his crimson eyes roaming her body, but not in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. He looked genuinely worried, and was simply checking for wounds.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, no. You, ah… stopped me from falling.”

“Heh.”

He grinned at her, proud and smug.

“I am quite large.”

The sight moved something within her, a tight knot of which she became aware only now, and that finally got loose.

Her eyes filled with tears, and his grin disappeared, replaced by horror.

“I’m… I’m sorry!” she gasped, hastily rubbing her cheeks, but afraid to touch her eyes, since she had some light makeup on. “I don’t know what came over me!”

She felt like a fool. She was a fool. He probably believed her to be a stupid, creepy, clumsy girl who couldn’t walk straight and who cried for the smallest things.

She was about to apologize (for the umpteenth time, her brain reminded her) when he cleared his throat and nodded at the stand next to them.

“Do you want to eat something?”

She blinked, looking at him, then at the stand, then at him again.

“It’s my family’s,” he said, grinning again. “And I’m a pretty good cook.”

“Oh!” She smiled, feeling her face burn again, but in a good way this time. “I’d love to, thank you!”

They weren’t open yet, he said. They had had some problems with their van and had come to the Festival late, but he could still whip up something good for her while his parents brought back more ingredients.

“You were born in Sendai, then?”

“Yes, born and raised here.”

Moriko used that chance to watch him work. It was mesmerizing. His movements were so quick and precise, and he handled hot pans and sizzling liquids without fear, without hesitation.

He told her his name, and she told him hers, and again something rang in her mind, her chest hurt, and her eyes burned, but she felt so happy she couldn’t stop smiling.

“Your first name…”

She saw him tense up.

“You’re named after the kami on Mount Kurai, then?”

He grinned, almost proud.

“You’re the first person to say that. Everyone else assumes my parents were crazy and called me after that curse that destroyed half of Tokyo so many years ago.”

She was surprised to hear him talk so casually about it. He knew he was a sorcerer, then? He was still living in Sendai, though, so he wasn’t attending Jujutsu High - maybe his family was training him like Moriko’s family was?

“I think it’s a beautiful name,” and she saw his ears get red, his grin turn more devilish to hide his pleasure and embarrassment.

“Are you here alone?”

That question would have scared her in any other occasion, but she felt safe with him. She knew he meant her no harm.

“No, I came with some friends, but I lost them in the crowd.”

He raised an eyebrow, scanning the people walking and laughing behind her.

“Do you want me to help you? I’m tall. If you tell me what they look like, I will find them.”

“No, it’s alright. We already talked, and I know where to find them.”

Besides, she had no intention of leaving so soon. She had never felt that way before, she had never been so bold with a guy before, but he was different, he was…

I know him. I met him before. But where? When?

“Here.” He placed a steaming bowl in front of her. “Katsudon for the pretty girl.”

He smirked at her again, and this time his eyes told her he was flirting, that he really liked what he was seeing.

She looked down at the bowl, smiling, flattered and unsure what to say.

“Thank you, it looks delicious.”

“It is delicious.”

There was a problem, though: she was vegetarian, and she had failed to tell him so in time. And so she was now looking at a bowl full of rice and fried pork, the first a staple of her diet, the latter an almost forgotten taste, as she had stopped eating meat since her first days of highschool.

Sukuna saw her hesitate and deflated quite a bit.

“You… don’t want it?”

“No, no! I’m famished! And it looks so good!”

She took the wooden chopsticks he had given her, beamed at him, then took a huge bite of fried pork, making sure to pick up some rice and a bit of egg, too.

It was great. She almost moaned when the flavor reached her brain. She had never tasted something so good before.

“This is fantastic!”

She couldn’t stop eating, and she knew she probably looked quite funny and unrefined, wolfing down everything in the bowl like a starved woman, but she didn’t care nor did Sukuna.

He was grinning again, proud and adorably arrogant, puffing out his massive chest.

“The rice is cooked so well! And the pork is so crispy! I forgot how good meat could be!”

“You forgot…?”

“I am- I was a vegetarian.”

Sukuna looked even more proud, and his grin as he leaned closer almost made her swoon.

“We’ve been knowing each other for half an hour, and I already corrupted you.”

She giggled at that, grateful for the delicious bowl of food that she could use as an excuse to hide her blush.

But he was relentless, his attention all-consuming: he sat down, and their conversation proceeded smoothly, the sense of familiarity growing, her shyness leaving space to self-confidence and boldness.

“Are those plums, on your yukata?”

“Yes, I love those flowers.”

She told him about her dreams of opening a flower shop; he told her about wanting to open his own restaurant. His family had a small izakaya there in Sendai, but he wanted something fancier where he could try his own recipes.

“Do you play sumo?”

He showed her his biceps, his sultry smirk making her melt.

“No, I don’t train like that. But I bet I could beat a sumo warrior if I wanted to.”

He grimaced, as if tasting something sour.

“The sumo and sport clubs at my school are pestering me day and night, of course, but I’m not interested. I don’t do well in teams. Besides, we would win too easily with me playing. Where is the fun in that?”

He looked incredibly proud of himself every time he made her laugh. She caught him looking at her in a soft way while she was talking, but his expression would immediately change whenever someone approached the stand.

“We’re closed,” he growled at the poor man who was about to sit next to her, making him stumble and almost run away.

“I’m… I’m wasting your time and making you lose customers,” she babbled, feeling guilty and nervous again, and she moved to get up.

Sukuna wrapped a large hand around her wrist - not forcefully, not too tightly, loose enough for her to free herself and stand up if she wanted to, but the message was clear.

“Stay,” he said, his crimson eyes the only thing she could focus on. The Festival, the crowd, her friends… it all lost importance.

I met him before.

His smile was a bit mischievous, but also sweet, and his voice suddenly sounded softer, older, hopeful.

“I want to hear more about flowers. I will cook some yakitori for you, what do you say?”

“Ah, you want to fully corrupt me!”

He laughed, and for a moment a strange image came into her mind, some sort of flashing memory: a man quite like him, but bigger, with four arms and something on his face, laughing surrounded by trees.

It lasted a second, maybe less than that, but she froze on the spot, trying to get it back, to see it again, to see more.

“Are you alright?”

Sukuna looked worried, but also interested, focused on her. She opened and closed her mouth, trying to speak, but when no sounds came out, she took a deep breath.

“Are you… Are you a sorcerer?”

He nodded, calm and composed.

“I am, too.”

“I know. I can feel your cursed energy, and it’s well kept in check, controlled. You trained.”

“Yes, but not at the Jujutsu High in Tokyo. Nor in Kyoto.”

She glanced at the empty bowl of katsudon, then at him again, not sure how to ask her question.

Maybe she just needed to be open and direct about it.

“I feel like we met before,” she murmured. “But I can’t explain why. When I look at you…”

“I know.” He swallowed. “I feel the same. When I saw you, a great sense of familiarity washed over me.”

“Do you…” she started, then swallowed and tried again. “Do you know what a déjà vu is?”

He hummed, tilting his head.

“Is that a French word?”

“Ah, yes…”

He chuckled, but he wasn’t mocking her.

“Pretty and smart, huh?”

“No, I…! My parents insisted I learned a little of it and…”

“Why are you so flustered?”

His fingertips touched her hand. They were calloused and warm, and his smile was sultry again.

“A well-educated and cultured girl is quite sexy.”

She babbled something. He chuckled again, tapping his fingers on the wooden surface, still close to her hand.

“I heard that word before. It has the same meaning as our kishikan, right? An event you’re sure you experienced before.”

“Yes, exactly!”

She giggled, wanting to be bold, to be the one to tease him and fluster him this time.

“Who knows, maybe we met in a past life.”

“It could be,” he agreed with a nod and a smirk that quickly turned into a soft smile. “Souls are a funny thing. And you never know what could happen when cursed energy is involved.”

He grinned again, his birthmark shifting as he did so, and a sudden thought came into her mind, about how she missed the tattoos on his face. It didn’t make sense, but his next words distracted her from worrying about that.

“Maybe we were close friends.”

She tried to give him a coy look. She had never flirted with a boy before, but it couldn’t be so hard, could it?

“Maybe we were lovers,” she replied, and his gaze made every inch of her body burn pleasantly, and his lips curled into yet another grin that promised only joy and warmth.

“A married couple,” he agreed. “With lots of daughters. No, wait!”

“A little boy!”

“A little boy!”

They had said it in unison, and they laughed. But when they stopped, they grew pensive, Sukuna idly touching the peeled skin of the onion he had used to prepare her katsudon, Moriko folding and refolding a napkin.

They stole glances every few seconds, looking away every time their eyes met. Her face was on fire, and his ears were also very red, now.

He cleared his throat.

“I will start making the yakitori.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Do you want more water? Or some cold tea?”

“Tea would be great, thank you.”

He poured her a tall glass, then started preparing the meat.

She loved watching him cook. It relaxed her, and it felt right. He belonged among good food, fresh ingredients, and always full bellies.

He cleared his voice again. He seemed… shy, all of a sudden. It was a cute sight.

“I know you’re here with your friends,” he said while skewering the pieces of meat. “But… mh…”

She leaned in, hopeful, holding her breath.

“Yes?”

“My parents will come back soon. I will have to help them here at the stand for a while, but I can convince them to let me go for the start of the fireworks.”

He turned to her, his hands sticky with meat, sweat staining his shirt under the armpits, his pink hair a mess, his birthmark more scarlet than ever under the bright lights of the Festival.

But he looked handsome and sweet and familiar, and her heart ached for him.

“I want to see them with you,” he said. “If you want.”

“I do.” She smiled at him. “I really do.”

He grinned, as triumphant as a man who had just won a battle or an important achievement.

“Great! Wait, let me give you my contact information…”

They shared numbers, her fingers almost trembling on the screen as he told her the right kanji for his full name.

“Imagawa Moriko,” he read on his screen after she told him hers. He blinked and gulped, so hard she was sure she had heard it.

“I feel like my head is imploding,” he mumbled, and she giggled.

She tried to pay for the katsudon and the yakitori on her plate, but he refused.

He ate with her, and they continued talking about their hobbies, their favorite things, finding they shared many interests, mainly the history of Japan and its classic era, books and manga, and even some tv shows.

They had just finished eating, when his parents came back. They looked quite antsy, eager to open the stand to make up for wasted time, but they greeted her with great courtesy and politeness, even sharing some hopeful, amused looks that made her blush and Sukuna growl at them.

“What are those faces for!”

“Is she a friend from school, dear?” his mother asked, and Moriko was happy to see her so plump and in good health… although she had no idea where that thought had come from.

“She… well…”

“Why don’t you show her the Festival?” his father intervened. “Your mother and I can take care of things here.”

Sukuna didn’t even hesitate or pretend to hesitate. He tossed his apron on an empty box and left the stand, faster than light.

He took her hand, and Moriko squeezed his. It felt like they had always belonged together.

His mother looked happy beyond words, almost squealing; his father was less impressed.

“Ach, boy, at least change your shirt!”

“Shut up, old man! I don’t have a spare one!”

“Why didn’t you bring one? You will embarrass the poor girl!”

“No, he looks fine, sir!”

She smiled at Sukuna, whose blush had spread from his ears to his neck.

“He worked very hard for me. His food is so good!”

“Heh.” His father puffed out his chest. “He learned from the best.”

Sukuna’s grin was diabolical, now.

“Half of the recipes on the menu are mine.”

“You little brat…!”

He pulled her away with a loud laugh, not even letting her say goodbye properly. But despite their little scene, she could see there was genuine affection between the two men, and she felt happy and relieved.

They soon realized they had talked for so long the fireworks were about to start. There were already so many people sitting and waiting in the large green area set for that purpose, but Sukuna knew a better spot.

“Over here!”

He took her to a knoll that overlooked the green area, and from which the sky was even better visible. There were a few couples sitting there, too, but they found a quiet space all for themselves under a tree.

“I love this holiday,” Moriko said, wishing they could see the stars. “It always gave me hope.”

“Hope?”

She shrugged, not knowing how to explain what she was feeling, what that particular date meant to her.

“I really like the idea of two lovers reuniting after so long.” She sighed wistfully. “And on a bridge of magpies! It can’t get more romantic than that!”

Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it. Sukuna started laughing.

“Ditching your friends for a perfect stranger!”

He moved his face closer to hers, his smile tempting.

“That’s brave of you, blossom.”

“But you aren’t a perfect stranger.”

She beamed at him, entwining their fingers together.

“Right?”

He gave her a toothy smile, then they turned towards the sky when the fireworks started.

She gathered all her courage and rested her head on his arm. She felt him relax, then he squeezed her fingers.

She felt at home.

 

- - -

 

Together Forever

 

Her voice and her lips on his face woke him up.

“Beloved, beloved!”

His right eyes moved to her, and he chuckled when he saw her bright smile and red cheeks.

“Why are you so cheerful so early in the morning, Moriko?” He brushed back a strand of hair stuck to her cheek. “Did you hear a hototogisu sing?”

“No, it’s…”

“Did you dream about flowers again?”

She pouted, poking his shoulder.

“I’m not a child!”

He grinned, two hands slipping under the kosode she used to sleep to touch her full breasts and round belly.

“Was it a hot dream, then?”

“I definitely felt hot tonight,” she snorted. “This month is so torrid, even up here on a mountain.”

He glared at her, remembering how she had whined and protested, half-asleep, when he had pulled her back into his arms the previous night.

“You moved away.”

“I was melting!”

“Sleep naked.”

“No! What if Uraume entered!”

“We will warn him not to.”

She looked at the courtyard outside, visible beyond the veranda.

“We could switch position in bed. I could sleep near the shoji doors that lead outside while you…”

“No.” He tapped her forehead. “Curses might enter the shrine at night.”

“But you’re here!”

“I don’t care. We won’t run any risks.”

“Sukuna,” her smile was soft and sweet, and it made his heart, his body, his very soul ache for her, “I know you will keep us safe.”

His breath hitched. He swallowed and looked at her chest; her kosode was slightly open, and the scar left by Zenin’s katana was right there, reminding him of his failure.

She followed his gaze and shook her head. She touched his cheek so that he would look at her.

“I know you will,” she repeated. “I’m never scared when I’m with you.”

“Heh.” He smirked, but he knew it was a soft thing. “You and Uraume are the only ones who feel that way.”

“My family isn’t scared either.”

“Ugh. They should be.”

She laughed, kissing his face. He squeezed her waist, her thigh, her arm - the pregnancy was making her so squishy and supple, and he could barely contain himself.

“Alright, I will keep using this side of the futon. But please don’t get upset if I move in my sleep. Your body is so warm, and the air so stuffy!”

He narrowed his left eyes, already hating the idea of her slipping out of his embrace.

“You just need to improve your endurance.”

“My endurance!?”

“Look at me. I’m not sweating, am I?”

“Yes, and I don’t know how you do it. Aren’t you hot? Don’t you feel how humid the air is?”

“No.”

She groaned, rolling on her back. He saw the profile of her belly, slightly rounded, and his second mouth gulped.

“Maybe we could sleep with some ice under the covers…” she mumbled, staring at the ceiling. “Uraume’s doesn’t melt, after all. Would that bother you, my love?”

She turned to him and noticed how he was staring at her belly and breasts.

“Sukuna,” she called him, laughing, “what is it?”

He pulled her into his arms again, wordlessly, and she whined.

“Hush,” he growled in her ear, before sucking on the sweet skin of her neck. “If the ice will make you feel better and won’t let you move away during the night, then go for it.”

“Thank you, beloved!”

“Now tell me why you were so cheerful.”

“Right!” She beamed at him, clapping her hands. “I remembered what day it is today! It’s Kikoden! The Weaver Festival!”

“Oh?” He thought about it while stroking her thigh, chest, and hair. “I think I heard something about it. It’s about two stars, right?”

“Yes. Two lovers, the Herdsman and the Weaver, meet every year thanks to a bridge of magpies in the sky. I don’t know how the commoners celebrate it, but we used to make offerings of poetry and fruits, and we women prayed the Weaver for improvement in sewing, calligraphy, and music.”

He hummed. He vaguely remembered some shepherds talking about it, many years ago, but he had been very young and had not understood the correlation between a herdsman in the sky and healthy, strong beasts of burden.

“No banquets, then? No special food?”

“There would be banquets and dances at court, sometimes even with some sumo fighters performing before the Emperor, but no special dishes, no.”

“And no fertility rituals?”

She giggled, shaking her head. Sukuna grunted.

“I’m not interested, then.”

“But it’s so romantic! And the stars will be perfectly visible tonight, especially up here!”

“We will watch them. Do you want to pray to the Weaver, too?”

“Well…” She looked down, suddenly shy. “I’d like to improve my calligraphy. And my stitching, too. I want to make you, Uraume, and the child more beautiful clothes.”

He sighed.

“You should make yourself more clothing, Moriko. Your body is changing - you need to stay comfortable.”

She gave him a shy smile that also managed to be coy at the same time.

“Maybe I could wear one of your kimono,” she softly said. “It would be large enough for me.”

He groaned, already getting hard. He could imagine her, the fabric falling on her curves, covering her breasts and belly, but so loose he could easily slip a hand inside to reach her wet mound, finger her clit, or squeeze her chest. And all the while she would smell like him, and in turn impregnate the kimono with her scent.

He rolled over to get on top of her, careful not to weigh down on her too much. She laughed when he fully opened her kosode, the sound turning into a loud moan when he lifted her legs and let his second mouth lick her cunt.

She had become more vocal and sensitive, every little touch enhanced, giving her double the pleasure than usual.

She rutted against the large tongue, trying to hold onto anything she could find - the sheets, his hands, the pillow - until she came, squirting her warm joy all over his second mouth.

“Yes!” he groaned, slipping into her without difficulty. “Just like that, Moriko.”

He set a rapid pace, kissing her face as she gasped in his arms, her own wrapped around his neck.

She came again, and her cunt tightened around his cock, making him grunt and falter for a moment. His own climax was approaching, but he didn’t want to come so soon.

He wanted to make her come a third time and drown in her embrace, in the sight of her flushed face and shiny smiling lips, in her sweaty, kind touch.

But she was as selfless as ever, always worrying for him, and he had definitely rubbed off on her, for she bit his lobe and whispered in his ear:

“Good Sukuna. Come for me, darling husband.”

He came with a loud, strangled moan, ripping the sheets with two of his hands. He almost pushed Moriko and himself out of the futon, so strong was his last thrust.

She giggled in his ear, content and sated and boneless.

He took deep, long breaths, still inside of her. He stroked her humid face and touched her hair, while she traced his face tattoos.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her smile sweet, impish, and adorably smug. “I will try to be merciful next time.”

He grinned and descended upon her again.

 

A few hours later, after a rich breakfast, they went to a small pond just beyond the shrine. It was quite close, their house visible from it, so they would hear Uraume without problems in case of need.

He truly didn’t mind the heat, but he was aware it had gotten quite bad, even there on Mount Kurai. Sometimes a cool breeze would make Moriko and Uraume sigh in relief, but most of the time the air was humid and sticky.

Moriko’s pregnancy didn’t make it any easier, and so they had started visiting that shallow pond, deep enough for her to take a bath, but not so much for her to drown or get scared.

At first, she would still feel a bit shy about undressing so in the open, especially because there was a hokora placed right between two trees, but the high temperatures had quickly dismissed her fears and embarrassment. Now she entered the water without hesitation, and Sukuna would almost always join her.

When he didn’t, he would sit on the edge, his feet in the pond; but in any case, he always kept multiple eyes on their surroundings, making sure no curses or wild animals would bother them.

Something was different that day, though; maybe it was the heat, maybe something had happened in the valley or at the foot of the mountain, because the curses were definitely closer than usual, more restless and famished than ever, lurking just beyond the trees and bushes in the far distance.

He decided not to enter the pond that day. He sat close to Moriko, a hand playing with her hair, another on her shoulder, while three of his eyes observed the leaves and grass and flowers sway under the lazy summer wind.

Even Moriko noticed it, but she didn’t seem scared. She kept washing herself, smiling, and talking, and she wasn’t tense at all under his touch.

Her trust in him warmed his once-dead heart. He paid attention to what she was saying, offering suggestions and ideas, for they needed to decorate the child’s quarters, but he also listened to any weird sound coming from the underbrush.

After a relaxing soak, Moriko got out. He helped her dry herself with a clean hemp panel they had brought from the house and get dressed, then they sat down on the warm grass.

She started weaving a flower crown for Uraume. The child was busy perfecting a new summer recipe at home, something fresh and cool that didn’t need to be eaten hot. He had scribbled some ideas down, but still wasn’t very sure about the ingredients he wanted to use.

Sukuna watched her craft the flower crown. He had never seen it done before, and she slowed down to show him step by step.

“Beloved, those earrings you wear in your lobes… did they hurt?”

“No, not really.” He scratched one. “They itch sometimes, though.”

She hummed with a nod, and he caressed her ankle, tracing the light veins visible under the thin skin.

“Why do you ask?”

“I never saw them before. I wonder how it would be like, having my ears pierced. Oh!”

She gave him a bright, excited smile.

“Maybe I could get some tattoos like yours! Not so many, but perhaps a little dot here or a line there. We could match!”

The image of her face or body tattooed like his was entered his mind, and he didn’t like it. Not because the markings would diminish her beauty, but because they were reserved to criminals, people who decorated their bodies to push the world away and scare others.

“No,” he said, his tone a bit peremptory, but he knew she would understand.

She did, her smile turning fond and gentle.

“You’re right, I would look ridiculous. And I think my parents would die on the spot.”

He frowned, not wanting her to believe he didn’t want her to change her looks for a mere aesthetic reason.

“That’s not what I meant. These tattoos carry an ugly message, Moriko. They don’t belong on you.”

He touched her freckles, which had only increased under the summer sun.

“These are the only markings you should have on your skin. These little signs of life and sunlight.”

He flicked her lobe, grinning.

“But if you want some earrings, I will gladly help. Gold or pearls would look good on you, beloved.”

“Oh, truly!?”

“Yes. First, we will need a very sharp needle.”

Her smile instantly disappeared. Sukuna’s second mouth snickered as he continued, his grin growing large with each passing second:

“Then I will place it over a small flame so it will be clean of dirt and pollution.”

She made a low sound of worry and disconcert.

“And then I will pierce your lobes. Easy and quick.”

He hummed, stroking his chin.

“Of course, that’s for normal earrings. You know, the pendant ones?”

She nodded.

“Well, if you want something like mine - these ear spools I wear - then it’s different. You will need to plug the spool into the lobe and…”

She scrunched up her nose, and her reaction was so funny he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Moriko,” he kissed her, still laughing, “there is no need for you to change.”

“I could start wearing makeup,” she mumbled, resuming her weaving of the flower crown. “I never plucked my eyebrows and blackened my teeth at court, but I did apply some white base on my face.”

“Do you want to wear makeup like that again?”

“…No.”

“Then why are we even talking about it?”

“What if you grow tired of my usual look?” she groaned. “What if you wake up one morning and see my face and think, ‘She got older and ugly’?”

He felt so much rage on her behalf that he could barely contain it. But she noticed his change of mood, of course - he was basically glaring at her with the force of the whole sun.

“W-What?” she babbled, eyes wide.

“What are you even saying, you crazy woman?”

“But it’s true! Most husbands grow bored of their wives after a while and…”

“I am not most husbands.”

“I know, but…”

She looked down at the flower crown on her lap. He tilted her head up again, taking a deep breath in order to calm down and talk to her in a calm, measured tone.

He knew it wasn’t her fault for thinking and saying such things. The life at court clearly was a ruthless one for women, and she had been told to expect the worst from her marital life ever since a young age.

“Moriko, did your father ever grow bored of your mother?”

“No. Theirs was a rare marriage at court, one built on love rather than politics.”

“And don’t we also love each other?”

She smiled at him, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Yes, beloved.”

“Then how could I ever grow bored of you?”

“I… Maybe when my hair will start turning grey or wrinkles will appear on my face…”

She looked away again, but he forced her to look at him by gently (but firmly) guiding her face.

“I don’t care about any of that. Why should I? How could I?”

He touched her cheeks and bangs.

“Seeing you with grey hair and wrinkles will mean we spent a long life together. How could I find that distasteful or boring?”

He took her hand and placed it on his face, like he had done during his first night visit, so many months ago.

But they weren’t sitting in the darkness this time. They were surrounded by light and thriving nature, and their souls were entwined forever in a loving bond.

“My face, of which so little is human-like, and your face, touched by the sun, will grow old and wrinkled and different together, and I will enjoy every second of it.”

He smiled as her thumb stroked his left cheek.

“Although my hair won’t probably be the same color as pink hydrangeas anymore. What will I be, then?”

“My husband,” she said, tears in her eyes, her smile soft and touched. “My darling husband.”

“Good. And stop worrying about such asinine things.”

“Yes, my love.”

She looked behind him, turning serious, and he hummed, his cursed energy mounting like a tall wave.

“Three, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He didn’t even turn around to use Dismantle, trusting his guts to tell him where the curses were.

His attack hit them without a miss, obviously; but they were quite sturdy and stubborn, and even though he knew he had hurt them quite badly, they weren’t exorcised yet.

He wrapped two of his arms around Moriko, shielding her and their child growing within her with his body.

This time he turned to look at the curses, and he flashed all of his teeth at them, a manic energy pulsing under his skin, the thrill of battle mixing with rage and disgust.

“How dare you attack my family?” he growled, a vein pulsing on his temple, his second mouth gritting its teeth so hard he could hear it. “Pitiful wretches.”

One of the curses leaped at him, and he punched a hole through its head. It got up on shaky legs, making a wheezing sound, while the other two assessed the situation.

They attacked, but before they could even reach him and Moriko, or he activate his Dismantle, vines sprouted from the ground and tied themselves around the curses’ torsos, pushing them back on the ground.

Thorns grew on the vines as these began to wrap themselves around each limb – they squeezed and squeezed, harder and harder, until black ichor dripped from their every wound.

The curses hissed, thrashing about, and one of them managed to get free. It aimed at Moriko, realizing it was her who had attacked it, but she raised a hand towards it and closed her fist.

“Niwa!”

Flowers bloomed from each wound on the curse’s body. It fell down again, vomiting more ichor mixed with blossoms; Sukuna finished it with a single flick of his wrist.

“Sukuna!”

The wheezing one had spitted something at him, but he easily swatted it away. The projectile burned his fingers, but he didn’t even feel it. The wound closed immediately, his reverse cursing technique working faster than ever.

“Begone.”

The curse was cut into countless pieces. Only one remained, its white eyes studying every movement, every intake of breath.

“Come on,” Sukuna grinned at it. “Don’t be a coward.”

It roared and galloped towards them, almost tripping several times due to the wounds Moriko had inflicted on it.

“Dismantle.”

“Aioi!”

The curse was cut in half, but at the same time a bare tree made of two intertwined trunks grew beneath it, its hard branches impaling it and carrying it upwards, where it was successfully exorcised.

Blossoms sprouted on the branches; Sukuna didn’t recognize them, but they were quite different from each other, perhaps all belonging to different trees, their hues many and bright.

Next to him, Moriko relaxed, letting out a long sigh.

He turned to her, touching and prodding every part of her body.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, beloved.”

“And the child?”

She smiled at him, patting her belly.

“She is fine, too.”

He relaxed as well, then his mouths curled into two wide grins.

“We never fought together before.”

She shook her head, still smiling, her cheeks flushed, maybe due to the sudden exertion.

He pulled her onto his lap, his cock hard - it had been ever since she had used her first attack, to be honest.

She gasped when she felt it, and her blush turned more crimson and spread to her neck, for a different reason now.

“You control your cursed energy well,” he said, slipping a hand under her kosode to touch her knee, another stroking her cheek. “That technique you used… Niwa?”

“Ah, yes…”

His grins got bigger than ever.

“That was good. Elegant and refined, and so effective. And it worked so well with mine!”

She looked down, flustered and happy, fidgeting.

“I’m glad I was able to help you, even though I know you didn’t really need my assistance.”

He kissed her, groaning and pushing his hard length on her thigh. He uncovered her chest and sucked on a nipple, but then remembered they were out in the open in the middle of the day, right in front of the hokora, which had miraculously survived the attack. He knew she wouldn’t be comfortable.

“Let’s go home,” he mumbled against her breast. “Let’s writhe in pleasure in the safety of our rooms, Moriko.”

“No,” she murmured, pushing him down on the grass. She smiled at him as she disrobed, the kosode pooling around her waist, her chest and belly and cunt bare under the hot sunlight.

He grinned again.

“Here?”

She giggled.

“Here.”

“Ohhh!”

He placed two hands on her waist, his second mouth gurgling happily, his normal one almost hurting, so wide was his smile.

“Good Moriko! Soon you will be ready to do it in the main hall of the shrine!”

“No!” she laughed, covering her face.

“Yes, yes! Right in front of the kami effigy!”

She laughed harder, leaning down to kiss him. Her pregnant belly was still small enough for her to do so, but he was looking forward to seeing it grow.

She placed a hand on the ground next to his head and whispered: “Niwa.”

Flowers sprouted around them, and he groaned as a bit of her cursed energy washed over him, gentle and soft like a petal.

They made love in the garden she had created, the blossoms of the double-trunked tree reflected in the calm waters of the pond like many little gems.

 

They found Uraume napping on the veranda, his scroll of recipes lying open on his chest.

“Damn, he’s a heavy sleeper,” Sukuna chuckled, before gently shaking him to wake him up.

It was good he hadn’t heard their fight against the curses; they didn’t want him to worry and start fearing the forest, but Sukuna didn’t like how bold the creatures had become.

Maybe Moriko’s pregnancy was making them hungrier. He didn’t know, but he wouldn’t let them get any closer to their house.

That same day, he patrolled the entire area around the shrine, killing all the curses he met, even the smallest, almost harmless ones.

He poured more cursed energy in the courtyard, draped it over every building of the shrine, pushed it into every nook and cranny, laid it over the forest that surrounded them.

Then, he talked with Moriko and together they agreed on something.

That evening, they admired the stars in the sky, the two lovers reunited on the bridge of magpies.

Moriko and Uraume prayed the Weaver to bless them in her arts; Sukuna sipped some cold sake, admitting the sky looked quite beautiful.

“Uraume,” he said after they were done, “we will start your training tomorrow.”

The child stared at him, wide-eyed.

“I know you already trained with your mother, and you improved greatly,” he continued, patting his head. “But this time we will focus on healing yourself and attacking moving targets.”

“Moving targets…?”

“Yes.” He gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Namely, me.”

“But Father…!”

“What?” His smile turned into a grin, and he pinched his cheek. “You think you can hurt me, son?”

“N-No, but…!”

“Don’t worry, dear,” Moriko intervened, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t hurt me when we trained together, remember? Your father will run and jump around, and you will just have to freeze him a little.”

Uraume nodded, excitement and curiosity and joy replacing his worries.

“Do… Do you really think I can learn the reverse cursed technique?”

“Yes,” Sukuna answered without hesitation. “You possess a great amount of cursed energy, and you can control it well now. I’m sure it will come easy to you.”

“Alright!” Uraume beamed at them both. “Thank you, Father, Mother!”

 

That night, as he and Moriko lied in bed, a bit of ice under the pillow to help her cool down during the humid summer night, she asked:

“Beloved, would you tell me more about sorcery?”

He propped his head on one hand, idly brushing his fingers on her arm.

“What would you like to know?”

“Well… How do you measure one’s potential? I know there are strong and weak sorcerers, but can a strong sorcerer also be weak and vice versa?”

He hummed, thinking about her question, turning it in his mind, ruminating, pondering.

“One can be strong in one or several areas while being weak in others, yes. For example, I remember some sorcerers with a great output of cursed energy who could deal significant damage, but couldn’t heal themselves or dodge in time.”

He took her hand, rubbing the back of it, her palm, her long fingers.

“I always wondered what kind of training would be more effective - the one related to sorcery and cursed energy or the merely physical one. No sorcerer or warrior I fought ever gave me a clear answer, so I trained both my sorcery and my body.”

He flexed two arms, always enjoying to see her blush.

“But I think,” he continued, bringing her hand to his mouth to kiss it, “that sorcery is nothing but flesh and blood, in the end. And so one’s potential all depends on themselves, on their will to live, improve, survive.”

She nodded, a soft smile on her face. He touched her cheek, traced the freckles there, then her lips.

“Why do you ask?”

“I was curious. You are so strong and know so many things, and I realized we never really talked about sorcery before.”

He grinned.

“I’m self-taught, though. And my circumstances are rather special. I could be wrong about some things, although I doubt it.”

“I know you’re right,” she giggled, then she pressed a sweet kiss on his lips.

They heard some light footsteps just behind the shoji doors that led to the corridor.

“Mother, Father…?”

“Come in, Uraume.”

The child gingerly entered the rooms, wringing his hands.

“What is it, dear?” Moriko asked, sitting up. He went to her and mumbled:

“I can’t sleep.”

She and Sukuna shared an amused look.

“I see. Too excited for tomorrow?”

Uraume nodded fast.

“Do you want to sleep here?”

He nodded again, faster.

He smiled when he lied down on the futon and felt his ice under the pillow.

“Does it help, Mother?”

“Oh, a lot! Sleeping will be a lot easier with it. Thank you, my dear.”

She brushed back his hair from his forehead, chuckling.

“Don’t worry, Uraume. It will be alright. It will be quite fun, you will see!”

“I know. I just don’t want to… huh…”

He lowered his voice and his eyes.

“…disappoint you or Father.”

“You are our son,” Sukuna said, tapping his nose. “You could never disappoint us.”

Uraume beamed at him, then he adjusted his position and asked, stars in his eyes:

“May I hear the story of the Weaver Festival again, please?”

Moriko began, stroking his hair as she talked.

Sukuna and Uraume listened to every word, and once she was finished, the child was deep asleep, holding onto one of Sukuna’s fingers, a content smile on his face.

Notes:

First part: DEPRESSION
Second part: the oldest trope in the world
Third part: F L U F F

Kikoden: also known as the Weaver Festival or Tanabata, it's a holiday with mixed Chinese and Japanese origins. On the seventh day of the Seventh Month (August), the court celebrated the annual reunion of the Herdsman (the star Altair) with his beloved Weaver Maid (the star Vega) on the Milky Way. According to the legend, the two fell madly in love and started shirking their duties to spend time together. The gods, enraged by this, separated them, but allowed them to meet once a year on a bridge of magpies in the sky. Women at court would pray to the Weaver to improve in her feminine arts (sewing, music, and calligraphy).

Hototogisu: a cute bird that announced the coming of summer with its song. Often celebrated in Heian poems, nobles from the capital would even set off on brief trips outdoors to find it and hear it sing. (It's the bird Sukuna wanted to eat in the previous chapter LMAO)

Niwa: one of the many Japanese words for "garden".

Aioi: "a tree with two trunks growing from a single root." But also "a planting method in which two trees are grown adjacent to each other. They are said to represent a married couple or the intimacy between a man and a woman. Sometimes they are planted a little bit apart." 💖

Fun (not really) fact: I like to imagine that Sukuna perfected his Malevolent Shrine while separated from Moriko, and that's why it looks like a chinjusha, a Shinto-Buddhist temple like the one where they separated: he channeled all his pain and sorrow into it. 😭

Hokora: a small wayside shrine usually found far from the beaten path, already mentioned in Irori.

Also, Moriko will grow bolder with the passing of years. Soon she will pinch or smack Sukuna's butt while passing by him in the corridor and he will get as hard as a stone (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

Chapter 7: Ubuzori, Yudono no Hajime, Genpuku

Notes:

Attention, description of gore, cannibalism, and death in the first two parts!

I’m hungry.

He hadn’t encountered any animal yet, nor any merchant or peasant from whom he could steal some food.

He didn’t know where he was. The path he was walking on was clearly not treaded very often, although there was a hint of it in the dark soil.

But the field of grass and flowers that spanned his view didn’t seem to end, and he could see no houses, no villages, no farmland on the horizon.

His stomach grumbled, and his second mouth swallowed a huge gulp of saliva. He gritted his teeth, trying to stop his viscera from turning and twisting, but in vain.

The rest of his body was also giving him problems. He was wearing some rough hemp clothes stolen from a little corpse he had found abandoned in a ditch. They fit him well and were way better than his previous rags, but these new ones were getting dirty, too, and he had been forced to cut two holes on the sides for his additional arms, ruining and fraying the cloth.

He hadn’t washed them and himself in quite some time, and his skin burned, his scalp itched, and his bare feet hurt as much as his hungry stomach did.

He could eat the grass. He had done it once before, even though he had disliked it. He knew by now that many flowers were edible and healthy, but his body needed something more, something nutritious and hearty and full of blood and life.

He kept walking until he reached a knoll. There he found a wall, a short one, old and covered in moss, maybe the remnant of some tower or outpost that had been torn down.

There were some large bushes behind it, and he plunged his four hands into their leaves and thin branches, paying no mind to his scratched arms. He collected some berries; he didn’t know them, he was sure he had never eaten them before, but he didn’t care. Anything would be better than that agonizing hunger burning his belly.

The berries didn’t taste like much, but they sated him a little. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the hot sun staring down at him like a ruthless bastard, maybe it was the berries themselves - he suddenly felt very sleepy and decided to sleep there, nestled among the bushes, protected by the scorching sunrays.

He woke up after a few hours. The light in the sky was different, the clouds had moved, the air was less stifling.

Someone was sitting on the wall. And he was eating.

He couldn’t see him well from beyond the bushes, but he was sure he caught a glimpse of a simple kesa and a shaven head. The sounds of munching and chewing were unmistakable, one of the few sounds with which he was painfully familiar, and his stomach grumbled in response.

He wasn’t strong enough to put up a fight, he was aware of that. He hadn’t eaten anything in many, many days, and that weird energy that ebbed and grew within him in precise intervals, depending on what he was doing or seeing, was also making a fuss that day.

Maybe, if he was quick enough… Maybe, if he hit the monk right on his stupid head, he could steal his food and run away…

And monks were supposed to be softhearted, mellow people, weren’t they? He was sure that idiot wouldn’t run after him.

He moved, but one of his arms had gotten stuck in a tangle of branches and sticks while he was asleep, and the leaves made a loud sound. In the quiet calm of the field, it echoed like a thunder.

The monk gasped and turned around, his dark eyes falling on the bush. They met his red one - just one, for the lower one and the right ones were covered by the leaves.

“Who are you?” the monk asked, not unkindly. “Why are you spying on me?”

The child didn’t reply. He looked at the half-eaten onigiri in the monk’s hands and licked his lips.

The monk saw him, for his mouth was uncovered, and something passed over his sun-burned face, an emotion the child didn’t recognize.

“You must be hungry, little one.” He handed him the onigiri. “Here.”

A tiny hand grabbed the little treasure, faster than light, and he ate it in two bites, barely chewing the rice and the delicious filling - fish? - inside.

A smile appeared on the monk’s face, together with that weird emotion again.

“What is your name, little one?”

His red eye stared at him, at his hands, at his large sleeves and his large kesa, looking for traces of hidden morsels.

“…I don’t know,” he replied in the end, for he hoped answering would lead to more food.

The monk made a low sound.

“An orphan, huh?”

He looked at something on the horizon, or maybe at nothing. Then he turned to the child again, saying:

“I live in a temple not far from here. It’s small, but we would take care of you there. You could devote yourself to the merciful Buddha and live in contentment and honorable prayer.”

That sounded like the most boring thing in the world, but the child didn’t say it out loud, wanting to keep the monk amicable.

What he said was: “The Buddha wouldn’t like me.”

The monk smiled again.

“That’s not true. Everyone can attain enlightenment, and our Amida Buddha welcomes all.”

Something moved within the child’s chest. A pang right where his heart was, a painful prickle, like the blade of a hot knife entering his flesh and turning and twisting without pity.

He swallowed, and the monk’s face suddenly looked kinder, his kesa richer and cleaner, his hands younger.

“Even someone like me?”

“Yes. Everyone can enter the Pure Land.”

“What if someone is ugly? Or dirty? Or different?”

The monk laughed, a gentle sound that confused the child.

“That doesn’t matter. Someone could be a peasant covered in mud or the victim of a fire, and the Buddha’s light would reach them all the same.”

The child hesitated. He had never been welcomed somewhere before. He had met some people feeling sorry for him, but then they had seen him, and their compassion had turned into disgust and fear.

He had never met a monk before. This man also hadn’t set his eyes on him yet, but surely he wouldn’t lie about the Buddha? Surely what he was saying was true; surely even a little unwanted wretch like him could find peace and always feel full, and be held and touched without fear and hatred, and finally be loved…

“Come!” The monk reached out for him from the wall, still smiling. “Don’t be afraid, little one.”

The child swallowed again, an odd sensation taking root in his soul. It felt like hope, the same he would feel when he was even younger and would try to approach kind-looking people for a scrap of attention.

They had soon squashed it, of course, and he had learned not to feel it anymore, but now it was coming back, stronger than ever; and he was convinced that this time, this time for sure…!

He reached out, and his hand touched the monk’s. He pulled him, and the child’s body left the shrub where it had remained hidden until now.

The monk shouted and fell back, roughly freeing his hand.

“Merciful Amida!” he gasped, his eyes wide and full of confusion and horror.

The child stared back. He had expected him to react like that, it was normal. He knew he was different, he knew there was no one else like him in the entire country.

He would give the monk some time - the Buddha loved everyone, right? He just needed to be patient, then. He would even promise not to eat everything in the pantry. He would show the monks in the temple that he could be a good kid, that he could be like everyone else despite his creepy appearance.

He walked around the wall to stand in front of the monk, who scrambled back, his eyes still fixed on him.

“If I pray every day, will the Buddha hear me?” he asked, twisting and pulling the hem of the rags he had wrapped around his body. “Will you and the other monks?”

The man opened his mouth to answer, but then slowly closed it, and that same expression from before appeared on his face for the third time.

“Ryomen Sukuna…” he murmured, and the child frowned.

“What?”

The monk took out some beads out of his sleeve and started reciting some weird prayers in a language the child didn’t know. When he started speaking normally again, a cold shiver ran down his spine.

“O Amida Buddha, please defend me from this fiend reborn in a child’s body. Please shed your divine light upon him, so that he may know salvation in the next life.”

“You said he welcomes everyone,” the child growled, clenching his four little fists.

Then his voice rose in a venom-filled accusation: “You said everyone!”

The monk recited some more verses, then he answered, his eyes sad, but distant:

“I’m sorry.”

“Liar!”

“Please go away. Don’t try to follow me.”

“You’re a dirty liar!”

“It’s not your fault.” The monk shook his head. “You clearly are that monster mentioned in the Nihon Shoki. That fiend from the Hida province reborn. In the next life…”

The hope the child had allowed himself to feel until now like a fool, that bittersweet illusion, turned into rage and hatred and more pain.

He felt it burn his viscera, worse than the hunger still vexing him, and it grew and grew, until it mixed with the energy he had felt run through his veins ever since he could remember.

“Liar!”

He let that energy out, and when next he blinked, the monk was lying on the ground, cut to pieces, his empty eyes staring at the sky above.

He wasn’t a stranger to death. He had seen his fair share of dead people, of corpses, of carcasses; he had rummaged in their belongings, stolen their stuff, even the food in their pockets and bags.

But he had never killed someone until now. He wasn’t even sure how he had done it.

He approached the monk’s body and kicked it. Then he did it again and again, until he was battering it with his tiny fists while still letting out that weird energy and howling screams full of rage and sorrow and betrayal.

Soon the body was reduced to a crimson and white pulp. He felt exhausted, more than ever, and his stomach grumbled again.

His four eyes looked at the flesh, a vivid bright red under the hot summer sun. It reminded him of some chicken meat he had stolen from a butcher’s house a few months ago.

His mouths licked their lips. He looked and looked until all of his eyes started burning. Then he finally blinked and fell on the corpse, pushing large quantities of flesh, tendons, ligaments, and bones inside his open jaws.

It’s good! It’s good!

He kept eating until he was finally full. He had never felt so sated before in his life, and the monk’s taste was a new, titillating one. He wondered if everyone tasted like him, or if people had different flavors.

What a fool he had been, stealing food when all he needed to survive had always been under his nose!

He looked at the mangled body and tried using that weird energy again. He failed the first time, but the second attempt was successful: he slashed the ruined legs, and deep cuts appeared on the ground, too.

He grinned. If he kept training, if he kept using that power, then he could eat whenever he wanted, whomever he wanted. How would a young woman taste? What flavor would a child like him have? Were elderly people delicious, too?

He set off with no destination in mind as usual. He belonged nowhere, and no place would ever welcome him - he had finally realized and accepted it.

But he was strong, he could attack, he could defend himself, and no one would ever hurt or lie to him again.

 

A few days later, he came across another man.

This one looked like a soldier, a warrior, but he carried no weapons. He was just dressed like one.

“I know you’re there,” the man said, glaring at the bush behind which the child was hiding. “I can feel your cursed energy.”

The child hesitated, then asked:

“What’s that?”

“Great,” the soldier muttered. “It’s one raised by stupid humans.”

“Aren’t you human, too?”

The man raised his chin high, haughty and arrogant.

“I am a sorcerer.”

“What’s that?”

“Someone who can use cursed energy.”

He still didn’t know what that was, exactly, but something told him it was related to that power, that mysterious ability he had recently discovered to possess.

“Am I a sorcerer, then?”

“Technically, yes. But it’s obvious you never trained before. Your cursed energy is all over the place.”

The man squinted, trying to peer through the thick bush.

“Come on, there’s no need to hide. I won’t hurt you.”

“How can I train? How can I get better?”

The soldier shrugged with a sniff, not particularly interested.

“I don’t know - hunt animals? Fight against people? Devote yourself to one of the three big clans and fight for one of them?”

“What are those?”

Now the man looked shocked, almost offended.

“Good heavens! Were you raised under a rock?”

The child scratched one of his arms, wanting to ask more questions. But he could see the soldier was getting impatient: he got closer to the bush, trying to catch a glimpse of him once again.

He whistled.

“You’ve got a lot of cursed energy, boy. It’s been mounting without cease these past few minutes. The Zenin clan would love to have someone like you in their ranks.”

“Am I strong?”

“Well, I guess so. Come out and let me take a look at you.”

The child obeyed, but just because he actually wanted the soldier to see him.

He grinned at him when he swore under his breath and stepped away from the bush.

“A curse…!”

He moved into a weird pose, his fists raised, his legs open wide. A fighting stance, the child realized.

And then he felt it. That odd energy, different from his own, but also the same, coming straight from the man.

It pushed against him, and for a moment he felt overwhelmed, but he easily pushed back, freeing himself from its hold.

The man gritted his teeth.

“Disgusting friend! You tried to trick me!”

“What is a curse?”

“A monster, just like you are!”

“You said I was a sorcerer.”

The man shook his head. The child hummed.

“What am I, then? A human or a curse?”

“You’re a horrid beast! You don’t belong to this world!”

The child felt his grins grow.

“I have a name, you know.”

“I don’t care!”

The child released his cursed energy, taking the man by surprise; it hit him squarely in the chest, and he fell down in a puddle of his own blood.

The child went to him. He wasn’t dead yet, but he soon would be. He kept grinning at him as he lifted his arm, placing it between the teeth of his second mouth.

“I’m Ryomen Sukuna,” he said, then he tilted his head, staring straight at the warrior’s horror-stricken face.

“I wonder what you will taste like.”

And he bit down.

 

- - -

 

Childhood’s End

 

The years passed, and Uraume quickly outgrew the clothes lady Moriko had made for him.

He had often watched her sew and stitch, and so he had learned some things. He modified the kosode she had stitched for his little body, increasing its width and length so that it could fit him again.

He had found the fabric he needed in a village lord Sukuna and he had pillaged. Then they had stopped in a dilapidated temple nearby to rest for the night, and there he lit some candles and torches to better see while working.

They were always on the move, and so they couldn’t bring much luggage, since it would only slow them down. Lord Sukuna’s cursed weapons, the clothes on their backs, some food for Uraume, and a few useful utensils were all they carried, but Uraume didn’t mind: he had always been a resourceful kid, and Mother had taught him how a simple needle and a thread were all he needed to create little masterpieces.

He took care of lord Sukuna’s dinner first, of course, but it didn’t go well. The village had been a small, pitiful thing, with just a few farmers that hadn’t even realized what was happening until it was too late. Their bodies were scrawny and covered in round pustules - the beginning of an epidemic? -, and the final result didn’t satisfy Uraume at all.

He had apologized to lord Sukuna, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was still eating, looking bored and empty as usual, and Uraume tried hiding his shame by fully focusing on his clothes.

He collected all the suitable fabric he had found in the village, disrobed, then started working.

He remembered lady Moriko’s teachings, her delicate, confident gestures, her patience and focus. He tried to replicate her elegance, putting all his effort into the task at hand.

“Ouch!”

He hissed and licked his burning thumb, then he tried again. It took him a few tries, and his stitches looked terrible next to lady Moriko’s, but his kosode was finally four panels larger.

His dobuku remained. That would be harder, he realized. It wasn’t cut in single, well-marked panels like a kosode, and he only had light-colored threads, while the dobuku was dark.

He hesitated, biting his lower lip. Lady Moriko would know what to do. She would find a solution or tell him white stitches on a dark fabric were good all the same or…

“What are you doing?”

Lord Sukuna had finished eating and was now watching him. Maybe he had been doing that for a while, Uraume realized, and he felt even more ashamed.

“I’m sorry, my lord. Are you still hungry? I can bring you more food and…”

“No. I asked you what you’re doing.”

“I’m… I’m making my clothes bigger.”

Lord Sukuna eyed the kosode and dobuku lying on the floor, then grunted.

“White thread on black?”

“I-I don’t have other colors, my lord.”

Lord Sukuna rose without a sound and left the room they had chosen to dine in.

Uraume thought that was the end of it. He put on his kosode again, leaving the dobuku on the floor. He would worry about it after washing lord Sukuna’s bowls in the stream running next to the temple.

He was about to get out when lord Sukuna returned.

“Here,” he gruffly said, opening one of his hands. He was holding a small spool of dark thread.

Uraume gasped and took it, turning it in his hand. The thread looked old and a bit dusty, but it was still strong.

“Where…”

“You must learn to explore every place we might find ourselves in,” lord Sukuna said. “You never know what people might have left behind. Food, supplies, clothes…”

It was the biggest number of words he had pronounced in a long while. His voice was hoarse with disuse, and Uraume felt a familiar lump in the back of his mouth: the threat of tears.

He had missed talking with his Father, but he didn’t know how to continue the conversation. There was so much pain, so much sorrow, so many unshed tears and unsaid things, and he…

“Understood, Uraume?”

“Y-Yes, my lord. Thank you!”

Lord Sukuna nodded, then he sat down by the fire again. Uraume got back to work immediately, forgetting about the dirty bowls for a moment.

He fixed his dobuku in record time. The thread was invisible against the dark fabric, and the overall result was quite decent. He felt proud of himself, but the feeling was a bittersweet one, for lady Moriko wasn’t there to congratulate him, and lord Sukuna looked distracted and full of sorrow again, his four scarlet eyes staring at a wall as usual.

“I will go to the stream to wash the dishes, Master,” Uraume announced, bowing his head. Lord Sukuna hummed, his lower left eye glancing at him for a second.

It was night, and they had lit no torches outside the temple, but he followed the sound of water easily until his feet touched the wet bank.

He crouched down to start washing. He had cleaned two bowls when he heard it.

A gasp, or maybe a long pant, a struggling intake of breath. And then faltering steps, crunched leaves, twigs snapped in half under the weight of another human being.

There were some clouds in the sky, but the moonlight was bright enough to allow Uraume to see who was approaching. Their shadow fell on the dark waters of the stream.

An old man, wheezing and coughing, his eyes white and blind. He tripped over the stones on the bank, and fell forward with a groan, his shaking hands finding little purchase in the cold water.

Uraume stared at him, as still and silent as a statue. But he lost his hold on one of the bowls, and it fell on the rocks with a loud clunk.

“Who… Who is there?” the blind man babbled. “Please! Please, I need help!”

Uraume’s lips formed a thin, white line. What little innocence was left in him made him feel bad for the poor man; but the despise and contempt lord Sukuna felt for people, be they sorcerers or humans, was now also part of him, and he couldn’t help but feel disgusted, too.

“There is no help here,” he said, then he resumed cleaning the bowls. The man babbled something.

“Is this… is this the Tendai temple near the western hills of the Omi province?”

Uraume frowned, slightly surprised. For being blind, the old man had a precise knowledge of their whereabouts.

“…Yes.”

“Then I’m at the right place! I have been travelling all day, and I got lost twice. There is no one around, everyone is scared of the plague!”

“The plague?”

“You don’t know about it? Does it mean the temple has been spared, then?”

Uraume remembered the corpses of the villagers he had prepared and cooked, the blisters and pustules on their arms and chests, their pale, dry skin, their feverish eyes.

“M-My son…!” the old man continued. “He’s dying! He fell sick a few days ago and hasn’t risen from his bed since!”

“And what do you seek here?”

“Prayers! Salvation! The monks of this temple will surely be able to heal this sickness!”

The blind man gasped, struck by a sudden idea.

“You sound young, but… are you one of the monks?”

Uraume flinched, remembering the somber, solemn, melancholy figures of the temple where lady Moriko was waiting. He remembered their shaven heads, their kind eyes, their elegant kesa, their simple sandals.

“Go back to your son,” he said, piling the bowls one into the other. “There is nothing for you here.”

The old man started sobbing, and again Uraume felt pity. He knew lady Moriko would have stayed and helped him. He knew she would have given him food, while reassuring him that everything would be alright.

“It’s over!” the old man wailed, his forehead pressed on the ground. “If this place is lost, too, then it’s truly over!”

“There are no monks here,” Uraume confirmed, but then he hastily added: “But you can pray all the same.”

The old man sniffled and raised his head, his white eyes full of hot tears.

“W-What?”

“There is a small shrine to your left. Walk for twenty steps or so and you will find it.”

“That’s…!”

“Then leave.” Uraume glanced at the ruined temple, at the light coming from the windows. “This is no place for you. Go and stay with your son.”

“Thank you!”

The old man bowed deeply, his forehead touching the wet rocks again.

“I don’t know who you are, but thank you, kindhearted youth. You must be one of the Buddha’s disciples all the same, for your heart is full of warmth and kindness.”

Uraume looked away, flinching again.

“May the Buddha’s divine light always illuminate your path and keep you safe from this plague and the fiend who unleashed it.”

He blinked, confused by the man’s choice of words.

“What do you mean?”

The blind eyes fell on him by chance, suddenly serious, sadder than ever.

“Ryomen Sukuna. He’s been terrorizing the country for years. I heard some Kamo soldiers say he’s the one who caused this pestilence and that only monks can…”

His words died with him - Uraume had summoned a dagger of ice and threw it at his chest.

“Bastards,” he growled as he watched the blood trickle into the stream, turning the moonlit waters dark. “My lord will devour you all!”

He had never killed someone so directly before. He always helped lord Sukuna destroy villages and armies, yes, but his support had always been subtle: he would freeze his lord’s targets for him, make them slip on paths of ice, numb their limbs.

But he had never taken their lives like this; that was an honour (and a burden?) lord Sukuna wanted for himself to better get revenge on the world that had hurt him and lady Moriko so terribly.

A mind-numbing dread threatened to overcome him. How could he look lady Moriko in the eye now? How could he keep hanging onto a scrap of innocence if there was nothing left of it in him?

He needed to do something, anything, or he would go mad with sorrow and guilt.

He grabbed hold of the old man’s clothes and pulled, dragging him across the stream. He left the bowls there, knowing nothing would happen to them - he needed to bring the corpse to the temple first, so that he could prepare it for lord Sukuna.

That body was still healthy, from what little he could see. He would make sure to prepare a decent meal for his lord this time. He only hoped that disease wouldn’t spread to them, too.

…No, lord Sukuna was invincible. Maybe he, Uraume, might be in danger, but he had never fallen sick in his life, not even as a very young child.

He had heard his previous parents talk about it once: how sorcerers apparently had stronger, healthier bodies than normal humans, how illnesses and colds and diseases that could kill a simple man rarely touched someone with cursed energy.

He hoped they were right. He wanted to live a long life, so that he could see lord Sukuna and lady Moriko reunite and be held by them again.

He dragged the corpse all the way to the temple. Fortunately it wasn’t particularly heavy, and he had grown stronger during his time with lord Sukuna.

But his heart still hammered like a mad horse, and his hands were pink, his feet and the hem of his kosode still humid, and his mind felt like a barren, frozen wasteland.

He entered from one of the backdoors that led to the kitchens, but these were close to the room where the fire was. Lord Sukuna heard him grunt and grumble and came to see what was happening.

“What are you doing-”

He stopped, staring at the man’s corpse, at the wound on his chest, at Uraume’s red fingers and sweaty face.

“I found him by the stream, my lord.”

“Dead?”

“No.”

Something passed over lord Sukuna’s face. For a moment, Uraume feared it was annoyance, but then he realized it was different: it was a more pained scowl, hiding not frustration, but pain and resignation instead.

He wasn’t able to dwell on it much longer. His lord schooled his face into a bored, inexpressive mask again and nodded.

“Will you prepare him, then?”

“Yes. But he talked about a plague before dying. I don’t think he’s sick, but the people you ate for dinner, my lord…”

“I ate worse,” lord Sukuna said with a shrug. “Boil him and make me a soup.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

“We will stay here for a few days, so prepare some food for the road, too.”

“Of course.”

Lord Sukuna was about to leave the kitchens, when he stopped on his tracks and asked, his voice calm, his tone neutral, but still hiding that hint of pain Uraume had glimpsed on his face:

“We still had a lot of meat. Why did you kill him?”

Pride and rage swelled within Uraume as he remembered the old man’s words.

“He offended you, my lord.” He clenched his fists, taking deep breaths to try and calm down. “He said the plague was your fault.”

Lord Sukuna’s left eyes looked at him from above his shoulder.

“Maybe it is.”

“I don’t care. He offended you!”

Lord Sukuna said nothing. He left the kitchens, and Uraume grabbed the biggest knife he had to start cutting the blind man’s limbs.

 

That night, he had a nightmare.

Ever since leaving lady Moriko, sleep had been slow to come and hard to maintain, but he had managed to find some sort of balance, or at least he had convinced his body that four or five hours of sleep were all it needed to keep going during the day.

Despite maturing and becoming better at stifling his tears, however, he would still toss and turn in whatever bedding he had, haunted by memories of better days, by the rage of a blood-filled present, by fears of an uncertain future.

And that night he saw her, lady Moriko. He would often see her in his dreams, and they were almost always beautiful scenes set in a forest or in a snowy landscape.

But this time they were by the stream near the temple. His nightmare had turned it into a raging river, and lady Moriko was crouching on the other bank, far from him.

“Mother!” he called above the roar of the dark currents. The moon was in the sky, but its light was weak, feeble, and it didn’t illuminate the river at all.

There was also a single, lonely star in the heavy expanse of darkness. In the dream, Uraume knew it was a frozen star, and the thought made him sad, although he didn’t know how he knew that.

Lady Moriko raised her eyes from her hands in the water; she was washing something.

“I will freeze the river!” he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. “I will come to you!”

Her face was sad and tired. She pulled the fabric out of the water - it was Uraume’s kosode, dirty with the old man’s blood.

“No!”

He started breathing heavily, a terrible weight on his chest.

Lady Moriko said something, her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear her above the sound of the furious river.

He felt himself cry, his tears as cold and sharp as pieces of ice.

“I’m… I’m sorry!”

Lady Moriko’s lips moved again as she continued cleaning the kosode.

“I’m sorry, Mother!”

Something touched his hand, and he turned to his left with a gasp.

He saw his previous parents kneeling on the ground, their bodies covered by a sheen of silver chill.

Rime and frost hung from their hair, lips, and eyelashes like the day when he had accidentally killed them.

“Kindhearted youth,” the father from his old life said, his eyes blinded by ice and death, “may the Buddha’s light always illuminate you.”

Uraume woke up with a scream, his face covered in tears and sweat.

He had chosen a corner of the fire room to rest, near the kitchens. Lord Sukuna was sitting by a window, looking at the dawn outside.

His four crimson eyes were watching him, on his face the same expression from before.

“I…” Uraume swallowed, his throat and lips dry. “I will go prepare your breakfast, Master.”

He rose on weak legs, his mind showing him the nightmare without cease, forcing him to remember each scene vividly.

The old man’s corpse had been cut and placed in a tub, his liver and limbs used to make the soup lord Sukuna had requested the previous night.

His blind eyes were staring at the ceiling. Uraume closed them, his last act of mercy.

 

- - -

 

Coming of Age

 

They celebrated Akiko’s birth in a myriad of different ways, one stranger than the other.

First, they held brief, but rich banquets on the third, fifth, and seventh nights after her birth.

Sukuna actually loved that custom - the food was delicious as always, and Moriko, Uraume, and Akiko were glowing with joy and health. Even the presence of the Imagawa didn’t bother him as much as before, and he laughed at some of his in-laws’ jokes.

They had brought many gifts, too: white clothing for Moriko and Akiko, pieces of furniture carved with lord Imagawa and Genji’s cursed energy, food and fruits harvested while hiding at the Shinto-Buddhist temple…

Sukuna was (begrudgingly) grateful to them. They already loved Akiko, and he knew they cared about him, too, for some crazy reason.

But then he found out there would be the first cutting of Akiko’s hair a week after her birth, and that he didn’t understand. That he didn’t really like.

“Why the hell would you hold a pair of scissors so close to a newborn baby’s head?” he growled when Moriko and her father explained the ritual to him.

Ubuzori, it was called, and he wondered how it was performed when a child was born with no hair…

He would ask Moriko later.

“I will snip just three locks of hair,” lord Imagawa tried to reassure him. “Then Moriko will finish the haircut and comb her hair. Usually a nurse takes care of that, but poor Yuki’s hands still tremble sometimes and…”

“I trust Moriko, but you?” Sukuna glared at him. “You have just one eye left.”

His father-in-law glared back.

“I can see perfectly well!”

“I will be the one to cut the three locks.”

“But…!”

“Father, he’s right,” Moriko intervened, standing close to Sukuna, Akiko cooing in her arms. “Let him do it, please.”

And she smiled up at him. He grinned back, his chest full of pride.

When the day came, though, he was nervous. Akiko was still small and delicate, and he had never done something like that before.

Moriko was holding her, keeping her head slightly raised so that Sukuna could better see and cut her downy hair.

It was dark, resembling Moriko’s brown locks, but she had told him a baby’s hair color would change during the years. She hoped it would turn pink like his. He… he felt a warm sensation within his chest every time he thought about it.

He placed on her tiny head a pine twig, a piece of dragon’s beard, and sprigs of wild orange that Moriko had summoned herself. They were symbols of longevity and good health, she had explained to him the previous night - it made no sense to him, but he would believe for the sake of his daughter.

Then he turned her head to the east and cut three locks of hair. Slowly, very carefully, barely breathing. But it was done quite quickly, and Akiko was none the worse for wear.

“Well done, beloved,” Moriko told him, smiling bright. She had never doubted him, and his love for her filled him so much, so strongly, he couldn’t utter a single word.

They had a final banquet on the ninth night after Akiko’s birth, and Sukuna believed that was the end of it.

He almost had a stroke when Genji came to him with a question a few days later.

“Brother-in-law, when would you and Moriko like to hold Akiko’s yudono no hajime?”

Sukuna frowned. Moriko was checking the garden with Uraume, and Akiko was sleeping safely and warm in his arms. The irori was lit, a pot of dancha tea hanging over the lively flames.

He looked down at his daughter, as if she held the answer, then back at Genji, who was smiling patiently at him.

“The what?”

His brother-in-law was now surprised, but he was as tactful as his sister, for he quickly smiled again and explained without losing his composure:

“The ceremony for her first bath.”

“We already washed her the day she was born.”

“Ah, that’s… that’s a different thing. This will be a ritual repeated on seven auspicious days…”

“Seven days?”

“Yes. We will need sixteen jugs of warm water, then we will have to fill a tub, find a suitable piece of hard wood, craft a fake tiger’s head…”

Sukuna listened to the description of the ritual with growing bewilderment and confusion.

Once Genji was finished, he narrowed his eyes and said: “That sounds terribly complicated.”

“It is,” Genji agreed with a chuckle. “But it’s supposed to protect Akiko and give her strength.”

“She is already strong. She is my daughter, after all.”

“Of course, but…”

Moriko came back in that moment, carrying a small basket of winter vegetables.

“Moriko,” Sukuna sighed, “why do we need to clean our child seven times?”

“Oh, the yudono no hajime! I… I almost forgot about it.”

But he doubted that. She was an extremely attentive mother, and even though she tried to hide it, he could see there was something worrying her.

“You will perform it here in your house, sister?” Akisuke asked. “Or would you prefer our part of the shrine?”

“Here in the hearth room will be fine,” but her smile still looked a bit unconvinced and unsure.

They studied a calendar later in their quarters. Since there were no onmyodo masters at their disposal, they would need to choose the auspicious dates by themselves.

But neither Sukuna nor Moriko had ever calculated something like that before, and her family was equally ignorant about the onmyoji’s ways, since those scholars disliked sharing their knowledge even with the very nobles they served.

And so they chose at random, sure it would be alright all the same. They were already doing so many things differently, after all.

For example, Moriko hadn’t left their house after Akiko’s birth, even though onmyodo rules say she should have, since childbirth was a polluting event for the soul. When Akisuke had mentioned it, Sukuna had almost kicked him out of the veranda.

“Moriko,” he asked once they finally agreed on days that looked auspicious enough, “what’s wrong?”

She sighed, shaking her head.

“Submerging a baby in water not one time, but seven, in full winter…”

She made a low sound. He could see her think and ruminate as she traced Akiko’s plump cheeks with a finger.

“I… I don’t really like it, beloved.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I thought I was going crazy!”

“It’s stupid, isn’t it!?”

“So stupid! It’s as if nobles want their children to die young!”

“The hearth room is warm, and the water would be, too, but it’s snowing, and she is so small!”

“We would need to dry her quite quickly, but what if a cold draft enters while she is bare?”

Sukuna glared at a point above her shoulder, grunting.

“No. I refuse.”

“I will tell Father we will simply dip her feet in the water once. No seven days - just once and that’s it.”

He immediately felt better, and it was clear she was relieved, too. He grinned at her.

“Renouncing the onmyodo ways so drastically… I fully corrupted you, Moriko!”

“Good.” Her smile was happy and a bit coy. “I’m glad of it.”

He groaned when she opened her kosode to feed Akiko. He pouted as he watched the child drink.

“Lucky kid,” he muttered, making Moriko laugh.

“It’s still a bit too soon to… you know…” she said, suddenly shy, her cheeks red. “But I could use my hand or mouth, if you want. And…”

“No, no.”

He got up to go retrieve her comb and the camellia oil, then sat down behind her.

“I am a patient man, Moriko,” he softly said, untying her low ponytail to spread some oil on her hair and comb it for the night. “There is no hurry.”

“Mother said it should be alright to do it in a few months…”

“Then we shall wait.” He pressed his lips on her bare shoulder. “I want to fully enjoy our time together.”

He saw the joy on her face, and a terrible doubt crept into his mind.

“Let me guess: someone at court told you to expect your future husband to force you to have sex after childbirth. Am I wrong?”

She made a timid, positive sound.

“Some women did,” she mumbled. “I overheard others say their husbands weren’t interested in them anymore after their pregnancy.”

“Tsk.” His disgust knew no bounds. “Vermin. Forget their words, beloved.”

She smiled at him again, then at Akiko.

“We’re very lucky, darling Akiko,” she said, lifting her tiny hand to kiss it. “Your father is a sweet, kind man.”

He grunted, trying to ignore the feeling of his face on fire.

 

Surprisingly, his in-laws agreed with them about the bath.

It had been snowing nonstop for days, and the temperature in the shrine didn’t want to decrease. It would be a beautiful, but very cold winter, and Akiko was simply too young and delicate to undergo seven bathing rituals.

They filled the tub with water from sixteen jugs; Akisuke and Genji twanged their bows’ strings to keep the curses and demons at bay; Moriko’s sister and her mother carried a katana and a wooden tiger's head, respectively.

Lord Imagawa started reciting some Buddhist prayers, then the servant Yuki dipped a silk bag into the hot water - it contained a piece of hard wood, pine twigs, and even a piece of gold, all protective elements that were supposed to give Akiko strong health.

Uraume scattered the rice in the courtyard, another method to scare off curses and ghosts. Then Moriko came, carrying Akiko.

She wetted her little feet in the tub while lady Imagawa made sure the tiger’s frightening snout was reflected in the water; a way for the animal’s strength to pass onto the child, Moriko had explained.

Sukuna approached the tub and peered into it. He saw his face in the water, next to Akiko’s tiny body clad in white.

“Here,” he said. “Let my strength become yours, too, dear daughter.”

Moriko beamed at him, tears in her eyes, and lady Imagawa gave him an approving smile and nod of her head.

“Are the rituals over?” he asked that evening as he and Moriko ate by the irori. (Uraume was eating at the other side of the shrine, at the Imagawa’s, for his grandparents and uncles and aunt wished to “spoil him a little”.)

“Well…” Moriko stopped eating to think about it. “Let’s see…”

“Wait. Let me brace myself first.”

She swatted his arm as he burst into laughter.

“There is the itadakimochii ritual, on the first day of the First Month.”

“What is that?”

“We will have to place special rice cakes on Akiko’s head while pronouncing auspicious words and wishes for her good fortune.”

…Well, it was a ritual related to food. Those were always good.

“What else?”

“Oh!” Moriko suddenly looked very enthusiastic and excited. “The ika, on Akiko’s fiftieth day of life!”

Sukuna hummed, growing interested.

“More food?”

“Yes, and you - her father - will perform it.”

He sat up straighter, already feeling proud.

“Good. Only you and I can do a good job. What will I have to do?”

“We will prepare fifty special rice cakes. You will have to feed her a morsel from each to signify the inclusion of solid food in her diet.”

He hummed, stroking his chin while looking at Akiko, sleeping peacefully in a cot of silk placed between them.

“Yes, good. I like this one.”

Moriko giggled, and he noticed her bowl of rice was still half full.

“Eat,” he growled, placing more fish on her oshiki table.

“I-I am eating! Wait, no, I’m too full for deer meat, Sukuna…!”

They had cooked together that evening, since Uraume was at the Imagawa’s. He had tried preparing something for them before going, but then Genji had come to take him, and Sukuna and Moriko had convinced him not to worry, that they were two responsible adults who could take care of themselves.

Moriko had improved greatly in the culinary arts, but she still had some problems with broths and soups.

As for Sukuna… well, he was good at cutting stuff. But finding the right temperature for the meat had been a feat.

Still, everything tasted fine, and he was proud of the work they had done together. The rice might be a bit overcooked, the meat a bit hard to chew, the fish too salty, but it was good.

He watched as Moriko fed Akiko after dinner, the hearth and braziers providing great warmth and light as the snow quietly fell outside.

The child had a great appetite, which she made known to the world with a subdued fussing every few hours. She would spend the rest of the time sleeping or cooing, her eyes as dark as Moriko’s, her cheeks very round and pink, her fingers as soft as a petal, but always wrapping themselves around Sukuna’s index finger like little vines.

“Good daughter,” he said when she was finished, taking her in his enormous arms to lull her.

He smiled at her as she made a cute burping sound, and his smile grew when he felt Moriko lean against him, her sandalwood scent mingling with the aloeswood incense with which she had perfumed his kimono.

Laughter echoed across the courtyard, reaching them - it was Uraume’s, bright and joyous.

“There are two more rituals,” Moriko suddenly said, caressing Akiko’s soft hair. “One is the hakamagi, at three years old. The father must tie the string of the child’s hakama to symbolize their good development.”

“It sounds easy. The other?”

“It’s the mogi, performed when the girl reaches marriageable age.”

Sukuna bristled.

“We will perform that ceremony in the very far future. Maybe.”

“Sukuna!” Moriko laughed, kissing his arm. “She will have to visit the village when grown!”

“No, she won’t.”

“And she might meet a good person with whom spend her adult life…”

“No.”

He felt ill just by thinking about it. He poked Akiko’s nose, gently.

“No lovers until you’re fifty, daughter.”

She gurgled something, already asleep. Moriko giggled and kissed his cheek.

 

- - -

 

Uraume’s twelfth birthday came, and they celebrated it with a rich banquet and a lot of presents, more than he had ever received before in his life.

Mother and Father gave him wonderful wooden toys: a beautifully carved doll, more koma, and even a tako, a kite upon which they had painted ume flowers and hydrangeas.

His grandparents (although he was still too shy to call them like that) gave him new rich clothes and two pairs of sandals; his uncles more utensils for the kitchen; his aunt incense and perfume she had personally made for him, tailoring the different scents to his tastes and personality.

Even Miss Yuki had something for him: a simple, but beautifully colored tenugui headscarf to tie around his head when he cooked.

He was so overwhelmed, so touched by their gifts and smiles and wishes of good health, by their love and affection, by their hugs and kisses, that he burst into tears while thanking them all.

After he calmed down, Father made him sit on his leg, resting a huge, comforting hand on his shoulder as he started telling him of a snowstorm he had once witnessed.

He was obviously omitting a lot of violent details, but Uraume didn’t mind: he and the whole family listened to him, enraptured by his story, curious to hear more. He suddenly remembered his grandparents, his uncles, and his aunt had never really travelled and seen the world, not as much as he, Father, and Mother had.

“Better?” Mother asked him with a gentle smile, caressing his cheek. Uraume smiled back, nodding, then he asked to hold Akiko.

He showed her his doll, the first of his life, and laughed when she gurgled and touched it with her minuscule hand.

“I was thinking…” lord Imagawa, his grandfather, suddenly said while drinking some sake. “Uraume is grown enough for his genpuku ceremony.”

He gave Father and Mother a quizzical look; he looked confused, she full of joy.

“It’s true! The age is the right one.”

“What is genpuku?”

“It’s the Coming of Age ceremony,” lord Imagawa said with a huge grin. “It’s a rite of passage noble boys go through to signify they have reached adulthood and can get married.”

Uraume instinctively grimaced, like after eating something too sour. The room erupted in laughter, but the sound wasn’t mocking, simply amused and touched.

“It would be different in your case, of course,” lord Imagawa continued, patting his head. “You’re still a child, and there are no rules of the nobility to follow here, thank the gods.”

He took his hand and held it between his. They were calloused, and Uraume found them to be warm and gentle.

“But you’re indeed a mature, wonderful youth, and I would love to perform the genpuku for you, grandchild of mine.”

“But I’m not… I’m not a noble.”

“You’re part of the Imagawa family,” his grandmother reminded him with a large smile. “So you are a noble, but ranks and titles don’t matter here. What truly does is the fact that you and your growth deserve to be celebrated, too.”

He turned to Father and Mother, silently asking for their opinion. Father grinned at him, his red eyes glinting with pride; Mother smiled sweetly and gave him an energetic nod of her head, beyond thrilled.

“Alright.” Uraume smiled at his family. “What do I need to do?”

 

A few days later, they reunited in the hearth room to perform the genpuku.

Father cut the ends of his hair, just a little, then placed a newly crafted kanmuri, the hat of the nobility, on his head.

Uraume then moved to another room, where Mother and lady Imagawa were waiting for him. They helped him change into different clothes, rich and elaborate, those nobles wore at court every day.

When he stepped into the hearth room again, laughing, the men surrounded him, complimenting him, but Father and uncle Akisuke couldn’t help but laugh and snicker.

“I look silly!”

“No! You look so cute!” his aunt squealed, while Mother fixed the train of his robes with a tut.

“You look like a prince, my dear. Don’t listen to your father and your uncle. Akisuke, please!”

He moved to stand in front of Father, schooling his face into a haughty expression. Their lips twitched as they observed each other.

“Lord Sukuna,” Uraume pronounced with a deep, solemn voice, and Father burst into laughter again.

“Go change again, son,” he said, cackling. “Those robes aren’t good for running in the courtyard and playing with your kite.”

“You would have stolen every girl and boy’s heart at court, Uraume” Mother said, cupping his cheek. Then she giggled and kissed his forehead.

“But I’m glad you’re not living there. You are meant to be as free as a snowflake.”

He hugged her, and felt Father’s large hand rub his back, a familiar, reassuring weight.

 

A few days later, he wanted to prepare something delicious to thank his family, but he needed some chestnuts.

He knew there were some growing down the path that led to the foot of the mountain. Everyone was busy, but he couldn’t really wait - he needed to hurry if he wanted to make a good meal!

And so he went to Father and Mother, asking for their permission to go alone.

“It isn’t far! I won’t get lost in the forest, I promise!”

Father and Mother shared a worried look.

“It snowed a lot these past few days, Uraume.”

“The path won’t be always visible. We could go tomorrow together and…”

“I really, really need those chestnuts now,” he insisted, and he clasped his hands in prayer as he added: “Please, I will be careful!”

Father looked convinced and nodded, but Mother was still worried. In the end, she relented, but she insisted to accompany him to the main gate, twisting and torturing a corner of her wrapping skirt.

“He will be alright, Moriko,” he heard Father say to her. “He is a clever kid.”

“I know! But…”

Uraume sprinted away. The sooner he came back home, the sooner Mother would smile again and stop worrying.

But Father’s words had made him very, very happy.

The months spent on the matagi mountain and Father and Mother’s teachings helped him greatly; the path was indeed covered by snow here and there, but the trees and thick vegetation had shielded many of its steps, leaving them visible. Uraume never strayed from it and always made sure to keep an eye on the sunlight filtering through the white-clad leaves.

He gathered some mushrooms and delicious herbs, too, then he finally arrived at the familiar spot where the chestnut trees grew.

He started collecting those fallen on the ground, putting them inside the bag tied around his sash; he picked up a few pretty stones as well, for they were perfect for games of monoawase and to decorate suhama tables.

Then he heard them. Steps, coming from further down the path.

He hid behind the wide chestnut tree, blood rushing to his head, his heart beating so fast he feared it would give up and stop soon.

An old man appeared behind the slope. His skin was wrinkled, burned by years spent under the sun, but his hands still looked strong.

His legs not as much. His joints probably ached a lot, for he groaned and mumbled under his breath every few steps, helping himself with a long, hard cane.

He looked around, and Uraume realized he was nearly blind. He could still see, for he followed the path without difficulty, but he would narrow his eyes whenever he looked beyond an arm’s length.

“Where is it…?”

He walked some more, until he reached the tree. Uraume froze and prayed he wouldn’t walk around it - despite his near blindness, the old man would surely catch a glimpse of his purple kosode.

And if he saw him, how could Uraume explain his presence there? No one must learn about his family living in the shrine - if word started spreading around, if curious sorcerers came to investigate and discovered Father before the world forgot about him, then…

He had almost caused Mother’s death and Father’s madness once, by accidentally distracting them with a shrub of hydrangeas. He wouldn’t put them in danger again.

Fortunately, the old man stepped away from the tree, heading to the opposite direction. He let out a sound of joy.

“Here it is!”

There was a little, snow-covered hokora there, half-hidden between two bushes. He bowed before it, then clasped his hands.

“Please, kami of the forest, hear my prayer. Help my granddaughter survive this winter.”

Uraume felt bad for eavesdropping, but it couldn’t be helped. The old man would definitely hear him walk away, and he didn’t want to run any risks.

“It’s been a harsh winter, and there is little food left. We’re giving her everything we can, but she is getting weaker and weaker, and we don’t know what to do.”

He started crying, and there was a dignified quality to his sobs, the humbleness of a desperate human being who had worked hard his entire life.

“Please… Grant us a miracle… Help our little one…”

Uraume bit his lips, torn between silence and compassion.

He didn’t know much about Father’s past, but he knew he had suffered hunger to a degree he couldn’t even imagine. He knew he had suffered terribly, so much there were no words to describe it.

He loved cooking. Sometimes he believed it was his reason to be, the reason he was born for, even though he knew it was silly.

Still, he hated the idea of people going hungry, especially if he was there to help. And the pantry at their house was filled to the brim, full of delicious food, ingredients, and tasty morsels!

The image of a four-armed child came to his mind, dirty and famished, four red eyes filled with feverish want. Then he saw the old man bowing his head to the little shrine, and his heart broke a little.

He took a deep breath, hoping it was the right thing to do. Then he stepped away from the tree and approached the old man.

He heard him and turned around with a gasp. He narrowed his eyes, focusing his sight on him, then blinked, taken aback.

“A child…?”

“Sir, please take these.”

Uraume handed him the chestnuts.

“These are…!”

“Please wait here for a short while. I will come back soon.”

Uraume ran up the path, lifting the hem of his kosode to be faster, then he remembered his training with Father and sped up, using a little bit of cursed energy like he had been taught.

He returned home quite soon that way, but Mother and Father were on the veranda, worried.

“Uraume! We felt your cursed energy spike!”

“Dear, are you alright?”

“Yes! I have to go, sorry!”

He ran into the pantry and filled a basket with all the food he could carry: meat, fish, vegetables, two bags of rice, and even a bottle of sake.

It was quite heavy, but he was strong - he was twelve, and he had just gone through his genpuku! And Father and Mother had said his cursed technique was powerful and beautiful! He wouldn’t let a heavy basket stop him!

He started running towards the path again, aware that the weather was getting colder, and that the old man might believe he had played a prank of him or who knew what else. If he didn’t hurry, he might not reach him in time.

“Uraume!”

For the first time ever, he ignored Father’s call. He entered the forest, using his cursed energy again.

The basket and his legs felt lighter, and he zapped through the snowy forest like a comet, like a purple and silver star.

A huge smile spread on his face when he saw the old man was still waiting for him by the hokora.

“Sir, I’m back!”

He gave him the basket. At first the old man could only peer at it, trying to decipher what it contained, then he saw the heads of the fish, the winter vegetables, the deer and boar meat.

He gawked at it, at a loss for words, and Uraume used that chance to regain a bit of breath before speaking.

“I don’t know how old your granddaughter is, but the boar meat can be quite hard, if not cooked well. Cut it in small pieces to be safe. And marinate it well in the herbs, or it will have a wild, gamey taste!”

The old man kept gawking at him, but he was listening, and so Uraume continued:

“Be careful with the fishbones, they are hard to remove. Ask your family to do it for you if you can’t see well. I suggest grilling the fish, but this one is well suited for soups, too. Add a bit of mitsuba to it, it will enhance its flavor.”

The old man placed the basket on the ground, careful not to spill its contents, then got on his knees, his forehead touching the rough stones of the path.

“O merciful kami, thank you!”

“I… I’m not…”

“You saved my little one. May your soul full of compassion forever live in the light.”

“I…”

“Please tell me how can I repay your infinite kindness. I will do whatever you wish!”

Uraume took another deep breath, then replied:

“Don’t come here ever again. The kami of the forest, the kami of Mount Kurai… they are not here anymore. They won’t be able to help you a second time, and strangers aren’t welcome here.”

The old man raised his head and nodded solemnly.

“I understand.”

Uraume tried to mimic the tone Father had used with that soldier from the Gojo clan they had met at their old house in the forest.

“If I see you or anyone else wandering on this mount, I will be very cross with you.”

“I swear my village won’t bother the peace of this sacred place.”

Uraume believed him. He could see the honesty, respect, and joy shine on his wrinkled, tanned face.

“Good. Now… Now go.” He remembered Mother’s lessons in good manners and added: “Please.”

The old man bowed again, then rose and picked up the basket. He walked down the path and bowed a third time before disappearing among the trees.

Uraume let out a long sigh. He had no idea how to explain everything to his parents.

He turned around and let out a shrilly scream - Father was standing right there, staring at him.

“Uraume,” he said, his tone calm, “what are you doing?”

“I…! He was…!”

Uraume looked down at his feet, wringing his hands.

“…His granddaughter was hungry,” he lamely said in the end.

Some long seconds passed, then Father picked him up.

“Let’s go home,” he said, and he didn’t sound angry or disappointed, but almost… respectful?

Mother was waiting for them on the veranda. She checked on him, asking him if he was alright, and after Uraume reassured her he was fine, Father gently took her aside and told her what had happened.

When they went to him again, he looked down, mortified.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I heard him pray to the kami of the forest and I… I couldn’t just…”

“You did well, Uraume,” Mother said, crouching down to caress his cheek, her smile bright and proud. “You chose compassion and mercy. That’s always a good thing.”

“He promised he won’t come back! He promised no one will come!”

“I will take care of it, should he break that promise,” Father said with a smirk that soon turned into a smile. “But I believe he won’t do it.”

He turned to Mother, both of his mouths now grinning.

“You should have heard the way Uraume spoke to him, Moriko! Like a little lord!”

“F-Father! That’s not true!”

Father puffed out his chest, glaring down at an invisible old man.

“If I see you again, I will be very cross with you.”

“I didn’t sound like that!”

Father cackled. Mother swatted his chest, but hid her smile behind a hand.

Uraume groaned, his head hanging low with embarrassment and defeat.

Father suddenly placed his hand on top of it.

“I’m glad you answered his prayer, Uraume,” he said, and he sounded respectful, full of admiration and pride again. “You have a kind heart.”

Uraume looked up and saw he was smiling.

He smiled back, then took his hand and Mother’s, and together they entered their house, their souls filled with light.

Notes:

Sukuna's part was inspired by a conversation with yeagersss on Tumblr, about how he might have gotten the title of Ryomen Sukuna! As you know, that's not his real name, but a title given to a demon-man mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, an old book of chronicles. ("Ryomen" means "double-faced", "Sukuna" is written with the kanji for "house, dwelling" and "exorcism".) A passage in that book mentions a man with two faces and four arms called Sukuna who loved attacking people in the Hida province. He was sentenced to death, but the people of the Hida province actually considered him a hero and started worshipping him. To this day, there are temples dedicated to him in the Gifu prefecture, and he is said to be the kami of Mount Kurai (HEHE). Gege confirmed Sukuna was called like that because he reminded the people of the Heian era of that demon, but we don't know when or how that happened - hence the first painful part of this chapter.

Amida Buddha: a manifestation of Buddha particularly loved in Japan since ancient times. He welcomes everyone in the Pure Land, a place of perfect happiness, no matter their social status. The Tendai school is one of the two major Buddhist schools established during the Heian era.

Kesa: a garment Japanese Buddhist monks wear over their left shoulder. It is supposed to be a simple, unadorned piece of cloth to symbolize the renunciation to wordly desires. It's the robe Uraume wears when reincarnated in modern Japan :> (yes, I like pain, why do you ask)

Back then, sickness and diseases ran rampant, also due to a lack of personal hygiene. Nobles washed themselves once every five days according to onmyodo rules, and only if the day was a favorable one (it rarely was). Since it was easy to catch a cold, they tended to simply rub wet cloths on their bodies rather than fully submerge themselves in water. There are also records of smallpox, measles, and dysentery epidemics ravaging the capital. At the time, it was believed these diseases were caused by demons, curses, and malevolent spirits, and the most effective cure were prayers and rituals, not real medicine.

Ubuzori: the first cutting of a child's hair, around a week after their birth. It's described fully in the chapter.

Yudono no Hajime: "the beginning of the bathing", also described in detail. It was believed that reflecting something in a mirror or reflective surface would "trap" their benevolent characteristics in there, and these would be passed onto anyone who looked into the mirror/surface. Pilgrims who went visiting holy places would bring a small mirror with them, hold it before the holy place, and then show it to their family once back home, to pass the positive vibes onto them. That's why a fake tiger's head was reflected in the water during the child's bath: it was believed it would give them strength and good health.

Ika: "held on or about the fiftieth day after a birth. Using chopsticks, the father or maternal grandfather fed the baby from an assortment of fifty special rice cakes (ika no mochii), probably as a formal indication that the infant’s diet would thenceforth include solid food."

Hakamagi: the Putting On of the Trousers, a ceremony for male and female children, usually celebrated at three years old. The father would tie the strings of their new hakama to signify an important milestone in their growth.

Genpuku: the Coming of Age ceremony for male nobles (from ten to fifteen years old), during which they wore the kanmuri, the hat of the nobility. During a JJK convention in Japan, Gege revealed it's the ceremony the Gojo clan forced Gojo to go through to be allowed to study at Jujutsu High!
Even during in the Heian period, it was an extremely important event in a young man's life, because it signified the attainment of adulthood. He stopped wearing child clothes, his hair was cut, his child name was changed into an adult name, and he could get married and start climbing the social ladder within court.

ANOTHER LONG CHAPTER I'M SORRY!! But the next one will be cute and smutty, I swear ( • ̀ω•́ )✧

Chapter 8: Tamashii

One day, while still living in the capital, Mother and Father allowed her to visit the court.

She had never been, but she had heard and read such wonderful stories about it. She wouldn’t try to become a lady-in-waiting to Her Majesty - no, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her family.

But she wanted to meet other young girls, see their wonderful robes, admire the beautiful gardens, read stories, and listen and watch the court music and dances.

Father was a courtier of the Fifth Rank. It wasn’t a high rank, but it was enough for him to be allowed to enter the Courtiers’ Hall and serve their Imperial Majesties by leading carpenters and artists in the Bureau of Skilled Artisans. His cursed technique, tied to wood, timber, and plants was perfect for such a job.

That same rank was enough for him to formally introduce Moriko to court. On a favorable day chosen by an onmyodo master, she entered the Palace with the few female attendants her family could spare.

Yuki would stay at home, for she was Mother’s most trusted servant, the one that truly knew how to lead the others in the household. Moriko already missed her terribly.

The gardens were the first disappointment.

They immediately caught her attention, for they were so different from the wild, thriving vegetation that surrounded her house. The trees were undoubtedly well tended to, but they lacked the vibrancy and freedom she could see every day from her rooms. Their beauty was controlled, kept in check, pruned.

She could see the traces of covered holes in the ground where a tree or shrub had been uprooted to be moved or thrown away, maybe because it had died or simply because the court didn’t like it anymore.

There were many guards and messengers walking around, the majority of which didn’t even pay attention to the flowers and delicate grass they trampled with their large feet. Loud dogs followed them, sometimes stopping to urinate on some ornamental rock or to lie down and sleep next to the artificial lake.

She saw all this from beyond the safety of the blinds in her carriage. A courtier helped her and her attendants get out, and they covered their faces with their fans and large sleeves to enter the Palace.

It was vast, its wood strong, its foundations solid, but some corridors looked abandoned, others were dirty, and many rooms seemed to be in disrepair, while others were clean, splendidly decorated, and filled with precious incense.

The contradiction startled her. She had always pictured the Palace as a magnificent place, but it seemed her house (the house of a minor noble!) was cleaner and better maintained.

She couldn’t wrap her mind around it, but her thoughts were soon distracted by the other noblewomen and ladies-in-waiting greeting and welcoming her.

Her shyness reared its head as soon as they set their eyes on her. Most looked kind and curious, their smiles sincerely warm, but others studied her robes with open irony and mockery.

She and Mother had spent the previous night repeating all the different color combinations she would need to wear during her brief stay, and she was sure she had put on the right hues for that day. But she was aware her silks and damasks were not as precious and richly embroidered as those of the ladies judging her, nor was her hair as long and lustrous and black as theirs.

There was enough light to see even in those shaded, screen-covered rooms, and her faults were visible to all.

She almost felt sick. This was a terrible idea, she thought as tears blurred her sight. She missed her parents, her brothers, her sister, and kind Yuki. She wanted to go back to her house and her wild garden. She wasn’t used to wearing so many robes one on top of the other.

“You don’t pluck your eyebrows, lady Imagawa?”

“N-No, I haven’t started yet.”

“She is young!” another lady giggled. “This is your first time at court, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“We have so many things to teach you!”

“Are you hungry? Do you want us to call a servant girl from the kitchens?”

In the end, the older women took her under their wing, aware like she was that the younger ones would give her problems due to her status. They reassured her, kept the others away or shushed them whenever they spoke about her clothes, and complimented her “delicate hands” and “beautiful eyes.”

She started feeling better, but then rumors of her arrival spread around like a wildfire, and soon there were men and courtiers asking for her from behind the screens and blinds of the apartments she would share with the others.

“Where is the daughter of Imagawa? He always speaks so fairly of her!”

“May I hear your voice, my lady? A man can understand so much about a woman just by listening to her…”

“You have your father’s cursed technique, don’t you, my lady? May we see something?”

She had never been so close to men who weren’t Father, Genji, and Akisuke before. She babbled some answers, then summoned some pretty flowers on the corridor where they were standing and sitting, hoping they would be satisfied and leave her in peace. A chorus of awe and surprise followed.

“That was splendid, my lady!”

“They look so beautiful! And they’re real! Look, touch them!”

“Thank you for this gift, kind daughter of Imagawa.”

But then one said:

“Surely your beauty is on par with these flowers. May I enter?”

She scrambled away from the screens, her “No!” of horror stuck halfway in her throat.

“Leave her alone!” the older ladies laughed, moving in front of her. “She is still too overwhelmed to pay attention to you, my lords.”

She had a fitful sleep that night. She could hear people talk, cough, and snore in the distance, the guards twang their bows in the gardens and courtyard to keep demons and curses away, and the other ladies roll and toss this way and that.

“Can’t sleep, lady Imagawa?”

Moriko swallowed her tears and shook her head. A bit of moonlight entered through the blinds, making her gesture visible to the other woman.

She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“Does the darkness scare you?”

“No. But I’m not used to this place and…”

And to sleeping with other people in my same rooms.

But she kept that to herself and shook her head again.

The next day, she was introduced to the Princess, a beautiful, kind lady who smiled at her and asked her to write a poem.

“Anything that comes to your mind,” the Princess said, and Moriko could only obey, forcing her mind to come up with the right words for the occasion and her hand to write in beautiful calligraphy.

The Princess read the poem out loud, and she and the other ladies seemed to like it, for they smiled and complimented her.

“You have a good mind for words,” the Princess said. “Did your father teach you Chinese poetry?”

Moriko hesitated, for a lady wasn’t supposed to boast about Chinese knowledge, but she couldn’t lie to the Princess. So she nodded, replying: “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“How wonderful!”

“We have a scholar among us,” one of the ladies snickered, but the Princess promptly shushed her with a pointed look.

“It’s good that your father made sure to teach you the classics,” she said, turning back to her. “But be careful not to mention it to the courtiers. Some might get the wrong impression.”

They might believe her vain and too cultured for her own good. Yes, she knew that; Father and Mother had often warned her not to talk about her studies and her readings before she had left.

She thanked the Princess with a deep bow, then the topic shifted to music and dance, and she was able to relax a little.

But the next days felt terribly long, filled with anxiety and embarrassment, and she couldn’t wait to go back home.

The court was nothing like the stories she had heard and read described it to be. Mother had told her to expect some envy and cruelty, but Moriko could have never imagined such venom to exist within the ladies-in-waiting, the courtiers, and even the attendants and servants.

There were rivalries everywhere, and they scared her, for she knew very little about politics. But there were also rivalries between scorned lovers and new conquests, and she knew even less about that kind of stuff.

Sometimes, at night, she could hear muffled moans and groans in the rooms nearby. She knew the basics, of course, but it seemed to her a terribly painful thing, especially for the woman. And while the ladies around her would giggle or complain about the noise, she would shut her eyes, cover her face with her outer robes, and pretend she was anywhere but there.

“I bet it’s that insisting gentleman from the Bureau of Music,” a lady scoffed one night when moans from further down the corridor woke up that entire aisle of the Palace.

“He must have knocked on everyone’s door until someone finally opened.”

“It sounds like he is well endowed, though. Just listen to her!”

They started giggling and chortling, until the moans finally stopped.

Moriko opened her eyes with a sigh, relishing the silence.

An older lady-in-waiting broke it, maybe wishing to talk about more elegant things.

“Did you hear what the Chamberlains were saying this morning? About how another village was destroyed?”

“Yes. It was Ryomen Sukuna again, wasn’t it?”

“Who else?”

“I bet he is well endowed!”

More giggles, louder than before.

“I heard he has two cocks,” a lady whispered, offering a delectable morsel to the curious, hungry, bored minds of her friends. “One bigger than the other, both heavy and…”

“My ladies, please!”

“Oh, hush! We’re just having some fun!”

Moriko pretended to be asleep, or not interested anyway, but she kept her ears open, her heart beating fast.

“I heard he has a mouth on his stomach, but I can’t believe it. How would that even work?”

“He has one! My brother is a senior sorcerer in the Gojo clan. One day a single survivor who managed to escape from a fight against Ryomen Sukuna came back, pale and shocked, and said what he had seen.”

“And…?”

Moriko held her breath.

“A vicious maw, a hole full of fangs opens right on his belly when he is hungry! He feeds it his victims, the survivor said.”

“Good heavens!”

“And his four hands are clawed and drip blood all the time. It’s the blood of all the people he killed and ate, poor souls who know no peace.”

“Is it true he has four eyes, all of different sizes?”

“I don’t know, but the survivor said the right side of his face is a disgusting tumor, and his eyes there are as dark as bottomless pits.”

“I’m sure the three clans will destroy him sooner or later. Lord Fujiwara will lead them to victory, we just need to be patient.”

“He will never reach the capital anyway. We’re safe here.”

“Are you alright, lady Imagawa?”

“Y-Yes, thank you.”

“Be careful!” a girl next to her snickered, poking her arm. “You’re the softest and roundest among us. You would make the perfect snack!”

A small whine escaped Moriko, and she hid under her covers, trying not to listen to their laughter and jokes.

Sleep came to her much later, and she dreamed a man, taller than a mountain, wrapping his many arms around her, engulfing her in scorching warmth, his countless eyes staring at her.

Strangely enough, she wasn’t scared in the dream. The embrace didn’t suffocate or break her bones as she would have expected - it shielded her, protected her. The eyes were making sure she was alright, not studying her.

She didn’t know how she knew that in the dream, but she did, and her heart was at peace.

When she woke up, she did feel scared, but she didn’t have the courage to ask an onmyoji master to analyze and explain the dream to her, and so she spent the rest of her stay there at the Palace distracted and anxious, unable to fully relax and settle in.

She returned home after a week, even though she felt like a month had passed. She burst into tears as soon as her parents welcomed her in, and she swore she would never go back to the Palace.

But she would, just a few months later, this time accompanied by Father and Yuki. She would participate to a suhama contest, and they would disqualify her, and she would cry again.

She would return again and again, always hoping to find friendship, to broaden her horizons, to finally understand why the court was so loved by everyone. (Everyone but her!)

Then, Ifuyu would be old enough to accompany her. There would be a banquet, with all the major clans invited to it, and they would go sit behind some screens to catch their breath and rest from the chaotic festivities for a while.

A man from the Zenin clan would see them and try to put his filthy hands on them, and their screams would alert Father, and their fate would be sealed. They would be exiled, but they would survive.

And one day, while sitting in her new garden, she would be seen again, four crimson eyes finding her under the sunlight, and the dream that had visited her in the Palace would come true.

 

- - -

 

The Gojo sorcerers found him in the shack he had chosen as temporary abode.

Someone in the last village he had massacred must have survived the carnage and told them his whereabouts. They found him too easily, too precisely, as if they knew exactly where he was.

That, or some wanderer had spotted him. He wasn’t easy to miss, after all, and he paid no mind to the humans he might encounter or sense on his path… if he wasn’t hungry or too bored, of course.

The Gojo soldiers were good. Better than the Zenin and Kamo ones for sure, but many of those he fought that day were young, and that was probably their first real battle.

“Your leaders truly don’t care about you,” he cackled as he crushed the skull of a young man who couldn’t be older than sixteen. “They send you to your certain deaths without any hesitation.”

Some of their techniques were interesting, and they even managed to hit him. A blade imbued with cursed energy cut off his ear, while a projectile of sorts perforated one of his lungs. An arrow went through his shoulder, while a cursed technique broke one of his hands.

But his reverse cursed technique was the fastest in all of Japan, and he grinned as his flesh rebuilt itself in a few breaths, leaving behind just some scars.

The sorcerers, their morale low after witnessing his healing capabilities, soon lost their focus. He took care of them with a series of quick attacks, his Cleave and Dismantle more than enough to kill them.

But they had entertained him by lasting more than a few minutes, by being able to hurt him. And so he would be merciful.

“Go,” he told the only survivor, the one who had cut off his ear. “And tell your clan what I did today.”

He sat on one of the corpses, tore off a hand, and started eating it, feeding some fingers to his second mouth.

“Mh…” He closed his eyes, trying to discern the different flavors. “A bit flat… with a bitter aftertaste. But I also detect some spiciness. Strange.”

He scowled when he saw the man still shivering on the ground, staring at him with an open mouth and even wider eyes.

“What are you still doing here? I told you to go.”

The man crawled backwards, until he finally got up on his trembling legs and ran away, abandoning the corpses of his friends, a delectable banquet Sukuna indulged in for hours.

Once sated, he went back into the shack. He rested there for a while; there wasn’t much to do, now that he had eaten all the sorcerers, and the only village nearby was reduced to ashes.

Maybe he would stay there for a few days, taking in the beautiful sight of the forest growing just behind the shack, and explore it a bit. Hopefully he would meet more food soon.

It started raining, and the pitter-patter of the rain on the rickety roof, as well as the droplets occasionally falling on his chest, woke him up.

His boredom grew. He looked around, hoping to find something with which he could pass the time, but there was nothing. Whoever had lived there before him had left nothing behind, or maybe it had all been stolen by brigands and thieves.

He didn’t mind the rain, but he would rather not ruin the only clothes he possessed. And forests were meant to be explored when the weather was nice, when all its colors and shapes and forms were more vibrant than ever, and the animals it housed left their dens.

The remains of one of the sorcerers were still near the shack, to the right - bones and some hard muscles he hadn’t liked, but also the sorcerer’s uniform. It was so close he just had to reach out from the hole that acted as a door to rummage in it.

He did so, and was happy to find what he had hoped for: a letter that the leather and hemp uniform had protected from the rain.

He lied back down, propped his head on one hand, and started reading, or at least he tried to. The letter contained orders unrelated to him (which gave even further credit to his theory that the sorcerers had been tipped off about his position), but he didn’t know half of the characters used.

Either it was written in code, or the sorcerers under the command of the Gojo clan were better educated and cultured than those from the other clans.

An ugly, burning feeling erupted in his chest. He recognized it for what it was: embarrassment mixed with shame and rage, all emotions he had pushed deep inside, hiding and locking them away until they had been reduced to mere shards, to little bothersome pebbles that would bother him only in times such as this one.

He tried to give a meaning to the unknown characters by reading and studying the context they were used in, but he could only guess, without any real certainty about his progress.

The handwriting also made him feel something: it was elegant, refined, some lines so thin and precise they looked like tiny roots floating upon crystal clear water.

He copied some characters on the dirt with a large finger, aware of how ugly they looked, especially when compared with the ones in the letter. But he never really had any occasion to practice - he had no letters to send, no poems to compose, to documents to sign.

He had learned how to read by trial and error, by guesswork, by eavesdropping on itinerant monks and scholars who would read out loud or share their readings with their companions.

He would always try to salvage any scroll or piece of written paper he could find in the places he attacked and, after eating his fill, he would try to read them, to decipher them, to learn. It was a hard, tiresome process, but a challenge was always a good thing. A challenge was always a great way to keep oneself busy and distracted until death arrived, just like eating was.

He knew there was an anthology particularly loved and appreciated by the nobles, the basis of their education, and he wanted to find it. He was hungry not only for meat and blood, but also knowledge, culture, wisdom, for a knowledgeable mind would always win on the battlefield.

…That, and he didn’t like being ignorant. He didn’t like knowing less than other people did. He knew what the clans, what the entirety of Japan thought about him. They believed him a brute with excellent combat capabilities and a good mind for strategy, but with no class, no refined thinking processes, no taste.

He copied all the characters he didn’t know in the dirt of the shack until the rain stopped.

He went outside and checked inside the other sorcerers’ uniforms, but found nothing. It was time to explore the forest, then.

He entered it, his four eyes admiring the tall trees and the plants and shrubs he didn’t have a name for, while mumbling under his breath the lines from a poem he had found among a scholar’s possessions and which he still perfectly remembered.

Maybe, he thought as a doe appeared in the distance between some trees, shy and alert, I will try writing one of my own later.

The doe ran away, and he let it live.

 

- - -

 

It had been raining for quite some time, now, and everyone in the shrine was taking a nap, waiting for the rain to stop.

Everyone but Moriko and Sukuna. They had napped, yes, but a loud thunder had awakened them, and after talking and kissing in bed for a bit, they had decided to get up and play something to pass the time.

“Ugh.”

Moriko pouted at the character Sukuna had written. It was missing the left-hand element, and she was to find all the suitable ones that would complete it and give it different meanings, like the rules of the game hentsugi wanted.

She had found four so far, but Sukuna insisted she was missing one. He grinned at her while sipping on his tea.

“You can give up if you want, my heart.”

She pouted harder, and he laughed, pushing her cup towards her.

“Drink. Maybe it will give you an idea.”

“Oh! Is it related to tea?”

He gave her a very impish smile.

“I never said that.”

“Aww, that’s not fair!”

In the end, she did give up, and Sukuna showed her the missing element.

“I never saw this character before. What does it mean?”

“I think spade, or something to till the soil.”

She traced it with a finger, curious about its sound, but he had only ever read it and didn’t know how it was pronounced.

“You won, beloved.” She smiled, looking at the five characters he had guessed right, while her count was four. “You know a lot of rare words!”

“I used to read a lot of weird stuff. Orders sent to guards in remote villages about making the farmers work more hours… Complaints about lords stealing the food that was supposed to be delivered to the capital… And also-”

A loud thunder interrupted him and made her jump. He glared at the rain as he pulled her closer.

“Stupid weather. Moriko, are you cold?”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

It was raining harder than before, and they went to check on Uraume and Akiko, who were sleeping in the first’s rooms after playing together for the entire morning before the coming of the rain.

They were still napping contently, completely deaf to the storm raging outside. Moriko and Sukuna draped another sheet over their futon, added some coal to their braziers, then went back to their rooms.

“What is the strangest piece of reading you ever found, beloved?” she asked as they sat down by the inkstone and paper again, ready to start playing another round of hentsugi.

Sukuna hummed, stroking his chin.

“A poem in a letter. I couldn’t recognize half of the characters in it. It said something about the seascape and the isles? I’m not sure.”

Moriko gasped, clapping her hands.

“Did it start with ‘Across the wide seascape’?”

Sukuna frowned, thinking, then he made a positive sound.

“Yes, I think so.”

“That’s a famous poem by Ono no Takamura!”

“Who?”

“A poet and calligrapher. My grandfather met him and said he had such wit!”

She saw something flicker on Sukuna’s face. After six years together, they knew each other so well they could often predict one’s next line or gesture.

And so she easily recognized the mixed feelings on his handsome face: curiosity, but also embarrassment, perhaps giving way to shame.

He was used to pushing it down whenever it reared its head, whenever it dared resurface. He didn’t allow it to coexist with the self-confidence, fortitude, and brilliancy he possessed.

But she saw it this time, and her heart ached for him. She felt guilty, for she feared she had been insensitive by talking about someone whom only the people who frequented the court could know.

There was nothing wrong about Sukuna ignoring mundane things such as the name of a poet, the poems he had written, or anything else related to the shining, claustrophobic world of the nobility.

But he was a prideful man who knew his worth after it had been denied to him time and time again as a child. He had taught himself how to write and read, finding culture amidst the bloody remains of all those who would dare attack him.

He hadn’t wallowed in mindless violence and bloodthirst, reducing himself to a mere beast - no, the hunger he had felt for human meat, for human connection, had also been a hunger for knowledge. Just like food had acted as stones to fill the crater in his heart, learning had been like a beautiful music to fill the terrible silence that had surrounded him as a child and adult.

But he wasn’t hungry anymore. There were laughter, songs, jokes, words of love and endearment in his life now. Since he didn’t have to fight and defend himself anymore, he could finally spend all the time he wanted reading, writing, and learning.

And she would be there to help him.

She harshly scolded herself for not having thought about it sooner. Things had been a bit hectic the last five years: Akiko was growing rapidly, Uraume was almost an adult, and the presence of her family made things in the shrine quite lively.

It wasn’t an excuse, though, and a selfish part of her wished they could spend some time alone, even just for a day, and talk and discuss things and make love without fear of being interrupted.

“Beloved, would you like to write a letter to my father?”

Sukuna’s left eyes widened for a second, then he frowned, worried.

“Moriko… He lives right next door.”

“I know! I…”

“Do you feel well?” He touched her forehead. “You’re not too warm…”

“I’m not going crazy!” she giggled, swatting his chest. “I meant sending him a message to request a volume from his collection.”

“A volume?”

“Yes, the ninth volume of the Kokin Wakashu, the famous anthology of poetry.”

She heard his soft intake of breath, and his eyes widened again, this time with interest and excitement.

“He has it?”

“Yes, all twenty volumes of it. The poem you remember is in the ninth volume, the one centered on the theme of travel.”

“There are twenty volumes?” He was stunned, as she had rarely seen him be. “How many poems do they contain in total?”

“Around one thousand and so… Beloved, are you alright!?”

“Yes.” He coughed, and when next he spoke he sounded like he was choking. “And you… remember all of them?”

“Oh no!” She laughed. “I’m not that intelligent. There are stories of nobles being able to remember them all without making a single mistake, but I never met such a person. I recognized the one by Takamura because I always related him to my grandfather.”

“But you did study the anthology.”

“Yes. Every noble is expected to memorize the most important poems of the Collection.”

He scooted closer, taking her hand. His interest and curiosity were growing, and she could see he couldn’t wait to hold the volume in two of his large hands.

“How many can you recall?”

“Mh… About one hundred or so, I think.”

“Good Moriko!”

He grinned, and she saw the pride in his eyes. It made her blush, and she looked down, her lips curling into a happy smile. She felt him nuzzle her cheek.

“I’m sure you will learn them all,” she said, kissing his hand. “You are an incredibly brilliant man.”

“I probably will, yes.”

He frowned, though, not liking the implications she had inadvertently put in her words.

“Moriko, you are also a brilliant woman.”

She smiled again, but she knew it wasn’t a flattered smile this time. She could still see the faces of the ladies-in-waiting at the palace, snickering and giving her odd looks because she couldn’t remember as many poems as they could.

She loved reading anthologies, she really did! But stories in prose had always been her obsession, ever since a young age, and she had devoted her days to reading those, rather than memorize every line of the Kokin Wakashu or other collections.

Well, there was a reason why those ladies had been allowed to be in the Imperial Majesties’ presence every day, while she had never lasted more than a week in the dark, long corridors of the Palace.

She didn’t miss it, she didn’t feel regret for it, and she was aware she had a good brain, but she still felt a bit bad, her faults suddenly increasing and getting more evident whenever she thought about Sukuna’s brilliant mind, his knowledge, his cleverness.

“Moriko,” he chided her, “you’re thinking hard about something. Tell me.”

He poked her forehead, making her smile a third time.

“Beloved, do you know what tamashii is?”

“No. How is it written?”

She showed him, and he shook his head.

“Never read or heard it before. What is it?”

“It’s the wit and ingenuity to tackle practical problems, issues, and concerns that would stall lesser, weak men.”

He grinned, sitting up tall and straight, adorably proud and arrogant.

“That sounds like me.”

“Yes!” she giggled, rubbing the back of his hand. “Remember that harsh winter in our house in the forest? Uraume and I risked of dying of starvation, and you took us to the matagi mountain, saving us and changing our lives.”

He nodded, and she continued, looking at the rain outside:

“When the Zenin attacked, you killed them easily and without hesitation, but you were also able to contain your rage and hatred. You found a solution to live with your family in peace.”

Contrarily to what would happen in the past whenever the Zenin were mentioned, no shadow passed over his face. He looked serious and attentive, and while she knew his fury towards the three clans would never really vanish, he was focused on more important things now, namely his family, sparing no thought for those people.

“What I’m trying to say is that you are the perfect embodiment of the powerful man at court. I think that’s why Fujiwara and the tree families feared you so much; not just because of your cursed energy and combat abilities, but also because of your strategic mind and ingenuity.”

“Aren’t courtiers supposed to be handsome and delicate-looking? Always dampening their sleeves with tears and writing poems under the moonlight?”

“You are handsome!”

“I know. But I’m not delicate.”

“That’s the ideal courtier according to women. Most ladies-in-waiting dream of a kind, sensitive hero who can sweep them off their feet. But men are different. For them, the ideal courtier must also be shrewd, cunning, and always ready to face and fix any problem that might arise.”

“Oh?” He wrapped an arm around her and nuzzled her cheek, smirking. “What about you, Moriko? Did you also dream of a dashing hero dressed in silks coming to marry you?”

“Not really,” she laughed. “I was too busy training with my cursing technique and studying flora to pay the courtiers any attention. And they scared me. Also…”

She leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss on his cheek, placing a hand on his thigh.

“I don’t like men like that. My husband is much better.”

He grinned, his ears red, and her smile grew, her blush got redder.

But then he turned serious and touched her cheek - gently, almost reverently.

“But you would have liked a proper marriage.”

“We did have a proper marriage!”

“I mean a traditional one. With a courtship through letters, with shared poems, with three nuptial nights filled not with fear, but joy instead.”

He looked somber and guilty all of a sudden, and his left eyes moved to their large futon, still open on the tatami floor.

“I plucked you from your garden, Moriko, and forcibly planted you in mine. That cannot be the kind of union you desired.”

She started panicking. She didn’t want him to think she regretted something in their marriage. She didn’t want him to think she had resigned herself to her fate at a certain point, that she had had to find the strength to love him.

“You saved me!” she said, almost breathless, almost gasping for air, so strong was her urge to reassure him. “You plucked me from my garden, yes, but it was a garden full of thorns and weeds and rot. You planted me in the light.”

She took his hand and squeezed it. He squeezed hers back, and his scarlet gaze was very intense, very strong, and full of fervor as she continued:

“It’s true I was scared the first days. But I would have been scared in another kind of marriage, too.”

“I threatened to rape you and eat you, Moriko.”

“Another husband might have threatened to rape me and kill me all the same, beloved.”

She placed her other hand on his cheek, the right one, careful not to hurt his large eyes there. She felt tears prickle her own, but she tried to push them back.

“Please, please, don’t think I regret the way we met and married. If we went back in time, I would do everything exactly the same way, Sukuna.”

“So would I.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I would take you away again. I would bring you to my house again. But I would be kinder.”

He took a deep breath, closing his left eyes for a second. When he opened them again, she saw a promise in them.

“I will be kinder. When we will die, the Binding Vow that ties us together will have effect and will make us meet in our next life. In that life, and all the others that will follow, I will ask you to marry me.”

He grinned in a possessive way, and she grinned back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“After courting you for months, of course. I will send you countless letters, one more beautiful than the other. And gifts.”

He kissed her neck and sucked on the tender skin there. She arched into his touch with a gasp.

“Rare plants and flowers, perfumes and incense, jewelry and gold, silk and damask.”

“I would say yes even without all of that,” she murmured, pressing her cheek on his. She heard the rumble of his soft laughter.

“I know. But I want it to be a good courtship.”

They stayed like that for a while, listening to the rain outside. He pulled away after pressing another kiss on her shoulder, and she entwined her fingers with his.

A question appeared on his face.

“You were feeling down before, while we were talking about poems. Why?”

“Oh, no! I was just… Well…”

She sighed with a shrug.

“I’m not the perfect embodiment of a noblewoman. I can remember just a small number of poems, I’m not good at singing, I hate the stifling rules of the court, and I’m not even a brilliant sorcerer.”

Sukuna scowled.

“I disagree.”

She smiled at him, a fond, warm smile that made him squeeze her waist.

“Thank you, beloved. But I know there are many better noblewomen and sorcerers. I always tend to panic, flounder, or burst into tears when overwhelmed.”

“You possess great tamashii, too.”

“No, I don’t.” She snorted, moving a hand to her mouth. “The noblemen at court would be so cross with you if they could hear you! They say tamashii is an exclusively masculine characteristic.”

“Bah! What nonsense. Didn’t you display tamashii when you came up with the idea of bartering your peaches at the market? Didn’t you show ingenuity when you protected the garden from the cold using those baskets?”

“That’s…”

Huh.

Her eyes got wide, and he gave her a triumphant look that said “See?”.

“You are strong and clever, Moriko,” he murmured, stroking her cheek with the back of a large, hinoki-scented hand. “You may not be one of the strongest sorcerers in Japan, that’s true, but you need not worry about that. Leave that kind of strength to me.”

Then he looked very angry, and she knew she was in for a scolding.

“You are feeling insecure as a wife again.”

“No!”

“Yes, you are. I don’t like this self-deprecation. It’s completely senseless.”

“I just…”

She huffed, not knowing how to untangle the words in her mouth. In the end, she simply said:

“I want to be someone you can feel proud to have at your side, in private and public.”

“Moriko, if I didn’t know the thing would sadden you, I would storm the capital, kill all the nobles and sorcerers in it, and proclaim you Empress.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, astonished by the very thought, but he was serious.

“I already told you: leave sorcery and physical strength to me. I don’t want to see your hands dirty with blood anyway. They are made for life, not for death, and I’m glad you never had any reason to kill someone.”

“But…”

“Do you think I care about you not remembering all one thousand poems of the Kokin Wakashu? Or that I dislike the fact you can’t sing as well as other noblewomen can? Who even cares about what they can do?”

“Yes, but…”

“I was the one who told you to be free. On the matagi mountain, remember?”

She smiled, remembering the winter spent there with indescribable joy.

“Yes, beloved.”

“Good. Why should I reproach you for not adhering to the court’s customs, then? I don’t care about those. I care about you and your happiness.”

She accepted the scolding. He was right. He had showed her time and time again how little he cared about the rules the world of the nobility imposed on women. He was not like other husbands; he was above them and such silly concepts, and sometimes she forgot that, which led to the fears and insecurities she sometimes felt.

“We already talked about this years ago.” He squished her cheeks with just his thumb and index finger. “Why do you still have such fears, darling wife?”

“I’m sorry,” she spluttered, but the scene must have been funny, pursed as her lips were, because he laughed and let her go.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, sincere and ashamed. “You’re right, of course. But it’s hard to let some fears go, especially with my family around.”

(She recalled an event that had taken place a few days earlier.

Mother had been staring at Sukuna during lunch, some deep lines on her forehead. When he had turned to her, visibly annoyed, she had sighed and asked:

“Son-in-law, why do you always wear that white kimono?”

“It’s my favorite one. It’s the first one Moriko made for me.”

“But surely you must have others?”

“Yes, of course. You saw me wear them. A green kosode, a green kimono, and two others.”

Mother was displeased. At first, Moriko couldn’t understand why, but later Mother visited her in hearth room of their house, while she was playing with little Akiko.

“Daughter, why does your husband only own five pieces of clothing?”

Moriko gaped at her, not really sure what her answer was supposed to be. What did she mean with why?

“It’s the wife’s duty to provide her husband with suitable clothing for every occasion. Akiko’s hakamagi is approaching, and Sukuna only owns the same five robes he wore for any other important occasion. It’s not appropriate!”

Moriko paled. She had forgotten about that. Wives were indeed supposed to sew and stitch new clothes for their husbands whenever an important ceremony approached - such was the way of noble families.

But they were not a noble family, not exactly. They had lived like commoners blessed with bounty while in the forest, and now they were living like something between nobility and commonalty there on Mount Kurai.

They celebrated noble rituals and festivals, but also lived without shackles in other important matters. Father and her brother had accepted this, and they had even started changing, learning how to cook to let old Yuki rest, wearing simpler clothes, growing their own garden in their side of the shrine.

They hadn’t even criticized Moriko for learning how to use a bow and hunt; in fact, they had complimented her and thanked Sukuna for taking care of her and Uraume while on the matagi mountain.

Ifuyu had also completely changed. She was now a full-fledged Buddhist nun, working alongside other monks and nuns in the village in the valley. She visited her family whenever she could, and it was clear she didn’t miss the noble life. She was happy and serene, her heart and mind finally at peace after the Zenin attack.

Akisuke had become a master of the sea. He worked at the Bay of Edo, and his talent with water, the special ear he possessed for the voices of the seas, the rivers, and the lakes had earned him a small fame among the fishermen and merchants.

He never revealed his full name, not wanting rumors about the Imagawa to spread, since it was still a sore spot for the three big families. But he also was living a happy life, one in which he could actually succeed, since he had never been a strong sorcerer or a powerful noble.

Mother… She was the hardest one to convince. She had always found strength in tradition, especially during their exile, and believed a simple change of location couldn’t excuse what she considered breaches in etiquette.

“You should have enough fabric to make him some new clothes,” Mother had continued that day, while Moriko burned with shame. “Seriously, Moriko, I never expected you to fail in such matters.”

“He… He doesn’t care about these things.”

“But you should! And I’m sure he will change his mind, once you start making him a decent wardrobe.”

“Mama,” little Akiko spoke up, “what’s a wardrobe?”

“Something useless,” a deep voice replied, and Sukuna came out of the corridor, glaring at Mother.

The two had argued outside to avoid upsetting Akiko, but Sukuna was so loud and angry he could be heard in the whole shrine. Moriko had had to move to the other side of the house to distract their daughter.

Mother had apologized to her that evening, even though it was clear she was doing it just because she was forced to. Moriko didn’t know what Sukuna had told her.

“Use the fabric we have to make you and our children more clothes,” he said later that night, as they held each other in bed. “And don’t listen to your mother. She is just a…”

“Sukuna!”

“Hmph.”

She wanted him and her family to get along, but part of her was incredibly happy he had defended her.)

“Moriko.”

She snapped out of it and came back to the present.

“I’m sorry, I was… I was thinking about your argument with Mother the other day.”

“She shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

He put her on his lap, one hand slipping under her kosode to stroke her knee, another caressing her cheek.

“I hope this is the last time I have to say this: You are a wonderful woman, Moriko. And your worth isn’t measured by the number of poems you can remember or your ability in battle.”

He smiled, patting her thigh.

“But I know you’re terribly stubborn and will probably start worrying again in a few years. So I will make sure to repeat it to you, no matter how many times necessary.”

She giggled and hugged him, pressing a kiss on his neck.

“Thank you, beloved.”

Her hand moved lower and pinched his butt. He let out a loud grunt of surprise, but before he could seize her and push her down on the futon, she got up and went to retrieve some suitable paper.

“Let’s go write that letter to Father! I will show you how it’s done, it’s a very simple thing…”

“I would rather spend time in bed,” Sukuna mumbled, trying to catch her feet. His arms were long, and he almost got her, but she managed to dodge in time, her laughter echoing in their rooms.

“The children will wake up soon!”

“We will be quiet.”

“They will walk in on us! Come, let’s choose the paper and the right sprig to attach to it and...”

“Moriko,” he growled, standing up, and the sight of him breathing heavily as he started approaching her made a familiar warm coil in her belly.

He tried catching her again, but she made him trip on some vines. He grinned as she twirled around, as she giggled and let out shrilly peals of laughter whenever he got close.

He was enjoying the chase, she could see it: there was a visible bulge tenting his hakama, and his grin grew the more time he spent stalking her.

Their rooms weren’t as big as those in their old house in the forest, and they were filled with much furniture; soon she didn’t know where else to go, and so fully accepted defeat, letting him grab her and pull her into his wide, warm chest.

But before he could push her down on the futon, she pressed a hand on his bulge. She heard his loud intake of breath, and his eyes went wide and his ears got adorably red.

“Dear husband,” she murmured with a smile, her lips so close to his own they touched whenever she spoke, “I will do that thing with my mouth that you like so much if you promise to sit down and write that letter to my father.”

She could see him think hard about it. On one hand, the promise of immediate pleasure if he ignored her request; on the other, the delicious thrill that only a long wait could bring.

“I want more,” he said with a hoarse voice, bucking into her hand. She squeezed his length through the hakama and he hissed, one of his hands squeezing her butt.

“I will ride your second mouth.” She pecked his cheek. “And then your face.”

He groaned, bumping his forehead against her shoulder. She laughed as she released her hold on his cock.

“What a mischievous wife I have,” he mumbled in the end, raising his head to look at her. His face was really red.

She tilted her head, silently asking a question.

“Fine.” He grinned, as mad and alluring as before. “I accept.”

“Good!”

He let her go, and together they went back to the inkstone, but he had to place a cushion on his lap to hide his erection.

She showed him a purple-dyed paper, perfect for the occasion and weather, then asked him to write on it.

“You can either use a poem that references what you need, so that the addressee will understand, or directly mention it.”

She summoned a cluster of pink hydrangeas.

“These are your flowers. If you attach them to the letter, my father will understand the message is from you even before opening it.”

Sukuna looked very solemn, as if he were preparing to go to battle. She knew this was a first for him; he had never written a simple, short message to someone before. He was looking at the piece of paper in front of him as it if were an enemy to analyze and finally conquer.

He took a deep breath, then started writing, his handwriting more beautiful than ever. She could watch him write for hours.

He had opted for a straight message in prose which also included some poetic wording: “My beloved plum tree told me you have the Collection. I would be grateful if you could send it to us.”

“Excellent!” she squealed, clapping her hands. “Now…!”

She took his hands and guided them, step by step, as she showed him how to fold the piece of paper into a ribbon. She helped him tie it to the stems of the cluster of hydrangeas, then she rose.

“How are we going to send it to him?” Sukuna asked, looking at the seemingly infinite rain falling outside.

“Up, up! I will show you!”

She patted his butt (he gasped again!) before heading to the veranda.

“Hasu.”

A large lotus flower grew from the wooden planks. Moriko made a gesture with her hand, and vines sprouted beneath it, raising it up. The vines detached themselves from the floor after she gestured again, and the lotus flower could now move freely on those spindly legs.

She placed the letter inside it and asked the petals to close. Then she pointed at her family’s house in the distance, on the other side of the courtyard.

The lotus scurried away, following the direction of her pointing finger.

“It looks like a carriage,” Sukuna murmured, and she saw the sheer surprise on his face.

“Father, Genji, and I used to send messages to one other using this method, back when we were in the capital.” She snorted, shaking her head. “It was a lazy one, now that I think about it, but I guess it also helped Genji and I better control our cursed energy.”

“I like it.” Sukuna wrapped an arm around her shoulder, grinning at her. “And to think you said you had no tamashii! This is ingenious, my love!”

She beamed at him, and they kissed.

They watched the lotus-carriage trot all the way to the other house; it climbed the veranda, then bumped against the closed shoji doors. It kept doing that until someone opened it and let it inside.

“Let’s go wait inside,” Moriko said. “Father will have to search for the volume. And he will probably want to write you a beautiful poem!”

Sukuna flinched.

“Huh… There is no need.”

She giggled.

“Did I tell you he can remember six hundred poems from that anthology?”

“Oh no.”

“Ah, he will rack his brain trying to find the perfect one for the occasion. And Genji will definitely join him.”

“Ugh.”

But she could see he was happy and impatient. There was the shadow of a soft smirk on his lips as he leaned down to kiss her again.

When they went back into their quarters, Akiko and Uraume were waiting for them.

“Mama! Papa!”

Their little girl toddled to them, raising her arms. Sukuna picked her up and kissed her forehead.

“Hi, little sprout.”

She pressed her own loud, wet smooch on his left cheek, careful not to hurt his lower eye, then she whined.

“The second one, too!”

Sukuna put her face to face with his second mouth, and she pressed a soft kiss above its lips. She was convinced it was another face he had and always insisted to lavish it with the same affection with which she did his normal one.

“Mama!”

She motioned Moriko to come closer and receive the same.

“Did you sleep well?” Moriko asked, before smiling at Uraume, who had approached them.

They were almost an adult now. Their elegant beauty, their serene manners, and the food they freely gave to the poorest villagers had won them many admirers.

“Yes! We played with the koma when the thunder scared me!”

Uraume smiled at Akiko and stroked her pink hair.

“We thought you were still sleeping, so we didn’t come sooner. But then we heard you laugh, and she insisted to show you the trick she learned.”

“Look!”

She wriggled in Sukuna’s hold, and he put her down; she rummaged into her simple clothes, perfect for a child of her age always running around, and took out her own spinning top.

She yanked the colored string and squealed happily when the koma made a full rotation before falling on its side.

“See!? It twirled!” She raised one finger. “One time, but that’s good!”

“Yes, my dear.” Moriko bended to kiss her cheek. “That’s very good!”

“Well done,” Sukuna agreed, patting her head. Then he picked her up again, for he loved holding her and carrying her around.

There were times when he would look at her for hours as she talked and played with him; he paid attention to her and her words, of course, but he would also get lost in her pink hair, identical to his own, and her eyes, which were the same color as Moriko’s.

He would look at her hands, so tiny when resting on his palms, and playfully poke her chubby cheeks. He would bask in the miracle she represented and find joy in the fact that she looked like him without being “creepy”, as he still called his young self.

She was now five, and her hakamagi was getting close. It had been delayed until now because Sukuna hadn’t wanted to perform it when she was just three. (“She is still so young. Why the hell is a childhood milestone held at three? What could the child have possibly achieved in that time?”)

Moriko suspected he couldn’t bear the though of her growing up, and she perfectly understood him. But he agreed five was the right age, especially since Akiko’s vocabulary had greatly expanded, and she had started talking to everyone, running this way and that without ever slowing down one second.

“I checked the pantry,” Uraume said, rubbing their chin in the same way as Sukuna did. “The celebrations for your anniversary, my birthday, and Akiko’s depleted our supplies. We will need to hunt a lot of meat for Akiko’s hakamagi banquet.”

Sukuna and Moriko shared a look and a nod.

“We will take care of it,” he said, before pinching Uraume’s cheek. They squealed, taken by surprise.

“Father!”

“Noo, don’t hurt them! Ume is pretty!”

“Hmph. Prettier than me?”

Akiko pouted, and she definitely looked like Moriko whenever she did so. She stared at her father and he stared back, both completely serious…

Then a smile bloomed on her face as she shook her head.

“No! Papa is prettier!”

Sukuna looked very smug all of a sudden. He gave her a satisfied, proud nod.

“Good-”

“But Mama is beautiful!”

His face fell, and he sniffled as Moriko and Uraume erupted into a fit of giggles.

“Hmph. I shall allow this just because you’re right, daughter.”

Just then, the lotus-carriage came back, trotting into the rooms with a light sway. Akiko and Uraume gasped, gawking at it.

“What is that?”

“Your mother’s personal messenger.”

The lotus flower unfurled its petals: the ninth volume of the Kokin Wakashu was inside, together with two folded letters wrapped around the sprig of a sakaki tree and the blossomed sprig of a pear tree.

“Father and Genji replied to you!”

Sukuna stared at the letters with a variety of different expressions succeeding one another in a quick manner: first surprise, then curiosity, followed by satisfaction, and finally happiness.

He used his free hands to pick up the volume and place it on the tatami; he did the same with the letters, careful not to bend the plants.

“Please, Papa! Can I get on it? Mama?”

“Alright,” Moriko chuckled, taking Akiko and placing her inside the lotus. “It should be able to carry you without problems.”

All three of them couldn’t help but snort and giggle as they admired her.

“Oh, Akiko, you’re so cute!”

“She looks like a tiny Buddha!”

“Akiko, put your hands like this.”

They laughed harder when she made the mudra gesture Sukuna had showed her. She laughed with them, her cheeks as pink as her hair, and her laughter turned into an ecstatic shrilly scream when the lotus-carriage trotted away, carrying her deep within the house.

“A-Akiko!”

Uraume ran after her, as fast as a comet. Moriko sighed, a bit embarrassed by her own creation.

“Ah… It acts like that sometimes…”

“Can you make a bigger one?”

“Huh? Yes, I should be able to. Why do you- Sukuna.”

She gave him a halfhearted glare as he snickered, probably already imagining himself riding on a giant lotus flower like a true Buddha.

But the letters soon caught his attention again. They sat down on the tatami, their knees touching, and she gently offered him the first one.

“My father loves the sakaki tree. This must be his reply.”

Sukuna nodded. She knew he would never admit it, but he liked her father. They would play go together almost every day, and she would often see them sit on the veranda, sipping tea or sake while talking.

About what, she didn’t know and she didn’t ask, for she didn’t want to intrude. Sukuna had been terribly lonely in his life, and she was glad he had found a male figure with whom he could talk and to whom he could listen without fighting.

“Moriko,” he suddenly said while gazing at the letter, still folded and unopened, “I have an idea. Let’s go hunt together tomorrow.”

She tilted her head, smiling at him.

“We already hunt together quite often, beloved.”

“We will need a lot of meat for the banquet. And since it’s winter, we will have to travel deeper into the forest to find everything.”

He knew the mountain well after all those years spent living on it. When Akiko was still very little, and Moriko couldn’t accompany him with her bow, he would leave to find food for a few days, always coming back with enough meat and vegetables to last them a month or more.

He had found and built several shelters in the forest, in case of a sudden downpour or snowstorm. The weather didn’t scare him nor could it harm him, but he had promised Moriko and Uraume to take care of himself while hunting, and so he had taken the right precautions.

It had been a good idea, because Moriko had started accompanying him recently, and the shelters had proven to be quite useful during a hail shower. They had never spent more than an entire morning away from home, though.

“You mean stay on the hunt for a few days…?”

“Yes.” His smile was soft, but also excited. “Let’s spend some time alone together.”

He snorted when he saw her smile. She must look very silly - her cheeks hurt a lot, and she was sure her face was really red.

“I will take that as a yes.”

“Oh, beloved! I’d love to!”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he hugged her tightly. After a while he said:

“Let’s read these letters, now.”

He squeezed her and lightly nibbled her shoulder, whispering in a smug, heated way:

“But don’t worry, my heart. I didn’t forget your promise.”

Moriko closed her eyes and smiled.

“Good.”

Then she licked a long, hot stripe on his neck, and his happy groan was like music to her ears.

Notes:

The next chapter will be a direct continuation of this one! Sukuna and Moriko have never really spent time *alone* with each other, if you think about it: Uraume or Moriko's family were always nearby. This time they will have their first official date, and they will play a game in the forest 👀

Tamashii: an important concept in Heian society. While courtiers were supposed to be educated, sensible, delicate men, they were also expected to possess "tamashii", the ingenuity and shrewdness to overcome any problem, the ability to always be two steps ahead of their adversaries. We see Sukuna display it time and time again: while he often plans ahead, he is also able to change plans and adapt on the spur of the moment (we see this especially during his fight with Gojo and Yuji). Fujiwara, the powerful Regent who sent his armies against him in the manga, was famous for the same thing.

There were different ranks in Heian nobility. Nobles of the First, Second, and Third Rank were considered the most influential and could aspire to great heights. Courtiers of the Fourth and Fifth Rank were allowed to see the Emperor and enter the innermost rooms of the Palace, but theirs was a hard life, and their hopes of ascending the Ranks weren't as high. The Bureau of Skilled Artisans built and repaired the Palace, the Emperor and Princes' mansions, and it furnished the court with rich furniture, decorations, and trappings for ceremonies. The most skilled artisans came from the Hida province, the same one that worshipped that demon called Sukuna mentioned in the Nihon Shoki : >

Also yes, the Imperial Palace sucked LMAO. It was a vast building made entirely of wood, so it was prone to frequent fires, and when there weren't enough funds to rebuild some parts of it, they were left in disrepair. Sei Shonagon says some rooms were full of bugs that fell from the ceiling, while others were kept in the dark or weren't cleaned often. Since there were no solid walls protecting the Palace, thieves often sneaked in to tear the clothes right off the ladies-in-waiting's bodies! (Back then, rich fabrics were basically used as a salary/currency together with food.) Animals of all kinds also managed to enter the gardens, so it wasn't rare to see boars, deer, and dogs roam (and die) in there.

Kokin Wakashu: "Collection of Japanese Poems of Ancient and Modern Times", one of the most important anthologies of Japanese poetry from the Heian period. Nobles were expected to know most of its poems to be able to catch poetic references when talking, flirting, or participating to poem contests. The edition we have contains 1,111 poems, and some nobles were said to be able to remember them all. Sukuna definitely will ;D

Hakamagi: already mentioned in the previous chapter, it's the so-called Putting On the Trousers ceremony, when a child of three (or five, six, or seven) put on a pair of hakama (whose strings were tied by their father) as a sign of good growth. It will be performed in the next chapter.

Chapter 9: Gofu

Notes:

A short note about Uraume! When they are a child, I use the "he/him" pronouns. Once they are fifteen/sixteen, though, the pronouns are "they/them" like in the manga. I believe they wouldn't think about these things while still a child, since they were too busy cooking human meat, living with their adoptive parents on a mountain, and surviving the Zenin attack to ponder over such matters. Once older and finally at peace, I like to imagine they thought about it, discussed it with their parents, and decided to change pronouns.

Their hunt in the forest was delayed by a loud, frightening storm.

It rained and thundered for a few days, causing the path to be unusable, the forest dangerous and slippery, the animals to flee and hide.

Akiko, still young and easily impressionable, refused to leave her parents’ side. She would hide under Sukuna’s large dobuku and shiver the whole time, her face pressed on his thigh as he and Moriko tried to calm her down.

“It’s just water,” Sukuna told her, just once, because the face Akiko made when he said that was so defenseless, so full of confusion and sheer terror, he didn’t have the heart to insist or playfully mock her.

He stroked her pink hair, identical to his own, and gave her courage with his massive presence, while Moriko tried to distract her with a story or two.

When it was time to eat, she would stay glued to either him or her, holding their hand, eyeing the rattling shoji doors with distrust, as if she feared they wouldn’t be able to contain the storm outside.

And when it was time to sleep, she would join them in their large futon, latching herself onto one of his arms or Moriko’s and shut her eyes tightly.

“Akiko,” Sukuna told her the second night, “the rain won’t hurt you. I’m here, remember?”

She opened one eye as a shiver ran through her. She looked at the shoji doors for a moment, then whined and hid her face again.

“I’m the strongest person in all of Japan. You mustn’t fear.”

She was too young to know about curses and sorcerers, so he didn’t mention those. But she already possessed a great deal of cursed energy, and he and Moriko often wondered if she would start seeing curses soon.

Even though she didn’t know about sorcery yet, she did know about his immeasurable strength. She would visit the village with Moriko and Uraume sometimes, and she already knew there was something different about her father, especially since no one else she had ever seen in her five years of life had four arms, four eyes, and a mouth on their belly.

Her mind, despite being so young, could sense there was something more to him; and when he and Moriko had told her not to say anything about his peculiar look to the people in the village, that conviction had grown, but she hadn’t asked anything, she hadn’t insisted to know. She had accepted their words, their vague explanations, and obeyed their request.

She was a smart, sensitive child, and he was grateful for that. But she was a child, and sometimes he forgot she couldn’t be as fearless as he had been at her age.

He was grateful for that, too, strange as it might sound. It meant she hadn’t been forced to grow up too quickly, that she was allowed to be a normal kid, to have a normal childhood full of the silly, small fears all children had, fears that their parents would quell.

“Can’t you stop it, Papa?”

“No, little sprout. But I can protect you from the rain and thunders.”

“Why is it so loud?” she whined, pushing her little body closer against him, looking for as much physical contact as possible.

Sukuna looked at Moriko. He wasn’t good at coming up with good, reassuring explanations.

She came to the rescue, rubbing soothing circles on Akiko’s shivering back.

“It’s because the kami are arguing, sweetheart.”

Akiko sniffled, raising her head with a quizzical expression.

“The kami…?”

“Yes, the gods. Since it’s raining and thundering a lot, it must be some kami of the skies making all this fuss.”

Akiko made a plaintive sound and took her hand, holding it tightly. Moriko smiled at her.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Papa and Mama are here. And Uraume, and your grandparents, and your uncle, and darling Yuki…”

“Can’t we ask the kami to stop arguing?” she whined when another thunder echoed in the distance and the wind started howling louder. “I can offer my doll! Or my portions of sweets!”

“There is no need, honey. Grandpa already made some offerings to them.”

“Then why is it still raining?”

“These things take time. We are very little, while the kami are very big, and sometimes they don’t pay attention to us right away.”

Akiko looked up at Sukuna, and he felt weird, as if someone were squeezing his heart.

“Papa, you’re big! They will see you and listen to you!”

He and Moriko shared an amused look, then he got up and stretched himself, causing Moriko to blink up at him, stunned.

“Beloved…?”

“I’m going to talk with the gods.”

Akiko gasped, a huge smile spreading on her round face. Moriko’s surprise turned into worry.

“But the storm! The wind is so strong and…”

“And I’m quite heavy,” he chuckled, kissing her cheek. He lowered his voice, whispering in her ear so that only she could hear him:

“Don’t worry, I won’t leave the house.”

She gave him a knowing smile, which he returned with a grin. After ruffling Akiko’s hair, he opened the shoji doors that led to the veranda and went out, quickly closing them behind him to avoid letting water and leaves in.

He walked half the entirety of the veranda; he stopped right in front of the forest, near the doors that led to the kitchens. There he sat down on the polished, slightly wet smooth boards, watching the trees sway dangerously under the force of the wind, listening to the showers fall incessantly, breathing in the cold, peculiar smell only a stormy day carried.

A shoji door of the kitchen slightly opened, just enough for Uraume’s white head to pass through.

“Father…?”

Sukuna smirked at him, raising a finger to his lips to signal him to hush. The youth gave him a quizzical look.

“I’m talking with the gods,” he said, and Uraume blinked, hiding their surprise well. But then worry took over, and they asked in a low, concerned tone:

“Are you alright?”

“Oi, I’m not going senile yet!”

Uraume snorted, a bit reassured by his outburst.

“Is it for Akiko?”

“Yes, she is terrified. Your mother told her the kami of the skies are arguing and that’s why it’s been raining so hard. So she asked me to convince them to stop, and I agreed.”

“Ah.” Uraume’s head bobbed up and down in a sagely nod. “That was a good idea.”

Sukuna grinned at them, very proud.

“I know.”

“What if the storm doesn’t stop, though?”

His face fell, and he frowned.

“What?”

He glared at the dark sky above, heavy with tempest. He didn’t like disappointing Akiko. He didn’t want her to think he couldn’t do something, that the kami hadn’t listened to him.

“I will come up with something,” he grumbled in the end, causing Uraume to laugh.

“Father, you can’t control the weather!”

“Hmph. Maybe I could. I never tried.”

“Father.”

“Heh.” Sukuna smiled at them. “You sound like your mother when you use that tone.”

Uraume smiled back, before retreating back into the kitchen. They reopened the shoji door and joined him on the veranda a few minutes later, carrying two small steaming bowls.

“Milk and honey, with a bit of ginger” they said. “I slightly modified Mother’s recipe. I will bring some to her and Akiko in a bit.”

They sat down by his side, watching the showers unleash their full potential. Some droplets fell on their clothes, but the eaves were wide enough to shield them from the worst of it.

“Grandfather offered herbs and incense to the gods,” Uraume said, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Well, they didn’t have any effect. My intervention is clearly necessary.”

“Mother will get upset if she learns you decided to face the storm. You know she worries about you.”

“A bit of water never hurt anyone.”

“This is a lot of water. And wind. And thunders. What if a tree falls on you?”

“Hah! As if that could hurt me!”

Uraume sighed, but there was fondness in the sound. Sukuna finished his milk and patted their head.

“Thank you for the meal. Now…”

He rose and took off his kimono and dobuku; he folded them neatly and placed them on the ground, next to Uraume, then he jumped off the veranda.

“Father!”

He jumped on the roof next, and there he shouted at the sky, opening wide all of his arms:

“Hear me, kami! Cease your argument, or you shall know my ire!”

He bellowed his words, and there was real anger in them, for even though he still didn’t believe in gods and rituals, if some deities up there really did exist and were causing his daughter to be scared, then he had the right to be furious and do something about it.

He jumped back on the ground, on the side of the house where his and Moriko’s rooms were. She opened a shoji door to welcome him inside. He was sopping wet even though his angry outburst at the sky hadn’t lasted more than a minute, and he left humid footprints all over the tatami.

He grinned at Akiko as she ran to him, brushing back his dripping hair with a hand, aware of the hakama clinging to his legs. But she didn’t care about all of that, and she raised her arms for him to pick her up.

“Papa, we heard you! You were so brave!”

Moriko approached him with a scolding, tender, patient smile, holding some clean cloths.

“You left the house, beloved.”

“I didn’t! I was on the roof.”

She sighed, but he knew she wasn’t really angry. She gave him one of the cloths, with which he started drying his hair. Akiko insisted to help him, and he let her do it for him.

“Mama was worried, but she laughed when I told her your voice was louder than the thunders!”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Sukuna grinned at them both. “Are you less afraid now, Akiko?”

“Yes! I know the gods will listen to you, because you’re very strong and handsome.”

“Good daughter.”

He kissed her forehead, then he placed her down, squeezing her little hand.

“Let me change, now. Go to Uraume in the kitchens, they will give you something warm to drink before bed.”

Akiko gave a sidelong glance to the shoji doors, and the storm still raging outside, but she clearly believed his intervention would soon work. She hurried out of the rooms, separated from her parents from the first time since the start of the rain.

Moriko helped him get out of his heavy, wet hakama. While he dried his body, she draped the pants over an overturned basket, under which a small brazier full of warm coals provided a good amount of heat.

She sprinkled a bit of dried incense on the embers before putting the basket back on its original position, so that the hakama would smell nice.

She turned to him, watching him rub his chest and legs with the same smile from before. He gave her a sultry, intense look as he passed one of the cloths over his genitals, making her snort.

“On the roof. Really?”

“They heard me. I’m sure of it.”

He nodded at the rain outside.

“The sun is going to shine again tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my!” Moriko giggled as she opened a cabinet to find him a new pair of hakama and a clean kosode. “I didn’t know you had divining powers, my love.”

“The rain is nothing. I’m sure I could command Mount Fuji to erupt again if I wanted to. I would just have to tease it a little and…”

She interrupted him with a kiss, her mouth full of laughter.

“We will go hunting tomorrow,” he promised her, his many hands touching and caressing her, pulling her closer, filling the space around him with her warmth and scent.

“Yes.”

Her voice was soft while his was rough and raspy with want, but the desire in hers was equally strong, held in that single syllable, in that melodic sigh.

He opened her kosode, careful not to push it down past her shoulders. Akiko was getting fast on her short legs, and she could enter any moment. They knew they couldn’t possibly make love here and now, but tomorrow, on the mountain, in the forest, in the shelters he had built here and there…

He kissed her breast as she pressed her face on his humid hair; he closed his left eyes, inhaling, while his right ones looked at the tiny scars on her collarbone, and the larger one on her chest where Zenin’s katana had hurt her.

He kissed her other breast, harder, and she laughed, her fingers combing his hair.

“Good husband,” she murmured. “So brave and valiant, even against the gods.”

His cock twitched, and pleasure thrummed within his veins in a delicious way. He grunted, surprised by his own reaction, and pretended he hadn’t noticed it - but Moriko had, and she giggled, her smile luminous as she pulled away.

“You like being praised!”

“No. I mean, yes, but not in that sense.”

She giggled harder, peppering his face with kisses. Sukuna groaned, glaring at her, but it was useless.

“There is nothing wrong or shameful about it, beloved. If you want, I could praise you every time we…”

“No.”

“Why not?”

And then he saw it: her mischievous smile, the impish light in her beautiful eyes.

“My darling one,” she said, pressing a kiss on his face after each word, “my brilliant, handsome husband. You’re so good to me, every day, every moment.”

He pursed his lips, refusing to give in, to be defeated. He inwardly cursed at his cock, at the maddening pleasure pooling in his groin, ready to be loosened.

“You already memorized two hundred poems from the Kokin Wakashu,” she continued as she pressed her mouth on his shoulder, kissing the tattoos and scars there. “I’m so very proud.”

He stifled a groan and decided it was time to retaliate. He first squeezed her thigh, then her breasts. She jumped a little, but kept pressing tiny, feather-light kisses on his shoulder.

So he pinched her tummy, which her pregnancy had left soft, and her butt, making her squeal.

“I’m complimenting you!” she laughed as he pinched her again. She tried swatting his hands away, but he was relentless.

“Alright, alright!” she exclaimed in the end, still laughing, as he took her in his arms. “I apologize! I surrender!”

“When we will be in the forest,” he whispered in her ear, his hot length pressed on her stomach, “I will fill you time and time again, Moriko, until you will be too heavy to move.”

Years ago, such words would have made her gasp and blush. She would have whined and covered her face, telling him not to say such things, or she would have smiled, too overwhelmed to respond.

But she had grown bold, and so she did smile, but she also replied, brushing the tip of her nose against his:

“Good. I want to be carrying at least five twins by the time we get back home.”

He couldn’t help but burst into loud, surprised laughter, taken aback by the sudden mental image, and she joined him, her calloused, gentle hands grasping his.

“Let me calm down before the kids come back,” he sighed in the end, picking up the new hakama and kosode she had brought him, his cock still painfully hard.

“Patience, my love,” she smiled, going to retrieve his comb, a beautiful one she had made for him for his last birthday. “We will be able to spend some days alone once the storm is over.”

“Tomorrow,” he promised, and he didn’t know how, but he was sure he was right, he could feel it in his bones, in his flesh, in the air.

And she believed him, her smile proud.

She combed his short hair as they sat near the incense burner. Akiko came back a few minutes later, carrying a bowl full of hot milk, ginger, and honey, which she offered to her mother with a big, toothy smile. Uraume followed her, making sure she wouldn’t hurt herself.

Even though she was sure Sukuna’s threat to the gods really had worked, she still refused to go back to her rooms. After drinking her own bowl, she thanked Uraume and kissed them goodnight, before sliding into the big futon and looking at the rattling shoji doors with wide, accusing eyes.

“The gods are so stubborn,” she grumbled with a pout. “What are they arguing about anyway?”

“They aren’t so different from people, Akiko,” Sukuna said as he lied down next to her. “I know it sounds strange, but they can argue and fight over the same things as ours.”

“But then why are they called gods if they’re just like us?”

“That’s a good question. But the answer is too complicated for you yet.”

“That’s not true! I’m smart! Mama and Uraume said so!”

“It’s true, you’re very smart,” Moriko agreed, kissing her pink hair. “But Papa is right. The kami are a complex subject. He is also right when he says they argue just like we do, though.”

“You and Papa never argue!”

Moriko smiled back at her with a nod, radiant and happy, but Sukuna bit his lips, for his daughter’s words had just reminded him of three events.

The first was the one that had taken place in the Imagawa residence in the forest, when they had just moved there after finding their own house burned to the ground.

He had acted like an animal the first few days, blinded by his rage, refusing to choose peace, promising Moriko and Uraume a future of blood, not of peace and light. He still felt ashamed whenever he thought about it. It could be considered their first true argument, in a way.

The second one had occurred later, when he had almost abandoned Moriko in the Shinto-Buddhist temple, devoured by madness. Whenever he thought about that infernal month, he almost felt the urge to vomit.

The third event had happened when Akiko was still a baby.

She was right when she said he and Moriko never argued. Her brothers had also noticed that, and his answer to them had been that he and his wife preferred to talk things over like two civilized people instead of shouting at each other’s faces.

There wasn’t really much on which they didn’t agree, in any case. Despite the abyssal difference in their upbringings, they shared pretty much the same ideas, and the peculiar first months of their marriage had shaped their personalities, changed their worldview, taught them patience, and smoothed their rough edges.

…He still had many of those, however. He had tremendously improved, he was aware of that. Every day, he tried to be the good husband, the good person, the good human being Moriko told him he was.

But there were times when he would act without tact, especially where her family was concerned; times when he wouldn’t understand what he had said or done wrong right away, used as he had been to treating people like food or pests to keep far from himself for most of his life.

He watched as Moriko fixed the kakebuton over Akiko before starting to tell her a goodnight story; his eyes never left them, but his mind travelled to that third distant event. There hadn’t been other arguments since that one, and perhaps that was why it still felt so vivid, so fresh in his mind, so shameful and embarrassing.

 

It was summer. Akiko was two years old, and they decided to visit the forest and take a dip in a pond he had found while hunting.

It was deep and large, so much he was almost tempted to call it a small lake. It was time for Moriko, Uraume, and Akiko to learn how to swim, and that place would be perfect for it.

Moriko had something to take care of, first. She and Uraume shared a knowing look and a smile, and he thought it was a sweet secret only a mother and child could know, but she assured him she would tell him what it was later.

She smiled at him, saying she would join them soon. She would follow their cursed energy to find the pond - and besides, she wouldn’t get lost in a forest!

“Don’t be late,” he grumbled, kissing her hard, and she giggled against his lips.

He and Uraume set off holding hands, with Akiko safely held in two of his arms. They let her admire the flowers and trees on the way to the pond; once there, they placed some straw mats on the ground to take a rest on, then the lessons began.

Sukuna decided to use his own method, the one that had worked perfectly fine for him: he picked Uraume up and tossed him straight into the water.

He flailed and thrashed like a beached fish for some seconds, while Sukuna shouted from the shore:

“Keep your head up, Uraume! And move your arms! No, not like that!”

Akiko giggled, flailing her own little arms, repeating: “Up, Ume! Up!”

The child finally got the hang of it, even though he had drunk a good amount of water. His bangs were plastered to his flushed face, and his wide eyes and pale body made him look like a little silver fish who had forgotten how to swim.

“Good! Excellent! Now, turn on your back.”

“O-On my back!?”

Sukuna hummed as he adjusted his hold on Akiko, holding her with a large hand under her belly and causing her to giggle harder. He needed to get in the water to help his first child, but to do that he would need to teach his second one how to swim, too. He couldn’t simply enter the pond without telling her what to do, or place her down on the straw mats and expect her not to move around and explore the forest around them.

“Akiko,” he said, looking down at her, “Papa will get in now.”

“We swim?”

“Yes, we will swim. I will show you how.”

He was wearing a simple fundoshi, like Uraume was, while she a light robe that allowed her skin to breathe during those hot, humid months. He gently took it off, folded it and placed it on the mats, then entered the pond, making sure not to let Akiko drink any water.

Uraume had successfully turned on his back. His initial panic and fear had disappeared after realizing the water would hold him up; he was still too stiff and didn’t dare move a muscle, but he visibly relaxed when he saw his father approach.

“Move your feet, Uraume,” Sukuna chuckled. “Spine straight. Look above you.”

He made a low, unsure sound. Sukuna poked his cheek.

“Come on, come on. It’s just water. Basically melted ice!”

Uraume giggled at that, and Sukuna grinned as he started moving his feet, propelling himself towards the other side of the pond.

“Good job, my child! Look, even Akiko is clapping for you.”

“Ume, Ume! Swim!”

He successfully reached the edge; he regained his breath for a moment or two, then came back, this time swimming doggy style.

“Pfft.”

“I’m still learning!”

“Raise your arms, like this. You need to cut the water, not dig in it.”

Uraume saw and heard his pride, though, and smiled at him.

He focused on Akiko when he saw her kick her feet under the water, and he walked over to them until he reached a part of the pond where his feet touched the ground, right near the edge of it.

“Do you like it, sister? The water is fresh and cool, isn’t it?”

“Yes!”

“You two are going to be good swimmers,” Sukuna said approvingly, then he looked around with a scowl. “Where is your mother? I want to continue your lesson with her. And she needs to learn, too!”

He had just finished speaking when he sensed her cursed energy get close. Soon she came out of bushes and grass, a huge smile on her face, two red dots on her freckled face.

“I’m here! Sorry for the delay, I was fixing the last details and…”

There was something different about her, but he was so happy and excited to see her, to show her how quickly Uraume had learned how to swim, to start teaching her, that he decided to focus on it later.

He passed Akiko to Uraume after making sure he standing steady, then he went to his wife in wide, quick strides, opening his arms wide to catch her.

“Look!” Her smile was even brighter as she slid a hand into her kosode to take something out. “I…”

The words turned into a loud gasp when he picked her up. Yes, something was different about her, but what?

Ah, he would find it out later! Now, the most important thing was…

“Let’s teach you how to swim, Moriko!” he cackled loudly, holding her high as he went back to the pond.

She wriggled in his arms and pushed on his shoulders, as he had expected her to do, but he was sure she would enjoy this. The air was so sticky and humid he knew she would ask to stay in the water for hours, once she learned how to move in it.

“I will use the same method I used with Uraume. It’s quick, efficient, and infallible.”

“Beloved, wait…!”

“Close your eyes and hold your breath.”

“No! Wait a minute!”

His grin grew as he imagined her joy after realizing she could float without trouble. At first, she would certainly flail and panic like Uraume had done… but she was a brilliant woman, and he would be there to guide her.

“I will be merciful and count to three: one… two…”

“No, please!”

“Father!”

“Three!”

He tossed her in with a loud laughter. He didn’t see Uraume’s concerned expression, busy as he was watching her trash about, her eyes clenched shut, the sleeves of her dark green kosode…

Wait, dark green?

Her head disappeared under the water for a long moment. When it emerged, it was pale, and she spat out a lot of water, blind and deaf in her fear.

“Mother!”

“Shit! Moriko!”

He jumped in. He was so tall he easily touched the bottom and was able to reach her in just two steps. He lifted her up and cradled her fast in his arms. She coughed and coughed, her dark brown hair plastered all over her face and shoulders - her low ponytail had gotten loose in the water.

“Breathe, Moriko,” he said as he hurried back to the edge of the pond. “Take deep breaths.”

He helped her sit down on the straw mats, vaguely aware of Akiko fussing and whining in the background, a prelude to tears. He heard Uraume try to calm her down, and he was grateful to him: he needed to take care of Moriko first.

She was still coughing and wheezing and spitting out water, but her cheeks had regained a bit of color. She was trembling, despite the water not being particularly cold - he realized it was because of fear.

“Moriko.” He squeezed her hand while rubbing her back, guilt creeping into his heart. “Are you feeling better?”

She didn’t look at him. Her expression was closed off, distant, and she slowly, but firmly freed her hand to take something out of her wet kosode.

Four small strips of wood hanging from chords, probably to hang them around one’s neck or tie them to one’s clothes.

He recognized them, for he had often seen Shingon monks wear them or donate them to those who asked: gofu, they were called. Special amulets with esoteric words and spells written on them to keep certain evils or dangers away.

The ones Moriko was holding were now wet and ruined, the ink on them already running, the wood dark with water, almost pliable. He was able to recognize the characters written on one: against drowning, they said.

She had brought amulets to protect them during their lessons; one was for him, too, even though she knew he couldn’t possibly drown.

He felt like an idiot, an utter monster, a complete fool. Then his right eyes moved to her kosode, and he realized it was new. He had never seen her wear it before.

But that was also soaked, the precious fabric drenched with water, the embroideries glistening like small rivulets under the hot summer sun.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He could only watch, quiet and somber, as she combed her hair with her fingers, before looking around for her ribbon.

He searched for it as well and saw it float in the pond. He went retrieve it, relieved to see Akiko had calmed down thanks to Uraume’s gentle words.

But he didn’t meet the child’s eyes; he stared at the ribbon, the same green as Moriko’s kosode, delicately embroidered with pink hydrangeas.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “Let me do it.”

But she snatched the ribbon out of his hand and tied the ponytail without replying, without looking at him, her face a stone wall, an empty canvas.

More guilt invaded his heart. He felt a painful weight on his chest, and a rising feeling he didn’t recognize. Something akin to jittery nervousness, or perhaps even panic.

“Moriko-”

She got up and left the clearing, forced to lift her heavy kosode to walk without tripping. For a moment, he feared she would venture deep into the forest, too angry to go back home, but then saw she was going back to the shrine.

He swore under his breath. He rubbed his neck, trying to come up with a decent solution, with a good apology, with anything.

He heard Uraume leave the pond. He turned to him, and the child looked at him with reproach for the first time in his life.

“Mother made you and herself a new kosode for the summer. She has been embroidering for weeks.”

“I suspected she was working on something, but every time I entered our quarters, she said it was a gift for her sister and put it away and…”

“Well, yes. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Sukuna sighed, then he remembered the amulets. He picked them up, and Uraume’s glare could have frozen an entire army.

“She made these?”

“No. Only Buddhist temples can make them. Mother told me Grandfather asked a monk for some useful ones to take on their exile, years ago.”

“And now they are ruined.”

He didn’t throw them away, though. After drying himself and putting his hakama back on, he placed them inside a small bag he kept tied on his pants.

He dried and helped Akiko get dressed again, never uttering a single world. His little girl was quiet, too, sensing something was wrong. There were worry and alarm written all over her round face, and he cursed himself for that, too.

Uraume was still angry. When they finally got back to the shrine, he gave him another reproachful, almost disappointed look and pointed at the house, at the shoji doors that led to Sukuna and Moriko’s sleeping quarters, then he entered the kitchens.

Sukuna understood the message. Apologize.

The problem was, he had no idea how to do that in a decent way. He knew he had exaggerated. He knew he had been careless and irresponsible. But would words be enough? They had been when he had apologized for acting like a beast after finding their house in ruins; they had been enough when he had apologized for having succumbed to madness and rage after the Zenin attack.

But this felt different. This felt like a more serious argument, a greater offense, for there were no external forces involved in it. He hadn’t acted like an idiot because the Zenin or another clan had hurt his family; he was the sole responsible of the offense and anger he had caused Moriko to feel.

Akiko had fallen asleep in his arms. He entered the sleeping quarters, and was relieved to find Moriko there.

Her new kosode was drying on top of an overturned basket placed over an incense burner. She was wearing her usual yellow one, her hair almost dry thanks to the hot summer air.

She was fixing the seams on one of Akiko’s robes. She didn’t look up when he entered the rooms, but she smiled at Akiko when he placed her in the silky cot next to her.

Her smile disappeared when he sat down close to her. Her posture was stiff, closed off, and her face was an empty mask again, pale with anger and pain.

“Moriko,” he started, and he saw the slight twitch of her eyebrows as she frowned.

He reached out and pressed his fingertips on her knee, a light touch. He wanted to do more, to hug her, to hold her and pronounce his apologies while covering her face with kisses, so that color would return to her cheeks…

But he knew she wouldn’t like that, not yet. She was still too angry and shook, and he would give her all the space she needed.

“I’m sorry,” he continued, but immediately flinched, for the words sounded stupid and useless.

She kept stitching, not acknowledging him. He looked at the kosode draped on the basket.

“Uraume told me it was supposed to be a surprise. I didn’t mean to ruin it.”

He pulled his hand away. The silence was deafening. He wanted her to scream at him, shout, yell, throw things at him. He couldn’t bear the idea of her not speaking to him, not looking at him, refusing to acknowledge his presence, his being there with her in the same room, in the same space.

“I’m sorry about the gofu, too. I acted impulsively and…”

Her fingers holding the needle had turned white, so strong was her grip on it. She stopped stitching, but still didn’t look up at him. Her eyes were fixed on the small robe lying on her lap.

“Does your father have more amulets? Maybe we could get some from the monks in the village. And your kosode…”

“It’s not about the kosode and the amulets,” she finally spoke, and her tone was stiff, full of barely refrained anger and tears. He saw them shine in her eyes when she raised her gaze to him, and the sight hit him like a wave of powerful cursed energy. He almost reeled back.

“It’s not?”

He furrowed his brow, trying to understand. Was she angry because he had tossed her in the water and she had gotten scared? Surely she knew he would never put her in danger!

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” he tried to say, but her patience was at its limits, and she let out a frustrated, loud sigh.

“Tell me what I did wrong,” and he almost winced again, for his tone was rough, impatient, but not out of rage, but out of worry and that jittery panic again.

She looked at him again, and he saw her anger dissipate, evaporate, leaving only pain behind.

She bit her lower lip, trying not to cry, and answered:

“You didn’t stop when I asked you to.”

This time he did reel back as if slapped in the face by a strong cursed technique. He stared at her, numb and mute, as she continued, her voice cracking, her eyes cast down:

“I told you ‘No, please’, but you didn’t hear me or didn’t listen. I was scared, I wanted to give you the gofu, I wanted to show you the embroideries on the kosode, there is you, see? I embroidered your figure standing between some trees, and I embroidered myself on the kosode I made for you, so that we will always carry each other.”

Her tears fell on the little robe on her lap. She rubbed her cheeks with a quick gesture, but they kept coming and falling, falling and coming, until her body was shaking with sobs.

He continued to stare at her, a cold void filling his chest, spreading to his head and limbs like a rotting malady.

“I…”

He reached out for her again, but it was an aborted movement. He quickly drew his hand back, fearing to soil her with his touch.

He had been a fool. He had frightened her, disappointed her, done to her the same thing that bastard from the Zenin clan had tried doing to her and her sister when they were younger.

He had failed her, and his shame knew no bounds.

What the hell was he supposed to say to fix this? There were no right words. “Sorry”? “Please forgive me”? “I didn’t mean to hurt you”?

Well, he had hurt her. He had done so with actions, not words, and only actions could show her how deeply sorry he was, how ashamed he felt, how strong was his promise to never do something like this again.

She had calmed down a little. She was now rubbing her eyes and sniffling, but her face was still pale, and she was still withdrawn, distant, lost in her pain.

He touched her knee with his fingertips again. This time, she turned to him, her eyes bloodshot, her nose glistening.

He adjusted his position on the tatami: he kneeled and folded his legs underneath his thighs, making sure his butt was resting on his heels. He firmly placed two of his hands on his thighs, the other two on the floor next to his hips.

Then he did something he had never done in his life before: he bowed.

It was a deep, long-lasting bow. He heard Moriko gasp.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I disrespected you.”

He didn’t rise, even though he felt the urge to look Moriko in the eye as he apologized. But she deserved a good apology, and he didn’t know any other gestures of respect apart from bowing. He didn’t know whether the nobles had other, better ways to express their regret.

“It wasn’t my intention to hurt you, but I did all the same, and for that I apologize. You’re right, I didn’t hear you. I was too focused on the swimming lessons, on playing a silly prank, on myself.”

He rose and met her eyes. She didn’t look sad or angry anymore, thank goodness. Just a bit surprised, but also calm, her eyes puffy, but finally dry.

“I’m sorry, Moriko,” he repeated. “Choose whatever punishment you deem fit, and I shall accept it.”

“I… I don’t want to punish you!”

She sighed and picked up the needle again, resuming her stitching.

“Just… Let me calm down. I will finish this robe, go for a walk around the shrine, and… I will feel better.”

He frowned at that.

“But I gave you offense. I should be the one giving you relief and comfort. You shouldn’t be doing that by yourself.”

She snorted.

“You think smacking that stubborn head of yours would make me feel better? That my mood would improve after letting you sleep in the hearth room for a week?”

He stared at a vague point above her head, feeling something almost similar to dread creep into his soul.

“…A week?”

She gave him a flat look, and his heart skipped a beat. He had seen the old, familiar mirth hidden in her still red eyes.

“I would rather we talk things over like two decent adults. Punishments have no place in a marriage, beloved.”

Her usual term of endearment made something warm and fuzzy bloom in his chest. He moved his hand towards her knee for what felt like the umpteenth time, but he didn’t stop there: he kept inching forward, almost timidly, until his large palm was on her thigh.

She let him do it. A heartbeat or two passed, then she wrapped her little finger around his own, smiling at the size difference.

She looked at him from under long eyelashes, and her smile grew.

“Silly husband,” she said, and he chuckled, relief filling every crevice of his body.

He turned serious again and murmured: “I’m sorry, Moriko.”

“I know. And I also know you didn’t do it on purpose. You just wanted us to have fun together.”

“Yes.”

She took his hand, squeezing it, her eyes wide.

“Please don’t stop playing pranks on me! I mean… I don’t want you to walk on eggshells around me from now on. I love your jokes and your silly games and…”

“Don’t worry, Moriko.” He grinned, puffing out his chest. “I won’t stop being the mischievous husband you love.”

“Good.”

Her smile was sweet and happy, and he felt he could breathe again, that his mind was clear, the weight on his chest gone.

She pressed a soft kiss on his mouth, but it wasn’t enough. He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, his eyes closed as he took a deep breath.

“Beloved,” she kissed his shoulder, “thank you.”

“For what?”

“For asking me what was wrong and apologizing. Not everyone would have done so.”

He squeezed her harder, and she giggled.

She pulled away, stars in her eyes, and clapped her hands.

“Do you want to see your kosode?”

He stroked her cheek.

“Yes, darling heart.”

It was beautiful. A dark green, just like her own. She had embroidered a forest in amber hues on it, and he found her little figure nestled between two trees, dressed in yellow.

“Here you are,” he murmured, tracing it with his finger. He asked to see her kosode, too, and she showed it to him. It was already dry and not ruined at all, and it smelled like sandalwood.

The theme and colors were the same, but here he saw himself embroidered among the trees, his hair a bright pink against the fabric.

“I love them,” he said, smiling. “I will wear mine with pride, beloved.”

“May we go to the pond again tomorrow?” She held his hand, her expression now shy. “I want to learn how to swim.”

“Yes.”

She smiled at him, then looked away, her cheeks red.

“You can toss me again, if you want. I promise I won’t get mad.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth.

“And I promise I will hear you this time, should you want me to stop.”

The next day, they went back to the pool of fresh water. Before setting off, while Moriko was busy talking with her parents, Uraume seized the chance to give Sukuna a long, intense look.

“I apologized,” Sukuna reassured him, and the child rewarded him with a proud smile.

He and Moriko didn’t wear their new kosode, not wanting to accidentally ruin them; they removed their usual clothes and placed them neatly on the mats they had brought.

“Beloved, here.”

She showed him a gofu, identical to the ones he had ruined. He stared at it, then at her. She saw her timid smile, and he returned it, offering her his neck. She tied the amulet around it, then she did the same with Uraume and Akiko, before wearing her own.

She was wearing a fundoshi, too; she had wrapped some bandages around her chest to cover her breasts. She stood half-naked in the glade, a hand on her arm, flustered, but smiling at him with shy coyness.

Her face was tanned, her body not yet. She looked like a tall flower, he thought. Or perhaps a regal tree, he corrected himself, looking at the arches of her feet, at the muscles of her legs, at the shape of her shoulders as she bended to help Uraume get in the pond.

“Well done, Uraume!” she exclaimed when the child showed her what he had learned the previous day. She was holding Akiko, and together they cheered him on, laughing.

He even found the courage to hold his breath and submerge himself; he got out almost immediately, hurried and alarmed, but quickly realized he had nothing to fear. Soon he was splashing in the water with confidence, “as nimble and fast as an ama fisherwoman!”, Moriko said.

Sukuna had never seen one, despite having travelled far and wide across most of Japan. Moriko had heard and read about them, and her face was aglow with admiration as she described them to the children.

“They are strong women, able to hold their breath for a long time, and they dive deep in the sea, searching for fish, algae, and precious pearls.”

He saw the yearning on her face as she looked at the pond. It suddenly looked like a small thing, a modest pool, nothing comparable to the sea she had seen only once.

“I will catch a winged curse tomorrow,” he promised, “and we will go to the sea.”

She and Uraume gasped, staring at him in pleased surprise, and he grinned.

“It will be funnier than swimming in circles in this puddle. I’m sure Akiko will love the waves. But first…”

He wrapped an arm around Moriko’s waist.

“You will have to learn how to swim, beloved.”

She was excited, eager to start. Uraume had been swimming for a while and wasn’t used to it; heavy-limbed, he sat on the edge of the pond to regain his breath. He put Akiko on his lap, showing her the leaves in the water, while Sukuna and Moriko began their lesson.

He gave her a mischievous look, a sultry edge to it, and she returned it with open mirth and joy, but also that distinct playfulness she was allowing herself to show lately.

“Do you want to use my method, Moriko? Or would you prefer something… ah, gentler?”

Her smile grew, and he wanted to kiss her freckled dimples.

“Yours, please.”

His two mouths curled into huge grins.

“Good! Then…”

He reached for her, for her waist, and two of his hands had almost grabbed her when…

When something pulled him into the pond.

It let him go as soon as he entered the water, but he knew what it was: vines, shrouded in Moriko’s cursed energy, which by now was familiar to him as his own was.

He reemerged, his grins larger than before, his pride and amusement immeasurable.

Moriko was stifling her giggles, a hand on her mouth, and Uraume looked very proud of her. Akiko beamed at Sukuna, happy to see him reappear like magic.

He lunged forward and grabbed Moriko; he hoisted her on his shoulder, and she laughed and shrieked happily.

“Close your eyes and hold your breath!”

She did so, and he fell backwards, plunging into the cool water with her.

 

“Sukuna?”

He blinked, snapping out of his memories. He was back in their rooms, the winter storm still raging outside, Moriko and Akiko looking up at him from the pillow.

“Papa, are you alright?”

“Yes. Yes, I was thinking about… ah…”

“He was thinking about Mama,” Moriko said, booping Akiko’s nose. “See how red his ears are? That means he is… eek!”

He had pressed and rubbed his cold feet on her bare legs.

“Aw, Papa, you’re sweet!”

“Hmph.”

He pretended to glare at Moriko while she giggled and tangled her legs with his.

“Papa,” Akiko tugged at his kosode. It was the dark green one, the one he had been thinking about, still perfect after three years.

“Yes?”

“Today you must tell me the story.”

She meant it was his turn to tell her a bedtime story. It was a relatively recent habit that had taken root during the storm, since Akiko had refused to sleep in her rooms and had needed a lot of soothing in order to fall asleep at night.

“Your mother is better at it.”

“That’s not true, beloved!”

“I can’t come up with good ones.”

“Tell me about the princess of the bamboo!”

“Ah, The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter.”

He had known some parts of it, but he had learned it in full only after listening to Moriko tell it.

“Yes! But…” Akiko gave him a very serious look. “Please make the voices, Papa.”

“No.”

“Please!”

He glanced at Moriko, silently asking for support. She squeezed his legs, stifling her laughter.

“Mama will make the voices,” she offered, “and Papa will tell the rest of the story. Is that alright?”

Akiko frowned and hummed, thinking hard about it.

“Papa never makes the voices…”

Ah, she was pouting.

“I’m not good at it,” he hurriedly said, pride be damned. Akiko blinked, confused.

“But you say you’re good at all!”

“At everything. And yes, that’s true. I’m so good at making voices that I go full circle and automatically become bad at it.”

Akiko frowned again, harder this time, and the sight was so sweet and amusing he couldn’t help but laugh. She whined, thinking he was mocking her.

“Please, Papa! I will give you…”

She counted on her short, chubby fingers, then she showed him three of them.

“Three kisses!”

“Mh. A good offer, but not enough. I want eight.”

Akiko scrunched up her nose, and she looked just like Moriko for a second. She wasn’t upset, just confused: she looked at her hand, trying to understand where eight was supposed to come from.

Moriko helped her by raising her other two fingers and lifting her other hand, counting each digit.

“…Seven, eight.”

“A lot!”

“Hmph.” Sukuna sniffled, pretending to be offended. “Eight kisses for your poor father are already too many at this age? What will you do when you’re fifteen? Ignore me completely?”

“Sukuna,” Moriko chided him with a fond smile, “you know she won’t.”

“Papa, five kisses!”

“Seven.”

“Five!”

“Six.”

“Fiiiive.”

“Heh.” He smiled at her, finding her stubbornness endearing. “Alright, five.”

He tapped his left cheek, but she shook her head, narrowing her eyes.

“First the story with the voices!”

“Damn, you really are my daughter.”

And so he started telling the story of Princess Kaguya. He didn’t understand much of it, but apparently it was already considered a classic in all of Japan.

When it was time to make the Princess speak, though, he gave her a gravelly, deep voice, while her elderly father, the bamboo cutter, had a high-pitched, feminine pitch.

Moriko could barely contain her giggles, while Akiko started making a thin, long whine, like the shrill sound of a stick burning on a fire.

“Papa!” she burst out, pouting and glaring at him. “It’s wrong!”

He grinned at her, gloating.

“You never told me what kind of voices you wanted.”

And so he continued, giving a different, mismatched voice to each suitor of the Princess, and even using his second mouth to mumble her replies.

By then, Moriko was already laughing quite hard, tears in her eyes. Akiko glared at the ceiling for a while, but her mother’s reaction was contagious, and Sukuna was clearly doing a great job, because soon the little girl started giggling as well.

“And so the Princess returned to her home on the Moon. Her adoptive parents died. Like this- urrk.”

He made a funny face, his neck crooked, his tongue lolling out. Moriko and Akiko howled with laughter.

“The Emperor threw the elixir of immortality away and told his soldiers to burn his letter to the Princess on the mountain closest to Heaven, so that his message could reach her. The end.”

He shook his head, clicking his tongue in disappointment.

“Why do you even like this story? It’s bittersweet and sad.”

“You made it funny!” Akiko cheered. “Make the Princess’ voice again, please!”

He obliged, and a strong wave of pride and joy washed over him, filling him, curling his mouths into two large smiles as he watched his wife and daughter laugh and be happy because of him.

Akiko wasn’t even paying attention to the rain and thunders arguing outside anymore. She sat up and pressed five kisses on his face: two on the left side, three on the right one.

“Thank you, Papa,” she said, very sweetly, her face as pink as her hair after all that laughter.

He nodded, unable to speak for some inexplicable reason. He felt as if he were choking, but in a good way.

Akiko touched his ear, laughing.

“Mama, you’re right, they’re red!”

He put her hand between his teeth, pretending he wanted to eat it, but he just gently nibbled it, making her laugh louder. Moriko watched them with a warm smile, the light from the candle they had lit to help Akiko sleep better casting bright shadows on her face.

“Time to sleep, now. Your mother and I will have to get up early tomorrow to go hunting.”

“Goodnight, Mama.”

“Goodnight, sweet love.”

Akiko pressed five loud smooches on Moriko’s cheek as well, not wanting her to feel left out. Thank goodness she had inherited her kindness and selflessness, Sukuna thought as he fixed the kakebuton on her.

“Goodnight, Papa.”

“Goodnight, little sprout.”

He blew on the candle, draping a veil of darkness over the room, but she wasn’t scared anymore. She nestled closer to him, making sure to still hold onto Moriko at the same time, her small hand gripping her kosode, the dark green one.

 

- - -

 

The sun and the chirping of birds woke them up.

Moriko and Akiko gawked at the shoji doors, at the calm and quiet that reigned beyond them, at the brilliant light that passed through the paper.

Sukuna was sitting near the bed, reading the ninth volume of the Kokin Wakashu. He grinned at them, triumphant and proud like a successful general, and accepted their compliments and thanks and kisses with the same grace of one.

 

One hour later, everything was ready for the hunt.

Sukuna and Moriko stood near the path that led deeper into the forest, kissing Uraume and Akiko goodbye, reassuring their family they would be careful, telling the children to behave and listen to their grandparents and uncle and Yuki in their absence.

Moriko was carrying the matagi bow, which Sukuna said had become hers by right. He needed just his fists and cursed energy to hunt, but he would be carrying their supplies, since they would need to stay in the forest for a few days; the pantry was indeed getting almost dangerously empty, and they needed a lot of meat and vegetables for Akiko’s hakamagi.

They entered the forest hand in hand after giving Uraume and Akiko one last kiss; they walked in comfortable silence for a while until Moriko remembered something important.

“Beloved, here!”

She handed him a gofu. She had taken two from Father’s collection: Protection was written on the wood.

He looked at it for a long time; it looked small and silly in his large palm, but he smiled at it, then at her, and he tied it around the sash of the hakama she wore for the hunt.

“Thank you,” he said, and she beamed at him, before tying the second amulet to his pants as well.

They held hands again and went forward, breathing in the sweet, humid, muddy air. The sunlit forest welcomed them in, surrounding them in amber hues.

Notes:

I LIED, THE SMUTTY CHAPTER IS THE NEXT ONE

I always show Sukuna being a perfect husband, but his rough edges can't simply disappear all of a sudden. His was a very hard life, after all 😔 So I decided to focus on some Consequences™ for this chapter!

Gofu: amulets distributed by Shingon monks, one of the major Buddhist schools of the Heian period. The gofu could be made of paper or strips of wood. Some spells were written on them against particular evils. They were carried on the body or sometimes even swallowed when small enough.

Sukuna sits and bows to Moriko in the traditional seiza Japanese way of sitting. It's considered to be highly formal and respectful, and quite difficult to perform correctly and for a long period of time. Fun fact: in the manga, Sukuna often sits with an arm resting on a raised knee. That position is called "uta-hiza" in Japanese, and it may look like an arrogant pose, but it's actually tied to Buddhism. It's called "lalitasana" or "posture of royal ease": many statues of Buddha are depicted in this position, which is said to emphasize the royal, divine aspect of the figure.

The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter: also known as The Tale of Princess Kaguya. It's the oldest surviving monogatari, composed in the Heian era and quickly become a classic, so much Murasaki Shikibu praises it in her "Tale of Genji". An elderly bamboo cutter finds a miniscule baby girl and a nugget of gold inside a stalk of bamboo... the rest is a moving story that I recommend you to read (it's quite short) or even watch. The Studio Ghibli made a beautiful, heartwrenching movie about it ("The Tale of the Princess Kaguya", 2013), which made me cry like a baby. :'D

I promise Sukuna and Moriko will play a game in the forest in the next chapter :>

Chapter 10: Kasane no Irome, Hakamagi

Notes:

Careful! Scenes of child abuse (hitting and killing) in the first part of this chapter!

One day, while wandering without purpose, but sated after destroying and devouring a hamlet full of farmers, he found a cave.

Large and deep, it provided succor from the weather, and it fit his large body. He didn’t remember his exact age, but he presumed he had just become a young man, for he had stopped growing.

Compared to the commoners often ravaged by famine or to the nobles who never held something heavier than a brush in their whole lives, he was a tall mountain, a rock covered in muscles, but also fat, for he didn’t only indulge in human meat whenever he destroyed a village, but also in any kind of food he found there.

The cave was already occupied by a bear and her cubs; he killed them quickly and painlessly, pleasantly surprised by their presence. They would be a perfect source of meat for the coming months.

He had decided to stay there for a while. He was tired of travelling everywhere. He was tired of meeting people, of having to interact with them, of having to defend himself, of having to listen to their screams, shouts, rage, and hatred.

He would rest his mind there in that cave for a while, letting the months pass by, one step closer to his death.

Sometimes he wondered why he didn’t simply kill himself. He certainly was the only person who could accomplish such a task.

But something stopped him whenever the boredom and hatred for the world became too much; not because he particularly desired to live, but because he didn’t want to make things easier for all those who wished for his death.

He would hunt them and curse them a little more, he decided each time that fleeting idea came to his mind. One more year, some more villages, some more sorcerers annihilated, some more meat eaten to fill and satiate and stuff himself and then maybe, just maybe…

He pushed the carcasses of the bear and her cubs deeper into the cave, so that the cooler temperature there would stop the meat from rotting too quickly. Then he collected some grass and leaves, made himself a comfortable, large bed, and went to sleep.

 

He lived like that for a month or so, in complete solitude. He had underestimated his hunger and the boredom that would fuel it: it had taken him just a few weeks to consume the mama bear and all her cubs.

Now he was forced to leave the cave to hunt in the forest nearby. He didn’t mind it, but he didn’t want to accidentally come across someone else. The hamlet he had destroyed wasn’t the only one in the zone, and he knew rumors were probably spreading like fire. He wondered if they had already reached the capital.

Another month passed in peace, and then he was found. Not by some sorcerers, but by a child.

He visited the forest to hunt again, but also to find some new leaves for his bed and some dry wood to turn into charcoal and practice his writing on the empty walls of his abode.

He was familiar with a glade where deer often went to graze the tender grass and the sturdy weeds. Lazy, calm, and unhurried, he went there, ruminating on a song he had heard echo in the hamlet before he had entered it.

The glade wasn’t empty, but it wasn’t a deer what he found.

She was just a toddler, babbling some nonsense while splashing her bare feet in a puddle of water.

She heard him come, and she raised her round face on which two small eyes were set, like pebbles on a pink dish.

She gave him a gummy smile, fearless, for she didn’t know danger. She was still too young to distinguish between beauty and ugliness, normalcy and deformation.

“Hello!”

She waved at him, but Sukuna didn’t move. He watched her without interest, without hunger, as she giggled and went back to her puddle, her life as insignificant as that of a bird would be to the immense mountain that housed it.

He had already eaten a piglet he had found just the day before. He wasn’t hungry yet, and the child seemed calm enough. If she didn’t bother him, he wouldn’t eat her.

He entered the glade and started collecting some wood. If a child was there, her parents couldn’t be too far, unless she had been abandoned or gotten lost. However, her being there also meant animals would keep their distance, bothered by her presence.

He huffed a great sigh. She was giggling softly, crouched over the puddle, beating her open hands on it and splashing water everywhere.

He would go back to his cave, fix his bed and prepare the charcoal, and then come back to the forest. Hopefully she would be gone by then, either eaten by something that wasn’t him or recovered by her parents.

He was going back to the path that led outside when he heard them: heavy, hurried steps, and a man calling a name.

“Where are you? Answer me!”

“Pa!”

Sukuna rolled his eyes. That idiot of a man was making a ruckus, scaring all of his precious preys away.

Said man entered the glade, hair and clothes in disarray, his eyes wide, his face pale.

“Here you are!”

The little girl giggled, raising her wet hands to him. But instead of the cooing, fussing, or hugs Sukuna had expected, the father slapped her face hard.

“Stupid! I told you not to leave my side!”

She burst into loud, cacophonous tears, her mouth open in a wail. Her father struck her bottom thrice for good measure, and each hit made her cry harder.

“I had to stop harvesting berries because of you! Useless daughter, why couldn’t the gods give me another son? At least he wouldn’t have spent the day looking at flowers!”

She sobbed and hiccupped, raising her arms again, asking to be held. But he tsked, disapproving and almost disgusted, and yanked her forward by the back of her simple clothes.

“Come on, move! I’ll tell that whore of your mother to keep an eye on you while I go back to…”

He stopped, sensing Sukuna’s presence, his gaze on his. He slowly turned and met eyes with him.

His face, which had turned red with rage while punishing his daughter, turned pale again.

“R-Ryomen Sukuna!”

Sukuna clicked his tongue, before shaking his head.

“Pitiful humans… I really don’t understand the way you live.”

The man swallowed; his daughter was still crying and sobbing next to him, a small hand fisted around a leg of his rolled-up pants. She was unaware of her father’s fear; she still wasn’t afraid of Sukuna. She was focused on her pain, on the fright her father had given her, on the violence he had displayed.

“I’m not hungry yet,” Sukuna continued. “But that might change soon.”

He let his second mouth grin at the man. He looked at it as if it were a sin against humanity, a cancer.

Then he did something unexpected, something Sukuna had never seen someone do before.

Instead of bowing or kneeling and asking for mercy, or thanking him for sparing his daughter’s life, he pushed her forward, making her fall on the grass.

“Take her!” he babbled, walking back, ready to sprint away. “She is plump and soft! She will fill you for days! Please spare me!”

And then he ran, far from the glade, far from him, far from his bawling daughter.

Sukuna looked at her. She was lying on the grass, her face red, wet with tears and snot, and a wheezing sound came from her chest, maybe due to the excessive labor that crying so hard was for her small body.

He went to her, two of his arms busy holding the grass and wood he had found.

“We are castaways, you and I, little girl,” he murmured. “Souls stranded in a merciless sea. But I am strong, whereas you are weak and pitiful.”

She looked up at him, her eyes dry for she had no more tears to shed, her mouth twisted into a grimace of pain, confusion, and bewilderment, for she hadn’t yet realized she had been abandoned, her filial love rejected by the very man who had generated her.

“I will be kind to you,” he said, raising a free hand in a familiar mudra, “and give you peace in a world where there is none.”

He let out his cursed energy, just for a moment, but it was more than enough: the hiccups suddenly stopped, and a calm silence returned to the glade.

Sukuna turned his back to the little heap on the ground and went back to his cave, thinking about the kanji he wanted to practice on the walls.

 

The Zenin sorcerers found him a few days later.

They weren’t particularly strong, but they kept him busy for a while, for they all had a good reverse cursed technique.

He played with them, cutting off their limbs to see them regrow amidst groans and hisses of pain, the ground before the entrance to his cave red and slimy with hot blood.

“How did you know where to find me?” he asked the only survivor at the end of the fight, as he pressed his foot on his broken leg.

“W-We just guessed!”

“What a dirty liar. Speak, or I will make you watch while I eat your innards.”

The sorcerer gave up in the end, and told him a man from a nearby hamlet to the north of there had gone to the Governor of the province, warning every soldier stationed there that Ryomen Sukuna had come.

To thank him for his cooperation, Sukuna made him watch as he opened a deep gash on his stomach and pulled out his guts.

He ate his fill, then went to the hamlet the sorcerer had indicated. He scoured every house, killing every person he found inside, until he reached a humble hut.

The man from the glade, his wife, and a little brat were hiding in there, trembling in fear. The brat had already soiled his pants.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Sukuna grinned, watching as the man almost fainted at being addressed. “You warned the soldiers.”

The man opened and closed his mouth like a fish, a dumb animal, and Sukuna shook his head, tutting.

“What a brave specimen of a human being you are. First you abandon your daughter in the forest, then you go and act like a snitch after I showed you mercy.”

He saw the wife and son tense up. They turned to the man, eyes wide, and Sukuna grinned again, with both mouths this time.

“You didn’t know! Of course you didn’t. Ah, it was a scene worthy of a story!”

He stepped closer, and they were so dumbfounded, so frozen in their betrayal and shock, they didn’t even notice him doing it.

“He pushed her towards me and told me to eat her instead,” he continued, a deep, cruel satisfaction rising in his chest, the wicked glee of someone about to unleash a terrible truth on innocent, unaware people.

“You said she got lost…” the wife murmured, moving away from her trembling husband. “You said you couldn’t find her…!”

“He’s… He’s lying!”

“Why should I lie?” Sukuna said, calmly, almost gently, his tone the same one would use with a stubborn child.

“You killed her!” the wife suddenly shrieked, but she was talking to her husband, not Sukuna. “You killed my baby!”

She grabbed something from a table behind her. A knife, he realized as he saw the sharp blade glint under the sunlight that entered from the open door.

She plunged it deep into her husband’s chest, letting out a hoarse, mad scream. He gurgled some nonsensical words before falling on the ground, where she kept stabbing him, again and again, the hut filled with her screams.

Then she turned around, swiftly, like a predator catching the smell of its next prey, like a hungry person remembering there is still one morsel left to eat.

“Mom…!”

She jumped on her son with another yell, and the knife entered him time and time again, until his face became a bloody mess and his body fell down with a light squelch.

She sobbed and wheezed, tearing at her face, leaving bloody stripes on her cheeks as she did so.

Then she started laughing, an insane sound, chilling and unnatural; Sukuna sensed several curses press against the walls of the hut, lured in by her madness, by her actions, by the curse she had cast on her husband and herself.

“My baby!” she laughed, stabbing herself in the stomach. She choked on blood as it ran out of a corner of her mouth, but she kept smiling and giggling. “My baby!”

She stabbed herself again and fell forward, a hand still on the knife, the other reaching out, although Sukuna couldn’t say for what or for whom.

He stared at the scene for a long moment, still and quiet, expressionless, feeling nothing except maybe disgust.

He didn’t know whether he was a curse or a human, but the more time he spent in the world, the more he interacted with the people who inhabited it, the more he hated them, the more he wanted nothing to do with them except eating them.

He left the hut and the destroyed hamlet without tasting a single body. He knew he wouldn’t like their taste.

 

- - -

 

The forest was calm and quiet, trying to recover from the storm of the previous days, like a sorcerer taking care of a small, but painful wound, the flesh knitting itself back together little by little.

A vague outline of a path was visible on the ground, but the monks hadn’t put into it the same effort as they had done with the path that led down the mount. Soon it disappeared, replaced by humid soil, fallen leaves, and the rich, moist life that inhabited any forest.

Moriko had learned how to look for traces and animal tracks thanks to Sukuna’s lessons, but he was still the most expert between the two of them; his four eyes saw things she easily missed, and his nose could catch a whiff of an animal who had passed by just a few minutes before their arrival.

They found a thin line of water, and followed it upstream, hoping to find some deer or boars drinking from it. They walked slowly, and kept their voices low as they talked about this and that.

Three of Sukuna’s eyes studied the ground, watched the water, observed the bushes and shrubs and trees to avoid missing the smallest movement; but one eye, the lower left one, was always on her, keeping her company, looking out for anything that might cause her trouble.

His hand would squeeze hers when the terrain became steep, or when they had to walk on some rocks to reach the high ground. She would squeeze it back and point at a cute bird perched on a branch or at a beautiful flower, and he would admire it with her, listening to her description of it, asking her questions.

“Beloved, look! This is kanso! Licorice!”

She showed him the plant, giddy with enthusiasm. He tilted his head as he studied it and touched one of the leaves with a finger.

“Is it edible?”

“The roots are quite sweet! They are mostly used in medicine, but I’m sure Uraume will come up with a good recipe.”

He was instantly interested. He helped her harvest the shoots, some of which they would use later to make some tea, and the seeds, which they would bring back home.

Their hunt for meat continued, but it seemed the storm had scared off most of the animals. They only encountered a few hedgehogs, which Moriko refused to kill (“They are too cute!”), and some small rabbits, which they caught for their tender meat, since it would be perfect for the banquet.

It wasn’t enough, though, and so they went on, with Sukuna studying the horizon, squinting as he tried to understand whether they were looking at trampled grass or something else entirely.

Moriko kept her bow ready, and she tried using her cursed energy to find what they wanted. But animals produced very little cursed energy, and theirs was different from sorcerers’ - purer, in a sense, tied to the powers of the earth and the sky rather than strong, negative emotions.

(She had heard stories of a rich, greedy family of sorcerers who could control ravens, but she had no idea how such a thing worked…)

“Perhaps deeper into the forest. There are some caves where the boars might have found refuge from the storm,” Sukuna said, rubbing his chin.

“I’m sure we will find them,” she said, smiling at him. She hadn’t stopped doing so since leaving the shrine; in a sense, this was their first date ever!

She told him as much, and Sukuna grinned, pulling her into his arms.

“You’re right. We have never been in a place all by ourselves before.”

He nuzzled her cheek, a deep hum building in his throat.

“What does a couple usually do on their first date?”

“I don’t know, beloved. I never went on one. But…”

He nuzzled her neck, one crimson eye set on her, and her smile grew.

“But…?”

“I think we could play a game. It’s still early, and now we know for sure there aren’t any boars or deer in this part of the forest.”

He tightened his hold on her, one of his hands moving lower until it rested on the small of her back.

“What kind of game?”

She traced the tattoos on his face while he gently picked her up - not much, just enough for her feet to brush against the grass. She felt light in his arms, and she laughed before continuing:

“Back when we were kids, my siblings and I would play hide and seek in our garden.”

“Hide and seek?”

“One counts to a certain number, while the other players hide. If the person who seeks them can’t find them all in a limited time, then she or he loses.”

Sukuna’s grin came back.

“Almost like a hunt.”

Her only answer was a smile, and he grew excited.

“It sounds simple enough. Do you want to hide, Moriko?”

She gave him a coy look, her hands now busy tracing the tattoos on his shoulders.

“Well… I was quite good at it.”

“I will find you,” he promised, he swore, he warned her. “I will always find you, Moriko.”

“I know.” She cupped his cheek, her smile sweet. “But the forest is my realm, beloved. It will heed me.”

He kissed the palm of her hand without breaking eye contact.

“I will count to twenty,” he said, his voice gravelly, heavy with arousal and excitement. “Look at where the sun is.”

She did as he asked.

“If I cannot find you by the time it has disappeared beyond the tops of those trees over there, then you win.”

“Alright. But we can’t follow each other’s cursed energy to sense where the other is!”

“Deal.” He kissed her, a fierce, long kiss, then: “Hide well, my love.”

She kissed him again, giggling, and he let her go. She saw him close his left eyes and cover his right ones with a hand.

“One… Two…”

She darted away, asking the soil to muffle her steps. She chose a direction at random, trusting her instincts. They told her she would find a good hiding space just beyond some large shrubs in the distance.

As she ran, she asked the grass and twigs she stepped on to get back to their original position, not wanting them to act as tracks for Sukuna to follow.

She prepared some harmless traps for him, too: vines that would wrap themselves around his feet or stretch themselves to make him stumble. She asked the trees to sway and cover him in leaves as soon as he passed beneath them; she snapped her fingers, and a trail of flowers appeared, leading away from the hiding place she had in mind.

The place in question was a tall, wide tree partially uprooted and lying on its side on a small knoll. There was a space, big enough to fit her and her bow, between the tree and the mound of earth, and the long, sinewy, thick roots would act as the perfect cover, shielding her from Sukuna’s many gazes.

She helped the roots grow to cover herself better, just to be sure, then she waited.

For several minutes, she heard nothing, just the usual sounds a forest had: the songs of birds, the calling of bugs, the wind whispering among the leaves.

Then a slight tremor in the soil, and a vague sensation told her one of her vines had been touched.

She heard Sukuna’s laughter in the distance, and she smiled.

More silence followed, until she heard his voice.

“A beautiful path made of flowers… But I know it doesn’t lead to you, beloved.”

He was closer. She felt his steps echo in the humid earth, the whisper of the grass as his feet walked on it. The trees obeyed her request and covered him in leaves, telling her exactly where he was, but he didn’t stop.

His steps were louder, until she was sure he was indeed above her, perhaps standing on the tree or next to it. He would just need to peer under it to see her, even hidden as she was by the thick roots.

“Where are you, my heart?” he said, and she heard the grin in his voice. “I know you’re here somewhere.”

She held her breath and stifled her giggles. More seconds passed, then he went on with a low, pensive hum.

She waited some more just to be sure he was far enough. Slowly, trying to be as quietest as possible, she asked the roots to move away and slipped out of her hiding place.

She had a vague idea of where he had gone, and so she ran the opposite direction, once again asking the grass to muffle her steps, lying down more traps, making more flowers grow to confuse him.

A majestic kusunoki tree entered her vision. She had never seen one so wide and tall before. It almost looked like there was another forest on its branches, so full of foliage they were.

Biting her lips in anticipation, she started climbing it. She hadn’t climbed a tree in a long, long time, and Mother would surely scold her if she could see her, but she didn’t care.

For a moment, she almost felt like a little girl again, and she had to push down the bubbling laughter building in her chest.

She wasn’t as light and nimble as before, though, and so she pressed her lips close to the ancient, rough bark and whispered, letting out a bit of cursed energy: “Please help me, my friend.”

The branch she was trying to reach slightly bent down to help her up; she summoned some vines and wrapped them around her waist and arms to make sure she wouldn’t fall down. Feeling more confident, she kept climbing up, until she reached a thick, sturdy branch that reminded her of a bridge.

It held her without problems, and the waterfall of leaves covered her well; unless he knew where to look, Sukuna would never find her there.

She adjusted her position, getting comfortable. Either he had learned how to distinguish her vines or he had gone in a completely different direction, for she received no sensation, no warning from the traps she had set.

The sun had moved little in the sky, but she felt confident; if she stayed still and didn’t make a sound, he wouldn’t find her, even if he passed right next to the tree. She just needed to be patient and trust in her abilities, in the forest that held her fast within its arms like a mother.

The minutes passed, and she almost fell asleep. His steps, close and heavy, startled her, snapping her out of her drowsiness.

He was sitting under the tree, his back pressed against the wide trunk, the bag and rabbits he had been carrying now resting on the grass next to him. His left eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn’t sleeping, merely meditating or relaxing for a bit.

She seized the chance to admire him: under the shadows of the leaves swaying in the wind, his body occasionally dappled by sunlight, surrounded by peaceful nature and tranquility, he reminded her of the Buddha, of a royal figure, of something divine.

But then the light slightly shifted, a stronger gust of wind followed, and he sniffed the air while scratching his ear. She smiled, for he was her beloved husband, a normal man, the love of her life who loved sipping a single cup of sake after each meal, who had started snoring a little in his sleep, and who made funny voices to make their daughter laugh.

He opened his eyes and got up with a grunt. There was a smile on his face as he collected the bag and meat and headed deeper into the forest, beyond some smaller trees and thick bushes.

She grinned, elation filling her. She had won! He hadn’t seen her and was now exploring a different zone! Maybe he would come back after finding no traces of her there, but she was confident in her choice of hiding place: the majestic crown of the kusunoki was hiding her way too well for him to notice her.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her head on them, already looking forward to his proud expression, to his grin, to his nod and words of appreciation once she revealed herself to him, announcing her victory.

She smiled as she tried to imagine the scene and…

“Found you.”

Two strong hands fell on her shoulders, and she yelped, her cursed energy spiking up.

She turned around, breathless, and saw Sukuna with a feral grin on his face, perched just behind her on the thick branch.

“How!?” she gasped, and he laughed, pulling her into his arms.

“Your scent,” he explained as he easily picked her up and started getting down the tree. “When the wind blew in my direction, I smelled your amber and sandalwood scent. You perfumed your clothes with incense this morning, didn’t you?”

“Aw, that’s not fair!” she pouted, a bit disappointed by her failure. She had really wanted to impress him, to show him how peculiar her technique could be in a forest.

He sensed her embarrassment and reassured her with a kiss. There were pride and admiration on his face despite her loss, and she felt better when he said:

“You did good, Moriko. When I sat down under this tree, I wasn’t quite so sure I could find you.”

“I’m glad you had fun.” She smiled at him, taking his hand. “If you want, we can play again or find something else to do for our date.”

He chuckled, taking out a leaf or two from her hair.

“We’re supposed to be hunting.”

“We can do that while going on our date, too!”

“Well, we could sit here and eat something. Our game of hide and seek made me peckish.”

“Oh, yes! There are some onigiri in the bag, and I brought a bottle of tea and…”

Just then, a distant thunder roared in the distance, making her jump. The sky was still fair, but even Moriko knew how quickly the weather could change on a mountain.

Sukuna studied the clouds, sniffed the air, and hummed.

“One of the shelters I built is nearby. Let’s go there before another storm arrives and drenches us to our bones.”

She must have looked disappointed again, angry at the weather for ruining their date, for he grinned and nuzzled her neck, making a pleasant shiver run down her spine.

“Don’t worry, beloved. We will continue our date in the shelter.”

They found it just in time; it was a cave, naturally built deep into part of the mount, and by the time they reached it, the air was cold and smelled like rain, while the sky was already darkening and the wind getting quite violent.

Sukuna had closed the entrance with a large boulder; he pushed it away and helped her get in, then they moved deeper into the cave, where he had left some useful supplies in a dry, safe corner.

Mats, a futon and some covers, simple cooking utensils, and some jars of water. He had left similar things in the other shelters, too, he explained, so that they would always be able to explore the most important zones of Mount Kurai without trouble.

He pushed the boulder back in front of the entrance, but just partially; they would need a way for the smoke to get out after lighting the fire they needed to cook and stay warm.

In the meantime, Moriko laid the mats on the ground and opened the bag to take out the onigiri.

“The licorice!”

She lit up a fire with Sukuna’s help, and together they prepared a hot licorice brew. She sweetened her cup further with some amazura she had taken from the kitchens that morning.

Sukuna made a funny face as he watched her sip the tea.

“Isn’t that too sweet…?”

“No.” she chirped, taking a deep gulp. Sukuna shuddered, making her giggle.

“It’s not that bad! Here, take a sip!”

“No, thanks. I don’t want my tongue to fall off.”

She stuck out her own at him.

“You have two anyway!”

He grinned at her, moving so close she didn’t even need the fire to feel warm.

“I need both to make my wife happy.”

“That is not true. I would be perfectly content even with- eek, stop!”

He had licked a hot, wet stripe down her neck, and was now nuzzling her collarbone, slightly opening her robes to reach the skin there.

She kissed his hair and temple, smiling when one of his hands touched her thigh, but she gasped and jumped when a loud thunder roared right above their heads.

The rain finally came, and the cave was soon filled with the patter of it just outside, while the fire crackled merrily, painting the walls in reassuring amber hues.

Moriko made a low, plaintive sound, suddenly worried.

“Let’s hope this second storm won’t cause the boars and deer to hide too far from here. We have been able to find only a few rabbits so far.”

“Have faith, Moriko,” Sukuna said, kissing her cheek. “I know the mount well. We will find what we need.”

“If it’s raining like this at the shrine, too, Akiko must be out of her mind with fear…”

“Uraume and your parents will reassure her. They’re good at distracting her with songs.”

The rain intensified, and Moriko’s mood turned a bit melancholy as she remembered Sukuna sitting under the great kusunoki tree, dappled with sunlight, and the thriving forest heeding her whispers and murmuring to her in return.

“I wanted to play more hide and seek with you,” she grumbled, pouting at the wet darkness outside the cave. Sukuna chuckled and pressed another kiss on her collarbone.

“You were right, this whole hunting trip could be our date. Just because it’s raining, it doesn’t mean it’s been interrupted.”

“We could play ishinadori,” Moriko timidly suggested. “Or maybe discuss sorcery.”

“Moriko, you worry too much,” he laughed, before lying down next to her and propping his head on a hand, touching her and caressing her with the others.

“I want you to have fun!”

“I am having fun!” He shook his head. “We’re married. You don’t need to worry about making a good impression on me to conquer my heart. It’s already yours, Moriko.”

She whined, pouting at him when he cackled louder, almost rolling on the mat. She pinched his side, but the flesh there was so taut and sinewy, and her touch so light, he didn’t even feel it.

“Don’t mock me!”

“You love me,” he said in a singsong tone, his smile very smug, as content and self-satisfied as a cat lying under the sun.

She gave him a flat look.

“My, you’re so perceptive. You figured that out all by yourself?”

He sat up and said, his voice softer, but his touch much more intense and heated:

“And you know I love you, don’t you?”

She smiled back, her cheeks already burning, and she rested her hand on top of his.

“Of course, beloved.”

“Good. Then why are you so worried?”

She shrugged, looking down at her half-full cup of licorice tea.

“I never went on a date before. And even though we’re already married, I want you to have a nice time.”

“Moriko, I’m no expert either. Before meeting you, my interactions with people consisted uniquely of mocking them, cutting them to pieces, and eating them, not always in that order.”

She giggled, and the sight of her being cheerful again reassured him, for he smiled and laced his fingers with hers.

Then she saw an idea take form in his mind. She knew the signs well by now: his eyes would slightly widen, he would hold his breath for a moment or two, then he would grin triumphantly and go put his plans in motion.

The same happened now; he kissed her, finished his licorice tea, ate one onigiri in one single bite, then went to that corner of the cave where the supplies were kept.

He returned with some bamboo sticks, polished and long, and a spare reed mat.

“Moriko, can you summon some vines to tie these bamboo sticks together?”

She did as he asked, and she watched him, curious and excited, as he built what looked like…

“A screen?”

He was able to fix it on the ground with some more vines. The reed mat hanging in the center of the bamboo frame looked just like the screens used at court, the ones behind which noblewomen were supposed to hide and watch the world pass by.

He had placed it right between them, but she didn’t feel as anxious as she used to feel back at the Palace. She saw his hulking, familiar, strong figure sitting behind the mat, not an unknown noble with seedy intentions.

He cleared his throat and knocked on the bamboo frame.

“Lord Sukuna kindly requests lady Imagawa’s delectable company.”

She burst into a fit of giggles, not believing her eyes and ears. She had described court life to him and Uraume multiple times in their six years of marriage, but she had never expected him to play the part of a noble.

He was perhaps a bit too formal - the nobles at court were rarely so sophisticated when they desired to speak or spend time with a lady-in-waiting -, but he would have been popular at the Palace.

His posture was relaxed, his voice deep, powerful, and clear, his choice of words elegant… yes, she could almost feel herself swoon.

“Lady Imagawa is flattered by lord Sukuna’s request,” she replied, letting the sleeves of her simple robe and jacket pass under the screen.

The jacket was a light red, made of sturdy hemp; the robe beneath was a dark green, the fabric also not precious, since she wore it for hunting in a forest. No real kasane no irome could be followed in this case, but he understood her meaning all the same.

“Your taste is unparalleled, my lady,” he said, touching the sleeves. “Kurenai red over awaki ao green… you chose the kurenai momiji combination, perfect for this season.”

She gasped, astounded. She was sure she had mentioned the rules and names of color combinations only once or twice, and not even recently! That he was able to remember the exact names without hesitation…!

“My lord’s knowledge is worthy of great praise,” she said with sincere awe. “And his attention to detail flatters me even more.”

She saw his body, framed by the light of the fire, shake as he chuckled.

“I’m hardly an expert. I only ever wore hunting robes, hanging them up every night in my humble abode.”

She felt a thrill, and she could hardly contain her joy and excitement as she caught his poetic reference. She knew he had just started reading the twelfth and fourteenth volume of the Kokin Wakashu, and she recognized the poem contained in that book to which he was alluding.

“Even the great poet Ki no Tomonori is said to have worn simple hunting robes,” she replied, mentioning the author, so that Sukuna would understand she had understood.

Through a small hole in the screen, she was able to catch a glimpse of his grin.

“Indeed. He was familiar with mountains, for he knew cherry blossoms stream over them in the haze of spring.”

Another poetic reference! She bit her lower lip, thinking hard, racking her brain for a suitable response.

She had never had so much fun with poetry before. At court, she had always felt anxious, too shy and stressed to participate to that kind of game. Many had considered her uncultured or stupid, believing she didn’t remember enough poems, or simply too distracted to take part to that back-and-forth.

She had also avoided doing it with the noblemen and courtiers, for that game could quickly turn into something more, a flirting conversation built on love poetry - and the last thing she had wanted was getting their attention.

But with Sukuna, oh, it was different! It was funny, amusing, exhilarating, just like it was supposed to be! And she realized her memory worked quite better when she wasn’t afraid or tense.

“He was a wonderful author. He said nothing at all with words, and yet a waterless river ran beneath, carrying his love.”

“Yes.”

There was an intense, slightly hoarse edge to Sukuna’s voice as he spoke, as if he were holding back a powerful emotion.

“I’m glad we met, lady Imagawa.” He touched her sleeve again. “What is this transient thing called life that men consider so precious? I would gladly trade it with another meeting with you.”

Tears came into her eyes, for even though he was quoting another poem by Tomonori, she knew he was actually speaking from the heart, referencing their three wedding nights, the first time they had spoken to each other.

“If my lord wishes,” she said, swallowing her tears of joy and awe, “we could roll up the screen and meet face to face.”

“You’re kind, my lady,” he replied, his voice soft. “And I know your beauty is on par with your kindness.”

“Let me see you, lord Sukuna,” she murmured, drawing back her arm to touch the screen with her fingertips. “I know I will find beauty and kindness on your face as well.”

He sat quiet and still for a moment, then she saw one of his large hands move beyond the screen and rest upon her hand, separated only by the thin layer of the mat.

Then, he moved the screen aside, slowly, like the deep breath of sleep exhaled in a quiet room.

She smiled at him, and he smiled back with both mouths.

“Here you are!” She reached out and cupped his cheek. “Hello, husband.”

His four eyes never left her face, and she saw the red tint of his ears.

“Hello, wife.”

They moved the screen aside and finished their dinner. They didn’t talk much, for the air between them was thick with emotion and desire, the kind of desire born out of love, as strong and unyielding as an oak, precious and tender like a young sprout.

They undressed and slipped into the futon; it wasn’t as large as the one back home, but they were lying so close to each other, their limbs entangled, they didn’t need more space to be comfortable.

He prepared her with two fingers as they kissed and laughed softly in the darkness, the fire reduced to fine embers, the rain pouring outside covering their moans.

He lifted her leg and draped it over his waist before entering her; she gasped in his mouth, and the second one licked and kissed her belly, warming her from head to toe.

They came together, but they weren’t sated yet. He helped her sit on top of him, and she rode his second tongue, moaning more loudly than she had ever done before, because she knew no one would hear her there.

Sukuna was also more vocal than usual; he grunted, moaned, and sighed loudly as he pushed his member inside of her again, as he thrust into her, as he held her in his tight, four-armed embrace.

“I’m… I’m coming!” she gasped, a feeble warning immediately followed by her squirting. That spurred him on, for he thrust harder into her, repeating her name, a hand squeezing her breast, the other her butt.

“Good Moriko,” he moaned while filling her a second time. But she wasn’t done yet, and when she pushed him out with a light squelch, she moved lower to be face to face with his second mouth.

She kissed it and sucked on its tongue, and she saw his cock, still half-hard, regain vitality again.

She licked the tip, touched his balls, and when it was hard enough, she put it in her mouth, tasting his and her own pleasure mixed together.

She liked to think she had improved in giving him pleasure that way; she didn’t do it often, because Sukuna preferred “her sweet cunt”, but she suspected he actually didn’t want her to accidentally hurt herself.

He was quite big, after all, and her mouth wasn’t completely used to his girth yet. She could feel her gag reflex acting up, but she tried to suppress it, closing her eyes tightly as she bobbed her head up and down.

His moans were deep, starting right from his chest, and soon they turned almost feral. He grunted and even cursed a little, his fingers digging into the futon and nearly tearing the fabric asunder.

She opened her eyes; his were half-lidded, glazed, as he looked at her, his mouth hanging open.

She let him go with a loud pop and smiled at him, rubbing her cheek on his hard cock, right where a vein was.

“Good husband,” she murmured. “Come for me, please.”

And he did, his only warning another moan that morphed into a hiss when she took him into her mouth again to drink all the cum she could.

“Well done,” she sweetly said as she lied back next to him. She stroked his sweaty face, his massive chest still heaving, and she smiled at him.

“Sleep, beloved.”

He nuzzled her hand and covered them both with a heavy blanket. He immediately pulled her closer, and the last thing she saw before falling asleep were his crimson eyes full of joy and love.

 

“Sukuna! Beloved!”

She gently rubbed his shoulder. The storm had passed, and dawn was greeting them with sunlight and birds’ songs.

“We need to go,” she insisted, combing his hair with her fingers. “The hunt for Akiko’s hakamagi, remember?”

“Gn.”

She laughed, tucking her head in the crook of his neck.

“My poor husband, I drained you! Alright, let’s rest a little more. Just for a few minutes, though!”

A grunt was his only answer. He squeezed her waist, brushed his lips against her cheek, and fell back asleep.

 

A few hours later, they reached another part of the mountain Sukuna knew well. There, they found the boars and deer that had eluded them the previous day.

Moriko knew the eight steps of archery as well as breathing by now, and her arrows flew true; together, she and Sukuna were able to hunt three deer and two boars.

She kneeled and prayed by their bodies, thanking them for their meat and asking for forgiveness; then Sukuna picked them up, and they started the trek back home.

They harvested some more useful plants and ingredients along the way. At a certain point, more rain came, but thankfully another shelter was nearby: a cozy, little hut made of rough logs, maybe a bit tight for Sukuna, but perfect to wait for the rain to stop.

They had to spend another night there, but they didn’t mind. They knew their family was safe, that their children were being treated with care and love.

They relaxed and played ishinadori and hentsugi; sang saibara songs; composed poetry and discussed sorcery and how it affected life at court; made love and laughed, joked, and talked, holding hands, holding each other, holding each other’s soul in their hearts.

 

They came back home the next day.

They could see the shrine from where they were standing, the fence that separated the courtyard from the forest.

Its gate was always kept close to stop Akiko from wandering where she shouldn’t and to keep animals outside, but that day it was open, and Moriko and Sukuna immediately tensed up.

A mop of pink hair and a simple robe appeared on the slope that led down to the shrine; Akiko beamed at them, joyful and proud.

“Mama! Papa!”

“Akiko!”

They ran to her, and Moriko picked her up, her relief shown through a long sigh.

“Akiko, it’s dangerous to come here! How did you even open the latch on the gate!”

“I climbed!”

“Climbed what?”

“On the stool!”

Moriko blinked, frowning, while her daughter gave her a very proud, gummy smile.

“What stool?”

“From the kitchen! The one Ume uses to wait for the soup to cook!”

Moriko nodded, stroking her plump cheek.

“Ah… I see.”

“Akiko.”

Sukuna sounded mad. He gave Akiko a stern look, the one he would give her whenever she did something potentially dangerous.

He didn’t use it very often, so she wasn’t used to it; she lowered her eyes, chastised, her pride and joy leaving her little body all at once.

“You know you mustn’t enter the forest under any circumstances. Don’t you?”

Akiko nodded, but Sukuna didn’t consider it a clear answer. He tilted her head up, not forcefully, but not too gently either, and looked her in the eye.

“Don’t you?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Then why did you take the stool and open the gate? Why weren’t you waiting for us in the courtyard?”

She looked down again, wringing her short fingers.

“Well?”

“I wanted to surprise you and Mama,” she mumbled. “I missed you.”

Sukuna took a deep breath, trying to mask the effect her words had on him.

“There are things in the forest. Things that could hurt you, or even worse. You are not to come here alone, not even for a second. Not until you’re ready to protect yourself.”

He made her look at him again and asked:

“Am I clear? Do you understand?”

Akiko nodded, earnest and contrite.

“Yes, Papa.”

“Good.”

He let out the breath he had collected before to steady himself. His face softened, and the shadow of a smile appeared on it.

“Now give me a kiss.”

Akiko giggled and pressed her lips on his cheek.

“No. I want a better one.”

She did it again, and Sukuna shook his head.

“Again.”

“That was my best kiss!”

They heard a commotion in the shrine: their family had finally noticed the open gate, and they ran into the forest, panicked.

“Akiko! Akiko, where are- oh thank the gods!”

Genji almost collapsed on the ground; Uraume went over to them, on the verge of tears.

“We looked for you everywhere! What were you thinking!”

Akiko hid her face again.

“Sorry, Ume…”

Her grandparents came as well, and Moriko tried to calm them down, for they were almost out of their minds with worry.

As they entered the shrine, she and Sukuna observed their daughter’s work: she had carried the stool from the kitchens all the way to the gate, had climbed on it, and successfully opened the latch, even though it was made of metal and quite heavy to lift even for an adult.

“Damn.” Sukuna looked proud, but he tried to hide it. “How the hell did she do this?”

“She is quite strong,” Moriko giggled, kissing her nose. “Isn’t that right, Akiko? You’re as strong as your Papa!”

Akiko puffed out her chest, her confidence returning, as if she hadn’t just given a heartattack to her whole family. Her grandparents were still drying their tears, while Uraume and Genji and old Yuki didn’t take their eyes off of her for the whole day.

 

A few days later, Akiko’s hakamagi was held.

Ifuyu had come to visit for the occasion. She sang while Moriko played the komabue to accompany Akiko’s entrance in the hearth room.

Sukuna entered after her, carrying the small hakama Moriko had expressly stitched for the ceremony. The rest of the family sat around them, watching the scene with wide smiles.

He kneeled next to Akiko and helped her wear the pants. She smiled at them, for she had only ever worn robes until now, and they were an amusing novelty.

Sukuna carefully tied the strings, thus signaling his daughter’s reaching of an important milestone.

He sighed, a wistful look on his face.

“Already five, huh?”

She put her hands on his face, patting his cheeks.

“I’m big, Papa.”

“No. You’re still small.”

He groaned and bumped his forehead against her chest, careful not to make her fall. Akiko pressed her face on his hair, cheerful and full of mirth.

He let her go in the end, and she showed her new hakama to everyone in the room.

“Mama, look! I’m pretty!”

“Yes, my darling love.” Moriko picked her up and kissed her forehead. “You’re very pretty.”

Akiko grinned at her, and in that grin Moriko saw Sukuna and herself, and also light and warmth, the beauty of the world, and the peace that could be found in it.

Notes:

Sukuna destroying that gods-forsaken hamlet: Heheheh- ayo what the fuck 🧍‍♂️

Kusunoki: camphor tree. There are five giant camphor trees in Japan; the biggest is 30m (90ft) tall and 24m (78ft) wide!

Amazura: a sweetener quite popular in the Heian period, its exact origins and composition aren't known anymore. It's definitely plant-derived, but scholars don't know much more than that. Recently, a Japanese professor has been trying to narrow down the most likely ingredients.

Kasane no Irome: the layering of color. In the Heian period, noblewomen wore multiple layers of robes. The sleeves of the innermost robes would peek out at the wrist; other robes were worn over them, and so several sleeves rested on top of each other, creating a colorful visual effect of different colored layers. There were several color combinations, each suitable for a precise occasion, festival, and season. In this case, Moriko is wearing a red (kurenai) jacket over a light green (awaki ao) robe, thus wearing the kurenai momiji (scarlet maple) combination. Noblewomen were expected to know and remember these colors and matches, for wearing the wrong colors could have spelled a lengthy derision or even a fall from grace.

All the poems indirectly quoted by Moriko and Sukuna in their roleplaying (HEHEHEH) were written by a famous poet of that period, Ki no Tomonori, and included in the Kokin Wakashu anthology. In order of appearance in the chapter, they are:

Night after night
I remove, before I sleep,
My hunting robe
And hang it up-and my thoughts
Are ever hung on you.

The haze of spring
Streaming over mountain
Cherry blossoms:
I am never sated of the sight
Nor am I of you.

With words
I say nothing at all, yet
A waterless river
Runs beneath
Carrying my love.

What then is this life
men consider so precious?
I would gladly trade
something as transient as dew
for a meeting with my love.

Being able to recognize a quote and to reply in the right manner (either by coming up with a personal poem or quoting another suitable one) was essential at court. Noblemen and noblewomen alike were expected to possess this ability, not only because it was a way to display their own education and brilliancy, but also because it was a chance to flirt and start a relationship. Of course, not everyone at court was a genius who could remember hundreds of poems or who could come up with a good line right on the spot, so those who could do so were held in even higher regard.

Hakamagi: the Putting On of the Trousers, a ceremony for male and female children, usually celebrated at three years old, but sometimes delayed. The father would tie the strings of the child's new hakama to signify an important milestone in their growth.

Chapter 11: Goryoe

It was summer, and the sun had beaten on his neck for the entire day like a scorching hammer.

He didn’t mind the heat, and it seemed his body didn’t even sweat for some reason, but even he had to admit that the walls of the shrine were deliciously cool, the stone floor almost refreshing, the basin of water he found in a room cold and pure.

He had heard stories about that place. Apparently, the priests of the Gion shrine possessed scrolls, soshi, and precious essays that discussed the world and the way it worked; beautifully painted screens upon which poems were written in a cursive hand so sleek it disappeared among the painted lines; treatises that described old alliances and wars, powerful marriages, and prestigious bloodlines.

Since he had nothing else to do, he had come there without fear, giving little thought to the priests that would surely flee, warn the authorities, or even try to bar his way.

But apparently the gods had smiled upon their servants, for he had chosen a really special day for his visit, so special the shrine was basically empty, with all of its priests and attendants gathered outside in the vast courtyard, and even in the forest that surrounded it.

It was the Gion Festival, the day when the goryoe for the dead was celebrated. Fujiwara and the three big sorcerer families had come to participate as well, together with a great number of minor sorcerer families, courtiers, noblewomen, servants, and street artists of every kind.

He had seen them all from the entrance of the shrine, standing over them like the King of Curses they said he was. But they hadn’t seen him nor sensed him, too busy playing music and dancing weird dances, and he had been able to explore to his liking without having to defend himself and listen to loud cries and the usual, boring words of hatred.

He felt something as he approached what looked like the library. Two kinds of cursed energy, not human, but tied to something. They seemed restrained, as if something were blocking the correct flow - perhaps the priests had used some talismans to keep them at bay…?

He entered the library, happy to see it was indeed filled to the brim, although he hoped they wouldn’t all be scrolls and texts about religion.

The two fluxes of energy came from deep within the room. There was a chest placed right between two shelves, large and long, like those he had once found in the armory of a guard tower.

On the smooth, dark wood, the priests or someone else had indeed placed many little paper talismans; he recognized the characters on some, while others were apparently written in an unknown language.

Scoffing, he raised a single finger and sliced the air with it: the talismans, cut in half, lost their power, and he was able to open the chest without trouble.

He whistled as he admired the two weapons within it. Someone had written down their names on a piece of paper next to each of them, as it was custom for important or sacred relics.

He didn’t need them, but they would definitely make things much more amusing. And he had just the perfect occasion to test them, waiting for him just outside…

No. If he destroyed Fujiwara and the three families now, there would be no one left to keep him entertained, to help him pass the time. He would have to travel the whole country again, hoping to find more strong sorcerers that had never entered the three families’ service; or wait for strong warriors to be born; or leave Japan, looking for new challenges in China or Korea.

All three possibilities made his skin crawl with disgust. The very idea of having to put effort into finding more adversaries, of travelling here and there like a dry leaf abandoned to the wind almost brought him to the edge of madness.

He was tired, so tired, and bored out of his mind. No matter how much delicious human meat he consumed, no matter how many new flavors he discovered, no matter how many sorcery fights he won, that malaise that permeated his soul and limbs knew no end.

He sighed, turning around to glance at the scrolls on the shelves. At least he had found something interesting to which he could pass the time. He had no idea how long the Gion Festival lasted, but he doubted it was a short affair.

He started exploring the library, momentarily putting the weapons back in the chest to better be able to handle and open the scrolls and soshi. Many of them were indeed religious texts, and while they possessed some sort of beauty, he disliked their deifying tones, the absolute truths they wanted to share, their confusing ideas.

Others, though, were what he was looking for. Thanks to them, he discovered the two cursed weapons were based on divine tools used in a country beyond the sea, the one where they said Buddhism had originally come from. Their names had been written in Japanese characters, but he had no idea how to read them, so he decided to simply use the nicknames found in the chest.

The hours passed. He found an appendix that listed all the food and fabrics and stones to be offered at the various shrines in the country; a court diary by a noble written in obscure Chinese; a leaflet full of mathematical operations, many of which he was able to understand.

Some scrolls, discolored and nondescript, were half-hidden behind some boxes. They had caught his attention, for their placement there didn’t seem to be accidental; it was as if someone had deliberately hidden them there, not wanting them to be found, but wishing to have them at hand.

A note on the margin of a scroll said it was “the twenty-eighth scroll of a medical work, the Ishinpo.” Curious, Sukuna further unrolled it, wondering whether it might contain some useful information about the way the human body tasted (he doubted it), or how cursed energy and sorcery affected it (more probable).

But the first lines he read left him stunned.

“‘The woman’s lustful juices must spill from the cinnabar grotto, thereafter you throw your yang blade into the children’s palace.’”

He closed the scroll. Not because he disliked the topic - it simply didn’t interest him.

He picked up and opened another, almost amused by the idea of priests reading that stuff in secret, but this one also contained a surprise.

“‘The jade stalk drags at the mouth of the jade gate. He then attacks and hits with the yang blade to and fro, or storms downwards to the jade streaks, or rams upwards to the golden ditch…’”

“What the hell?”

He closed that one, too, and proceeded with the third one. As soon as he opened it, he noticed it was a perfectly normal list of supplies… within which someone had hidden some slips and scraps of paper.

“‘The male participant observer must interpret her vocalizations to guide his activity: when her breathing is throaty or she catches her breath, it means she’s inwardly tight; when gasping, it means she reaches delight; when continuously wailing, insert the jade whip and the nourishing will start.’”

He scoffed and tossed all away. Nourishing, hah! The few times he had tried having sex had been uninteresting and flat at best.

Granted, he had been eating the woman pinned and screaming on the ground every single time… but he was fairly sure he had always followed the right instincts, that he had always done everything correctly. He had felt something, a coiling warmth, but it had never reached the peak he had read and heard about.

The most pleasure he had ever felt had been while eating. If anything, his act of devouring wasn’t as bad as people said it was; he did a perfectly normal thing, something everyone did, although he admitted his choice of food was peculiar.

After all, hunger and feeding oneself were universal activities, common to every creature, human or not human. There were normalcy and beauty and logic in eating, in filling one’s belly, in wanting to defeat hunger.

But sex? Sex made no sense. Where was this pleasure everyone talked about? And even if it existed, what could be worse than sharing fluids and breath and sweat with another person, sometimes even a perfect stranger? How could penetrating and being penetrated be pleasurable and natural?

Even some of the slips of paper now scattered on the floor used a militaristic language when talking about the union of bodies, and he could see why: it indeed reminded him of fighting, and while he liked that, sex was simply too different, too alien to him.

He despised being touched. He despised touching other people, except during battle or when he wanted to feed.

Apparently, the priests didn’t share his views. It seemed even they, holy and pious as they pretended to be, had their needs.

The light outside had changed, the music and voices too. Maybe the Festival was coming to a close, or it was reaching its apex.

He collected the weapons, stuffed a few interesting scrolls into a sleeve of his black robe, and left the library. The corridors and other rooms of the shrine were still empty, but the air was different, buzzing with energy and humor, excitement and mirth.

He left the main building, and once again found himself overlooking the courtyard, that vast expanse of space where everyone was gathered.

Some guests had moved and exchanged seats, maybe to sit closer to people they were interested in, or to whisper secrets and opinions in each other’s ear: he recognized some members of the Sun, Moon, and Stars Squad, busy chatting with Fujiwara.

There was a thicket just to his left; he went there to watch the show, still unsure whether to attack or not. For now, he would enjoy the rest of the Festival - if it managed to improve his mood, he would leave, if it did not, he would play with some sorcerers, making sure not to kill too many of the strong ones.

The religious chants and dances he had seen before entering the shrine had ended, and now the real protagonist of the Festival was starting: the entertainments called sarugaku, led by colorful street artists, probably hired by Fujiwara himself.

First, it was the turn of the hosootoko, thin men who danced around with rectangular cloth masks on their faces. Sukuna didn’t know what was so funny about them, but apparently everyone found them amazing.

Then, it was the turn of the honenashi, dancers dressed like monks whose moves were fluid like water, as if they didn’t have any bones. He found those more interesting, and he didn’t like it when they were interrupted, maybe following a script, by a few noronji, men who mimicked the gestures of an exorcism.

Some of those entertainers, he realized, were sorcerers, and they were using their cursed energy, and sometimes even their cursed techniques, to improve their show. That explained how those noronji played their part so perfectly - they weren’t mimes, not really, for they actually knew what exorcising a curse was like.

“Pathetic,” he spat. “Reducing sorcery to a mere freak show. Where is their dignity?”

He was almost grateful to the priest that announced the different entertainers when it was their turn; thanks to him, he learned that the weird tambourine two men were playing was called rinko, and that the art two jugglers practiced with swords was called shinatama.

His interest grew when an elderly man was led in the courtyard. He was a kairaishi, or marionette player, the priest said, and it was clear as day that he was a simple human, not a sorcerer.

Still, his talent and technique were great, and they eclipsed all the previous entertainments. The marionette he used was a little noblewoman, dressed in miniature robes, and she was holding a tiny brush.

The kairaishi guided her hand upon a little folding screen of silk, the perfect rendition of the same screens one would find in a noble house.

Sukuna couldn’t see what the marionette player was making the doll paint, but it must have looked beautiful even before it was finished, for gasps and sounds of surprise erupted from the crowd.

The old man gave his doll a satisfied nod, then made her turn the screen towards Fujiwara; even from where he was sitting, Sukuna was able to catch a glimpse of his astonished expression.

The old marionette player whispered something to the priest-speaker, who nodded before addressing Fujiwara and his court:

“The kairaishi dedicates this work to you, my lord. He wishes your lineage, and the reign of your daughters and grandsons, to be as eternal as this forest he painted. It’s from the province of Hida, the place where he was born.”

Fujiwara nodded, particularly impressed. He whispered something to the leader of the Gojo clan, who was sitting next to him. He also nodded, stroking his chin, then he called an attendant over.

The man rushed to collect some damasked clothes and give them to the marionette player as an additional payment.

“Lord Gojo found your work impeccable,” the attendant said, “and he invites you to his estate for his son’s birthday next month.”

“Heh.” Sukuna shook his head. “They paid countless weak sorcerers to entertain them with empty displays of sorcery, and then gave their accolades to the only one who didn’t mock our art.”

“And now,” the priest-speaker announced, “it is time for the final show. These men you see are hitorisumahi, expert mimes who will perform a sacred sumo fight for us.”

Some laughter came from the crowd, and Sukuna saw lord Zenin snicker and guffaw. He couldn’t see well from where he was, and the priest-speaker was standing right in front of one of the two mimes…

The other one, a large man with strong arms, bowed deeply to Fujiwara. Sukuna frowned, confused by the robe he wore on his shoulders: the family crests of the three sorcerer clans, plus Fujiwara’s own symbol, were stitched on it.

It made no sense. Was he playing the part of someone affiliated to all four families? He had never heard of such a thing.

Then the other fighter approached the stand where Fujiwara and the others were sitting, and Sukuna felt a cold rage wash over him, as if someone had just poured a bucket of freezing water on his head.

The second fighter was supposed to be him. Someone had painted rough black lines on his body to represent Sukuna’s tattoos; an ugly mask was tied to the right side of his face, giving the impression he had two faces; and fake arms, probably made of dyed dry paper, had been attached to his torso to mimic Sukuna’s extra sets of arms.

They had even painted a gaping maw on his large belly, with a trail of saliva running down a corner of it.

The fighters got in position, but Sukuna soon realized there was a hidden script here, too: everyone, audience included, already knew how the fight would end.

The sumo fighter who represented Fujiwara and the three sorcerer families always managed to hit his adversary, while the one who played the part of Sukuna was goofy, his movements awkward, his fighting stance completely wrong, his grip lazy and sluggish.

Every time the good fighter landed a hit, the crowd exulted and cheered; every time the bad fighter tried to retaliate, they booed and cursed at him.

“Destroy him!” Zenin shouted, standing up. “Push him down on the ground and step on his ugly face!”

The fighters didn’t listen to him, of course; they had to play the part of sacred fighters and do everything correctly, as if they really were fighting in front of the Emperor at one of the Imperial Festivals.

But the Sukuna-like fighter had to lose, and so he did: his adversary managed to push him out of the ring that had been drawn on the ground, concluding the match. He stayed down, pretending to be mortally wounded, and the fighter clad in the four family crests turned to the audience and bowed deeply.

“May this victory find truth in reality,” he said, addressing Fujiwara, Gojo, Zenin, and Kamo, whose faces were red with excitement and pride, “and may our blessed lords free us from the evil that Ryomen Sukuna is.”

The audience cheered louder, and soon attendants from all the major clans rushed to him and his colleague to cover them in expensive gifts.

When the Sukuna-like fighter tore off his arms and removed his mask, tossing them on the ground like trash, the crowd went mad with joy again.

“Gods, I can’t wait for that day,” said a priest who was sitting just below Sukuna’s thicket to his friend.

“I heard lord Gojo and lord Zenin’s sons are becoming quite proficient at sorcery. And with lord Fujiwara planning everything ahead thanks to his strategical mind, you can be sure that monster won’t survive much longer!”

“He is a… what’s that word they use in the capital? Oko?”

“To mean someone without a lick of salt in their head? Yes, that’s the word. But I believe he’s actually clever, with a cunning, shrewd mind.”

“Truly? He looks to me more like an animal, thrashing about and ruining everything.”

“Animals can be cunning, too. But you’re right, he doesn’t know how to live among us. He’s a bocho, a man who knows no civility, gross and deformed in every sense.”

Sukuna heavily rose from his place in the thicket, leaving it to stand on the slope that overlooked the courtyard again. His head was thrumming with a weird emotion for which he had no name; the blood in his veins burned like liquid fire; his teeth in both mouths ached, so hard was he gritting them.

This time, he wanted them to see him. He wanted the priests and nobles to catch a glimpse of him, believe they were mistaken, look again, and almost faint with terror as they realized he was indeed standing there.

He wanted Fujiwara, Gojo, Zenin, and Kamo to order their soldiers to attack him, to tear off his arms, vainly hoping to repeat in real life the victory they had witnessed on the sumo ring.

He eyed the Sun, Moon, and Stars Squad. Yes, he would start with them. He would show Fujiwara and those other fools how weak their precious sorcerer armies actually were.

He smirked as he imagined the carnage that would soon take place. His grip around the cursed weapons he had found got tighter as he imagined the blood spilled, the countless different flavors that would soon fill his gaping maws, the sorcerers falling one after the other.

He felt a pause in the crowd, similar to the moment of pause before a difficult choice, like the sharp intake of breath before a hard physical feat, like the second of hesitation before the mind hurries to understand an unfamiliar concept.

Then a scream filled the air.

“He’s here!”

“Come, Hiten,” Sukuna said, grinning at the terrified crowd as he raised the spear-like weapon high in the air so that everyone could see it. “Show me what you can do.”

 

- - -

 

It was the Sixth Month, and the village at the foot of Mount Kurai was vibrating with excitement, for a group of wandering travelers and artists was passing through, headed to the Gion Festival near the capital.

Uraume was familiar with them, for that kind of people had often visited their old hamlet, asking for permission to harvest some useful bamboo for their tents. They were called kugutsu, and nobles in the capital often hired them as performers, for they knew all kinds of magic tricks and were talented puppeteers.

They had expected Mother to know them, too, but the happy squeal that left her mouth when she saw their tents planted on the outskirt of the village told them she didn’t.

“I never had the chance to go to the Gion Festival,” she explained, an embarrassed smile on her lips. “I have heard about them, of course! But I never saw their performances and… oh! Do you think they will agree to sing or perform something, if we ask nicely enough…?”

But there would be no need to ask, they found out: the kugutsu were planning a show to thank the village for the warm reception they had received.

The yearly goryoe to appease the dead was celebrated there as well, but usually in private form, with each family praying, singing, and dancing to their own dead in their own houses. Only in the capital, and at the Gion shrine, the ritual was public and extravagant.

Uraume and their family had also performed the ritual every year, up in the shrine on Mount Kurai. A small thing that would last a few minutes, but with a lot of food and merriment, for it was meant to be a happy occasion, an event to amuse the dead, keep curses away with positive feelings, and surround oneself with optimism.

This year, though, things would be different: the kugutsu invited every villager to their performance, and soon the event turned into a miniature Festival, with wives promising to cook and bring the best food, husbands and sons already drafting plans for wooden stands and seats, young daughters sharing their best clothes and makeup with each other, and children cheering and squealing about the magic tricks they would see.

It would take place the next day to give everyone a chance to hunt and prepare food, to fix their clothes if they needed some stitching or new decorations, and to take care of the last details.

Their family was known and loved in the village. Even though they didn't exactly know what kind of merchants they were supposed to be, or who Mother’s husband was, they didn’t care: they had accepted them without hesitation, for Mother was a kind woman, Uncle Genji a selfless, elegant man, Grandpa and Miss Yuki always smiling, Grandma an intelligent woman who shared good advice, Aunt Fuyu a generous nun, and Uraume…

Well, Uraume shared food. Twice a week, they would fill a basket with all kinds of dishes and ingredients, and freely offer them to the poorest villagers: the farmers who hadn’t had a good harvest, the sick widow who had lost her husband, the disabled child who couldn’t walk…

They had started doing that a few days after their twelfth birthday, after they had helped that elderly man in the forest, and it had become a years-long habit. It made them happy, and if their food could save lives, if it could relieve even a single child’s hunger, then it was worth it.

Akiko had also become popular in the village. She was always cheerful and kind, and while she had been quite boisterous as a very young child, at eight years old she was now becoming a proper little lady.

“She’s gonna break a lot of hearts once she’s older!” the nice farmer lady with whom Mother was friends once predicted.

Said lady and a few other women approached them that day, after the announcement that the kugutsu’s performance would become a little Festival.

Mother was busy buying some leeks and peas, Akiko standing at her side, while Uraume was at the next seller, studying the carps and mackerels on display.

“Moriko, Moriko! Will you come to the performance, then?”

Mother beamed at the other women, her cheeks pink with joy.

“Of course! We can hardly wait. Isn’t that right, Akiko?”

“Yes! I want to see the marionettes!”

The housewives cooed and petted her, complimenting her looks and manners, then one asked with a smile full of curiosity:

“Will we finally meet your husband, Moriko? You always talk about him, but he never visited the village, not even once!”

“Ah… That’s…”

Uraume came to the rescue, as fast as a comet.

“Father is busy with work,” they said, and their small, but too polite smile promptly squashed any more hopes of knowing more.

A young housewife, maybe too naïve to understand, tilted her head and repeated: “With work?”

“He…” Uraume faltered for a moment. Their eyes fell on the wooden doll Akiko was holding. “He is a wood carver.”

Akiko stared at them, her eyes as big as the moon. Moriko hid her smile behind a sleeve.

But the other housewives were totally convinced, for they gasped in surprise, awe, and admiration.

“Ohhh! Is he often away, then? Carving Buddha statues and building houses for the rich people in the capital?”

“Yes. Yes, exactly. He…” Uraume cleared their throat, then offered them a warmer smile. “He often leaves for the capital or the countryside, where nobles have their mansions. Right now he’s busy working on a…”

Think, Uraume, think!

“…On a statue of the Bodhisattva Kannon. It must be finished within a few weeks.”

The women gasped again, and their respect for their family grew. A husband who could work the wood and craft such holy subjects was a blessing indeed, they said.

Thankfully, the topic soon shifted to the upcoming performance, and the food they all needed to prepare. Uraume shared some suggestions and ideas, promised they would prepare many delicacies, and together with the housewives, they and Mother finished buying their groceries.

There was one last stop they needed to make - the fabric vendor, because Mother needed some new colored threads for a scarf she had promised a friend of hers to make.

“Maybe your father could come and see the festivities, too,” Mother murmured as they left the fabric stall after paying for the threads. Akiko was a bit farther ahead, looking at some flowers, and couldn’t hear them.

Uraume almost stopped dead on their tracks.

“How? The villagers…”

“The games and dances will take place where the kugutsu’s tents are, right? Over there, on the outskirt of the village where the forest begins.”

Uraume looked at where she was pointing and nodded.

“He and I could hide there, among the trees and bushes. We would be able to see everything, while no one would even catch a glimpse of us.”

Mother smiled, that sweet, special smile reserved for Father.

“I think he would be happy to spend a different evening far from the shrine. And I’m sure he would have fun!”

Uraume smiled, too, and slid a hand under her arm.

“I agree, Mother. It’s a good idea.”

She beamed at them, reassured by their words. Then her eyes moved to something or someone in the distance, and her smile turned amused and a bit mischievous.

“The daughter of the carpenter is looking at you again!”

Uraume felt their cheeks burn and replied with a simple hum.

“…And the son of the coal merchant, too.”

“Ugh.”

Mother giggled.

“Oh, you sound like your father! Come, now, you’re a beautiful youth, Uraume. It’s perfectly normal for other people of your age to stare at you.”

Akiko had rejoined them, and was now gawking at Uraume.

“Will you get married soon, Ume!?” she gasped, and they really couldn’t refrain from showing all their disgust at that. Their sister laughed, holding their hand.

“That’s alright. I think you’re too pretty for normal people. You should marry a kami! Or a princess of the moon like Princess Kaguya!”

They smiled at her, squeezing her hand.

“If I married a god or a citizen of the moon, I would have to leave you and our family, and that would make me terribly sad.”

“Oh.” Akiko deflated, suddenly worried. “I didn’t think about that.”

“And then who would make you the food you like so much?” They crouched down to tickle her. “Who would tell you the best stories?”

Akiko laughed and snorted, trying to dodge their hand, and Uraume laughed with her.

“Lady Moriko!”

Uraume glared at the man approaching, a rice farmer. He wasn’t a bad individual, but he always flirted with everyone, his smile easy and wide. He never went beyond harmless attempts and never caused any trouble, but Uraume simply couldn’t stand him.

“As beautiful as ever!”

He bowed, a deep exaggerated bow, and when he rose he winked at Akiko, who giggled.

“But I’m sorry to say you will never be as beautiful as this princess here! Ah, lady Akiko, your hair reminds me of spring, and your laughter is sweeter than the sweetest peach wine!”

Mother rewarded him with a smile, and Akiko giggled again. Uraume kept their composure, but their patience was already running thin.

Maybe they could quietly summon some ice under his feet and make him fall on his butt… or maybe they could blow some cold air on his neck when he would finally turn away to leave, and freeze that stupid head of his…

“And Uraume! How could I forget about you! Always so elegant and solemn, yours is a winter beauty, like the white peaks of the honored Mount Fuji…”

“Do you need something?”

“So cold! So frigid! But I know there is a heart to be thawed, somewhere in there.”

Uraume scoffed, glaring at him, trying to appear taller. Oh, why couldn’t they be as imposing as Father!

“I just wanted to ask if you and your family will come to the festivities, really! Your food is delicious and…”

“Yes, we will attend. Now shoo, shoo!”

They gestured with a hand, not outright pushing him away, but about to. The farmer laughed good-naturedly, believing they weren’t serious, or wanting to keep playing anyway.

“I was talking with the kugutsu just now.” He looked back to where the tents were, white and gray cones painted on the horizon. “One of them is the grandson of a puppeteer who was hired for the Gion Festival several years ago, and he’s terrified.”

“Terrified?” Mother asked, polite. Uraume admired her patience, and the way she always managed to stay composed.

They rolled their eyes. Honestly, didn’t this man know any better topics of conversation? Was he really hoping to catch anyone’s attention with such trivial…

“Yes. I don’t know if you’ve heard the story, but that day Ryomen Sukuna attacked the Gion shrine.”

Mother tensed up. Uraume froze on the spot, but they discreetly tried to steal a glance at Akiko.

She was frowning, confused, and her hand felt sweaty.

“They said that’s when he destroyed the Sun, Moon, and Stars Squad,” the farmer continued, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial way. “Even though lord Fujiwara always tried to silence the rumors before they even started…”

Uraume swallowed their anxiety and panic. They had always known it would be only a matter of time before Father’s reputation reached Akiko’s ears. Their family had been lucky until now, for Father had never ventured so deep in the Hida region, and the village of Mount Kurai had no reason to talk about him.

But he was the strongest sorcerer in Japan, and he had left a trail of blood and destruction behind him before meeting Mother. No one had seen him in eight years, but it was still too soon for the country to forget about him or talk about him in neutral tones.

“This poor lad fears Sukuna will attack the shrine like he did when his grandpa performed there, but I tried to reassure him. After all, he hasn’t devoured a single village in eight years!”

“Yes, indeed. I’m sorry, but we really must go now…”

“I heard he got seriously injured when he killed the patriarch of the Zenin family - you heard about that, right? - but that’s impossible, come on, Sukuna is simply too strong, anyone knows that! I think he got bored of Japan and stole a ship to China or Korea, you know, the lands beyond the sea, and…”

“I’m sorry,” Mother repeated, her voice polite, her gaze hard, “but we’re late for lunch.”

“O-Oh, of course! Huh…”

They hurried away, and they didn’t reply when the farmer behind them added:

“See you at the festivities…?”

They left the village, taking a secret road only they knew that led directly to the mountain path.

For the whole time, Mother didn’t utter a sound, her face pale, taut with worry. Her hand around Akiko’s was pale, too, for she was holding it tightly.

Akiko looked even more confused, and she could sense Mother and Uraume’s worry. She looked at them, and Uraume met her eyes almost with shame, for they didn’t know what to say, how to explain, how to answers the questions she undoubtedly had.

“Mama…” she suddenly spoke up. “I don’t understand what that man was saying.”

Uraume saw Mother swallow. They almost heard the sound.

“Who is that Sukuna he was talking about?”

Akiko stopped, and Mother had to stop as well to avoid pulling her forward. She took a deep breath.

“Akiko…”

Mother kneeled on the ground and placed her basket down before cupping Akiko’s cheeks with both hands.

“Your Papa is a good, sweet man. Never forget that, never doubt that. He saved me. He saved Uraume.”

Uraume crouched down as well, resting a hand on Akiko’s back. She knew they weren’t related by blood - she had once asked why they didn’t look the same like other siblings did, and that time the explanation she had been given had been a simple, harmless one.

But now? Now Uraume really had no idea what to say to reassure her, to make her understand.

What about Father? How would he react, knowing Akiko now knew everything, or was about to?

“Before meeting us,” Mother continued, stroking Akiko’s cheek with a thumb, “he lived alone, rejected by everyone since his childhood because of his appearance.”

“But he is so beautiful!”

“I know.” Mother smiled a sad smile. “But people couldn’t see that. They feared him, and he was so hurt, so hungry for love and attention, that he started hurting them in return.”

“Is that…” Akiko swallowed her tears. “Is that why you always told me to never talk about his looks in the village? Because people would understand it’s him?”

“Yes, my darling. He doesn’t want to hurt people anymore, but the world still fears him, and so we decided to hide.”

It was more complicated than that, but they couldn’t possibly tell her Mother had almost died by the hand of a crazy patriarch, that Father had consumed human meat for the majority of his life, and that Uraume had cooked it for him for an entire year.

“If the villagers met him, they would see how good he is,” Akiko mumbled. “He always tells me funny stories even if he thinks he isn’t good at it, and he combs my hair, and he holds my hand when I’m scared, and he always shares his strawberries with me!”

“I know.” There were tears in Mother’s eyes, now, and one rolled down her cheek, as shiny as a pearl. “But it’s still too soon, my dear. We must give people time to forget about his reputation.”

Akiko nodded, still a bit unsure, but obedient.

“When you’re older, we will explain it better to you, I swear it. You also must give your father time to… to collect his thoughts.” Mother sighed and looked down. “He had a hard life, and it won’t be easy for him to share it with you.”

“I understand, Mama.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

Mother and Uraume rose, and each held Akiko’s hand as they resumed walking. She was quiet and pensive, lost in her thoughts, probably overwhelmed by that sudden revelation, but Uraume knew she would understand in time. She was a bright, sensitive child, and they were proud of her.

Father was waiting for them near the gate, a scowl on his face. They were indeed late for lunch, but Uraume knew he wasn’t angry because of that: he had feared something had happened at the village, that someone had bothered them or who knew what else.

It was no secret that he didn’t like sending them alone, that he didn’t completely trust the villagers, even though they were completely different from the ones who had lived near their old house in the forest. He instinctively disliked anyone who wasn’t part of his family, and that was another thing they had never been able to properly explain to Akiko until now.

“I was about to march down all the way to the village,” he growled. “What happened? Why are you so late?”

He saw the look on their faces and Mother’s red eyes, and Uraume felt the air shift.

Father clenched his four fists and gritted his teeth.

“What happened?”

“My love….”

“Moriko, did someone touch you?”

“No, no!”

“Papa!”

Akiko went to him, unafraid, and raised her arms to show him she wanted to be picked up.

Father obliged, his rage held in check, but just barely.

“Tell me what happened, daughter.”

His voice was deep and gravelly, and it reminded Uraume of that godsforsaken month Mother had spent recovering from Zenin’s poisoned blade.

“A farmer mentioned you,” Mother answered, and Father’s ire disappeared in an instant, replaced by a neutral, falsely confident mask.

“…I see. And what did he say?”

“He said you haven’t hurt anyone in a long time!” Akiko smiled at him and patted his cheeks. “Don’t worry, Papa, I will protect you if someone is mean to you again!”

Father made a weird face. He looked stricken, but also angry; touched, but also concerned.

“So you know.”

“Mama told me something. But she said I need to wait for you to be ready, because you were hurt a lot and this isn’t easy to talk about.”

“No, it’s not.”

He gave her a long look, as if studying her, committing her face, voice, and mannerisms to memory.

Then he put her down, silent and serious, and Akiko stared up at him with wide eyes.

“You don’t want a kiss, Papa?”

Father put on a mask Uraume had only seen once before, back when Mother had got hurt and her condition was uncertain, and the world around them had come crumbling down all of a sudden.

“Go play with your doll, daughter. I need to speak with your mother.”

Akiko opened her mouth to say something, but quickly closed it. She looked hurt and lost as she headed towards the house, and Uraume could understand why.

Father always accepted her kisses, always asked for them. He always called her “little sprout”.

Mother had noticed his sudden, worrisome change as well, and she went to him, tears coming back to her eyes.

“Sukuna, I’m sorry. The farmer spoke about you and what you did at the Gion Festival years ago, and Akiko asked questions on the way home and…”

“I’m not angry, Moriko. I knew this day would come, sooner or later.”

He looked at the basket in her hand without really seeing it, his eyes and voice distant.

“I cannot change who I was. I cannot change what I did. And I must accept the consequences of this.”

“My love…”

He raised his eyes to Moriko. The left ones were dry, but Uraume felt their throat tighten, for he looked like he was crying all the same.

“Perhaps this is my curse, after all.”

Mother gasped, pale and trembling.

“Sukuna…!”

Father turned away, heading towards the house, finding refuge in his and Mother’s quarters, closing all the shoji doors that led outside, that let the light in.

He joined them for lunch in the hearth room, and it seemed things were back to normal, for he smiled at Mother and Akiko, complimented Uraume’s food, and joked about Uncle Genji’s broken bow.

But when Akiko changed topic and started talking about the upcoming Festival in the village, about the marionette players she couldn’t wait to see perform, about all the good food they would eat, Father’s face darkened again.

“You can go with Uraume and your uncle and grandparents, if you want,” he said, rather harshly. “I have no intention of seeing a bunch of idiots dance like monkeys and use their cheap tricks to make some peasants laugh.”

He turned to Mother, grinning at her, not seeing the way she had looked down at her table, embarrassed and ashamed, nor the way Akiko’s excitement had deflated all at once.

“It seems we will have the shrine all to ourselves, huh, Moriko?”

“Ah…” She smiled at him, but it was a weak, tremulous thing. “Yes, beloved.”

He scowled, sensing something was wrong.

“What? What is it?”

“N-Nothing! I… I will go and start preparing the dashi for the Festival, alright, Uraume?”

“Yes, thank you, Mother.”

She picked up her oshiki table and left the hearth room. Akiko looked at the corridor, then at Father, who was now glaring at his food, then at the corridor again.

“Papa, can I go, too?”

Sukuna glanced at her table and his scowl got even worse.

“You have barely eaten.”

Akiko shook her head, eyes cast down, shy and uncomfortable around him for the first time in her life.

“I’m not really hungry.”

She and Uraume almost jumped out of their skin when Father’s fist fell on the floor with a loud sound, rattling the bowls on his table.

“What’s happening?” he growled. “Why are you and your mother acting so weird?”

“W-We’re not…!”

“Father, listen…”

“You’re scared of me, now!”

He clenched his fists, but his rage and displeasure weren’t directed at Akiko, but at himself, at the world, at the unfair hand he had been dealt at his birth.

“You fear I will hurt you! You finally see me for the monster I am, is that it!?”

“Father, enough!”

Sukuna’s glare turned to Uraume, but it didn’t last long, for Uraume was barely containing their rage as well. He winced, realizing what he had done, but it was too late.

Akiko choked on a sob and ran out, clutching her doll, the one Father and Mother had given her for her last birthday.

“That was unkind.” Uraume murmured, their calm voice an icy mask that hid rage and pain. “You know better than I that she doesn’t think that.”

Father looked away, his eyes fixed on the irori, the hearth, that simple, wonderful thing that had seen his and Mother’s love grow, change, and become strong.

Uraume was reminded of the first days they and Mother had spent in Father’s house. He had been the usual Ryomen Sukuna, then: mean, cruel, always hungry, and sad, so very sad.

A child couldn’t have done much to make things easier for the woman his savior and master had just married, but Uraume hoped they had been able, in some way, to comfort Mother in those difficult, chaotic first days.

But now they were an adult, a twenty years old youth. And they wouldn’t let their dear mother and little sister face this alone.

They had a vague suspicion of why Father was acting like his old self, but they knew he would refuse to admit it, or would do it only much later, after thinking about it, after wading through the madness that possessed him whenever he feared he was about to lose something important to him.

“I once told Mother I never had any reason to be scared of you,” Uraume softly said, standing up with a light grace and a heavy heart. “Please give my sister the same chance.”

They picked up their oshiki table and left, not looking to see how Father reacted to their words.

He found Mother comforting Akiko in the kitchens; the little one was crying, face pressed on her chest, while Mother stroked her hair.

“Papa doesn’t love me anymore,” she hiccupped, and Mother gently hushed her.

“Shh, shh, my darling love. Don’t say such things. Your Papa loves you and adores you very much.”

She looked anxious, her face pale, so much her freckles looked darker than ever. But when she saw Uraume enter, she tried to smile and appear calm and reassuring.

The sense of familiarity they had felt in the hearth room increased. Yes, this was just like the early days of Father and Mother’s marriage; she wasn’t scared of him this time, of course not, but his behavior clearly worried her and made her fear for him.

“Akiko,” Uraume softly said, crouching down to rub their sister’s back, “we need to prepare the dishes for the Festival. Do you want to help me?”

She turned her face to look at him with one dark eye, the hue identical to Mother’s. She nodded with a long sniffle.

Uraume smiled at her and kissed her hair, before getting up and addressing Mother, their tone gentle and full of love:

“Mother, I could use your help as well.”

It wasn’t true, and she knew it, but they wanted to help her distract herself, busy herself in a warm, well-lit environment, not lock herself in her rooms, bended over some stitching.

She smiled, and they started planning and preparing the dishes they would bring to the village the next day.

“Father will change his mind,” Uraume promised her. “He will agree to come with us.”

Mother, busy dividing the rice flour for the mochi and dango, shook her head.

“It’s alright,” and her voice was somber and quiet, not strained by tears, but held in check all the same. “I will stay with him here and try to understand what has gotten into him.”

“I… I may have an idea.”

“I have one as well.” She smiled at them. “Don’t worry, my star. Everything will be alright.”

But they despaired in seeing her so tense, so strained. It was as if she were pulled in multiple directions, worried about Father, about Akiko, about the fact she didn’t know about his cannibalism yet.

Uraume was a young adult, now. They could be the brave, strong child they hadn’t been after her arrival in Father’s house.

“I will speak with him,” they said, they swore, they announced. “I will make him listen to me.”

But Mother shook her head, smiling.

“No, I will do it. He may be too embarrassed to…”

“I’m guilty as much as he is,” Uraume insisted, remembering the first time they had touched a corpse, cut one of its limbs, and locked the rest in ice for his savior to eat later. “I also…”

They glanced at the pantry, a small building attached to the kitchens, where Akiko was currently looking for sweet chestnuts and yams. They doubted she could hear them, but they lowered their voice all the same.

“I also handled human meat. I cut it, I prepared it, I learned how to cook it in countless different ways. Akiko should deserve to know her sibling also…”

They swallowed their tears. They hadn’t cried in a long, long time.

“…That they also hurt people, although in a different way.”

“I cut human meat, too. Did you forget? The day I asked you to clean the kitchen while I took care of the food.”

Uraume opened their mouth, ready to retort, but quickly closed it, suddenly remembering the event. Mother gave him a knowing smile.

“And I also gave your father the three bandits locked in the prison of our old village. I caused their deaths.”

She started rolling the dango between her hands. She had improved a lot in the last few years, and she never hesitated when taking the right amount of flour or when rolling the dango balls between her palms.

“This is what I want him to understand: he isn’t the only one whose hands are dirty with blood. He isn’t the only one who should fear Akiko’s reaction. We are together in this, because we are a family.”

Uraume sighed. As usual, Mother was right, wise and brilliant in her kindness and compassion.

“I will leave it to you, then,” they said, before taking her flour-white hand between theirs. They squeezed it, swallowing the tears that threatened to run down their cheeks.

“But please, let me know if I can help. I… I know I don’t always use the right words or that I can be a bit impulsive sometimes, but…”

“Oh, Uraume.”

Mother hugged them, holding them tight, and they felt like a child, a timid crybaby again.

“You always help me. You did so today, too, with Akiko.”

She pulled back and stroked their cheek, smiling. Uraume smiled back, before laughing with her when she noticed the white streak she had left on their face.

“It will be alright,” she said in the end, and they believed her.

 

- - -

 

Akiko was tired, for that sudden revelation had been a bolt out of the blue. Moriko tucked her in bed for a much-needed afternoon nap, then went back to the kitchens to help Uraume.

They prepared dango, mochi, kutashinagi, sanenaki atatake, yellow kyuri, umiume, and also mackerels cut in thin, long pieces, sardines dipped in vinegar and grilled, sea breams and carps, irimame to eat with the nigorizake…

She had decided to speak with Sukuna after helping Uraume, but he was the one who came to them instead.

First he stood at the threshold, watching her cut the taro roots with a blank expression. He looked pale and tired, bored, or perhaps so annoyed at the world he didn’t even have the strength to show it properly.

She was reminded of their early days of marriage, and she felt the strongest urge to run into his arms and hold him tightly and tell him he didn’t need to fear, that his daughter loved him, that he wasn’t cursed…!

Then he entered the kitchens and sat on a stool, the one Uraume used to rest when food needed to simmer by itself, the same one Akiko had carried all the way to the gate to greet her parents in the forest, three years ago.

“That’s a lot of food,” he said, his voice rough and gravelly, as if he hadn’t spoken or drunk water in a long time.

“There will be a lot of people at the Festival,” Uraume replied, checking on the dashi and sea bream broth. Their tone was calm, hiding no iciness in it, their own way of calming things down, of making them easier for her.

“We won’t be making any sweets, though,” Moriko added, smiling at Sukuna. “Other villagers will take care of that, while the family of shepherds who live near the market will bring drinks, and…”

He scowled, glaring at the food, a grimace of displeasure and disgust on his face.

“All of these dishes… are for the villagers?”

“They will be shared at the Festival,” Uraume said, their tone now cautious. They didn’t want Sukuna’s reaction to get even worse. “Everyone will be able to eat what the others brought.”

Sukuna rose, tall, large, and immense. He was breathing heavily, and the hairs on Moriko’s arms rose as his cursed energy filled the kitchens in strong, fierce waves.

“All of these delicacies and effort… for those peasants?”

“For the Festival,” Moriko gently corrected him. “To appease and thank our dead, and spend time together with the living.”

He looked even more furious, now. He stormed out of the kitchens, and she fell on the stool he had just occupied with a grave sigh.

She went looking for him later, but she couldn’t find him. Maybe he had gone into the forest to vent off, to spend some time alone, to clear his mind.

She decided to leave him be, not wanting to further annoy him, and she asked her parents and Genji to do the same. They had noticed something was off, of course, but thankfully they didn’t ask more.

She started working on a scarf that a villager, a young woman constantly surrounded by six sons, had asked of her as a favor. This woman was so busy, so drained and exhausted, that she hadn’t been able to embroider her youngest son’s scarf like she had promised him, and so had asked Moriko if she, perhaps…

Yes, of course, Moriko had replied, always happy to help. And so now she was stitching tiny rabbits on the little one’s scarf, his favorite animals. She would give it to his mother at the Festival.

Sukuna came back in that moment, a few leaves on his hair, the hem of his hakama dirty with soil.

He had indeed gone into the forest, then. She smiled at him, about to ask him if he wanted to sit down and talk with her for a while, but his four eyes were fixed on the scarf in her hands.

“What is that?”

“Oh, a scarf for Hajikami, he…”

“Hajikami?”

Ah, that had been the wrong thing to say. He was staring at her in horror, disbelief, hurt, and pure fury, all mixed together on his flushed face.

“Do wives have to embroider stuff for other men at this Festival?” he hissed. “What else will those vermin take from me?”

“No, Sukuna, wait…!”

But he left again, deaf to her calls, and when she ran after him, she couldn’t find him anymore.

She went looking for him at her family’s house, but he wasn’t there. She started getting worried, fearing he was heading towards the village to punish those who, according to him, had caused his dear daughter to suddenly be afraid of him.

She needed to speak to him, now. His walk in the forest clearly hadn’t helped him calm down, and she knew he couldn’t think straight when someone hurt him or the people he cared about, when someone trespassed into the precious, sacred space occupied by his family.

And the village, with its inhabitants who could reveal to Akiko her father’s blood-filled past, were doing exactly that in his eyes. He had tolerated their presence, and the benefits they and the market could bring, until now. But Moriko felt he had reached his tipping point.

“Sukuna! Beloved, where are you!?”

She entered their rooms again, opening her mouth to call him again, but quickly stopped. The scarf for little Hajikami was on the floor, its position different from the one in which she had originally left it: the stitching and embroideries had been all unraveled.

She took a deep breath, not wanting to get mad. She tried sensing his cursed energy, but either he was already far or he was hiding it, suppressing it so that she couldn’t find him.

“Mother…?”

Uraume was standing near the shoji doors.

“Did you see your father? I need to speak with him. He’s getting angrier and angrier, for all the wrong reasons!”

“No, but I will help you look for him.”

They went to the library, the hall where the kami effigy was kept, the large tree in the courtyard, the garden and the orchard, but he was nowhere to be found.

“I… I will go to the village,” Moriko babbled, already fearing the worst. “Maybe he wants to punish the farmer who mentioned him in front of Akiko or…”

Uraume gasped and pointed.

Sukuna was sitting on the veranda just outside the kitchens, surrounded by many of the dishes they had prepared. Some bowls and plates were already empty, and he was currently tossing large quantities of grilled peas in his second mouth.

“Father! Those are for the Festival!”

Sukuna’s answer was a glare. He kept eating, faster than before, ignoring them altogether.

Moriko took a steadying breath, gathered all the strength she possessed, and took the bowl out of his hands.

It almost broke her heart to do so, to take food from him, to stop him from eating, but she needed to do something, to make him listen.

He rose so quickly she almost missed it. He stared down at her, his silence laced with rage, and his crimson eyes seemed to glow faintly in the dim afternoon light.

“Give it back to me,” he said, very softly, almost sweetly.

“No.” Moriko held her head high, held her ground. “Uraume and I worked hard on this food. You can’t eat it all, it’s for the festivities.”

“I don’t give a damn about the festivities.”

“Well, we do! So stop acting like a child and show us some respect!”

He winced as if slapped, but didn’t give up. He kept scowling, and she kept staring at him, patient but stern.

“Give me back the bowl.”

“No. We need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk. I want to eat.”

“You will eat after talking with me.”

He huffed, his mouth twisted into a grimace, his second mouth snapping and chattering its teeth as if it wanted to bite something.

She took a handful of peas and slipped her hand into the large maw before Sukuna could stop her.

“Moriko!”

His eyes wide, he grabbed her by the shoulder, looking down to make sure he hadn’t accidentally bitten her.

He had not. He had stopped his second mouth in time, as soon as her fingers had touched the thick tongue to deposit the peas on it. The sharp teeth hadn’t even grazed her skin.

“What?” She hadn’t even looked down, knowing she was unharmed. “I know you could never hurt me or our children, Sukuna.”

His hand moved to her face, and she kissed its palm. He sighed and leaned forward, resting his forehead on her shoulder.

She held him for a long moment, then she gently pulled away to place the bowl down, next to the other half-consumed food, and take his hand.

“Let’s go to our rooms. We can speak there.”

His left eyes looked at her, the right ones at Uraume, who was standing a few paces behind her.

She smiled at him and squeezed his fingers; he looked down at their joined hands and nodded.

“…Alright.”

 

He sat down near the incense burner, quiet and still as a statue. She lit it and burned a kind of incense they only used for the special occasions, or when they were feeling particularly adventurous: it was called baika, a wonderful blend that was supposed to bring to mind the scent of plum blossoms.

“Now,” she took his hand again, “tell me what worries you so much.”

He frowned as he watched the plumes of smoke rise in the air.

“I am not worried-”

“Yes, you are. And we need to discuss what you told me this morning, too.”

He turned his face away, stubborn and proud, but she gently pressed two fingers on his chin and made him look at her again. She smiled.

“Everyone is here for you, Sukuna. There is no need to…”

“You don’t understand.” He looked resigned, like a warrior who knew he would die on the battlefield the next day. “She will hate me.”

Moriko turned serious and adjusted her position on the tatami, so that she could better hold his hand and be close to him. She began to massage his palm, to rub deep soothing circles on his calloused skin.

“Because of your cannibalism,” she said, not a question. She felt him tense up.

“…Yes.”

“You’re underestimating her. You’re not even giving her a chance to prove you wrong.”

“If I act like a monster now… If I make her hate me now…” He swallowed. “Then it will be easier later. She will already be used to having a beast as her father.”

“You’re punishing both yourself and her - why?”

She cupped his left cheek and kissed the right one, right below the deformation.

“My love, listen to me. Akiko is a brilliant, kind girl. She wasn’t scared of you when she learned what you did in the past. Her love for you never changed.”

“She doesn’t know I used to eat people.”

“She will understand, because she is your daughter and she loves you.”

She pressed his hand to her chest, and he turned to her, his face finally open and vulnerable after hours spent locked in his own mind, haunted by the curse he felt he still carried, and the fear of passing it to Akiko and losing her forever.

“You told Uraume to cook you human flesh, and they never rejected you, they never judged you, they never hated you for it. They are still with us, our bright star who helps people in the village like a kind monk.”

She smiled again, for she could see he was actively listening to her, that her words were reaching him, like rays of light making their way through an abyss or a dark cave.

“And me? I didn’t like the fact you were eating meat when we first met, that’s true. But I accepted it, I cooked it for you, too, and later I understood why you ate it. And the gods and the great Amida Buddha may not approve of what I’m about to say, but… I loved you even more for it.”

She heard his slight intake of breath, she saw the surprise and shock in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind or perhaps the words didn’t want to come out.

Then he sighed, closed his left eyes, and bumped his forehead against hers.

“I fear you got married to an animal, Moriko,” he murmured, and she giggled.

“That’s not true. And please, don’t ever say there is a curse on you again.”

“I won’t, I swear it. I…”

He swiftly turned towards the shoji doors that led to the corridor. Moriko heard the floor creak, a light, muffled sound.

“Akiko.” Sukuna narrowed his eyes. “Stop hiding.”

A gasp, then the shoji door slid open, just a little, enough for Akiko to step through.

“Sorry, Papa,” she mumbled. She was eyeing him with trepidation and curiosity, a myriad of different questions written all over her round face.

He called her over with a gesture of his hand, and she eagerly went to him, fidgeting.

“You were eavesdropping.”

“Yes, Papa.”

He was tense again. His right eyes moved to Moriko. She smiled at him.

She felt calm and serene - she knew her daughter, she knew her heart hadn’t changed. She could see it in her eyes.

“So you heard everything.”

“Yes.”

They kept staring at each other until he barked, impatient: “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Don’t you have anything to say? To ask? Aren’t you…” He looked for the right word. “Upset?”

“No?” Akiko tilted her head, thinking, then she shook it. “No, I’m not. I’m a bit sad, though.”

“Sad for the people I ate?”

“No, for you. You must have been really hungry.”

She looked down, a somber expression on her face.

“I saw some people walk in the village to ask for food once. Uraume gave them a lot of stuff, and they cried, because they had been eating grass and arrowroot for days, they said.”

She looked at him again, her eyes full of sadness and worry.

“Were you hungry like that, too? Is that why you ate people?”

Sukuna swallowed, then he nodded.

“Yes. I wanted to fill my hungers.”

“Hungers?”

“I had more than one.”

She frowned, not understanding, then she beamed.

“Oh! Because you have two mouths!”

Sukuna and Moriko chuckled, and she grinned at them, before turning timid and fidgeting again.

“Papa, I’m not scared of you. I’m sorry you had to eat people, but I don’t really mind it. I know what a famine is, Grandpa told me.”

She looked at Moriko, and she suddenly looked a bit older, a bit more mature.

“And I don’t mind that Mama and Ume had to cook it for you. That means they love you a lot, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then…” Her eyes were shiny with tears, and her chin wobbled. “Can we be friends again?”

Sukuna took her in his arms and held her tightly, rubbing his cheek on hers.

“We never stopped being friends,” he said. He pulled away to dry her tears with a large thumb.

“I’m sorry for what I told you in the hearth room earlier. I didn’t mean it.”

She nodded, and he kissed her forehead.

“You are my beloved daughter, and nothing will ever change that.”

“I love you, Papa.”

“Heh.”

He grinned, his eyes very bright and full of joy.

“I love you, too, little sprout.”

Her smile was wide, and he tucked a pink lock of hair behind her ear.

“Now, let me go apologize to Uraume, too. I hope they won’t have to cook too much stuff again because of me. And I’m sorry for the scarf, Moriko.”

He tsked, glaring at it.

“Although I already don’t like this Hajikami.”

Moriko gave him an impish, smug smile.

“I will be sure to tell him, but I doubt he will understand. He’s just five years old, and he’s very shy around other people.”

Sukuna blinked, and the jealousy in his eyes melted like snow under the sun.

“Oh.”

Moriko giggled and told him about the favor.

“He saw the scarf I made Akiko and wanted embroideries on his own, too, but his mother is simply too busy, poor woman. She has six sons to care about, and her husband is always working in the fields.”

“Six brats?”

“Yes.”

“Damn!”

Sukuna stared into space, at a loss for words. Then he snapped out of it and shook his head, a disgusted frown on his face.

“Six boys running around, loud like demons… That’s my idea of hell.”

“Papa, I run around a lot, too!”

“You’re a princess. A beautiful flower. My pride. Don’t ever compare yourself to those little beasts.”

“Sukuna.”

“Hmph.”

He playfully pinched Akiko’s cheek.

“Tell me how the Festival is tomorrow. I will be here waiting for you.”

And he turned to Moriko, smiling, as he pronounced those last words.

“Actually, beloved…”

“You want to go, don’t you?” He caressed her cheek, his voice soft. “I apologize for earlier, too.”

“Yes, but…”

She told him about her idea, about the trees and shrubs that would surely hide him from the eyes of the villagers and performers. He hummed, stroking his chin.

“Won’t be there torches to illuminate the area?”

“Yes, but the greenery is too thick for the light to reach there. We will be in the shadows, covered and safe, but we will be able to see everything. It’s the perfect place!”

“We?”

“I will stay with you.”

A look of guilt and worry passed over his face.

“Moriko, you don’t need to hide with me.”

“We won’t be hiding.” She grinned at him, bouncing happily and clapping her hands. “We will watch the performers, far from the loud crowd and noises and smells. That sounds like the perfect evening to me!”

He snorted, shaking his head as he smiled at her.

A knock on the wooden frame of the shoji came. Uraume was standing there, a warm smile on their face.

“Come here, my child,” Sukuna said, and when Uraume sat down between him and Moriko, he kissed their forehead.

“I apologize,” he said, and Uraume smiled at him, proud and happy, before noticing the relaxed look on everyone’s face.

“What happened?”

“She eavesdropped,” Moriko explained with a smile. “But she wasn’t particularly shocked by what she heard. Isn’t that right?”

“Akiko, you know, then?”

“Yes! I’m sorry Papa was so hungry, but I think he did the right thing. I mean, I would go mad too if I couldn’t eat my rice! And I feel like crying when the food is taking too long and my belly grumbles.”

Uraume visibly relaxed, too, but they almost had a heartattack when Akiko next spoke.

“Ume, Ume! What was your favorite organ to cook?” She gasped. “Did you ever taste something while making it?”

Moriko and Sukuna looked at each other, eyebrows almost reaching their hairlines.

“Akiko, that’s…”

“Oh, oh! Papa, did you eat their toes? And if you ate their faces, then you ate their boogers, too!”

“Oi, wait a minute, now-”

“What did you do with the bodies you couldn’t eat in a day? Did Ume lock them in ice like they do now with the boars and deer?”

Akiko’s mouth turned very round as she gasped again.

“Did you ever eat an old person? I mean really old? What about their teeth? Did you eat those, or did you tie them on a string to use as a necklace? Because I heard some people do that!”

Sukuna almost choked on air. Uraume was watching the whole scene in complete disbelief, probably sure they were dreaming. Moriko couldn’t stop laughing.

“And you thought she would be scared!” she howled with laughter, tears in her eyes, falling on the tatami.

Sukuna’s mouths hung open as Akiko continued her barrage of questions:

“The farmer said you went to the Gion shrine. Were there a lot of warriors? I once saw them in the village, they were passing through to go to the capital, but they weren’t very big. Did you fight soldiers like that at the shrine? How many did you shank?”

Uraume blinked. Sukuna gaped at her.

“Shank…?”

“Where did you even hear that word-”

“Akiko,” Moriko said between large intakes of breath, her body still shaking with laughter, her stomach aching, her eyes wet, “please calm down for a second.”

She hummed, a new question taking form in her mind.

“You didn’t know those people you ate, right, Papa?”

“I didn’t know any of them, no.”

“Then it isn’t so bad, is it? The soldiers from the capital always kill each other, and the Emperor and the Regent give them rewards all the same. So they shouldn’t judge you! It’s not like you hurt your family or a friend!”

“Damn.” Sukuna scratched his cheek. “I fear she inherited my skewed morals.”

“Also,” she continued, standing up with her hands on her hips, reminding Moriko of a scholar about to discuss their two theses in front of the Imperial committee, “you feel sorry about it now, don’t you?”

“Well…”

“And the Amida Buddha forgives all! If someone feels really sorry about something bad they did, the Buddha doesn’t mind anymore! So you don’t have to worry!”

“I wasn’t really worried about the Buddha…”

“Mama and Ume are the kiiiindest people in the world, too, so I’m sure they have already been forgiven. After all, they were just cooking, right? And they always cleaned their hands afterwards, didn’t they?”

She grinned at Moriko and Uraume, who smiled back and nodded.

“See! Then it’s all good!”

Sukuna stared at her for a long time, then he started laughing. A good, loud, happy laughter that filled every nook of their house, like a sweet scent, like warm light, like a cool, refreshing breeze.

 

That evening, while Uraume took care of the food with Akiko and old Yuki’s help, Moriko finished stitching the embroideries on the little scarf.

Sukuna was lying next to her on the tatami, stroking her knee, sharing with her some of the dango they wouldn’t bring to the Festival.

“Moriko.”

“Yes, beloved?”

He was staring into space as if he were unveiling and resolving the secrets of the universe.

“Do you really think I ate their boogers…?”

She looked up from her embroidery work.

“I mean…” He frowned. “It was all mushed and mixed together in my mouth. Blood, brain, eyes, bones… Surely it doesn’t count.”

He turned to her, tense, stiff.

“Right?”

Moriko gently stroked his hair.

“Don’t worry about it, my love.”

“…Fuck.”

A few minutes passed, and he followed her advice: he stopped ruminating on human flesh and the mucus it contained to focus on her.

“By the way…” she started, smiling as she finished embroidering a rabbit’s paw.

Sukuna, who was pressing his lips on her uncovered thigh, raised his left eyes to her.

“Mh?”

“You might hear some of the housewives ask about you.”

“Oh?”

He grinned at her, before licking and playfully nipping her thigh. He was in high spirits, happy and reassured, and he couldn’t stop touching her, keeping at least one hand on her body, the dango momentarily forgotten.

“Did you talk about me? About how marvelous and great your husband is? About my beauty and prowess and kindness and…”

“Well, yes, but…” She pursed her lips, trying to stifle her giggles. “Uraume and I might have told them you’re a sculptor of Buddhist statues.”

“Wait, what.”

Notes:

Akiko is a very particular child 😂 She possesses some qualities of Winnie from the movie "The Boxtrolls"! She will become a sweet young lady who likes elegant things, embroidery, and literature, but her strength will be quite hard to handle at first, as she won't always be able to control it. She will also inherit part of Sukuna's tall stature and big bones, and that will be another issue at first.

Goryoe: The Sacred Spirit Service, a rite to appease pestilence gods, the dead, and the calamity-producing angry spirits of notable humans. It was usually associated with Gion shrine, east of the capital, where it was performed each year on the Fourteenth or Fifteenth of the Sixth Month. It included several comical shows after the more solemn prayers. The Gion shrine is now known as the Yasaka shrine, and it can still be visited today.

Soshi: pages stitched or glued together in a small leaflet form.

The Ishinpo, the medical work Sukuna finds, is real, and those are actual quotes from its 28th scroll, the one that discusses sexuality. It also quotes some similar Chinese works of the time, and they all share the same characteristics: the man is the yang, the woman is the yin; a military language is used to describe the sexual act; the penis is referred to as the "jade stalk," the vulva as the "jade gate", the vagina as the "cinnabar grotto" and "children's palace". Surprisingly, all these medical works see the woman as superior. She is the water who wins over the fire, and the feminine is inherently nutritious and healing, while the masculine must get the nourishment and strength it lacks through the sexual act. It would be too long and complicated to explain everything here, but I will dwelve more into this topic in the next chapter ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

All the performers mentioned in the first part are described in their entirety. Not only there were marionette players, jugglers, and dancers, but also mimes who played a specific role: a special monk performing an exorcism or two sumo fighters, one playing the role of the winner, the other the role of the loser, following a known script.

The nomadic people called "kugutsu" were probably the descendants of the Xiongnu people, horse-riding people travelling in tents who came from what is now Mongolia. The men performed acrobatic acts on horseback, played marionettes and magic tricks, while the women sang and prostituted themselves. This wasn't seen as a negative thing by their men, but as a normal way of living. Another group of performing women, the asobi, did a similar thing, but I will discuss them in the next chapter.

Kutashinagi: fermented leeks; sanenaki atatake: rice cakes filled with fruits after making sure there are no seeds; yellow kyuri: yellow cucumber; umiume: plums so ripe they can be molded into a paste; irimame: grilled peas to eat with murky, not filtered sake, called nigorizake.

Baika: according to a late Heian source, plum-blossom incense (baika) was usually compounded of aloeswood, the operculum of the gastropod "Rapana thomasiana", spikenard, sandalwood, clove, musk, a kind of amber, and an ingredient made by boiling the leaves and branches of the chan-t’ang (sento), a South China tree said to resemble the sourpeel tangerine (Citrus deliciosa). The scent was supposed to suggest plum blossoms, and it was therefore particularly appropriate for use in the spring.

Arrowroot: eaten by commoners in times of famine, Fujiwara reportedly chewed on it to assuage his thirst, in his case caused by diabetes. It has a strong, unpleasant smell, which might have led to the belief it could also chase evil fevers away, just like garlic.

The next chapter is directly tied to this one, so the family will go to the village to see the performers, and there will be some sexy talks ( • ̀ω•́ )✧

Chapter 12: Goma

Notes:

Attention! Description of sexual assault (directed at Sukuna) at the start!

“Weak. Pathetic.”

He shook his head at the three curse users lying on the ground. They were seriously wounded, but still alive. He had yet to give them the final blow.

But he had something else in mind, something that would make things more interesting.

“I will count to five,” he said, grinning to show them all his teeth, shiny with saliva and blood, for he had bitten them while fighting. “If you manage to run down this hill in that time, I will spare you.”

“Beast.” One of them, the older man, spat on the ground. “I would rather die than flee from you.”

“Oh, you will die, that’s for sure. What about you, brat?”

The other curse user was barely a young man, his beardless face still round with the squishiness of youth.

Sukuna’s second mouth licked its lips, already savoring the taste of his juicy flesh, which it hadn’t been able to get while fighting. He knew the kid would never be able to run fast enough: one of his legs was broken, twisted in an ugly way, and Sukuna had blinded one of his eyes.

The brat swallowed and didn’t reply. He tried finding courage in himself and his friends, but he was trembling, and his healthy eye was shiny with tears.

“I see.” Sukuna’s gaze moved to the third curse user. “What about you? Will you run?”

The woman’s fingers dug deep lines into the ground. She shook her head, never once looking at him. He had noticed she didn’t like the sight of his face and second mouth.

Well, no one did, but her disgust was evident, palpable. She didn’t find a morbid curiosity in his creepy appearance like some other people would, but pure horror, repugnance, loathing.

He sighed, resting his chin on one of his hands. He was sitting on the very top of the hill, above them, like a king studying his soldiers, his subjects, or perhaps his prisoners.

“How boring,” he drawled. “Not only you didn’t offer me a good battle, but you also don’t want to play my game.”

“Cursed be the whore that generated you,” the older curse user growled through gritted teeth. “May your soul rot in the burning hells for-”

His head rolled on the ground.

“I heard all of that before.” Sukuna gazed at the other two with a bored expression. “Do you have something more original to say?”

The brat was trembling harder and openly crying, now, his body wracked with sobs.

Sukuna let out another long, heavy sigh.

“I see. How disappointing.”

The second head rolled. Only the woman remained: she was staring at her friends’ corpses as if she couldn’t understand what they were.

He raised his index finger again, ready to strike.

“Well?”

The light in the woman’s eyes changed: from unadulterated shock to pure madness. He saw a crazed energy, a frenzy survival instinct, take possession of her.

“O Disgraced One! O divine one!”

She crawled all the way to him, her smile too wide for her face, her eyes too big.

“Please, allow me to serve you! I shall hunt for you! Find you good, tasty meat! And I…”

She opened the front of her leather armor, which was falling to pieces after her fight against Sukuna. She rubbed her bare breasts on his leg while her hands caressed his thigh.

“And I will keep you warm at night! I will give you joy every day, in whatever position you desire!”

She slowly slid a hand towards his torso, where his second mouth was. Her gaze fell on it, and a shiver ran through her as disgust momentarily replaced madness.

She quickly averted her eyes to smile at him again, more frantic than ever, trying to hide her reaction.

“I… I can show it to you now! Let me take care of you, o divine one, let me give you pleasure upon pleasure…”

She tried touching his second mouth again, but quickly, gracelessly, changed her mind: at the last second, her fortitude faltered, and she moved her hand to his crotch instead, touching his cock through his hakama, rubbing it and his balls.

“Oh, you’re so big. I bet you get even bigger when you’re hard, huh?”

She gave him what she thought was a sultry smile.

“Here, let me get you free so I can properly suck you…”

She started pulling his hakama down; she slightly rose to better free his cock, but before she could, he bended forward, opened his second mouth, and seized her head within it.

“How dare you touch me without permission,” he growled as she began to shriek and punch him to get free. But the grip of his second maw was like iron, and he easily crushed her head between his teeth.

He devoured the three bodies, but with haste, barely tasting them, barely paying attention to their flavor. He sated his hunger, then went to the river nearby to clean himself.

There, he spent several minutes rubbing his legs and thighs, his groin, his second mouth, every single part of his body, huffing and grunting like an ox.

The blood had all been scrubbed away, but he still felt dirty, and he didn’t know why.

 

- - -

 

Moriko was repairing the last stiches on one of her kosode she had accidentally torn, when Sukuna entered their quarters.

He had left for a few minutes to talk with Uraume about dinner; Moriko was still on her period, and he didn’t like how pale her face now was, he had said.

Just the other day, he had introduced the wonderful flavors of different kinds of meat to her, and she was actually looking forward to eating more, especially since she really was feeling kind of weak and lightheaded.

“I told him to prepare you two good, hearty stews,” Sukuna said, and he slightly pulled up his hakama before sitting down next to her. The gesture confused her, but she didn’t have time to ask him about it, because he added:

“One made with boar meat, the other with carp flesh.”

She grew worried at that, and guilt gnawed at her heart.

“I can’t enter the kitchen while on my period, but… wasn’t that the last carp we had, my lord?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I don’t care. We will get more.”

She sighed. Winter had come, and she was concerned about the supplies they had, but she knew how stubborn he could be.

Also, his thoughtful gesture was a touching one, and she was grateful to him. So she smiled at him, her heart now light, and thanked him.

He frowned, confused by her words.

“For what?”

“For taking care of me.”

He gave her a playful look, grinning.

“Well, I can’t let you starve.”

“Of course not.” She returned the look, the smug smile. “You need to get me fat and plump to eat me, after all.”

He laughed, and she laughed with him.

Before going to the kitchen, he had been reading some poems, which he had left on the floor. He retrieved them, but tossed the scroll on her lap, right on the kosode she was stitching, instead of reading silently like before.

“My lord!”

“Read for me.”

“I can’t, I need to finish this first. My other kosode is drying outside, and I just have this one and the one I’m wearing left.”

He huffed, glaring at her when she pushed the scroll towards him to free her lap and resume her stitching.

“Why don’t you read for me, my lord?” she asked with a smile, part of her hoping her request wasn’t too bold.

He didn’t take offense. He actually thought about it, but his answer didn’t surprise her.

“…No.”

She giggled, shaking her head.

“Alright. Give me some minutes, then.”

But he was impatient and he demanded all her attention, her whole focus. He started by untying her hair ribbon.

“My lord!” she chided him when her hair fell loose on her back. She glared halfheartedly at him, and he kept staring at her, calm and content like a big cat, his wide, square, handsome face resting on a closed fist.

“Please give me back my ribbon.”

“No.”

She sighed and placed her kosode on the floor before turning to him. She took one of his hands, but it was empty, so she tried with another. Also empty.

“Where is it?” she laughed when the third one opened to reveal nothing. She stared at the one under his chin. He grinned at her.

She tried opening it, but it didn’t even budge.

She crossed her arms - she already knew where this was going.

“Alright, I will play with you. What do I need to do in order for you to open your hand?”

He pretended to think about it. He looked at the ceiling for a short moment, humming and frowning, then he gave her another triumphant, mischievous grin.

“Give me a kiss.”

She smiled at him.

“Oh, that’s easy, I…”

“With tongue.”

She blushed, but nodded, still smiling.

“Alright.”

She cradled his face in her hands and pressed her lips on his. She moaned into the kiss when he opened her mouth and touched her tongue with his own.

It lasted a long while, so long she had to tug at his arm to let him know she couldn’t breathe anymore. He reluctantly let her go, and she took in a deep breath.

“Was that… Was that good, my lord?”

“Yes.” She saw him swallow. “Yes. Good Moriko.”

He showed her his closed fist. She gently pried the fingers open, and he let her, and inside…

“Where is the ribbon!?”

He started cackling while she pouted at him.

“Oh, you wanted that? You only asked me to open my hand!”

And he laughed harder.

She whined and started looking under his legs, under his feet, under the hem of his black robe that touched the floor, even into the collar of his kimono.

Then she started crawling all around him, looking for the smallest trace that could lead her to the ribbon; it was red, so it would be noticeable, if even a corner of it were peeking out from under his butt…

But it was not, and he refused to get up.

“Where did you hide it?” she mumbled, trying to concentrate while he laughed again. Even his second mouth was snickering with glee.

Oh!

“Wait here, please!”

“Oi, where are you going-”

She ran all the way to the kitchen’s threshold, without actually stepping through, since she still was on her period and didn’t want to contaminate the room.

Uraume was busy preparing dinner, smiling down at one of the pots in which the meat stew was getting ready. His smile grew when he saw her.

“Hello, my lady!”

“Hello, my dear. Oh, I can already tell the food is going to be delicious, this smell is amazing! Listen, do you happen to still have those dango you prepared yesterday? May I have one, please?”

“There are a few left, yes.” He narrowed his eyes at her, pouting, brandishing the spoon like the standard of a conqueror’s army. “But they will ruin your appetite if you eat them now, my lady.”

“Oh, no, I just need one for Sukuna!”

He believed her, and he retrieved a round, supple dango from a box hidden behind some jars. He went to her and gave it to her with a pensive hum.

“Tell him he can eat just this one. I know his appetite is big, but everyone knows you aren’t supposed to eat sweets before dinner!”

“I will be sure to tell him,” she chuckled, before kissing his forehead and thanking him. He smiled at her, his cheeks adorably pink, then went back to his culinary masterpieces.

“Here I am, my lord,” she announced as she reentered the sleeping quarters. Sukuna glared at her.

“Where did you go?”

She smiled at him and showed him the dango in her hands. He immediately perked up.

“How did you convince Uraume to give it to you? He always scolds me when I try to eat sweets before dinner.”

“I asked politely, my lord. I didn’t sneak into the kitchen and opened all the cabinets while making a ruckus that could be heard from the capital.”

“Hmph. It happened only once.”

“It happened three times.”

He looked away, pouting and scowling. But one of his right eyes followed her movements as she moved closer to him and presented him the dango.

“Here, my lord, it’s for you.”

He turned back to her, a smirk on his lips.

“One measly dango is not enough for the ribbon. I want more.”

“Is that so?” She tilted her head, smiling sweetly. “What should I do with this, then?”

“Give it to me, obviously. But I won’t give you the ribbon.”

She let out a dramatic sigh.

“Alright. Wait, let’s do it like this.”

She tore the dango in half, and she offered him one half, keeping the other in her hand.

He didn’t seem to mind, and he opened his mouth without complaints, staring at her as his tongue briefly touched her fingers.

She leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose; at the same time, she pressed the other half of the dango against the lips of his second mouth, which immediately opened to accept the offer, too glutton not to do so.

“Ah-ha!”

She retrieved the ribbon he had hidden inside his second maw before he could close it, the piece of dango successfully placed on the large tongue, her way to distract him.

Sukuna glared down at his body, at the mouth happily chewing.

“Betrayed by my own body,” he muttered, then he pouted at Moriko, who had gotten up and was showing him the fruits of her shrewdness.

“I knew it was there! I admit it was the perfect place to… huh…”

She sighed at the ribbon, limp and wet on her palm.

“It’s completely drenched in saliva...”

Sukuna was grinning again, more triumphant than ever.

She placed it near the lit incense burner, so that it would get dry faster; then she went to a small cabinet where some of her stuff was kept, and she retrieved a little wooden box.

Sukuna craned his neck to see, and she showed it to him, smiling. Inside, there were all the different ribbons she possessed.

“Some were gifts,” she explained. “Others, I made them myself. See this one? It’s my first embroidery work!”

She pointed at a pink one where a few wonky flowers had been stitched by a young hand. She showed him the others, too, remembering the occasion during which she had received them or crafted them.

“This one was a gift from Father… Oh, this was my grandmother’s! And this one… I’m pretty sure I made this on my twentieth birthday. And this…”

She stopped, suddenly aware of what she was doing. Sukuna had been listening, calm and patient, but he had yet to pronounce a single word, and she realized how silly that topic must sound to him.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” she said, closing the box. “I didn’t mean to bore you.”

“What?” He frowned. “You aren’t boring me.”

“O-Oh, that’s good, I…”

He reopened the box and pointed at a green ribbon.

“What about this one? What are these embroideries?”

“Some neighbors invited us to a banquet for their son’s birthday. It was spring, so we would need to wear pinkish hues, and I thought a green ribbon would look good with my robes.”

She traced the stitching, the odd figures she had sweated over as a young child.

“But I wanted something original and special, so I… huh, I decorated it with flames. I had seen some Buddhist monks perform a Goma fire ritual a few days before, and I thought the flames representing the wisdom and fierceness of the venerable Fudo would be a nice detail…”

“Those are supposed to be flames?” Sukuna tilted his head to look at the ribbon from a different angle. “I thought they were… I don’t know, weird fruits.”

“I…” Moriko hid behind her bangs and lowered her voice. “I was young, my lord.”

Sukuna snorted. She whined and hid the ribbon under the others, but his thumb and index finger entered the box, found it easily, and picked it up.

“Wear it,” he said, handing it to her. “It will look good on your hair.”

“But it’s childish!”

“It’s not. Wear it.”

She whined again, but did as he asked. She tied her hair in the usual low ponytail and fixed the ends of the ribbon so that the embroideries would be visible. She knew he would keep insisting until she wore it correctly, otherwise.

“Here,” she sighed, turning her head to show it to him. “How does it look?”

“Good,” he said, but she heard the laughter in his voice, and she pouted at him. He laughed harder, and the sight made her forget about her embarrassment: he looked happy and relaxed, and she remembered how he had said he wasn’t bored by her silly feminine accessories.

“Tell me about this one.”

He was pointing at a long black strip of paper, a simple one without any decorations. She turned it in her hand, puzzled by its existence.

“I have no idea, my lord. I have never seen this before. Maybe it’s some leftover from one of my sewing projects, and I accidentally put it in the box…? I can’t remember.”

But its appearance gave her an idea. She had noticed something when Sukuna had entered, and she now observed his hakama to make sure she was right.

“My lord, do your pants feel larger than usual?”

He looked down at them.

“Huh, yes. I forgot to tell you about it.”

“I think the string around them has gotten frayed and loose. May I see?”

He nodded, but his lips curled into a roguish smile when she kneeled between his legs and started pulling the string out of his hakama.

“Moriko! So bold! If you wanted me to take off my clothes, you should have just said so.”

He started pulling his hakama down, showing the happy trail that led to his cock, but she swatted his hand, her face on fire.

“My lord! Dinner is almost ready, and Uraume will be here any moment! We can’t!”

He huffed, but didn’t insist further as she began to slide the new string through the openings of his pants. He was wide and large and big, and she had to stay on her knees and bend down to move the black strip of cloth all around his waist.

Finally, it reached the front, and she tied it well and tightly before smiling up at him.

“Done! Could you please get up and tell me if it’s alright?”

But she closed her mouth, timid, when she saw the way he was looking at her.

It was… intense. And she was suddenly aware of how close they were sitting, of his legs encircling her like a comforting wall, of his hand placed on the small of her back, of his warmth and scent.

They had had sex, and he had even drunk her menstrual blood, so there shouldn’t have been any reason for her to still be so shy around him. But he was handsome and sweet, oh, he could be so sweet and funny and silly, and her heart sang and ached and rejoiced for him, and she wanted to fill her soul with his laughter, words, and warmth.

“Moriko,” he murmured, his voice huskier than usual, “touch me.”

She knew what he meant. And so she smiled at him and began.

She first traced his jawline with her fingers, then his ears, then his nose. She touched his tattoos, his taut muscles, the scars scattered on his body, his ribs, his neck, his collarbone.

His skin was a bit dry on his shoulders, but the hinoki oil had done wonders to his hands. His hair was also quite soft and healthy, thanks to the camellia oil, and she felt proud and happy, for it meant she was taking good care of her husband.

The deformation on the right side of his face worried her, though. The rim of it was often inflamed and itchy, no matter how much oil she rubbed on it. Sukuna had told her they were deformed bones, and there was little they could do about them, but she felt bad all the same.

He had once said he didn’t sleep much, although he loved closing his eyes and relaxing; were those bones, and those two perpetually-open enlarged eyes, the reason for it?

Father knew many herbal remedies. He had started sharing some of his recipes with her before her marriage, but she didn’t know any that could relieve Sukuna’s discomfort. She could ask him for some suggestions.

First, however, she would have to convince Sukuna to allow her to send a letter or visit her family house again. Maybe, if she explained her reason to him, he would accept.

Not today, though. She was still on her period, and she couldn’t pollute her family with a tainted letter or her very presence. She would wait for her menses to stop, then she would tell Sukuna about her idea.

For now, the hinoki oil would have to do.

She moved to get up, but he immediately stopped her, seizing her arm, pressing his hand on the small of her back harder.

“Where are you going?”

“To retrieve the hinoki oil, my lord.”

He let her go, then, and she went to the small table where the bottle was. She went back to him, kneeling between his legs as before.

He touched her back again, and this time he placed a second hand on her waist, too.

“Here.” She poured a bit of oil on her fingertips before gently rubbing the rim of his deformed bones. “It’s a bit red. Does it hurt?”

“No, but it itches.”

He groaned and closed his left eyes when she delicately scratched a rough-looking corner. She almost expected him to start purring.

“Does it feel good?” she giggled, and he gave her a positive hum as answer, melting into her touch.

He jolted awake when she poured a bit of oil on his shoulders.

“Sorry! Your skin is a bit dry here, my lord. Maybe it’s due to the cold.”

He hummed and watched her as she massaged the oil deep onto the muscles until it was completely absorbed. His shoulders were a bit red and definitely softer and smoother, now.

Their faces were very close. Moriko smiled at him.

“My lord, may I kiss you?”

He grinned at her.

“You don’t have to ask, Moriko.”

“Yes, I do.” She cupped his cheek. “What if you aren’t in the mood for it, or you want to clean your teeth before kissing, or you want to do something else?”

He frowned, in that special way that meant he was confused.

“But we had sex. And we kissed without asking multiple times before.”

“Oh, I love our impromptu kisses! They are sweet, and they always make my heart beat so fast.”

She smiled at him again.

“They are a normal part of a relationship. If we had to ask for permission every time, we wouldn’t have time for anything else! We have each other’s consent by now.”

She combed his hair with her fingers.

“And even though we had sex, we always did it knowing the other wanted to. You always asked me, in your own way. You never forced me.”

She looked down at her lap, suddenly shy.

“But this time the mood was so charged, so intimate, I couldn’t help but ask. There are times when it’s like that, I believe. Delicate and precious like petals.”

She looked up and saw he was still frowning, staring at the shoji door that led to the garden as if it held all the answers.

“I apologize if it doesn’t make much sense, my lord.”

“No, I… I think I understand.”

She fidgeted, her eyes moving back and forth from him to the floor.

“So… May I?”

His scarlet gaze went to her.

“Yes.”

She cradled his face in her hinoki-slick hands and pressed a soft, burning kiss on his lips. He deepened it, and she moaned when his fingers touched her jawline.

They pulled away, and there was a light in his eyes, a sudden, profound realization. He seemed to study or search her face, and the act was so intense, she felt shy again and blushed hard.

But she smiled at him, at his shiny shoulders, at his less-inflamed deformation, at the love he represented for her.

“You smell nice, my lord,” she said, and he gave her one of his smirks, but it was quite soft around the edges, smoothed, made vulnerable.

 

A few days later, he accompanied her to the forest to collect chrysanthemum dew in the middle of the night.

They rubbed each other’s body with the silky, humid swathes, then went back home, the moonlight guiding them.

That same moonlight passed through the translucent surface of the shoji door, filling their quarters with silver and whitish hues.

Moriko placed the basket full of wet silk cloths on the small table, then started disrobing to change into her night clothes, since she had worn her day kosode to go into the forest.

“I know it’s almost dawn, and I will have to wake up soon, but…”

“We will all sleep in today,” Sukuna decided. “I will leave a note on Uraume’s bed, so he will see it after waking up and will rest some more instead of preparing breakfast.”

He was standing behind her. When she fully removed her kosode and bended down to pick up the undergarments she wore for the night, he placed a hand around her wrist, a gentle grip.

“Wait. Let me do it.”

He helped her slip her arms through the sleeves, and she giggled when he tied the sash around her waist the wrong way.

“Here.” He adjusted the collar of her robe. “Done.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

She fidgeted, not knowing whether to go to bed or keep standing there with him under the moonlight. It framed his face, softening the contours of it, but also enhancing its strength, its shape, his profile, and she couldn’t stop looking at him.

He touched her cheek with a finger, and she realized he was tracing her freckles, or perhaps counting them.

“Moriko,” he softly called, and she smiled at him.

“Yes, my lord?”

His gaze was very red, very bright, and she loved the tiny crow’s feet near the corner of his upper left eye, and the way the skin crinkled around the lower left one when he moved it.

“I want to kiss you.” He waited a beat, then: “May I?”

Her smile grew, and she took and squeezed his hand.

“Yes.”

He grinned at her and leaned down, pressing his lips on hers.

He moaned loudly into their kiss, that simple act, that simple touch giving him pleasure upon pleasure, and she felt happy and exultant.

Notes:

Alright, so, the chapter describing the festival at the village got too long, so I divided it in half :'D

There is a recurring theme that started in the previous chapter, the theme of sexuality and consent. In the previous chapter, we saw Sukuna try to understand a medical text about sex and sexual positions, and his early ideas about the whole thing. In this part, consent is explored. In the second part, which I will probably post later today or tomorrow, there will be a bit of plot (what, you thought this fic would be a simple collection of fluffy scenes? ( ͡º ꒳ ͡º) ), and the topic of sex and beauty will be addressed again.

Goma: an esoteric rite derived from the Hindu worship of Agni, the fire god. An altar was erected in front of an image of Fudo or a similar deity, magical formulas were recited, and offerings were thrown into a fire of sumac or some other wood. The fire, symbolic of wisdom, was believed to consume the petitioner’s passions and illusions.

Fudo: also known as Acala, one of the Wisdom Kings, which are the manifestations of the Five Great Buddhas. Fudo was particularly loved in Japan, as he was considered a fierce protector of his believers and a powerful vanquisher of evil. He is often depicted wielding a sword and surrounded by flames that represent wisdom and enlightenment.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of The Hearth - Sukuna x Moriko