The cursed spirit waits in silence.
It doesn't hunt. It doesn't scream. It simply exists—deep within the forest ruins of Aokigahara, where the air is thick with sorrow and the trees lean like mourners. The ground is soft with forgotten footsteps. The wind carries no sound. Sorcerers avoid this place. Even curses steer clear.
But Sukuna is drawn to it.
He feels the pull through Yuji's body—a thread of cursed energy unlike any other. It's familiar. Intimate. Wrong. It coils around his soul like a whisper he thought he'd silenced.
Yuji sleeps.
Sukuna slips into control.
He walks alone through the forest, the moon casting fractured light through the branches. His footsteps make no sound. The trees seem to watch. The air grows colder with every step. He doesn't speak. He doesn't summon power. He simply moves forward.
The cursed spirit emerges slowly.
Its form shifts like smoke—tall, indistinct, flickering between shapes. It doesn't attack. It doesn't speak. It waits. And then, it settles.
It wears Rinzen's face.
Sukuna freezes.
The wind stops. The forest holds its breath.
"You're not him," he says.
The spirit tilts its head. Its eyes are hollow, but its presence is heavy—like guilt made flesh. It mimics Rinzen's voice, soft and steady.
"You were meant to be more."
Sukuna snarls.
"I killed you."
"You buried me."
The spirit lunges.
Their battle is quiet. No explosions. No spectacle. Just raw, intimate violence. Sukuna fights with fury, but the spirit matches him—not in strength, but in memory. Every strike reminds him of the past. Every dodge echoes a moment he forgot. The forest becomes a mirror. The air tastes like regret.
The wound in his chest pulses.
The spirit conjures illusions—Rinzen teaching him forbidden sigils, laughing over firelight, bleeding beside him in battle. Sukuna roars, slicing through the images, but they reform. They whisper. They linger.
"You carry me," the spirit says. "Even now."
Sukuna falters.
Just once.
The spirit strikes—not with claws, but with truth. It shows him the temple. The betrayal. The hesitation. The moment he chose power over purpose. The moment he became something less than what Rinzen believed he could be.
Sukuna stumbles.
He's not defeated. But he's shaken.
He unleashes his Domain—brief, unstable—and erases the spirit. Not with rage. With silence. The forest folds inward. The illusions vanish. The cursed energy dissipates like breath in winter.
The forest stills.
Sukuna stands alone, breathing heavily. The wound in his chest glows faintly, then fades. The trees resume their mourning. The wind returns, soft and cold.
"Regret is a curse," he whispers. "And I refuse to carry it."
But as he returns to Yuji's body, something lingers.
Not pain.
Not guilt.
Memory.