Chapter Text
The bodies outside the door sit heavy on your soul.
Men you've known your entire life, gone in an instant. One you loved like a father. Others you'd grown up beside since childhood. All of them family. All of them slaughtered.
The only thing keeping the tears at bay is the terror crawling up your spine. Your half eaten dinner still sits on the table, mocking you as you struggle to process what's just happened.
At the head of the table, your grandfather doesn't flinch. He doesn't even look surprised. The man standing across from him is someone you've only ever heard whispered about. Ryomen Sukuna. His men line the walls of your dining room, clothes stained with blood, and their expressions unreadable.
And still, your grandfather remains calm. Maybe because he isn't afraid. Or maybe because he is this monster or at least, he used to be.
He was supposed to hand off his empire years ago. That plan died the night his second in command was gunned down in the street. He never found a replacement.
Now the replacement has come for himself. Ryomen Sukuna, son of the Kansai oyabun, went rogue months ago. He didn't want his father's throne. He wanted something bigger.
Tokyo.
An empire your grandfather ruled your entire life. And the monster in front of you doesn't even spare you a glance. His attention is fixed solely on your grandfather, as if you aren't even there.
"Didn't your old man teach you any respect?" your grandfather asks, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a cloth napkin.
"Respect dies with age," Sukuna replies, his tone sends a chill down your spine. "I'm not here to honor your legacy. I'm here to bury it."
Your grandfather doesn't even flinch, completely unphased by what he's threatening.
"Clearly. You've been a real pain in my ass these last few months. Couldn't take no for an answer?"
"You've outlived your reign," Sukuna says coolly. "Your men have lost faith. Flipping the foot soldiers was easy, they don't answer to you anymore."
He pulls out a chair and sits, like he owns the place already.
"Then why are you here?"
"I'm giving you one last chance to walk away. Sign everything over to me, and you leave with your life."
Your grandfather slams his cane against the table leg. The crack echoes. You flinch, Sukuna doesn't.
"I built this empire long before your mother disgraced her bloodline by birthing you," your grandfather snaps, composure finally slipping. "You think I'll just hand it to you?"
"I think you don't have a choice," Sukuna replies calmly. "Half your men have already turned. I own your docks. You're on borrowed time." His gaze sharpens. "This is your only chance to walk away breathing. Offer expires the moment I stand and I'd rather not waste the bullet."
Your grandfather's jaw tightens. He knows it's true. Most of his inner circle has already bled out just feet away, on the other side of the door.
"I have conditions," he says slowly.
"You're in no position to make demands," Sukuna snaps.
"You've killed our protection," your grandfather continues. "My enemies will come for me.....and for her."
He gestures toward you.
Sukuna's eyes flick to you. Just once. He seems to already know what the conditions are.
"I'm not interested in a wife," he says flatly.
Your blood turns to ice. Your heart pounds so hard it drowns out everything else but this is exactly what your grandfather is suggesting.
"It benefits you too," he presses. "Take her. Keep her safe. If she's yours, you're protected. My men won't seek retribution. They won't touch family."
"You can walk away clean," Sukuna replies, unimpressed, "or keep digging graves. Makes no difference to me."
"I've been around a long time," your grandfather warns. "There are still people who respect me. Marry her, and you take power the right way."
Sukuna scoffs, lips parting to respond but your grandfather cuts him off.
"If you don't, you'll face enemies you haven't even uncovered yet. Your support is visible. Mine runs deeper."
Silence fills the room.
"I take her," Sukuna says at last. "And you disappear. For good."
Your grandfather nods once.
You haven't moved. Can't move. Frozen as they discuss your future like you're not even in the room, your life reduced to a bargaining chip in a blood soaked empire neither man wants to surrender.
Sukuna finally looks at you. You're shaking in your seat. He stands and you can hear him walking towards you.
You can't bring yourself to meet his gaze. His shoes enter your peripheral vision as he stops beside you. Then, without warning, he drags your chair back and turns it to face him. A rough hand grips your chin, tilting your head up until your eyes meet his.
He's bigger up close. Much bigger. The thick black lines etched across his face draw your attention. You expected tattoos, all of them have them, but these are bold, impossible to hide. You follow the black lines down his face all the way to where they disappear under his shirt.
"Eyes up, girl," he murmurs, voice too low for anyone else to hear.
Your eyes snap to his. Sharp. Red. Unforgiving. They do nothing to ease the fear clawing up your throat.
If he accepts your grandfather's offer, this won't be the first time a girl has been handed over like property. Arranged political marriages are rarer now but not unheard of. You know that better than most. Your childhood friend was forced into one. Her father ran a smaller faction outside the city, and when a deal went bad, he offered her to keep the peace.
She was barely sixteen.
You kept in touch after the wedding, long enough to learn her husband was just as brutal at home as he was on the street.
Then the messages stopped.
He cut her off completely. To this day, you don't know what became of her.
Looking up at Sukuna now, you're not optimistic.
Not about peace.
Not about safety.
Not about anything.
A tear slips free.
You weren't even supposed to be here tonight.
Your grandfather invited you to dinner. Wanted to hear about school. About your semester. You're studying Art History, you wanted law, but he shut that down immediately. Made you pick something 'more fitting'. Letting you leave for university was already a concession. A compromise he wasn't very happy about.
So when he asked you to come and tell him about it, you jumped at the chance.
Now here you are.
And he's trading you like currency.
Sukuna's eyes track the tear as it falls. His mouth tightens. When it lands in your lap, he releases your jaw and turns back to your grandfather.
"She's young."
"She's old enough."
Another tear follows. One word seals it.
"Fine."
You bite down on your lip hard enough to taste blood. It barely keeps the sobs contained.
"You'll get the holdings after the ceremony," your grandfather says.
Sukuna's jaw tightens. He turns toward one of the men along the wall, he's just as large, black hair hanging loose, dressed for function rather than display. There's more blood on him than the others. A scar splits his lip, deep and ugly.
He steps forward. Sukuna looks at you, drawing the attention do the other man.
Both stare you down.
"Take the girl to the car."
Panic finally breaks loose.
"Wait!" your grandfather snaps. "You can't take her until after the union!"
Sukuna laughs, the first sign of anything human, though it's cruel and mocking.
"So you can fuck me over?" he says. "No. She stays with me." He sneers. "You get your loyalists. I want them all at the ceremony where you publicly and willingly hand over your position."
"You're forcing my hand, this wasn't the deal. They'll know something is wrong." your grandfather argues.
"Well, I'm sure you can convince them," Sukuna replies lightly. "Because if you can't, if there's a rebellion, I'll decorate your loyal dogs with her blood."
The safety clicks off and the barrel presses to your temple.
You shatter.
Sobs tear from your chest, your body shaking violently as tears blur your grandfather's face. His jaw is locked tight as he glares at Sukuna.
"To ensure a smooth transition," Sukuna continues calmly, "she comes with me. And Nanami stays with you. Until the wedding. Until you hand everything over to me."
Through your tears, you barely notice another man stepping forward.
"Put the gun down," your grandfather says, tone defeated, hand extending uselessly. "I give you my word."
Sukuna presses the barrel harder. Cold metal bites into your skin.
"If you don't," he says quietly, "her death is on your hands."
His grip clamps onto your jaw again, yanking your head back against his chest.
"Look at your granddaddy," he murmurs. "And beg him to let you live."
You sob.
"Put the gun down," your grandfather says again.
"Say it."
"Pl—please don't m‑make him k‑kill me," you choke, eyes locked on the man who raised you.
"Atta girl."
The gun clicks. The pressure disappears. Your body sags as his hand finally leaves your face, breath hitching uncontrollably.
"I think we're all on the same page," Sukuna says, stepping away.
He signals to the black haired man, who grabs your elbow and pulls you to your feet, guiding you toward the exit.
"Wait."
Sukuna's voice stops you cold.
The grip on your arm freezes.
You don't turn around. The room is so silent you hear every footstep as Sukuna approaches. He doesn't touch you more than necessary, just reaches back, slides a hand into your pocket, and pulls out your phone.
The screen lights up.
You and your roommate. Smiles full of life, taken at a festival weeks ago. From another life.
He lets it drop.
The crack is loud. His heel comes down hard, shattering it completely. You flinch. He doesn't bother picking up the destroyed remains.
The man beside you pulls again, dragging you away as your eyes stay fixed on the broken glass behind you, your last lifeline splintered across the floor.
You hear Sukuna's footsteps retreat as the dining room door opens.
"Shut your eyes," he says, voice deep and rough.
You don't listen. And you regret it instantly. The hallway is soaked in blood. Bodies lie crumpled in grotesque positions, some partially slumped against the walls. Pools of red stretch across the polished floor. Then you see him. Yaga. The man who raised you like a daughter. He lies twisted and broken at your feet.
A scream tears from your chest, the sound almost animalistic. A massive hand suddenly covers your face. Fingers split just enough to let you breathe, blocking the view of your slaughtered family.
"I tried to warn you," the man says quietly. There's something in his voice, it almost sounds like pity.
Your bare feet step into warm blood. It oozes between your toes with every step, turning your stomach. You try not to gag. The silence is heavier now, punctuated only by the wet sounds of your footsteps.
After what feels like forever, cool air brushes your skin. The hand drops from your face. A sleek black car waits at the curb. One of the rear doors opens.
You slide in silently, wet feet sticking to the plastic mats, and the door closes behind you.
The man who led you out opens the back door on the other side and climbs in beside you. He taps the back of the driver's seat twice, and the car begins to move, pulling away from your childhood home.
You don't look back.
You wonder if you'll ever see it again.
Probably not.
You glance at the hulking man to your right. He looks almost cartoonishly large, crammed into the backseat like this. He's typing something on his phone, thumbs moving with surprising finesse for someone his size. A moment later, he powers it off and slips it back into his pocket.
Then he turns to you. And for some reason, he doesn't scare you the way Sukuna does.
"How old are you, kid?" he asks, scanning your face, then letting his eyes drift down your body, though, not in a creepy way. More curious than anything.
"I turned nineteen last month," you answer quietly, hands twisted in your lap.
He grunts and nods. "Got a kid your age."
He looks to be in his late thirties. Must've had his kid young. You wonder if Sukuna is his age. Your breath catches at the thought of being married to someone twice as old as you. He notices.
"What?" he asks.
"Is, um... is he your age?"
The man chuckles. "Nah. Don't know how old he is exactly, but I don't think he's thirty yet."
You let out the breath you'd been holding. It's not good news, but it's not as bad as it could've been.
He says your name, his voice calm and even. "You'll be okay. It'll just take some getting used to."
Your eyes flick toward him. "How do you know my name?"
He laughs again. "He did his homework. Though, you weren't supposed to be home. You got bad luck, kid."
Your jaw clenches. Hard enough that you worry you might crack a molar.
"What's your name?" you ask, needing to put something human to the mountain of muscle beside you.
"Toji."
Something about him almost reminds you of Yaga. It eases the panic, just a touch. You hold on to the feeling, knowing full well it'll vanish the second Sukuna shows his face again. Still, for now, you feel... safer.
"I have school tomorrow," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I was supposed to go back tonight. After dinner."
Toji just nods and pulls his phone out again. "Okay. We'll get you withdrawn."
"What? No! I—I'm supposed to go back!"
He looks at you then, eyes softening slightly. "Oh, kid... you didn't really think you were going back to school, did you?"
Panic rises again, painful in your chest. "Why not?"
"Honestly? I'm surprised your grandpa let you go in the first place. That's a long way from home to be without protection."
"I wasn't without protection," you argue. "One of the inner circle's sons was attending with me."
Toji's expression darkens. "Then I'm guessing he'll be six feet under any minute now."
Your chest tightens. Your cheeks sting from the tears that haven't stopped all evening.
You'd been so focused on Yaga's body, you didn't even think to look for Inumaki.
He'd been at the house too. It's probably safe to assume everyone in that room, aside from you and your grandfather, is dead. You don't have time to grieve. Not now.
You're grasping for any thread of normalcy left.
"But... someone else can be assigned to come with me!" you say quickly, desperate.
"Waste of manpower," Toji mutters. "It's not like you'll need the degree anyway. You won't be allowed to work."
"What? Why not?" you snap, panic giving way to irritation.
He exhales through his nose, speaking slowly, like you're an idiot.
"What's the point, huh? We'd have to post men to watch you all day, every day, just so you can make a paycheck smaller than one of theirs? You won't need the money. Sukuna will make sure you're taken care of."
"I'm not a child. Don't talk to me like that."
You jab a finger in his face, fury bubbling over.
He snorts, grabs your finger, and gently places it back in your lap.
"Well, you ain't a grown up either."
"You're all sexist pigs. Just because I'm a woman, I'm not allowed to work?" you sneer.
"No," he says flatly. "It's because you're a liability. If you die, it's open season on Sukuna. Not that he gives a shit, but it'd be a monumental waste of time and resources. So yeah, you'll stay put. Where it's safe."
You glare. "So I'll never get to do anything?"
"You'll have everything you want. Except freedom," he replies evenly.
"Well, what I want is freedom."
Toji shrugs. "Sukuna doesn't care if you're happy. Just that you're alive. My advice? You'll have everything you could ever dream of inside the compound. Learn to be okay with that. It's more than most people get."
You're pissed.
Arms crossed tight, jaw clenched, brows drawn in frustration and you make no effort to hide it. Not that Toji seems to care. He's back on his phone, typing away like nothing's wrong.
Technically, you'd always been in danger. But you'd always had freedom.
As long as Yaga was nearby, you were allowed to move as you pleased. And when you left for college, Inumaki had picked up the role.
So why the hell did everything have to change now?
You sit in simmering silence for fifteen more minutes, irritation thick in your chest. Then, without looking up, Toji says casually,
"Ya know, I don't mind the fit. But you're gonna want to knock that shit off around Sukuna."
"I'm not throwing a fit," you snap.
Yes, you are.
Toji lets out a low laugh. "Told ya, I've got a kid your age. I know a tantrum when I see one."
If you were pissed before, now you're downright livid.
Who the hell does he think he is?
Your entire life has just been ripped out from under you, and he calls this a tantrum?
"I'm sorry that having emotions is childish," you bite out, voice shaking. "My life is over, and you're telling me to suck it up before my husband gets home?"
You spit the word husband, like it burns.
That gets his attention. Toji finally looks up from his phone. The air in the car shifts.
"Hey," he says, voice low. "I'm gonna need you to listen to me now."
You don't respond, but you don't look away either.
"You think this is about control. Or pride. Or some old school bullshit." He shakes his head once. "It's not."
He leans back against the seat, broad shoulders pressing into the leather. "You're leverage. That's it. A living, breathing pressure point."
Your stomach twists.
"If you behave, you're useful. If you stay alive and predictable, you keep people in line. Your existence keeps knives out of Sukuna's back."
He pauses, eyes locking on yours.
"But if you become a problem; if you attract attention, make waves, give people opportunities, become a pain in his side, then you stop being useful."
Your chest tightens. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying this plainly so you get it." His voice doesn't rise. That's what makes it worse. "If the risk you bring outweighs the benefit you provide, there's no reason to keep you."
The words land like a heavy blow.
You swallow. "You'd... kill me?"
Toji exhales through his nose. "I wouldn't enjoy it. But yeah. Someone would."
Tension fills the space between you, thick and suffocating.
"You need to understand something," he continues. "No one here is invested in your happiness. Not me. Not the men watching you. Not even Sukuna."
Your hands curl into fists in your lap.
"They're invested in stability," he says. "And stability doesn't hesitate to cut dead weight."
Your voice comes out small. "So what am I supposed to do?"
He studies you for a long moment, then answers honestly.
"You stay quiet. You stay where you're put. You don't run, don't rebel, don't try to prove a point." His gaze hardens. "And you never forget that everything you still have is conditional."
The car slows slightly as it turns, tires humming against the road.
Toji looks back out the window.
"Do that," he adds, almost gently, "and you'll live a very long, very expensive life."
Another pause.
"Do anything else," he finishes, "and you won't."
You stop listening.
Not on purpose. It just... happens.
Toji's voice keeps going but they slide past you like water over glass. Your ears still work. Your brain simply refuses to catch up.
The car hums beneath you. You focus on that instead. The way the seat belt cuts diagonally across your chest. The faint smell of leather and something metallic. The rhythmic click of the turn signal.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Your hands don't feel like yours anymore. They're there, folded in your lap, but distant. Your thoughts blur at the edges.
Yaga's laugh.
The festival lights.
Your roommate's arm slung over your shoulder.
Your phone lighting up with her face...
No.
Don't go there.
You pick something smaller.
The condensation trail on the window. The way it warps the streetlights into soft streaks of gold and white. You trace them with your eyes as the car moves faster, farther.
You're outside the city now. You don't know how long it's been, it feels like an eternity. You're ready to be out of the car, but not ready to face whatever waits on the other side. Your thoughts drift.
Is your grandfather okay?
Is Sukuna still at the house... or already on his way here?
And as the car rolls up to the gates, you can't help but wonder if you'll ever be allowed outside them again.
You wish you hadn't come home for dinner.
It's selfish, you know that.
There was nothing you could've done for the men who died in that house. Not really. Retirement was a luxury in their world, one few lived long enough to earn.
But you'd still be free.
Mourning them from cities away.
And Inumaki would be alive too.
You're brutally aware of the blood drying on your skin. The tacky feeling between your toes. The splashes across Toji's shirt.
Did he kill Yaga?
Inumaki?
How are you supposed to live in a den of murderers?
You know it's hypocritical.
You grew up in this life. You knew what your family was. You knew the men who guarded your door had blood on their hands. But it had always been distant. Out of sight.
Cleaned up before it reached you.
The brutal killers who protected your house also made you laugh. Taught you to ride a bike. Brought you gifts on your birthday. Yaga would come home with blood on his hands, wash them off in the sink, then tuck you into bed like a father.
And now, next week, you'll be legally tied to the man who took all of that away. A man that held a gun to your head not long ago.
The gravel crunches under the tires as the car slows to a stop. Armed men stand evenly spaced along the perimeter wall, stone faced and unmoving. More security than your grandfather ever had. Or maybe they were just less hidden here. You wonder if they'd shoot you down if you tried to run out that gate.
You don't even realize Toji's gotten out until the rear door swings open beside you.
He holds it, looking down at you.
"Welcome home"