Sukuna fell silent, digesting these things that did not exist in his own memories.
Daten was a curse he had carried since birth, known to everyone in that era.
Humans, Cursed Spirits, Jujutsu Sorcerers alike—all of them sought either to kill him or to devour him for this very reason.
Narrowly escaping death time and again, sinking into despair repeatedly, he ultimately abandoned the better part of his humanity under the temptation of Daten, giving in to a nearly perverted thirst for power.
He began to fight back, slaughtering everyone who came to kill him.
The notoriety of being overwhelmingly evil and bloodthirsty gradually spread throughout Jujutsu society, yet no one ever considered how unfair it was.
An innocent child, branded from birth as an anomaly that would upset the balance of the world, as a curse that would destroy humanity... how profoundly unjust was that?
People only thought, feared, raged, roared, trampled, went mad, and stomped upon him, determined to drive him to his death.
And then... what then?
It seemed a blurred figure had stepped across the bloody, enclosed inner world he had built.
It took a very long time, bit by bit, to pull him completely out of that sinking abyss.
For a long time, he no longer heard the voice of Daten, nor did he encounter anyone else coming to kill him.
Unaccountably, his state of mind grew peaceful, and for the first time in ages, he felt the beauty that existed in the world.
The notorious reputation of Ryomen Sukuna in Jujutsu society continued to grow daily; he was baffled, yet he cared not.
He merely dismissed it as an incorrigible baseness inherent in human nature.
Whenever an unexplainable, cruel, and evil deed occurred nearby, people would subconsciously pin the blame on whoever seemed most likely to have done it.
He offered no explanation, for no one would have believed him anyway.
He simply accepted the meticulous care of that blurred figure with a quiet mind.
Until later on, even news concerning Ryomen Sukuna within Jujutsu society gradually ceased to reach his ears.
In truth, upon reflection, he might have guessed that it wasn't that people had forgotten; it was simply that that person had blocked everything for him, nothing more...
Yet Sukuna of that time did not expend any thought on such matters.
That person had taken care of him too well—so well that he needed to worry about nothing, nor anyone...
Now, it seemed—that blurred figure was the very person standing beside him today.
Even if his memories had not fully recovered, the sensations in his body and soul could not be wrong.
Sukuna lowered his gaze and murmured in a deep, hoarse voice: "Why..."
"A hopeless wretch like me... No, a hopeless curse like me—what is the point of you doing all this for me?"
Why go to such lengths to get close to me...
Why break into my closed world regardless of the consequences...
Why bestow upon me everything I once longed to possess, only to turn away without a trace of reluctance, stripping away even those memories that could be called beautiful...
The fingertips in Sukuna's sleeves clenched tight, the restless turmoil in the depths of his heart intensifying, accompanied by a pain he was unwilling to admit or face.
Kamiyado pressed his lips into a thin line and looked at him in disapproval: "You were never a hopeless person."
"You are fine; I am the hopeless one."
"The 'Ryomen Sukuna' they knew has always been me."
"I wanted to forge an ending where 'Ryomen Sukuna' fought Jujutsu society to the death."
"I spent fifteen years changing the impression Jujutsu Sorcerers held of 'Ryomen Sukuna', and changing the image of 'Ryomen Sukuna' as well."
"As long as I 'died', they wouldn't recognize you even if they saw you."
"That way, I could take all the hatred down into the grave with me."
"It's just—I seem to have overlooked your feelings..."
The young man's lips moved further, saying something, but Sukuna could no longer hear any of it.
The memories of a thousand years ago were far from the dull things he had imagined; countless memories, either buried by others or buried by himself, slowly flowed through his mind.
The scene before his eyes distorted for a moment, and Sukuna found himself plunging into memories once again.
It was still that familiar room.
The self in his memories lay on the tatami mat, seemingly just waking up. He opened his eyes and called out: "Kamiyado!"
Kamiyado...!
The familiar name brought a silent, bitter chuckle from the real Sukuna, confirming just how these memories had come to be forgotten by him.
They had been sealed away by his own hand.
Putting aside the reasons for the seal for now, he had best keep watching.
Once more acting as a bystander within his own body, the real Sukuna observed everything unfolding in these memories.
The self in the memory called out twice, then abruptly sat up from the bed.
"Kamiyado? Kamiyado! Stop messing around! Get out here at once!"
Hearing the sound of his own increasingly anxious voice, Sukuna inexplicably synchronized with the thoughts he had held back then.
He had actually placed absolute, unconditional trust in Kamiyado, believing that Kamiyado would never leave him.
How laughable... that he could harbor such heavy emotions for a single person.
He gave a cynical, self-deprecating scoff, yet the corners of Sukuna's mouth twitched uncontrollably upward.
Soon, when his perspective shifted to a steaming bag of tamagoyaki on the bedside table, alongside a blood-stained slip of xuan paper attached to it, Sukuna could no longer smile.
For the self in the memory, upon seeing these two items, felt a surge of fear and helplessness akin to facing a collapsing mountain.
Even the real Sukuna was affected by that exceptionally intense emotion.
The note read:
"I've settled everything for you, A-Na."
"I'm making this for you for the very last time. You must strive to live on from now on."
"Carry my share... along with your own."
Through the eyes of the self in the memory, the real Sukuna watched, wanting to twist his lips into a smile, but unable to.
He heard the sound of his own incredulous roar: "Impossible!"
"I'm still alive, how can you die!"
"I forbid it!"
"When I drag you back, I'll break your legs so you can never walk away again!"
Fierce and vicious, yet entirely unable to suppress the grief that reached its absolute peak.
"Uraume! Uraume?! Where the hell have you gone!"
His gaze shifted erratically a few times, finally resting upon the doorframe.
Another note was pasted on the door:
"I sent little Uraume away elsewhere."
"He knows nothing; don't blame him."
"Forget me."
Silently, Sukuna watched as his own hand reached out, peeled the note off, and tore it into a scattering of fragments.
Then, he burst out through the door in an instant.
He ran head-on into two humans discussing some earth-shattering news: "Ah, what a joyous relief!"
"That damned 'Ryomen Sukuna' finally died under the crusade of the Jujutsu Sorcerer lords last night."
"Who's to say otherwise? Such a malicious and cruel curse belongs in hell!"
"Alas, the Jujutsu Sorcerer lords suffered heavy casualties too; word has it the higher-ups are all dead, leaving only a few small fry."
"Oh? Really, is that true..."
Never mind the self in the memory; even Sukuna, merely caught in the recollection, struggled to suppress his suddenly surging fury.
The perspective abruptly shifted: the two chattering individuals were grabbed by the neck by the self in the memory and violently slammed against the wall, both hands severed by slashing attacks as blood poured freely.
"The battle you were talking about—where did it take place?"
The tyrannical killing intent left the two men too terrified even to scream; enduring excruciating pain, they frantically replied: "On the outskirts of Heian-kyo..."