The night was quiet, deceptively so. A crescent moon hung pale over the horizon, casting faint silver light across a ruined district where cursed energy still lingered like smoke after a fire.
The ruins of humanity's arrogance stretched endlessly, fractured stone and abandoned streets echoing with silence.
Kenjaku stood atop the broken arch of an overpass, arms folded, his eyes cast toward the horizon. The body he wore, a face that had belonged to someone else, long before, betrayed no grief, no rage. And yet, there was an almost wistful weight in his voice when he finally spoke.
"So much effort. So many vows. And all of it… wasted."
His words drifted out, swallowed by the empty cityscape. Behind him, Uraume's pale figure lingered like frost in the moonlight, silent until Kenjaku's lament drew them closer.
"You speak of your binding vows with those failures in previous generations?" Uraume said, their voice sharp, as though reminding him of obligation rather than failure.
Kenjaku's lips curved faintly, not in amusement but in resignation. "Yes. Promises made to bring them back. Promises meant to usher in a new era. But Mahito… that 'thing' has shattered the board before I even had the chance to set the pieces."
He sighed, not out of despair but with the thoughtful weariness of a craftsman whose blueprint had been torn to shreds. "The Culling Games would have changed the world, alas... The contracts, the pacts… I would have seen humanity reshaped by force." His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing on the shadowed skyline. "But the vows must still be upheld. Just… not today."
Uraume's pale eyes glimmered with faint coldness. "So you won't abandon this?"
"Not abandon. Delay," Kenjaku corrected softly. His tone was patient, but beneath it lurked frustration that could not be entirely hidden. "A new era of jujutsu sorcery may be out of reach for now…" His smile returned, sharper this time, almost predatory. "…but not if Sukuna awakens. Mahito did likely win because he took Sukuna by surprise, a Sukuna with only around 70% of his power..."
That name, the very utterance of the King of Curses carried a weight that silenced the air itself. Uraume inclined their head with the quiet devotion of a zealot. "At last. You come back to reason."
Kenjaku chuckled, low and quiet, as though amused by the irony of being lectured by one whose loyalty was shackled to a being long dead. "Reason? Perhaps. Or perhaps desperation. Either way, he was going to be a centerpiece eventually. But we need Sukuna now. He is the only one who can turn the wheel."
For a long moment, silence stretched between them.
Finally, Kenjaku's tone shifted, lighter but no less bitter. "Do you realize the cruel irony, Uraume? Mahito's reign, this farce of a Cursed King, has brought more benefit to humanity than even the jujutsu council could muster. A curse, making the world safer than sorcerers ever managed. The disaster curses would have been furious."
Uraume did not smile, though their voice carried faint mirth. "Jogo, that weak-minded fool, would be gnashing his teeth. He dreamed of curses ruling. Instead, a curse now protects the sheep."
Kenjaku's laughter echoed briefly, brittle in the night. "Indeed. Jogo, Hanami, Dagon… they wanted extinction. Mahito wants amusement. And so humanity thrives, feeding beneath his shadow like insects given longer lives. What an irony."
Silence stretched for a bit, as Kenjaku adjusted his robes and looked at Uraume, who seemed to scowl at every mention of Mahito's name.
"There was a moment," Kenjaku continued, "when he was weak. When I could have reached out and absorbed him into myself. But I hesitated, maybe if I had rushed in back then, I could have... No matter, no point in dwelling in that. I underestimated the whims of a creature who had not yet finished growing."
His smile flattened. "And now, look. His reign as the Strongest is unshakable. No curse, no sorcerer, no clan dares oppose him. And the one chance I had to bind him slipped through my hands."
The admission hung in the air, equal parts confession and revelation.
Uraume tilted their head. "Then we move forward with what remains. Sukuna's vessel. The fingers."
Kenjaku did not respond immediately. He turned his eyes to the sky, where stars gleamed faintly. The memory of his earlier gambit still stung.
"I thought," he murmured, "that revealing Mahito could have healed Kugisaki would be… inconvenient for him. I thought perhaps his peers would turn on him. That guilt would sour their bonds. That humanity's fragile little attachments might unravel him.
It did work partially, gave them a reason to distance themselves from him after the elders were killed... but it hardly seems to have done anything. He hasn't even tried contacting any of them."
He chuckled again, softer this time, though the sound was laced with bitter understanding. "I misunderstood. I thought his humanity was a flaw. I mistook his mimicry for truth. Mahito is not human. He was never human. And so those connections meant nothing to him once he ascended. He will not grieve. He will not regret. He is already free."
Uraume's gaze sharpened. "And yet, he does not reject them either."
"No," Kenjaku agreed. "If they remain by his side, he will not stop them. But he has no reason to cater to anyone. He is a curse. The strongest curse. To expect him to act by human rules was my error."
The admission was quiet, but there was no shame in his tone. Only the careful weighing of lessons learned.
Uraume stepped closer, their robes whispering across the broken stone. "Then the path is clear. We must move quickly. Capture the vessel. Feed him the rest of the fingers. Bring Sukuna back."
Kenjaku's eyes lingered on them for a moment, then finally, he nodded. "Yes. There is no other way forward. Mahito has taken the land, the curses, the clans. My reservoir of curses has dwindled, and replenishing it is a tall task now, with his ever-growing army swarming about... If Sukuna does not return soon, there will be no balance left to tip."
His hands folded behind his back, posture once more composed, the moment of bitter reflection replaced by cold strategy. "We have four fingers already. Another rests with the new council, I am certain. The rest should already be absorbed within the vessel."
The wind shifted, carrying the faint rustle of leaves across the ruins.
Kenjaku smiled, though his eyes remained sharp and calculating. "Mahito may be king, but Sukuna is the calamity that kings bow to. If he returns in full, then even the Strongest will be forced to move aside."
Uraume's lips parted in the barest curve of satisfaction. "Then we begin the search for that last finger..."
Kenjaku nodded, his gaze lifting once more to the moon. "Yes. Let the others bicker, let them fight among each other and let the new council crawl its way into relevancy. By the time they are organised enough to notice, we will be ready... And when Sukuna rises, this fragile peace Mahito has birthed will shatter. The new era is only delayed, not denied."
The night air seemed to tremble, as if the world itself recoiled at the promise.
Kenjaku closed his eyes briefly, remembering each failure, each plan unraveled. The board was different now. The pieces were scattered. But the game was not yet finished.
Not while there were other pieces that could flip the board.