With a slow, deliberate motion, you step off Sukuna, the weight of your presence lifting from his body like an untamed storm finally retreating. His breath is steady but deeper than before, his glare sharp yet betraying something uneasy. But you pay him no further attention. Not now.

Your gaze flickers toward the cursed spirit still groveling, its mangled form trembling, whimpers escaping in pitiful gasps. The sound is pathetic, grating against your ears like nails scraping against steel.

Unimpressed, you sigh.

Your tail lashes out in a whip-like motion, slicing through the air with a razor's precision.

SHHK.

The curse's head drops.

The wet, sickening sound of flesh and sinew severing fills the room as its head tumbles to the ground, rolling slightly before stopping at its own feet. Blood pools beneath it almost instantly, thick and blackened with corruption.

The lifeless body sways once—then falls over with a dull thud.

You exhale, flicking off a stray splatter of blood from your claws before muttering, voice casual, almost bored, "There."

Then, with sharp, unwavering eyes, you fix Sukuna with a stare. "Now, give me Itadori back."

For a moment, he doesn't move. His jaw clenches—but he knows.

He can't disobey you.

The very air bends beneath your demand, a pull far greater than just words. Sukuna may be the King of Curses, but here—right now—you are something else entirely.

With a growl of frustration, the jagged markings across his face and chest begin to fade, his presence receding.

Yuji's eyes flutter open, his expression seamlessly shifting into one of familiar brightness as he blinks up at you.

"Oh—hey, Y/N!" He grins, sitting up easily as if he hadn't just surrendered control of his own body. His eyes flicker around in vague confusion before settling on the mutilated corpse at his feet.

A pause.

"I see you did our job," he huffs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. A small, grateful chuckle escapes him before he shakes his head.

"Thanks."

You sniff, the scent of blood and cursed energy still thick in the air, clinging to your senses like a heavy fog. But something feels off. A strange pulse thrums through your veins, your breath hitching as a sudden dizziness washes over you.

Then—

A sharp pain blooms behind your eyes, searing, blinding.

Your vision warps, twisting at the edges as a wave of blackness crashes into you.

Your body sways—then crumples.

The last thing you hear is the panicked shout of "Oh—Y/N!" Itadori's voice is frantic, sharp with alarm.

But then—

Nothing.

The world fades to black.

SCENEBREAJ

"Oh no—did we do something? Sukuna—did you do something?" His tone is frantic, filled with raw concern.

A sharp scoff cuts through the air, dripping with irritation. Sukuna's presence flickers into view, perched lazily on Yuji's chin, sneering.

"Hah? What—no, you stupid brat. She had me spellbound." His words are low with an unspoken frustration, tinged with something unsettled.

Yuji doesn't waste time arguing. His arms tighten around you as he scoops you up, moving swiftly despite the heavy weight of uncertainty pressing on his chest.

Your body shifts as remnants of unexplainable energy flicker around you, your form dissolving back into human shape. Your face remains eerily tranquil, lips slightly parted, but thin trails of blood drip from your nose, staining your skin crimson.

A worried murmur leaves Yuji's lips as he steels himself. "We need to call Ijichi."

His voice is quiet but firm. Determined.

Without hesitation, he pushes through the ruined space, carrying you effortlessly in his arms. The warmth of his body against yours is grounding, his grip secure even as his pulse thrums with panic.

The second he steps out of the wreckage, Megumi and Nobara meet him.

Nobara, already looking beaten up, takes one look at you—at your unmoving form, the blood trailing down your face—and her eyes widen in sheer alarm.

"Oh my god—what happened to her?!" she squeals, rushing closer, her voice high with concern.

Yuji doesn't stop walking.

His grip only tightens. His expression darkens.

He won't let anything happen to you.

Yuji moves quickly, urgency thrumming beneath every step as he lays you gently onto a stretcher, his grip reluctant to let go. His fingers linger for only a second longer before he fumbles for his phone, hand shaking slightly as he calls the only person who can help right now.

"Hey, come pick us up—yes, we need a medic!" His voice is sharp, edged with undeniable concern. He barely hears Ijichi's response, his focus locked on your pale face, the unsettling stillness of your body.

Not long after, the distant hum of a vehicle approaches, and soon enough, a medic arrives. They work fast, securing you properly before rolling you away. Yuji's throat tightens as he watches them push you down the corridor, disappearing around the corner, taking you farther from them.

Behind him, Nobara exhales shakily, arms folded tightly as if to ground herself. Megumi stands stiff, his jaw clenched, calculating every possibility, already thinking ahead to what steps need to be taken next.

But the silence they leave behind is thick. Suffocating.

And no matter how much Yuji reassures himself—you'll be fine, you have to be fine—the worry lingers.

SCENERBERAK

You awaken to the sterile sting of antiseptic in your nostrils, your vision swimming into focus beneath the flickering fluorescence of the medbay's overhead lights. The room is a claustrophobic capsule of cold steel and humming machinery, shadows pooling in the corners like spilled ink. Your skull pulses with a rhythmic, jackhammer ache, as though someone had driven a railroad spike through your temple. A thin hospital blanket clings to your clammy skin, damp with cold sweat. What happened to me? The question claws at your fogged mind, disjointed memories slipping through your grasp like smoke. You try to sit up, but your muscles scream in protest, trembling as if you'd run for miles. "What... happened?" you groan, your voice hoarse and foreign to your own ears, each syllable scraping your throat raw.

The answer comes not as a comfort, but a blade.

"You collapsed."

The voice is crisp, edged with the precision of a scalpel. It slices through the silence, and your gaze snaps toward the source. A woman stands framed in the doorway, her silhouette sharp against the corridor's harsh white glare. She steps forward, and the door hisses shut behind her, sealing you in. Her lab coat is immaculate, starched to perfection, but the sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, revealing faint smudges of dried blood—someone else's?—and a silver chronometer glinting on her wrist. Her hair falls in a waterfall of obsidian waves, nearly brushing her waist, and her eyes—a glacial shade of arctic blue—bore into yours, unblinking. Dr. Name, according to the embossed tag on her coat.

"The strain of your shapeshifting abilities overwhelmed your nervous system," she continues, her tone clinical yet laced with simmering ire. She taps a holographic tablet in her hand; it emits a faint cerulean glow, casting eerie shadows across her angular features. "Your vitals spiked into critical thresholds. Had I not stabilized you, your organs would have liquefied."

A cold knot coils in your gut. Shapeshifting. The word reverberates in your skull, sharp and accusatory. You open your mouth to protest, but she cuts you off with a slash of her hand.

"Do not insult me by feigning ignorance, L/N," she snaps, striding closer. The click of her heels echoes like gunshots. Up close, you notice the faint creases around her eyes—not from age, but from endless nights under artificial light. "Your biometrics betrayed you the moment you flatlined. Cellular reconstruction at a molecular level? A parlor trick for most, but you..." She leans in, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You're no amateur. This was deliberate. Calculated."

Your breath hitches. Fragments resurface: the mission, Itadori's panicked shouts, the searing pain as your bones shifted, your skin rippling like molten wax—

"You concealed this... gift," she spits the word like a curse, "from the team. From me." Her gloved hand slams the tablet onto the bedside tray, sending a syringe rattling. "What if you'd lost control? What if, in your hubris, you'd torn Itadori apart instead of shielding him?" Her voice rises, trembling with a fury that borders on desperation. "Do you comprehend the stakes? One misfired neuron, one errant thought, and you could've reduced him to paste."

The accusation hangs in the air, suffocating. Your fingers fist the scratchy blanket, knuckles blanching. Somewhere beyond the medbay's soundproofed walls, alarms blare—distant, warped, like a nightmare half-remembered. The doctor's gaze doesn't waver. In it, you see no pity. Only the ruthless calculus of someone who's stared into the abyss of catastrophe—and recognized your face in its depths.

"So," she says softly, straightening. The tablet's glow reflects in her eyes, turning them phosphorescent. "You will answer me truthfully, L/N. What are you?"