Chapter Text
Uraume prided themselves on their unquestioning loyalty to their master. The so-called ‘King of Curses’ dubbed by sorcerers and perpetuated by the very subject of their taunts who found the title amusing had earned Uraume’s respect and devotion. So different from the masses, in perpetual chase of something new and exciting to feed his voracious appetite, Uraume saw more wonders with every mountain crossed and lake ferried than anyone else simply by remaining at their master’s side. It helped that they shared a rather unique taste. All it took was one profane trait shared between them to forge their simple, yet effective bond. And while Uraume would admit that their ability to take the same unbroken stance as their master was prone to waver in niche and rare cases, never have they fallen under such immense doubt until the last few days chiseled away at their frozen core.
Everything started with the discovery of a boy.
It was an accident, one Uraume still could not tell was through fortune or fate on their part, but nonetheless, they weren’t on a mission to uncover his whereabouts—He merely appeared in their path.
Uraume had been sent to travel alone. Their mission was a simple one: Deliver a missive to the neighboring lord of their master’s recent conquest that stated, “Bow upon my arrival or perish like their brethren before them.” They traveled on foot, and thus, the message would only take two days and a quarter to arrive. This granted those pitiful clansmen four days to make peace with their families should the men fail to produce a proper offering or rebellion occur upon Ryomen Sukuna’s arrival. By all calculations, the warning provided would be a generous one, more than what many before them were given, but this missive would ultimately remain curled up among a collection of loose records and pilfered literature. The lord would sleep soundly at night, unaware of how close to danger he and his clan had been if not for the unexpected encounter garnering their master’s unrivaled attention.
On the side of a neglected first road, Uraume saw him. More accurately, they noticed his presence from the eerily familiar cursed energy choking the air, leaving them to turn about and wonder if their master’s patience had grown thin and the game of warnings had ended before it could begin. What Uraume soon discovered was that they were half right. The game had ended, all thanks to the oddly dressed young man with the soft pink hair of a fruit-bearing tree in bloom caught in a slumber so deep that one would be forgiven for assuming he was dead.
Uraume had only met one other with hair sporting that unnatural shade.
They would not dare check for a pulse. There was no need—The boy’s lungs filled with air and released it as any other. Uraume would instead, knowing they were not too far from their master, turn around and make haste to bring Sukuna back to this very spot and assess for himself if their ludicrous assumption was right.
This was, ultimately, the right decision to make. Uraume was even praised for it. But none of that would occur until after their master approached the sleeping boy and attempted to lift him by the strange bundle of red fabric layered around his neck. Neither had seen anything like it before, and the vibrancy of the material was something to behold. A proper assessment would be required to understand its origin alongside the wearer, who was startled awake by their master’s actions, and all hell broke loose sooner after.
“SUKUNA!?”
A visceral reaction followed. Immediate fury had taken over whatever confusion the boy’s face had attempted to portray. He was well aware of whom the being standing over him was, yet he was foolish enough to strike at Sukuna without a second thought. The rest of his words were nothing but gibberish. Making use of them was pointless, but the confidence the boy spoke with left Uraume wondering if there was something else to them.
Uraume had thought it best to avoid the ensuing scuffle. It was shocking to observe another with enough strength to meet their master blow for blow. Both could easily toss the other, despite their differences in size and stature. Both reacted automatically when it came to reinforcing their bodies with cursed energy should a hit land or a technique be attempted, though it was only their master who struck the irreverent boy with a dismantle that could not penetrate past the skin.
Strange. Curious. Certainly not frightening, but the fact continued to leave Uraume uneasy even as they dashed forward when the perfect moment was found to send a wave of frost hurdling over the boy to send him crashing to the ground. A steep drop in temperature would be enough to send his body into shock, and if Uraume had read his earlier movements correctly, then the decline in speed and precision indicated that he was going to become sluggish and vulnerable eventually. If Sukuna had wished him dead, their master would have cleaved the boy’s head off the moment he attacked.
“I have subdued the… sorcerer.” Uraume kneeled before their master, unsure by what name or title Sukuna wished to bestow upon the boy. “He was already showing signs of exhaustion, and it appears there is nothing else close by that would belong to him.”
“This brat was traveling with nothing but the clothes on his back?” Their master reached for the boy again, lifting him by his back and allowing his limbs to dangle beneath him. For the first time, Uraume found hesitation in their master’s actions. A second hand from the lower pair had paused when reaching out to make contact with the boy’s inhuman hands. Monstrous claws that Uraume had overlooked before, as they were previously hidden by the long grass and loose-fitting clothes, both working to obscure their initial view.
“As far as I can tell.”
If Sukuna was deeply troubled by this encounter, Uraume could only guess by the lack of expression on their master’s face. A smile had cracked during his fight with the boy, but after Uraume’s intervention, he had returned to the dull, glazed-over frown that often meant contemplation.
“From which direction did he come? And where was he heading toward?”
“I…” Uraume surveyed what remained of the road. They took into account the night’s previous rain and the conditions that allowed most older tracks to disappear while remaining damp enough on this cloudy day for new to form. The boy’s footwear was just as foreign as his clothes, which should have made it evident to deduce which tracks were his. Yet, after several passes of the area, Uraume could find nothing. “I do not know. It is as if he appeared from nothing.”
“Impossible.” A scowl formed on Sukuna’s face. “The resemblance is…”
“Uncanny?” Uraume offered a conclusion to their master’s thought.
“Hm.”
Sukuna lifted the boy’s chin, tilting him gently each way to assess the marks on his face. Every cut and bruise their master had given him was no longer present. All he could find were the same two facial wounds Uraume had found the boy with. Wounds that should have healed, unless they had been carved beyond his flesh. How was responsible? What sort of battle had he waged?
Beyond the overt marks were more subtle ones. Bags under the boy’s eyes and dry lips fell in line with his previous exhaustion. Uraume was convinced of dehydration being the culprit. What else did the boy think would happen by traveling so light?
Curiosity continued to grow, as did an unexpected acceptance within their master’s heart.
“After so much death and destruction, I never thought I would bring life into this world.”
“You believe him to be yours?” It was not a mere question of relation, but the possibility of this boy being their master’s direct progeny. Uraume was doubtful in comparison. Rarely had they observed their master indulge in carnal desires without satiating a different hunger afterward. When had there been an opportunity for his prey to escape? The answer was never. Yet, Uraume would concede that they did not know Sukuna all his life. Given their current estimations of the boy’s age, it would mean he was spawned well before Uraume had pledged themselves to their master’s side. Still…
“His cursed energy and strength alone… The hatred he carried felt far too personal. If not for dishonoring his mother, then what? Not that I could possibly remember who she could be…” Sukuna gripped his chin, sifting through memories of a time when youthful impulse and reckless abandon earned his reputation as a bane on the land from one shore to another. Ultimately, nothing came of his reflection. Their master’s disappointment made it obvious. His next move, not so much, as he took the boy and hoisted him over his shoulder to be carried along as if he were nothing more than another prize to be claimed.
“The brat will fill in the answers upon arriving home.”
“You are taking him back to the estate? The lord—”
“No longer interests me. I found something far more captivating to spend my time unraveling.”
Captivating? A question to be answered, surely, but to bring the boy back …
Never once had their master shown an interest in heirs or familial legacy. The topic was one Sukuna often mocked, throwing such ties in the faces of the very clans he tore apart. But upon seeing the boy with his own eyes, revealing that Sukuna had ties of his own regardless of how he felt on the matter… This interest was different. Uraume could tell as much, which left them unable to tell if it was worth being suspicious of.
Perhaps the arrival of this boy was convenient. The timing— the location— they were not far from the estate Sukuna had claimed as his own. The beginnings of a permanent foothold. He’d taken a liking to it, being within familiar land, located far enough north from the capital to keep the sorcerers present within, unable to sleep soundly at night. Uraume considered these details carefully, knowing that Sukuna must have already done so. If he wished to take on whatever risk came with pursuing the origin of a son he never knew, then who were they to question him?
“Understood, Sukuna-sama.”
While they never read their master in full, should Uraume conclude that their master was pleased with this discovery, then his servant would be as well. Any discontent with the development would remain unspoken, and even the growing pains of a reunited father and son were bound to cause problems and unneeded difficulty in the future.
At least the boy was almost fully grown. If he were any smaller, or heaven forbid a babe, the difficulty of providing care would increase. Uraume was knowledgeable, but their experience with children was minimal at best. As for their master… Sukuna, with all of his marvels in the realm of sorcery, would either surprise them or be the absolute last person to rely on.
Uraume’s most straightforward task was walking alongside their master on their way home. They were to keep an eye out for any signs of stirring and deal with it accordingly. Another fight did neither party any favors, and the boy’s unnatural strength made him dangerous as far as a sneak attack was concerned.
Fortunately, his eyes never opened until their master breached the north pavilion that had been neglected since their arrival. The boy was placed on his back, one hand pressed flat on his stomach, giving a silent order to remain where he was while Uraume was instructed to close every screen to isolate the room’s contents from the world outside it. Their master’s supposed son was too weak and mentally shaken to protest, leaving this perfect opportunity to set the necessary barrier in place to keep him from escaping when nothing else would effectively contain him. His quarters would then be given the bare essentials, along with new, more fitting attire salvaged from previously obtained goods and an eventual meal that would cultivate the stubborn will to live, which kept the boy from completely breaking down in front of them.
Not once did the boy string a cohesive sentence. His tone was far easier to decipher as it often matched his expression, carrying disdain that dripped from his lips when he spoke more than a few harsh sounds. If the boy was short with their master instead, which happened more often, his breaths grew deeper, and his teeth often ground together as if he were on the verge of shouting until he could no longer contain himself. Refusing to kneel properly in front of Sukuna, who had granted the honor of taking a seat on the floor across from him, was an even more profound insult. But through all of this, their master allowed the behavior to continue so long as it was teaching him something about the boy in question.
Nothing Sukuna nor Uraume spoke appeared to be understood by the boy either. Unless he was a capable actor, Uraume held many doubts, and his confusion and frustration every time one of them spoke was telling enough. The boy was even more annoyed when the two exchanged words in front of him, though neither paid mind to any tantrums that would come of it.
“He speaks in tongues,” Uraume stated the obvious, sighing as they admitted defeat in their attempts to comprehend it. “His sentences are a garbled mix of proper worlds and sounds that do not connect. I believe the inflections are partially to blame, as I cannot say with confidence he is using a different language entirely. Though, there are some ‘words’ that make me reconsider.”
Said words are composed of sounds that traditionally weren’t combined or used for speaking in general. They possessed their own flow and rhythm, even appearing to break up the boy’s sentences as he took additional care when speaking them compared to others. This difference was subtle but not to be ignored.
“There is intent behind it. He’s foolish, but his mind is present and whole. It is not the work of a curse, either.” Sukuna waved a hand as he spoke, gesturing toward the boy, then shushing him when he attempted to break up their master’s words. The only cursed energy latched around the boy was his own, giving credence to Sukuna’s assessment.
The boy’s upper lip curled in disgust at their exchange. He then crossed his arms in a huff and shouted something consisting of three words, a syllable each. Their master repeated the phrase back to him in the same manner, more condescending and without remorse. Uraume could only raise an eyebrow at the exchange, while the boy squinted at him, ultimately shutting his mouth.
“What did you say?”
“I don’t know the exact meaning, but the brat has been repeating it quite a bit, and I have a sneaking suspicion that it is an uncreative expletive. He did a gesture the first time with his middle finger, and since it bore no impact on our fight, it wasn’t the activation of a cursed technique.”
“So you stooped down to his level and repeated it?”
At least their master did not repeat the gesture as well.
“Well, I—” Sukuna cut himself off, refusing to allow himself to be questioned in front of his son. There was something to be said about the results speaking for him, but beyond repeating phrases that carried implied meaning at best, conversing like this got them nowhere.
There was empathy to be had if he was raised by wolves, as his lack of decorum may suggest. Their master understood the struggle to survive and prevail. But when taking in the entire picture regarding what they knew so far, writing off his antics as anything lesser would not give an accurate answer to their questions.
The mystery of this boy only grew without a means to communicate, and nothing exemplified this more than when he later refused to remove his clothes to change into the fresh clothes that were offered, let alone take the opportunity to clean his skin of dirt and grime. He was given one day of stubbornness before the rules were enforced, and food was to be shoved in his face to ensure he did not collapse a second time. Said food would not be served until he appeared acceptable, but no matter how many times their master spoke or gestured to the act of undressing, the boy simply crossed his arms and refused.
It was too bad that he no longer had a choice.
“You will clean yourself!”
In response, their master received a furious howl that could only be his refusal. The boy shook his head, fighting every step to keep his clothes on until Sukuna had enough and dragged him outside the pavilion to where a basin of water had already been prepared.
“If you will not do it yourself—”
The weather wasn’t ideal for a swim or even a simple soak. If the boy were a normal human, he may very well develop an illness from the exposure. But if dumping the basin with the use of their master’s two free hands over the boy was enough to enforce the need for proper hygiene, then so be it. Uraume had been instructed to provide a fresh cloth to dry himself with and kneaded incense to remove any undesirable smells before shoving the provided attire once more to his face.
The boy stuck his tongue out.
He would survive.
His unwillingness to cooperate fell apart as a cold breeze passed by. Uraume had no need to lift a finger to get the boy to undress himself, though it would take a fair bit of time for him to put on his new clothes. He may have thought he could wait out whatever process could be done to clean what he arrived in. No act was made to destroy the strange garments, so he may have concluded that they would be returned in one piece. And he was half-correct. In time, they would be given back, but not soon enough that he would not have to wear the plain kosode and hakama provided.
Uraume had to walk away after seeing him put it on. His technique was serviceable, but the whole garment looked off-center, crinkled, and… At least he was wearing something.
Now, time could be taken to assess everything worn in his possession. What Uraume had first believed to be a physical mutation of his hands and arms was nothing more than a set of specialized cursed tools. Gauntlets of unknown purpose for their master to analyze later before storing them out of his son's reach. What had been equally as intriguing was not only their presence or what they were for, but what was missing underneath their removal.
Two fingers on the boy's left hand had been completely torn off.
While one appeared recoverable, even now, if the reverse cursed technique was applied, the other... The very cursed energy that should be attempting to flow through it as if it were a phantom limb had atrophied. Before Uraume could assess the odd set of injuries further, the boy tore his hand away and hide his fist out of sight. Even if it were possible, there would be no further discussion.
Alright then.
Uraume would move on to his clothes.
It was easy to say the style of each piece matched little of what Uraume was used to seeing. The materials feel like no other, with the bright red garment layered thick, most likely for insulation purposes. Even after washing, there were spots in the pieces that were scuffed and faded from use over time. But when Uraume flipped the piece inside out and assessed the stitching…
“Neat and precise. Whoever made it had an unnaturally steady and consistent hand.”
“And these?” Their master hovered over as Uraume worked, looking over what he could, as neither were expert seamstresses nor tailors.
“My apologies. I could not tell you. Just as with these tops and his oddly fitted hakama, the boy’s footwear is made with materials I am wholly unfamiliar with. These strings keep each piece bound to one’s foot, but it feels heavy and constricting. The boon with a design like this must be durability. And they are of the same shade of red as this.” Uraume compared the thick hooded garment and the shoes side by side. “I assume this was intentional.”
“Red is a costly dye. With this level of saturation… Either he is of high ranking, or he possesses a patron of similar standing.” Did this narrow down the potential list of possible mothers? Hardly. The boy’s inability to bite his tongue to simply pretend he held respect for his generous host and let them believe otherwise.
“There would be gossip about a boy sharing your features among the noble lords. The capital would not be able to contain it.” Uraume could easily envision the scandal. If the boy’s hair had been hidden with dye, then such a ruse would have lasted for some time. But there was no evidence of tampering with the pink shade he and his father shared.
“And no place we know of would produce attire like this… I would assume he is from a foreign land, but I have not traveled outside what is familiar. Even if his mother were to have fled somewhere far away, what place do you know of that produces goods like these?”
“The same place that housed your offspring.” The non-answer was all the Uraume could provide. Even if the boy could converse in their language, the chances of him revealing useful information were low. His distrust was obvious, and his father’s reputation for burning entire settlements to the ground was well known. The fear of retaliation for hiding his existence was not an unfounded one.
“Perhaps we are going about this interrogation the wrong way?”
If conversing as they initially tried gained them nothing, then teaching the boy their language was the only option to gain some mutual ground. Since many of their sounds were similar and the boy could speak their words within his jumbled phrases, associating those same sounds with different meanings should work if given enough time. Uraume suggested that they start with everyday objects and concepts that could be observed for the purpose of practicality.
To assist with memorization and to get a head start on the eventual need for the boy to be able to read and write, the proper materials were brought in to facilitate additional education. Uraume’s patience with the pair continued to wane as they observed them bicker nonsense— Sukuna continued to speak as though the boy would miraculously understand him any moment —over the symbols written in conjunction with the sounds heard.
As Uraume understood it, their languages mostly shared the same script, known as kanji. However, the boy was prone to writing in the more simplified scripts to denote specific sounds he heard. None of these scripts were aligned with how Uraume or Sukuna understood them, and when their master sought to correct this, his hands were immediately swatted away as the boy switched to a fourth script in protest.
The boy’s ability to know something they did not made his expression turn smug. Writing long-form thoughts and whatever else came to mind in this script brought him much joy, but it severely detracted from the original purpose they came here for.
Unlike the first three, the symbols were written almost entirely in one or two strokes, each without any form of elegance or care. They bore none of the similarities in shape, and Uraume could not fathom how to pronounce anything written with a degree of certainty.
On a separate sheet, the most complex symbol came last, written long after the three had given up learning for the day. It appeared similar to the ‘S’ symbol Uraume had previously observed by way of how the negative space was formed in the sixteen or so strokes used to make it. A couple more were found, stretched and squished, alongside other playful strokes that came about when a bored mind was given something to mess with at their leisure.
If words weren’t the immediate method of communication, then actions were.
Their master’s attempts at being a proper host often went unappreciated. They were noted, often with uncertainty and suspicion. Beyond that, the boy was not grateful for where his recovery took place.
It was expected that the boy would attempt to fight his way out. Sukuna had prepared for it. Their master found himself thrilled and full of anticipation. Yet, nothing came close to the actual act of fighting, in which Uraume was forced to work around at least once a day if they wished to complete their daily tasks.
Every confrontation was nothing more than a sparring session for their master, even if the hostility and desire for bloodshed never lessened each time they fought. Uraume was convinced the boy was trying to kill his father at every opportunity he could. Their concerns, sadly, fell on deaf ears.
“He is trying to kill you.”
Their master did not take his son's threat seriously; rather, he was enjoying himself with their fights and continuing to evolve alongside a partner who could keep up with him, so he found the risk worth taking.
“Let him continue to try. Many have sought to do the same, and none have succeeded. And should it be my own progeny that does me in, well, that will not happen. But it is a satisfying thought to humor.”
“If you say so, Sukuna-sama.”
Uraume bowed in acceptance, uttering a silent prayer that their master refrained from lowering his guard from whatever fondness could possibly stem from all this.
Interestingly enough, it was not the close calls of their fights that eventually caused Sukuna to snap out of his casual demeanor. Instead, it was the innate cursed technique his son had eventually revealed after his losses had reached double digits—blood manipulation.
The hallmark of the Kamo clan.
Their master’s son carried the symbol of sorcery via the metal found on his original set of clothes. His skill and understanding of both physical combat and cursed energy manipulation came with the natural assumption that he was trained in some capacity. To then discover that he could use the cursed technique from one of the three venerated clans… Describing Sukuna’s reaction as livid was an understatement.
“The Kamo Clan!?” Sukuna lunged toward the boy, one hand grabbing his wrist to hold his body away from the ground or any other object to grab or kick off of. He did this often, using his large body and long arms to keep the boy struggling for longer. But this time, the boy did not object to the demands that followed. He would not answer them, just as he refused to answer the many things that came before it. The boy did not see a reason to object to what had been so clearly witnessed. “You are of the Kamo clan, and you come here—”
His son did not respond. His mouth had stitched itself shut, his free hand tucked into an unmoved fist, while his feet dangled slack underneath. He would not look Sukuna in the eye as he was usually so determined to do. There was no defending the clan, whose blood had to be in his veins, almost as if he were ashamed of it.
None of the Kamo clan, their territory, or their connections bore any resemblance to the oddities their master’s son had arrived with. If his mother were one of them, the chances of her being a member of the clan proper dwindled on that fact alone. For all they knew, she could have been a bastard child herself or an expelled member forced to flee twice over—As if the birth of a son with no father was not enough to get her disowned.
“I see.”
Regardless, the somber attitude and lack of defense from their master’s son left Sukuna’s feelings on the revelation muddled. His demand for clarity would not come, even if he attempted to beat it out, so he dropped it altogether until calmer heads prevailed.
The boy did not attempt Blood Manipulation after that, not even at his father’s request. He resisted any attempts to have him demonstrate the cursed technique from the initial reveal and would not change his mind thereafter.
Uraume continued to call their master’s son ‘the boy’ as no name had been deciphered. He refused to share it despite knowing full well who Sukuna and Uraume were.
As the first son known to them, ‘Taro-sama’ would have to do as Uraume’s means of address. ‘Taro’ on its own felt incomplete, which led to the addition of ‘Su’ from his father’s title, which did not go over well with the boy in question. If he would simply provide a name, this issue would not continue to persist. As stubborn as he was, ‘ Gankotaro’ became the most fitting replacement.
Their master, in contrast, would not use either name or provide his son with one as a form of retaliation. Despite his parental role, it was unlikely that someone hadn’t taken care of the boy’s naming in the handful of days after his birth. His son appeared old enough to have just gone through his coming-of-age ceremony, so an adult name, nanori, may also have been chosen. That second fact stung quite a bit once Uraume had brought it up, though their master dismissed showing it.
On the sixth day of his son’s tiring stay with them, Sukuna had suggested calling the boy ‘Gakimaru,’ laughing over the way the boy’s face twisted with disdain over it. The first part seemed to grab the boy’s attention more than the rest, sending a sudden, aggravated jolt through his body whenever heard.
“So you know that word, do you?” Sukuna chuckled again, as the mouth on his stomach stretched in a wide grin. “I expect nothing less. It is only natural after the way you act.”
The reaction was enough for their master to keep referring to him as a brat, though he started shifting from ‘the brat’ to ‘his brat’ as he grew more comfortable with his guest poking and prodding to see how much he could get away with before Sukuna or Uraume intervened. Said epithet would not leave their master’s mouth, even as the boy lost his patience and protested with what must have been his name, given how he jutted his thumb against his chest and loudly proclaimed it to silence their master’s teasing.
“Yuji!” The boy shouted, repeating himself to ensure he was not misheard. “Name, Yu. Ji—YUJI!”
“Yuji..?” Sukuna repeated, contemplating it on his tongue by rolling it around to inspect whatever aftertaste it had left. Their master then spat on the ground before pointing at the boy’s chest and making it clear that the revelation came too late and that he would not be changing his mind. “I believe brat suits you better.”
Over time, more pictures were discovered whenever Uraume entered the boy’s quarters to tidy up while he was out. He was not permitted to travel too far from the estate without being dragged back by his father. While his rebellious nature would not be completely quelled, the act of being caught and restrained multiple times over was enough to keep him from second-guessing his decisions to run off every opportunity he perceived.
If he was not spending time dodging their master’s attempts to be in the same space as him, the boy remained in his room with his stacks of paper and enough ink to last the upcoming winter season. Uraume had thought he’d take the time to write, as many usually do, but to their surprise, the previous meandering strokes and simple doodles had become complex.
The boy held some form of talent. Desperation to capture what can no longer be observed indeed fueled his many attempts, refining it over time and leaving the originals crumbled and tossed every which way.
None were crude or mangled depictions, either—Uraume could easily interpret the different expressions of the many faces the boy drew. Many were strangers who would never be given elaboration. Other pieces were of landscapes and objects the servant had never encountered before. Concepts that would need much elaboration, as they could not tell what exactly they were supposed to understand or which angle to hold the paper up when observing certain subjects, though this rarely happened.
Sukuna could be found a few times over, but his pieces were often found sliced with cuts unnaturally clean and tucked under tatami mats, only to be found through sheer chance. Desecrating their master’s image was an insult. Yet, surprisingly, the very image the boy drew was accurate and without parody. Uraume would even dare to compliment it.
They eventually brought this discovery to their master. With all the additional faces the boy drew, surely there was one Sukuna could recognize, and the identity of his mother could be found. Their outlook was optimistic, yes, but any attempt was worth making.
The boy was lonely.
He had no qualms with spending time alone, but that did not change the fact that he lacked meaningful connections to engage with. Rather, he lacked the connections he wished to pursue. Neither Sukuna nor Uraume were any more than the arbiters of his cage and the few privileges he’d been granted within it. If there were others in his life, like the faces within his drawings, his ability to contact them had come to an end.
His dejection had led to a few positives, for which Uraume was grateful. The rebellious attitude had quieted down, remaining only within smaller interactions and targeted exclusively at their master. The boy had finally picked up on the words and actions that constituted the bare minimum of polite exchange.
“Thank you… Uraume-san.”
San? Uraume often heard whispers of gratitude, though he never gave them when Sukuna was present to catch it.
Tantrums had lessened as well. No more furniture, doors, or utensils needed replacement, which was lucky for the boy as his father was on the cusp of leaving him in a storage shed with only rags should he take for granted the luxuries provided once more. This lack of shouting and physical reaction was a side effect of a larger change: The boy had stopped engaging with his father entirely unless provoked.
He’d gone quiet, no longer prone to arguing or lamenting his woes unless it was in that language they had no name or origin for. Letters of inquiry and examples had been sent to neighboring lords among their trusted vassals, but nothing came of it. When the boy did respond, it was with the few words he knew of their language when applicable. If he did not know it, he would not attempt it otherwise.
The estate finally knew a bit of peace.
Uraume could rest without the need for absolute vigilance surrounding the father-son pair, but this boon came at the cost of their master’s previous amusement. His son became a cause for bitterness and frustration to which Sukuna, as far as he was aware, was certainly not to blame.
“He will not speak with me,” their master complained, sitting against the kitchen's threshold as Uraume cooked their evening meal. "He will not permit me to touch him, even if the intent is benign, such as fixing his attire or preventing that unruly hair of his from knotting.”
“His personal space is quite defined.”
“I cannot learn anything if he will not do anything! Maybe I should cut him loose and follow him, see where he goes, what he does? Once his true colors are revealed—”
“I can only imagine that ending horribly.” Uraume kept an eye on the rice and another on their hands, now occupied with cutting the fruit gained from their master’s most recent offering. They could only afford a bit of their attention if they wished to avoid injury. “A false sense of freedom would lead to betrayal upon being caught.”
“And? Why would I care about whether he is hurt from the obvious conclusion that I would not simply admit defeat on this matter?”
And yet, the answer to their master’s question was just as obvious. How would gifting something so precious, then snatching it away, benefit the long term? An immediate gain to some answers may bar them from the more important ones later.
“The answer lies in the same reason you are upset with his rejection in the first place. You would not be spending this much energy complaining about it if his actions did not bother you.”
“He should be grateful his father is present at all.” As he spoke, one of Sukuna’s hands rummaged about in the nearby pantry. All it took was for Uraume to turn around with a glare plastered on their face to prevent their master from ruining his appetite.
“You are not wrong.” Before Uraume could elaborate, Sukuna was already nodding in agreement.
“Exactly. My brat is the one at fault.”
“Yes, but—”
“Twisted by whoever raised him, and yet where are they now? Hm?”
Uraume sighed.
There was no use in arguing.
Rarely did the boy seek his father out. Even rarer was it that said pursuits were not a prelude to a sparring match between them.
The first time this miracle occurred, Uraume was sweeping the main hall. They had kept their distance from their master to avoid disrupting his evening on the outside veranda. This provided an accidental vantage point to observe their master’s son cautiously poking his head into the hall, cheeks red and puffed with eyes struggling to open, afflicted with a sudden swell of emotion if Uraume were to guess. The boy had shown no signs of illness earlier.
Whatever was the matter, the boy flinched upon seeing Uraume, quickly turning away only to catch Sukuna in his sights. His father had been his target. And while Uraume had prepared to deal with the possibility of the boy tackling their master from behind, the approach that followed was hesitant and stiff. Reluctant to draw near, the boy’s steps were easily heard, yet his father did nothing to react to him.
This decision led to the boy eventually standing by his father’s side, staring up at the overcast sky above just as their master was, taking in the pleasant breeze before sitting down and settling in place. This decision was already captivating on its own. Yet, what was more surprising was when the boy grabbed hold of himself before his head fell against Sukuna’s thigh. He did not collapse unwillingly— The act was intentional.
To say their master was stunned was an understatement. The best equivalent Uraume could make for this scene were those tales of animals approaching travelers without the expected fear to rest by their camps. Or when one had finally won over the gifted feline roaming through a lord’s estate. Both comparisons equated the boy to a beast, which wasn’t entirely inaccurate based on his initial demeanor, but they were the best Uraume could think of before walking away to grant the two an isolated moment to themselves.
Any plea in Sukuna’s eyes toward his servant would go unanswered, as they could not offer any advice on handling a moment like this. Silent apologies were all they could do.
Uraume would eventually return, however, freshly poured tea in tow for the pair, only to find the boy had passed out entirely and their master resting a hand on his shoulder simply because he could. Usually, but this time of night, Sukuna retired to his personal chambers by now. It would seem that current circumstances would see his routine delayed. Indulgence superseded rest, and Uraume would not speak a word to avoid the risk of ruining the moment. Instead, they simply bowed their head and left, preparing themselves for the lengthy summary of events their master would happily provide the following morning while his son returned to his usual, avoidant self as if nothing had happened.
The cultivated peace within the estate halted when a certain unwanted individual appeared unannounced at the front gate. An old acquaintance of their master that needed no introduction, the man’s insistence on philosophical roundabouts and rhetorical debates would only go on for so long before his previous would be repeated, and his presence was no longer welcome.
Death would bring this cycle to a swift end, but Sukuna always denied the option. Uraume couldn’t stand it, but they bit their tongue, bowed their head when expected, and denied such respect when their master’s patience wore thin.
This sudden visit, interestingly enough, would be different.
There was now a fourth among them—a fourth who was not kept hidden for very long, as Sukuna took great pleasure in dragging him out to boast and take credit for the strength and skill his son displayed in the realm of sorcery.
The boy initially had no interest and wanted to leave, actively fighting every step and almost wiggling his way to freedom. Sukuna had not yet used all of his hands against him, outnumbering the boy’s two, but when his son finally turned to acknowledge the new arrival to the estate, his movement ceased entirely.
Just as Uraume registered the recognition in the boy’s eyes, Sukuna’s son had already pointed at their visitor and began shouting nonsense just as he had during their original encounter with the same lively energy they were worried to have been lost. Their master did not know what to make of this. Sukuna was about to order him to stop, but just as he opened his mouth, the name ‘Kenjaku’ fell from the boy’s, ceasing all protest as another word soon followed:
Mother.
This was the same word used a dozen times over when interrogating the boy of his origin. Their master’s son had picked it up with little choice, and now he was repeating it with the intention of proving that it wasn’t part of the otherwise mangled speech he had returned to. Neither Sukuna nor Kenjaku were prepared for it. Kenjaku appeared scandalized, and Sukuna could not appear more lost on how to react to the news.
Uraume would not know what followed, as their ability to endure these revelations had reached its end. They closed their eyes and took a breath. Then, with a quiet apology, they offered to prepare something to drink for the completely calm and collected conversation that would surely follow after the shock wore off and the silence came to an end. If there were shouting to be had, well, Uraume would be occupied on the other end of the estate.
Their master was a powerful and imposing being. He should handle something as trivial as this on his own. And if he couldn’t, well…
There was still plenty of sake to choose from in their storehouse, wasn’t there?