Chapter Text
There’s a murmur going through Kyoto. It started with a merchant who had brought the news together with his wares, and then the owner of the local fabric stall who had heard it from him spread it to his customers. One of them a seamstress, who had purchased silk on the order of a noble lady, who had heard it when the seamstress told a maid, and that maid told her mistress. Then the mistress told the master, and the master told it to the courtesan he shared the bed with.
Ryomen Sukuna is coming.
And all of Kyoto trembles.
The name was like a curse. Barely anyone dared to speak it aloud, though as the rumors spread to every corner of Kyoto, people muttered it quite often after all, even if they did so behind the cover of their hands.
Megumi heard of it, of course. Even if his fellow courtesans he shared the sleeping chambers with hadn’t told him, then the Oiran’s[1] excited laughter and screams would’ve been enough to let everyone know that the King of Curses was on his way to Kyoto, and while all of the city shivered in fear, Yorozu danced in pure happiness.
Megumi didn’t know whether to pity or admire her. Somehow, she had fallen in love with a man she’d never even met, yet convinced herself that he’d fall for her too, buy out her contract, and marry her. Would someone like Ryomen Sukuna even visit a pleasure house? Megumi doesn’t know him; thank the gods he doesn’t. Only a fool would willingly step into the way of the King of Curses, only an idiot would even draw his attention, whether purposely or not.
Yorozu is such a fool. Megumi hopes to think he’s not. Ryomen Sukuna’s supposed arrival is nothing more than a rumor at this point anyway. And even if he arrived, what are the chances that he’d seek out a courtesan? What are the chances that he’d visit their pleasure house of all places? And even if all of that happened, his eyes (of which he has four, Megumi heard, and he shudders) would never fall on him. And the matron would never allow a low-ranking courtesan such as him to serve him either.
“Do you think it’s true? That he is coming?” asks Megumi’s fellow shinzo[2], Nobara, as they ready themselves for the night. Megumi brushes his hair back, fastening the strands with a tie in the back—they’re too short, shorter than any man or woman wears their hair. But rarely does anyone ever see him like this. Only the women he gets ready with.
As he reaches for the black horsehair to weave into his own strands, he hums quietly, a sound more to acknowledge Nobara’s question, rather than providing any real answer.
“I wouldn’t know. I’d hope not,” Megumi responds, twisting his new, artificial hair into a bun at the back of his head, which he fixes with a few needles. When he’s sure the updo will stay, he takes to accessorizing it.
“The Oiran is already unbearable enough. Can you imagine her if he actually showed up here?” Nobara’s voice is hushed, but her words are true—which is exactly why any conversations about Yorozu should be held in hushed whispers.
She’s known to be a terror. To her assistants, to the other courtesans, no matter their rank. Bottom feeders such as Megumi and Nobara with no prospect of ever rising in the ranks are especially easy targets, so it’s better to keep one’s head down. There was another shinzo once, Megumi cannot remember her name—she’s only just been sold to the pleasure house when, apparently, she’d disrespected the Oiran. Said Oiran had dumped a kettle of boiling water over that poor girl. Needless to say, she wasn’t a shinzo no more after this. Megumi doesn’t know where she went. He doesn’t want to know.
“On the off chance that he would...” Megumi starts, a frown appearing on his face as visions of death and violence fill his mind. “We should hope that she doesn’t offend him or that’d be the end for all of us.”
Yorozu wouldn’t care if she takes down everyone with her, Megumi thinks. Perhaps she wouldn’t even mind being slain by the love of her life. Nobara doesn’t say anything, but the look on her face tells him that she agrees. Silently, they return to their preparation. Kanzashi[3] and flowers in the hair, powder in the face, red-lined eyes and lips.
As Megumi looks into the mirror, there’s a woman looking back. But underneath the silken layers of his kimono lies the undeniable truth.
Despite this, Megumi isn’t a bad earner. The matron doesn’t scold him half as much as she did when he started a few years ago. Men have the most curious tastes in bed and out, and a handful of them find great joy in unravelling a beautiful woman and finding a cock between her legs.
Megumi doesn’t understand. But Megumi also doesn’t judge. Those odd few men grace him with regular visits and bring in earnings. He can’t complain.
“We’re opening soon, hurry up, you lot!” comes the matron's voice as she appears in the doorway, her eyes raking over the girls and, well, that one boy.
“Yes, yes, we’re almost done! A good look takes time, you know?” Nobara waves her off and doesn’t even look at her. Her gaze is fixed on her reflection in the bronze mirror as she applies the finishing touches to her makeup. As always, the old lady begins fuming as soon as the words had left Nobara’s mouth.
“I should’ve thrown you out years ago! Rude and uncultured girl!”
“But the customers like it,” Nobara grins at her, and that is that. Megumi thinks he’s heard the same banter a thousand nights before. Enough to know that it’s not quite serious, perhaps even slightly tinged with fondness. But he’d never allow himself to believe in real companionship. Not in a place like this.
When the last of them are ready, they all filter out of their quarters to head downstairs. Down into the harimise[4], ready to be ogled like cuts of meat all night by peasants too poor to afford even the cheapest of them.
Megumi sighs as he finds his favourite spot and sits. Even though the greedy eyes bother him, he supposes he can’t fault a man for dreaming.
He does a lot of dreaming of his own.
✧*:.｡..｡.:*✧
Two weeks pass in which the rumor about Ryomen Sukuna is forgotten, discarded as just that—a rumor. That is, until a tremor goes through Kyoto, frantic people knocking on their neighbours’ doors, spreading the news far and wide:
The King of Curses is in Kyoto.
Yorozu squealed in unadulterated happiness when the news reached the pleasure district and then their house. Megumi tried not to let it affect him too much, but he probably didn’t look much better than his fellow courtesans, whose faces befell a shadow of fear.
But what are the odds? Unless Ryomen Sukuna decided to level Kyoto, they surely wouldn’t see him.
Megumi regrets even thinking that when one of their kamuro[5] comes running, the young girl completely out of breath.
“He... He, he! In this street. Here!”
Megumi curses himself for his thoughts. He must’ve spited the gods. He invited bad luck on himself. And Yorozu’s squealing isn’t going to make this better.
“We’re all going to die,” Nobara says under her breath. “She’ll get us killed.”
“Everyone, sit pretty! Keep your heads low, no eye contact, and no staring!” The matron barks, practically running circles in the harimise as courtesans scramble to follow her instructions. “Someone go and tell Yorozu to keep her mouth shut!”
As expected, no one goes to confront the Oiran, but Megumi forgets about her for a moment as a tense silence seems to overcome the pleasure house. All that’s heard is the shuffling of socked feet on the wood and fabric being rearranged. In the end, the courtesans have managed to form lines on either side of the room, somehow, all backed away into the walls. No one wants to draw the attention of the Ryomen Sukuna after all.
“You lot—what are you—!”
The matron exclaims, trying to correct them, but she cuts herself off when a huge figure passes the wooden beams that separate the harimise from the street outside. Megumi sneaks a peek, just a tiny one—usually the street is full of men searching for their next conquest, but tonight it seems empty aside from him. Megumi can’t really see him, not all of him yet, but he can tell that he is giant.
And different. His cursed energy floods the area, drowning Megumi in its thick waves. He’s sure even those without any affinity for sorcery would be able to feel it, so massive and deadly, it appears impossible to miss.
It has frozen Megumi in place. He only notices that his eyes have met a pair of red ones when the matron pushes his head down.
Cold sweat breaks out all over him. He looked him in the eye. He looked Ryomen Sukuna in the eye. And not only that, so lost in his thoughts, he stared at him too.
He’s going to die tonight.
Heavy footsteps make the floorboards creak as the King of Curses enters. The matron scrambles forward, practically throwing herself on the ground before the man’s feet, her head pressed firmly against the wood as she speaks.
“W-welcome, master, to my establishment. It’ll be an honor to serve you tonight. Any girl here will consider herself lucky to keep you company.” She greets him like a lowly servant, her voice mellow, her words full of submission, so different from the woman Megumi knows.
“If you follow me upstairs—we’ve got a fine selection of girls, the best money can buy,” the matron continues. “But for such an esteemed guest i-it’s free of charge, of course!”
Unheard of. The women on the upper floors are courtesans of the highest rank—Yorozu among them, the Oiran. A single night with them is so expensive that even men with a steady income would have to save a year to afford their time.
To offer them for free... It just speaks volumes about what kind of person Ryomen Sukuna is. The payment the matron requests this time isn’t money, but all of their lives.
“You’d deny me these?” He speaks for the first time, his voice a deep rumble that sends cold shivers down Megumi’s spine. Is he talking about them? Why? Why would someone like him even look at lowly shinzo when he’s just been offered the oiran for free? Any man would jump at the chance to be able to boast about having the highest-ranking courtesan be theirs for a night.
But not him. Megumi can’t forget that the King of Curses is barely anything like all the others. Perhaps even nothing alike.
“These girls...?” The matron is surprised as well. “O-of course not! It’s just that compared to the ladies on the upper floors, this lot lacks grace and talent. They’re—if I let one of them serve someone...such a person as you, I’d sully the reputation of my establishment.”
“Hm, is that so?” Sukuna says, though his voice tells Megumi everything he needs to know. He doesn’t care one bit for the matron’s words.
“This one.”
His steps begin to fade as he leaves the room and ascends the stairs to the second floor like he’s been here a thousand times. For the longest time, no one moves, but when everyone is sure that he’s left, heads begin to lift. Eyes meet eyes in nervous glances, fretting over who this one could be. Megumi looks at Nobara, who shakes her head, the sweat on her brow smearing her makeup a bit.
So, he turns to the matron, who looks back at him like everyone’s death warrant just got signed.
And oh.
Oh.
“Y-you know what to do, don’t you?” the old lady stammers. Of course Megumi does, yet for a moment it’s like his head has emptied out. Training and experience washed away by nerves and fear.
Still, he gets up and fixes his kimono. The silence as Megumi heads for the hallway is loud enough that it becomes unbearable. It’s like everyone is already mourning him. Him and themselves.
Because Megumi only looks like a girl. How’d Ryomen Sukuna react to being tricked like that?
He meets a kamuro at the top of the stairs, who hands him a tray with shaking hands.
“He’s in this room,” she whispers. Then she starts to descend the stairs, taking slow and careful steps like any creak of the wood would doom them all.
Megumi looks at the tray in his hands, the bottle of sake, the cup, and a small vial of oil that he takes to make it disappear in his sleeve. He takes a deep breath. His feet fight him every step, but he moves regardless, making his way steadily towards the room the girl pointed him to. In his mind, he tries to come up with a plan on how to entertain...such a special guest. He hasn’t received the same amount of training as the high-ranking courtesans; all Megumi can do is play the shamisen and get on his hands and knees.
Soon, he’s standing in front of the door. Perhaps Ryomen Sukuna would be happy to just fuck him. No need for long conversations or displays of talents Megumi doesn’t have—though it wouldn’t be ideal. It would most likely be terrible if Megumi had to take his clothes off.
He gets on his knees and gently knocks on the door. A gruff hum comes in return, so Megumi breathes deeply once more and slides the door open. He places the tray on the tatami before he moves inside, sliding the door shut behind him again. Then he takes the tray and gets up, making his way over to the low table, where he sits.
He is a giant. As Megumi kneels by his side to place the items on the table, he feels dwarfed. Keeping his head low, he manages only to sneak a few glances at him, but there they are—the extra arms he’s heard rumors about. And the tattoos, thick, black lines around his wrists.
“You’re not a woman.”
The words snap Megumi out of his brief haze. He almost looks up in his surprise, but catches himself at the last second before he repeats his earliest mistake.
He’s already been found out. No way. Usually, his disguise worked well enough to keep most men clueless until the matron informed them. Should he deny it? Act playful? Or should he just admit to it and beg for forgiveness for his attempted deceit?
“You’ve got a keen eye,” Megumi says instead with a calmness that he doesn’t know where he takes it from.
“And you’re a sorcerer.”
Megumi freezes again. It’s been many, many years since he wasted a thought on these… abilities. After all, no one in the pleasure house seemed to know or possess similar abilities or be able to see the strange creatures that sometimes crept about. So, Megumi kept it to himself. Had he been so obvious all along?
“I’m not,” he tries to deny it. “Sake?”
As he reaches out to fill his cup, Sukuna’s hand shoots out and wraps around Megumi’s wrist. He doesn’t mean to, but his whole body flinches, his heart racing fast enough to make him feel it prang against his chest from the inside.
“Will you stare at the floor all night? Look at me,” Sukuna commands him. Megumi can’t deny, even as his body screams at him to keep his head low, to curl up and pretend to be dead.
But he lifts his gaze as told and finds four eyes staring back at him. Megumi sucks a breath in. That man is monstrous...yet at the same time he’s not. For a long moment, he simply takes him in, his face that’s split in two sides, the four red eyes that roam him in return. His hair is a soft shade of salmon, pushed out of his face, short and wild. Not like the other men in the country wear it. Not at all.
Sukuna is like no man he’s ever seen. And Megumi, he...he can’t deny that there’s a certain charm.
“You make a habit of staring, do you? Aren’t courtesans supposed to be graceful and educated? You’re quite the black sheep, with that and your little act.”
“I apologize...” Megumi says softly. He wants to bow and say his earnest apologies, but Sukuna is still holding his wrist, and Megumi doesn’t dare pull away. “The matron should’ve told you that I wasn’t...”
“I would’ve picked you regardless,” Sukuna simply says, releasing Megumi’s wrist with an expectant expression. The courtesan takes an embarrassingly long moment to understand—the sake! Megumi hastily takes the bottle and fills the cup, lifting it towards Sukuna in a silent offering.
He takes it. Drinks it. Places it back for another. Megumi fills it again.
“You’ve got a lot of cursed energy,” Sukuna observes. “A lot more than the average human or even sorcerer. How’d someone like you end up in a place like this?”
Sukuna drinks. Megumi doesn’t reply. Not right away.
“Wouldn’t you rather I—”
“No. I asked you a question.”
No chance. Megumi bites his lip. As he moves to refill the cup, Sukuna stops him.
“I was sold, like most others here. There’s nothing to it. I’m not a sorcerer either.”
He’s just got an ability. One he doesn’t completely understand and has kept a secret close to his heart for all these years. It came to him one day, this instinctual knowledge that there was something slumbering within him. As he crossed his hands, two dogs appeared.
Being able to conjure dogs hardly makes him a sorcerer. Megumi lives in a pleasure house, not under a rock. He heard of them, those warriors that harnessed the power of their cursed energy to fight evil spirits, and of course, he’s heard of Sukuna, the man who holds the title of the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk this plane.
Megumi and his silly dogs? In that same category? Hardly.
“Show me,” Sukuna says. He’s so oddly calm. Megumi thinks he had imagined him differently, perhaps more aggressive. But it’s exactly this demeanour that makes him shake the tiniest bit. Megumi cannot tell what he’s thinking—if Sukuna decided to cut him in half, he’d never see it coming.
“Show you?” he repeats dumbly. The dogs?
“Your technique,” Sukuna tells him with the slightest frown. “You’re not slow, are you? Something tells me you’re smart. Act like it.”
“Ye... Yes. Of course.”
Megumi brings his hands together slowly, the motion and form something instinctually familiar. As soon as he does so, his own cursed energy seems to flare—he can feel it, doesn’t know if it’s right or wrong, and Sukuna’s face has returned to an impassive mask. Out of Megumi’s shadow, the two dogs appear. One white, one black, both with yellow eyes and strange markings. They move to nuzzle him, but then notice the overwhelming presence in front of them and stop.
A growl comes out in unison. Megumi places his hands on their heads, pushing them back slightly.
“This is it,” he says to Sukuna. Who only hums in response. Is he impressed by this pathetic display? Megumi wouldn’t believe it even if the words came out of Sukuna’s own mouth. But the King of Curses says nothing. No—he smiles a little to himself, like he’s pleased.
“More sake.”
A change of topic. Megumi lets out a breath of relief and dismisses the dogs back into the shadows. Yes, serving sake, entertaining men, this is what he’s used to and good at. Immediately, he feels a bit more in his element again as he reaches for the bottle and fills the ceramic cup a third time.
"More, master?” Megumi asks when Sukuna brings the cup to his lips. Sukuna huffs out a chuckle.
“Sure,” he says gruffly. “Why not.”
✧*:.｡..｡.:*✧
The King of Curses leaves late into the night, yet the whole house is awake in anticipation, even when the matron had forbidden regular customers entrance tonight.
There’s a small person with a white bob who receives him. That same person drops a sack of money into the matron’s hand before they follow Sukuna out of the pleasure house.
A hush falls over the room as the matron peers inside, finding a sum thrice the amount a night with a shinzo is worth. The others come to gather around her, checking for themselves, frantic whispers shattering the eerie silence. Paying this much can only mean one thing—Megumi is dead, and Sukuna’s compensating the matron for the inconvenience.
But Megumi comes down the stairs a few moments later. A room full of eyes is on him in an instant, scanning his form for injury or other. But Megumi, he’s like he’s never had a customer tonight at all. His hair—the fake hair- is still in place, so is his makeup and his kimono. And though he’s the one who shared the chamber with Sukuna, he’s not any less confused.
The king of curses hadn’t touched him. Not even once. He’s not a stranger to those kinds of tastes, sometimes there are men who only wish to watch—but he didn’t want to do that either. He didn’t ask Megumi to remove his clothes. Instead, after the sake was empty, they played go.
Megumi lost every round until the last one. That’s when Sukuna left.
“What happened?” the matron asks urgently as she sees him on the stairs. “What happened?!”
But Megumi has no answer to that, so he doesn’t give any.
✧*:.｡..｡.:*✧
Rumor has it that Ryomen Sukuna has decided to stay in Kyoto for a while, much to everyone’s dismay. Rumor has it that it’s because a certain courtesan has charmed him.
It leads to an increase in customers for Megumi. His regulars return, but so do a bunch of newcomers, none of whom seem to mind the fact that underneath the silk, there’s a boy instead of a girl. Megumi turns into something akin to an object of conquest—everyone wants a night with him. The courtesan who served the monster, who saw him, who looked him in the eye and survived.
Safe to say, many men waste their money on talk when they rain questions down on Megumi, wanting to know everything about the encounter. And suddenly the hour is up, and they’re made to leave without Megumi ever even having shed his socks.
“Aren’t you quite popular these days?” Nobara comments in the morning as they wash in the communal bath.
“I’m not sure it’s a good thing,” Megumi mutters, washing her back for her. “Yesterday, a filthy man showed up with a bag of coins—clearly stolen. I’m worried the matron may allow such folks entry soon.”
“She wouldn’t. Accepting stolen money brings no good,” Nobara assures him. “And a little fortune is hardly worth infecting one of her most popular courtesans with syphilis or whatever diseases these deviants carry.”
“Most popular, huh...?” he sighs. “I could do without that.”
“Come on, you’re making a lot of money! If this keeps up, you might even get out of here before you’re twenty-five!”
Leaving the pleasure house, repaying your debt, being bought free, and getting married... a distant dream for many courtesans, but one Megumi doesn’t exactly share. Without this house, he’s nothing. He’s been here since he was little, he’s never known anything else—and no amount of makeup and fake hair can change the fact that he’s a man. There are no marriage prospects waiting for him outside these doors. Even if Megumi paid his debts, where would he go?
He doesn’t respond to Nobara and instead just silently keeps washing her back.
Suddenly, the sliding door to the bath is slammed open, startling all the girls inside. Megumi and Nobara turn their heads, their eyes landing on none other than the Oiran. The whole room falls silent as they stare at Yorozu, their hot-headed, famous, most sought-after courtesan. The same one who has servants and her own bath. So her being here can’t mean anything good.
“Where...” she begins as her eyes glide over the room. “You!”
She zones in on Megumi, who sits up a little straighter under her poisonous gaze. If looks could kill, Megumi would fall over and die right where he sits.
“Who do you think you are, you lowly fucking peasant?!” she hisses, crossing the room in quick strides, her heavy kimono dragging behind her. “How dare you seduce the Ryomen Sukuna?! He was supposed to come to me!”
Megumi is at a loss for words as she glares down at him, the explanation she demands not coming. But there really isn’t any, he thinks to himself. It’s not like he wanted to serve the King of Curses, and in the end, nothing even happened.
“He didn’t want me,” Megumi says carefully. It’s not a lie, technically. “I’m sure he’ll come to you next time, Yorozu-sama.”
His words give her pause. She tilts her head, and suddenly her angered expression turns into a smug smile.
“He didn’t?” she muses. “Hah...of course he didn’t! Look at you, scrawny and angular, as if the great Sukuna-sama would touch someone like you!”
She laughs to herself. Megumi lets her keep that self-imagined triumph. Her words don’t really faze him; he never wished to be desired by Sukuna in the first place.
Yorozu, seemingly satisfied, takes a step closer.
“That’s right. He’ll come to me next time. Only me. And you’ll keep your head down. You used-up little whore don’t deserve to even lay your eyes on Sukuna-sama.”
She glares down at him a moment longer, waiting to see if he’d talk back. But Megumi remains silent, keeping his head low.
Satisfied with his submission, she turns around, the layers of her kimono swishing around her as she spins and leaves, slamming the door the same way as she did upon her entrance. As soon as the Oiran disappears, it’s like a heavy weight falls from the room. Everyone takes a deep breath and relaxes, slowly returning to whatever they were doing before she appeared. But there are eyes on Megumi now. Even more than before.
Visited by the King of Curses, spurned by the Oiran... Just Megumi’s luck.
“Fucking…” Nobara mutters with a roll of her eyes as she wrings out her wet hair.
“Don’t,” Megumi shushes her. Yorozu isn’t popular among the lower ranks, and yet every single one of them would take a chance to curry favor and rise if they could. He can’t blame them, but he also doesn’t want to serve as their stepping stool.
Nobara frowns but says no more. She motions Megumi to turn around so she can wash his back now. He does, pulling his knees close so he can rest his chin on them.
Sukuna is still in Kyoto. Megumi wonders if he’ll be back.
✧*:.｡..｡.:*✧
He does indeed return. A few nights later his presence once again unsettles the whole red-light district and stuns the pleasure house into heavy silence as he steps through the doors. Ryomen Sukuna fills up the space not only with his large frame, but his presence alone. Megumi keeps his head down, sits in his corner, and this time hopes that no one will notice him.
What are the odds? He’s wearing a differently colored kimono today, his back is turned, and the matron is already stumbling over her words as she tries to greet the King of Curses, the fear in her voice undeniable.
The Oiran. He should visit the Oiran. She says it over and over again, but there’s no response. Megumi wishes he could see Sukuna’s face, and at the same time, he’s glad he can’t.
“The same as last time,” he says eventually. “Send him up.”
He doesn’t wait for a response or for any of the girls to aid him upstairs. He walks away like he owns the place, and perhaps he does—who’d look Ryomen Sukuna in the eye and try to tell him what he can and can’t do?
“Megumi,” the matron calls. He doesn’t react right away, frozen in his little corner. If he doesn’t move, they wouldn’t see him—that’s what his instincts are telling him. But less than a breath later, he turns his head and nods.
Despite having survived one encounter with the King of Curses already, Megumi isn’t any less nervous this time. At the top of the stairs, he is once again greeted by a kamuro who hands him the familiar tray—cups, sake, and oil. Though there hadn’t been any use for the oil the last time, Megumi doesn’t find himself audacious enough to presume what or what not Ryomen Sukuna might desire of him. And so he slips it into the sleeve of his kimono, just in case, and approaches the chamber.
It’s much the same. Megumi knocks, enters, approaches the giant who already sits by the table, and places the items on the dark, polished wood with a quiet grace.
He can feel Sukuna’s eyes on him. All four of them. He doesn’t stop him, nor does he say anything, so Megumi fills the porcelain cup with sake and then holds it out to him, his gaze lowered.
“You’re scared,” Sukuna says, his deep, rumbling voice tearing through the silence. Megumi is thankful for that, he thinks, yet perhaps at the same time, he’s not. He doesn’t know how to respond right away, and with Sukuna’s cup not yet empty, Megumi’s hands are unoccupied. He tries folding them in his lap, but his fingers twist in the fabric of his kimono without his say-so.
“Anyone would be,” Megumi offers after a moment. “They say you’ve cut men in half for looking at you.”
“Yet you’ve stared me right in the face. And twice, that is,” the giant retorts. Megumi blushes when he’s so bluntly called out. Sukuna empties the cup and places it on the table with a light tap. Glad to have something to keep himself busy with, Megumi quickly reaches for the bottle.
“I’ve offended you,” he murmurs, barely audible over the splashing of the alcohol against the porcelain. “Forgive me, master.”
“I didn’t say you did,” Sukuna says in return, and he smirks when Megumi offers him his cup. “Though the rumors you heard aren’t too far from the truth.”
Megumi freezes in his spot, feeling a shiver run down his spine. He’s scary, truly monstrous, and yet a small laugh escapes his lips.
“I shall count myself lucky then,” the courtesan chuckles, and Sukuna says nothing to that, so for now, at least, his head should be safe where it is on his shoulders. Megumi shudders and sighs after the laugh fades.
“Do you want me to play the shamisen?”
The cup is once again empty. But when he sets it down, he places his hand above it, signalling Megumi to back off. “No, I came to see more of your technique.”
Megumi looks at him, though not quite in the face. After being called out for his staring, he doesn’t dare to let his eyes wander higher than Sukuna’s chin, but he still sees that he’s looking at him—has been looking at Megumi this whole time.
It shouldn’t bother him. Megumi’s been stared at, watched, and observed by more men than he can count. They’ve seen him naked and clothed and in various states in between, and he knows how to take these things in stride. And yet, the red eyes of Ryomen Sukuna make him feel like the scared little maiden he once was, the night he entertained his first customer.
Unsure, like a fish out of water, because the King of Curses doesn’t want that one thing Megumi is good at now.
“It’s not really...anything. The dogs, you’ve seen them, master,” Megumi attempts to deter Sukuna, but the King of Curses stays firm.
“There’s more to it than the dogs,” he grumbles, but stops to consider Megumi for a moment. Then, “But you don’t know that. You have no idea at all.”
“I’m afraid not,” the courtesan returns through gritted teeth. Is he being mocked now? He doesn’t mean to, but a hint of irritation slips into his voice, and he blanches when he realizes. Whether out of fear of Sukuna or disappointment in himself, he cannot tell. Maybe it’s a bit of both.
Sukuna studies him from above, and it’s quiet again for a long while. Megumi doesn’t understand what he wants from him still. He waits and sits in tense silence, and just when he’s about to offer to play the shamisen again, the King of Curses appears to take pity on him. He drops the topic of sorcery.
“Are you familiar with poetry?”
Megumi’s head almost snaps up in surprise, but he reins himself in. It’s not an odd question at all—Megumi knows some customers enjoy a poetic exchange with their chosen woman for the night, the high-ranking courtesans especially are well educated in the arts. But looking at Sukuna, or the parts of him Megumi dares himself to look at... he wouldn’t have expected him to show an interest in poetry.
And it makes Megumi want to rip the horsehair from his head in exasperation. Because Megumi can’t say he knows the first thing about poetry.
“I can recite some haiku...” he offers, voice lacking confidence. Sukuna hums thoughtfully as he lifts his hand from the cup in silent invitation. Megumi refills it, glad for the opportunity to busy himself, even if only briefly.
“Go ahead,” Sukuna says. As Megumi reaches for the cup to offer it to him, Sukuna beats him to it and grabs it from the table himself, like he wants Megumi to focus solely on the haiku. The action causes their fingers to brush, and it takes some discipline not to jump at the sudden touch. It makes him realize something he hadn’t before, not the other night when Sukuna had held his wrist, and well, Megumi had been afraid.
He’s afraid now, but he noticed. Noticed that Sukuna’s fingers are warm.
He thinks for a moment, trying to remember a haiku a man like Sukuna might enjoy.
“The old pond
A frog jumps in,
Sound of water.”[6]
He recites it slowly, taking care to soften his voice to make it sound as pleasant as possible. And yet Megumi gets the feeling that he’s easy to spot for being an amateur, speaking practiced words of which the meaning evades him. Sukuna says nothing for a moment as he rocks his cup and watches the sake swirl.
“Basho Matsuo,” he says after a moment of consideration. “Are you familiar with his poetry?”
For a moment, Megumi entertains the thought of lying. But something tells him that Sukuna would be able to tell just as easily as he saw through his womanly disguise.
“No, master,” he admits, earning a grunt in response. Sukuna falls silent again, bringing the cup to his lips. Megumi dares to lift his head a little higher, watching his adam’s apple bob as he swallows the alcohol.
Sukuna places the porcelain back on the tabletop and reaches for the bottle himself. When Megumi attempts to take it, he’s waved off. So, he watches as the king of curses pours the white rice wine into the cup. But as he picks it up, he doesn’t lift it to his own lips; instead, he offers it to Megumi.
“I shouldn’t,” he protests, but Sukuna doesn’t relent, and so Megumi accepts the offering into both of his hands.
“Drink,” Sukuna orders, though his voice carries little weight. “And make a haiku.”
Megumi hesitates but another moment—make a haiku? But Sukuna is looking at him expectantly, so Megumi hides his face behind the heavy sleeve of his kimono before bringing the porcelain bowl to his lips.
As the sake flows down his throat and begins to warm his belly, the courtesan briefly wonders if he drank from the same side as Sukuna had. The thought heats his cheeks.
Setting the cup down, he thinks. A haiku for the king of curses. Megumi wants it to be good, and a part of him realizes that it’s not only because he fears the reaction should his attempt at poetry disappoint him. No, he wants it to be pleasant for him.
“Heated summer nights,
Grass rustling, a rabbit runs,
The fox is faster yet,”
Megumi exhales and waits. He turns his head to look at Sukuna, trying to sneak a glance and gauge his reaction. Seeing him, meeting his eyes, he notices that he’s been staring down at Megumi all along. He turns away again, ducking his head.
“The seasonal word is wrong,” Sukuna announces. “It’s spring.”
“Seasonal word?” Megumi blurts before he realizes how uneducated he must sound. The blush that hadn’t quite left his face only intensifies now. Sukuna sees this and chuckles.
“A word to reference the season, to capture the feeling,” he explains in a low rumble. Megumi hums thoughtfully but is only further embarrassed when Sukuna adds, “The last line had one syllable too many.”
“Oh,” Megumi makes dumbly, resisting the urge to hide behind his sleeves. Yet despite his apparent failure at poetry, Sukuna seems amused. The courtesan finds himself strangely at ease.
Sukuna fills the cup, and now the bottle is empty. He offers it to Megumi again, who accepts without hesitation this time. The bitter rice wine is as warm as Sukuna’s fingers on his skin.
“Try again,” he rumbles. His four arms flex, and he shifts where he sits on the tatami mat, like he’s resisting the urge to stretch. Megumi wonders if he’ll leave soon, and it makes him sad.
“Melting snow moon shine,” Megumi attempts clumsily, and pauses. Sukuna hums.
“Melting snow moon shine,
Grass rustling, a rabbit runs,
Fast is the tiger.”
“You changed it,” Sukuna comments, but has no criticism this time. That makes Megumi smile.
“A tiger seemed scarier than a fox,” Megumi responds, earning himself a chuckle from the King of Curses. His belly is warm from the sake, or perhaps it’s not that at all.
“A rabbit would say that, I suppose.”
Megumi doesn’t get his meaning, yet the words cause him to nervously shift in his spot like an innocent maiden on her wedding night. Sukuna notes this but doesn’t comment on it. The bottle is all empty now, and silence falls over them again.
✧*:.｡..｡.:*✧
On a quiet morning, a few days later, the white-haired person always accompanying Sukuna comes to the pleasure house alone and asks for Megumi. They’re not open yet, not anytime soon, but the matron sends for him regardless. A whisper goes through the house—had the great Ryomen Sukuna sent his servant to have a taste of his apparent favored courtesan?
But as the matron barks at one of the girls to go prepare a room, Sukuna’s servant shakes their head.
“Sukuna-sama wishes you to familiarise yourself with this,” they say once Megumi stands before them, holding out a stack of books. Megumi takes them with a bow, glancing at the covers where neat handwriting spells the unfamiliar titles.
“Poetry?” he asks softly. The other snorts.
“Read them. Sukuna-sama will return at the end of the week.”
Megumi nods his head, gripping the books a little tighter as the task he’s been given sets his nerves aflame. He doesn’t know what Sukuna expects. Reading a bunch of books in only a few days when there’s work to do seems like an impossible task, and yet... Megumi doesn’t open his mouth to complain. He’s afraid to deny Sukuna. Afraid even more to disappoint him.
“Thank you...”
“Uraume,” they offer, before bowing their head at Megumi. Then they turn on their heel and leave Megumi with the freshly given homework. He watches Uraume go, looking undisturbed and cold as ice, and he wonders if they’re afraid too and just good at hiding it.
But something tells Megumi they’re not. They’re comfortable in their service to Sukuna. No fear, just quiet loyalty. Strangely, Megumi finds himself wishing he could be just like that.
✧*:.｡..｡.:*✧
“He wants to take you outside! Quick, get dressed!”
The matron barks her orders into the shinzo’s quarters, where the girls are in the middle of getting ready for the night. Megumi’s hands are tangled in Nobara’s obi as he lifts his head to look at the matron in surprise.
“Outside?” he parrots. The old lady nods frantically.
“His servant is waiting by the entrance, so hurry, do not make him wait!”
“Megumi must’ve put a spell on that man,” Nobara chuckles teasingly, but no one responds—Megumi only pulls her obi taut, making her wheeze.
“Doing my hair and makeup will take an hour by itself! He’s too early!” he yelps, finally letting go of Nobara’s garments to focus on himself. He’s still in the thin cotton robe that makes his undergarment, looking far from being presentable. The last fading light of day still shines through the paper-screened windows, and until now, no one had been in a hurry. The pleasure house opens its doors only once night has fallen and before today, Sukuna hasn’t taken to visiting early.
The matron shakes her head so quickly that she almost whips her hairpins free to send them flying all over the room. “Just dress casually. And do it quick!”
With those final words, she spins on her heel and flees the room, undoubtedly to return to Uraume and entertain them while Megumi dresses. Casually. Megumi is unfamiliar with this word; the many-layered kimono, makeup, and hairdo is his casual, after so many years of donning it every night.
“He’s taking you out for a night out,” Nobara muses as Megumi makes his way to the trunk he keeps by his futon. Opening it up, he reveals the single set of daywear he owns. It’s a light green yukata with a dark obi, one that hadn’t seen too much use in the passing years. At least, he thinks, plain as it is, it means that it still looks new and somewhat presentable.
“Don’t say nonsense,” Megumi grumbles. He grabs the garments and forgoes his collection of kanzashi for the night.
His stomach twists uncomfortably. He’s felt out of his depth already when Sukuna visited here—now he’s taking him away for a night, Megumi simply doesn’t know what to expect, and worse, how to act.
He sighs when he pulls the green fabric over his shoulders. He prays to whatever deity is listening that he won’t make a complete fool of himself.
✧*:.｡..｡.:*✧
Uraume leads him to an oxcart, lifting the curtain guarding the opening to allow Megumi entry first. Once he is inside, Uraume climbs in beside him, and a somewhat tense silence ensues as they pull into motion.
Megumi had never ridden in a cart before, thought always that it was something for those who had money to spend. And even if he acquired riches somehow, there’s never even been a place he had to go that was too far to go on foot. So, he wonders just where they’re headed, but doesn’t find the courage to ask.
“I trust you read the books Sukuna-sama provided,” Uraume’s voice breaks the silence. They don’t look at Megumi even when addressing him, and he’s glad for it.
“Yes,” he affirms. He’d read them all, cover to cover.
The matron had held him back all week, allowing not a single customer to share the room with him, all so Megumi could read those books. It was a strange yet welcome change of pace. Megumi can’t remember the last time he went a whole week without sex. As he had lounged on his futon, flipping through the pages under the dim light of the lantern, he had allowed himself to dream for the briefest moment.
A life like this, marked by leisure and void of unwanted hands on his skin. A distant, childish fantasy. His treacherous mind had wondered—what if Sukuna-sama buys out my contract?
He tries not to think of it now but instead recall the literature he’s studied in the past days. Those books, they were on sorcery, a concept foreign to him, even though Sukuna insisted some secret power rested just under Megumi’s skin. Curses, cursed energy, cursed techniques, oh, it made his head spin. Still, his interest was piqued. One of the books wrote in great detail about this technique of his, and Megumi found himself fascinated by the painted illustrations of colorful animals that supposedly were all his to control.
The only ones he recognized were the dogs.
The oxcart takes them to the outskirts of Kyoto. They’re jostled as they ride down the dirt road past the endless stretch of fields just outside the city. Megumi peeks through the tiny window cut into the side of the cart, watching the countryside pass them by. The rays of the setting sun tinge the landscape a beautiful hue of orange. He tries to remember but comes to the conclusion that he’s never quite seen anything like that. The pleasure house had been his world since he was four years old. In the vanishing snippets of his memories before that, he sees no fields and sunsets.
A bit further off the road, the cart stops. Uraume exits first, waiting for Megumi to follow after them. His geta sandals hit the dirt as he hops out of the small carriage, and Uraume points at a path disappearing between the trees.
“Sukuna-sama is waiting for you,” they say.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“No,” is the simple response. They motion towards the path again, so Megumi nods and sets out on the way into the underbush. He doesn’t know where he’s supposed to go exactly; Uraume hasn’t told him. Something however, tells Megumi that he’ll find Sukuna just fine.
As the sun fades, Megumi emerges on the other side of the path, coming face to face with a small stream. With the light now gone, the tranquil waters have turned into a deep, dark body of ink, lying before him strangely still and undisturbed. Out here, it is silent. Megumi can hear neither birds nor insects, nor the rustles of animals in the bushes or otherwise. All he hears is the sound of his own breathing.
Such an unnatural state of things, and even still, Megumi thinks he knows the cause of the silence.
He doesn’t see him, not before he feels him. The sheer mass of Sukuna’s cursed energy carries over to where he stands, like a tidal wave come to sweep him up and away. Outside under the stars, it seems even bigger and more uncontained than it had back in Kyoto, and even then, Megumi had felt himself smothered under the sensation.
No wonder every animal in the area had fled upon his arrival. But Megumi remains.
He walks to where he sees him standing. Sukuna looks out onto the stream, his four arms hidden underneath a black haori. If it wasn’t for his size, one might be able to mistake him for a regular man. Megumi studies him as he approaches, and the closer he gets, the higher Sukuna seems to rise, the difference in their size only becoming more pronounced with each step.
All of a sudden, Megumi feels his stomach drop. Sukuna had never seen him in clothes so plain, with his face and body bare of paint and perfume. A cold breeze tickles his exposed neck, where a thick bun of horsehair and golden pins usually adorns it. Right now, he’s no courtesan, no woman, just Megumi.
Awfully plain Megumi, who never thought he could feel so self-conscious.
Sukuna turns to him when Megumi stops. His four red eyes travel over his smaller form. Megumi searches his face for any kind of reaction in the brief moment he gets to look at him before he remembers that he should lower his gaze. He sees nothing there. No grand reaction to the reveal, but also no disappointment.
Megumi lets out a sigh of relief.
“You called for me,” he says, folding his hands in front of his body right where his obi sits on his hips. It’s a strange feeling for him; he almost misses the snug fit of it around his midriff, where the women wear it. Sukuna hums in response.
“I did. We’ll need the open land.”
He doesn’t elaborate. Megumi doesn’t ask.
“You read the books?”
“I did,” Megumi affirms again. The King of Curses nods in approval, crossing the lower pair of his arms over his belly. Megumi sees...it. The second mouth there that seems to have a mind of its own. A big, red tongue darts out, poking the arm closest to it like it’s gauging whether or not the meat nearby is something to eat. It retreats quickly, and Megumi swears he sees the mouth pout.
An uncontrolled giggle escapes his lips. Sukuna glances at him, so Megumi swallows it quickly.
“Your technique. The ten shadows,” Sukuna begins, and Megumi nods. Such a big and imposing name for something that feels so small in Megumi’s hands.
“It’s the prized, hereditary technique of the Zen’in clan, one of the three big sorcerer families,” Megumi adds, driven by the strange urge to prove to Sukuna that he did his homework.
“That’s right,” he says. “So what is a Zen’in with the ten shadows doing hidden away in a pleasure house, playing at being a woman?”
There’s no judgment in his voice; it is entirely void of accusation. And yet, it causes Megumi’s cheeks to redden in embarrassment.
“I’m no Zen’in, I have no family, never had,” he tells Sukuna.
“Some lost son or a whore’s bastard boy, either way, their blood is yours. Their technique is yours,” Sukuna grunts, turning fully towards him. “And I intend to hone it. You’ll learn, and you’ll learn well.”
Something about Sukuna’s words strikes a chord within Megumi. A long, deeply buried memory suddenly appears before his mind’s eye, blurry as it is. He remembers a man, a man tall as a tree, who petted Megumi on the head and then left, even though he cried loud enough to wake all of Kyoto.
He shakes his head and wills it all away, back into the darkness it was hidden inside all this time.
“Why?” he asks Sukuna.
The King of Curses smiles at him, a wide, toothy grin that has Megumi staring at him, a little perplexed. “Because there’s no greater joy in life than fighting a strong opponent. And you’ll make the strongest of them yet.”
Hearing that, Megumi blanches.
“Yo...you want me to fight you?” he croaks, the blood in his veins turning to ice with the sudden wave of fear that washes over him. He swallows heavily and resists the primal urge to turn on his heel and run.
Fighting the King of Curses? Him? Megumi shakes his head gently, at himself or at Sukuna, he doesn’t know. The other takes in his appalled expression, his smile not yet having faded.
“Not today, of course. Fighting you in that sorry state of yours would be no challenge at all,” he says to Megumi, and something about it cuts deep.
“Let’s begin,” Sukuna adds after a moment, oblivious to Megumi’s inner world of feelings. “Summon your shikigami.”
✧*:.｡..｡.:*✧
What Megumi had wrongfully believed could be a night out under the stars turns out to be the most exhausting time of his life. Once, a few years back, he had a customer who seemed insatiable, using Megumi’s body many times in just one night. When the first light of dawn shone through the windows, he had left and left he had Megumi an exhausted mess on the futon, pale skin covered in bites and bruises, sore, wet, and sticky.
But this, now, is pushing him to his limits.
Under Sukuna’s watchful eye, Megumi crumples to the ground once again as that strange, masked bird he summoned himself turns its claws on him once more.
The book said that to control these things—shikigami, the technique user must tame them first. Sukuna ordered him to start with the weakest, and true to the writing, the knowledge on the summoning came to Megumi instinctually. Crossing his hands into the shape of a bird felt familiar, like a movement engraved into his body after a thousand times of performing it, even though Megumi cannot remember ever seeing himself do it.
But the summoned bird is vicious. Megumi calls upon the dogs, but in the end, it doesn’t make him any less helpless. Stumbling around the open space by the river, he feels like a newborn foal desperately trying to stand, only that every step is punished by sharp claws cutting into his skin.
He hears Sukuna click his tongue in annoyance, and somehow that cuts even worse. He had disappointed him. Shame makes Megumi’s legs heavy like lead.
Before the bird can take out his eyes in another swift swoop, the black dog jumps past Megumi in a flash and catches a feathered wing in its teeth. Throwing it to the ground with a heavy thump, Megumi gasps in surprise, and the bird screeches, withering in place in an attempt to free itself. But quicker than Megumi can look, the white dog is there. It pounces onto the trapped shikigami, closing its jaws around the bird’s neck, and with a final screech, the silence returns.
All three of them slip into the shadows, leaving Megumi to stand and stare at the empty spot before him. A strange feeling overcomes him, like a puzzle piece placed into an empty spot, a connection now formed.
Had he tamed the bird? There’s no sense of victory. All Megumi had done was stumble around like an idiot while his dogs did all the work.
“That was quite pathetic to look at,” Sukuna comments after it’s done. Megumi ducks his head.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, feeling the pit in his stomach grow.
A white half-moon had risen, reflecting in the water and illuminating Sukuna’s face. Megumi sees nothing in there; he can’t really tell what the King of Curses is feeling, but his words are enough to assure him that he’s not happy with Megumi’s performance. His gaze is distant and cold, almost as cold as the night had become. Megumi shivers, pulling his haori close around himself as he wishes that he were back at the pleasure house instead, sharing the room with Sukuna and reciting haiku.
Sukuna brings a hand to his chin, pondering silently for a moment before he appears to have an idea.
“Perhaps you need a stronger motivation,” he declares. The lower pair of arms is pushed up against his hips as a determined expression overtakes his face. He nods at himself. “Right.”
Sukuna looks at Megumi. “I am going to attack you now.”
“What?” he splutters just as Sukuna flicks his finger, a motion so tiny and seemingly inconsequential that one might actually miss it. Megumi blinks, wondering what just happened, feeling a swell of cursed energy for but a breath before it disappears back into the air.
His yukata suddenly falls open. There’s a clean cut spanning diagonally from the top of his right shoulder, across his torso, and down to the crook of his left arm. Megumi looks down on himself.
And then, he’s on fire.
Blood bursts from his chest, running down his skin in heavy waves like a waterfall unleashed. It burns, a fire ignited right there inside his heart, a sensation so foreign and painful it renders Megumi frozen where he stands.
He doesn’t cry out, but his body’s frantic response to the injury and pain causes tears to spill from his eyes, blurring his vision as he looks at Sukuna.
Megumi can’t make out his face. And suddenly the world spins. With a heavy thud, he finds himself on his back in his grass, the cold from below seeping into his back, while his chest feels warm and sticky.
It hurts, Megumi thinks as a trickle of blood runs down his neck, spilling into the grass below. He’s going to die here. He’s going to die, he’s going to die, he’s going to—
Heavy footsteps draw closer just as Megumi’s blurry vision begins to darken at the edges. Sukuna’s silhouette appearing above him is the last thing he sees before unconsciousness washes over him. And he thinks, I’m so scared.
✧*:.｡..｡.:*✧
A warm hand rests on Megumi’s bloody chest. He doesn’t react, his eyes glued to the night sky above him. He’s tired.
Then, a strange and tingling sensation. The pain ebbs away, and Megumi falls into darkness.
A while later, he wakes with the cold night breeze on his face. He’s jostled, carried—small in someone else’s arms. His eyelids feel heavy and fall shut again.