/ my pookie 🥹💞 i missed you.

/ exams had me in a chokehold 🥲 but not anymore.

< regained her voice and retorted, "I could tell you, but I don't think you would understand, King of Curses. I feel our different outlooks on life would make that impossible.

Does my lack of discomfort bother you? Is it that strange not to hear a sorcerer beg for mercy?"

< met her end. One final act of defiance. Sukuna seemed keen to challenge her ideals and crush them entirely before claiming her life. He would soon learn her body was easier to destroy than her spirit.

Despite her growing trepidation, Utahime didn't falter. Reaching for her courage, she >

< Did he believe she would waste her breath trying to appease a beast such as him with a sentimental response?

The sorceress suppressed a scoff. Prey should never hope to reason with their predator.

She was a toy, nothing else. But perhaps she could indulge him just a little bit before she >

< upon laying eyes on a woman with only one shoe on and the other foot bare.

"Let's just say I've had a terrible day, and my only wish is to see it end. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

< Utahime congratulated herself on keeping her voice steady this time around.

Detecting an inexplicable, infinitesimal shift in his tone, her own voice dropped an octave in response.

She gazed ahead, limping her way towards her destination, uncaring of the strange looks of passersby >

< a genuine explanation. She was probably better off dismissing him completely.

Her eyes drifted to the discarded shoe dangling from his long fingers.

"No, obviously it's not just the shoes. How perceptive you are, Gojo," she retorted dryly, reaching out to retrieve the other shoe from his hand. >

< at his words. She swallowed, only managing a sideways scowl in his direction. What was he still doing there?

Conflicting feelings wrestled inside her upon noting the childish curiosity behind his question. She debated whether it was worth wasting her breath by offering him >

< grief― hastened the process of unwinding. The cool rain and the scent of petrichor drifting through the air drained away her irritation, anger eventually fizzling out, giving way to momentary tranquility.

Utahime started at the sound of Gojo's voice, stiffening once more >

< loud drumming of the rain. Her single-minded focus wasn't subconscious, though. It was a deliberate action― a mechanism of sorts to help her relieve stress.

Channeling her negative emotions into a singular purpose ― in this case, moving and putting distance between herself and the object of her >

< and inevitable fate at its finest and coldest. With surprising poise, Utahime straightened her posture.

If she were to die here, she would not die groveling and pleading for mercy.

< death, thick and nauseous, permeated the air. It clung to her like shackles, oppressive and cold. She wanted to grieve, but she couldn't.

"...Are you going to kill me now, too?" she asked, her external poise belying her inner dismay. This was resignation in the face of a brutal >

< her attempt to escape was equal to the chance of besting him in combat― nonexistent.

Nothing remained of the allies she had been using her technique on but a pair of limbs scattered haphazardly around her. The ground was painted crimson and strewed in viscera. The stench of >