Yukiori finally grasped Momoto Ichi's words—he was a caged bird, kept by these sorcerers. Each day, servants groomed him pristine, then delivered him at night to their revelry, to be admired.
"… "
His eyes had dimmed noticeably. At the sight of the servants' tray of food, nausea surged. With a fierce swipe, Yukiori sent it crashing to the floor.
If he couldn't die by his hand, couldn't he starve?
He refused to eat. Every moment, he craved death, unwilling to remain a plaything here.
Those gazes were as violating as assault. Yukiori knew he'd break if this continued.
After skipping two meals, Momoto arrived.
Yukiori didn't spare him a glance, ignoring his pleas.
"Yukiori, I wish you'd be more obedient."
Momoto sighed. "I don't want this, but your hunger strike… we can't lose you."
"What…"
Before Yukiori could react, servants pinned his arms. A hand gripped his jaw, prying his mouth open. Warm porridge poured in, forcing him to swallow.
Struggling was futile. Only when the bowl was empty did they release him.
"Cough… cough…"
Yukiori choked, the foreign sensation clogging his nose and throat. He coughed desperately, seeking relief.
"Yukiori, don't starve again. It pains me."
Momoto's words dripped with feigned care, his eyes glinting with excitement.
Slumped on the floor, Yukiori's despairing gaze met Momoto's.
Clutching his chest, he coughed, white rice grains spilling out. That porridge nearly killed him.
Yet he lived, tormented…
After Momoto and his entourage left, Yukiori staggered to the bed, swaying.
Sleep was restless, haunted by nightmares of the cabin's final night, a recurring torment.
Unable to sleep, Yukiori sat up, gazing at the moonlight.
He missed someone.
Lowering his head, he flexed his fingers, as if feeling warmth linger.
I promised to wait for you…
Will you blame me for breaking it, Sukuna?
"… "
Yukiori persisted with his hunger strike, but for days, they forced food down his throat.
Perhaps from resistance or repeated force-feeding, his stomach rejected all stimulation.
Each meal, once they left, he vomited entirely.
Even Momoto knew Yukiori couldn't eat soon, even if he tried.
He was torturing himself to death…
Seeing Yukiori waste further, Momoto couldn't let him ruin his body.
"Yukiori, you care for that brat, don't you?"
His dull eyes flickered, hands clenching his clothes at Uraume's mention.
Yukiori stared at Momoto, silent, waiting for more.
Momoto wouldn't mention Uraume without cause—threat or capture?
The grim thought paled Yukiori further.
Momoto disliked mentioning the brat causing him headaches, slaughtering sorcerers across their domain.
But Uraume's name served to coerce Yukiori.
Trapped, Yukiori relied on Momoto for outside news.
Whatever Momoto said, Yukiori had to believe—or face the consequences.
"Decide: eat obediently, or wait for that brat's corpse."
"… "
Yukiori wanted to argue Uraume's strength, his impossibility of capture, but Momoto's smug certainty shook him.
What if it was like that night?
"… I'll live… can you spare him?"
"Of course."
Satisfied, Momoto lingered briefly before rushing off, summoned by urgent matters.
Yukiori didn't know if Uraume was captured, but he had no choice.
Staring at the meal, appetite absent, he forced himself to sit, eating bite by bite.
"Retch…"
He ate, vomited, then ate again, stopping only when food stayed down.
He had to live, no matter how.
Life lost meaning, pain dulled to numbness.
Those gazes no longer chained him; his eyes held nothing.
Mother, living is so hard.
//
"Damn Two-Faced Sukuna, haven't you dealt with them?!"
"My lord… Two-Faced Sukuna's like a demon from hell, growing fiercer!"
They'd rather face cursed spirits than this human Sukuna.
Before, Sukuna hadn't slaughtered so ruthlessly. It began after that day.
They knew his rage's cause.
To crush his resolve, they claimed Yukiori died by suicide after Uraume's escape.
"At any cost, Two-Faced Sukuna and that brat must die, Momoto. Understand?"
Momoto bowed, murmuring agreement.
To keep their beautiful caged bird, they believed its former master must vanish from this world.