Him?
Kenjaku thought, this person must be terribly important to Yukiori.
Why else would Yukiori choose to long for him?
A strange sensation churned in his mind.
Kenjaku pressed his forehead, bewildered.
Yukiori didn't notice Kenjaku's odd behavior, lost in his memories.
After a long silence, Kenjaku spoke again: "He… who is he to you?"
"… "
Yukiori glanced at Kenjaku but didn't answer.
He wanted to say family, but neither Sukuna nor Uraume had ever been called that.
Yet, this didn't stop Yukiori from holding them dear in his heart.
To Kenjaku, this silence suggested another meaning, perhaps colored by his own impure thoughts.
Kenjaku believed he'd long shed all emotions in his centuries of life.
Recalling this feeling, he realized it must be… jealousy.
Why couldn't he be the one Yukiori longed for?
Had he met Yukiori sooner, would things have been different?
"But to them, I'm already dead."
Yukiori's expression carried a trace of sorrow.
"I'll help you."
"Whatever you want to tell him… tell me, and I'll pass it on."
Kenjaku offered.
He wanted to leave a unique mark in Yukiori's heart, to ease his regrets before the end.
Yukiori, surprised, pondered deeply before saying, "I might tell him I'll wait for him in hell first."
"… Why hell?"
Because he said he'd go to hell after death, so I'll wait there for him.
Kenjaku froze, then lowered his head, hiding the shock in his eyes.
…
"But…"
"Let's not disturb them…"
"I don't want to see them so soon."
Yukiori didn't know that from the moment they met, fate had begun to turn.
He believed his death would set everything right, unaware he was already entangled in this vortex.
Yukiori always felt everything stemmed from him, so no matter how the world treated him, or how others saw him, he never resented it, nor anyone.
Once, Kenjaku would have called this foolish kindness.
But seeing it firsthand, Kenjaku's perspective shifted.
He never learned anything about this 'he' from Yukiori.
For the following days, Kenjaku diligently performed the duties of his host body.
To ease Yukiori's pain, he brewed throat-soothing pear soup late into the night.
When Yukiori couldn't sleep, Kenjaku stood by his side, keeping vigil.
Yukiori often mistook him for someone named Uraume, seemingly a child.
But Kenjaku knew Uraume wasn't that 'he.'
Kenjaku considered switching to a stronger body but didn't act, knowing it was too late to save Yukiori.
In these final moments, he wanted to stay by Yukiori's side as much as possible.
To be remembered, he lingered in Yukiori's sight.
Except for that day of reminiscing, Yukiori sank back into lifelessness.
…
"It's been a while since I saw him…"
Yukiori tilted his head toward Kenjaku, who was feeding the fish, knowing who he meant.
"He's dead."
"… "
That person, dead?
Memories blurred.
It had been ages since he'd seen Momoto Ichi, his face…
Yukiori lowered his eyes, unsure what to feel.
He wasn't happy about Momoto's death, nor saddened by it.
"How did he die?"
Yukiori asked casually.
Kenjaku relayed what he'd heard from the servants, hoping to cheer Yukiori.
A sorcerer who caged him was dead—surely that would please him.
"They say Two-Faced Sukuna cleaved him in two."
Momoto didn't die instantly.
He watched wild dogs gnaw his entrails, dying in agony, as later sorcerers witnessed.
At Two-Faced Sukuna's name, Kenjaku recalled his original goal.
He'd studied how to create the strongest cursed energy, be it sorcerer, cursed sorcerer, or cursed spirit.
After countless bodies, he'd neared these sorcerers, ready to enact his plan.
Meeting Yukiori changed everything.
He grew indecisive, jealous, even resenting his frail host body.
"Is that so…"
Yukiori snapped back, his voice low, saying nothing more before returning to his room.
Kenjaku assumed the gruesome death shocked Yukiori, missing the fleeting strangeness when he heard Two-Faced Sukuna's name.
…
…
"Kenjaku…"
Hearing his name, Kenjaku entered, seeing Yukiori on the bed, his eyes widening suddenly.
Sensing something, he staggered to the bedside, kneeling unsteadily.
"Do you think people retain consciousness after death?"
If so, why have my parents never visited me?
Yukiori gazed at the canopy, speaking slowly.
"Thank you, Kenjaku.
I didn't expect anyone to stay with me now."
He smiled at Kenjaku.
"When I first saw you, I thought you were like those sorcerers."
Only later did he realize he'd misjudged Kenjaku.
I'm not a good person.
Kenjaku thought but couldn't bear to reveal his true self to Yukiori.
After a long silence, he said, "Can you not forget me?"
Yukiori looked at him, puzzled, perhaps not understanding the question.
"Of course I'll remember… How could I forget someone who truly cared for me?"
Kenjaku nodded, not pressing further.
That answer sufficed.
"Is it going to snow?"
"I feel so cold."
Yukiori sat up, declining Kenjaku's help, and walked outside alone.
"It's nearing winter."
Kenjaku followed, answering.
The room had a fire; Yukiori shouldn't feel cold, though winter was near.
"Then my birthday's coming… I should be eighteen…"
Yukiori counted on his fingers, uncertain.
Too long here, he'd forgotten his age.
"I was born in winter, so my father named me Yukiori."
"I love this name."
Yukiori reached out, gazing at the clear sky.
No snow today—winter was half a month away.
Disappointed, he withdrew his hand, turning with a smile.
"I'm still cold.
Can you fetch me a coat?"
Kenjaku nodded, returning to the room for it.
Yukiori didn't stay put.
He hopped about, looking left and right, then sat on the swing made to cheer him.
The sunlight was warm, lulling Yukiori to sleep.
He leaned against the swing, which swayed gently with him.
When Kenjaku returned with the coat, he saw Yukiori on the swing.
Approaching, he sensed something amiss.
"Yukiori?"
Kenjaku wondered if this day came too soon, yet was glad Yukiori seemed to pass without pain.
Sitting on his favorite swing, in his favorite clothes, thinking of his most beloved.
Was he in that dream?
Kenjaku stood there until snowflakes fell.
The snow Yukiori never saw in life arrived after his death.
"But it's too late…"
Kenjaku murmured.