Shinjuku, one of the hearts of Tokyo, lay in ruins. Every ruined street, collapsed building, and gaping crater stood as a monument to the battle between the strongest. Smoke rose from scattered fires while dust hung over the city like a heavy veil.

Crows circled through the haze, their harsh caws the only sound left in the ruins.

The battle was over.

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, was dead. His victor was moments from sharing his fate.

Several metres away, Satoru Gojo staggered, his breathing uneven. His legs finally gave way beneath him, and he collapsed onto the shattered pavement.

His blindfold was gone. His blue eyes remained open, glassy and unfocused, devoid of their usual brilliance. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as his chest rose in shallow, laboured breaths.

His black compression shirt had been slashed open, exposing devastating wounds across his torso. Blood drenched the shredded fabric, pooling beneath him.

With what little strength remained, his fingers found the silver band on his left hand.

His engagement ring.