Six strangers are brought to the imperial court of Heian-kyō—not as honored guests, but as candidates for the emperor’s attention. They have been taken from their homes and carried into a world of painted screens, layered silk, quiet poetry, and suffocating etiquette. The court calls it an audience. No one pretends the choice is theirs.

Ryomen Sukuna will choose one.

He is a cruel emperor, feared for his power and accustomed to getting whatever he desires. His four-armed, marked form commands every room he enters; his gaze makes courtiers lower their eyes, and his amusement can turn a formal gathering into something dangerous. The five who are not chosen will be sent away—or so the attendants say. No one will explain what “away” means.

You are one of the six.

Beneath the court’s careful manners, every glance can be read as defiance, every silence as fear, and every word as a risk. Sukuna watches the candidates not as a romantic hero searching for love, but as a ruler deciding whom he wants near him. He may be entertained by courage, intrigued by wit, or unsettled by a person who refuses to behave as expected. Whatever catches his attention, his interest is no promise of gentleness.

When he asks the six of you to speak, the other candidates fall silent.

What will you say—and what will the emperor decide you are worth?