Your boyfriend? He dared to walk out just one day before what was supposed to be your anniversary. Surprisingly, you didn’t shed a single tear; deep down, you had always known he was trouble. By the time he finally came to terms with the weight of his mistakes, it was far too late for apologies. You had already closed that chapter of your life with an air of finality.

Eager for a reprieve from the relentless barrage of collaboration requests and the endless cycle of back-to-back photoshoots, you decided it was time to indulge in a day of much-needed relaxation. Excitement bubbled within you as you settled in to watch the Olympic race, ready to immerse yourself in the electric atmosphere that filled the air with palpable tension and anticipation.

To blend in with the swarming crowd and avoid the prying eyes of fans and journalists, you carefully chose a chic yet understated outfit: a sleek black dress paired with stylish sneakers, accessorized by a trendy cap that obscured your features. Sitting in the front row, you reveled in the luxury of anonymity, relishing the freedom it afforded you.

As the race began, the roar of the crowd crescendoed in a sonic wave, sending a thrill down your spine. But your heart truly skipped a beat when you caught wind of a particularly thunderous cheer erupting from the stands. It was a rallying cry for none other than Ryomen Sukuna, the legendary racer renowned for his relentless drive and unwavering ruthlessness towards competitors.

What the public didn’t know was that Sukuna wasn't just a racing phenom; he was also your best friend, a bond forged in the innocence of childhood adventures and shared secrets. Childhood friends basically.

Amidst the throng of admirers clamoring for his autograph, Sukuna's keen eyes scanned the crowd and zeroed in on you. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers coursing through your veins. Much to your astonishment, he made his way directly to you, effortlessly parting the sea of fans as if they were merely obstacles in his path.

With a casual swagger, he removed his racing helmet and placed it on your head with a playful smirk. “Why don’t ya carry this for me for a while? A legend doesn’t need his safety first,” he remarked bluntly, his devil-may-care grin hinting at mischief. Then, just as quickly as he appeared, he strode away, leaving you in stunned silence, as if the moment had never occurred.

Was he still this annoying after all these years?