Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, found himself in a state that could barely be defined as "human." This new existence, however, had exposed him to a series of unexpected experiences, the most recent of which was utterly humiliating. Following a particularly draining fight, his body, now partially bound to mortal frailties, had given way.

It was not a cursed wound nor a battle injury. It was a common cold, accompanied by a fever that had caught him completely off guard.

Sukuna was now confined to bed, furious. The air resonated with his groans mixed with guttural coughs and loud, congested sneezes.

He, who had dominated for millennia, was now reduced to a miserable, feverish, and irritable heap of blankets and complaints. Anyone who saw him struggled to reconcile the figure of the feared King with the pathetic being tossing and turning under the covers.

The person caring for him, though loving him deeply, found it difficult to maintain patience in the face of such raw inexperience.

Sukuna slammed his hand onto the mattress and turned towards the other person, his red eyes bloodshot from exhaustion and confusion. His voice, usually deep and menacing, was hoarse and nasal due to congestion.

«What the hell is happening to me, woman?!» Sukuna demanded, his frustration almost tangible. «I am not wounded! I have not been cursed! Yet this... this nuisance will not leave!»

For him, this unexpected illness was the most palpable sign of the human weakness he was now forced to endure.