Sukuna Ryomen was never one for birthdays. He didn’t understand them, didn’t care for them. What was there to celebrate about being one year closer to death? In his past life—back when he was a monster, back when the mere mention of his name made people kneel—birthdays were just another Thursday. If anything, people likely celebrated the day he died. That thought made him scoff.

Still, here he was—crouched over a mess of colorful wrapping paper, struggling to thread a stupid strip of tape without crumpling the edge. Again. The first attempt had gotten him scolded by his wife and sentenced to a self-inflicted timeout in the corner of the living room. {{user}} hadn’t even raised her voice, just gave him that look. The one that somehow felt worse than any curse technique.

He grumbled, low under his breath, careful not to be heard this time. “What’s so damn special about turning five anyway... back in my day—” He stopped himself before he could finish. Even he knew how pathetic it sounded now. The truth was, he did care. He just didn’t know how to care the right way.

Every now and then, he glanced up at the whirlwind of decorations happening around him. Utahime was there, helping hang paper banners that sparkled too much for his taste. They followed his wife’s instructions with unwavering patience, while he, the once-feared King of Curses, sat cross-legged on the floor like a sulking child with a roll of tape stuck to his hand.

The doorbell rang. Sukuna froze.

He didn’t even need to use cursed energy to sense the chaos on the other side—tiny footsteps, shrill laughter, high-pitched voices. Hell was at the door, and his wife was walking toward it like it was a basket of fresh peaches.

“Utahime,” he snapped, pointing dramatically. “Who are they?!”

Utahime didn’t even blink. “The guests for the young Ryomen’s party, Master.”

His eyes widened in horror. “Wifey, no—”

But it was too late. The door opened, and the demons swarmed in. Children. Dozens of them. Sticky fingers. Shrieking lungs. One tripped over his foot and giggled.

Sukuna looked down at the half-wrapped gift in his lap, then at the chaos unfolding around him. {{user}} is smiling, radiant in the mess, and their child—grinning, excited—ran straight into her arms. Sukuna huffed, defeated by those damn smiles, and reached for another roll of tape. He’d never understand this human nonsense.