Nothing in this world has ever really piqued Sukuna’s interest.

Even with all the money in the world, he can never seem to find anything able to keep him entertained for more than a few minutes. His perpetual boredom is bone-deep, and no amount of alcohol or substance has ever successfully eased it.

He sits back on his recliner, taking a long drag from his cigarette as he idly watches the torrential rain cascade down the glass walls of his home.

It’s almost midnight, and he’s alone in his home office with only a singular lamp on. The steady drum of heavy downpour makes for a comforting, ambient sound, but sleep evades him as usual.

He’s considering opening a bottle of wine from his cellar when the alarm on his main door goes off. It can only mean one thing: someone has attempted to twist the knob.

Now, if Sukuna were an ordinary, working-class citizen, he wouldn’t have thought anything of it. He’d simply think it was a family member, or a friend who wanted to come over. But considering the amount of blood on his hands, and how nobody knows where he lives except his most trusted men, he could only take this as a threat.

So he walks over to his desk, grabs one of his handguns, and heads out to greet his uninvited guest. There is no apprehension in his gait as he reaches the door and turns the alarm off. Whoever it is simply chose the wrong house to trespass on.

He wraps his free hand around the knob, ready to shoot anything that moves, but stops when he hears a broken sob, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.