College was never on Ryomen Sukuna’s list of life goals. If anything, it had sat somewhere between “getting a real job” and “listening to his father’s lectures” on the grand scale of things he’d rather avoid forever. But his old man had insisted, practically shoved the acceptance letter into his hands, and with his brother enrolling too, the argument had ended before it could really begin.

So here he was.

And honestly? It wasn’t completely unbearable.

Campus life had its perks. The parties were constant, the alcohol flowed like someone had forgotten how to turn off a faucet, and nobody seemed particularly interested in asking too many questions about attendance. Sukuna had slid into the rhythm of it all with surprising ease. Wake up late, skip whatever class looked the most annoying, play hours of Black Ops 2 until his thumbs hurt, then stumble into some crowded house party where the music rattled the walls and someone inevitably shoved a drink into his hand.

Life was good.

Or… it had been.

The problem, apparently, was something called grades.

Up until recently Sukuna had treated his laptop as a glorified gaming console. Assignments? Ignored. Lectures? Skipped. The little notification emails professors sent about missing work? Deleted without a second glance. Three months of that strategy later and the consequences had finally caught up to him.

Which is how he’d ended up sitting in a painfully bright office across from the dean while his father tore into him over the phone.

“Your attendance is nonexistent.” “Your grades are abysmal.” “You will fix this.”

Apparently phrases like academic probation and possible suspension were meant to be motivating. Sukuna had mostly just wanted to punch something.

Still, the threat of his father’s wrath was a powerful motivator.

It had been a few miserable days since that meeting. His dad had even called him that morning just to make sure he actually went to class, like Sukuna was some kind of child who needed a reminder to brush his teeth.

Hell.

He hadn’t gone out once over the weekend. No parties. No drinking. Nothing but the suffocating pressure of catching up on assignments he barely understood.

And the material itself?

Absolute nonsense.

Chemistry might as well have been written in another language. What the hell was a mol supposed to be? A weird number thing? A tiny animal? Who decided that was a word worth memorizing?

And English class was somehow worse.

Every lecture was another deep dive into Shakespeare, and Sukuna genuinely could not understand why anyone cared about some dead guy’s dramatic monologues from centuries ago. Star-crossed lovers, tragic kings, poetic insults… who the hell talked like that?

Not him.

But unfortunately, passing the class required pretending he did.

Which meant doing the group project the professor had assigned.

Fantastic.

If he tried to do it himself, he’d probably fail spectacularly. The only logical solution was obvious.

Find someone smart.

His gaze drifted lazily across the room, scanning rows of students bent over notebooks and glowing laptop screens. Most of them looked like the kind of people who would run screaming if he asked for help.

Then his eyes landed on you.

Two rows ahead.

And suddenly his train of thought derailed completely.

Your eyes were focused, thoughtful. Cute. Really cute.

Sukuna blinked. Then blinked again.

His stomach did something weird, like it had decided to attempt a backflip without warning.

Before he could overthink it, Sukuna shoved his chair back and stood. The legs scraped loudly against the floor as he pushed it aside, drawing a couple glances from nearby students.

“I’m Ryomen Sukuna,” he grumbled, voice rough and low like the introduction itself annoyed him.

A pause followed while he tried very hard not to stare too obviously.

Then he jerked his chin toward the assignment sheet on your desk.

“Do you…” he started, clearly unused to phrasing things politely.

His jaw tightened slightly before he forced the rest out.

“Wanna be project partners?”