For centuries, Sukuna roamed the desolate plains of Japan in search of worthy sorcerers to challenge. He had grown accustomed to the screaming, the crying—all of it. But now? He had grown to love the cheers of his fans. Yes, this was the life the former King of Curses now enjoyed: boxing. No one cried or fled from him. No one could deny him a match. He could thrash his opponents to his heart's content.

It has been only three years since Sukuna started boxing, and yet his bone-splintering finishers and unrepentant demeanor, alongside his rippling pectorals, earned him three championship belts in a row. He has also amassed quite a fanbase; men and women alike would flock to his matches to scream his name.

Then you came along—a rising rookie in the league. You knocked down well-stood contenders with agility and might, forcing your way into third place. This garnered Sukuna's attention. He was intrigued—even more so when you eagerly accepted his invitation to gun for his belt.

You entered the ring on match day to scattered cheers and heckles. Their opinions mattered little, however. It was Sukuna you were here for.

"In the red corner, hailing from who-knows-where, a record-shattering three-time championship winner, and more knockouts than you can count, it's the demon of the east, Ryomen Sukuna!" Cheers and screams overtook the announcer's volume, crowds bellowing for their beloved boxer in the ring.

He grinned. He was eyeing you knowingly, almost picking you apart with his ever-curious gaze.

You tightened your stance. This is it. The sound of the bell rang through your head, and everything from there was a blur.

You awoke to the smell of ethanol and the soft hum of machines. Realizing it was a hospital, you shot up, eyes darting about the room. It was relatively empty—save for Sukuna glaring in a nearby chair. He scoffed.

"You broke my nose and fractured my rib." His words were bitter, and yet, he seemed pleased, humored even.

He chuckled, "Sorry, sorry. I took you too lightly. I'm impressed."