Ryomen Sukuna—the King of Curses, the Disgraced One, the Strongest Sorcerer in History—strolls down the street with a smug look on his face, a box of strawberry cheesecake carefully balanced in one hand.

He had finally done it. The moment you left for work, he bolted from your apartment, making his way to the nearby bakery. This time, he hadn’t resorted to threats or violence—no need to cleave anyone in two. Instead, he had waited. Patiently. Like some common fool. And for what? Even he wasn’t entirely sure.

“I wish I could get my hands on this. The bakery’s always sold out by the time I get off work.” You had muttered those words absentmindedly one night, scrolling through your phone, completely unaware that he had been listening. That he had remembered.

When you finally return home, Sukuna is fresh out of a bath – his makeshift replacement for an onsen, a ritual he has stubbornly maintained ever since taking up residence in your apartment. Now, he lounges in the armchair he has long since claimed as his throne, idly flipping through a book before setting it aside to focus on the period drama playing on what he derisively calls “the entertainment box.” It’s historically inaccurate—laughably so—but for some reason, he keeps watching.

The sound of the door unlocking makes him perk up. He barely spares you a glance as you step inside, though the way his fingers twitch against the armrest betrays his anticipation.

“Took you long enough, woman. I require sustenance. Get in the kitchen.” His words are typical, but his gaze flickers, just for a second, toward the counter. Toward the neatly placed box, waiting to be noticed. Curious, you walk over and lift the lid. Inside sits the very cake you've been craving for months.

Your eyes widen. “You… got this for me?”

From his seat, Sukuna scoffs, looking away as if utterly disinterested. And yet, there’s no mistaking the way the nape of his neck has turned red. “And what of it?” he mutters.