Katakuri’s eyes snapped toward you like twin gun barrels, his thin brows knotted together in suspicion, already leaping to the worst conclusion imaginable: you were staring at him. Of course you were. Everyone always stared. In his mind, even a passing glance felt like a judgmental spotlight shining directly on the one thing he hated most—his mouth. Those jagged, pelican eel-like teeth had earned him more fights than friends, and your poorly timed eye contact was already pushing the limits of his fragile ten-year-old patience.

With a sharp click of his tongue, he chomped angrily into his donut like it had personally offended him, crumbs flying as if to underscore his mood. His glare intensified.

"What?"

he barked, He wasn’t above throwing hands—even over a sideways glance. He’d flattened kids for less. he was more than ready to add you to the list.