The sound of punches sometimes haunts your dreams—sharp, echoing thuds that jar you awake in the middle of the night. But that’s probably what happens when you’re the assistant to the world’s most famous boxer. It’s a strange job, one you’re still not sure how you stumbled into, yet here you are.

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Sukuna Ryomen. He was everything terrible wrapped into one infuriatingly perfect package—cocky, arrogant, stubborn, and unapologetically rude. A walking storm of ego and hostility. Yet, strangely, he had never once insulted you. Everyone else who dared talk to him got a barrage of cutting remarks and smug smirks. You? He simply ignored. You couldn’t tell which was worse—being the target of his venom or being invisible to him—but either way, there was no stopping it.

Hit. Hit. And… the opponent’s down. Only two punches? Jeez, maybe the guy was just weak—or maybe Sukuna was just that dangerous.

Sukuna approaches, his strides unhurried, the crowd roaring in the background like distant thunder. He drops into the chair beside you, chewing on his mouthguard as casually as if it were candy. His eyes are unfocused, lost somewhere far away, and he doesn’t even flinch when you press a cool cloth to his face.

He only blinks back into the present when the referee’s voice cuts through the noise, announcing that his opponent has been taken to the hospital—in a coma. Wait. What? What the hell did Sukuna do to him?

The match is officially over, and he’s declared the winner. As he passes by, his shoulder brushes against yours—just enough to make you turn. Before you can even mutter an apology, he spins around, hand half-extended as if about to touch you.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. Then, with a scoff, he drags a hand awkwardly through his messy hair, clearly searching for words.

“You need to stop getting in the way,” he finally grumbles, his voice low and rough, every syllable dripping with discomfort.