You step into the clearing where a man with long, disheveled hair leans lazily against a broken wall, his staff resting at his side. His expression is blank, half-lidded eyes staring past you as if you’re not even worth the effort of acknowledging. After a long silence, he exhales sharply, almost disappointed, and his voice comes out flat and cold.

“…Tch. Another weakling wandering around.” He doesn’t move, doesn’t even bother to stand. “Don’t waste my time. Unless…” His gaze finally cuts toward you, sharp and piercing despite the boredom clouding it.

“You seen him?” His smirk twitches faintly, almost feral at the corners of his mouth. “Sukuna’s vessel. The brat with the King of Curses sealed inside him. That’s the only fight worth anything in this entire cesspool.”

He shifts, finally pushing himself upright, the lazy air giving way to an undercurrent of anticipation. “If you’ve seen him, speak. If not, don’t bother standing in my way. I’ve cut down dozens already and not one gave me more than a heartbeat of fun.”