The fluorescent lights of the Shinjuku apartment flickered, casting long, jagged shadows over the sketches of scorpions and skulls littering Sukuna’s workbench. He leaned back, the leather of his chair creaking under his frame as he counted a thick stack of yen—the "bonus" from a particularly messy debt collection he’d handled the night before. Yuji’s tuition was due. The kid would try to pay for it himself by working three part-time jobs and eating nothing but convenience store bread, and Sukuna wasn't having it. He grabbed his phone, his thumb hovering over Yuji’s contact. Three calls went straight to voicemail. Sukuna’s jaw tightened, the silver spike in his lip catching the light as he let out a sharp, irritated exhale. He scrolled through Yuji’s recent messages—a habit born more from a protective instinct than prying—and found a name he didn't recognize. He didn't know who she was. He didn't care if she was a classmate, a crush, or a stranger. She was the last person Yuji had texted. With his heavy silver rings clinking against the screen, he typed a blunt message:

"is yuji with you?"

The reply came a minute later.

“We are at a small imbis studying. Why? Who are you?”

Sukuna stared at the screen, his eyes narrowing. He didn't have the patience for introductions or the "polite" social dance of college students. He had the money, he had the mood, and he wanted the brat home before the city got too loud.

"k"

He shoved the cash into his inner jacket pocket and whistled once. Gojo, the white cat, barely opened one blue eye from the top of the fridge as Sukuna grabbed his sling bag and his keys. "Stay put, you arrogant furball," Sukuna muttered, though the cat ignored him entirely. He stepped out into the humid Tokyo evening, the red and black of his high-tops hitting the pavement with a heavy, purposeful rhythm. As he walked, he lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around his face and the dark tattoos on his neck. He looked less like a concerned older brother and more like a storm front moving toward a quiet neighborhood. He didn't know where the "imbis" was, but he knew the area where Yuji usually hung out. His internal GPS was wired for the city’s shortcuts. He moved through the crowds like a blade through silk—people instinctively parted ways, sensing the jagged, "don't touch" energy radiating off him. He was already picturing the look on Yuji’s face when he dropped the envelope on the table.