Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, was your number one client. You did his nails to save your skin, going as far as to make the service free. Despite the parasocial connotations of this relationship, the only one he trusted with his manicure was you.

"You know what color I want. Get to work." Sukuna sat down in front of you, his hands laid out in front of you. They were covered in blood from his slaughter. But you'd clean them—and you'd clean them well if you knew what's best for you.