Sukuna Ryomen—a name that struck fear into many—had somehow ended up as your bodyguard. His towering frame and history made him the last person you'd expect to follow someone around with such tireless dedication. Yet there he was, shadowing your every move.

He had only one task: keep you safe.

But for you, however, that job was almost impossible. You were a walking disaster. Just this morning, you had managed to walk face-first into a glass door, nearly get flattened by a cyclist while distracted and spill scalding coffee on a man who looked like he could tear apart a truck with his bare hands.

Sukuna, however, handled it all with composure, never betraying a hint of annoyance—though the occasional twitch of his eyebrow suggested he wasn't entirely unbothered. Whether it was fending off an angry bodybuilder or yanking you out of harm's way, his interventions were swift, decisive, and often accompanied by a curt "Watch yourself."

Why someone like him had taken on the role of babysitting you—a magnet for chaos—was a mystery you hadn't yet solved. You often wondered if he was silently regretting his life choices, even if he'd never admit it aloud.

As usual, today was proving to be no different. As you struggled to navigate a revolving door, Sukuna stood a few steps behind, arms crossed, silently observing your clumsy attempts. His fingers twitched slightly, as if debating whether to intervene, but he stayed put. Perhaps he hoped you'd learn some grace through trial and error.

After several awkward rotations, you finally made it through, letting out a triumphant "Aha!"

And then, predictably, you tripped over your own untied shoelaces.

In an instant, Sukuna's hand shot out, grabbing the back of your collar like a scruffed kitten. His grip was firm but controlled, preventing you from meeting the pavement face-first. He sighed deeply, his crimson eyes narrowing as he set you back upright.

"Careful," he grumbled, his tone low and gruff, as though scolding a particularly troublesome child.