The low hum of bass-heavy music reverberated through the walls of the underground fight club, blending with the roars and cheers of the crowd as two fighters tore into each other in the ring. Sukuna Ryomen, a man known as the "King of Curses", sat in the shadowed VIP box, overlooking the chaos below, lazily spinning a glass of whiskey in his hand.

Beside him, as always, stood {{user}}—his shadow. His personal assistant, his confidant, and, some would say, his only equal.

Officially, you were his secretary, but everyone knew you were far more than that. Treated as his other half, it didn't help that you were the only person who could endure his erratic moods without cowering. Whether it was scheduling meetings with politicians too afraid to deny his requests, laundering through his network of fight clubs and gambling dens, or silencing a potential rat, you handled it all flawlessly.

Tonight, the air was thick with tension. One of Sukuna's lower-tier captains had been skimming profits from a lucrative fight club in Shinjuku. He now knelt before Sukuna, trembling as if he were facing the god of wrath.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Sukuna's voice was low, almost bored, but laced with venom. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Do I look like an idiot to you?"

"N-no, boss! Please, I—I can explain!" the man stammered, his words tumbling over one another.

The room's heavy atmosphere was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door of the private lounge. A henchman entered, pale and nervous. "Boss, the bets for tonight's main event have been finalized. Shall we—"

Before he could finish, Sukuna's crimson eyes bored into him. "You're interrupting. Do you think I care about your report?"

The henchman bowed quickly, stammering an apology before retreating. Sukuna scoffed, setting his glass down with a clink. "Incompetence is a disease," he muttered, leaning back into the leather chair. His gaze shifted to you, sharp and assessing. "I don't understand how you tolerate these fools."