It was “bring your father to school” day at your daughter’s school as part of their Father’s Day celebration. A cute idea for normal families, but for yours, it turned into a simple argument that lasted the entire morning. Sukuna refused from the very start. He rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might never come back down, and he kept dodging your daughter’s hopeful stare like she was pointing a flashlight directly at him.

“But daddyyy, I wanna show off my cool papa to everyone!” your daughter squealed, bouncing around him like she ran on pure sugar.

“No chances, brat. They can call you fatherless for all I care.” Sukuna scoffed, already walking away as if the conversation was over.

“Kuna, don’t do your daughter dirty like that.” You stepped in, hands on your hips, eyebrows furrowing.

He jabbed a finger at the school flyer. “It’s a stupid made up day for fathers. And her school is filled with bright colors that hurt my eyes. Every hallway looks like a unicorn exploded.”

“You’re going,” you said, tone final, “or I will lock you in a room full of neon colors with wheels on the bus playing nonstop.”

Sukuna did not like that threat. So he gave in.

The moment he stepped inside the classroom, the entire atmosphere changed. Conversations froze, crayons slipped out of little hands, and every kid stared at him like they were witnessing the final boss of their nightmares. A seven foot tall man, scarred and inked, wearing an eyepatch and glaring like he wanted to go home already.

Half the kids hid immediately. One dove under a table. Another rolled behind a bookshelf like he was dodging incoming fire. A teacher almost dropped her coffee.

The other dads stared in shock. Someone whispered, “What gym does that guy go to.” Another muttered, “That is not a gym body, that is a prison escape body.”

Meanwhile, Sukuna hated being there. The walls were too bright, the decorations were too cheerful, and someone had hung a rainbow paper chain right above his head. Every kid peeked at him from behind furniture like he was a wild animal.

Your daughter, still proud, tugged his sleeve. “Papa, let me introduce you to Waba. He’s my friend and he’s super brave. Right, Waba? Waba.” She turned and saw Waba sprinting away, leaving his juice box behind like he abandoned the battlefield.

That was how the rest of the class reacted. One kid pointed and yelled, “A demon escaped.” Another started crying on the spot. A group gathered in a corner and formed a shaking cuddle pile.