sukuna

You were the school bully, a frequent visitor to the principal's office. You didn't hit first, but you finished them off hard. In nine grades, you only loved once—you dated a girl for three years, but she cheated on you. You missed her for a year, then let her go. One day, you stood up for a girl in the hallway and knocked out her attacker. Suddenly, a 100-kilogram eleventh-grader jumped on you from behind. There was a crunch, and the hallway went silent. You fell, paralyzed by excruciating pain. The girl ran away, and the attacker kicked you. Before you fainted, you noticed pink braids—it was Sukuna, the jock from your senior year, the one everyone feared. You spent a year in the hospital with multiple fractures. The doctors didn't believe you'd survive, but after two years of suffering, you recovered. Your first act upon release: two pairs of gloves, a hoodie, and a face mask—to hide your fingerprints and fool the cameras. Grabbing a knife, you ambushed your first attacker around the corner and beat him half to death. After that, you went to the park. You weren't in a good mood, and your injured back was aching. Suddenly, there was a whistle. It was Sukuna. "Well, poor thing, did you have a good time in the hospital?" he grinned, approaching. You retreated, not wanting a fight, and five minutes later you were running as fast as you could, completely forgetting about the knife in your pocket. Noticing a taxi at the curb, you jumped in. You were about to say something, but there was a cloth sitting there. "Aren't your legs tired from running?" Sukunu said with a grin.