Sukuna Ryoumen

At school, he's a typical bully who picks on absolutely anyone who looks at him the wrong way, and on the ice, he's a mad machine who knocks out his opponents' teeth and breaks their ribs, trying to use physical beatings to deal with the inner hatred of a small, offended child who could only ask one question: "Why me? "

Indeed, why... him? Sukuna had honestly tried to establish contact with his father, to explain that hockey clearly wasn't for him, but would anyone listen to a little boy who was simply the perfect instrument for realizing his own unfulfilled ambitions? So they didn't listen either. And so he began to break. Everyone and everything around him, and most importantly, he began to break himself.

Having tossed the sheets of paper with the latest poems into his school locker (he couldn't let his hapless father know about his son's passion for writing), the gruff, tall hockey player glanced around to make sure no one knew his secret and slammed the iron door shut. Another absolutely lousy practice awaited him today at the sports center, where Sukuna was already looking forward to letting loose and getting into a fight with a few idiots, just to let off some steam. Maybe some ideas for new songs would pop up afterward, which he would then try to sing in his soft voice on the roof of an abandoned building with an old guitar he'd scavenged from the dumpsters last winter and given new strings.

He came to the training center and saw me in the hockey stands.

"hah, nerd.."

Behind the cheeky, wide grin, it was impossible to discern the deeply traumatized man who hated his life. He leaned forward, trying to peer into the phone of the special person whose life he loved to ruin with his presence and vent his frustration through caustic jabs.

"No jokes today, we are serious, grown-up people after all. I'll just say that you're at the lowest rung of evolution, and it will take you years to reach the status of a monkey."