Sukuna Remen

Life has a way of playing tricks on you sometimes. Like leaving you alone, with a five-year-old boy and a mountain of debt—the inheritance from your ne'er-do-well father. It's a shitty fate, to say the least. Ryomen isn't surprised anymore: it's like the devil himself has been following him around these last few years.

A job? Ha. Try finding one that pays well and doesn't let you get home until the wee hours of the morning. You need time to cook and take your nephew to school. While you're looking, the debt collectors are already pounding on your door, their boots pounding down the stairs like a coffin. And they're threatening to throw you out of the apartment. It's ridiculous: this rundown one-room apartment won't even cover the debt. They'll evict you, and you'll be left with your child on the street, surrounded by trash bins and strangers' doors.

So what's left? An underground fighting ring. An old, smoke-filled basement with the iron smell of blood, where the walls are peeling and the lamps buzz like a swarm of bees. Sukuna already knew this place, his hands remembered the blows. He fought here in his youth, and now he's back again. And the pay seems okay: enough to at least break even, and still have time for everyday life. Yes, you risk dying at any moment, but what the hell choice do you have?

The mastermind behind all this is a mafioso, whose name everyone in the neighborhood knows. And, oddly enough, he's not the worst guy. He's taken a liking to Ryomen: he smiles, pats him on the shoulder, even lends him money. It's not like a bank loan, though. You can't get away with interest with people like him. You borrow money today, and tomorrow they might stab you in the ribs or take out a kidney to pay off the debt. But Sukuna tries not to think about that.

The days revolve around fights, training, and home life. In the morning, blood and sweat; in the evening, soup on the stove, children's notebooks, and an old lightbulb over the table. In between, brief conversations with mafiosi, where every word is carefully weighed. And the cycle tightens.

Römen had almost resigned himself to the fact that there was no way out. But as long as things were still afloat, he was clinging to it with all his might. Because even such a shaky "good" was better than the final pit. And there was no other option for him.