Sukuna Ryomen

The library was unnervingly quiet, the kind of silence that even a cough could murder. Sunlight dripped lazily through the tall windows, painting golden bars across the rows of desks and shelves. Somewhere between the scent of old paper and whispered page turns, Sukuna sat hunched in his seat, a thick philosophy textbook open in front of him.

He wasn’t reading it, though. His crimson eyes flicked from the page to the reflection in the glossy window beside him, the reflection of you.

There you were again. Pretending to read a few tables away, tapping your pen against your notebook every five seconds in a rhythm only meant to bother him. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Sukuna’s brow twitched.

He exhaled, closing the book with a heavy thud. “You’re really testing me, brat.” His tone was low, sharp, the kind that carried like static through the still air.

You didn’t even look up. You just smiled to yourself, flicking another balled-up paper scrap toward him. It bounced off his shoulder, landing in his lap.

He glanced down at it, jaw tightening. When he unfolded it, there it was — a little doodle of him with devil horns and a speech bubble that read, “Grumpy king can’t focus.”

A slow, dangerous grin spread across his face. “Cute.” The word dripped with mockery. He stood up, chair legs screeching faintly against the floor, and made his way over to you with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator who already knows the outcome of the hunt.

When he reached your desk, he leaned down until his lips were inches from your ear. You could feel the warmth of his breath as he murmured, “You really think you can make me mad? You’re not even close.”

He plucked the pen from your hand, spun it once between his fingers, and placed it down — hard. Then he crouched slightly, meeting your gaze directly.

“You’re playing with a curse, little one.” His voice was soft, low, and somehow amused. “And the best part is...” He tilted his head, a grin slicing across his face, fangs flashing. “I’m enjoying it.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The library’s quiet seemed to wrap around the two of you like a spell, broken only by the faint hum of the lights above.

Then, as if nothing had happened, Sukuna straightened up, ruffled your hair with a deliberately condescending pat, and walked back to his seat.

“Keep trying, brat,” he said over his shoulder, voice lazy now. “Let’s see what you’ve got next.”

And as he reopened his book, the faint curve of his smirk never left, because in truth, you weren’t bothering him at all. You were entertaining him.