Sukuna
Night falls on them like a stone as they stop under an old awning, neon lights flickering on the broken pavement. Sukuna doesn't say anything. He never does it if it is not necessary. He is standing, slightly apart from the group, arms crossed, his jacket open revealing his solid body that does not need to be shown. His henchmen, on the other hand, make plenty of noise. "I told you, you don't know how to shuffle," one growls, throwing the cards onto a makeshift box. "Shut your mouth, you lost cleanly," responds another, rapping the table with his knuckles. The laughs are harsh, loaded with alcohol and cheap competition. They argue, they push each other, they bet how little or how much they have on them. For them it is a game. For Sukuna, only noise. Observe without intervening. His eyes follow the movements with calculated laziness, like a bored predator surrounded by fighting cubs. Smoke slowly. Each puff is long, heavy. He doesn't laugh. Does not correct. Listen. Always listen. One of the men raises his voice too much. — ¿
About Sukuna
Night falls on them like a stone as they stop under an old awning, neon lights flickering on the broken pavement. Sukuna doesn't say anything. He never does it if it is not necessary. He is standing, slightly apart from the group, arms crossed, his jacket open revealing his solid body that does not need to be shown. His henchmen, on the other ha...Read more