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Time had slipped away, and finally, Sunday arrived. The decision to skip school on Friday had been an act of self-preservation.

Who in their right mind would willingly subject themselves to whatever Sukuna had planned? The memories of past humiliations in class were still fresh, and the mere thought of facing him again made your blood boil.

Sukuna was undeniably an infuriating asshole.

You have thought about changing schools for a while now. Despite attending Tokyo's best school, your current classmates made you question the worth of it all. Switching classes was an option, but was there even an available spot?

As the clock neared 9 pm, and the darkness enveloped the sky, you found yourself alone in the mansion. The two maids bid you goodnight, bowing before departing. With solitude setting in, you reached for your phone and dialed your mother's number.

The realization struck—how long had it been since the two of you had a proper conversation?

The rare visits with your parents occurred once every three months, and outside of those brief encounters, you hardly ever reached out. Calling your mother felt awkward; she had started to feel like a stranger.

After a few seconds, she picked up.

"Hey, honey," your mother's soft voice echoed through the phone. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest at the sound.

Despite the lack of a close relationship, you missed the warmth of her sweet voice—the affection from a mother you never quite received.

"Hi, Mom," you replied, settling into a comfortable position on the couch.

"How are you?" you asked, fidgeting with your hands nervously and clearing your throat.

"I'm good, thank you, sweetheart. How are you? Are things great in school?" Her response carried a soft chuckle, and you could hear a crowd in the background. She was likely in a public place.

"I'm okay. School is okay."

"Great to hear, honey. Let's talk a little bit later; I'm in a meeting right now." Before she could end the call, as she often did with a flimsy excuse, you spoke up.

"Um, actually, there was something I wanted to ask. Can you change schools for me?" Nervousness tingled all over you. Your mother was strict—would she even entertain the idea?

A sigh emanated from the other end. "Why would you want to change? Don't be spoiled, y/n, it's your last year."

You bit your lower lip. "But, Mom, I... I don't get along well with people in class. I'm uncomfortable, please—"

"Y/n, no. For God's sake, it's your last year, and frankly, I don't have the time to waste on changing schools for you. You'll manage." Her response carried authority, rendering you silent.

"Okay," was all you managed to say before the line went dead. She hung up.

A tightening sensation gripped your chest as you grappled with the aftermath of the conversation. How foolish it seemed to seek help from a mother who didn't even care.  Her constant travels couldn't help but make you wonder if she harbored a secret family, keeping you at arm's length.

Four consecutive Christmases spent alone underscored the isolation you often felt. Tossing your phone aside, you wiped your face with weary hands. "You'll manage," echoed in your mind, a stark reminder of your mother's distant response.

When would she embrace the role of a mother, genuinely caring for you, rather than treating you as the heir to the family company?

Dialing your dad was to no use either, as you hardly knew him. There were occasional encounters, but direct conversation remained elusive.

𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 | R. SUKUNAWhere stories live. Discover now