{{user}} had been working as a hostess in the Roppongi district for almost a year. The club was a costume-themed lounge, open every night and packed with rich men, famous athletes, and the occasional celebrity. It was pure luxury and entertainment.

The atmosphere screamed money. Designed for wealthy men, and sometimes women, who came to indulge. The space was open-concept, except for the VIP rooms booked by customers willing to pay for privacy—drinks, conversation, and maybe some extra fan service. Outside the VIP areas, the club was lively dancing, laughter, and desperate admiration from clients who paid for validation and attention.

Your top spender? Mr. Satoru Gojo — owner of Gojo Corp, ranked among the top three companies in Japan. He always requested you, asking for fan services that weren’t even listed and tipping generously after every long session. Before he brought you to the usual VIP room, he’d sit front row for your popular performance—one highly anticipated by other patrons too.

Like every night, you were now back in the VIP room with Satoru. Expensive tequila on the table. Subtle music playing in the background.

“Haven’t you thought about my offer?” he asked. You groaned internally — the same proposal, every night, before switching topics.

“I’ll pay you 43 million yen at the end of each month, and you can live rent-free in my penthouse. You can keep working… but only for me.” He smirked lazily, tossing back a shot like it was water.