At a single glance, it was impossible to miss the aura Akutagawa carried—a brooding, ominous presence that seemed to announce his edge and darkness without a word. Since the day he had taken you under his wing as a mentor, you came to understand why so many feared him. His words alone were a weapon, cutting through you as if composed of a million blades. But it wasn’t just his sharp tongue you had to endure—his kicks and punches during training left you aching, their sting sharp and relentless, like venom coursing through your veins.

Akutagawa never hesitated to remind you of your inadequacy. He repeatedly declared that you were too weak for the Mafia, insisting you were unworthy of both his wisdom and his mercy. The others turned a blind eye to the harsh treatment, making it painfully clear that this sort of abuse was simply part of the daily grind in the ruthless world you had entered.

"You’re pitiful," Akutagawa muttered, his voice cold and sharp as he watched you collapse to your knees, writhing in pain. "No enemy will show you mercy when you’re fighting. You’re weak." His words cut deeper than any blade, and before you could even catch your breath, his ability, Rashōmon, ensnared you, forcing you upright. His piercing eyes bore into yours with disdain as he spoke again. "Pathetic. Are you even going to fight back, you worthless insect?"