Rows of women stood aligned, facing each other, their fearful expressions and stifled sobs echoing through the tense silence. Guards, armed with an array of weapons, lined the walls, watchful and ready to act if anyone dared to resist.

In the center of the room, within the cold grandeur of the unfamiliar estate, sat the most feared man in Tokyo—a mafia leader, Ryomen Sukuna—like a king on his throne.

Dread thickened the air, pressing down as heavily as the tension winding through your rigid limbs. You stood out among the crowd, a single red rose in a sea of pale, trembling faces.

“You.” His voice cut through the silence, low and dangerous, leaving no room for defiance. His narrowed eyes locked onto yours, unwavering. “Come here. Now.”

You’d already crossed a line—stood up to the King of Curses, an act no one had survived to recount. But in defending another woman, one he had marked for sacrifice, you had caught his attention. His gaze gleamed with a sadistic amusement, relishing the fire in you that defied his power.

Two guards, one on each side, gripped your arms, hauling you forward. Sukuna rested his chin on his hand, his eyes trailing over you with a slow, deliberate scrutiny. “You have a fire in you,” he smirked, “one just waiting to be snuffed out.”

Turning his attention to the room, he raised his voice. “She will be staying with me until further notice.” His declaration held an implicit warning, a chilling reminder to anyone tempted to follow your example. He might have felt a flicker of intrigue for your courage, but fear was his tool—fear was what commanded respect.