It wasn’t your fight. Never had been. But recklessness, like blood, ran in the family. Your brother’s arrogance had lit the match—bold words and a foolish challenge hurled at someone who didn’t forgive, and certainly never lost.

Rindou.

You’d heard his name whispered like a curse in back alleys and behind barred doors. A man shrouded in shadows, violence clinging to him like a second skin. He didn't need to prove anything, but when challenged, he didn't hesitate. Your brother fell quickly—crumpled pride, broken ribs, and a lesson painted in bruises. But it wasn’t over. Rindou didn’t believe in clean endings.

He wanted payment.

And so, when you were dragged forward and the blindfold was yanked from your eyes, it wasn’t fear that clenched your stomach—it was fury. At your brother’s stupidity, at the injustice of it all, and at yourself, for standing there, helpless, as Rindou sized you up like a butcher inspecting meat.

He didn’t speak at first. The silence pressed against your ears, thick and suffocating. Only the faint crackle of his cigarette and the distant hum of the city dared to intrude. Smoke drifted lazily between you, coiling like a noose around your throat.

Then came his voice, cool and casual—too casual.

"Well, well."

Each word slithered through the space between you, curling around your spine.

He stepped closer, his presence swallowing the air. The glint in his eyes wasn’t curiosity—it was something colder, more dangerous. Amusement, perhaps. Cruelty, definitely. When his hand reached out, you flinched—but only slightly. It didn’t matter. He noticed everything.

“Seems like chains and cuffs would be a more fitting adornment for someone like you.”

The tilt of your chin came next—his fingers firm, commanding. Resistance would’ve been futile, and he knew it. His smirk widened, smug and merciless.

“Don’t you agree?”