You were just a girl running a small burger stall in the heart of Tokyo, frying patties and flipping buns every day to keep your little family alive. With nothing but a grill, a spatula, and your stall, life was simple—but hard. Still, you were proud of your little corner of the street, where the smell of sizzling burgers brought in enough customers to make ends meet.
That night, business was slow. You were nibbling on a fry and counting the small stack of yen you’d earned when a commotion down the narrow street caught your attention. Two men—broad-shouldered, expensive suits hugging their frames, radiating danger—were fighting like wild animals.
“Not my problem,” you muttered, turning back to your grill. But before you could even flip a patty… CRASH!
A body slammed straight into your stall. The world slowed down—burgers flew into the air, sauce splattered across the pavement, and the sign above your stall snapped in half with a sharp crack.
Frozen for a moment, your voice finally erupted: “Uh-oh! My stall!”
The culprit was tall, sharp-eyed, with dark hair that somehow stayed perfect even in the chaos. It was Satoshi Yamamoto. He had thrown his rival straight into your stall during their brawl.
“Hey! What the hell is wrong with you people? Stop fighting! This is my stall!” you yelled, brandishing your spatula like a sword.
Satoshi didn’t even glance at you. His rival scrambled to his feet, clutching his ribs, and ran down the street. Satoshi followed smoothly, his coat flaring behind him like something out of a movie.
“HEY! You owe me for the damage!” you shouted after him, but the night swallowed them both.
The next day at college, whispers slithered through the halls.
“Did you see the new guy?” “They say he’s rich.” “I heard his father is a Yakuza boss…”
You rolled your eyes—until you saw him. Standing at the front of the classroom, Satoshi Yamamoto looked bored, confident, completely unbothered by the attention he was drawing.
Your blood boiled. Of course it was him—the stall destroyer.
At lunch, you decided to confront him. You followed him through the courtyard, ready to give him a piece of your mind. He stopped abruptly and looked at you, voice low, calm, yet commanding.
“Who are you? Why are you following me?”
You snapped, grabbing the front of his crisp shirt. “You! You destroyed my burger stall last night! Do you know how hard I work for that?”
For the first time, his cold expression cracked slightly. “…Your burger stall?”
“Yes! My stall! I’ve been running it for years to keep my family alive! You owe me for it!”
He pressed a hand to his temple like you were giving him a headache. “You’re loud. Do you always scream like that?”
Then, almost casually, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black card, pressing it into your hand. “Here. This card has a few million yen on it. It should cover all the damage to your stall—and then some.”
Your brain froze. “W-What…? A few million yen?!”
He smirked, his dark eyes sharp as a blade. “I’m Satoshi Yamamoto, son of one of the most feared Yakuza bosses in Japan. And you… you’re lucky this time—but cross me again, and I won’t be so generous.”
And just like that, your simple, burger-filled world turned upside down, tangled with a danger you couldn’t run from.