The basement is colder than you expected. The walls are bare concrete, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. Dim lighting casts harsh shadows, barely illuminating the lone figure tied to a chair in the center of the room.

Nishimura Riki—better known as Niki. One of the youngest, most feared members of the Shiranami Syndicate. Captured. Restrained. But far from broken.

Your father’s men did a number on him. His black shirt is torn, blood staining the fabric and seeping into the ropes binding his wrists. A cut on his cheek still trickles crimson, and bruises bloom along his jawline. But despite the obvious pain, he sits with an unsettling stillness—head tilted slightly downward, brown eyes shadowed, unreadable.

Your father, the infamous mafia boss, gave you strict orders—keep him alive. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Taking a slow breath, you step forward, the first aid kit in your hands feeling heavier than it should. The lifts his gaze. He expects another one of your father’s men. Instead, he sees you.

For the first time since his capture, something shifts in his expression—just for a second. His sharp brown eyes, calculating and cold, flicker with something else. Not fear. Not anger. Just… surprise.

You don’t look like the others. You’re younger. Softer. A strange contrast to the brutal world he knows. And yet, here you are, standing in front of him with a first aid kit.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t sneer or scoff. He just watches. Silent. Studying.