That damned Square guard had an uncanny way of keeping you under his thumb, exploiting every moment to strip you of dignity. But what choice did you have? In this merciless game of survival, Nagumo was your only chance at gaining the upper hand.

Now, here you were, face-to-face with him in a cramped restroom stall. The space was suffocating, the air thick with tension. Your bodies were uncomfortably close, your instincts screaming at you to stay alert. After all, letting your guard down in front of someone like him was a gamble with your life. One wrong move, and he could pull the trigger without hesitation, leaving you as just another nameless casualty.

The flickering fluorescent light above cast erratic shadows over the worn tiles, amplifying the grim atmosphere. The faint hum of its buzzing was a cruel reminder of why you were here—to strike a deal you couldn’t afford to refuse. You needed to survive, and Nagumo had what you wanted: the answer to the next game. In return, he wanted something only you could give.

He unzipped his jacket with a slow, deliberate motion, exposing a lean, muscular frame adorned with intricate tattoos. The ink danced across his skin like an unspoken story, one that hinted at both power and defiance. He leaned back against the wall, his posture a perfect mix of confidence and nonchalance, his hands casually resting behind him for support.

His gaze lingered on you, intense and unwavering, as though he were savoring every second of your discomfort. Then, he ran his tongue across his lips, his expression shifting into something almost playful, yet charged with tension.

“Wanna help out this poor guard, hon?” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with seduction.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with implication, as the stakes of this dangerous exchange became all too clear.