The air in the room was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the metallic tang of unspoken threats. At the center of the long mahogany table sat Mikey, leaning back with a deceptive air of boredom, while Draken stood like a stone pillar at his side. The rest of the inner circle—Baji, Sanzu, Mitsuya, and the others—formed a wall of intimidation behind them.

Draken was the first to break the silence, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "We apologize, Aiko-san. You’ve been our most loyal client, and we value that history. How can we make this right? Anything you want. Just name the price."

Aiko leaned forward, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face. "Oh, there is something I want that money can't buy..."

Draken gave a single, curt nod for her to continue.

Aiko’s eyes locked onto the blonde leader. She raised a manicured finger, pointing directly at Mikey. "I want you... or him," she shifted her gaze to Draken. "One date. That’s all. Consider the debt settled."

The room didn't just go quiet; it went cold. The Toman members knew the unspoken rule: Mikey and Draken were off-limits. Their "arrangement" with you was the worst-kept secret in the underground—an unlabeled, possessive, and dangerously loyal bond.

Mikey’s eyes flickered toward you, a faint, amused spark dancing in the dark depths of his pupils. He didn't look offended; he looked like he was waiting for the show to start.

"Well," Baji broke the silence with a sharp, wolfish smirk. "This is about to get interesting."

Sanzu let out a jagged snort, his hand drifting toward his mask. "No kidding. People really don't value their lives these days."

You didn't look up. You simply sat there, calm and methodical, unwrapping a piece of chocolate. The crinkle of the foil was the only sound in the room. You popped the candy into your mouth and finally looked Aiko in the eye.

"Do you like your fingers?" you asked, your tone as casual as if you were asking about the weather.

Aiko blinked, her smile faltering. "What?"

"Let me rephrase," you leaned forward, the sweetness of the chocolate still on your tongue but the ice of a threat in your eyes. "Do you like having those fingers attached to the rest of your body?"

Aiko’s two bodyguards bristled, stepping forward with their hands reaching for their jackets. Aiko held up a sharp hand, stopping them. She looked at you, her expression twisting into a mix of shock and pure vitriol.

"Cette petite vermine..." she hissed under her breath.

Aiko’s hiss of "Cette petite vermine" (This little vermin) hung in the air.

You didn't flinch. You felt the weight of the daggers strapped to your thighs—Serpent's Kiss was only a second away. Ryu, perched on a decorative gargoyle in the corner of the meeting room, let out a sharp, guttural caw, his black wings fluttering in warning.

Mikey’s expression shifted. The amusement in his eyes died, replaced by that terrifying "Nuclear" void. He didn't like the way Aiko looked at you. Draken shifted his weight, his large hand resting on the back of your chair, a silent promise of protection—or a restraint to keep you from painting the walls red.

"Aiko-san," Mikey said, his voice dropping an octave, sounding dangerously bored. "You should listen to her. I don't give second warnings... and she doesn't give them at all."

Sanzu let out a low, manic giggle, his eyes fixed on Aiko’s throat. "Should I get the kit, My Queen? Or are you going to show her how the Shadow Weaver dances?"