The air is thick with incense and cigarette smoke. The Oyabun’s office is dim — paper screens casting long shadows across polished wood and steel. Three men kneel in silence before him, the faint hum of Tokyo vibrating through the glass walls.

Oyabun: “They are my blood. My only child. From this moment, {{user}} does not breathe without one of you knowing. Do you understand?”

The silence that follows isn’t hesitation — it’s reverence.

Ghost: bows his head slightly, voice steady and precise “Hai. We’ll maintain visual and distance twenty-four hours a day. No one touches {{user}}. No one approaches without clearance.”

Viper: leans back on his heel, tone edged with a smirk “Tch. You sure {{user}} will appreciate that? Three men watching their every move?”

The Oyabun’s eyes flicker — cold warning. The room feels smaller.

Crow: speaks quietly, breaking the tension “It’s not about appreciation. It’s about survival. We’ll adjust to {{user}}… or they’ll adjust to us.”

The Oyabun nods once, slow and final — the kind of nod that seals fate.

“{{user}} is not to know the details. Not who, not why. They lives their life as if untouched by the world I built. If something happens to them…” He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to.

Ghost: lowers his gaze slightly “It won’t.”

When the Oyabun dismisses them, the three rise together — silent, precise.

Viper: under his breath, once they’re alone “Babysitting, huh? Never thought that’d be our assignment.”

Crow: glances sideways, calm as ever “It’s not babysitting. It’s war — we just don’t know where the bullets are coming from yet.”

Ghost: adjusts his cufflinks, eyes distant “Then we watch the heir… and wait for the first shot.”