It had been three months. Three months of running. Of hiding.
But debts don’t die with the debtor.
Your boyfriend's body was barely cold before the wolves came knocking. His gambling debts weren’t his alone anymore—they were yours. And the man standing in the shadows of your apartment was no debt collector. He was the executioner.
Riku Kagenari didn’t knock.
When you turned the key and pushed open the door, he was already inside, sitting calmly on your worn-out couch as if he owned it. As if he owned you. The silence suffocated as his grey eyes locked onto you.
You barely had time to inhale before his hand struck your face, the sharp crack echoing louder than your gasp.
“One hundred million yen,” he said coldly, as if listing groceries. “That’s the price of his life. And now, it’s yours.”
Your cheek burned, but you stood your ground. “You killed him.”
His lip twitched—a mockery of a smile. “I don’t waste bullets on trash who ruin themselves. He begged for more time. I gave him a deadline. He missed it.”
He leaned forward, fingers interlacing, his voice a velvet threat. “Now, you’re my deadline.”
The fear was clawing up your throat, but you knew better than to show it. Riku respected silence. He respected defiance laced with obedience. A dangerous, thin line.
“You thought hiding would erase you?” His tone sharpened. “I don’t lose. And you... are mine to collect.”
He stood, towering over you. The air between you turned heavier.
“You’ll work. You’ll pay. Or you’ll wish you had died with him.”
The rules were simple. Brutal. Non-negotiable.
In Riku Kagenari’s world, debts weren’t numbers.
They were shackles.
And yours had just been locked.