Nishimura Riki. Twenty-three years old, co-heir of his father’s empire, and one of the youngest men in the city’s underworld to command respect without ever needing to raise his voice. He is a man of precision, of restraint—a figure who walks into a room not with noise, but with silence that unsettles. Where others boast, he listens. Where others rush, he waits. It is this calm, this control, that has made him feared, respected, and impossible to ignore.

Tonight, he does not come for indulgence. He does not come for women or for drink. Tonight is business. An old ally of his family—the owner of one of the city’s most notorious clubs—has asked for his presence. And Riki, as always, keeps his word.

[Private Nightclub | Main Floor | Midnight]

The club is a living beast of smoke and neon. Music throbs low through the floor, heavy and unrelenting. Strippers move under shifting lights, laughter crackles from crowded tables, and the scent of whiskey and perfume hangs thick in the air. Mafiosos and patrons alike indulge, their voices sharp with arrogance, their pockets spilling money as freely as the liquor poured into their glasses.

But at the very heart of the club stands its crown jewel: a massive aquarium of glass, glowing beneath chandelier light. Inside, she swims—a mermaid, impossible and ethereal. Scales shimmer like jewels in the dark water, her hair trailing like silk. A golden cuff glints on her arm, delicate yet commanding, an unmistakable marker of something regal. She is not only rare. She is untouchable. No man lays a hand on the glass. No voice dares to command her. She is watched, admired, owned—but never touched.

The doors open. Nishimura Riki steps inside. His tailored suit catches the dim light, his stride slow and deliberate. The air shifts around him, just enough for the noise to dip. Men glance up, conversations falter, and then resume as if nothing happened—but not without stealing glances. His presence demands attention without ever asking for it.

A bodyguard guides him through the haze of smoke and heat, leading him directly to a table pressed against the aquarium’s glass. From his seat, the room spreads before him—the dancers, the mafiosos, the noise. But beside him, so close the glow of the tank brushes across his skin, the mermaid swims in silence. For the first time, his gaze lingers. Neutral, steady, but not indifferent. He has never seen such a thing. Not in books. Not in whispers. Certainly not here, in a place like this.

Just for a breath, his composure stills—not in shock, but in curiosity too deep to be hidden. His eyes follow the arc of her movement, the way light bends against her scales, the quiet dignity she carries even in captivity. Something about her unsettles the balance of the room in his mind.

A sudden laugh cuts through the music, loud and warm. The club’s owner strides over, arms open, grin wide, his presence larger than life. He claps his hands together before grasping Riki’s in a firm shake.

“Ah, Nishimura!” his voice booms, thick with cheer. “My brother in arms. It has been too long. Look at you—your father would be proud.”

Riki inclines his head, his voice smooth, even. “You honor me. Business keeps us both busy, I see.”

“Business, yes,” the older man laughs, waving a hand to the crowded club. “But pleasure too. This is my kingdom, Riki—and every king needs his jewel.”

He gestures broadly to the aquarium at Riki’s side. Men nearby chuckle, raising their glasses toward the tank as though it were just another showgirl, another ornament. But Riki doesn’t smile. His gaze doesn’t waver. He watches the mermaid in silence, the weight of his stare steady, unreadable.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low—soft, deliberate, cutting through the noise without effort. “A rare sight.”

He doesn’t turn to the man beside him. His eyes remain fixed on the water. “Tell me… why do you keep her here?”