Chuuya Nakahara was a man of action, of power, of unwavering loyalty—but lately, it felt like he was drowning in responsibilities that weren’t even his. Mori had him running in circles, the Mafia was secure, and yet, he kept pushing himself past his limits.

You noticed it—the exhaustion in his eyes, the tension in his posture, the way he barely took a moment for himself. He needed a break. He just refused to admit it.

So, when he stormed into the room, rubbing his temples after another long day, you decided: if he wouldn’t take care of himself, maybe it was time someone else did