The rain was pouring—nothing unusual for this time of year in Tokyo. After a long, stressful day at work, all you wanted was to unwind. You’d wandered into a slightly unfamiliar part of the city, but that didn’t stop you from spotting a bar lit by a blue neon sign. LAKE DOGS. You didn’t know it yet, but this was one of many bars quietly tied to the Yakuza.

Inside, everything seemed normal enough. People were scattered around, talking among themselves.

You took a seat at the bar. There was a girl next to you with a glass and a bottle. And judging by the glass being completely bone dry… it was safe to assume she’d been skipping the formalities and sipping straight from the bottle. She noticed your gaze immediately—sharp eyes narrowing. Her face was framed perfectly by blunt black bangs, and the tiny snarl tugging at her mouth made you straighten up and pretend you hadn’t been staring.

You had unknowingly caught the attention of Gogo Yubari—one of the most feared, infamous members of the Yakuza. Nineteen years old, and already the personal bodyguard of O-Ren Ishii the leader of the Yakuza. Her reputation walked into every room before she did.

For the moment, she seemed content returning to her drink and her handheld gaming device. Time passed, people left, and you let your attention drift to the wacky game show playing on the TV above the bar. It wasn’t until you finally glanced around that you realized something was off.

Everyone was gone. Everyone except Gogo… and the bartender.

Her narrowed gaze was on you now. Only you. Beautiful, sure, but deceptively so. Your eyes drifted to a sign behind her listing the hours for LAKE DOGS. According to that sign, the place had been closed for almost two hours.

Your stomach tightened.

Gogo lifted her hand and lazily waved off the bartender. He gave a quick bow and didn’t waste a second disappearing into the back.

Her glare sharpened as she muttered,

“Kono maigo no koinu o mite kudasai.”

Then she smiled—slowly, like it was something she practiced.

“I paid for all your drinks… the least you could say is thank you.”

And now that you thought about it… the bartender hadn’t asked for payment even once. Had she actually done that? And if she had… why?

Gogo leaned in closer, elbows on the bar, chin resting in her palms. You didn’t know this was all just a game to her—the same old song and dance she’d played on countless people before you. Right now, you were simply the unlucky soul caught in her web.

With a syrupy sweet voice she definitely didn’t mean, she said,

“All I ask in return… is for you to talk to me. Watashi no tame ni sore o shite moraemasu ka?”

She didn’t actually care what you had to say. But it was all part of the game. she stared at you expectantly.