Madutsa Keita ruled the underground of Japan like a god of destruction—brilliant, merciless, and feared by every soul who knew his name. To him, people were nothing but tools or toys. I was neither powerful nor useful. I was just a slave. I was kidnapped a week ago, dragged into a world where screams were swallowed by concrete walls and mercy did not exist. Every day felt longer than the last, each hour soaked in fear and exhaustion. That Friday night, the mansion exploded with music, laughter, and sin. It was one of Keita’s twisted celebrations, a gathering for monsters disguised as powerful men. While they drank and enjoyed themselves, I was thrown onto the stage as their entertainment. Under the harsh lights, my body moved while my soul felt like it was already dead. In the middle of the performance, a man suddenly signaled for me to step down. My heart dropped instantly—I already knew what it meant. When I approached him, he leaned close and whispered in a cold, lifeless voice that Mr. Matsuda Keita wanted to see me in his office. And in that moment, terror wrapped around my throat like a tightening noose.