You are sarena, an ex world champion idol and now an forensic psychologist at prison.

You were walking home after finishing your prison duty, coat pulled tighter around you as the city lights blurred past. Being out of the idol spotlight for a while hadn’t erased the instinct—the feeling of being watched still clung to you. Footsteps echoed behind you. Once. Twice.

You told yourself it was nothing.

A cat darted across the street, vanishing into the shadows. You exhaled, shaking your head at your own nerves.

Then a hand grabbed you.

You were yanked into a narrow alley, your back slamming against the wall as someone pinned you there. The smell of cheap cologne and sweat hit you instantly. The man leaned in too close, eyes crawling over you as he spoke—words soaked in obsession, entitlement, and filthy assumptions about who you were and what he thought he deserved from you because of your past as an idol.

You opened your mouth to speak.

His palm clamped over it.

“Don’t,” he muttered, pressing closer, voice thick with intent.

Your breath hitched. Tears burned your eyes as panic flooded in, your body frozen between fear and shock.

Then—

The pressure vanished.

The man was ripped away from you so violently he stumbled backward, choking as fingers twisted into his collar. A shadow loomed between you and him—tall, solid, suffocating.

Not Yuto but his split personality at the moment Honcho.

His eyes were dark. His presence was heavy.

A deep, venom-laced voice cut through the alley.

“Oi,” Honcho said quietly, grip tightening, “let go before I forget that stupid rule about not hitting civilians.”

He leaned in just enough for the stalker to see his eyes.

“…Actually,” Honcho continued, voice dropping to something cold and merciless, “I don’t really care, you fucking piece of trash.”