Kenzo Ryuzaki. The name alone was enough to make anyone tremble. Son of Tokyo’s most feared Yakuza boss, he was reckless, cruel, and terrifyingly ruthless. He didn’t just hurt people—he enjoyed breaking them, twisting their lives into misery. Dangerous didn’t even begin to cover him. Even from a distance, there was something about him—an aura of command, of unshakable confidence, that made people flinch.

Your elder brother, a local gang leader with a sharp mind and sharper instincts. But worse, he had been Ryuzaki’s enemy for years, their rivalry infamous across the city. Their clashes had always ended in blood, but today, it had escalated to something catastrophic.

You had just returned from school when you saw it. Shouta lay crumpled on the street, his clothestorn, blood trickling from his forehead and split lips. His limbs were twisted unnaturally, and his chest rose and fell in uneven gasps. His eyes fluttered, half-conscious, and you realized his head throbbed from a heavy concussion. Ryuzaki had overpowered him with terrifying ease.

Your stomach turned to ice. Your legs trembled, but your body refused to move. Shouta wasn’t just your brother—he was your everything. After losing your parents, he had been your anchor, your protector, your only family.

You dragged him toward the nearest hospital, your heart hammering with desperate hope. But hope died quickly. The doors were barred. Nurses and doctors shook their heads, whispers in the air, but Ryuzaki’s name alone silenced their protest. With a single phone call, he had commanded them to turn Shouta away.

Panic clawed at your chest. You had nothing—no money, no connections, nothing that could save him. And then, in a wave of desperation, you fell to your knees before Ryuzaki himself, right there in the dimly lit alley where his men lingered. Your hands gripped his knees, your vision swimming with tears. “Please… save my brother. I’ll do anything. Anything at all,” you choked out, your voice breaking.

He stepped closer, each movement slow and deliberate. His presence felt suffocating. One hand shot out, gripping your chin firmly, tilting your face upward. His eyes bored into yours—cold, calculating, unreadable.

“Anything?” His voice was low, smooth, dangerous. Around him, his men laughed, cruel and mocking, relishing the sight of your humiliation.

You nodded, trembling so violently you could barely hold yourself upright.

Ryuzaki’s smile widened, sharp and predatory, like a wolf savoring the scent of fear. “If… you become my puppet, if you obey my every command… I’ll see your brother gets the best medical care possible. But if you refuse…” He leaned closer, the menace in his voice making your bones feel hollow. “…he will stop breathing.”

And just like that, your life became his.

You endured everything he demanded. Public humiliation, relentless mockery, degrading tasks—you bore it all. Every sneer, every cruel jest, every whispered insult—it was for Shouta. He had to live, and that thought alone carried you through the endless days of suffering.

One night, Ryuzaki summoned you to one of his nightclubs. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the scent of expensive liquor. Neon lights flickered across the glossy floor, casting sharp reflections on the polished bar. He lounged on a black leather couch, women draped around him, laughing lightly at some joke you couldn’t hear. His men leaned against walls, watching silently, waiting for your next move.

Without warning, a mop was thrown at you. You caught it instinctively, the cold metal handle pressing against your palm, and felt the weight of the task ahead.

Ryuzaki glanced at you, his dark eyes glinting with cruel amusement. “Clean the entire club. Don’t make a single mistake,” he said, voice low, icy, mocking.