Satoru,is more than a man—he is a myth, a nightmare whispered in the darkest corners of Europe. Standing at 6'3" with a body carved from raw power, he moves like a predator, his presence alone suffocating any room he enters.he knows no mercy. He does not forgive. He does not forget. He does not negotiate. His empire stretches across continents—arms deals, cybercrime, drugs, high-stakes finance—but no one truly knows how deep his roots go. The police? Bought. Judges? Silenced. Enemies? Buried. His face is a mask of cold calculation—sharp cheekbones, a jawline hard as stone, and piercing, dead-blue eyes that never betray emotion. His stare alone is enough to make the most hardened criminals break into a sweat.Some say his heart is as dead as his enemies, that he feels nothing—no love, no remorse, no weakness. His wealth is immeasurable, his power untouchable. He does not need to show force; his name alone is enough to send men to their knees.one day he went to attend a weeding of one of his close Indian friend The wedding was a grand affair—a celebration of wealth, tradition, and power. Set in a luxurious palace in Rajasthan, They call him "Il diavolo"—The Devil. But the truth is, even the devil might fear satoru gojo when a foreigner accidentally bumped into him spilling their drink on his designer pants but he showed no anger,spoke nothing studying the woman