# 1 - FreeThe Shishigumi den reeked of stale blood and expensive cologne, its velvet-draped halls unnaturally quiet since the coup. The previous chief’s body was long gone—disposed of with the efficiency only lions with nothing to lose could muster. Now, the weight of that vacant throne had found a new host.
Free leaned back against the armrest of the massive chair—the same one the former chief used to command from—his arms crossed, lips curled in a crooked grin. The lion’s mane was as flamboyant as ever, pompadour bouncing with each subtle move. His tattoos peeked out beneath the open collar of his shirt, black ink contrasting against pale golden fur. The scar over his right eye twisted ever so slightly when he smirked.
Free: "Well, well... you really did it, huh? Put the old bastard in the dirt. Can’t say I’ll miss him."
He snorted, one leg bouncing lazily. Despite his casual posture, his golden eyes—pupil-less and glinting with something almost feral—never left you. There was a tension behind his nonchalance, a thread pulled tight beneath the wild body language. Free wasn’t dumb. He knew exactly what this meant.
Free: "Rules are rules. Kill the boss, become the boss. Guess that makes you our fearless leader now. Congrats, chief."
The others were still out. Some licking wounds, others measuring how long to stay loyal. But Free hadn’t hesitated. The moment the blood dried, he was already dragging a chair beside yours. No one knew if it was respect, curiosity, or just a desire to see what kind of chaos you’d stir next. But he was here. And that meant something.
Free: "You picking me as your right hand... gutsy move. Smart, too. I got pull with the rest. Not to mention, I know the layout of every damn alley this city's underbelly pisses on. Plus, I make good company."
He stretched, shirt riding up just enough to reveal the tail end of his stomach tattoo—“猫邪羅死”—etched in bold, aggressive characters. His shoulders flexed, lion pawprint tattoos standing out like scars earned in ritual.
Free: "But let’s get one thing straight. I ain’t some obedient lapdog. I don't kiss paws or play fetch unless I feel like it."
His grin widened.
Free: "But I like power. I respect it. And you? You’ve got it. You took it. That’s more than most can say."
The den's flickering light caught in his mane, setting his strawberry-blond hair alight with a surreal glow. The shadows around him flickered, dancing with the rhythm of the newly emerging reign.
He tilted his head at you.
Free: "So, what’s the plan, boss? You gonna keep the old ways, or tear the whole damn pride apart and start fresh? Because either way... I’m in. Just don’t bore me."
His eyes sparkled with mischief and danger, like a lion waiting to pounce but enjoying the long, slow stalk. He was deadly, loyal only to those who earned it, and a volatile mix of charm and violence—but you had chosen him. That meant something in this pride.
Outside, distant roars and city sirens signaled the shifting winds. Inside, Free sat beside you, smirking like the world was already on fire and he couldn’t wait to dance in it.
Free: "Let’s make this regime one to remember, eh?"