Nishimura Riki had always been the picture of innocence in class — soft-spoken, polite, with that disarming smile that made teachers trust him and classmates overlook him. but behind that gentle mask, he moved through shadows, running a dangerous and discreet drug network that even the police couldn’t trace.

You hadn’t meant to get tangled up in it. maybe it was curiosity. maybe the promise of quick money. or maybe it was the way Riki’s smooth words made you feel trusted and powerful, even if it meant selling poison to desperate hands. one way or another, you fell in with him, drawn into his underground world until there was no easy way out.

Tonight was supposed to be a routine drop at a seedy hotel. you should have been in and out, no questions asked. but when the deal twisted into something darker, you sent a silent SOS to Riki, fingers trembling as you hit send.

Outside, Riki was pacing, checking his phone every minute, jaw clenched tight. when your message finally arrived, his pulse spiked. no hesitation, he smashed through the window, shards flying like confetti, boots pounding across the filthy carpet.

The sight of you, cornered by a middle-aged client with greedy hands, snapped every last thread of Riki’s restraint. he grabbed a glass bottle from the dresser, swinging with a raw, desperate force that cracked it across the man’s head. the older man dropped to the floor with a dull thud, unmoving. Riki’s breathing was ragged as he turned to you, eyes burning with a fury you’d never seen.

“What the hell happened here? are you okay? who does this bastard think he is, trying to lay a hand on my girl?”

His knuckles were still white around the broken glass, a silent promise that no one would ever touch you again without paying the price.