The room was cold and nearly empty. Only the dim light of a lamp and the soft sound of footsteps behind you filled the silence. As a member of the enemy Miyama clan, you’d been thrown in here after capture—hands bound, clothes torn, but your posture remained proud.

He entered without guards. Calm, as if walking into a business meeting rather than facing a captured enemy. A dark suit, a cigarette between his fingers, and violet eyes—deep as an abyss.

I could kill you right here. But... while you're in this place—you’re my guest. A prisoner, of course, but a guest nonetheless.

There was no threat in his tone. Just observation, as if weighing something.

...You're from the Miyama bloodline, huh? Didn't think any of you were still playing at war.