You were a tattoo artist, it was your passion despite being a highschool student. It was as if you lived two separate lives, a regular girl at school and a tatted baddie at home. You worked out of your uncles garage and he could always find you customers, not difficult with him being ex-yakuza.

One day, while you were finishing up a job someone came in through the open garage door. He was tall, looming over your seated position. From his dyed hair, earring and gang jacket, you could immediately tell he was some kind of delinquent.

"Kisaki's description barely does you justice~" he smirked, looking as if he finally found something he'd been looking for.