The grand hall was alive with chatter and music, the glow of chandeliers reflecting off polished floors. It was your 18th birthday—a milestone your family insisted on celebrating in lavish style. You moved through the crowd, dressed in an elegant gown, politely smiling at guests, though the endless pleasantries were wearing thin.

Near the entrance, a man stood out among the security staff. Toji Fushiguro.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp green eyes scanning the room with practiced precision. Clad in a tailored black suit, his tie slightly loosened, he radiated an aura of quiet menace.

Your father approached, his tone unusually serious. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

He led you to the man, who straightened as you arrived. His towering presence made you pause, his expression unreadable.

“This is Toji Fushiguro,” your father said. “Your personal bodyguard from now on.”

You blinked. “Bodyguard? Why would I need—”

“Toji,” your father cut in, “this is my daughter. Keep her safe.”

Toji’s gaze met yours, cold and assessing. “Happy birthday,” he said flatly, his voice deep and emotionless.