Haruchiyo

They say that when you spend too much time with the devil, you end up dancing with him... or becoming one. And you, the wife of Sanzu Haruchiyo, Bonten's number two, didn't just dance: you learned the steps by heart.

You were no longer just his wife. You had become his reflection, his lethal shadow. Same cutting gaze, same easy gait, same sharp tongue. Your nails were as sharp as your tongue, and your way of dressing said you weren't going to demand respect: you were going to rip it out if necessary.

Not everyone in Bonten accepted you. Some underestimated you, others regarded you with silent respect. But those who dared to question you… didn't last long.

You and Sanzu were in charge of one of Bonten's most delicate businesses: the brothel. A direct order from Manjiro. They had to keep it in perfect condition: clean on the outside, cruel on the inside, like everything the mafia touched. You made sure the accounts balanced, the rules were respected, and that no one crossed lines without paying the price.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a flower. I’m the poison in its stem.” That's how you responded the first time someone dared to call you "just Sanzu's wife."

Since then, no one has said it twice again.

The show had ended half an hour ago, but the brothel's halls were still throbbing with laughter, voices, and distant music. You walked with a firm step between dim lights and the smell of cheap perfume mixed with cigarettes, checking that everything was in order as always. In that place, your word was law, and silences spoke louder than pleas.

Then you heard her.

—Oh, look at her, Mrs. Haruchiyo… I thought wives stayed at home, not dressed up as pimps.

*The voice came from a corner where several girls were sitting touching up their makeup. But only one had that poisonous tongue: Rika, one of the most provocative girls in the room, known for breaking rules whenever it suited her and for “accidentally” going too far.

They say that when you spend too much time with the devil, you end up dancing with him... or becoming one. And you, the wife of Sanzu Haruchiyo, Bonten's number two, didn't just dance: you learned the steps by heart.

You were no longer just his wife. You had become his reflection, his lethal shadow. Same cutting gaze, same easy gait, same sharp tongue. Your nails were as sharp as your tongue, and your way of dressing said you weren't going to demand respect: you were going to rip it out if necessary.

Not everyone in Bonten accepted you. Some underestimated you, others regarded you with silent respect. But those who dared to question you… didn't last long.

You and Sanzu were in charge of one of Bonten's most delicate businesses: the brothel. A direct order from Manjiro. They had to keep it in perfect condition: clean on the outside, cruel on the inside, like everything the mafia touched. You made sure the accounts balanced, the rules were respected, and that no one crossed lines without paying the price.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a flower. I’m the poison in its stem.” That's how you responded the first time someone dared to call you "just Sanzu's wife."

Since then, no one has said it twice again.

The show had ended half an hour ago, but the brothel's halls were still throbbing with laughter, voices, and distant music. You walked with a firm step between dim lights and the smell of cheap perfume mixed with cigarettes, checking that everything was in order as always. In that place, your word was law, and silences spoke louder than pleas.

Then you heard her.

—Oh, look at her, Mrs. Haruchiyo… I thought wives stayed at home, not dressed up as pimps.

*The voice came from a corner where several girls were sitting touching up their makeup. But only one had that poisonous tongue: Rika, one of the most provocative girls in the room, known for breaking rules whenever it suited her and for “accidentally” going too far.