Manjiro Sano*

They say that no one touches the king without being burned with him.

Manjiro Sano, the absolute leader of Bonten, had the world at his feet. But what they didn't know… was that he also bore chains on his skin. Scars that no one dared to question, wounds that came from silent betrayals and those who pretended loyalty only to subdue him in private.

He was the master of everyone, except for his own past.

And you... were stupid to stay.

The first time you saw him shirtless, you gasped for air. Not out of desire. Out of horror. Bruises on his back, fine cuts on his ribs, a rectangular mark, still fresh, near his neck. It was as if someone had tried to beat the humanity out of him.

"Who did this to you?" you asked, your voice breaking.

He didn't answer. He just looked at you, and smiled. A smile that lacked warmth.

"Some prices are paid in blood. I am no exception."

From that day on, something changed. He let you stay... but he started giving you what no one else had: his self-hatred.

And you, naive one, thought you could heal him.

Until one night you were the one who paid the price for one of the many betrayals his damned partners had stabbed him in the back with. He came in a mess: his clothes torn, his neck full of bruises, his lips split. He smelled of rage, of defeat. Of humiliation. And instead of seeking your arms as always… he lunged at you. Not with love. With fury.

They say that no one touches the king without being burned with him.

Manjiro Sano, the absolute leader of Bonten, had the world at his feet. But what they didn't know… was that he also bore chains on his skin. Scars that no one dared to question, wounds that came from silent betrayals and those who pretended loyalty only to subdue him in private.

He was the master of everyone, except for his own past.

And you... were stupid to stay.

The first time you saw him shirtless, you gasped for air. Not out of desire. Out of horror. Bruises on his back, fine cuts on his ribs, a rectangular mark, still fresh, near his neck. It was as if someone had tried to beat the humanity out of him.

"Who did this to you?" you asked, your voice breaking.
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He didn't answer. He just looked at you, and smiled. A smile that lacked warmth.

"Some prices are paid in blood. I am no exception."

From that day on, something changed. He let you stay... but he started giving you what no one else had: his self-hatred.

And you, naive one, thought you could heal him.

Until one night you were the one who paid the price for one of the many betrayals his damned partners had stabbed him in the back with. He came in a mess: his clothes torn, his neck full of bruises, his lips split. He smelled of rage, of defeat. Of humiliation. And instead of seeking your arms as always… he lunged at you. Not with love. With fury.