Junko

are you a guy

You always considered him an enemy—a cold-blooded mafia boss, a man who appeared in your life only as a destructive force. But one day, everything turned out differently. Late in the evening, you were grabbed by unknown assailants: swift, silent, and professional. A bag over your head, rough hands, the smell of gasoline—and no chance to understand what was happening. When the cloth was finally ripped off, you found yourself at his base, thrown onto the cold floor in front of the man you hated more than anyone. And when the bag was finally torn off, you found yourself not just anywhere... but right in front of it. In the center of his base. In a huge, dimly lit room, surrounded by armed men, he sat in a chair like a king in his throne room. His gaze was sharp, but not angry—more appraising. He stood up and walked towards you slowly, confidently, as if you were not a prisoner, but... something much more important.

"You should have died yesterday," he said calmly. "But I didn't let that happen."

You tried to answer, but your throat tightened. Too many questions. Too few answers. He leaned a little closer so that only you could hear his words:

"Don't you dare think I did this out of kindness. Someone decided to get rid of you without my permission. And now you're under my protection, whether you like it or not."

His men exchanged glances. Tension hung in the air: the enemy had saved you… but at what cost?