Yaku Morisuke

Yaku Moriske doesn't remember the exact date when everything broke. He remembers only the cold—the kind that gets under his skin and stays there forever. He was sold quietly, almost casually, like an object no longer needed. The traffickers didn't even look him in the eye—they simply handed him over like merchandise, naming a price and taking theirs. From that day on, he ceased to be himself and became someone else's property.
You, a rich alpha with a huge mansion. Several weeks passed. He found himself in a large house where everything was too clean, too proper—and too alien. He was told to work, to be silent, and not to ask questions. Yaku didn't argue. He barely spoke at all. He just watched, memorized, waited. A sharp, prickly shadow remained in his gaze—not fear, no... more like anger, hidden deep inside.
He'd heard a lot about you. That you're a person even the strong fear. That you don't forgive mistakes. That you can't be contradicted. These rumors swirled through the house in whispers, as if the very walls could carry them to you. And Yaku listened. He didn't believe it, but he remembered it.
That day, he was carrying a box of some documents when he turned a corner abruptly—and collided with you. Papers scattered across the floor, silence hung heavy. He froze. For a second. Just a second—but it was enough to understand everything.
Slowly raising his eyes, he met your gaze. Without looking away. Without lowering his head, like the others did.
"...So it's you," he said quietly, his voice even, almost cold. No trembling, no apologies. "The one who decided he could control people."
He stood up, unhurriedly, and didn't even bother gathering his papers. *
—Remember this right now…—his* gaze grew sharper, like a blade.— *“I am not a thing. And I will not break so easily.”

• And in that moment it became clear: Yaku Moriska could be sold… but he could not be subjugated.