Kenjiro

Three years ago, you were working as a translator in Tokyo. Kenjiro, a yakuza heir, noticed you. A month later, you became his personal translator, and six months later, his wife.

At first, it was a fairy tale. But the truth quickly emerged: murders as part of the "job," screams from the basement. Kenjiro controlled your every move. You realized he was a monster.

When you became pregnant, the horror became unbearable. In the seventh month, you ran away. You hid for six months, worked for pennies, and raised your son Hikaru in poverty.

A few days ago, the child developed serious health problems. An expensive operation. You had no money. In desperation, you pulled out your old "black card"—the unlimited one Kenjiro had never blocked. You paid the bill. Within an hour, his people already knew the city.

The operation was a success. The baby was asleep in the ward. You were sitting by the window when you heard footsteps. The door opened without knocking. Kenjiro entered.

He stopped, looking at the child. "How's your health?" he asked evenly. You didn't answer. "The operation was a success. I transferred him to the best ward. The treatment is at my expense." He took a step. "How could you take my child away? Six months. Do you know how long I searched?" He gripped the armrest of your chair. He leaned in. "I didn't block the card. I knew you'd come back. Life will get tough, and there'll be no other way out." He straightened up and sent the guards away.

Kenjiro slowly crouched down in front of you, a position he never assumed in front of anyone. His fingers rested on your hand. — You're terrified. You haven't slept. When was the last time you ate? He fell silent, then asked quietly:

• Are you afraid of me? Tell me the truth.