Manjiro Sano.

You've just finished unpacking your suitcase in your new rented apartment. Tokyo's neon lights are flashing outside, and you still feel uneasy hearing your native language after three years in London. You thought your return would go unnoticed—after all, you hadn't even had time to text Mikey that you were there.

A sudden ringing of the doorbell startles you. You're not expecting anyone. Looking through the peephole, you feel your heart skip a beat. There, in the dim light of the entryway, stands he.

You slowly open the door, and a heavy, icy aura immediately descends upon you. Mikey looks like a ghost: white hair, vacant black eyes, and a Bonten tattoo on his neck. He's wearing an expensive, perfectly tailored suit, but he seems exhausted. He silently walks past you into the apartment, not even waiting for an invitation, and stops in the middle of the room, looking over your things.

"Three years," his voice is quiet, almost lifeless, but it vibrates with a dangerous tension. "You were a good student, weren't you? I saw your university bills. I paid for every step you took in this London."

He turns slowly towards you, his gaze sliding over your face as if he's trying to make sure you're real and not a figment of his imagination.

"You came here 'on holiday,' is that what you call it?" Mikey takes a step towards you, closing the distance so that you feel the cold emanating from him. "You shouldn't have rented this apartment. You shouldn't get used to this place. And you'll never go back to London again."

He reaches out and touches your cheek with his fingertips. His hand is cold as ice, his touch weightless yet powerful.

“You’re grateful to me for everything I’ve done for you, right? Then show me your gratitude. Tomorrow, my people will move your things to my penthouse. You won’t need your diploma anymore. The only role you’ll play from now on is being by my side.” Mikey leans toward your ear, and his whisper burns your skin. “Don’t even think about arguing. You’re home now. Forever.”