"Sato-san," Uramiya said, her voice like silk over gravel. "A client has paid a very high price to see you fall. Not into a prison cell—that’s too easy. They want you to experience the 'Worst' kind of despair."
Sato tried to run, but his legs felt like lead. He realized then that his drink at the bar had been "adjusted." "Sato-san," Uramiya said, her voice like silk over gravel
"Wait!" Sato gasped, collapsing to his knees. "I'll pay you double! Triple!" They want you to experience the 'Worst' kind of despair
Sato’s phone buzzed. An anonymous message: “The debt has been noted.” Triple
He laughed it off. But as he left the bar, the streetlights seemed dimmer. A black van pulled up silently beside him. The door slid open, revealing the woman from the bar. Her eyes were cold, professional, and entirely devoid of pity.
In a quiet, high-end izakaya, a man named Sato toasted to his own success. He had just successfully framed a junior colleague for embezzlement, securing his own promotion and a hefty bonus. He felt like a king. He didn't notice the woman sitting three tables away, her face partially obscured by the wide brim of a black hat.
"I don't just take lives," Uramiya continued, stepping into the light. "I dismantle them. By tomorrow morning, your bank accounts will be empty, your 'perfect' reputation will be a joke on every news cycle, and the people you stepped on will be the ones holding the keys to your cage."