"Master! On my honor as a knight, I swear eternal loyalty to you!"
"Are you truly certain of your words, young knight?"
"Yes, Master! More certain than ever!"
"Very well. I accept your allegiance. Here is your first order."
"At once, Master! I shall carry it out with diligence!"
"Perfect. It's simple: never call me 'Master' again."
"Huh? But... I... what?"
"From now on, call me PABLO ESCOBAR! Mwahahahaha!"
This world is a goddamn mess...
But hell, it feels so damn good.
Alright, let's rewind a bit.
Because even I needed time to make sense of this madness.
---
Ever since I was a kid, I've known one thing for sure:
I was never like the others.
While the other kids were losing their minds over men in tights — Spider-Man, Batman, or that raging green giant — I was drawn to the ones they called villains.
But not just any villains.
Not the over-the-top clowns or mindless monsters.
No.
I was obsessed with the charismatic antagonists.
The ones who stood alone against the world.
The ones feared as much as they were respected.
The ones whose silence spoke louder than a thousand speeches.
I was fascinated. Mesmerized. In love, even — not with comic book supervillains —
but with the real-life figures who carved their names into the bloodstained shadows of history.
The giants of the underworld.
Al Capone, Lucky Luciano, Bernardo Provenzano...
To most, they were criminals.
To me, they were legends. Kings without crowns.
They shaped my childhood the way fairy tales shape others'.
They were my role models.
And one day, I wanted my name spoken alongside theirs.
Of course, I realized early on that dreams like mine don't belong in a civilized society.
They're the kind of fantasies parents beat out of their kids—with lectures, punishments, or emergency therapy appointments.
After all… what kind of parent wants their son to become public enemy number one?
And yet, mine never once objected.
Never tried to talk me out of it.
Never showed the slightest discomfort with the ambition the world called twisted.
Why?
The answer is simple.
Can you imagine a blind man at the head of a criminal empire?
Of course not.
Even those with perfect vision fail to build such kingdoms—
So what hope does a child born in darkness possibly have?
Yes…
I was born blind.
My parents chose to focus on the one bright side of that strange dream I clung to.
As long as I was talking about the mafia, I wasn't crying.
As long as I dreamed of Al Capone, I wasn't mourning my fate.
As long as I imagined becoming a legend, I hadn't given up on life.
So instead of tearing me away from it, they supported me.
Not because they believed in the dream—
But because they believed it was the only thing keeping me alive.
They had the means. And they gave me everything I asked for.
Audiobooks on the history of organized crime.
Private tutors.
Martial arts masters.
And even a specialized instructor to train my senses.
I turned my body into a weapon.
I trained until I coughed up blood.
I studied until I blacked out.
I pushed my remaining senses to the edge—
Until, eventually, a sixth one bloomed in the darkness.
Twenty years of work.
Twenty years of solitude.
Today, I can walk short distances on my own, using my cane.
I can feel the vibrations in the air, the pulses around me, the presence of living beings.
Nothing takes me by surprise anymore.
And then, at forty years old,
I finally took a step toward my dream.
Thanks to my best friend — one of the only people who ever truly supported me — I was able to get in touch with a discreet branch of one of Italy's major mafia families… operating in Japan.
La Familia.
And today…
Today is my job interview.
The day I officially become a man of the shadows.
A soldier of the mafia.
A legend in the making.
It's the best day of my life.
Or at least…
It should have been the best day of my life.
---
Even without sight, I could tell the atmosphere in the Familia's reception hall was thick with hostility.
By tuning into the rhythm of breathing, the murderous intent in the air, and that heavy sensation of being watched, I could count around thirty people…
No. Thirty-four, to be exact.
Split evenly on either side of the room — seventeen to the left, seventeen to the right.
But one presence stood out from the rest. More dominant. Heavier.
The thirty-fifth person.
Without a doubt, the Boss. And what he was about to say would confirm it.
I stood tall, facing them.
My friend Hitoshi was by my side.
"D-Don't be nervous, man," he whispered, voice shaking.
I tilted my head slightly toward him.
"Sounds like you're the nervous one here."
Right then, a voice echoed from the center of the room.
"I'll admit, I was surprised when I heard a blind man wanted to join La Familia. And yet… intrigued. Hahaha. That's the only reason I let you come here today."
Diego — the boss of the Familia's Japanese branch — spoke with the swagger of a man who believed himself untouchable.
"But seriously… Don't you find it ridiculous yourself? Do you honestly think you can handle the missions we'd give you, with those useless eyes of yours?"
I responded without hesitation. My tone was sharp. Cold.
"Far more efficiently than every single man in this room combined."
"Oh…"
I felt the room tighten immediately.
Several hostile intentions zeroed in on me like knives.
Some of them, clearly offended, had just marked me as their target.
But no one said a word.
The silence said enough.
A slight smirk crept onto my lips.
"Yes. That's the kind of discipline I was hoping to find here."
It's just one step toward my ultimate goal.
But even so… it's satisfying.
Amid all those tense presences, I felt one particular gaze shift toward me.
Annoyed. Disbelieving.
A look that clearly said:
"You son of a bitch… what the hell did you just say?"
It was Hitoshi.
Of course it was.
"Hahaha! I like that!" Diego shouted. "I like you. So let's keep things simple…"
Clack.
A metallic sound cracked through the air.
I didn't need to see.
I'd heard that sound hundreds of times during training.
A pistol. Loaded.
But Diego wasn't radiating any murderous intent.
He had no intention of firing.
Not yet, anyway.
"Your friend over there… quite the hacker. Managed to reach us through the dark web. I was honestly impressed."
A brief pause.
"But we already have guys like him in the Familia.
You, though…"
He let out a dry laugh.
"You're one of a kind."
Then, without missing a beat:
"So here's your final test. Pass it… and you're officially in."
"What test?"
I don't know why… but a chill crawled down my spine.
"Take this Desert Eagle…
And kill your friend."
Diego's voice was almost cheerful.
As if he were offering me a birthday gift.
"Huh?! What?! No… this is a joke, right? No…"
Hitoshi was in shock.
He didn't understand.
Truth be told, neither did I.
Before he had a chance to move, two men grabbed him, slammed him to the floor, and forced him to his knees.
He didn't resist.
He was too stunned.
"N-No… stop… Why me?! I wanted to join too… no, stop…
Rei, hey… this is a joke, right?!"
"Shut it, you little punk."
"So, Rei's your name, huh? Perfect."
"Kill him, and you're one of us.
If not, you die.
There's only one spot.
I'm giving you a chance."
His voice cut through the air like a blade. Sharp. Precise.
I stayed still. Silent.
"Don't waste my time," Diego said—this time, calmly.
A sigh slipped from my lips.
So this is really how it's going to go, huh?
From the outside, I probably looked like I was thinking it over, weighing the pros and cons.
But hearing Hitoshi's shaky, panicked breathing beside me…
I felt sorry for him.
Still, the truth is—
everything was already clear in my mind.
Slowly, I opened my mouth.
"Cosa Nostra, Camorra, 'Ndrangheta... You told us Familia wanted to rise to their level, didn't you?"
"Yeah. So?" Diego replied, cold as ice.
"Well… in my opinion, that's never going to happen."
"What?"
"Everyone knows those families have survived for one reason, since the very beginning: loyalty.
So how can a mafia that demands betrayal on day one ever hope to stand among them?"
A heavy silence fell over the room.
And then…
Hahaha.
Laughter.
Mocking. Derisive.
The whole room burst out laughing at me.
"Hahaha! I knew you were a funny one!
What is this, a rom-com? Loyalty? That's worth jack shit next to money.
Come on, my dear 'loyal friend'—if you won't do it… you're the one who dies."
"Rei… what are you…?" Hitoshi tried to say.
"Enough."
A small smile crept onto my lips.
This isn't the mafia I dreamed of.
La Familia, huh?
Just a bunch of thugs chasing after money.
Damn it.
Have I wasted my entire life on mediocrity?
My whole life… dedicated to this moment.
And now it's crumbling like a house of cards.
Who sent me to this world?
No tears came.
Just a deep confusion.
Doesn't everyone deserve a shot at happiness?
I felt Diego's murderous intent.
The barrel pressed against my chest.
This was the end.
"Go to hell…"
Before I could finish, Diego spoke.
"Goodbye, dear friend."
BAM. BAM. BAM.
Three bullets tore into my chest.
I felt both the burning heat of the lead and the cold embrace of death.
"Insig…nif…icant exis…tence…"
And just like that… Rei Tsukiko, 45 years old, died in an abandoned warehouse.
---
At least…
that's how it was supposed to go.
But fate, fickle as ever,
just handed me another chance.
On a stage…
perfectly suited to my style.
Hehe.
Yes. Let the game begin!