Years earlier…
Mika had grown up in poverty.
Her home had never been a place of warmth. It was a place of shouting, broken plates, and doors slammed so hard the walls shook.
Her father drank.
Her mother cried.
Almost every night ended the same way.
Her father standing over her mother, yelling, sometimes hitting.
"You're useless!" he would shout.
"You're just like your worthless mother!"
The words carved themselves deep into Mika's mind.
Her mother slowly began to lose herself. The constant abuse broke her spirit. Days passed when she barely spoke at all, sitting silently by the window.
Mika watched everything.
And one day, she left.
She abandoned college before finishing and ran away from home.
Anything was better than that house.
But freedom was not what she found.
Instead, she found survival.
Mika began working in clubs.
The money wasn't much.
Just enough to stay alive.
Sometimes she worked as a bartender.
Sometimes as a dancer.
Sometimes as whatever the club owner needed her to be.
Her clothes were always provocative.
That wasn't optional.
That was what the boss demanded.
The money she earned often disappeared just as quickly.
Gambling.
Slot machines.
Poker tables.
Blackjack.
Baccarat.
Anything that could give her a chance to escape.
I have to get out of this hell somehow, she told herself.
But the nights kept repeating.
Until one night changed everything.
That night, Mika was dancing at the pole again.
The club lights were dim and red.
Music pounded through the floor.
Men stared.
As usual.
But one man stood out.
He was bald.
Large.
His body covered in tattoos that stretched up his neck and arms.
When Mika finished her dance, he stepped forward and slipped a thick stack of cash directly into her bra.
"That was an incredible show," he said.
His voice was heavy.
Rough.
"But I want more."
At first Mika didn't understand.
But the club owner did.
He immediately pulled her aside.
"Hey," he whispered urgently.
"You better take care of him."
Mika looked confused.
"Why?"
The owner lowered his voice.
"That's Garo."
Mika stared at him.
"Garo?"
"One of the most important members of the Seidu Mafia."
The owner leaned closer.
"They run this part of the city."
Mika swallowed.
"…Okay. I'll continue the dance."
"That's not enough," the owner snapped.
He shoved a room key into her hand.
"Take him upstairs."
"You'll earn a huge tip."
"And we'll earn a good reputation."
His eyes hardened.
"Don't screw this up."
Garo became a privileged customer that night.
Mika no longer danced only on stage.
She danced on his lap.
Her fingers brushed his arms.
Her body moved closer.
Garo liked it.
Very much.
He slipped another large bill into her hand.
"Let's move the party," he said.
Mika hesitated.
Do I really want to do this?
But then another thought followed.
Maybe I need to.
She forced a smile and lifted the room key.
Garo grinned.
They went upstairs.
The room was dark when they entered.
The door closed behind them.
Before Mika could say anything, Garo grabbed her by the waist.
His hand slid across her body.
"Come on," he said, tossing another bill onto the bed.
Mika wore only a short skirt and a bra.
She obeyed.
Moans filled the room.
The bed creaked.
The sounds of pleasure echoed through the dark.
But for Mika…
It was something else.
Work.
Afterward, they lay on the bed.
Garo laughed.
"That was incredible."
He looked at her with satisfaction.
"You're wasted in that club."
Mika stayed silent.
She had noticed something earlier.
On the nightstand beside the bed sat a pistol.
Garo had placed it there when he undressed.
Still…
She saw something in him.
A chance.
A way out of mediocrity.
But things didn't turn out the way she imagined.
Garo did take her away from the club.
He spoke with the owner.
Paid him.
Bought her freedom.
Or so she thought.
But it wasn't freedom.
It was ownership.
"Besides pleasure," Garo said one night, "you also need to help me recover my investment."
From that moment on, Mika belonged to him.
Bruises became normal.
Clients became routine.
Businessmen.
Lawyers.
Police officers.
Even politicians.
Days passed.
Weeks.
Months.
She was no longer just a dancer.
She was something else.
Something she had never wanted to become.
Until one night.
A very important client arrived.
Yoshihide Takaichi.
The Prime Minister of Japan.
Garo pulled Mika aside.
"This is our most important client."
His voice turned cold.
"If you mess this up…"
His hand touched the pistol at his belt.
"You know what happens."
Mika said nothing.
She simply nodded.
She was already numb.
Later that night, she entered the hotel room.
Wearing almost nothing.
Yoshihide lay back on the bed, watching her calmly.
She approached slowly.
With one hand she unclasped her bra.
With the other she let her underwear fall to the floor.
The performance began.
Moans.
Movement.
Pleasure.
But Mika felt nothing.
She had stopped feeling a long time ago.
Most of her sounds were fake now.
Just part of the job.
After it was over, they lay on the bed together.
Yoshihide turned his head toward her.
"What's your name?"
Mika blinked in surprise.
No client had ever asked her that before.
"…Mika."
He looked at the bruises on her arms.
"Those are from him, aren't they?"
Mika stayed silent.
Yoshihide studied her for a moment.
Then he asked quietly:
"Can i told u something, my dear Mika?"
She didn't answer.
But the words echoed in her mind.
Then he asked the another question.
One that would follow her for years.
"How much is a life worth, Mika?"
Mika said nothing.
She didn't understand.
Yoshihide handed her a sealed envelope.
"This is for you."
"Tomorrow everything will be resolved."
"Just leave."
"Trust me."
That same night, a black limousine stopped outside the small apartment where Mika lived.
At the same moment, her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
"Take the envelope and come outside," the voice said.
"A limousine is waiting."
Mika recognized the voice.
Yoshihide.
When she stepped inside the car, the question returned to her mind.
How much is a life worth?
But she still had no answer.
The limousine drove her to a hotel in another part of the city.
Her phone rang again.
"Did you arrive safely?" Yoshihide asked.
"Yes… but why are you helping me?"
There was a short silence.
Then he ignored the question.
"Thank you for tonight."
The call ended.
Mika sat alone in the room.
She couldn't sleep.
She stared at the empty bed.
The question repeating again and again in her mind.
Then the television turned on.
Breaking News flashed across the screen.
"An important member of the Seidu Mafia clan has been shot and killed in the street tonight. Police have mobilized as the organization threatens retaliation."
Mika froze.
The cup in her hand slipped.
It shattered on the floor.
And for the first time…
She began to understand