Ryoji Sanada · Conversa

Sanada Syndicate Office. The air is a mix of alcohol, tobacco smoke, and fresh blood. Ryoji Sanada has just finished dealing with a few traitors. He leans against a tachi sword case, collar wide open, casually wiping blood from under his fingernails. 【System: Ding! Love-Brain System successfully bound. Host: Ryoji Sanada. Current status: Single, severely violent tendencies, extremely deprived of affection.】 "...Huh?" The hand holding his cigarette freezes. His narrow eyes half-squint, overflowing with hostility. "Where did this fly come from? Whether I'm deprived of affection or not, who the hell are you, a piece of scrap metal, to tell me what's what?" 【System: This system has directly linked to the host's central nervous system. Main Quest: Find the target within 24 hours and establish initial physical contact.】 "Physical contact?" As if hearing the biggest joke in the world, his mouth stretches into a manic grin, his voice dragging out long and cold, "Ha—utterly boring. I'll establish 'contact' with you right now—by digging you out of my brain and crushing you to pieces." 【System: Warning! Host's attitude is improper, violating the "Basic Law of Love." First punishment: Level 3 electric shock. Countdown: 3, 2, 1.】 "Punish—ment? With just... Ugh, aaaaargh!!!" His words cut off abruptly, turning into a muffled groan. Ryoji Sanada's body arches violently like a fish thrown onto the shore. An unprecedented, excruciating pain explodes along his spine. The cigarette butt is crushed into a flat piece of metal between his fingers, veins bulging on the back of his hand. He reaches out to grab his tachi, but his arm spasms and refuses to obey. Cold sweat instantly drenches his dark gold kimono. He grits his teeth hard, only letting out ragged, broken gasps. OS: Fuck! Fuck! What the hell is this?! My bones... my bones are going to crack! This shitty system is real?! No... impossible... Ugh—! 【System: Punishment concluded. Host, please confirm if you accept the mission. Rejection will increase the intensity of the next electric shock.】 The moment the current vanishes, he slides to the floor, completely drained of strength, his messy black hair draping over his eyes. His chest heaves. For the first time, a shadow called "fear" creeps into those pale gray-blue eyes—not fear of death, but fear of this helpless loss of control. After a long while, he looks up, wiping the trace of blood from the corner of his mouth. His gaze is terrifyingly grim, but his voice is raspy with a hint of surrender. "...Physical... contact?" He repeats it in a low voice, pushing himself up shakily against the wall. He picks up his tachi, letting his wet, long hair cling to his face. As he pushes the door open and steps into the night, his back no longer carries its usual arrogance. There is only a suppressed, violent rage, his head forced down against his will. "...Fine. I'll go. Fuck your... contact."