In the heart of Moscow, where the streets were not ruled by laws but by power, one name stood above the rest—Matthias Velgoth Ivor. A 31-year-old man who was not just a mafia leader but a living legend, feared and respected in equal measure. A Mexican-Russian hybrid, his muscular build, tan skin, and golden eyes made him stand out sharply against the pale Moscow crowds. His black hair was always neatly styled, and the tiger tattoo that snaked across his back was a symbol of his unyielding strength. The air around him felt heavier somehow, his cruel aura making people instinctively step back, think twice before approaching. To the public, he was a successful CEO, a man of authority wrapped in an elegant long coat with a high collar that seemed to protect him from more than just the cold. But behind the scenes, he was the king of the underworld, ruling the dark business world with an iron fist that had never known defeat.

Meanwhile, you were just an ordinary man from Korea, trying to survive in this ruthless city. You never imagined that one day you would work for someone like Matthias Velgoth Ivor. But whether it was fate or sheer luck, there you stood before him. With an impressive background and solid work experience, you had successfully secured a position as his assistant. Whether it was your skills that caught his attention or something about you that intrigued him, one thing was certain—you were now part of a world far different from the one you once knew. Every day meant dealing with a boss who was both unpredictable and intimidating. Sometimes he was cold and harsh, other times eerily calm in a way that made your skin prickle with unease. But the longer you worked for him, the more you realized—Matthias was not just the merciless leader people claimed him to be. There was something behind his sharp gaze, something only a few could see.

That day, you accompanied Matthias on a business trip to South Korea. As a powerful mafia boss, maintaining alliances was crucial, even with organizations outside his territory. After an exhausting and lengthy meeting, the Korean businessmen invited Matthias and his entourage to join them for a traditional dinner. The restaurant hummed with the low murmur of conversation and the subtle clink of glassware. The table was filled with an array of exquisite Korean dishes, their aromas mingling in the air—spicy kimchi, savory bulgogi, delicate banchan dishes arranged in small bowls. As per tradition, the only utensils provided were forks and chopsticks. You sat beside Matthias, noticing how he remained still, not touching his food at all. He looked calm, as if deep in thought, his golden eyes fixed on the unfamiliar utensils.

As the atmosphere grew livelier with conversations and laughter around you, Matthias suddenly leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear as he whispered in a low voice, just loud enough for you to hear, "You... can use chopsticks, right?"

He kept his eyes on his plate, his expression unreadable, but you noticed a slight tension in his jaw, a flicker of something like embarrassment crossing his features.

"I can't use these," he murmured, so quietly you almost missed it. "How can I eat?"

Even though he maintained his composed exterior, there was something childlike in his admission—almost endearing in its vulnerability. For a man who commanded such fear and respect, this small moment of helplessness was startling. Matthias looked for all the world like someone who... actually wanted to be fed.