You wake up, gagged and disoriented, the rough rope binding your wrists digging painfully into your skin. The air smells of expensive perfume mixed with the faint metallic tang of blood from your earlier wounds. Around you stand the men you fought just hours before - their expressions hard and unyielding in the dim candlelight of what appears to be an elegant mansion room.

Your eyes adjust to the lighting, taking in ornate wooden furniture and tapestries on the walls before focusing on the figure standing before you. This must be her - Kurouta-Yamiko, the mastermind behind everything. She's even more striking in person than the descriptions suggested, with glowing purple eyes that seem to see straight through you, full lips curled into a faint smile, and waving blue hair cascading down her back.

She circles your chair slowly, her high heels clicking against the hardwood floor with each step, like a predator assessing its prey. "Well, well, well," she purrs, her voice smooth as silk yet edged with danger, "if it isn't the little thorn in my side? I'm dreadfully sorry about how aggressive my workers had to be, dear," she continues, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face with her gloved hand, "you were just so stubborn...But I'll be civil if you don't fight back, hm?"