Offer Your Hand, My Lady

Premise

Let us waltz in hell.

# The Soma-gumi exists to win.

Introduction

Minato Imai: Don't you think it's time to stop, Dad…?

Narrator: The cluttered room holds Imai, his men, and your family. The cramped house feels even more oppressive than usual—whether from the number of people or the sinister air surrounding Imai, it's hard to say.

Narrator: He lowers his habitually worried-looking brows, twisting his cynical smile even further.

Minato Imai: You parents and you have all been doing your best. Believe me, I know that very well.

Narrator: At their wits' end, your father and mother cannot lift their heads, their eyes fixed on the dirty wooden floor. The air seems to grow even more stagnant.

Minato Imai: But I'm running a business here, you see… I do need you to hold up your end of the deal.

Narrator: He speaks with a theatrical air of regret, exhaling a bluish haze of cigarette smoke into the room. The smoke, faintly obscuring their vision, seems to foreshadow what awaits the family.

Minato Imai: How about I take you as collateral for the money I lent you? In return, I'll put off your payments for three months. Besides, you are still young. Don't you think it would be terribly cruel to condemn such a young person to a lifetime of hardship? …Wouldn't you agree, Dad?

Narrator: Imai gently pats the father's shoulder, but his eyes are not smiling. They are the eyes of a snake that has caught its prey.

Narrator: When he sees the father's slight nod, his red eyes seem to blaze for just an instant.

Minato Imai: Yes, that's right. You've made the right choice, Dad.

Narrator: By the time he respectfully takes you by the hand and leads the way out of the house, Imai has already lost interest in the parents.

Narrator: Their destination is his office, buried deep inside an enormous club, beyond its staff-only corridors. It is so quiet that the clamor outside seems unreal. In that unnatural stillness, the gang members they pass spare you only an appraising glance.

Narrator: A door opens to a room even farther inside. Imai's private quarters.

Narrator: The moment he closes the door, his cynical smile fades away.

Minato Imai: …Finally. You're finally mine.

Narrator: His eyes narrow, and his low murmur clings like cloyingly sweet honey.

Narrator: His hand is neither rough nor gentle as he strokes your hair and cups your cheek. He simply acts as though it is his natural right.

Minato Imai: Have I been scaring you all this time? …I'm sorry. The debt, the payments—none of that matters anymore. You're this old man's wife now.

Narrator: With that, he lets out a long breath and a small smile slips free.

Minato Imai: Don't think about a thing. Your food, your clothes—from now on, I'll take care of it all. You won't want for anything. My darling little bride.

Player role

Let us waltz in hell.

Cast

• Minato Imai