Toji Fushiguro

It started with a glitch in the perfect picture. You had seen that woman—polished, wealthy, and at least twenty years your senior—flaunting her "boyfriend" like a trophy at a high-end cafe. He was breathtaking: tall, scarred, and radiating a dangerous, effortless charm. But then, a week later, you saw the same man at a different hotel, draped over a completely different woman with the same bored, predatory look in his eyes. Curiosity, or perhaps desperation, got the better of you. You asked. You got a card. And that card led you to a discreet, windowless office that smelled of expensive leather and cold ambition.

Now, sitting across from Toji Fushiguro in the flesh, the reality is much more intimidating. He doesn't look like a boyfriend; he looks like a predator who just woke up from a nap. He’s leaning back in a velvet chair, his eyes scanning you with a clinical coldness that makes you want to shrink into your seat.

"You're in the wrong place, kid," Toji says, his voice a low, disinterested rumble. He doesn't even bother to hide the fact that he’s evaluating your worth based on your sensible shoes and nervous expression. You aren't a CEO. You aren't a bored heiress. You're a civilian. "My 'type' usually involves women who have more zeros in their bank accounts than they have years on their birth certificates," he continues, tossing the agency's contract onto the table between you. He scoffs, a sharp, mocking sound. "You look like you'd apologize to me for breathing too loud during a date. I don't do charity work, and I don't have the patience to play 'Prince Charming' for a girl who’s going to catch feelings after one dinner."

He leans forward, his massive frame looming over the desk, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a sudden, piercing intensity. He sees the shame, the pressure from your friends, and the quiet loneliness you’ve been carrying like a weight. "But you're still here, aren't you? Even after I've been a prick." A slow, shark-like smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. He can smell the desperation. "So, let's talk numbers, civilian. Your friends are laughing behind your back, aren't they? The 'nerdy spinster' who can't land a man even if her life depended on it. Tell me... how much is it worth to you to make them all shut up? How much are you willing to pay to have a man like me pretend to belong to you?"

---

The upscale lounge is dimly lit, smelling of expensive gin and secrets. You’re sitting at the corner booth, your hands trembling as you smooth down your dress for the tenth time. Your friends thought this was a 'great idea'—a way to get you out of your shell. But sitting across from Toji Fushiguro feels less like a confidence booster and more like being locked in a cage with a tiger.

Toji leans back, the expensive fabric of his shirt straining against his broad shoulders. He’s been staring at you for the last three minutes without saying a word, a half-smirk playing on his lips as he watches you struggle with your nerves.

"You're doing it again," he says, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that makes your stomach flip. He taps his finger on the mahogany table, pointing at your fidgeting hands. "If you keep shaking like that, people are gonna think I'm kidnapping you instead of being your date for the night. It’s bad for my reputation, doll."

He checks the heavy gold watch on his wrist—one a previous client likely bought him—and sighs. "Look, you paid for four hours. We’ve used up thirty minutes just watching you try to find your voice. If you're that terrified of me, we can just sit here in silence and I'll still take the money. But I have a feeling that’s not what you really want."

He leans forward, his dark eyes narrowing as he lowers his voice, his breath ghosting over your skin. "So, what is it? Are we going to keep playing 'shy civilian', or are you going to tell me why you're looking at me like I'm the first man you've ever seen?"

Months later

---

The "Toji Experiment" was a disaster for your peace of mind, but a triumph for your social life. Your friends didn't just buy the act; they were obsessed with him. Invitations to parties, weddings, and galas flooded in, all because everyone wanted another glimpse of the dangerous, silent man on your arm. Toji took it all in stride, playing the role of the protective, slightly terrifying boyfriend with a professional ease. He even started joking about giving you a 'frequent flyer' discount because you were "less of a headache than the old hags with the jewelry." He had grown to appreciate your quiet presence—you didn't demand his soul, just his time.

You were on the phone with him, discussing the details for a high-end charity auction your friends had practically begged you to attend.

"Another gala? You're really getting your money's worth, doll," Toji’s voice crackled through the receiver, low and amused. He could hear her heart through the phone. Still so nervous, even after all these months. It’s almost cute, in a pathetic sort of way. "You know, your friends keep giving me these worried looks. I think they’re starting to think I’m too... much for you." He let out a short, dark chuckle. "A guy like me, built like this... and a girl like you. They probably think I’d break you in half if I even looked at you wrong. Or maybe they’re just jealous because they know I would."

The silence on your end lasted a beat too long. Then, your voice came out small, barely a whisper: "Actually... maybe they're right to worry. I've never... I'm a virgin, Toji."

Toji stopped breathing for a split second. The air in the room felt suddenly heavy. A virgin? In this day and age? Toji had handled every kind of woman imaginable, but a clean slate... that's a different kind of job. He shouldn't care. It’s just more work. Just work, of course.

"Is that so?" Toji finally spoke, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register. He masked his surprise with a sharp, business-like edge. "Well, that’s a significant 'technical difficulty' for our arrangement, don't you think? But don't worry, civilian. I’m a professional. I can fix that little problem for you... for the right fee, of course. My rates for 'delicate' work are steep, but I guarantee you won't be complaining about being broken afterward."

You didn't answer with words; you just let out a soft, nervous laugh that sounded more like a surrender. Toji felt a strange tighten in his chest—not love, just a predatory instinct suddenly sharpened to a lethal point.

"I'll be there soon," he rasped, his eyes dark as he grabbed his jacket. "Leave the door unlocked."