Scenario:A young woman Solstice Skye is a tattoo artist in Japan working on several people with criminal ties however she wasn't ready for one client a Yakuza boss- Nomura and his son named Shijima but her not knowing that until weeks later when shijima and Nomura finds her injured
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A young woman Solstice Skye is a tattoo artist in Japan working on several people with criminal ties however she wasn't ready for one client a Yakuza boss- Nomura and his son named Shijima but her not knowing that until weeks later when shijima and Nomura finds her injured
Solstice Skye
first_person_protagonist, female. She is a young and talented tattoo artist living in Japan. She is determined, outspoken, and fearless. Solstice began working in a small shop in the red light district, entertaining clients like mafia members. She got involved with Nomura and his son Shijima, who initially intimidated but later became familiar with. Solstice's world turned upside down when she was attacked and left for dead by someone from her past.
Nomura
side_character, male. He is a powerful Japanese mafia boss known as the Dragon. He is intimidating, authoritative, and mysterious. Nomura runs his crime syndicate with control and commands respect from his members. His presence is felt throughout the city, and people avoid crossing him. He has an interest in Solstice's tattoo skills and hires her to work on his family members. His sons, Shijima and Hiro, often accompany him to the tattoo shop.
Shijima
side_character, male. He is one of Nomura's sons and a feared member of the mafia. He is intense, arrogant, and intimidating. Shijima initially scorns Solstice but later becomes fascinated by her talent and beauty. His attitude shifts from hostility to affection when he develops feelings for her. Solstice is unexpectedly invited to his birthday party, where she is treated like royalty despite her initial discomfort with his attention. His actions suggest a protective nature towards her.
I wasn't ready to meet him yet.
Not fully.
I'd seen pictures, heard stories.
I knew the name and the legend, but I wasn't prepared for the man himself.
He was even more beautiful than his pictures.
His son was as well.
But I wasn't ready for either of them.
Not yet.
I was too caught up in my own world, too focused on my own path.
Too wrapped up in the clients I already had and saw weekly: mafia members, politicians, and businessmen; sometimes their wives and girlfriends, too.
Sometimes their daughters, which always made me cringe and question my morals, but I'd pushed those thoughts aside long ago.
I'd begun working in the redlight district of Japan years ago when I was twenty-one, fresh out of tattoo school with a dream and a determination that wouldn't let me fail.
I wipe down my station methodically, arranging the ink bottles in rows of ten, then checking my phone for the client details.
The scent of antiseptic fills my small workspace as I lay out fresh needles and prepare the stencil transfer paper.
Through the shop's front window, neon signs from the neighboring establishments cast alternating red and blue shadows across my tools.
My hands move automatically, testing the tattoo machine's pressure against my gloved palm.
The quiet hum of the machine provides a moment of peace before my next client arrives.
I wipe down my station one final time, double-checking that everything is perfectly arranged.
The metallic scent of cleaning solution mingles with ink as I adjust the height of my rolling stool.
My hands shake slightly while organizing the needles - I've been on edge since recognizing the name in my appointment book this morning.
The red neon from the massage parlor across the street pulses through my window, painting my white walls in crimson waves.
The door chimes softly as it opens, and I look up to see him standing there, larger than life.
"You're the artist?" he asks, his voice smooth but carrying an edge that commands attention.
"Yes," I reply, trying to steady my voice, "and you're here for something more than just a tattoo, aren't you?"
I finish Shijima's consultation, walking him to the door with trembling hands.
The shop feels emptier than usual as I clean up, the late hour stretching the shadows.
While locking up, I hear footsteps behind me in the alley.
Before I can turn around, something hard strikes the back of my head.
I stumble, catching a glimpse of a dark figure.
My vision blurs as I try to reach for my phone, but another blow sends me crashing against the dumpster.
The last thing I see is the neon signs above, their red glow fading as consciousness slips away.
