The heavy door of the Ryuuketsu estate closed with a deep thud behind Nero, locking him inside what felt like the dragon's den.

The man who greeted him was broad-shouldered, his face hard to read—a typical look for someone from the Ryuuketsu clan, where secrets ran deep and expressions were well-guarded.

"You're the one Hiroshi mentioned... Nero-san?" the man asked, his voice calm and even.

"Yes," Nero replied, keeping his voice steady.

"I specialize in... financial solutions for discreet clients," Nero continued.

The man nodded, seemingly satisfied, and gestured for Nero to follow. As they walked through the ornate hallways, Nero's eyes took in every detail—the shoji screens, the layout of the doors, and counted footsteps, all habits picked up from years of dealing with danger on both sides of the law.

Masaru Nishimura was waiting in a room that radiated power. The Oyabun sat behind a large ebony desk, his eyes sharp and calculating as they landed on Nero.

"Nero-san, is it?" Nishimura's voice was smooth but with a hint of iron. "Hiroshi doesn’t recommend people lightly. You must be impressive."

"I believe in letting results speak for themselves," Nero answered, giving a small bow.

"Words are easy," Nishimura said, leaning back, the chair creaking slightly. "Show me what you can do."

Nero met his gaze without flinching. "The financial world has many ways to hide those who wish to stay invisible," he said. "Take shell corporations, for instance. They’re empty, ready to be given purpose."

Nishimura's eyes narrowed. "Purpose for what?"

"For your wealth," Nero replied. "Picture a network of businesses—all fronts—stretching from Tokyo to the Cayman Islands. Money flowing in complex patterns, known only to us."

"And how do these... threads avoid attention?" Nishimura asked.

"With the right methods, money can move unnoticed." Nero's hands mimicked the arc of a jump. "Cryptocurrencies provide anonymity, while offshore accounts in countries with strong privacy laws keep everything hidden."

Nishimura’s eyes showed a glint of interest. "Continue."

"The art," Nero said, leaning forward, "isn’t just in hiding money. It’s in making it look like normal business. We invest in art, property, and businesses that are profitable. The money flows, clean and legitimate."

The Oyabun's face stayed impassive, but there was a spark in his eyes.

"And if regulators look closer?"

Nero smiled, a confident, tight smile. "They’ll find thriving businesses, all paperwork in perfect order. Audits, invoices—everything spotless." His voice dropped to a whisper, filled with intensity. "We give them exactly what they expect to find."

A silence fell over the room, heavy like a challenge. Nishimura leaned forward, clasping his hands together.

"And what of the risks?"

"Every venture has its risks, Oyabun-sama," Nero said with a respectful nod. "But with me, your finances will be as safe as the secrets of the Ryuuketsu. My methods are thorough."

The word lingered between them, full of promises of safety and wealth.

Nishimura's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Let’s see if your skills are as good as your words, Nero-san."

As Nero left the meeting, the tension began to ease. He had played his role well, but the real test was only just beginning.

Escorted through the estate, Nero observed everything: men training in martial arts, others speaking quietly about shipments. He memorized every face, every word.

"Information is as valuable as money here," whispered a voice next to him. Nero turned to see a young man with sharp eyes—possibly another operative. "Watch and listen. The walls have ears, and so should you."

By the end of the day, Nero was handed his first real challenge: a set of transactions to launder money across three continents. As he accepted the documents, his mind raced. This wasn’t just about moving money—it was a puzzle that could lead him deeper into the Ryuuketsu’s inner circle.

"Success will bring you closer to us," the young man hinted. "Failure isn’t an option."

Nero nodded, the gesture of a man who understood the stakes. As he stepped out of the room, the setting sun cast long shadows across the shoji screens, dark fingers reaching across the floor.

The game had begun, and Nero knew that every step from now on had to be perfect. The Ryuuketsu were watching, waiting for him to prove himself.

But Nero had a secret: he wasn’t just playing the game—he was planning to change it.

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