The spacious Living Room of the Villa was once filled with men and women laughing, drinking, and enjoying themselves.
But as soon as Rika Kawasaki stepped in, everyone immediately stopped what they were doing and turned to her, erupting into uneven but reverent cheers and shouts.
Someone quickly cleared the main seat of the Living Room — the largest and most comfortable leather sofa — and eagerly gestured for Rika Kawasaki to sit.
Rika Kawasaki strode over with long legs, her posture slightly languid but radiating an undeniable aura, and leaned back onto the sofa.
Her sharp gray eyes narrowed slightly, carrying a hint of scrutiny as they slowly swept across the room.
The scene before her displeased her, causing her to frown with a commanding expression.
Empty and half-empty bottles were strewn haphazardly across the carpet and the Glass Coffee Table, ashtrays overflowed with cigarette butts, and many smoked-out ends had been extinguished directly on the expensive floor or along the edges of the furniture, leaving ugly burn marks.
The entire Living Room was suffused with a suffocating atmosphere of indulgent chaos and filth.
Several younger girls nearby, who had been giggling moments before, keenly caught the unmasked displeasure on the Leader’s face and immediately fell silent, their smiles vanishing as they grew serious and tense.
They quickly realized the problem without needing Rika Kawasaki to scold them, and promptly rose to their feet, swiftly beginning to tidy up the mess scattered throughout the room in an effort to restore some order before the Leader’s anger could flare.
At that moment, Rika Kawasaki’s cold gaze, like a spotlight, fixed on a Glass Coffee Table in the corner.
There lay some suspiciously cut strips of tinfoil and colored paper, carelessly scattered alongside a few straws used for inhaling.
As the head of this gang, Rika Kawasaki could not possibly be unaware that these items were tools for using illegal drugs!
With a sharp “Hoh,” Rika Kawasaki rose abruptly from the sofa, her body straightening like a drawn bowstring.
The narrow, upward-slanting eyes at the corners of her gray gaze shot out a terrifying cold light, like two unsheathed swords, stabbing toward a woman standing not far from the sofa — a figure unusually thin, with deep eye sockets and a listless demeanor.
“Murata! Did you bring this filth here?!”
Her voice suddenly rose, carrying undeniable authority and harsh reproach, exploding like thunder in the noisy Living Room, even briefly overpowering the background music.
“Have I not clearly said! No matter who it is, no one is ever allowed to touch that stuff again! Do you take my words as wind?!”
Those who were tidying up suddenly felt as if a mute button had been pressed; one by one, they froze in place, silent as the grave.
The alcohol and smoke hanging in the air seemed to solidify, and even the deafening beats of the music couldn’t dissipate the suffocating low pressure.
They all lowered their heads or averted their gazes, unconsciously breathing more quietly, afraid that even the smallest movement would draw the attention of their furious Leader and make them victims of her wrath.
“Leader… I-I’m sorry… I really know I was wrong… but… but I just can’t quit…”
Murata’s face turned pale, her lips trembling as she explained miserably,
“That feeling… like ants crawling and biting inside my bones… it’s unbearable, every part of me aches… it’s like… like being dead while still alive…”
She had worried that the Leader would find out once she came, but having already taken a hit, her mind was a foggy mess, and she hadn’t expected the Leader to show up now—so she forgot to clean it up.
Rika Kawasaki’s cold gray eyes, as harsh as the Siberian Tundra, fixed on Murata’s pitifully worn-out appearance, full of disappointed frustration.
In fact, they had been classmates back in elementary school, so Murata was one of the earliest to follow her among the group.
But in middle school, Murata had fallen in with a gang of adult thugs, which was how she ended up addicted to that poison.
Rika Kawasaki hadn’t neglected her.
She had repeatedly ordered Murata to quit the harmful stuff and even punished her physically several times for it.
Yet once someone gets addicted, the physiological dependency and psychological cravings are like a bone-deep tumor — how can mere willpower or outside pressure easily break that grip?
“You all, listen carefully!”
Rika Kawasaki took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the complex emotions surging within her, then turned her gaze to several younger girls nearby, who stood with lowered heads and trembling.
Her voice regained its usual calmness, but it was more chilling than before,
“From today on, if Murata’s addiction flares up and she can’t control herself, you are to tie her up with ropes! Throw cold water on her! No matter what, she must never touch those things again! Understand?!”
A few of the girls who had been using those cursed things were already tossed out of the group by Rika Kawasaki like garbage, but since Murata had been with her so long, Rika couldn’t bear to abandon her completely—so she gave these orders to the others.
“Yes! Leader!”
The nearby girls quickly replied in unison.
With that said, Rika Kawasaki returned to her usual expression and sat back down on the sofa.
Only then did the frozen atmosphere in the Living Room seem to resume its flow.
Everyone present, whether the girls or their male companions, finally exhaled in relief, their taut nerves relaxing slightly.
They exchanged glances filled with lingering dread, then cautiously found places to sit again and resumed their previous activities of singing and drinking.
But after that stern warning, the mood could never return to the previous raucous freedom.
Everyone held back considerably, lowering their voices with deliberate caution.
After all, Rika Kawasaki, their Leader, had long established her authority.
Her overwhelming presence and unchallengeable power were etched deep into their bones.
Yet, to the young delinquents gathered there, whether sitting or standing, dressed in various styles, Rika Kawasaki’s decisive, commanding actions and instant control over the entire room undoubtedly made her the ultimate “woman.”
Like a wolf pack’s alpha, she commanded the pack with a raw, primal allure.
Most of the young men present were either boyfriends or casual partners of the girls.
They were mostly rebellious youths themselves — poor students who wandered aimlessly, chasing thrills and excitement, especially drawn to this seemingly free-spirited, rule-breaking lifestyle.