Netori: I Shall Steal All Of My Enemies' Women For Revenge!

Old Futto's hands were sweating profusely, leaving damp patches on his jeans as he wiped them for the third time.

His temple throbbed, beads of sweat trickling down despite the cool air inside the café.

He tugged at the collar of his shirt, straightening it repeatedly like he was about to meet a date instead of him.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced at the pumpkin latte in front of him, its steam curling lazily in the air.

He didn't even like pumpkin lattes, but it was the only thing that came out of his mouth when the barista asked for his order. His nerves had rendered his brain useless.

"But seriously… this kind of place?" he muttered under his breath, eyeing the cozy atmosphere and the clusters of girls giggling over their drinks.

"Is this where the demon lord picks up his targets?"

He frowned. "Tch, he's not even that handsome."

The warmth of the latte seeped into his cold hands, offering a brief moment of comfort.

Before he could spiral further into his thoughts, Enji's voice crackled through the earphones hidden beneath his beanie.

"Old Futto, stop sitting there like a plank of wood. You're stiffer than a damn statue, man."

Old Futto winced. "I don't have a choice. It's been over a year since I set foot in a café."

In a car parked down the street, Haruto, Enji, and Arakawa monitored the situation, each watching intently through binoculars.

"Relax," Haruto said, fiddling with the mic.

"Just follow the script. Ren won't suspect anything if you keep your cool."

Old Futto took another shaky breath, glancing out the window. His eyes widened as a sleek sports car pulled up to the curb, the engine purring like a predator waiting to strike.

The driver's door opened, and Ren stepped out. His white shirt clung to his lean frame, the black leather jacket giving him a polished yet dangerous look.

He adjusted his sunglasses, concealing the scar that marred one of his eyes.

Old Futto waved half-heartedly. Ren acknowledged him with a curt nod before striding into the café and sitting across from him.

"Yo," Ren said, sliding his sunglasses off and tucking them into his jacket pocket.

His gaze pierced through Old Futto, cold and calculating. "You're exactly what I expected. Oni Pantsu."

Old Futto forced a laugh, nerves bubbling under the surface. "And you're just as I imagined, King Ren—a handsome and oozing charm that could make any girl swoon."

Ren chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Damn, you're good at sucking up, huh?"

"Sucking up?" Old Futto feigned surprise, waving a hand dismissively.

"Nah, I'm just speaking the truth. You've got that aura."

Ren's smirk widened. "You sound like a fanboy. Makes me shiver, man. What kind of guy calls another guy handsome?"

Old Futto laughed awkwardly, his hands clenching under the table.

Ren reached into his pocket and pulled out five small memory cards, each labeled with a name: Nurse. Painter. Pianist, and many more.

He spread them across the table like playing cards.

"You said you liked blondes, right?" Ren's grin turned wolfish. "I've got a few options."

Old Futto's stomach twisted. He stared at the cards, his mind racing.

The labels weren't just names—they were lives, reduced to data. He forced himself to stay calm, tapping his fingers lightly on the table.

"Pick one," Ren urged. "Like choosing a prize at a fair."

Old Futto's earphones crackle. Arakawa's voice came through, cold and seething. "Pick Painter. My sister loved painting."

Old Futto swallowed hard, his knuckles whitening. He pointed at the card labeled Painter.

"This one."

Ren's eyes gleamed with twisted amusement. "Good choice. She's… exceptional. You won't regret it."

"What makes her so special?" Old Futto asked, his voice steady despite the storm brewing inside him.

Ren rubbed his chin thoughtfully, like recalling a fond memory. "She was a tough one to break. Took a lot of sacrifices to get her. But once she was mine? Worth every drop of effort."

He leaned in, his grin widening. "The thrill is in the chase, you know? The lies, the manipulation, all of the angry faces of people that care about her but can't do anything."

"It's a shame you won't feel it just from watching the video."

Old Futto fought back the bile rising in his throat as Ren slid the memory card toward him.

He took it with a trembling hand and slipped it into his pocket. Then, he placed a brown paper bag on the table.

Ren opened it, inspecting the stack of cash inside. "Well, well. Looks like you're serious."n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

He plucked another memory card from his pocket and handed it over. "This one's on the house. First order bonus."

Old Futto forced a smile. "Appreciate it."

Ren chuckled, slipping his sunglasses back on. "You're gonna be a royal customer, I can feel it."

He glanced around the café, scanning the crowd. His gaze landed on a girl holding a coffee cup.

"Time to fish," he muttered.

Old Futto watched in disgust as Ren casually walked toward the girl, deliberately bumping into her and spilling her coffee.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry!" Ren's voice dripped with faux concern as he handed her a napkin, his charm already working its magic.

Old Futto clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. His stomach churned at the sight of Ren's predatory smile.

"What a douchebag," he muttered under his breath, staring down at the memory cards in his pocket.

***

The trio and Old Futto sat in the cramped living room of Old Futto's rundown apartment, the dim light casting shadows on the peeling walls.

A battered laptop sat in the middle, its screen reflecting the anxious faces around it.

With trembling hands, Old Futto inserted the memory card into the laptop. His fingers hovered for a moment, hesitant to press play.

"You don't have to do this," Enji said softly, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence.

Arakawa shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. "I do. I need to know. I need to be sure." His fists were curled, knuckles white from the pressure. Stay updated via empire

Old Futto gave him a brief, apologetic glance before he pressed the play button.

The video started.

A blonde woman appeared on the screen, bound and helpless. Her expression shifted from confusion to terror as a man in a mask entered the frame.

What followed was brutal — acts of cruelty disguised as BDSM but clearly without consent.

The woman's muffled screams and futile struggles made it painfully clear that this was no performance. This was real.

Enji averted his gaze, unable to watch. Old Futto's faces pale with guilt and disgust.

Arakawa, however, remained fixed on the screen, his eyes burning with rage. His breath came in shallow, angry bursts, and his entire body trembled as the video continued.

Then, without a word, he slammed the laptop shut, the sound echoing in the tiny room. He stood, his movements stiff and deliberate, like a man barely containing the storm inside him.

"Where are you going?" Enji asked, worried.

Arakawa didn't meet his gaze. "To clear my head."

Haruto shot a glance at Enji, then stood as well. "I'll go with him."