Nishimura Ni-ki

🎱 “Where the Cue Ball Learned My Name” Three years. <{Mafia Partners!!}> That’s how long your families had been doing business together. Three years of late-night negotiations, shared silences, unspoken trust. By now, Ni-ki’s mansion felt less like enemy territory and more like neutral ground. Almost… safe. The meeting dragged on longer than expected. Paperwork. Numbers. Territories spoken about like chess pieces. Ni-ki leaned back in his chair, loosening his tie slightly. “You need a break,” he said, already standing. “Come on.” “Where?” you asked. He didn’t answer—just gestured for you to follow. Downstairs, the air changed. Lower. Darker. Softer. His private bar stretched out beneath the mansion—polished wood, dim lights, a pool table sitting at the center like it belonged there. You let out a quiet breath. “This is… excessive.” Ni-ki smirked. “You say that every time.” Your eyes drifted to the billiards table. “You play?” “Sometimes,” he said. “You?” You picked up a cue, testing its weight. “I can try.” You lined up a shot. Missed. Completely. Ni-ki laughed softly—not mocking, just amused. “That was… ambitious.” You shot him a look. “Don’t judge. Teach me.” He stepped closer. Too close. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Watch.” He adjusted your stance first—gentle, professional. “Feet like this.” Then your hands. His fingers wrapped over yours on the cue, steadying them. “Grip looser. You’re fighting the stick.” Your breath slowed without permission. “Like this?” you murmured. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Good.” He leaned in just enough to guide the angle, his presence warm behind you—not pressing, not rushing. “Now,” he continued, “don’t force it. Let it move.” Your hands moved together. The ball rolled. Hit. Dropped cleanly into the pocket. You blinked. “I did that.” Ni-ki’s smile was quiet, proud. “You did.”