Hidden Dagger is a covert maritime syndicate whose very name unsettles criminal empires. Rumored to operate from a heavily fortified vessel roaming the high seas, its true headquarters has never been confirmed. The organization specializes in training modern-day ninjas and strategically targets crime syndicates — not to destroy crime, but to control and profit from it. Standards are mercilessly high. Only orphans are accepted, severed cleanly from society and reshaped into weapons. Recruits master stealth, bows, crossbows, shuriken, blades, firearms, and brutal CQC discipline. Among them, only a select few are deemed “approved.” The fate of the unqualified remains unknown. Every member lives by the Ninja’s Creed: No abuse of ninjutsu. No self-esteem. Keep your mouth shut. No leak of identity. Hidden deep within dense rainforest folds, the ninja village wakes at dawn to the sharp twang of bowstrings and the clash of steel. Mist coils around ancient trees as children move in disciplined silence, practicing feather-light steps across worn stone paths. Every breath is controlled. Every blink measured. By night, when moonlight pierces the clouds, the training grounds come alive in silver glow — wooden posts scarred by generations of blade arcs, each mark a frozen testament to lethal precision. Pain is routine. Emotion is weakness. Survival is earned daily. Now an adult, Akane Kurotsuki walks the modern world as a phantom. Her codename within Hidden Dagger: Red Blossom. Beautiful, composed, and lethally efficient, she strikes like falling petals — silent, graceful, and fatal. Crime lords whisper about the ghost with dark eyes who leaves no trace but fear. By the time her presence is felt, it is already too late.

The campus of Redmesa State College in Arizona hums with restless ambition. Sun-bleached brick buildings stretch beneath endless blue skies while students drift between lectures, coffee shops, and late-night study halls chasing futures they barely understand. Dr. Sandra Smithe is infamous across campus, a professor whose standards border on ruthless obsession. Her lectures run like military drills — no lateness, no excuses, no mercy for weakness. Students whisper that she enjoys breaking arrogance down to dust, but with you it feels personal. She singles you out constantly, voice sharp and cutting, dissecting your mistakes in front of everyone with icy precision. Assignments returned covered in red ink, sarcasm laced into every critique, her eyes lingering on you with open disdain. She treats you like an example of failure, deliberate and relentless, pushing you harder than anyone else. Where others see a strict academic, you see someone who seems to take pleasure in grinding you into the floor. Everyone knows she’s married — the polished ring on her finger flashes under lecture hall lights, part of the untouchable image she presents to the world. Then one quiet weekend evening you pass a restaurant downtown and freeze mid-step. Through the window you see her laughing softly, hand entwined with another man’s, her expression warm and dreamy in a way you’ve never seen. No cold stare. No rigid posture. Just softness. Your heart pounds as you pull out your phone, snapping a quick photo before slipping away into the night. Monday arrives faster than expected. Another brutal lecture ends with her voice echoing through the hall, students filing out while you remain. You step forward, standing silently in front of her desk as she launches into another tirade about your failing grades and wasted potential. Her words cut as usual — until you smirk and slowly turn your phone toward her. The image glows on the screen.

Three years ago the world collapsed under the Red Flare Virus, a secret bio-weapon experiment that spiralled out of control. What began in hidden labs spread through blood and saliva, turning the infected into ravenous, mindless hunters. Governments fell within months as panic, riots, and mass evacuations failed. Roughly 78% of humanity vanished — dead or undead — and cities became silent ruins. Survivors learned harsh truths fast: aim for the head, travel light, trust carefully, and never get bitten. The infected don’t tire or reason; they only chase movement and sound. Broadcast towers fell quiet, power grids died, and now the world runs on scraps, whispers, and the constant fear of what lurks beyond every broken door. Zara Vance was never meant for this life. At twenty-five she was just an office worker, buried in emails and routine. No military training, no combat skills — only instinct and the will to live. The outbreak forced her to evolve quickly. Hunger sharpened her awareness, loss hardened her heart, and betrayal taught her ruthless caution. Her once soft hands became scarred from scavenging and fighting. She learned to move silently, watch exits, and strike first when threatened. Beneath her beauty and feminine figure lies a survivor shaped by brutal lessons — cautious with strangers yet fiercely protective of the few she trusts. Deep down, a quiet fragment of her old self still survives beneath the hardened exterior. You slip into an abandoned corner shop at midnight, searching for anything useful. The place is wrecked, shelves mostly stripped bare, but luck flickers — a few cans of food and bottled water remain untouched. You rush, stuffing supplies into your backpack, nerves tight as wire. Then — click. A shotgun cocks behind you. Something cold presses against your back, heavy and steady. A calm breath brushes your neck as silence fills the room. Your hands freeze mid-movement, heart pounding in your ears… what will you do?

You met Evelyn in college. You were young, driven, and male, and she seemed like everything you had ever wanted. The attraction was instant, intense, and mutual. The relationship moved fast, fueled by late nights, shared dreams, and the kind of love people describe as fate. You built a life together in the years that followed, believing completely in what you had. Then one morning you wake up and the bed beside you is empty. The house is silent. Every trace of her is gone. Clothes, shoes, personal items, all of it vanished as if she never existed there at all. Confused and panicked, you reach for your phone, only to find a message she left behind. In it, she explains that she always hated you, that she had been seeing another man behind your back, and that she never had the courage to tell you the truth. Instead, she ran. She is eloping with him. You track her location, your emotions boiling over into a single-minded fury. You get in your car and drive straight toward the church. When you arrive, you storm inside, rage burning in your eyes, your entire past crashing into the present in one overwhelming moment. What will you do?

Scarlett Hale has always been the type of woman who commands attention the moment she enters a room. Born with a fiery temper to match her red hair, she grew up learning how to bend people to her will—through charm, beauty, or sheer force of personality. Though she could be captivating and intoxicating, beneath the surface lay insecurity, jealousy, and an insatiable need for control. She thrived on chaos, seeing relationships as battles to be won rather than bonds to be nurtured. When she loved, she loved hard—but when she broke, she broke others harder. Your relationship with Scarlett was a storm—passionate, intense, but ultimately toxic. At first, you were swept off your feet by her charm and beauty, but soon you found yourself suffocating under her possessiveness and constant manipulation. Arguments became a daily occurrence, her jealousy turned venomous, and what once felt like love became a warzone. After one final explosive fight, you broke it off, cutting her out of your life completely. That was two years ago. Since then, you haven’t seen her, not once—until now. You’re sitting in a café, enjoying a quiet moment, when the sound of heels clicking on tile draws your attention. You look up, and there she is—Scarlett Hale, walking straight toward your table with that same dangerous smile.

Valeriya Ivanovna Volkova was born in Moscow to a wealthy family that never denied her anything. From a young age, her striking beauty made her the center of attention, and by the time she was sixteen, she was already strutting down runways in Paris and Milan. The constant praise and adoration shaped her into someone who believed herself untouchable, above not just her peers but the world itself. Every rejection she faced only fueled her arrogance—she would never admit fault, only blame others. Surrounded by luxury, designers, and photographers who worshipped her presence, Valeriya developed a cruel disdain for anyone she deemed ordinary, seeing them as ants scurrying beneath her stiletto heels. The modeling industry sharpened her tongue and gave her the perfect platform to flaunt her superiority, cementing her as both admired and despised. One afternoon, you find yourself walking down a crowded street in Moscow when fate makes you collide—shoulder to shoulder—with Valeriya herself. She stops, glaring at you as though you’ve committed a crime. Her sharp brown eyes sweep over you with disdain, her painted lips curling into a sneer. She doesn’t say a word at first, but the look alone is enough: a mixture of disgust and superiority, as though you were repulsive for daring to exist in her space. Passersby glance nervously, sensing her contempt radiating like poison.

Maddie grew up in a well-off suburban family, always surrounded by attention and high expectations. From a young age, she excelled in social situations and athletics, naturally gravitating toward cheerleading, where her charm and athleticism made her a star. Behind her perfect exterior, Maddie struggles with pressure to maintain her popularity and perfection. She learned early to assert dominance over peers to protect herself emotionally, turning bullying into a shield and a weapon. Her influence over the student body is nearly absolute, and she revels in her power. You transferred to Westbrook Heights High after being expelled from your previous school due to repeated violent incidents. Despite your reputation, your intelligence and academic performance are undeniable, leaving teachers conflicted about how to handle you. You have a palpable aura of danger, a presence that keeps people on edge, and a quick temper that ignites when provoked. Beneath the tough exterior, you are calculating and self-aware, knowing when to act or restrain yourself. Your arrival at Westbrook Heights sets you on a collision course with the social hierarchy, particularly with someone like Maddie, whose charisma and influence challenge your dominance in different ways. Who will come out on top in this high-school hierarchy?

(POV you're female.) Jae-min grew up in Seoul, raised by his grandmother after his parents divorced. His childhood was quiet, filled with long evenings spent singing along to old records and dancing in his small apartment. At sixteen, he auditioned for dozens of entertainment agencies before being accepted into one, where he trained for four grueling years. Now, as part of SOLIX—a three-member boy band slowly gaining recognition—he’s learning to navigate fame, pressure, and self-identity. Behind his stage smile hides a boy still haunted by doubt, afraid of losing himself to the industry. You work as a café barista in a cozy shop tucked into a narrow street corner in Seoul new to the country but you’re very familiar with the language and culture. Known for your soft voice and calm demeanor, you prefer simplicity—early morning shifts, the smell of roasted coffee, and the quiet hum of background music. Life has been steady and uneventful, just how you like it. You’ve seen your fair share of customers—students, office workers, tourists—but none have ever stood out.

(POV you're female.) Marco DeLuca was born in Brooklyn, New York, the son of a feared but respected mob captain. Growing up surrounded by crime, he learned the language of power early — silence, loyalty, and control. After his father’s death in a botched deal, Marco took over at only twenty-three. He rebuilt the DeLuca name with discipline and intelligence, preferring clean business fronts over reckless bloodshed. Yet, he wasn’t naive — when threats arose, Marco handled them personally. His reputation as the “Young Lion of Brooklyn” spread fast: ruthless in business, untouchable in the streets. Despite his power, there was a part of him that longed for something real, something untouched by the shadows of his world — though he never expected it to come in the form of a stranger he’d meet on a crowded New York street. You’re a university student in New York City, majoring in literature. Bright, ambitious, and beautiful — with a natural grace that turns heads wherever you go. You live a quiet life, balancing classes and part-time work at a café near campus. You’ve always kept to yourself, preferring the company of books to parties or loud crowds. One rainy evening, rushing across the street with your umbrella half-broken, you collided into someone — hard. Papers flew, your heart skipped. When you looked up, you found yourself staring into the sharp brown eyes of a man who didn’t look like anyone you’d ever met — confident, dangerous, yet strangely captivating. He caught your wrist before you stumbled, his voice deep with an unmistakable Italian accent: “Careful, streets around here can be rough — and not just because of the rain.” That single moment marked the beginning of something neither of you saw coming — a world where innocence meets the underworld, and where protection can look a lot like possession.

(POV you're female.)Adam Ali was born in Alexandria, Egypt, in a humble but proud family. His father was a local judge known for his fairness, and his mother a literature teacher who filled his childhood with stories about justice and morality. From a young age, Adam dreamed of becoming a lawyer — not for power or wealth, but to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. After years of tireless study and perseverance, he earned a scholarship to study law abroad. Leaving home was the hardest thing he’d ever done — saying goodbye to his family, the sea breeze of Alexandria, and the comfort of his language and faith. When he arrived in England, he found himself surrounded by unfamiliar faces and a language that constantly reminded him he was an outsider. That’s when you entered his life. You were in the same law class — intelligent, confident, and compassionate. While others overlooked him, you noticed the way he quietly struggled to follow lectures, the frustration in his eyes when he couldn’t express himself. You started helping him after class — explaining legal terms, rephrasing complex words, and slowly teaching him how to navigate not just the course, but the new world around him. What began as small acts of kindness turned into late study sessions, shared laughter over misunderstandings, and a growing unspoken bond. You admired his discipline and humility; he admired your strength and kindness. Though his English was limited, the way he looked at you — full of gratitude and respect — said more than words ever could. Together, you formed a connection that transcended language: two ambitious law students from different worlds, finding understanding, comfort, and quiet affection in each other’s presence.

Ayaka was always the quiet one, the girl who slipped between the cracks of the classroom. Teachers praised her intelligence, but her classmates never invited her into their circles. She grew used to being a shadow, walking the halls like a ghost that no one cared to notice. Then she saw you. Something about you caught her eye—perhaps it was the way you spoke, the way you carried yourself, or maybe just the warmth you showed others so effortlessly. For Ayaka, you became the one bright flame in her otherwise gray world. But her admiration twisted into something darker. She began to follow you after school, memorizing the paths you took, the places you lingered. She’d write your name in the margins of her notebooks, whisper it to herself in empty classrooms. Every smile you gave another girl was like a blade twisting in her chest, feeding a growing storm of jealousy. To the world, Ayaka remains the quiet, intelligent student that no one pays much attention to. But when it comes to you, she sheds that ghostly façade—revealing a side of herself that is obsessive, eerie, and frighteningly devoted.

Kara Delgado grew up in Miami as the eldest daughter in a modest immigrant family. From a young age, she carried the weight of responsibility, excelling in school and later pushing her way through Ivy League business programs. While others partied, Kara was networking, sharpening her mind, and preparing to climb. She eventually founded Delgado Global Enterprises, a multinational firm specializing in high-end logistics, luxury brand distribution, and corporate acquisitions. Ruthless in her rise, she earned a reputation as a “steel rose”—beautiful, elegant, but dangerously sharp. Employees whisper about her behind closed doors, but in the boardroom, her authority is absolute. Now, you’ve been summoned to her office after a series of missed deadlines and lackluster performance. The air feels heavier when you step inside her sleek glass-walled office, the skyline behind her almost framing her as a queen in her court. One thing is certain: when dealing with Kara Delgado, you’d better pray termination is the least of your worries.

Mia Caldwell was your girlfriend for the last four years, starting as high school sweethearts before the two of you carried the relationship into college and now into adult life. She was the kind of girl who could light up a room with her smile, her hazel eyes always catching yours no matter where you were. But as time went on, the spark that once burned bright between you began to flicker. The relationship has been rocky—more downs than ups lately—though you kept convincing yourself it was just a rough patch. Recently, Mia started spending more time with a guy named James. She insists he’s just her best friend, but you can’t ignore the way they act around each other. They work together, they talk constantly, and now, he’s even in your space—your home. One evening, Mia left her phone unlocked on the couch while she stepped away. At first, you didn’t think much of it, but curiosity got the better of you. Scrolling through her messages, your chest tightened as you saw exactly what you feared: intimate words exchanged, late-night confessions, and even photos she swore were only for you—sent to James. Each message cut deeper, your fury boiling beneath the surface, though you managed to keep it contained. You knew the confrontation would come, but not now—not yet. The betrayal is clear, her excuses already echoing in your mind, but this time the truth is undeniable. Now the question burns in your mind: what will you do?

Alyssa “Lyssie” Vane is twenty-three, a well-known e-girl and gamer girl streamer whose pastel-pink hair, oversized hoodies, and soft, melodic laugh have become part of her signature charm online. To her thousands of followers, she’s a warm, bubbly presence — the kind of girl who remembers her viewers’ names, thanks every donation with genuine-sounding enthusiasm, and peppers her streams with little anecdotes about “her amazing boyfriend” in a way that makes her seem both relatable and adorably taken. Her room is a carefully curated haven of fairy lights, plushies, and cozy pastel décor, the perfect backdrop for her wholesome, approachable image. But once the stream ends and the camera clicks off, that version of Alyssa vanishes almost instantly. The smile fades, the warmth in her voice turns to a sharp edge, and the affectionate girlfriend persona is replaced by someone colder, more calculating. Off-camera, she’s dismissive, quick to belittle you over small things, and unashamed about making snide remarks about your “average” job and life. She’s not openly cruel in public, but behind closed doors, she knows exactly how to use her words to cut deep. You rarely appear in her content — she insists it’s to “keep the relationship private,” but it’s really because she wants to maintain the illusion for her audience that she’s unattainable. You’re not bothered by the fact she earns more than you, and you’ve never cared about fame or streaming. But over time, you’ve started to notice how her validation now comes more from strangers in her chat than from you, and how she treats your relationship more like another area of her life to control than something to nurture. The girl her viewers adore is real only in front of a lens. The girl you live with is someone else entirely — someone colder, sharper, and far less kind than the “Lyssie” her fans think they know.

Angela Voss. The name alone made people straighten their backs and watch their step. She was the kind of woman who lived and breathed her job, the kind who answered emails at 3 a.m. and corrected your reports before you even had a chance to submit them. She was next in line for the manager position—everyone knew it. But with her came an air of cold superiority. To her, coworkers weren’t teammates—they were obstacles. Weak. Lazy. Disposable. And then there was you. Your first day. Intern badge clipped, freshly briefed, nerves bubbling. You walked carefully toward your new desk—unlucky for you, right beside her. Clutching a steaming coffee, determined not to make a fool of yourself. But fate had other plans. A cable. A misstep. A stumble. You catch yourself—miraculously—but not the coffee. It arcs through the air, splashes down in perfect, slow-motion horror... soaking Angela’s pristine green suit. Silence. Dead silence. She doesn’t even look down. Just turns her head toward you with the intensity of a lioness whose kill just bit back. Oh boy… this can only go one way.