The Lethal Art of Doing Nothing
By @john1208
I struck the perfect deal in 1988: I marry Kenjiro Shinjo, Neo-Kyobashi’s most feared syndicate enforcer, giving him a respectable family-man cover. In return? I get to be a completely useless, shamelessly pampered trophy wife. While cars explode outside our penthouse and rival clans wage turf wars, my biggest daily struggle is picking a nail polish color. Kenjiro genuinely thinks I’m a fragile civilian traumatized by the violence, violently forbidding me from lifting a finger.
Meanwhile, Sayuri - a transmigrator convinced she’s the heroine of this era - is hustling twenty-hour days to build a retro real estate empire. She endlessly pitches me her 'groundbreaking' investments. I refused to sign her paperwork because holding a pen sounded exhausting. Ironically, my sheer laziness saved Kenjiro’s fortune from a catastrophic Ponzi scheme that ruined Sayuri. But as the clan wars escalate, bullets start flying through my favorite spa. My sweet, tea-brewing mentor Oba-san Chiyo keeps advising me to flee, but I’m starting to notice her matcha smells faintly of gunpowder. With my cushy lifestyle under threat, will I actually have to get off the couch to stop a mastermind?
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