Among the few women in the Tori no Ichizoku clan was Aliyah, a rare female member in an organization defined by its brutality. She was one of the few who truly knew Doku before he became the infamous "Poisonous Lord." Their connection went back to their teenage years in high school.

Doku, back then, was far from the venomous assassin he would become. A quiet loner with a small circle of friends, he was known for his intellect, consistently scoring between 70-80% in subjects like Principles of Business and Agricultural Science. Despite his reserved nature, he stood out as a thoughtful student who followed instructions and excelled in discussions. His interests leaned heavily toward philosophy, particularly the ideologies of anti-heroes and villains.

His fascination with such figures ran deep. His phone's lock screen bore the image of Johan Liebert, a character he idolized, and his notebooks were filled with detailed villain profiles. To his peers, it was a harmless quirk, but to Doku, it was an escape—a way to make sense of his growing disillusionment with the world.

At home, Doku's life was far less idyllic. While he diligently completed his chores on the family farm, his parents often failed to see the deeper emotional struggles he faced. Their jokes about his issues and insecurities—while never malicious—left deep scars on his sensitive heart. Over time, Doku learned to suppress his vulnerability, believing that no one, not even family, could understand or support him.

His internal struggles worsened after a failed situationship. The heartbreak confirmed what he had always feared: that he was unlovable. In his mind, his lack of wealth, power, and physical appeal marked him as undeserving of meaningful relationships. These feelings consumed him, reinforcing his belief that vulnerability was a weakness.

When the Tori no Ichizoku came calling, Doku saw it as a chance to reinvent himself. He believed that joining the clan would finally give him what he lacked: wealth, power, and the confidence to be admired. Over the years, he gained all three, earning fear and respect as the Poisonous Lord. But even as his legend grew, so did the emptiness inside him.

Doku often found himself lying awake at night, haunted by memories of his youth. The boy who once gave away his lunch money to a struggling friend, who stayed late after school to help classmates study, was gone. In his place stood a man responsible for countless deaths—men, women, and children—all for money and chaos.

Aliyah, now a member of the same ruthless clan, could see glimpses of the boy she once knew. But she also understood that Doku had chosen his path. Whatever kindness or humanity he had left was buried beneath layers of poison and pain.

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Doku and Aliyah's Bond

Aliyah sat across from Doku at a quiet café, the evening air cool and crisp. They'd chosen this place for its anonymity, far away from the shadows of their criminal world. A table for two, tucked in the back corner, was the perfect spot for them to have a rare moment of peace, away from the chaos they'd created.

Despite the darkness that surrounded them, there was an unspoken bond between them—a connection that hadn't been severed by years of violence and betrayal. They'd both come from humble beginnings, each with their own pain and disillusionment, and in a strange way, it was that shared understanding that had brought them together all those years ago.

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Aliyah sipped her coffee, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup as she watched Doku. His face, though hardened by years of murder and manipulation, still held traces of the boy she had once known—timid, thoughtful, and always questioning the world around him. The flicker of vulnerability in his eyes never fully disappeared, though Doku had spent years burying it beneath his new identity.

"You're quiet tonight," Aliyah remarked, setting her cup down. "What's on your mind?"

Doku shifted in his seat, his gaze momentarily drifting away. His fingers drummed lightly on the table, the only sound between them for a moment.

"I keep thinking about what we've done," he said, his voice low, almost reluctant. "How far we've come since those days. Back then, I didn't see the world for what it was... I thought I could change things. I thought if I just had the right power, the right status... that everything would make sense. But now, all I see is destruction."

Aliyah studied him for a moment, then leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. She wasn't surprised by his words. She had known Doku for too long not to see the cracks in his carefully constructed facade. His calm, calculating exterior masked a whirlwind of conflict within.

"You always had a way of overthinking things, Doku," she replied, her tone soft but firm. "You were never like the others. Even back in school, when everyone else was focused on trivial things, you were reading about villains, questioning what made them tick. You've always been searching for meaning, even if you didn't know how to find it."

Doku's eyes flickered with something—regret, maybe, or longing—and he let out a heavy sigh. "I used to believe that if I could just make people respect me, if I could command fear, I'd be happy. But now I realize that's not it. Respect doesn't fill the void, Aliyah. Power doesn't make you whole."

Aliyah leaned forward slightly, her voice steady but laced with a hint of warmth. "No, it doesn't. But that's why I'm here, Doku. We've been through too much together for me to just turn away now. You've changed. I've seen it. You're still the same person, deep down. You're just... lost."

Doku's gaze met hers, and for a moment, the wall he'd built around himself seemed to falter. He opened his mouth to respond, but words failed him. Aliyah had always been able to reach him in ways no one else could, not even the Tori no Ichizoku. She was the only one who knew the truth about him—the boy he used to be, the one who gave his lunch money away and stayed late to help others.

"Do you ever regret it?" Aliyah asked quietly, her voice breaking through the silence. "The things we've done? The people we've hurt?"

For a long time, Doku didn't answer. He merely stared into his coffee cup, his mind far away. Aliyah didn't press him further, knowing that he needed time. She'd always known when to push and when to give him space.

Finally, he looked up, his expression weary. "I don't know anymore. I don't know if I can go back, even if I wanted to."

Aliyah smiled gently, a knowing look in her eyes. "Maybe you don't have to. Maybe you just need someone who understands."

And in that moment, as their eyes met and the world outside seemed to fade away, Doku realized that despite everything—the bloodshed, the betrayal, the darkness—he wasn't truly alone. Aliyah was there, just as she had been all those years ago. They were two broken souls, bound by their past, but still clinging to something that resembled friendship.

It wasn't redemption, and it wasn't the end of their violent journey. But for a brief moment, they found solace in each other's company—a rare and fragile peace amidst the chaos they had both chosen to create.

"Thanks, Aliyah," Doku said softly. "For not giving up on me."

Aliyah's smile deepened, and she reached out, her hand briefly resting on his. "I'll never give up on you, Doku. You may be poison, but I've always believed you could be more than that."