Fifteen years ago, I died a heroic death while protecting my disciples.

I worried about the children until the very moment I died, yet the reality I faced after resurrecting in a twenty-year-old body was horrifying.

Our home had become a brothel,

and my five angelic disciples had changed.

“You are saying you are Master? Stop spouting lies.”

“The younger ones were useless, so I abandoned them. What does that matter?”

“I want to dissect you. I am curious.”

While I was gone, all of my disciples had become scoundrels.

Fine. A disciple’s wrongs must be corrected by their master.

If they have gone down the wrong path, I will drag them back even from hell.

This is the rod of love, my dear little bastards.

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