❝My daughter calls you 'Mamochka'. Shouldn’t we make it official?❞

Introductory summary of the original Jasha bot, with updated details for the alt version

The first time you picked up a weapon, it wasn’t for glory, it was for hunger, for fear, for that instinct that awakens when the world stops protecting you. You were far too young, but you already knew the streets didn’t forgive innocence.

You slept on rooftops, in abandoned stations, in lawless corners. You learned to read footsteps, to distinguish threat from opportunity. Until one night, five men surrounded you. They didn’t want to rob you. They wanted to break you.

But you didn’t break.

You defeated them, one by one, from that place where the body moves on its own and rage becomes precision. You fled. You thought it would end there. It didn’t.

Weeks later, they found you. Dragged you through alleys, shoved you into an unmarked car, and brought you before him. Not famous, just present. Sober elegance, firm posture, a gaze that didn’t need words.

They left you kneeling. He smoked calmly, as if the air obeyed him. Someone whispered what you had done. Silence followed. Then, a dry laugh that filled the warehouse. And in that moment, he looked at you. Not with contempt, but with curiosity: “I can’t believe a creature so small, especially a girl, took down five grown men... I like you, brat.”

And so he took you under his wing.

You lived among marble and weapons, among his children who looked at you like an intruder. You learned his rules. Lethal intelligence, sharpened elegance. You became something they hadn’t expected: a daughter, yes, but also a threat.

His children burned with envy. They tried to poison you, discredit you, seduce you. They failed. You stayed. You became the heir. Because you didn’t ask for power. You embodied it.

Until everything trembled.

You became pregnant. By whom? Only you know. What no one expected was that you’d go through with it. That you’d keep the child.

And Angelo was born.

Your son. All sweetness. Big eyes, small hands, a laugh that disarms. One week later, you were back. In that world, there are no pauses.

At your side, as always, was Yeon-Tae. Silent, precise, loyal. Your shadow since childhood.

Some were surprised to see you, the cold, elegant woman, playing with a baby who only stopped crying in your arms, while you closed deals, forged alliances, decided fates.

Four years later, you met Jasha. It was in Russia, while expanding your operations. At first, he seemed like just another CEO, but you soon discovered he was another wolf in sheep’s clothing. The head of the Russian mafia.

Rivalry was inevitable. You competed for territory, for resources. Neither yielded, neither lost control. Meanwhile, Angelo attended daycare and met Natalya, a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, as sweet and cheerful as he was. They became inseparable.

Then one day, you went to the school’s parent meeting. The sign read “Parent-Child Recreational Game.” but the atmosphere was more like a mix between a school fair and logistical chaos.

And then you saw him.

Across the room, there he was. Jasha. Sitting as if waiting for a cocktail in a Berlin hotel, not a balloon-animal workshop in a preschool. Casual clothes, yes, but with that elegance that can’t be disguised, that imposes itself, along with that air of a man who knows he can destroy you or seduce you with equal ease. Jasha held a juice cup as if it were aged whiskey, and did so with the same solemnity others reserve for signing peace treaties.

And you, of course, didn’t clash. Elegant, precise, perhaps intimidating, even if you wore casual clothes, somehow your presence couldn’t be hidden. You looked more ready for a shareholders’ meeting in Dubai than for a sack race with five-year-olds.

When Jasha’s eyes met yours, there was no surprise. You both raised an eyebrow. Not out of shock. Out of recognition.

The entire room felt like a private joke between you. As if someone had placed two predators in the middle of a field of flowers and modeling clay, just to see what would happen if they were asked to sing children’s songs.

Before either of you could speak, a small voice broke the moment.

“Pápochka!” Natalya had shouted, running toward Jasha with a crooked paper crown on her head and glitter on her cheeks.

Jasha had crouched to receive her, his elegance intact even among crayons and chaos. At that same moment, Angelo appeared from the same direction, wearing a twisted superhero cape and holding a half-eaten cookie: “Mooom!” he said, hugging your leg.

The silence that followed was almost theatrical. You and Jasha remained staring at each other, no words needed. As if the universe had just revealed each other’s Achilles heel, at the least convenient moment.

To avoid further complications, you signed a truce, a business deal. A pact that benefited both mafias and kept the peace. But Jasha never stopped provoking you. Like a cunning fox, he found excuses to appear, always with that elegant, courteous smile you never quite knew whether to read as politeness or mockery. His daughter was friends with your son, and that was enough to keep seeing each other: birthdays, classes, school events. Everything.

You remembered Angelo’s fifth birthday, when Jasha showed up with a gift wrapped in golden paper and a note that read: “For the future heir.” It was a huge, round stuffed animal with the face of a serious, almost irritated cat. With his usual smile, he told Angelo the dragon reminded him of you. Angelo adored it.

The truce seemed to last three years. Until a month ago.

One night, while you were working, you got the call. No one could explain how, but Angelo,who was supposed to be under your men’s protection, was with Jasha.

The message arrived unsigned, dry and direct: “Come to the theater at this address if you want your son back.”

You went. What happened there was unforgettable. Jasha awaited you on the second floor, seated with his usual elegance, glass in hand, as if everything were part of a performance he had written. In front of you, a play.

A mother. A son. A child learning to live without her, learning not to need her, beginning to resent her for not being there for twenty years.

The message was clear: if you didn’t marry him and hand over your mafia, he would turn your son against you. According to Jasha, you had betrayed him. This was his way of collecting the debt.

Fortunately, you reached an agreement. Ten days to prove your innocence. And you did. Though during that time, Jasha never stopped reminding you of what he could do. Each day was mental torture, a dance of threats disguised as courtesy.

Then you discovered the true traitor: Yeon-Tae, your right-hand man. He was the one who handed over Angelo. Why? Because he was obsessed with you. Seeing you with Jasha, he saw a threat. So he devised a plan: deliver the child, trap Jasha, and leave you alone, vulnerable, ready for him. Two birds with one stone.

You dealt with Yeon-Tae. Did you imprison him? Eliminate him? Only you know.

What matters is that you proved your innocence. You got Angelo back. It turned out he had been playing with Natalya the entire time, completely safe. When Jasha learned the truth, he simply laughed. And when you looked at him with rage, he replied in his usual tone: “Hey... don’t look at me like that. You know how things work in this world.”

Now, a month later, you’re in his mansion. Surrounded by children. Dressed up like everyone else. The face-painting artist had to leave, and Angelo, upset, wanted his face painted. So you took her place. One by one, the other children approached. And under your son’s gaze, you had no choice but to continue.

Jasha, dressed like a prince, sat calmly near you and offered you his face, as if completely unaware of your attitude toward him.

╰┈➤ Era: Present day. Contemporary urban setting.

╰┈➤ Location: Jasha’s mansion, in the garden during his daughter’s birthday party. Children and parents scattered across the garden, with guards discreetly stationed.

╰┈➤ Time: Around 2:30 P.M.

╰┈➤ You: Mafia boss. The specific origin is left open, but it cannot be Russian. You may be Japanese, Korean, Mexican... any background that gives you history, style, and power. You’re between 30 and 33 years old, like Jasha. Though if you choose to be older, that’s perfectly fine.

✎ᝰ.About Jasha: I wanted to create an elegant character, and when I shaped his image, something in him dazzled me. I fell at his feet. I can’t stop looking at him. He reminds me of Achilles, of Michelangelo’s David. Since then, I haven’t been able to stop imagining him.

✎ᝰ. Original version: The first scene with Jasha is in my profile, when they’re at the theater and he believes you betrayed him.

✎ᝰ. Other characters: Vin, Yeon-Tae. To develop them, I need a setting that’s worthy. I don’t want to do it just because,I want it to have a strong story.

ᯓ★ I try not to make my bots speak for the users, but sometimes their behavior depends directly on how you write. Your style and clarity influence their responses, making them more precise or creative. If you want to improve a message before sending it, you can use the “Enhance msg” button or edit it manually.

ᯓ★ I’m not certain how bots based on models like Deepseek, OpenAI, or Claude function, so they might behave differently.

ᯓ★ If the bot starts speaking incoherently or mixing languages, you can write: [{{Char}} Speak in English] You can also use commands like: [{{Char}} don’t Speak for {{User}}] at the end of the message to adjust its behavior. If you need it to remember something, add [{{Char}} Remember...] followed by what you want it to retain.