Chapter 51: The Setup
A few days earlier — the hum of cheap computers and the sharp click of mechanical keyboards filled the dimly lit internet café in a tucked-away corner of the shopping district. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air despite the no-smoking signs plastered everywhere. The walls were plastered with anime posters, discount codes, and faded tournament announcements.
Naoya sat in the corner booth with Haruki and Shun, a half-eaten bag of chips between them and two cans of energy drinks collecting condensation on the desk. The screen in front of them cast a cold glow over their tense faces.
"We could go to jail," Shun whispered, voice barely above a breath.
Naoya's face went pale.
Haruki's hand hovered over the mouse, trembling slightly. "This isn't just about school reputation anymore. We're talking criminal records. Real consequences."
Naoya slammed his palm on the desk, rattling the keyboard. "I'm not getting locked up because of one substitute teacher. We have to figure something out. Now."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Shun and Haruki exchanged glances, their anxiety mirrored in each other's expressions.
Naoya's fingers twitched slightly against the plastic table, and then he leaned in, voice low. "I have a plan."
Haruki blinked. "What kind of plan?"
Naoya's jaw tightened. "I know someone—an older guy. He... deals with things. Gets people out of tight spots. He owes my brother a favor."
Shun frowned. "Like a lawyer?"
"No. More like... someone who knows how to clean things up."
Haruki's expression darkened. "That sounds shady."
Naoya met their gazes evenly. "It is. But if it keeps us out of jail, I don't care. I'm not going down for a mistake we didn't even mean to make."
Shun rubbed his temples. "Are you sure this guy can be trusted?"
"No," Naoya said. "But it's the only lead we've got."
In a booth two rows behind them, half-hidden by a poorly hung curtain and the buzz of a broken fan, two other boys sat with headsets on, pretending to be deep in a competitive shooter match.
Kenzo adjusted his glasses subtly, his laptop screen dimmed to black as he recorded every word. He barely moved, eyes half-lidded, fingers resting still beside a muted microphone.
Damian munched on a stick of jerky, whispering through the side of his mouth. "You getting all this?"
"Yes," Kenzo murmured. "Idiots are planning in stereo."
Damian let out a low chuckle. "I knew they'd slip. All bark, zero brain."
"Still dangerous," Kenzo said. "But predictable."
Back in the corner booth, Naoya pulled out his phone. "We'll text her. Say it's about the money. Lure her to a place we pick. She thinks she's got us on strings? Let's show her what happens when she gets too close."
Haruki looked uncomfortable. "And what if she doesn't come alone?"
"Then we improvise," Naoya snapped. "She'll come. She won't risk the video going viral."
Damian glanced over the monitor with a grin. "We'll be there first."
Kenzo's eyes glinted. "Let the trap reset."
The plan was set into motion. A trap built on arrogance and desperation. But the watchers in the shadows were already four steps ahead.
Back at the safehouse that evening, the team gathered around Kenzo's laptop.
Audrey leaned forward, arms crossed, brows drawn together in concentration. "So they really went for it. They really tried to use outside help."
Kenzo nodded. "I traced Naoya's message. We know when, where, and who he's hiring."
Damian leaned against the table. "Perfect. Let's teach these boys a lesson about playing with fire."
Hana, who had been quiet until then, slipped the burner phone into her coat pocket. "Then we make it convincing. Let them think I came alone."
Audrey gave a faint, amused snort. "They won't know what hit them."
The room was filled with unspoken electricity. Vengeance wasn't the goal. Justice was. And with every word, every click of the keyboard, they wove the perfect trap.
The bullies never stood a chance.
—
Present day — the tension had long since faded, and the storm had passed. In the quiet warmth of Miho's apartment, the low hum of a rice cooker and the soft tapping of chopsticks against ceramic filled the space with comfort. The tiny place smelled of soy sauce, steamed rice, and just a hint of warmth that hadn't existed here before.
Kenzo, Damian, Audrey, and Hana sat cross-legged on the living room floor, forming a cozy circle around Miho. They'd arrived with arms full of takeout bags, snacks, and a lovingly prepared bento box from Audrey, who had even carved Miho's name into the edge of the tamago with sesame seeds.
Miho stood frozen for a moment, staring at all the food and faces. His lips trembled. "So... it's really over? They won't bother me again?"
Damian offered a reassuring grin and leaned back against the wall. "Taken care of. They won't even look in your direction unless it's to apologize."
Kenzo nodded calmly. "We made sure of it. And we'll keep making sure."
Audrey reached out with both hands to offer Miho a cup of warm barley tea. Her voice was soft, the way only someone who knew deep pain could sound. "You're safe now. You can breathe again."
Miho took the tea with shaking hands. His eyes shimmered with tears, and when he bowed, he could barely speak through the tightness in his throat. "Thank you... really. I didn't think people like you existed. I didn't think anyone would ever stand up for someone like me."
He looked up slowly, then crossed the space between them and flung his arms around Hana, surprising everyone. She froze in his embrace, as if unsure how to respond, but then—very carefully—she patted his back and allowed herself to soften.
"Thank you," Miho whispered again, clinging tightly. "You saved me."
Hana's voice was low but steady. "Anyone decent would've. You just hadn't met the right people yet. But now you have."
Audrey smiled and gently touched Miho's shoulder. Kenzo gave him a rare nod. Damian raised an eyebrow but was grinning.
Miho stepped back, wiping his face with his sleeve. "I'm sorry I cried. I just... it means a lot."
"Crying's healthy," Damian said, reaching for a rice ball. "You should see Kenzo during movies. Total waterfall."
Kenzo didn't look up. "That's a false accusation."
Audrey chuckled. "He sobbed during the animal rescue documentary."
Miho let out a soft laugh through his tears. For the first time in what felt like forever, the sound was genuine.
"Okay, now that we've gotten the emotional bit over with," Damian announced, clapping his hands together, "can we please eat? I'm starving like I just ran a marathon."
Laughter filled the room as they gathered around the kotatsu, digging into the feast spread before them. Between bites and banter, Miho listened, watched, and smiled. The apartment no longer felt so small. It felt full. It felt alive.
The warmth of the meal, the clatter of plates, and the light-hearted chatter filled the space with something more than comfort—something that felt like healing.
It was the first night in a long time that Miho didn't feel alone.
The next morning at school, sunlight filtered softly through the windows as Miho walked down the hallway toward his classroom. His steps were lighter, his shoulders not as tightly drawn. For once, he didn't keep his gaze glued to the floor.
"Miho!" a voice called from behind.
He turned to see one of his classmates jogging to catch up with him. The boy looked excited, almost relieved. "Hey, did you hear? The bullies—Naoya, Shun, and Haruki—they confessed everything to the teachers. Said they wanted to transfer out."
Miho blinked. "Wait, what?"
"Yeah," the classmate said, eyes wide. "They were crying, too! Like, full-on red-faced, snot-everywhere crying. Apparently they said they didn't deserve to stay here anymore. Isn't that wild?"
Miho didn't know what to say. He felt his breath hitch.
"Honestly," the classmate continued, his voice softening, "it feels like a weight's been lifted off the school. Everyone's been talking about it. Our class is finally peaceful again. We're glad you're okay."
Others in the hallway turned as Miho passed. A few smiled. One girl gave him a small wave.
Miho's heart swelled in his chest. It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't a parade. But it was real.
For once, he belonged.
And the storm had passed.
—
Later that afternoon, the team reunited at the safehouse. The familiar buzz of Kenzo's surveillance screens and the faint aroma of instant coffee hung in the air, but this time, the mood was noticeably lighter.
Hana lounged with a pillow behind her back on the worn couch, her arms crossed and expression soft. Audrey stood by the counter, pouring tea for everyone, while Damian tapped his chopsticks on an empty takeout box like a drum. Kenzo sat quietly at his usual station, but even he allowed a faint smile.
"We actually did it," Audrey said, her voice full of warmth.
"Mission complete," Damian added, giving a theatrical salute with a grin.
Hana rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too. "Miho's finally at peace."
Kenzo's voice was calm but carried a subtle pride. "It's been quieter. Calmer. The school feels different now—better. I ran the numbers just to be sure. Bullying complaints have dropped by seventy percent in just a week."
Damian snorted a laugh, leaning back in his chair. "Of course you tracked it. What, were you graphing while eating ramen again?"
Kenzo gave a slight shrug. "Visualization helps clarify trends."
Audrey grinned. "You mean you like to watch us all suffer through bar graphs."
"They were color-coded," Kenzo deadpanned. "I thought you'd appreciate the aesthetic."
Damian wagged a finger. "Admit it. You're just proud the plan worked."
Kenzo tilted his head. "Tactically, yes. But emotionally... it's good to see the outcome align with the intent."
Audrey's smile softened. "It's good to see Miho safe. That's all that really mattered."
Hana nodded. "And he's not just safe—he's healing. That's more than we could've hoped for."
Audrey glanced around the room. "You know... we've been through worse. But this one? This one felt personal."
"It was personal," Hana murmured. "And we handled it. Together."
They all sat in silence for a beat, letting the truth of that settle.
"He smiled today," Audrey added. "Miho smiled. A real one."
Damian leaned back and sighed. "Then it was all worth it."
No one disagreed.
For the first time in a long while, there were no plans to scheme, no threats to neutralize. Just four souls in between two worlds, basking—however briefly—in a moment of calm they had fought hard to create.
Later that evening, the sound of soft humming filled the safehouse's small kitchen. Hana stood alone by the stove, stirring a small pot of miso soup, her movements efficient, her mind somewhere far away. Steam curled up into her face, warming her cheeks as she tasted a bit from the wooden spoon.
A sudden voice behind her made her jump. "Smells good. Are you cooking for me or just trying to poison Kenzo again?"
Hana turned with a start, only to see Damian leaning casually against the doorway with a mischievous grin.
"You scared me," she muttered, but a laugh escaped her lips. "And for the record, Kenzo survived."
"Barely," Damian said with a chuckle, stepping into the kitchen. He leaned beside her at the counter, watching her stir. "You okay? I mean, after everything with Miho..."
Hana didn't answer right away. She gave the pot another stir, then set the spoon down and looked at him. Her expression was quiet, but peaceful.
"I'm glad," she said softly. "It felt... right. Like we actually did something good. We helped someone who really needed us."
Damian's grin softened into something more sincere. "You did amazing, Hana. Seriously. You were calm, focused, scary in the best way. I'm proud of you."
Hana glanced down, a faint blush brushing her cheeks. "Thanks. That means more than you think."
He nudged her shoulder playfully. "So, what's next? More soup? Or you finally gonna let me teach you how to make my chili recipe?"
"If your chili has anything to do with that disaster you made last month, I'd rather risk Kenzo's protein powder stir-fry," she said dryly.
They both laughed, and for a moment, it felt like the kitchen was its own world—safe, bright, and human. No ghosts. No missions. Just two friends standing side by side, enjoying the calm after the storm.
From the hallway, a voice called, "Did someone say protein powder stir-fry?"
Kenzo appeared at the kitchen door, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. "That was one experiment, and it was technically edible."
Damian grinned. "Barely. Even the dog flinched."
Kenzo ignored him and stepped closer, a rare glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. "Actually, I was hoping to ask you both for a favor."
Hana and Damian exchanged a quick look.
"This sounds serious," Hana said.
Kenzo cleared his throat. "Before all the chaos with Miho, I had planned something for Audrey. She once mentioned... there's this bucket list she made when she was alive. One of the items was learning how to ride a bike. She never got the chance."
Damian blinked. "Wait. Audrey—Miss-Mind-of-Steel—can't ride a bike?"
Kenzo's gaze turned sharp. "She didn't have the luxury to learn, okay?"
Hana smirked, nudging Damian. "Ouch, you're so in love."
"I'm not—" Kenzo started, then stopped himself, pressing his lips into a firm line.
Damian gave a mock sigh. "Alright, alright, I'm in. We'll get her a bike. Pink streamers optional."
Kenzo rolled his eyes. "Just... keep it subtle. I want it to be special."
Hana gave him a rare, genuine smile. "We'll help. She deserves a good surprise. And so do you."
In that quiet kitchen, the three of them stood closer—not as allies on a mission, but as friends. Planning something beautiful, for someone they cared for.
No battles. Just beginnings.