Three days later, I went to the market to buy supplies for the restaurant.
The rain had stopped, but the streets were still damp.
The air was thick with summer humidity.
As I walked through a narrow alley, voices echoed behind me sharp, familiar.
— Well, well… look who it is. The gaijin from the old lady's food stall.
— That's her. The one who stabbed Yoshi's eye.
They stepped in front of me, blocking the path.
My heart sped up.
Cold sweat trickled down my spine.
Still, I tried to stay calm.
— Please move, I said firmly.
One of them grabbed me by the waist and shoved me against the wall.
His hands closed tightly around my wrists.
I struggled, uselessly, my throat tightening.
— Because of you, Yoshi's half-blind now, you little bitch.
I screamed, panic rising fast in my chest.
Then suddenly....
The man was thrown to the ground.
I looked up.
And there he was.
The man in the suit.
The same one from the restaurant.
His eyes were steel. Cold… but grounding.
Without a word, he stepped into the fight.
Each blow was precise. Calm. Efficient.
— Behind you! I shouted.
He caught the punch mid-air and twisted the man's wrist like it was nothing.
Like snapping a toy.
Then more of them came.
A dozen maybe.
Metal pipes. Knives. Rage.
What kind of hell have I walked into?
He was ready to fight again.
Alone.
Against all of them.
I didn't think.
I grabbed his wrist and pulled.
— Come with me!
We ran.
Through narrow, rain-slicked streets, our footsteps splashing against puddles.
At some point, my hand slipped into his.
He didn't let go.
We turned into a side alley and stopped beneath a small awning.
Breathless, I leaned against the wall, trying to calm my pulse.
A soft laugh escaped me.
— That was… close. We almost got caught.
I looked down.
Our hands were still joined.
Flushed, I slowly pulled mine back.
He was catching his breath too, though his face stayed unreadable.
Then he looked at me.
— Why did we run?
— Are you serious? Those men… they're not street punks. They're connected. Mafiosi, probably. You don't mess with people like that.
That's when I saw the blood.
A thin red line across his hand.
— You're hurt.
He glanced at it, as if he hadn't noticed.
I reached into my bag, pulling out a bandage.
I stepped closer.
When my fingers brushed his, he grabbed my wrist.
A sharp reflex, twisting slightly.
— Ow!
— Sorry.
He let go instantly.
For just a second, his eyes softened.
The ice cracked barely. But I saw it.
That flicker surprised me more than the pain.
— Your reflexes are pretty good, I muttered. It's nothing.
I smiled, trying to ease the tension.
— I'll put the bandage on. Just… try not to break my arm this time.
— Give it to me. I can do it myself.
— No. You got hurt because of me. Let me.
Gently, I placed the bandage on his hand.
His gaze stayed on mine. Steady. Unreadable.
But something was different.
For the first time… I thought I saw something behind that stare.
Surprise.
Maybe even hesitation.
— I'm Amal, I said softly. And you?
— Takashi.
I smiled.
More sincerely than I thought I could.
And just for a moment…
He looked away.
As if I'd caught him off guard...
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