Ryoma Murakami.
The only son of the esteemed Murakami family, Ryoma had been raised under the weight of expectations.
From a young age, he was taught that one day he would be the heir to the family's sprawling empire, a future that loomed over him like a shadow.
His upbringing was strict, regimented—a life without room for rebellion or freedom.
The heavy responsibility of his lineage left him feeling confined within the walls of his home, the air always thick with pressure.
He never once tasted the freedom that other children seemed to enjoy.
But everything changed the day his parents made an unexpected decision.
"We're going to America for an extended period of time," his father declared one evening, as though the matter were already settled.
Ryoma looked up from his books, his gaze distant.
His father studied him for a moment, then asked, "Are you sure you don't want to come, Ryoma?"
Without hesitation, Ryoma shook his head, his voice calm but resolute. "I'll stay here."
His mother, standing by the door, spoke with her usual firmness. "Ayaka, please take care of Ryoma while we're gone."
"Of course, Lady Murakami," the woman with piercing green eyes replied, bowing slightly. "I will guard him with my life."
"Very well," his father said, turning toward the door. "Take care of things while we're away."
With that, they left—his father stepping into the sleek black car first, followed by his mother.
The door shut behind them, and Ryoma was left standing alone in the empty house, a strange silence settling in its place.
From that day onward, Ayaka, the woman with brown hair, became his sole companion.
She offered a faint smile, her tone attempting to be light.
"Young master, from now on, I'll be the one taking care of you. You can think of me as your older sister."
Ryoma glanced at her with a sharp, almost emotionless gaze. "We're not related by blood."
Ayaka's smile faltered, a momentary sting flashing in her eyes.
"Ah, you're right," she said, her words softening with resignation.
For the first time in his life, Ryoma found himself free—free from the suffocating constraints of his parents' expectations.
In their absence, he could breathe. He could finally live life on his own terms.
"Young master," a voice called out gently, pulling him from his slumber.
Ryoma stirred, his glasses askew as he blinked in confusion. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and glanced around.
The familiar hum of the office greeted him, and he slowly realized where he was.
"...Ayaka?" he muttered groggily. "How many hours did I sleep?"
The figure leaning against the doorframe was none other than Ayaka, her expression a mix of concern and exasperation.
"Young master..." She sighed, her voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "You fell asleep at your desk again."
He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, looking at the half-finished work sprawled across his desk.
"Are you really trying to work yourself half to death?" Ayaka asked, stepping into the room and placing a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.
Ryoma barely spared her a glance, holding up a small, intricate drone that he had been tinkering with.
"These things won't make themselves," he muttered, focusing back on his project.
Ayaka shook her head with a soft laugh, her lips curling into a smile.
"Yes, but you also need to rest, Young master. Otherwise, you'll turn into a zombie."
Ryoma raised an eyebrow at her. "Sorry, but I prefer Frankenstein," he quipped, already returning to his work, his fingers deftly adjusting the drone's components.
Ayaka chuckled, her expression softening as she watched him.
She couldn't help but admire his determination, even if it bordered on unhealthy.
"What kind of drone are you building, young master?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
"A drone that will map every layout of Tokyo," Ryoma replied matter-of-factly, taking a sip of his coffee.
He paused for a moment, as if contemplating the possibilities.
"With that data, I'll be able to find the fastest routes across the city."
Ayaka raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And with the drone's recordings, you'll be able to track the faces of people walking by?"
"Exactly," Ryoma said, his eyes gleaming with the excitement of his invention.
"If we ever need to find someone, we can search the data the drone's collected. It's all right there."
Ayaka nodded, impressed by the ingenuity. "That's... quite the idea, young master."
"But... don't you think that might breach privacy?" she asked, her tone laced with concern.
Ryoma glanced up briefly, his expression unbothered. "Well, I never cared about that," he replied with his usual bluntness.
Ayaka let out a hesitant laugh, unsure of how to respond. "Hahaha... I see. It really is you, young master."
A brief silence fell between them, the only sound the soft hum of machinery.
"By the way," Ryoma said, breaking the quiet, his focus returning to his work. "I'm going out after this. Please take care of the mansion while I'm gone."
"Of course, young master!" Ayaka answered immediately, then paused, curiosity overtaking her.
"Where are you going, young master?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
Ryoma didn't look up, absorbed in his tinkering. "Just want to take a drive around," he said, his voice casual.
"Please prepare my motorbike, okay?"
Ayaka grinned, her expression warm and eager. "Understood, young master. Leave it to me!"
With that, she exited the room, her footsteps light as she went to prepare his motorbike.
Ryoma finished his work on the drone and drained the last of his coffee, leaning back in his chair with a deep sigh.
"That girl... I hope I can meet her again," he muttered to himself, standing up and walking toward the door.
Meanwhile, Ayaka had finished preparing Ryoma's motorbike, carefully ensuring everything was in perfect condition.
She looked up just in time to see him walking toward her. "Everything is ready," she said, offering him the keys with a warm smile.
Ryoma took the keys without a word. "Thank you," he replied, his voice steady as he walked toward the garage, Ayaka following closely behind.
As they neared the garage, Ayaka watched him mount the motorbike with practiced ease, adjusting his helmet.
"Young master, there's something I want to ask," she said, her tone uncertain.
Ryoma, still fiddling with his helmet, turned to her. "Go ahead," he said, his voice soft but inviting.
Ayaka hesitated for a moment, her words catching in her throat before she spoke again.
"Did you build that drone so you could meet the girl from three years ago?"
At her words, Ryoma froze. His face turned away, a sharp, almost imperceptible tension seizing him.
The question had clearly struck a nerve. His grip on the motorbike's handles tightened, the memories flooding back in a rush.
"I apologize, young master," Ayaka said quickly, bowing her head. "I didn't mean to bring up that incident again."
There was a pause, and then she added in a gentler tone, "I would also like to meet her, if possible, and thank her for saving you back then."
Ryoma didn't answer immediately. Instead, he adjusted his helmet visor with a quiet exhale.
"You're right," he finally replied, his voice tinged with something unreadable.
He revved the engine of the motorbike, the sound filling the air with power.
Ayaka took a few steps back, watching him closely. "Be careful, young master," she said, her voice laced with concern.
With a nod, Ryoma kicked the bike into gear and accelerated out of the garage.
The security guard, standing at the gate, opened the door, allowing him to leave the mansion.
As the motorbike roared to life and disappeared down the road, Ayaka stood there for a moment, her gaze lingering on the empty driveway.
Ryoma adjusted the strap of his backpack, the weight of the drone inside reminding him of the past.
As he drived, his mind drifted back to a time that seemed both distant and vivid—exactly three years ago.
He had been kidnapped. A group of criminals, well aware of his identity as the only son of the Murakami family, had taken him.
They had thought he was an easy target, but they hadn't anticipated what would come next.
Just as he was about to surrender to the hopelessness of the situation, a girl had appeared—out of nowhere, like a ghost.
She wielded a gun, but the projectiles she fired were far from lethal.
Instead of real bullets, they were rubber ones, powerful enough to disarm the kidnappers but harmless in the end.
Ryoma hadn't had time to ask her name. He hadn't even been able to thank her.
All he remembered was the image of a beautiful girl, her figure fading into the chaos, leaving only the sense that he had been saved by someone extraordinary.
At first, the experience had wounded his pride. The fact that he, the heir of the Murakami family, had been saved by a stranger—someone who wasn't even supposed to be involved in his life—felt like a blow to his self-esteem.
But over time, he had come to a different conclusion. If it hadn't been for her, if she hadn't been there in that moment, he wouldn't be standing where he was today.
Her intervention had not only saved his life but also reshaped the course of his future.
That realization had pushed him into a relentless search for the girl who had saved him.
Now, standing in front of a small café he'd never visited before, Ryoma hesitated.
The place was empty, quiet, an ideal spot to fly the drone. It was as if fate had led him here.
He retrieved the drone from his bag and began setting it up, his hands moving with practiced ease.
As the drone hummed to life, Ryoma whispered under his breath, his words barely audible. "Find that girl."
His heart quickened at the thought.
"I hope I can meet her again... as soon as possible," he murmured to himself, watching as the drone lifted into the air.
From inside the café, a girl emerged, her attire strikingly unique.
She wore a red samue with dark blue and lime-green accents, paired with a dark blue kimono skirt that fluttered slightly in the breeze.
Her presence was bold yet graceful, like a character stepping out of a story.
"Hey there! That's a cool drone you've got! Looking for someone?" she called out, her voice carrying a playful tone.
Ryoma, caught off guard, spun toward the voice. His helmet visor made it hard to see her clearly, and his surprise was evident.
With a swift motion, Ryoma removed his helmet, and his sky-blue hair fell loosely around his shoulders.
As his blue eyes met hers, a strange sense of familiarity tugged at him, as if he had seen this girl before—yet he couldn't place where.
He reached for his glasses instinctively, his heart skipped a beat.
It was her—the girl who had saved him three years ago.
He stared at her, unable to tear his gaze away. His mind raced, but no words came out.
It was as if time itself had slowed down. He was entranced by the girl standing before him, feeling like he'd known her all his life.
A few seconds passed... then a few more.
"Err..." Ryoma finally managed to stutter, his voice awkward and uncertain.
The girl, now noticing his prolonged silence, tilted her head, puzzled.
"Hellooo? You okay? Can you hear what I'm saying?" she asked, her voice a little more concerned.
Ryoma blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. "Sorry," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe I didn't get enough sleep..."
The girl chuckled softly, her smile warm and unbothered. "Haha, alright," she said, clearly amused by his flustered state.
"So, what exactly are you doing? Are you seriously looking for someone?" the girl asked, peeking over at the drone with clear interest.
Ryoma didn't even glance at her. "That's none of your business," he replied coldly.
The girl blinked, taken aback by the bluntness. "H-Hey, that's a little harsh, don't you think?" she frowned.
"I was just asking. No need to go full ice prince on me."
Ryoma kept his eyes on the sky, watching the drone vanish into the clouds above. For a moment, there was only silence.
Then, he sighed quietly and turned to her. "Your name?"
That caught her off guard.
She raised a brow and smirked, placing a hand on her hip.
"That's none of your business!" she said, mimicking his earlier tone with playful defiance.
Ryoma didn't even flinch. "Fair point."
The girl blinked—then burst into a giggle. "Geez, you're really something, you know that?"
She shook her head and smiled. "Alright, alright. I'm Chisato Nishigaki."
"Just call me Chisato!"
Her grin widened when she saw the faintest flicker of interest in Ryoma's expression. It wasn't much, but it was there.
"Chisato, huh?" Ryoma repeated, as if testing the name on his tongue.
"Yup, that's me!" she said, standing a little straighter. "And what about you?"
She leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "You gonna tell me your name, or should I just call you Mister Drone Guy?"
Ryoma gave her a side glance. "Ryoma. But you can call me whatever you want."
Chisato laughed at his dry response. "Well then, Ryoma—it's nice to meet you."
"So, tell me," Chisato began, tilting her head with a playful glint in her crimson eyes, "what brings you to this part of town, flying your little drone around?"
Ryoma didn't answer right away. He glanced toward the nearby café, then shrugged.
"Just wanted to go to the café," he said, clearly using it as an excuse.
Chisato raised an eyebrow, following his line of sight. "Oh? Is that so?"
She grinned brightly. "Well, lucky you! You've stumbled upon the finest hidden gem in the city—Café LycoReco. Best coffee and pastries this side of Tokyo!"
"Is that so?" Ryoma muttered, mildly intrigued. "Then I'll try it."
He stepped forward, pushing the door open. A soft ding echoed as the small bell above the door rang.
"Welcome to Café LycoReco~!" Chisato sang cheerfully as she followed him inside.
From behind the counter, a man emerged, drying his hands with a towel.
His eyes briefly studied Ryoma. "Ah, a new face. Welcome."
Just as he was about to approach, Chisato cut in swiftly. "I got this, boss!"
The man chuckled and gave her a wave. "Alright, he's all yours."
With a practiced spin and a warm smile, Chisato turned to Ryoma. "So, what can I get for you? Latte? Espresso? A pastry fresh from the oven?"
Ryoma adjusted his glasses, brushing aside a strand of sky-blue hair.
"I don't like things that are too sweet. And I already had coffee before coming here."
Chisato tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Not a fan of sugar bombs, huh? Got it."
"No worries—our menu isn't all sugar rushes and caffeine. I'll pick something mellow for you."
Ryoma gave her a small nod. "I'll leave it to you, then."
"Roger that, Mister Drone Guy," she teased with a wink before heading behind the counter.
Chisato tapped a finger against her lips, humming softly as she contemplated. "Hmm... what would suit your vibe?"
She glanced over at Ryoma, who sat calmly at the counter, his blue eyes quietly watching her from behind his glasses.
"How about green tea? Or maybe dark tea? We've also got a few herbal blends if you're into that kind of thing," she offered with a tilt of her head.
"Green tea sounds good," Ryoma replied, his voice low and steady.
Chisato's face lit up with a small, satisfied smile. "Alrighty then, one green tea coming right up!"
She moved behind the counter with practiced ease, grabbing a ceramic cup and carefully pouring in hot water.
The scent of fresh tea leaves filled the air as she let them steep, her movements gentle and precise.
A couple of minutes later, she returned, gently setting the cup down in front of him.
"Ta-da! One hot cup of green tea, brewed with care and a sprinkle of Chisato's charm."
Ryoma raised an eyebrow. "Well, I am the only one who ordered," he replied flatly, though his tone lacked any real bite. "Thanks."
He blew lightly on the surface of the tea, then took a sip. The warmth spread through his chest, a subtle comfort that relaxed his shoulders.
"How is it? Good?" Chisato leaned in slightly, eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Ryoma gave a slow nod. "Quite good."
Chisato beamed. "Yay! I'm so glad! We take our tea game pretty seriously here, you know."
"If that's the case," Ryoma muttered, setting the cup down, "this place should be more crowded."
Chisato let out a light laugh, clearly unfazed by his blunt observation. "Oh? And what makes you say that?"
"Good drinks. Quiet atmosphere. Competent staff." He listed matter-of-factly, not realizing he was indirectly complimenting her.
Chisato smirked. "Wow, is that your way of flirting? Because if so, it's dangerously effective."
Ryoma blinked, not expecting that comeback. "I was just stating facts."
"Sure you were," she teased, twirling back behind the counter with a playful wink.
The bell above the café door chimed again. A girl with sleek, black hair and sharp eyes stepped inside, her presence calm yet striking.
Chisato looked up from behind the counter and waved brightly. "Oh, hey! Takina!"
The girl—Takina—strode over with composed steps, her gaze quickly shifting to the unfamiliar boy sitting at the counter.
Her purple eyes lingered on him with mild curiosity.
Ryoma, still cradling his warm cup of tea, gave her a passing glance before returning his focus to the steam rising from the cup.
It was clear he had never met her before—and just as clear that he didn't see the need to start now.
Chisato caught the silent exchange—or lack thereof—and smirked.
"Takina, this is Ryoma. He's a new customer. Pretty chill, but not as scary as he looks, promise."
Takina gave a small nod. Her gaze didn't waver. "Nice to meet you."
Ryoma returned the gesture with a simple nod of his own. No words. No effort.
Chisato glanced between them, suppressing a laugh. Oh great, she thought, now there's two emotionless robots in the same room.
Before she could stir the atmosphere with another quip, the front door burst open again.
"Chisato!" a woman with glasses called out dramatically, dragging a younger girl by the wrist. "Kurumi's being impossible again!"
"I told you," the girl with fluffy blond hair and a scowl muttered, pulling her arm free, "find your own partner. I don't wanna do it."
Chisato sighed, already used to the antics. "Mizuki, Kurumi, can we go one morning without drama?"
Kurumi crossed her arms, glaring up at the taller woman. Mizuki looked ready to throw herself out the window.
Ryoma blinked, subtly raising an eyebrow as he watched the chaos unfold before him.
"I see... this café isn't as quiet as I thought," he murmured.
Chisato turned back to Ryoma, offering him a light-hearted smile.
"Oh, don't worry about them," she said, gesturing with a playful tilt of her head toward the chaos inside.
"They're always like that—Mizuki and Kurumi argue more than they breathe."
Behind her, Takina let out an audible sigh and brought a hand to her face. "Again? Already?"
Ryoma, for his part, seemed entirely unaffected. He simply nodded, raised his cup, and took another sip of the green tea as if the entire world's noise could be filtered out with just one breath.
Moments later, he finished the drink with calm efficiency, set the cup down, and stood.
He walked up to the man behind the counter—broad-shouldered and calm-eyed, his skin a rich shade of brown—and handed over the payment without ceremony.
"Thank you. The tea was delicious," Ryoma said, voice steady but sincere.
The man gave a short nod, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "Glad you enjoyed it."
As Ryoma turned to leave, Chisato blinked, caught off guard by the suddenness.
She instinctively stepped out after him. "Ryoma!"
He paused just as he was fastening his helmet, turning slightly.
His glasses were off now, tucked neatly away, revealing those clear blue eyes under the soft morning sun.
Chisato approached, flashing him a wide, energetic grin. "Come by again sometime, okay?"
For a beat, Ryoma stared at her—then something unexpected happened.
He smiled.
It wasn't big. It wasn't loud. But it was genuine.
"Sure," he said with a short nod.
It was the first time she'd seen him smile, and for some reason, it made her heart skip half a beat.
"Great!" she beamed, visibly happy. "Don't forget! And drive safely!"
Ryoma swung a leg over his bike, the engine humming to life beneath him.
"Goodbye," he said, voice blending with the low rumble of the motor.
And then—he was gone, speeding off down the street with the afternoon wind chasing at his heels.
Chisato stood there for a moment, watching the trail he left behind, her hands still raised mid-wave.
"He's… kind of cool," she said to herself with a smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Weird, but cool."
Not far from Café LycoReco, the sound of Ryoma's motorbike echoed through the quiet streets.
His mind, however, wasn't on the road.
Chisato...
Her smile lingered in his memory—bright, disarming, and oddly difficult to forget.
But that thought shattered in an instant.
Bang!
A sharp crack rang out—a bullet ricocheting off his helmet with violent force.
His vision spun as his body jerked backward, momentum ripped from him.
The bike skidded with a harsh screech, crashing to the ground as Ryoma tumbled across the pavement.
The helmet—reinforced and bulletproof—saved him. But the message was clear: this wasn't random.
Lying still, Ryoma's hand subtly reached into his pocket. His fingers brushed the emergency button on his custom-built device.
SOS signal sent.
A moment later, he felt hands grab him roughly—dragging him off the street.
Ryoma kept his eyes closed, his breath shallow, playing unconscious.
Meanwhile, at the Murakami estate…
Ayaka was mopping the marble floor alongside the other maids, humming softly.
The sunlight through the wide windows glinted off her immaculate uniform—until a sharp ding from her pocket cut through the air.
She paused, tilting her head. "Hm? A message?" Ayaka pulled out her phone.
Then her blood ran cold.
A red alert flashed across the screen—an emergency code she never wanted to see.
"...Young master?"
Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. But when she opened the notification and saw the live coordinates, panic turned to purpose.
Without hesitation, she turned to the others. "Please take care of the house. Young master is in danger!"
Another maid blinked. "What? Again?"
But Ayaka was already moving.
Down the hallway, through the corridor, and into the garage—a sleek black sports car sat waiting.
She threw open the door and slid into the driver's seat, adrenaline sharpening her senses.
Her hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. "Stay calm, Ayaka," she whispered, grounding herself. "Ryoma needs you."
The engine roared to life as she slammed on the accelerator, tires screeching out of the estate grounds.
The GPS flickered on-screen, locking onto Ryoma's signal.
Hang on, Ryoma... I'm coming.
On a separate stretch of road, the deep growl of a motorbike echoed fiercely through the urban night.
Chisato leaned forward, eyes narrowed, her blonde hair tied back and fluttering in the wind.
But it wasn't her usual bike—no, this was Ryoma's. She had watched everything unfold—the gunshot, the fall, and the abduction—and she had immediately given chase.
Her knuckles tightened around the handlebars as the city lights blurred past.
"I'm not letting you disappear like that."
The bike roared beneath her, powerful and responsive.
"This thing is insanely fast…" she muttered under her breath, weaving skillfully through the sparse traffic like it was second nature.
Her instincts kicked in, scanning for signs—skid marks, a shadow of a truck, anything.
Inside a dimly lit truck, Ryoma sat with his hands and ankles bound, a blindfold pressed over his eyes.
His glasses lay somewhere on the floor, far from reach.
The ride was bumpy, but his senses were sharp despite the restraints.
Eventually, the vehicle came to a halt.
Rough hands grabbed him, dragging him out. The cool sound of cascading water echoed faintly nearby—an old drainage system, perhaps? It wasn't long before they brought him into what felt like a building.
The air turned stale, the scent of rust and dust thick in his nose.
The blindfold came off.
Ryoma blinked against the low industrial lights. An abandoned factory. Concrete walls, broken windows.
The sound of dripping water reverberated in the distance.
And surrounding him—four towering men, each one built like a refrigerator and twice as unfriendly.
Ryoma stared at them calmly, despite the rope still digging into his wrists.
"...Huh. Bad days really don't come with a warning on the calendar, do they?" he muttered, voice laced with sarcasm.
One of them stepped forward—a massive man with arms like tree trunks and a stare that could freeze lava.
"You sure talk a lot for someone in your situation," he growled, voice low and threatening.
Ryoma tilted his head slightly, the faintest smirk curling at the corner of his lips.
"What can I say? I've been kidnapped more times than I've had birthdays."
The men exchanged glances. Another stepped forward, this one wearing dark sunglasses indoors like he thought it made him intimidating.
"Well, of course you have," he said, tone dripping with mock respect.
"You're the only son of the Murakami family. You're practically a walking ransom."
Ryoma raised an eyebrow. "Ah, so it's money, then? How original."
"You know, with this much manpower, you guys could've just robbed a bank."
The man with the glasses let out a short, humorless laugh. "And what, end up on the evening news? No thanks."
"This? This is cleaner. More profitable. Less risk."
"Right," Ryoma muttered, leaning back in the chair as much as the ropes would allow. "Criminals these days really are lazy thinkers."
"And you really didn't think this through when you decided to kidnap me?" His voice dripped with arrogance, like he was the one in control of the room.
"I'm the only son of the Murakami family. Our company's reach isn't just in Japan—it spans continents. Corporations. Governments. Surveillance systems."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming beneath the dim overhead light.
"Do you really think you'll be okay after this?"
A tense silence followed, broken by a scoff from one of the men—this one with a black eye and a twitching jaw.
He stepped forward, irritation etched into his expression.
"You talk too much. You know what happens to people who don't shut up?"
Ryoma didn't even flinch.
"Yeah," he replied casually, as if they were chatting over coffee. "People get annoyed and eventually ignore them."
He let the words hang in the air before flashing a lazy grin. "So go ahead. Ignore me. Problem solved, right?"
The man's patience snapped. The punch came hard and fast, slamming into Ryoma's cheek with a sickening thud.
His head jerked to the side, and a splatter of blood hit the cold concrete floor.
But Ryoma didn't cry out. Instead, he spat the blood to the side and lifted his head slowly, his blue eyes sharp as glass.
The men burst into laughter, mocking him, seeing only a beaten, scrawny rich kid clinging to bravado.
"You act so tough," one of them sneered. "But you're nothing more than a weak, spoiled brat."
The sound of an engine roared just outside the abandoned factory—sharp, fast, and furious.
Ryoma's ears twitched at the familiar hum.
Ayaka, he thought. She's here.
But the door didn't swing open—it exploded off its hinges with a loud crash.
Dust swirled through the air, and in the haze stood not the stoic maid he expected... but a girl in a red and gray pleated dress, black calf-high socks, and brown loafers.
His eyes widened.
"Chisato...?" he murmured, disbelief heavy in his voice.
The light caught her golden hair as she stepped through the dust, her stance sharp, gun raised and steady.
Her crimson eyes locked onto his, reading the bruises, the ropes, the blood on his lip.
"Ryoma. You okay?" she asked calmly, though a subtle fire burned in her gaze.
Ryoma blinked, still stunned. "What... are you doing here?"
Before she could answer, a thug barked a laugh. "Her? She's the rescue team?"
Another smirked, grabbing a rusted metal pipe. "What's this? A schoolgirl with a toy gun?"
Chisato tilted her head and smiled sweetly—too sweetly.
"You boys really know how to pick your last words," she said. "You underestimate me, big guys."
Chisato dashed forward, her movements a blur of precision and speed.
Two men charged to intercept her, iron pipes gripped tightly in their hands.
One of them swung at her with a savage arc, but Chisato barely needed to try, she sidestepped with effortless grace, as if dancing through the chaos.
In a flash, she raised her pistol and fired a rubber bullet straight into his chest.
The man gasped, dropping to his knees before collapsing.
Before the first hit the ground, the second man lunged at her from behind, but she was faster.
Another shot rang out, and he dropped like a sack of bricks.
A third enemy emerged, this time armed with a handgun. He didn't hesitate, he fired.
But Chisato didn't flinch. She twisted her body mid-step, slipping through the bullets with uncanny instinct.
Ryoma, bound and helpless nearby, could only stare, wide-eyed. It was as if she was untouchable.
She closed the gap in a heartbeat and fired. The rubber round slammed into the man's stomach, dropping him instantly.
Then came the last one, a man in glasses, dual-wielding Uzis.
He screamed and let loose a storm of bullets, metal tearing through the air like a furious rain.
But Chisato didn't slow down. She weaved through the chaos like she could see the bullets before they were fired.
She surged forward, eyes locked onto her target. One final shot. Perfectly placed.
The man was blasted backward, the Uzis slipping from his hands as he hit the ground hard.
Silence fell.
Chisato stood tall, untouched, victorious. She had taken down every single one of them, without spilling a drop of blood.
Shock coursed through Ryoma as recognition hit him like a bolt of lightning.
His breath caught in his throat, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stop.
This...
He'd felt this sense of familiarity before.
There was no mistake now—Chisato was the girl who had saved him three years ago.
The realization settled deep in his chest, a strange mix of awe and relief.
Chisato moved quickly, her eyes scanning his restraints before she knelt beside him with calm precision.
From a small pouch at her waist, she pulled out a bottle of clear liquid and a packet of gauze.
Her touch was soft, almost delicate, as she gently wiped at the bruise on his cheek.
"Stay still," she murmured, her voice a low hum of care.
She applied a sterile adhesive pad over the bruise—white, thin, and perfectly sized to cover the injury.
As her fingers brushed against his skin, Ryoma felt the warmth of her concern.
"There you go," she said, meeting his eyes with quiet intensity. "Are you alright, Ryoma?"
Before he could answer, the sound of an engine echoed from outside once again, and the door slammed open with a rush of air.
In strode a woman in a maid outfit, baseball bat in hand.
"Young master!" Ayaka exclaimed, her voice a mix of urgency and relief.
Ryoma stood suddenly, brushing himself off and straightening his posture.
"I'm fine, Ayaka," he assured her, though his tone was softer than usual.
Ayaka's sharp eyes darted between the two of them.
Chisato's presence clearly threw her off, though she maintained her composure.
Without another word, Ayaka handed Ryoma his glasses—glasses that weren't just for show.
As he slid them on, his eyes instantly sharpened, analyzing the situation with precision.
The advanced lenses scanned the faces of the kidnappers, noting every detail, every piece of data for later use.
Ayaka, now fully aware of the situation, glanced at Chisato and asked in a clipped tone, "Who is this woman, young master?"
Chisato stood there, unperturbed by the sudden attention. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, small but genuine.
"I'm Chisato Nishikigi," she introduced herself, her voice steady and confident.
"She was the one who saved me," Ryoma said, his voice steady as he turned toward Ayaka, his expression softening with a touch of gratitude.
Ayaka blinked, her surprise evident as she glanced from Ryoma to Chisato.
She paused for a moment before bowing deeply to Chisato.
"Thank you for saving him, miss Chisato" Ayaka said, her voice sincere. "I owe you."
Chisato was taken aback by the sudden gesture. She hadn't expected such formal gratitude, especially not from Ayaka.
"Please, there's no need for that," Chisato replied quickly, waving her hand as her face flushed with mild embarrassment.
"I just did what anyone would do." She gave a small smile, her eyes softening as she continued, "I couldn't leave him in danger like that."
Ryoma, still standing nearby, looked at Chisato for a moment before speaking again.
"Thanks, Chisato," he said, his tone more serious than before. "And I'm sorry for how I acted. For being rude to you."
Chisato blinked, a bit surprised by his sudden change in tone. She let out a soft laugh, her smile easy and warm.
"No hard feelings," she said, her voice light and reassuring. "We're all good."
Before the moment could linger too long, Ayaka spoke up, her usual calm demeanor returning.
"Young master, the police will be here soon. We should leave before they arrive," she said, her eyes scanning the surroundings with practiced efficiency.
"You hate being interrogated, don't you?"
Ryoma nodded, his expression becoming more focused as he turned toward the door.
"Right," he said, glancing back at Chisato. "Chisato, let me take you to that café again sometime. It's the least I can do."
Chisato's smile widened, a genuine warmth in her gaze. "That sounds nice," she replied with a nod.
Chisato took one last look around the abandoned building, her sharp gaze sweeping the surroundings to make sure nothing was left behind.
She couldn't help but whistle as she spotted the sleek car parked nearby.
"Wow, that's quite a car you've got there, Ryoma," she remarked, her eyes lighting up with admiration.
Her fingers traced the car's gleaming hood, the cool metal smooth beneath her touch.
"A sport car, huh? It's absolutely beautiful."
Ryoma smirked, leaning casually against the car. "Do you want to ride in a car or on a motorbike?"
Chisato paused for a moment, considering. "Hmm… I've ridden the bike before," she mused, her grin widening as she looked at the car.
"So! I'll go with this cool car!"
Ryoma chuckled, nodding. "Alright then. Ayaka, you can go home now."
Ayaka hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly. "Eh? Is that okay, young master?"
"Don't worry, I'll be safe," Ryoma assured her with a wave.
After a moment of hesitation, Ayaka nodded and stepped back.
With a flick of his wrist, Ryoma slid into the driver's seat. "Come on, Chisato."
Chisato followed suit, slipping into the passenger seat beside him.
As she settled into the seat, she couldn't help but let out a soft sigh of awe.
"This is definitely more comfortable than my bike," she said, adjusting her position on the plush leather.
The seat practically enveloped her in luxury.
Before she could say anything more, the seat belt clicked into place on its own, followed shortly by Ryoma's.
She blinked, surprised and impressed. "Wow. This car really is something."
She glanced around, taking in the advanced technology and the sleek design of the interior.
Everything about the car screamed high-tech luxury.
Ryoma grinned, hands tightening around the steering wheel.
"Do you want to go fast or slow?" he asked, his voice playful yet full of anticipation.
Chisato's eyes widened as the car's engine roared to life, the sudden acceleration throwing her back in the seat.
"Fast, obviously!" she replied without missing a beat, her voice bubbling with excitement.
"I mean, if you're driving a car like this, you might as well enjoy the speed, right?"
Ryoma smirked, pressing a button on the dashboard.
The screen lit up, and the car's engine purred louder, its acceleration becoming more intense. "Alright then, here we go."
Music began to play, and Ryoma's grin widened as the car shot forward with a burst of speed. "Are you ready?"
Chisato gripped the seat, her excitement palpable as she braced herself.
"Ready as I'll ever be!" she said, her voice full of enthusiasm.
Ryoma grinned, his hands steady on the steering wheel as the car rocketed forward at an incredible speed.
The engine's growl was almost deafening, and the car surged down the road with the kind of precision and power that only this car could offer.
Chisato's eyes widened as the world outside the window became nothing more than a blur.
The sensation of speed was unlike anything she had ever experienced before.
She let out a loud laugh, exhilaration flooding her senses. "This is insane!"
Ryoma's gaze never wavered from the road ahead, his focus sharp as he navigated the high-speed rush.
At this pace, even the slightest misstep could send them careening off course.
She leaned back in her seat, her body still tingling from the thrill. "You're really good at this, you know."
Ryoma glanced at her briefly, his confidence unshaken. "Of course."
Chisato chuckled, a teasing grin forming on her face. "Cocky, aren't we?"
She couldn't help herself. It was fun to tease him a little, especially when he was so sure of himself.
The banter was almost as exciting as the speed.
"By the way, do you remember what happened three years ago?" Ryoma asked, his tone casual but curious.
Chisato blinked at the sudden question, taken aback.
"Three years ago? That's specific," she replied, her mind racing through memories.
She frowned, unable to recall the event he was referring to. "Why do you ask?"
She couldn't remember their first meeting, and that struck her as odd.
Ryoma's appearance had changed a lot since then, but still…
"Nothing, I just wanted to test your memory," Ryoma said with a shrug, his tone light.
Chisato shot him a skeptical look. "Is that so? Just testing my memory, huh?"
She leaned back, her curiosity piqued. "Well, let's see. Three years ago, huh? Hmm..." Her voice trailed off as she tried to dig deeper into her recollection.
Before she could continue, the car slowed and soon came to a stop.
Chisato looked out the window and saw the familiar sight of the café they had visited before. "We're here?"
Ryoma gave a small nod. "Already? That was fast."
The car came to a smooth halt, and the seatbelt unlatched itself with a soft click. The music faded as the car powered down.
Chisato stretched her arms and legs, feeling the sudden ease of being out of the car.
"Wow, this car does everything for you, doesn't it?"
She stepped out of the car, her limbs feeling lighter, almost as if the car's speed had still left a lingering rush in her veins.
The car window slid open with a soft hum, and Ryoma, still sitting in the driver's seat, handed Chisato a personal card.
"If I'm not busy, I can drive you whenever you need," he said casually, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Chisato raised an eyebrow, a look of slight surprise crossing her face as she took the card.
"Oh, really? That's really kind of you." She tucked the card into her pocket, a small but genuine smile forming. "Thanks, Ryoma."
Ryoma gave a simple nod. "See you later."
"Yeah, see you later," Chisato replied, watching as the sleek car roared to life and sped off into the distance.
She stood there for a moment, her thoughts shifting back to the café and the inevitable barrage of questions that awaited her from the crew.
With a soft sigh, she started walking toward the entrance, mentally bracing herself for the interrogation.
Meanwhile, Ryoma was already speeding down the road, heading toward his mansion.
The city blurred past him as he effortlessly navigated the streets, the roar of the car engine filling the air.
He reached the mansion in no time, pulling the car into the garage with a smooth glide.
The doors to the massive structure loomed in front of him as he exited the vehicle.
Inside the mansion, he walked through the grand halls, his footsteps echoing against the polished floors.
He paused in front of a giant painting that adorned the wall.
With a casual swipe of his phone screen, he pressed a button.
The painting slowly shifted, revealing a hidden door that led downward, a darkened path beneath the mansion's opulent exterior.
Ryoma stepped through, the door closing silently behind him as the painting swung back into place, hiding the passage once again.
Descending into the depths, he entered a high-tech underground facility—his personal workshop.
Rows of tools and gadgets were neatly arranged, and there, standing by one of the workstations, was Ayaka, waiting for him.
Ryoma walked over to his chair, settling down in the familiar seat.
Ayaka stood silently behind him, her presence as calm and steady as ever.
"You're here early," Ryoma said, his eyes focused on the array of devices around them.
Ayaka simply nodded, her expression neutral. "Waiting for your instructions."
"Young master, may I ask something?" Ayaka's voice was calm, yet there was a hint of curiosity in it.
Ryoma, ever perceptive, already knew what was on her mind.
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the glowing monitors around him.
"Yes, she's the girl I've been searching for all this time."
Ayaka waited for him to continue.
"I've given her my personal card," Ryoma added, his tone nonchalant.
"In case she ever needs any help... as a way to repay her for helping me—both back then and today."
Ayaka's expression softened ever so slightly, a faint understanding passing through her eyes.
"I see... That was a good choice, Master."
Before the conversation could continue, a sudden beep interrupted them.
A large screen mounted on the wall flickered to life, the name "Masaru" flashing at the top.
Ryoma sighed, rolling his eyes as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Ugh, not him..." Ryoma muttered under his breath.
"Answer the phone," he instructed Ayaka, who immediately moved to comply.
With a tap, Ayaka activated the call, and a deep, authoritative voice echoed through the room.
"Ryoma, have you been taking good care of our company in Japan?" The voice was as cold as it was direct, showing no trace of pleasantries.
Ryoma leaned back in his chair, unfazed. "I've been handling things just fine," he replied, his voice even.
"I've already sent over the blueprints for the new gadgets. They'll be fine."
Masaru's voice was unyielding, almost indifferent. "That's expected of you. You were born to handle this, after all."
Ryoma's eyes narrowed slightly. He had heard this all before—the relentless expectations from his father.
He exhaled, "And just because you are a prodigy doesn't mean you get to slack off"
"I know, old man," he said sarcastically, his tone dripping with disdain.
"Ryoma," Masaru's voice crackled through the phone, laden with an uncharacteristic seriousness, "You may be a genius in technology, but don't get arrogant with me."
Ryoma's shoulders slumped in annoyance, his patience thinning.
"Sorry, Father," he muttered, clearly not in the mood for another lecture.
Masaru's voice remained cold, unwavering. "Is Ayaka there?"
"Yes, Lord Murakami," Ayaka's voice was steady as she answered.
"How is Ryoma over there?" Masaru asked, his tone sharp. "Has he caused any trouble?"
Ayaka didn't hesitate, her reply smooth and precise. "No, Lord Murakami. He's been quite diligent, always working on new gadgets."
Masaru seemed to take a moment, as if processing Ayaka's words.
"He is indeed a young genius," Ayaka added, her voice carrying a note of respect.
The words seemed to please Masaru, as he gave a grunt of approval. "That's good then."
Ryoma could feel the weight of his father's expectations looming over him, but he didn't flinch.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair, trying to keep his impatience in check.
"Keep up the good work," Masaru continued, his voice still as cold as steel.
"I don't want to hear any complaints about you from anyone."
Ryoma let out a quiet sigh of relief, relieved the conversation was nearing its end, but just as he thought it was over, Masaru spoke again.
"And is Ryoma okay there?" There was a brief pause. "Is someone trying to kidnap him again?"
The question hung in the air, and Ryoma could hear Ayaka's voice falter slightly, a sound of surprise betraying her otherwise composed demeanor.
Masaru's frown was almost audible as he pressed, "What happened?"
Ryoma's eyes narrowed. He knew exactly what would happen if Ayaka said a word about his kidnapping.
His father would waste no time in dragging him abroad—further tightening the restraints around his life.
And Ryoma wasn't ready to give up his freedom just yet.
"No, Ayaka just exhausted, it's my fault for giving her too much work," Ryoma replied calmly, arms folded as he leaned back in his chair.
"I'm fine," he added, brushing off the concern like dust on his sleeve.
A long silence followed from the other side of the call.
Masaru's face darkened on the screen, his sharp eyes narrowing with unspoken weight.
Finally, in a voice as heavy as iron, he spoke. "You'd better conduct yourself properly while you're out there."
"Yes, Father," Ryoma said, voice quiet but unwavering.
"Good." Masaru nodded stiffly. "Because you are the only son of the Murakami family."
"If anything happens to you, I'll be forced to find a replacement."
His lips curled with disdain. "And I have no intention of letting the Murakami bloodline end with me."
"Our ancestors would curse my grave if I failed."
It wasn't love that drove his father—it was legacy. Lineage. Image.
"I understand," Ryoma replied, his tone unreadable.
Masaru didn't say another word. The screen flickered once—and the call cut off without a goodbye.
The atmosphere had been tense, heavy with the weight of familial expectations—until it cracked.
With a loud slam, Ryoma struck his desk with both hands. "Agh! Damn old man! I curse you to die in shame!"
Ayaka, ever composed, took a step closer. "Please calm down, Young master."
He inhaled sharply through clenched teeth, trying to regain his composure.
"Tch... That guy... I'll show him. I'll show him I don't need him breathing down my neck to succeed!"
He turned abruptly, pointing toward the steel cabinet at the back of the lab.
"Ayaka! Get me a blueprint! Any of them!"
Without a word, Ayaka moved swiftly, retrieving a scroll-like blueprint and placing it in his hands.
Ryoma unfurled it over the table. His blue eyes narrowed.
"An... information-stealing robot rat?"
The design was sleek and clever—a mechanical rodent designed to infiltrate enemy territory, capable of cloaking itself with environmental mimicry.
A ghost in the walls.
"Perfect," Ryoma muttered, lips curling into a grin. "I'll finish this in one night!"
He shouted it more to himself than anyone else—an outlet for his boiling emotions.
Ayaka smiled faintly. "Understood. I'll make you some coffee then, Master."
She turned and walked off toward the upper floor.
Left alone, Ryoma stared down at the blueprint, fingers tightening around the edges.
"Huff… I never asked to be born into this family," he whispered bitterly.
"The successor of the Murakami family, huh…"
His voice echoed through the quiet lab, carried only by the humming of machines and the unresolved fury in his heart.
Meanwhile, back at Café LycoReco, the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as Chisato sat at her usual seat, casually recounting the day's wild detour.
"So that's how it went down," she finished with a chuckle, leaning back with a satisfied sip of iced coffee.
Mika, arms crossed thoughtfully, gave a slow nod. "I see. So you handled it yourself."
"If it was just four guys, you should've called me," Takina muttered, a slight pout tugging at her lips as she crossed her arms.
Chisato tilted her head with a teasing smile. "Aww, Annoyed? Alright, alright—next time I'll bring my trusty partner along."
Takina huffed but didn't argue, already planning the tactics in her head for "next time."
Then, with a thoughtful hum, Chisato reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a small black card.
"Oh, right… Ryoma gave me this."
"A personal card?" Mika asked, raising an eyebrow. He extended a hand. "May I take a look?"
"Sure," Chisato said, handing it over.
The card was sleek, minimalist, but carried weight. Mika's eyes narrowed the moment he read the name inscribed on it.
"…Murakami?"
He muttered it just loud enough for everyone to hear.
Chisato blinked. "Hmm? Something wrong, Teach?"
Takina leaned forward slightly, sensing the shift in atmosphere. "You know that name?"
Mika's gaze stayed locked on the card. "Do you know a company called Murakami Tech?"
Chisato frowned, trying to recall. "Hmm… Sounds kinda familiar. Is it one of those high-end tech corporations?"
"Murakami Tech," Mika began, setting the card gently on the counter, "is one of the world's largest and most influential technology companies."
"They've got a presence in nearly every country."
Chisato blinked. "That big, huh?"
"Their gadgets and hardware are considered top-class," Mika continued.
"I've bought a few myself over the years. Cutting-edge design, flawless function… no one else comes close."
"The company was founded by the Murakami lineage."
"Every generation has contributed—whether by building new business empires or advancing the ones they inherited."
"But this current generation? They're the ones who turned it into a global tech titan."
He paused, furrowing his brow. "Their total assets should be around—uh…" He faltered, the number escaping him.
Before he could finish, Kurumi, already typing away on her laptop, suddenly froze.
"Bwah?!" she yelped, nearly falling off her chair.
Mizuki leaned over to glance at the screen—and nearly dropped her drink. "What the heck?!"
Alarmed, Chisato sat up straighter. "W-What is it?! Don't leave us hanging!"
"I want to see too," Takina added, rising from her seat.
"How much?" Mika asked calmly, though there was tension in his voice.
Kurumi turned her screen toward the others with wide eyes. "Total assets… ¥100 trillion. Net worth: ¥80 trillion."
The café went dead silent.
Chisato's jaw dropped. Takina blinked twice, as if trying to reset her vision.
Even Mika, who was usually composed, stood there frozen in disbelief.
"One HUNDRED trillion yen?!" Chisato finally squeaked, her eyes wide as saucers.
"And a net worth of eighty trillion?!" Takina added, staring at the screen like it had personally offended her sense of reality.
Mika adjusted his glasses. "The current head of the Murakami family has only one son… if I remember correctly."
He glanced back at the card, and then it hit him. "Ryoma Murakami. That's his name."
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Chisato blinked rapidly. "Wait, wait. You're saying Ryoma—as in the guy who I saved earlier—is the Ryoma Murakami? The trillion-yen tech prince?!"
Mizuki slammed her drink on the table. "And he gave you a personal card?! That's not a business card, Chisato—that's basically a love letter in CEO language!"
Chisato's brain was clearly overheating. "N-no way! There's no way he'd be interested in me! I'm just a café waitress slash Lycoris!"
Kurumi leaned over, smirking. "I mean, trillionaire heir with a secret soft spot for café girls? Sounds like a romcom to me."
"If you're not gonna take him, I will," Mizuki said, raising her hand.
"Do you know how many imported wines I could stock with that kind of boyfriend?"
"I doubt he's into women who keep wine in shampoo bottles," Kurumi deadpanned.
Chisato flailed her arms. "No no no! There's no way!"
"He's got his own company empire, probably a robot butler—he's way out of my league!"
Takina, who had been watching the chaos unfold, finally spoke up with her usual deadpan tone.
"Can you guys focus, please?"
Everyone paused.
"…Fair," Mizuki muttered.
"Agreed," Chisato said.
"Chisato, did he say anything to you?" Mika asked, arms crossed, curiosity clear on his face.
Chisato tilted her head, one finger on her cheek as she recalled.
"Hmm… He did say he could give me a ride if I ever needed one."
Mizuki nearly flipped the table. "That's it!"
"That's his way of asking you out! Ugh! Why not me?! I should have been the one to save him!"
"C-calm down!" Chisato stammered, waving her hands. "It wasn't like that! He was just being nice, I think…"
"You think?" Takina raised a brow, examining the card. "Want to go over there and confirm it?"
"Ehh… isn't that kinda weird?" Chisato scratched her cheek awkwardly.
"Just walking in like, 'Hey, did you give me this card because you like me?' Sounds like the start of a bad romcom."
Mika chuckled. "Still, I'm curious. What kind of person do you think he is?"
Elsewhere, in the lab, Ayaka walked in with a tray stacked high with neatly arranged chips.
She looked at her master, who was buried in gadgets and blueprints.
"Young master, what kind of person do you think she is?"
Ryoma blinked, pulled out of his focus by the sudden question. "Huh?"
Back at LycoReco, Chisato blinked at Mika's question.
"What kind of person…?" she murmured, glancing at the card in her hand.
They both paused for a moment, their minds drifting to that one memory—the shared glance, the soft smile, the calm in the middle of chaos.
And at the same exact moment, in two completely different places, their voices spoke the same words:
"She's an interesting person."
"He's an interesting person."
They didn't know why they smiled after saying it, but they did.
That night, deep in the smoke-filled backroom of a dingy underground bar, the clinking of glasses mixed with the low hum of jazz from an old speaker.
Shadows danced under flickering lights as the scent of cheap whiskey and stale cigarettes hung heavy in the air.
"Boss… some of our men got taken in by the cops," one of the gang members muttered, voice hushed and nervous.
"Yeah," another chimed in, glancing over his shoulder. "Right after you gave the order to nab that kid…"
The room went still.
A tense silence followed—until the glass in Tatsuma's hand slammed against the table.
"You blaming me?!" a low, venom-laced voice snarled.
Tatsuma, the ruthless leader of the Kurotora-gumi, sat at the far end of the table, his fiery red hair glinting under the dim light.
His sharp eyes, pierced through the thick smoke as he casually drummed his fingers on the table, his posture relaxed but dangerous.
"Tch… amateurs," he scoffed, his voice calm but carrying a cold edge.
"How can anyone be stupid enough to get caught that fast?"
"But Boss," one of the men dared to speak, "what's so important about that kid anyway?"
Tatsuma's gaze snapped to the man, his expression turning icy and dangerous. Slowly, he stood, towering over them.
"You brain-dead idiot…" he hissed, his voice dangerously soft.
The tension in the room spiked.
Tatsuma reached into his coat, pulling out a photo and slamming it onto the table.
The photo slid to a stop, revealing the face of Ryoma Murakami.
"That 'kid' is Ryoma Murakami," Tatsuma said, his voice low and dripping with disdain.
"The only heir to the Murakami fortune."
"Murakami…? The trillionaire tech family?" the man asked, wide-eyed.
Tatsuma tossed the photo aside, his gaze intense and cold.
He grabbed a knife from the table, his grip tight as he looked at the group.
"That's right," Tatsuma said, his voice filled with venomous satisfaction.
"A brat wrapped in luxury. Daddy's wallet could buy this whole damn city."
The man whistled, awed by the revelation. "So what? Ransom?"
Tatsuma's lips curled into a twisted smile. It wasn't a pleasant one.
It was the kind of smile that sent shivers down spines. "We don't just ask for money," he said, flicking his knife into the air.
With an effortless throw, the blade spun, piercing the air before embedding itself into the wooden wall behind him.
The photo of Ryoma, now impaled, hung between the knife's blade—his eyes staring coldly at everyone in the room.
Tatsuma stepped forward, his presence imposing and his eyes gleaming with dangerous excitement.
"This time," he whispered, his smile widening, "I'll get my hands dirty myself."
He leaned in, his voice quiet but full of dark intent.
"Ryoma Murakami…"
The name was like a curse, a promise of what was to come.