"Ninety-seven."
"Ninety-eight."
"Ninety-nine."
"One hundred."
With a final push, Ryoma's arms locked out, and he let out a quiet breath as he rose to his feet.
His body was drenched in sweat, his breath heavy, chest rising and falling in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Reaching for the towel draped nearby, he wiped himself down without much urgency.
He glanced around the sleek, minimalistic space of his private gym.
No distractions, no noise—just him, his thoughts, and the sound of his own training.
He tossed the towel aside and sat down on the bench to catch his breath.
"Ayaka's not here, huh..."
Just as silence began to settle again, the ringtone of his phone echoed through the space.
He glanced at the screen.
Chisato.
Without hesitation, he picked it up and answered in a calm tone, "Hello? What's up?"
"Ryoma!" came the cheerful voice on the other end, bursting with energy.
"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
He allowed a small smirk to cross his face. "Busy people aren't always busy," he replied casually.
"Besides, I'm just starting my day."
"Perfect timing, then! I kinda need your help with something," Chisato said, her voice bright but with a hint of trouble underneath.
"Oh?" Ryoma leaned back, wiping the back of his neck. "What happened?"
"My motorcycle broke down," she sighed. "Took it to the mechanic, and it's gonna take a few days to fix. Can you pick me up from my place?"
"The engine?" he asked, already guessing the issue.
"Yeah. It just gave out yesterday."
"A few days? Hm.. I could probably fix it in one," Ryoma muttered, half to himself. "If I wasn't busy, that is."
Chisato laughed on the other end. "Classic you. The Murakami heir—capable of anything, huh?"
He smirked again, this time amused. "Alright then," he said as he stood. "Give me ten. I'll come get you on my bike."
"I'll be waiting~" she sang. "Thanks, Ryoma!"
And with that, the call ended.
After the call ended, Ryoma slipped his phone into his pocket and made his way straight to the bathroom.
There was no way he was going to pick up Chisato while reeking of sweat—Murakami Ryoma may be indifferent to fame, but even he had some standards.
The name "Murakami" carried weight, and he wasn't about to tarnish it with something as ridiculous as body odor.
A quick, refreshing shower later, he stepped out, towel-drying his sky-blue hair before slipping into a set of clothes he reserved for riding.
Black jeans, boots, gloves, and a rugged biker-style jacket with a muted metallic finish.
It wasn't flashy—but it screamed precision and control.
Just like him.
He walked toward the warehouse beside the main mansion. His footsteps echoed softly in the morning quiet.
Reaching the storage bay, he grabbed the key to his motorbike—a machine he had personally modified to perfection.
High speed, reinforced frame, customized suspension. His pride and joy.
He checked his phone one last time and saw a message from Chisato: her home address.
With a single glance, he committed the directions to memory.
"Got it."
Phone secured in his inner pocket, Ryoma slid on his full-face helmet.
The soft whirr of the visor locking into place felt oddly satisfying.
He swung a leg over the sleek black bike and turned the key.
VROOOM.
The engine purred to life, sharp and responsive—just the way he liked it.
Exiting the garage, he cruised past the mansion gates and onto the open road.
The early morning air brushed against his jacket, cool and fresh.
Not many vehicles out yet—it was still too early for the Tokyo rush.
"Perfect."
The city blurred around him as he leaned forward, maneuvering through the empty lanes with precision.
After a while, he pulled up in front of a modest apartment building.
"…This is the place?"
He glanced up at the facade, raising an eyebrow.
"Honestly… I expected something more high-spec," he muttered. "She is a secret agent, isn't she?"
He pressed the horn once—short and sharp.
Honk.
Moments later, the front door opened. Chisato stepped out, still fastening her bag across her shoulder.
Her red eyes lit up the moment she spotted Ryoma leaning against his motorbike, arms crossed casually.
He gave her a small wave, hand lifting lazily in the air.
She narrowed her eyes, clearly amused. "You look like you're about to enter a street race," she teased, smirking as she descended the stairs toward him.
Ryoma tilted his head slightly. "Would that be a problem?"
Chisato laughed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she approached.
As Ryoma was about to mount his bike, he paused and turned to Chisato. "Do you want to wear the jacket and helmet too?"
Chisato blinked, a little surprised by the offer. "Hm? Sure, why not?"
Ryoma reached behind the seat compartment and pulled out a spare helmet and jacket, both sleek and clearly well-maintained.
"I always carry a spare," he said, handing them over. "Just in case. Also, if the one I'm wearing gets lost"
He adjusted his gloves and smirked faintly. "I still have a reserve to stay cool."
She chuckled, shaking her head as she slipped on the jacket and helmet. "You're full of surprises today."
Once geared up, she swung her leg over the bike and sat behind him, arms lightly wrapping around his waist.
"You ready, Chisato?" Ryoma asked, revving the engine gently.
"Ready as I'll ever be, Ryoma!" she replied, tightening her grip around him.
Then, a sly thought seemed to cross her mind. "Wait a sec… You didn't purposely pick me up on your motorbike just so I'd have to hold onto you, did you?" she teased.
Ryoma exhaled sharply through his nose. "I'm still building my new car. It's not finished yet, you know?"
"Oh? What happened to that car you bought that day?" she asked, leaning forward a little.
"Hm?" Ryoma tilted his head slightly. "I gave it to one of the mansion staff. Didn't really need it."
"You gave it away?" Chisato asked in disbelief.
"Mhm, if I went to buy a new car just to pick you up, it'd only waste time," Ryoma said flatly. "And I'm more worried you'd end up late for work."
"Thank you for worrying!" After a while Chisato laughed aloud. "The people working for you must be insanely lucky."
"If you wanted it, I could've just given it to you then," Ryoma replied, completely serious.
She shook her head, clearly amused. "You talk about giving away a car like it's a box of cookies."
"Because it is nothing," Ryoma replied. His tone was calm—matter-of-fact—but his words carried the weight of someone who truly didn't care about material value.
There was a brief pause before he glanced over his shoulder. "Anyway… We've been talking for too long."
He revved the engine once more.
"Hold on."
Chisato smiled under her helmet. "Alright, alright."
With a low, thunderous growl, the motorbike roared to life and launched forward—speeding down the street, toward Café LycoReco.
The wind rushed past them, the engine's hum resonating like a heartbeat.
Unlike when Chisato usually rode her own bike, they arrived at Café LycoReco much faster than expected.
Ryoma's custom motorbike wasn't just modified for looks—it was equipped with an internal system that calculated the fastest routes in real-time.
Thanks to that, every turn felt deliberate, every shortcut efficient.
As the familiar exterior of the café came into view, Chisato's eyes widened behind the helmet.
"Whoa… We're already here?" she said, clearly impressed. "That was fast."
The motorbike came to a smooth halt just outside the café. With practiced ease, Ryoma lowered the kickstand and got off.
He removed his helmet, and with a quick shake, his sky-blue hair fell messily back into place.
Chisato did the same, pulling off her helmet and letting her blonde hair fall past her shoulders in soft waves.
She ran a hand through it casually before turning to him with a bright smile.
"Well… I arrived safe and sound. Thanks to you," she said, her voice warm with gratitude.
Ryoma adjusted the slim-framed glasses he had just put on.
"No problem. Besides," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets, "didn't I already tell you? If you ever need a ride, just call me."
Chisato gave a small nod, clearly touched. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."
She turned toward the café. "I should head inside. The girls are probably waiting for me."
But just as she reached the door, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder.
"Oh, right," Chisato suddenly remembered as she placed a hand on her hip. "At the very least, I should pay for your gas."
Ryoma tilted his head slightly, an amused look on his face. "No need. If I really wanted to, I could just buy the entire gas station."
"But I don't. Just like I don't need you to pay for the gas."
Chisato laughed softly, shaking her head. "Right. I forgot—it's nothing for you."
She turned to head inside the café, then stopped again and glanced back at him, a playful glint in her eyes. "Alright then, how about I treat you to a drink?"
For a moment, Ryoma froze.
He had never once been treated to anything in his life. Not by friends, not by family—he was always the one paying. Always in control.
But this time… he didn't feel like arguing.
"If you say so," he replied casually, as if it didn't matter—but deep down, it felt strangely new.
As he parked his motorbike properly, Chisato smirked, satisfied. "Great! Let's go inside then."
She pushed open the café door with a cheerful energy, and the soft ring of the bell echoed throughout the cozy room.
Several regular customers waved at her and greeted her like an old friend.
Ryoma stepped inside behind her, his steps calm and composed, eyes observing everything with detached interest.
"I'm gonna go change real quick," Chisato said, still wearing his jacket as she walked toward the back. "Wait for me, okay?"
"Sure," Ryoma replied, watching her go.
As she disappeared behind the curtains, Ryoma's gaze lingered for a moment.
Just then, a familiar voice called out to him. "Oh? Ryoma. Long time no see."
Ryoma turned toward the source of the voice and gave a small nod. "Ah... sir Mika, right?"
The older man—well-dressed and calm as ever—nodded with a warm smile. "That's right."
Ryoma gave a polite bow of his head.
Just across the street from LycoReco Café, partially hidden behind a vending machine, a girl stood silently.
Her long hair fluttered slightly in the breeze, but her eyes—wide and trembling—were locked onto the entrance of the café.
"...Senpai," she whispered, her voice almost inaudible. "I haven't seen him in so long…"
A faint blush colored her cheeks, but it wasn't from embarrassment. It was obsession.
"They're close… too close…" she murmured, nails digging slightly into her palms.
"He… gave her a ride. On his motorbike."
The girl's smile slowly faded. Her expression twisted into something darker—possessive, deranged.
"…No. I won't allow this," she whispered, voice trembling.
"My beloved Senpai… taken by that woman?"
Her pupils contracted. She took a shaky breath, then smiled—too sweetly.
"Never."
Inside the cozy café, the gentle clink of cups and quiet murmurs filled the air.
Ryoma sat near the window, a cup of warm green tea steaming gently in front of him.
One hand held the cup while the other scrolled through his phone with idle precision.
"Oh, Ryoma," a familiar voice called out casually.
He looked up to see a girl with sleek black hair carrying a tray.
"Takina. Morning," he said with a nod.
"Morning," she replied, just as calm, before continuing on her way to deliver the drinks.
Ryoma went back to his phone, eyes focused and expression unreadable. A few customers around the café glanced his way, curious.
"…I feel like I've seen that guy somewhere before…" one of them whispered, trying not to stare too obviously.
From behind the counter, Chisato noticed the mild stir and tilted her head, thinking.
After a few moments, a small idea popped into her head. She walked over and sat down across from Ryoma with a bright smile.
"What games are you playing?" she asked teasingly, leaning forward with interest.
Ryoma looked up from his phone, one brow slightly raised. "Games? Is reviewing today's meeting schedule considered a game?" he asked flatly, the sarcasm barely hidden.
Chisato let out a soft laugh, clearly amused. "Nope, not even close. Definitely not fun enough to count."
"Then I guess I'm not playing games," he said, returning to his screen.
Chisato tilted her head, still smiling. "That's unexpected. I thought you'd be the type to play something like puzzle games or maybe a rhythm game while pretending not to care."
Ryoma shrugged. "I guess I'm full of surprises."
"Hmm, I'll be sure to keep discovering them," Chisato said, her tone light and playful.
"I've got a meeting tonight… and another one tomorrow," Ryoma said, sipping his tea without looking up from his phone.
Chisato raised an eyebrow, a playful smile creeping onto her face. "Wow, busy guy, huh?"
"But somehow," she added, resting her chin on her hand, "you still had time to come pick me up and bring me here."
Ryoma glanced at her, his voice calm as ever. "That's because you asked."
His words were simple, but there was a subtle weight behind them—something unspoken, something from the past.
After all, Chisato was the girl who saved him three years ago… though she had no idea.
Chisato blinked, her expression softening with surprise. "Oh… is that so?" she said, a little quieter this time.
"I didn't know I was special," she murmured with a sheepish chuckle.
Just then, a nearby customer leaned over, curious. "Uh… Chisato? You seem pretty close to him. He's new around here, right? Who is he?"
Chisato looked toward Ryoma, silently asking if she could explain.
He met her eyes briefly, then sighed and gave a small nod. "Go on," he said simply.
Chisato grinned, happy with the permission. "This is Ryoma. He gave me a ride to the café this morning, and I offered to treat him to a drink in return."
"Oh, is that so?" the customer nodded, satisfied with the answer—until the name clicked.
"Wait… Ryoma? That name sounds familiar. Hold on… isn't that the same name as the only son of the Murakami family?"
Another customer chimed in, eyes widening. "You mean the Murakami? The one behind Murakami Tech?"
Chisato turned to Ryoma again, as if double-checking. With a small nod from him, she faced the curious crowd.
"Yep, that's right," she confirmed brightly, "This Ryoma is the Ryoma—son of the Murakami family."
The cafe went completely silent.
"…Eh?" one customer blinked, eyes wide.
"Oh no," Mizuki, who had just stepped out from behind the counter, froze mid-step.
"SAY WHAT?!" the whole room burst in unison.
Kurumi, who had been nibbling a cookie at the corner, stood up with an annoyed sigh.
"That's it. I'm taking a break," she muttered, already halfway out the door—with Mizuki trailing after her.
"Wow…" one of the remaining customers said, eyes glued to Ryoma. "Having the Murakami heir here in a little café… that's kind of a big deal."
"I heard the Murakami family's insanely rich," another whispered. "Like, 'private island' rich."
"Correct," Ryoma answered flatly, not even looking up from his phone. "We're trillionaires."
The entire room gasped.
"A trillionaire?!" someone nearly choked on their latte.
"And he's just... chilling here, like it's no big deal," another customer whispered in awe, glancing around as if expecting paparazzi to jump out at any moment.
Before long, a small crowd had formed near Ryoma's table, bombarding him with questions.
"What kind of car do you drive?"
"Do you own a satellite?"
"Wait—do you eat gold for breakfast?"
Ryoma paused, clearly overwhelmed, thumb hovering above his screen as his phone screen dimmed.
He glanced up—only to see Chisato watching him with a gentle, encouraging smile.
He exhaled quietly.
"…Fine," he muttered, slipping the phone into his pocket. "I'll answer a few."
Gasps, giggles, and flashes followed as he patiently replied to their excited inquiries.
A few even asked for selfies, which Ryoma allowed with mild reluctance.
By the counter, Mika chuckled as he wiped a glass. "This place's gotten a bit more energetic, hasn't it?"
Takina passed by, her voice as dry as ever. "Well… it is shocking when a literal trillionaire shows up in your café."
At another table, the woman who had been peeking earlier watched Ryoma intently, her eyes gleaming with a disturbing mix of adoration and obsession.
"Of course Murakami-Senpai is the best man in the world," she whispered, voice barely more than a hiss.
Her gaze sharpened as she saw him surrounded by others. "But why... when he looked uncomfortable earlier..."
"Why did he look at her and suddenly calm down?" Her breath hitched.
"I won't let her take Senpai away from me," she muttered, voice low and possessive.
"Hm?" Takina's eyes flicked toward the girl, sensing something wrong.
After finishing his conversation and sipping the last drops of his green tea, Ryoma prepared to leave without delay.
"Wait a minute!" Chisato called out suddenly, holding out the jacket Ryoma had been wearing earlier.
"I almost forgot—I need to return this."
"Oh?" Ryoma glanced back with a lazy smile. "I thought you liked it."
Chisato blinked, clutching the jacket close to her chest. "Well… are you sure? It looks pretty expensive."
Ryoma chuckled softly, brushing off the concern. "Hm? It's only 107,800 yen. Not that pricey."
Her eyes went wide, disbelief flashing across her face. "One hundred seven thousand yen!?"
"You call that not expensive? That's already pretty steep for a jacket!" she exclaimed.
He shrugged with an easy grin. "You think so? Well, just keep it."
"If I take you out on the motorbike again, you can wear it right away."
She looked down at the jacket in her arms, considering his offer, then nodded with a small smile. "Well, if you insist... I guess I'll keep it."
Ryoma gave a quick wave as he started to walk away. "See you then."
"See you! And thanks for the ride!" Chisato called after him.
Ryoma swung his leg over his motorbike, reaching for his helmet just as a voice called out to him.
"Murakami-senpai!"
He turned to see a girl approaching, her cheeks flushed a soft pink.
"Senpai?" Ryoma muttered, raising an eyebrow. "Can I help you with something?"
The girl hesitated, shifting nervously on her feet. "Um, so… I was just wondering if you… uh…"
She trailed off, clearly struggling to get the words out.
Ryoma adjusted his glasses and studied her face for a moment, his mind quietly pulling up the data his lenses provided.
Ah, right—she was one of his juniors.
"Miyu, isn't it?" he said casually.
The pink-haired girl's face lit up with a wide smile, relieved that he remembered her name—even if it was thanks to his glasses.
"Y-yeah!" she stammered, cheeks turning even redder as she fidgeted with her fingers.
"So… can I ask you something?" Miyu's voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes glued to the floor as she nervously stared at her shoes.
Ryoma glanced at his watch, already feeling the pressure of time. He had somewhere important to be.
"Make it quick," he said, voice calm but with a hint of impatience.
Miyu bit her lip, then finally mustered the courage to look up.
She caught the hurried look in his eyes and blurted out as fast as she could, "Will you go out on a date with me?"
"Date?" Ryoma repeated, raising an eyebrow. "When exactly?"
She fidgeted even more, cheeks flushed. "Uh… this Saturday?"
Ryoma sighed, pulling out his phone and showing her his jam-packed schedule. "Sorry, I'm busy this week and next."
Miyu's smile faltered as her eyes traced the endless blocks of commitments.
"I… I see," she murmured, looking down again, voice soft and disappointed. "So you're too busy to go out with me…"
Her words slipped out almost involuntarily, "But you weren't too busy taking that woman here…"
"Hm?" Ryoma barely caught the mutter.
"Uh, it's nothing! I mean—" Miyu's face turned bright red, flustered that she'd spoken aloud what she hadn't meant to.
"Never mind, you're obviously too busy. Haha…" she forced a laugh, trying to mask the sting of rejection.
"Glad you understand," Ryoma said, slipping off his glasses and tucking them away before pulling on his helmet.
"Goodbye, Miyu." With that, he revved the engine and sped off.
Miyu watched the taillights disappear and whispered to herself, "I guess I'm not important enough to him…"
As he walked, a sudden thought struck him—Miyu. That mysterious girl from his high school days.
He couldn't help but drift back to those memories, back to when he was a second-year student.
Back then, exhaustion clung to him like a shadow. He hadn't slept all night, buried in a new project that demanded every ounce of his focus.
Dragging his tired body down the school hallway, Ryoma decided to splash some cold water on his face. Maybe then he wouldn't nod off during class.
But his sleep-deprived mind wasn't paying attention. Without realizing it, he pushed open the door... to the girls' restroom.
At the sink, an ID card caught his eye. He squinted and read the name printed clearly along with the class—Miyu.
He bent over the basin and splashed cold water on his face, hoping to wake up. Then, a soft voice echoed from one of the stalls.
Thinking he was still in the boys' restroom, Ryoma's irritation flared.
"Why is there a girl in the boys' bathroom?" he muttered under his breath.
Without hesitation, he swung the door open. "Hey! What are you doing in here?"
Inside, sitting quietly, was a girl with striking pink hair. Her clothes were soaked, as if she'd just been drenched with water.
Two other girls appeared, carrying buckets and giggling cruelly as they glanced back at the drenched girl.
"Tch! Let's get out of here," one sneered.
With that, they dashed away, leaving Ryoma and the soaked girl alone in the quiet restroom.
Bullying, huh?
Ryoma frowned. "What were those two doing here?"
He still hadn't realized his own mistake—he was in the wrong restroom.
The girl trembled slightly as she looked up at him. "Y-You saved me?"
"Saved?" Ryoma echoed, confused.
"I-I didn't expect the top guy in school to actually help me," she stammered, eyes wide.
"No—I didn't mean to save you," Ryoma quickly replied, scratching the back of his head. He hadn't even known she was being bullied.
"There's no way you'd accidentally walk into the girls' bathroom if you weren't trying to help me, right?"
Her voice wavered, desperate for any sign of kindness.
Ryoma blinked, finally realizing where he was. "Yeah... you're right."
He didn't want word to get out that he'd accidentally barged into the girls' restroom. His reputation was at stake.
"Your name is Miyu, right?"
Her eyes widened. "H-How did you know?"
Ryoma shrugged casually. "We're in the same school."
"M-You remember me?" Her cheeks flushed a deep red.
"Why wouldn't I?" Ryoma replied, though the truth was, he had seen her ID on the sink earlier.
From that moment, Miyu started to get closer to him, her feelings growing stronger by the day.
But there was no confession—not yet.
Ryoma knew Miyu liked him. He could see it clearly. Yet, he kept pretending not to notice.
Because he wasn't ready for a relationship—not like this.
Even now, Miyu's feelings for Ryoma burned fiercely. "Senpai..." she whispered, her voice trembling.
Her room was a shrine to him—walls plastered with photos she had secretly taken during school, every shot capturing a piece of his world.
Ryoma was everything to her. She wanted to know every detail about him.
On her desk lay a worn notebook, pages filled with careful notes and observations she'd gathered over time.
The amount of information she had was almost unsettling—borderline obsessive.
Yet, Miyu felt a strange joy just from seeing his face. Her heart raced wildly whenever she looked at his pictures.
She reached out, fingers trembling as they traced the contours of his face in one photograph, imagining what it would be like to touch his skin, to look deep into those eyes.
Each day, her affection and desire only grew stronger—an uncontrollable flame inside her.
But with that love came a bitter anger.
Her fists clenched tight whenever she thought of Chisato—how close she was to Ryoma, how much time they spent together.
She hated it. Hated that someone else was stealing the attention and warmth she craved.
"He even gave her his expensive jacket... that bitch..." Miyu muttered through gritted teeth.
In the kitchen, she gripped a knife, silent and determined.
With every beat of her heart, she vowed: she would do whatever it took to win Ryoma's complete attention.
No matter the cost. No matter how far she had to go.
Time slipped by until the café announced closing time. Mizuki had already taken Chisato home.
"See you later" Mizuki called out as she drove away.
"Yeah, see you" Chisato waved, watching the car vanish around the corner.
Unbeknownst to them, Miyu lurked behind the building, eyes fixed on Chisato. The moment she thought Chisato let her guard down, she lunged forward.
A knife gleamed in Miyu's hand as she aimed to strike—but suddenly, a firm grip caught her wrist.
"Stopping by for a chat?" Chisato smiled, calm as ever.
"Huh?!" Miyu froze, dropping the knife. The raincoat hood shadowed her face, keeping her hidden.
Without another word, Miyu fled.
Chisato blinked, confused. "Hey, wait—" But the girl was already gone.
Looking up, Chisato caught sight of a drone whizzing past, trailing toward Miyu.
Without hesitation, Chisato took off after her, unwilling to let things spiral out of control—even with a knife involved.
They darted through narrow alleys and sharp corners. Miyu panted heavily in front, desperate to escape.
Suddenly, small metal balls shot toward Chisato, but her sharp instincts helped her dodge with ease.
Turning around, she spotted a figure wearing a blue hannya mask, clutching a gun, hood pulled low over a white hoodie.
Miyu saw the masked man and seized the chance to slip away.
"Oh? Costume party?" Chisato joked, trying to break the tension.
The man approached cautiously. "Are you okay?"
"The masked guy who just shot at me, asking if I'm okay? That's rich," Chisato replied with a smirk.
"Well, I figured you'd be fine," he shrugged.
"No apology at all? Figures." Chisato rolled her eyes, feeling a mix of irritation and disbelief.
"Who are you, anyway?" Chisato asked, eyeing the masked man warily.
He hesitated, then replied in English, "I—Nameless."
Chisato raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden language switch. "Well, 'Namelees,' care to explain why you shot at me earlier?"
The man switched back to Japanese. "The woman managed to escape."
Chisato's eyes narrowed as she pieced things together. "Ah, so you were trying to stop her."
"But shooting at me? A bit dramatic, don't you think?"
Nameless fell silent, his breath visible in the cool air as he seemed lost in thought.
Chisato watched him carefully, curious about what was going through his mind.
She waited patiently, sensing that whatever he was thinking was important.
After a long pause, he sighed and nodded. "Looks like she really needs to be made to come to her senses... before she causes more trouble."
He muttered the words to himself, but Chisato caught them all. "Made to come to her senses?" she repeated, intrigued.
"Follow me," Nameless said, turning sharply and sprinting toward the direction Miyu had fled.
Chisato quickly fell in step behind Nameless. "Do you know where she is?" she asked, jogging to keep up.
"Remember the drone that passed by earlier? That was mine," Nameless explained. "With it, I can track her location."
He glanced back. "And, well... the girl's an acquaintance of mine. I shot at you so she could escape—wanted to face her myself."
"But a little backup wouldn't hurt," he added with a smirk.
Chisato nodded, processing the plan. "I see. So this was all part of it. Alright, I'm in."
They chased after Miyu until she slipped into a house. "She went inside... her place?" Chisato muttered.
"If we break in, we're trespassing," she sighed.
"Her parents aren't home at this hour," Nameless said coolly. "Let's just force our way in."
Chisato raised an eyebrow. "Force our way in? You're sure about that?"
"Don't worry, I can cover any fallout with money," Nameless said nonchalantly.
Chisato chuckled, imagining how Ryoma would probably do the same thing in a situation like this.
"Alright then, if you say so," she agreed.
"MTC05—come here," Nameless called out.
"What?" Chisato asked, confused.
"No, nothing," he dismissed, reaching for the doorknob.
It didn't budge.
"Hm," Nameless muttered.
Chisato noticed the locked door. "Looks like it's locked from the inside, huh?"
No one even reached for a hairpin to jimmy the lock—it clicked open as if the door itself was waiting.
"Ladies first," he said with a smirk.
Chisato smiled softly, her eyes glinting with amusement.
"Oh? What a gentleman," she replied, stepping inside cautiously, her gaze scanning every corner as if expecting something to jump out.
"I used you as bait, by the way," Nameless said bluntly, as if stating a simple fact.
Chisato rolled her eyes without missing a beat. "Thanks for the honesty, but I was well aware of that."
The living room was empty—silent and still. The kitchen held no one either.
Without hesitation, they ascended the stairs, the creaking wood underfoot amplifying the tension.
At the top, a door caught their eyes—a small pink sign pinned firmly: Do Not Enter.
"Let's enter," Nameless said with a grin behind the mask.
Chisato chuckled, a sparkle of mischief lighting her eyes. "Seems like rules weren't made for us, huh?"
She followed him as he pushed the door open. The room inside was cloaked in darkness until Chisato flicked on the light—and what greeted them was nothing short of disturbing.
Ryoma's face stared back from every inch of the walls, surrounded by messy heart-shaped doodles, like some obsessed shrine.
Chisato froze, her breath catching in shock. "What the—" she whispered, overwhelmed by the eerie devotion plastered all around.
Nameless stood silent, the word 'disgusting' hanging heavy between them.
"I'd never tolerate something like this if it were me," he finally muttered.
She nodded grimly. "Yeah… this crosses the line. It's borderline creepy."
Without warning, Nameless spun around and shouted, "Behind you!"
Chisato whipped her head around just in time to shove Miyu's hand aside—her knife gleaming dangerously close.
The desperation and fear in Miyu's eyes were unmistakable, a wild edge that spoke of a fierce, reckless resolve.
"Ugh!" Miyu hissed, stumbling back, then bolted out of the house like a hunted animal.
"Again?" Nameless muttered, his voice heavy with irritation.
Chisato narrowed her eyes. "She's really determined to get away this time. We can't let her slip through our fingers again."
They rushed outside, only to catch sight of Miyu being dragged into a van—kidnapped right before their eyes.
"Kidnapped?" Nameless surprise was clear, his tone sharp.
The van roared away, tires screeching as it disappeared down the street, leaving Chisato and Nameless standing frozen.
Chisato's face tightened with unease. "Looks like someone beat us to her."
She watched the vehicle vanish into the distance, heart pounding.
"Drone-16, tail the van," Nameless ordered crisply.
Almost immediately, a drone hummed past, streaking toward the fleeing vehicle.
"Good. Now we can find out where they're taking her," Nameless said, his voice steady.
Chisato nodded, impressed despite the situation. "With this tech, tracking the van won't be a problem."
"Alright, let's move, Chisato." Nameless took off at a run.
Chisato blinked, caught off guard. She never remembered saying her name aloud.
Curiosity pricked her as she hurried after him. "Wait—how do you know my name?"
Nameless glanced back. "Because I'm a genius."
As they ran side by side, Chisato silently began analyzing the masked man beside her—his tone, his mannerisms, his body language, even the way his feet hit the ground.
It's… too familiar, she thought, her eyes narrowing slightly.
His height, his rhythm, the subtle inflections in his voice that he failed to fully disguise… It was unmistakable.
Chisato's thoughts clicked into place like puzzle pieces forming a picture.
This guy… he's Ryoma. No doubt about it.
"Hm? Something wrong?" the masked figure—'Nameless'—asked, glancing her way.
Chisato gave a small, practiced smile and shook her head. "Nope. It's nothing."
She made a quick decision to keep her realization to herself, at least for now.
There would be a time for confrontation—but this wasn't it.
Ryoma frowned beneath the mask, sensing something odd in her response, but not enough to suspect the truth.
Just then, a sleek, driverless car approached from the side and slowed to a stop beside them.
"Get in. It'll be faster," he said simply.
Without hesitation, Ryoma slipped into the driver's seat—though he made no move to actually touch the wheel.
Chisato followed, settling into the passenger seat.
"This mask of mine," he said, tapping the edge of it, "can interface with and command the tech I've developed."
"I summoned this car from my residence," he added casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Chisato raised an eyebrow, visibly impressed. "I see… Your gadgets are surprisingly advanced."
Ryoma glanced at the screen embedded in the dashboard. It displayed a live feed from a drone—the same one that had been tailing the van.
Chisato leaned in, watching the small blinking dot that represented their target.
"So, how long until we catch up to them?" she asked, casting a sideways glance at him.
"Three minutes," Ryoma replied calmly. Then he smirked under the mask. "That is… if we don't speed up."
With a flick of his hand, he activated speed mode. The car gave a powerful hum and surged forward, its engine responding like a beast let off its leash.
"This vehicle never ceases to amaze me!" Chisato exclaimed, eyes sparkling. "Alright then—faster!"
Ryoma froze for a split second.
Had his cover… already been blown?
"This is my first time riding with you," Ryoma replied, keeping his tone flat.
If he were "Nameless", then that statement was true. But if he was Ryoma Murakami… it was a blatant lie.
Chisato chuckled softly, her lips curling into a playful smile. She didn't say anything—but the glint in her eyes said everything.
She knew.
She had already figured him out.
"Is that so? I'm honored, then!" she said cheerfully, leaning back in her seat.
Ryoma let out a quiet breath of relief.
So far, she wasn't pushing the topic.
That was good…Right?
His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the screen. "They stopped at a… club?"
Chisato leaned closer, scanning the display. "A club?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow. "That's… an unusual place for a kidnapping, don't you think?"
Ryoma didn't respond. He simply tightened his grip on the wheel and drove until the building came into view.
The club loomed under dim neon lights, but Ryoma wasn't focused on that.
His drone—previously hiding behind a trash can—quietly zipped back to him as the car came to a stop.
The van they were tracking was there. Parked. But the people inside… were gone.
"They're already inside?" Chisato asked, quickly scanning the area with sharp eyes.
Ryoma clicked his tongue. "No," he said firmly. "Putting her in a club would be stupid."
He turned his gaze to the building next door—a hotel.
"There. That's the only place that makes sense."
"You think she's in there?" Chisato asked, her voice serious now, her crimson eyes locked on the building.
"Most likely."
Without waiting another second, Ryoma jumped out of the car and headed toward the hotel. Chisato followed close behind.
As they entered the lobby, Ryoma pressed a small button under the edge of his mask.
A click—then the mask opened slightly, revealing the face beneath.
But with his hood still up and the lighting dim, Chisato couldn't see much—not even a glimpse of his sky-blue hair.
"Don't come near me," Ryoma muttered, low and cold. His voice was calm, but the warning was real.
Chisato tilted her head, clearly amused. "Alright, alright… Mr. Na-me-le-ss~"
As they reached the front desk, the young receptionist greeted them with a polite smile.
"Would you like to book a room, sir?" she asked.
Ryoma stared straight at her, unwavering. "I want to buy this hotel."
"Wha—Ry! I mean, Nameless! That's way too much!" Chisato blurted out, grabbing his shoulders in panic.
No matter how many times it happened, Chisato could never quite get used to Ryoma's tendency to throw money around like it meant nothing.
"...You're right," Ryoma replied with a sigh, his tone almost bored. "Too lazy to deal with all the paperwork."
He leaned in slightly. "So, do you see two guys with a high school girl here?"
The receptionist blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change of topic, but nodded hesitantly.
"Yes, two men and one high school-aged girl. Is there a problem?"
Ryoma's gaze sharpened. "What room are they in?"
"I'm sorry, sir. For our guests' privacy, I can't give out that information," she replied firmly.
Ryoma didn't say a word. He simply reached into his coat and placed a thick stack of bills on the counter.
The soft thud of money hitting wood made the air tense. The receptionist's eyes flickered.
The temptation was immediate... and overwhelming. "Third floor. Room 326."
"Good," Ryoma said coolly, placing another stack on the counter. "This is for any damage I cause... and to make sure you forget everything you saw today."
"D-damage—?" the receptionist gasped, but Ryoma was already gone, sprinting toward the elevator.
Chisato ran after him, flustered and breathless.
As the elevator doors slid open, Ryoma tapped a hidden button on the side of his mask.
With a soft mechanical hiss, the mask shifted and locked over his face.
Behind that mask, his vision changed—data streams, thermal scans, tech signatures—all flowing in real time.
It was a complete upgrade from his old glasses. With this, Ryoma could search, analyze, and override nearly any piece of technology around him.
Inside the elevator, silence hung between them like a thick curtain.
The only sound was the soft hum of the machinery as they slowly ascended.
"...You really enjoy throwing money around, huh, Nameless?" Chisato finally said, crossing her arms with a half-smile.
"Makes me wonder who you really are."
Her voice was teasing—but beneath it, a flicker of curiosity lingered.
Even though... deep down, she already knew.
Ryoma heard her words and instinctively felt the need to shift—hide behind the persona. He had to maintain the illusion, at least for now.
In one swift movement, he stepped forward and pinned Chisato against the elevator wall. The cold metal met her back with a dull thud.
"I'll tell you..." Ryoma whispered, his voice low and unreadable, "...when I feel like it."
Chisato's eyes widened. Her cheeks flushed instantly, caught off guard by the sudden proximity.
"H-Hey! I was just joking!" she stammered, trying—failing—to keep her composure.
Her gaze met the expressionless eyes of Ryoma's Hannya mask, the reflection of her own startled face mirrored in its white lenses.
Then—ding.
The elevator doors slid open.
A small group stood waiting to enter—only to freeze in awkward silence at the sight of a masked man pinning a flustered girl against the wall.
"Ah—!" one of them gasped, unsure whether to step forward or back.
Ryoma didn't acknowledge them.
"Let's go, Chisato," he said coolly, turning on his heel and stepping out.
Still dazed, Chisato hurried after him, her face burning.
"H-Hey! Don't just leave me behind like that!" she called out, trying to regain a sense of control—though her voice betrayed her embarrassment.
Ryoma didn't answer. His eyes were already scanning the hallway, searching.
Then he stopped.
"There it is," he muttered.
Room 326.
"That's the one," Chisato confirmed, pointing toward the door ahead.
Ryoma gave it a brief glance, then turned to her. "Hey, can you see in the dark?"
Chisato blinked. "Huh? Do I look like an owl to you?"
Without another word, Ryoma flicked something toward her. "Wear this."
Chisato caught it mid-air—sleek black glasses, futuristic in design. She held them up, curious.
"What's this for?"
"They'll help you see in the dark," Ryoma explained flatly. Then, into his comms, he ordered, "MTG04, grant her access."
The moment she put them on, the glasses lit up faintly. A soft chime echoed as the AI within scanned her face, registering her identity.
[User recognized: Chisato Nishikigi. Access granted.]
Chisato's vision changed instantly—filters, interface panels, thermal readouts.
It was like slipping into a whole new world. "Whoa... this is so cool!" she said, adjusting them with a grin.
"Are these what you wear every day?"
Ryoma gave a small nod. "They can analyze, scan, connect, sync—pretty much everything your phone can do. Just faster."
Chisato smirked, her excitement barely contained. "Thanks, uh... Nameless."
"No problem," Ryoma said. "When we enter, activate night vision."
"Roger that," she replied, now fully in mission mode.
Ryoma crouched in front of the door. From his pocket, he took out a small pin—nothing fancy, just a regular hairpin.
Click. Click. Snick.
The lock gave way with a soft snap.
The door creaked open slightly—and in the dim room beyond, they saw her.
Miyu. Tied to a chair. Eyes wide in fear.
Before either of them could react, two men inside turned sharply—startled by the sudden break-in.
But Ryoma was faster.
In one smooth motion, he raised his gun—BANG.
A small metal ball hurtled towards the light and instantly went off, they charged in and closed the door to block the light from entering
Ryoma's mask lenses instantly shifted to a glowing green—night vision mode activated.
"Chisato, save!" he shouted, signaling her to rescue Miyu.
Now that Chisato could see clearly, she wasted no time and released her rope, dropping down swiftly.
"You again?! I don't want to be saved by you! Get away from me, you wench!" Miyu screamed in frustration, eyes blazing with fury.
"I don't know why you hate me or want me dead, but right now, escaping is the priority!" Chisato snapped, forcefully dragging Miyu out of harm's way.
A sharp gunshot echoed.
Ryoma fired straight into a man's chest, dropping him with a grunt of pain. The attacker tried to retaliate, but Ryoma shot again—this time the metal projectile smashed into his face, leaving a deep, purple bruise across his jaw.
As Ryoma turned, another assailant lunged at him with a knife.
He twisted to the side, narrowly dodging the blade, and fired directly into the man's knee.
A scream ripped through the hallway as the man collapsed, clutching his leg in agony.
Without hesitation, Ryoma drove a solid kick into his gut—enough to send the man sprawling facedown on the floor.
Ryoma reached down, snatched the room key from the man's belt, and sprinted out.
With a swift motion, he slammed the door shut and locked it from the outside.
"Not tonight," he muttered coldly, turning away.
Ryoma took the elevator down in a flash, his footsteps pounding as he sprinted toward the front desk.
"Hey," Ryoma said sharply to the receptionist. "There are two criminals in the room you told me about."
The receptionist's eyes widened. "Call the police—now," Ryoma said.
"I'm on it," the receptionist said, and Ryoma disappeared down the hallway.
Outside, Ryoma spotted Chisato supporting Miyu, who still looked shaken.
"All right, take her to the car," Ryoma instructed, deactivating his night vision.
"Got it," Chisato said, steady and reliable.
She grasped Miyu firmly and began pulling her toward the waiting vehicle.
"You kidnapped me from those kidnappers?! Murakami-senpai, help me!" Miyu screamed, struggling.
Ryoma's voice cut through sharply. "Shut up—or I'll throw you into the sea."
Chisato tried hard not to laugh, but a soft chuckle slipped out. "Heh, looks like you're not as calm as you want to be," she teased, eyes sparkling.
Once inside the car, Ryoma started the engine and took a longer route away from Miyu's house, carving out a moment for questions.
"Why did you attack Chisato?" Ryoma asked, voice low and steady.
Miyu sat silent by the window, her gaze fixed outside, arms crossed tightly.
"None of your business," she replied coldly, without looking at him.
"Chisato," Ryoma's voice broke through the tense silence, firm yet calm. "Ask her. Get her to explain."
Chisato nodded sharply, catching the gravity in his tone. She turned slowly toward Miyu, a mischievous grin curling on her lips.
"Hey," she teased, eyes gleaming. "If you don't spill, that scary masked man driving this car might just throw you into the sea for real."
A flicker of fear crossed Miyu's face, and Chisato pressed on with a sly smile.
"And if you die, you'll never see the man named Ryoma Murakami again, you know."
Ryoma caught Chisato's playful smirk in the rearview mirror and let out a quiet chuckle, though his jaw remained tight.
Suddenly, Miyu's voice cracked through the charged air, sharp and desperate.
"Because of that—why are you so close to Murakami-senpai?!" Her glare burned straight at Chisato, fierce and accusing.
Chisato blinked, taken aback by the sudden outburst. "Wait, wait—what do you mean, 'close'?" she asked, genuinely surprised.
"Don't play dumb, damn it!" Miyu snapped, her voice shaking with frustration.
"You called him by his first name! This morning, I saw you getting dropped off by him—and he even gave you that expensive jacket!"
Tears welled in Miyu's eyes, her voice breaking. "Why? Why are you so close to him?"
"I've known him since first year of high school!"
Chisato softened at the raw emotion, stepping closer, voice gentle but steady.
"Hey, hey, calm down. I'm not here to cause trouble."
But Miyu wasn't done. "Answer me! What is Murakami-senpai to you?"
The desperation in her voice was undeniable, like a fragile thread stretched to its breaking point.
Chisato sighed, weighing her words carefully before speaking. "He's... smart, arrogant. Definitely stubborn."
A faint smile tugged at her lips despite the tension. "A genius who's sometimes dumb. And yeah, he can be pretty bossy."
Chisato stole a glance at Ryoma, who kept his eyes locked on the road, but she knew—he was listening. Every word.
"Are you two… dating?!" Miyu's question cut through the quiet like a blade.
Chisato's cheeks flamed bright red. "No, no, of course not!" she blurted, a little too quickly.
She glanced again at Ryoma, who remained unfazed, his expression unreadable as ever.
"Then… are you going to stay away from Murakami-senpai for me?!" Miyu's voice cracked with desperation.
"I've loved him all this time! And I don't want any other woman near him!" she shouted, the fierce possessiveness raw in her tone.
Ryoma's grip on the steering wheel tightened. The tension in the car instantly thickened.
Chisato's breath caught. Miyu was clearly obsessed, her feelings spilling out with reckless abandon.
Trying to stay calm, Chisato met Miyu's wild gaze and replied honestly,
"I… uh, I can't promise that."
"Why not?!" Miyu's eyes burned with frustration.
Chisato hesitated, searching for the right words, but none came easy.
"It's complicated," she finally admitted, voice low and heavy.
Miyu's expression twisted into something dangerous, wild.
"Grrr… Fine. Then I'll just have to kill you right here and now!" she snapped, her sanity teetering on the edge.
But then, the screen mounted behind the driver's seat flickered to life, casting a cold glow across the cramped car interior.
A video of Ryoma appeared, his calm voice filling the space.
"Good evening, Miyu. This is Ryoma Murakami, speaking directly to you."
"I know exactly how you feel."
"You… knew?" Miyu whispered, disbelief coloring her voice.
"I'm not someone blind to feelings," Ryoma continued steadily.
"But I'm also not someone who can return those feelings just because someone's nice to me."
His words cut sharper than any blade.
"I don't love you, Miyu. Not because you're lacking, but because my heart simply doesn't move that way."
Miyu's lips trembled, tears welling up as she struggled to hold herself together.
"If I keep trying… is there a chance?" she asked, her voice breaking.
Ryoma's reply was cold, merciless in its honesty. "If you wait for a chance that I never felt to begin with, you're only torturing yourself."
"And I won't be the one to let that happen."
Miyu buried her face in her hands, sobbing loudly. "You're so mean."
"Maybe. But painful honesty beats sweet lies any day."
The screen went dark again, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake.
Chisato watched Miyu's face flush crimson with a mix of shame and heartbreak.
She felt a sudden pang of sympathy—Miyu's pain was raw and unmistakable.
Ryoma pulled up in front of Miyu's house. "You can get out here."
Miyu opened the door and stepped into the night. Before they drove off, Chisato couldn't hold back.
"Hey, Miyu" Her voice was gentle but earnest. "Please, don't do anything stupid again."
Miyu's glare shot back as she disappeared through the door. "I won't lose to you. Damn it!"
Chisato sighed quietly, watching the door close behind Miyu, the weight of the night settling deep in her chest.
She turned to look at Ryoma, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "That was brutal. Couldn't you have said it more gently?"
The door slid shut quietly behind them as the car resumed its smooth journey.
"I'll take you home," Ryoma said simply.
Chisato chuckled softly, watching him with amusement. "You really kept your identity well hidden."
Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she nudged him gently. "I never thought you were the one that girl had a crush on—to the point where she wanted to kill me."
Ryoma peeled off his mask and peeled back his hood, relaxed now. "So, you already knew, huh?"
She flashed him a sly smirk. "You're not very good at hiding your true self, you know."
Ryoma grinned confidently. "Well, I guess you can tell from my charisma."
Chisato laughed, shaking her head. "Hah! That's exactly the kind of attitude that screams 'Ryoma.'"
There was a pause, then Ryoma's voice softened just a touch. "By the way, there's something I want to tell you too, Chisato."
She gently took his glasses off and handed them back. He put them on without hesitation.
"What is it?" she asked, curiosity shining in her eyes.
He looked at her quietly, the rare vulnerability in his tone catching her off guard.
"Thank you."
Chisato raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard by his words.
"For what?" she asked, genuine surprise coloring her voice.
Ryoma's gaze softened as he replied,
"You probably don't remember, but three years ago, you saved me from being kidnapped."
Chisato blinked, her mind racing. "My appearance was a little different back then... no wonder you don't recall," he added gently.
Her eyes widened in shock. "Really?! I don't remember at all…"
"So, we've met before," Chisato murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Ryoma nodded quietly, then began to recount the story—and with each detail, her surprise only grew deeper.
After dropping Chisato off, Ryoma returned to his mansion.
He parked his car in the garage, feeling a fleeting relief that he had finally shared some truth with Chisato.
But as he stepped inside, a sudden heaviness filled the air—something was off.
"Ayaka! Are you home? Where have you been?" Ryoma called out as he moved toward the living room.
On the sofa, a figure sat with their back to him. From the silhouette, he knew it was a man.
"You're home, Ryoma?" The man stood up, his voice trembling at the sound of Ryoma's.
Turning around, the man's eyes locked onto Ryoma's. "You dyed your hair? We're going to have a very long talk, Ryoma."
"Father...?" Ryoma's voice caught in his throat—it had been so long since he'd seen him.
Then, from behind his father, a cold female voice cut through the silence.
"Ryoma, from now on, we will be here to protect you from that Yakuza group."
It was his mother. "Because if you die, I don't want to have any more children."
She said it as if it were a curse, "Giving birth is painful, you know that?"
"Mother...?" Ryoma turned and saw Ayaka standing nearby.
Gone was her usual cheerful demeanor; she was stiff, serious—a stark contrast to the warmth he once knew.
In that moment, the mansion felt colder, darker—and the weight of what was to come pressed down on him like a suffocating storm.