Afternoon sunlight filtered gently into the quiet café, casting warm hues across the polished wooden floors.
It wasn't particularly crowded—just the usual hum of cups clinking, a coffee machine whirring in the background, and the occasional soft chatter.
On the mezzanine level, Ryoma sat at a chair with Chisato and Takina, a cup of green tea resting in front of him.
"So, what now, Ryoma?" Takina asked, her tone calm but curious.
Ryoma leaned back slightly, fingers wrapped around his cup. "I've flown my drones like Chisato suggested," he said, taking a sip. "Still no sign of him."
"No leads, huh?" Chisato groaned, slumping a little in her seat before reaching for her coffee. "How annoying."
Meanwhile, down below, Mika, Mizuki, and Kurumi sat together, their attention quietly drifting to the group above them.
"He's been coming here more often lately… and getting pretty close to those two," Mika remarked.
Mizuki smirked slightly. "Well, it's a shame for someone his age to be cooped up in that giant mansion all the time."
Kurumi adjusted her glasses, her expression thoughtful. "True, but honestly… his tech skills are better nurtured in a place like that. Still," she added, pausing, "humans aren't machines. We're social creatures."
Mizuki leaned on her elbow and gave Kurumi a sideways glance. "Funny. I rarely see you two talk, even though I thought you'd get along."
Kurumi didn't hesitate. "He's more interested in Chisato than he is in me. You can tell. The way he looks at her—he's different around her."
"Oh?" Mizuki turned to Mika with a playful grin. "What about you? Any thoughts?"
Mika gave a small shrug, then looked back at the mezzanine where Ryoma sat beside Chisato, a faint smile tugging at the edge of his lips.
"I'll let her decide for herself," he said softly.
Then after a pause, he added with quiet conviction, "Ryoma's a good boy. I believe in that."
Back upstairs, Ryoma let out a quiet sigh.
"Ugh…"
"Hm? What's wrong?" Chisato tilted her head, curious.
Ryoma leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Nothing serious… I'm off work today, but tomorrow's going to be chaos. Tons of things piled up."
"Well, at least Ayaka will be there to help," he added with a half-hearted smile.
Takina glanced at him. "Ayaka… You seem close. Has she known you since you were a kid?"
Ryoma stared up at the ceiling, as if rewinding through the years.
"…Yeah. Pretty much."
His voice softened as he began to explain.
"Ayaka started working as a maid when she was just seven years old. That's also when I was born."
"Among all the staff, my parents specifically chose Ayaka to stay by my side. I guess… they wanted someone to watch over me full-time."
"She ended up teaching me everything my parents didn't. Things like how to play games, how to joke around, even how to laugh properly."
A brief pause followed.
"When I got in trouble, she was always the one who took the blame. And she never complained."
Chisato and Takina listened quietly, their drinks forgotten.
"We've been together ever since. People often mistake us for siblings—probably because we look alike, or maybe because we're always side by side."
"She supports me no matter what. Even if I mess up. Even if it means putting herself in danger. She's willing to do anything, just for me."
He chuckled lightly. "Though… she's way too overprotective sometimes."
"But in her eyes, it's all to keep me safe."
There was a strange calm in his voice now.
"There's nothing about me that Ayaka doesn't know. Honestly… She understands me more than my own parents ever did."
He lowered his gaze again, meeting Chisato and Takina's eyes.
"…That's the story."
"So, she's like your older sister—but not by blood," Takina remarked, taking a calm sip of her coffee.
Chisato nodded in agreement, a gentle smile curling on her lips. "Family isn't always about blood."
"Sometimes, it's the bond you build that matters more, right?" She turned to Ryoma, her gaze warm.
Ryoma gave a small nod. "Yeah… you're right."
A soft ping echoed quietly from his glasses. He glanced at the display projected on the lens—an elegant overlay only visible to him.
"…Hm. I should get going," Ryoma said as he rose from his seat.
Chisato and Takina stood with him almost instinctively.
"Didn't you say today was your day off?" Chisato asked, tilting her head in that familiar, curious way.
Ryoma adjusted his jacket. "It is. But even on holidays… there are things that still need to be done."
He smiled faintly, stepping back from the table. "I'll take you out again sometime—on a proper trip. Both of you."
Takina nodded. "Sure," she said softly, a rare smile tugging at her lips.
"Really?! I'll look forward to it!" Chisato beamed, eyes sparkling like a child promised candy.
Then, suddenly, Ryoma's phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the screen. The caller ID read: Father.
"…Excuse me for a moment," he muttered.
Chisato and Takina exchanged a look and nodded knowingly.
"Go ahead," Chisato said gently, gesturing toward the hallway.
Ryoma walked a few steps away, lifting the phone to his ear. The expression on his face turned more serious as the call connected.
Ryoma answered the call without hesitation. "What's wrong, Dad?"
"Hellooo~! Your dear friend is speaking!"
The voice on the line wasn't his father's.
It was Tatsuma.
"You again?!" Ryoma snapped, his voice rising in surprise and anger.
"Relax, relax. I won't beat your dad black and blue this time," Tatsuma replied casually, as if discussing the weather. "I'll just tie him up real nice. Like a gift."
He chuckled, then added with mock sincerity,
"I mean, what kind of friend would I be if I kept punching my own pal? That'd be villainous, don't you think?"
"Tatsuma!" Ryoma could hear a muffled voice in the background—his father, struggling.
"I think he's old enough to know now, Masaru," Tatsuma said, voice still disturbingly cheerful. "Anyway—long story short, if you want to save your dear ol' dad…"
A pause.
"…Head to the rooftop of that one skyscraper. You know the one. Coordinates sent."
Click.
The call ended, and a GPS marker appeared on Ryoma's lens interface just as the phone slipped from his hand and clattered onto the café floor.
His face twisted in shock and fury.
Chisato and Takina both froze.
"Ryoma, are you okay?" Chisato asked, stepping forward, concern sharp in her eyes.
"What happened?" Takina added, already sensing danger.
"Damn it!" Ryoma cursed, snatching his phone off the ground.
Without another word, he bolted down the stairs and headed straight for the exit.
"Wait—Ryoma!" Chisato called, chasing after him.
Takina followed close behind, her brows furrowed. Whatever just happened had shaken him deeply.
Just as Ryoma pushed the café door open, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder.
"If you're coming, get changed first. I'll send the location."
And with that, he sprinted to his car, jumped in, and sped off into the city, tires screeching as he vanished from sight.
"What's going on with Ryoma?" Mika asked, concern in his voice as he glanced toward the door.
Some of the nearby customers looked up, startled by the sudden commotion.
Chisato and Takina exchanged a quick glance. Their casual expressions had vanished, replaced by a quiet seriousness.
"Something's wrong," Chisato said firmly, her usual cheerful tone replaced with resolve.
"We need to change and follow him," Takina added, already stepping toward the stairs, her eyes still locked on the street where Ryoma's car had disappeared.
Out on the road, Ryoma sent a location marker through his glasses, the map flickering into place in the corner of his lens.
His grip tightened on the steering wheel as thoughts raced through his head.
Father and Tatsuma… are friends?
How is that even possible…?
He let out a slow, frustrated sigh. "…I'm going to wring that old man for answers."
Moments later, his car screeched to a stop in front of a tall, glass-walled skyscraper.
The kind of building that touched the clouds and looked far too calm for what was unfolding.
Ryoma parked quickly and stepped out. His expression was unreadable—but his eyes burned with focused determination.
With a flick of his wrist, a small drone detached from the trunk of his car and soared silently into the sky, heading straight for the rooftop.
"Scout the area. I need eyes up there," he muttered, watching it go before turning toward the building.
Inside, the lobby was spacious and polished, with a sleek, modern reception desk. Ryoma approached with confident steps.
"Excuse me," he said. "I need to go to the rooftop."
The receptionist looked up, slightly puzzled. "Do you have a reservation, sir?"
Ryoma adjusted his glasses. "There's one under the name Tatsuma. Three o'clock."
Just then, a ping sounded in his glasses—a forwarded message. Ryoma swiped it into view.
Tatsuma had just sent over the confirmation email.
He took out his phone and showed it. "It was made under my acquaintance's name. Here's the confirmation."
"Oh, and there will be two of my friends arriving shortly," Ryoma said, showing up a photo on his phone.
"Their names are Chisato and Takina. When they arrive, please let them up right away."
"They're just running a little late—traffic."
The receptionist smiled politely and checked the system. "Thank you. Let me confirm... Yes, your reservation is here."
She looked up again. "Would you like to wait here until your companions arrive, or should I—?"
"I'm sorry," Ryoma cut in, his voice firm. "I need to go now."
"Understood, sir. I'll direct you to the special elevator," she said, rising from her seat.
She guided him to a sleek glass-paneled elevator tucked behind a modern divider. Ryoma gave a brief nod of thanks before stepping inside.
He pressed the rooftop button, and the doors closed with a quiet chime.
Inside the elevator, silence filled the space. Ryoma leaned back slightly, his emerald eyes fixed on the glowing floor number display.
No weapons. No backup. Only instincts and tech.
Tch... not ideal.
The elevator chimed again as the doors opened, and a rush of fresh rooftop air greeted him.
Wind brushed against his face, carrying the scent of concrete, steel, and open sky.
Ryoma stepped out cautiously.
The rooftop was expansive and eerily quiet, save for the low hum of the wind. His steps echoed faintly against the rooftop tiles as he moved forward.
"Father!" he called out, voice sharp and searching.
A familiar voice shouted back—older, strained, but unmistakable.
"Ryoma!"
Ryoma sprinted toward the voice, his heart pounding.
In the far corner of the rooftop, he spotted Masaru—his father—tied up with thick rope, seated against a ventilation unit.
His suit was rumpled, his face bruised, but his glare was as sharp as ever.
Ryoma's eyes scanned the area instinctively. The rooftop was still empty, and the CCTV cameras were all off.
"Is it true?" Ryoma asked sharply. "You and Tatsuma… are friends?"
Masaru raised an eyebrow. "You just ask that right away? Damn it—untie your father first!"
"No," Ryoma said flatly, not moving. "You'll probably run off the moment I do."
He scanned the rooftop again, still no sign of movement.
"Tatsuma's not here, right?"
Masaru opened his mouth, then paused—his eyes suddenly widening in realization.
"Ryoma—go back to the mansion! Now!"
His voice was filled with panic.
"He said it himself… he'd destroy Murakami from the warmest place!"
Ryoma's eyes widened.
The warmest place…
His mother wasn't at home—she was out, meeting with business partners.
Which meant the only ones left in the mansion were the staff, the security team, and—
"Ayaka…!"
Without wasting a second, Ryoma activated the comms in his glasses.
"Hello, I'm ordering an emergency helicopter to the location I'm sending. Immediately!"
He ended the call and looked toward the helipad. "Hurry up…"
Behind him, Masaru groaned. "You could at least untie me while waiting!"
Ryoma didn't answer right away. His eyes were still fixed on the sky, mind racing.
"Why were you even in this condition to begin with?" he finally asked, glancing back.
Masaru clicked his tongue. "Tatsuma and I agreed to meet here. Just a simple conversation between old 'friends'... but of course, things got messy."
Ryoma narrowed his eyes. "You let your guard down that easily? Can't you protect yourself at all?"
Masaru rolled his eyes, tugging slightly at the ropes. "He's not someone you can take lightly."
"You know that, Ryoma. Tatsuma's not just strong—he's dangerous."
Ryoma turned back to the sky.
"Exactly why I'm not wasting time here."
The low rumble of rotor blades echoed across the rooftop as a helicopter approached, slicing through the sky.
Dust and loose papers fluttered around the landing pad as the aircraft touched down gently on the helipad.
Ryoma turned toward it, coat flapping in the wind. "Chisato and Takina will be here soon," he said without looking back. "They'll be the ones to untie you."
Masaru scowled. "You're just going to leave your old man like this?"
But Ryoma was already striding toward the helicopter.
"Sir, have you requested flight clearance—" the pilot began, raising his voice over the roar of the blades.
"I'll take care of it later," Ryoma cut him off sharply, climbing aboard. "Just get me back to the mansion—now."
The pilot hesitated only for a second before nodding. He was someone Ryoma had helped in the past, and that favor was being returned without question.
The helicopter rose swiftly into the air, disappearing into the skyline.
Masaru watched it fade from view, still tied up and muttering under his breath. "This brat's really got some nerve…"
Just then, the elevator doors slid open behind him with a soft chime.
Chisato and Takina stepped onto the rooftop, the wind brushing their hair as they emerged into the open air.
The once calm rooftop now carried the unmistakable weight of urgency. Both girls scanned their surroundings quickly.
But instead of Ryoma, their eyes landed on a man tied up near the edge, looking both irritated and relieved.
"Uh…" Chisato blinked. "That's… his father, right?"
Masaru raised an eyebrow and deadpanned, "You two—mind helping me out of this mess?"
Takina was already walking toward him. "So… Ryoma just left you here?"
"Obviously."
"Typical," Chisato said, letting out a soft laugh as she knelt beside him to untie the ropes. "But don't worry. We've got you."
Chisato finished untying Masaru, gently helping him up by the arm.
"There you go," she said softly, offering support.
Masaru winced as he stood, his legs shaking beneath him.
"What exactly happened here?" Takina asked, her voice firm but calm.
"I… I can't walk right now," Masaru muttered, his knees buckling beneath him. "Let me rest here for a moment. I'll explain everything soon."
Chisato and Takina quickly caught him before he collapsed, easing him down into a seated position against the wall.
"Take your time," Chisato said, her voice warm as she sat beside him.
Meanwhile—on the outskirts of the Murakami estate, the air was still… for a moment.
Tatsuma stood casually in front of the towering, high-tech gate that guarded the mansion. A uniformed guard on the other side eyed him with suspicion.
"You can't come in!" the guard barked. "This gate's electrified—you touch it, and you're fried!"
Tatsuma tilted his head, lips curling into a grin. "Oh? That so?"
Before the guard could react, a sleek black car suddenly roared to life, speeding straight toward the gate at an alarming pace.
"What the hell—?!"
The guard dove aside just in time as the vehicle slammed into the gate, a thunderous crash echoing through the estate grounds.
Sparks flew, metal twisted, and the high-voltage lock system burst into useless debris.
There was no one inside.
The car had been rigged by Tatsuma's men—remote-controlled and perfectly timed.
With the security gate in ruins, Tatsuma strolled forward, dusting off his sleeves as if it were nothing more than a polite knock.
"Alright, boys—showtime."
From behind the hedges and bushes, a squad of armed men emerged, each one dressed in black tactical gear, their faces covered by masks.
"Yes, boss!"
They fell into step behind Tatsuma as he walked confidently through the shattered entrance.
Inside the mansion, red emergency lights began to flash, and a loud alarm blared through the halls, echoing off marble and glass.
The estate was under siege.
"Take down anyone who gets in your way—I'm going in!" Tatsuma barked the order, his voice sharp and commanding, before dashing into the mansion without looking back.
One of his men lunged forward, throwing a powerful punch that the guard barely managed to block—only for a second fist to slam into the guard's gut, lifting him off the ground and sending him crashing backward.
Another thug spun mid-air, his boot connecting with the side of a second guard's head. The impact was brutal.
The guard collapsed instantly, groaning in pain as he hit the pavement.
A third guard raised his pistol, but he was too slow. Tatsuma's man weaved to the side, closed the distance, and drove his knuckles into the guard's chest. The firearm clattered uselessly to the ground.
The courtyard turned into a one-sided warzone. Tatsuma's men overwhelmed the mansion's defenses with ruthless efficiency.
Inside, Tatsuma stormed through the corridors with a pistol drawn, his crimson hair wild, his expression colder than steel.
He burst into the main hall where several maids and staff froze at the sight of the armed intruder.
"Where's Masaru's room?!" he shouted, the barrel of his gun sweeping across the trembling workers.
Silence.
They had been trained for this—sworn to secrecy no matter the threat. No one moved. No one spoke.
Tatsuma's finger tightened on the trigger.
His gaze snapped to one of the maids.
Cold. Unblinking. Like a predator spotting its prey.
He raised the pistol and pointed it at her forehead. "You. Where is Masaru's room?" he demanded, voice like gravel and ice.
The maid didn't speak. She barely breathed.
BANG!
The gun fired, the sound tearing through the hall like thunder. The bullet missed her by inches, slamming into the wall just above her head.
Dust and debris rained down as she shrieked and ducked, clutching her head.
"SECOND FLOOR!" she screamed, tears already flooding her eyes. "The room with two doors—it's the one with two doors!"
The others turned to her in shock.
Every face around her twisted in disbelief—horrified, silent, as if the betrayal had punched the air from their lungs.
"I-I have two kids..." the maid sobbed, breath hitching. "My husband... left me years ago... I'm all they have!"
Her voice cracked, and she dropped to her knees, hands trembling as she clutched her apron.
Tears streamed down her cheeks like rivers, pooling on the cold marble floor.
Tatsuma tilted his head slightly, a grin curling his lips. "That's a damn good reason."
Then his expression shifted—dead serious again.
"Oh—and don't even think about calling for help," he said coldly. "I've already had my men cut the power. No lights. No signal. No heroes."
Without another word, he turned and sprinted toward the grand staircase, boots echoing against the stone with every step.
Behind him, the maid broke down completely. Sobbing. Hands over her face.
The other maids backed away, paralyzed, as the cold reality of the moment began to settle over them like a suffocating fog.
Tatsuma wasn't just barging into a locked room—he was hunting for a key.
Not a literal one, perhaps, but something critical. A document. A hidden drive.
Anything that could help him seize control of the Murakami family from the inside.
With a swift kick, the heavy door burst off its hinges and crashed to the floor with a deafening thud.
Dust swirled around his boots as Tatsuma stepped into the dimly lit room, eyes scanning every corner like a wolf entering enemy territory.
"Oh… so this is—"
Before he could finish his sentence, pain exploded across his skull.
A brutal crack! echoed through the room as a metal baton slammed into the side of his head.
Tatsuma staggered, snarling in pain as he whipped around.
Standing there was a maid—but not just any maid. Her expression was steel, her eyes blazing with fury. She held the baton like a seasoned fighter.
Ayaka.
"You bastard! Who the hell are you?!" Tatsuma growled, blood trickling down the side of his face.
But Ayaka wasn't here for a conversation.
Without a word, she drew a gun from her apron—not one with bullets, but one that hummed with electricity.
A taser.
She fired.
Tatsuma barely dodged, the electric pulse grazing his side.
His body jolted violently, nerves screaming in protest as a shock coursed through him.
He gasped, clutching his ribs. "You crazy bitch…"
"Get over here!" Tatsuma roared as he charged after Ayaka.
She turned on her heel and ran, heart pounding in her chest—but in her panic, her foot slipped.
Her body hit the floor hard. Gasping, she scrambled to get up, but as she looked up—Tatsuma was already towering over her.
Ayaka quickly raised her stun gun, hands trembling. But before she could fire, Tatsuma lunged forward, grabbing the weapon in one swift motion and hurling it across the room like it was nothing.
Desperate, Ayaka kicked at his legs, hoping to buy even a second—but it was like striking stone. Tatsuma didn't even flinch.
"You're starting to piss me off," he growled.
He seized her by her brown hair, yanking her upward before locking his arm around her neck, choking the air out of her.
"Let go of me, you bastard!" Ayaka screamed, her fingers clawing at his arm.
"Shut up!" Tatsuma snarled, his breath hot with fury. "You're gonna regret ever laying a finger on me!"
In the sky, Ryoma was already closing in on the Murakami mansion.
From the helicopter's open side door, the sprawling estate below looked like a battlefield.
Ryoma sat calmly in his seat, fingers dancing over a sleek tablet as he tried to connect to the mansion's CCTV feed. Static. No signal.
"Tatsuma must've cut the power..." he muttered under his breath.
Adjusting his high-tech glasses, Ryoma activated the drone network. A flicker of green light flashed in his lens—one drone was still within range.
"There you are."
He took manual control, guiding the small surveillance drone toward the mansion like a silent bird of prey.
The small machine darted silently around the exterior, hovering just beyond shattered windows and broken walls, its camera scanning every visible angle.
Ryoma's heart skipped a beat when the drone reached one particular side of the building.
Through the window, he saw Ayaka—her face red, struggling for air, Tatsuma's arm locked tight around her throat.
A fire lit in Ryoma's chest. He didn't hesitate.
With one sharp command, he sent the drone crashing forward. The machine slammed into the glass, shattering it with a violent CRASH!
Inside, shards of glass rained to the floor. Both Tatsuma and Ayaka flinched at the sudden explosion of noise.
"What the hell?!" Tatsuma shouted, his eyes narrowing at the wrecked drone now twitching on the wooden floor.
"S-Sir?" the helicopter pilot called out, eyes wide with concern.
Ryoma was already strapping on the emergency parachute stored in the cabin. "Thanks for the ride. I'll wire the payment later."
"Wait—are you actually—" Before the pilot could finish his sentence, Ryoma stepped out.
And jumped.
The wind howled in his ears as he dove toward the Murakami mansion below.
His eyes locked onto the shattered window where the drone had crashed just moments ago.
With perfect timing, he pulled the ripcord.
FWUMP!
The parachute snapped open, slowing his descent as he steered himself straight toward the broken window.
Glass crunched beneath his boots as he touched down inside the room, landing with graceful precision like he'd done it a hundred times before.
"Young master!" Ayaka gasped with a mix of relief and awe, her voice trembling. Hope had just entered the room.
"Let her go, Tatsuma!" Ryoma shouted, tearing the parachute harness off and flinging it out the window.
Across the room, Tatsuma let out a dark chuckle, his grip on Ayaka still firm.
"Well, well... the heir himself has arrived," he sneered, lips curling into a wicked grin. "Took you long enough."
Tatsuma crouched down, his fingers curling around Ayaka's taser that had fallen to the floor.
With a smug grin, he stood up—and pressed the device to her neck.
Ayaka glared at him, unmoving. The soft whine of the taser hummed, barely audible under the tension in the room.
"Tch…" Ryoma clicked his tongue in frustration.
He needed to stall for time. Chisato and Takina should be arriving any second now.
"I've always wondered," Ryoma began, forcing a calm tone into his voice, "how did you and my father end up as… friends?"
Tatsuma let out a low chuckle. "He never told you, huh? Typical Masaru." He adjusted his grip on the taser, as if reminiscing. "Alright, I'll humor you."
A long time ago—
Masaru, still a high school student at the time, had just finished class for the day.
The sun cast long shadows across the sidewalk as he walked home alone, his schoolbag slung over one shoulder.
He was minding his own business when—thud!
He collided with a tall, broad-shouldered man, nearly stumbling backward.
"Hey! Watch where you're walking!" Masaru snapped instinctively, scowling as he looked up.
The man turned—and Masaru found himself staring into the sharp gaze of a red-haired giant, his muscular frame radiating an intimidating presence.
Masaru tensed, trying to maintain his composure. But instead of reacting with anger—
The man held out a hand.
"Here. Ice cream."
Masaru blinked. "Huh…?"
The man handed him a small pack of vanilla ice cream with no further explanation.
"…Oh. Uh… thanks?" Masaru accepted it, confused and wary.
"I'm bored, kid," the man said nonchalantly. "Come with me."
Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and began walking, casually unwrapping his own ice cream and biting into it without flinching.
Masaru stood frozen, still trying to make sense of what had just happened.
He glanced down at the ice cream in his hand… then thought about the dull silence waiting for him at home.
Despite being the son of a wealthy family, his days were filled with repetition—cold greetings from absent parents, bland conversations with staff, and long stretches of nothingness.
"…What the hell," he muttered, peeling open the wrapper and taking a lick.
And just like that, Masaru followed.
"Oh? So you're the type who licks the ice cream first, huh?" the red-haired man glanced sideways at the high schooler walking beside him.
"Not one of those 'bite it immediately' types."
Masaru raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-lick. "Yeah? What's wrong with that?"
The man grinned. "Whoa there, take it easy, Ice King."
Masaru frowned, unsure if he was being mocked or not. "Why are you even wandering around here? Don't you have a job or something better to do?"
"That's a rude thing to ask a man enjoying his day off," the stranger replied smoothly. "I happen to be the boss of a Yakuza group, you know."
Masaru stopped dead in his tracks. "...Come again?"
The man kept walking a few steps before turning around. As he bit into his ice cream—cleaning half of it in one snap—he spoke with a grin, "You heard me."
Masaru stood frozen, the melting ice cream now forgotten in his hand. "You can't be serious…"
Then he noticed it—a jet-black tiger tattoo creeping up the man's neck.
The man noticed Masaru's gaze and tapped the ink with a finger.
"Kurotora-gumi. If you're curious."
Masaru stiffened. Kurotora-gumi… That name wasn't unfamiliar. One of the more discreet yet notoriously dangerous Yakuza groups in Tokyo.
Most people didn't speak it aloud unless they had a good reason.
Masaru instinctively took a step back. "Why… why did you approach me?"
There was a shift in his tone—wariness creeping into it.
"What do you want from me?!"
"Why?" The red-eyed man gave a half-laugh, scratching the back of his head.
"I'm just bored. Are you some kind of celebrity I'm not allowed to talk to or something?"
"Huh?" Masaru blinked, confused for a moment—then it hit him.
He doesn't know who I am.
"…." He looked away, hesitating.
"No… I'm nobody," Masaru finally muttered, walking forward again, his voice soft but steady.
"Oh? What's your name, then?" the man asked, still strolling beside him like they were long-time acquaintances.
"…Masaru Takeda," he replied, choosing a false surname out of habit—an instinctive move to protect his identity.
"Masaru, huh? I'm Tatsuma. Don't worry about my last name, I never liked it anyway," the man said with a grin.
"Oh," Masaru muttered as he finally bit into his ice cream.
"That's it? 'Oh'?" Tatsuma stared, mouth agape. "That's your only reaction?!"
"What kind of reaction were you hoping for, old man?" Masaru shot back, raising an eyebrow.
"Hey! I'm not that old!" Tatsuma looked genuinely offended. "At most, I'm ten years older than you!"
From that day on, for reasons even Masaru couldn't quite explain, they kept running into each other.
Sometimes Tatsuma would show up randomly, other times Masaru would find himself wandering and somehow stumble upon the red-haired Yakuza boss again.
Despite their stark differences in age, status, and personality—they kept talking.
And over time, they grew closer.
Masaru never revealed his true identity—the heir to the powerful Murakami family—and Tatsuma never pried.
Whether he was clueless or simply didn't care, Masaru could never tell.
But for once, it felt like someone was treating him like a person, not an heir.
And somehow, that was enough.
Until one day.
The air under the bridge was unusually still, the kind of silence that made footsteps echo louder than they should.
Masaru walked down the concrete path, ice cream in one hand as usual. "Hey, Tatsuma, how about we—"
"You're a liar, Masaru Murakami."
Tatsuma's voice cut like a knife—sharp, cold, and nothing like the laid-back tone Masaru had grown used to.
Masaru froze mid-step, the ice cream slipping slightly in his grip.
"…What?" His heart skipped a beat.
He knows.
"I thought you were someone I could trust," Tatsuma continued, his crimson eyes fixed on him like a predator eyeing prey.
"But turns out… you've been lying to me this whole time, haven't you, Masaru Murakami?"
Masaru took a shaky breath, eyes wide. "H-How did you—"
"I wanted to know you better. So, I looked into you. That wasn't hard." Tatsuma's voice was steady but laced with restrained emotion.
"And I found out who you really are."
"I'm sorry, Tatsuma! I just—" Masaru tried to step forward, but his words tangled.
"I didn't lie to hurt you, I just… I didn't want things to change."
For a moment, the silence between them stretched unbearably. Then—
"I'll forgive you, Masaru."
Masaru blinked. "…Really?"
Tatsuma smiled, but it wasn't his usual lazy grin. It was the kind of smile that meant he was about to change everything.
"But on one condition."
His red eyes gleamed with something unreadable.
"What is it?" Masaru asked cautiously.
"I want to be Murakami," Tatsuma said without hesitation. "I think being part of your world might be fun."
Masaru stared, stunned into silence. He couldn't tell whether Tatsuma was serious—or dangerously serious.
The ice cream in his hand was already melting.
"Huh?"
Masaru blinked in disbelief. That… was not what he had expected at all.
"Yes!" Tatsuma grinned wide, the kind of grin that didn't reach his eyes. "I want to be your older brother! By becoming Murakami, I could rule all of Japan!"
Masaru's heart sank. For all the ice cream, the banter, the time they spent walking under streetlights like fools with too much freedom and not enough sense—Tatsuma was, at his core, still a Yakuza boss. A predator wearing the mask of a friend.
"No way." Masaru's voice was cold. Sharp. Unshakable.
Tatsuma laughed—loud and unashamed. "Heh, I knew you'd say that."
He pointed a finger at Masaru like issuing a challenge. "That's why… from now on—I will do anything to become a Murakami."
And from that day on, the quiet friendship under the bridge twisted into a fierce rivalry.
Tatsuma pulled every dirty trick, every underworld connection, every ounce of street power he had to climb toward that name.
But there were two unchangeable facts:
Intelligence.
Masaru was much smarter than Tatsuma—calculating, strategic, two steps ahead before Tatsuma even blinked.
Strength.
Masaru was also far stronger. Not just physically, but in will. In resolve. In the weight of what he protected.
That difference—of brains and brawn—made their rivalry burn hotter with every encounter.
Tatsuma eventually lowered the taser slightly, his eyes narrowing with a twisted smirk. "So. That's the story."
He looked at Ryoma. "Now tell me, kid… who do you think was wrong?"
Ryoma, who had listened to the tale with a mix of disbelief and realization, slowly exhaled.
"Honestly?" His blue eyes met Tatsuma's.
"You're both wrong."
Tatsuma raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"You wanted to invade a life you didn't understand, and he let a lie live too long," Ryoma said. "You're both idiots."
Tatsuma chuckled. "I like this kid."
Ryoma's eyes caught the glint of headlights cutting through the afternoon haze—a sleek black car approaching the Murakami estate. It was unmistakable.
Masaru's car.
And inside it… Chisato and Takina.
Too late.
"Tch…" Tatsuma scoffed, his red eyes narrowing as he glanced at the vehicle.
"You've changed, Ryoma. You're sharper… colder. You've become better than before."
His voice was laced with something unspoken—was it admiration? Jealousy?
"I heard about your little stunt chasing down that terrorist," he continued. "Impressive. Really."
Ryoma said nothing, his body rigid, every muscle tense like a drawn bowstring.
"But," Tatsuma's tone dipped low, almost disappointed, "there's still one thing you lack."
Ryoma's emerald eyes locked onto him, burning with suspicion and hate. "What is it?"
Tatsuma raised the taser, slowly, deliberately—pointing it at Ayaka's exposed neck.
"Your mentality… is still weak."
"No."
Ryoma's voice cracked.
"Level it up, Ryoma Murakami!"
"DON'T—!!"
The sound of the taser discharging tore through the air like a whip of lightning.
Ayaka's body convulsed violently, her back arching in an unnatural spasm.
Then—
Silence.
Her body collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Limp. Unmoving.
"AYAKA!!"
Ryoma's scream split the sky. He ran to her, stumbling, falling to his knees as he scooped her fragile frame into his arms.
Her eyes were closed. Her face pale.
"Ayaka... no... please..." His voice was barely a whisper now, choked by disbelief.
Tatsuma turned away, already making his escape. "We'll meet again, Ryoma," he called out.
Then, without hesitation, he leapt over the balcony railing—vanishing into the trees below like a ghost.
But Ryoma didn't move.
He couldn't.
The world had gone quiet.
All he could hear was the ragged rhythm of his own breath as he held Ayaka close, cradling her like something fragile—something broken.
"Ayaka…" he whispered again, his voice trembling.
"Y-Young master…" Ayaka's voice was barely a breath now, trembling and thin, like the last flicker of a dying candle. "I'm sorry… I couldn't protect you…"
"No…" Ryoma's voice cracked, eyes brimming with tears as he clutched her closer. "Don't say that. It's not your fault… it's mine. I—I came too late…"
Ayaka's lips curved into a faint, pained smile, her body weak in his arms. She couldn't reply—her strength had already begun to fade. But she smiled, because he was here.
Because he still cared.
"Don't go…" Ryoma's voice trembled, and then it broke into a scream.
"Don't go!! That's an order—your master commands it!! AYAKA AMAMIYA!!"
Ayaka chuckled softly, barely audible, her breath shaky. "You… even got my name wrong…"
Ryoma blinked, stunned. "Huh…?"
"Amamiya… it's a name I made up… for work."
A short silence.
"My real name is…"
Her eyes, glossy and distant, looked up into his one last time.
"…Ayaka Murakami."
The world stopped.
The sound of the wind faded, and everything inside Ryoma turned cold. His breath hitched.
"Ayaka…?"
And then her body went still in his arms, like a string cut from heaven.
"AYAKA!! NO—DON'T…!"
Words failed him.
He couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.
It felt like the earth had been ripped out from under him.
His trembling hands reached into her pocket… and pulled out a folded slip of paper.
If you're reading this… I'm probably already dead, young master.
His heart shattered further as his eyes traced the words—her farewell written before her fate had even been sealed.
Footsteps echoed from behind.
"Ryoma!" a woman's voice called.
Not Chisato. Not Takina.
It was…
"…Mother?"
Saeko Murakami stood at the rooftop's edge, her usually pristine appearance disheveled—her eyes wide, pale, haunted. Ryoma had never seen fear on her face. Not once.
"What… what are you—" her voice faltered when her eyes fell on the unconscious girl in Ryoma's arms. "What happened to her…?"
"Ah, instead of her, are—"
"INSTEAD OF HER?!"
Ryoma's scream struck like a thunderclap, silencing the rooftop and stopping Saeko in her tracks.
His gaze burned, livid and broken. "Why don't you care about your own daughter?!"
Saeko's face lost all color.
"My… daughter…?" she whispered.
"So… she told you, huh…"
Ryoma felt his breath leave him in a single tremble. "…Then it's true…"
His hand tightened around the taser.
He stood, lifting Ayaka onto his back, carefully—gently—as if she might still break.
He walked past Saeko, step by step, his heart numb, his face wet with silent tears.
He stopped just in front of her.
His eyes didn't blink.
"You bitch."
He raised the taser.
The electric snap of discharge lit up the air.
Saeko's body convulsed violently, and she crumpled to the ground, breath ragged, her consciousness slipping away.
Ryoma slipped the taser back into his jacket.
His footsteps echoed across the hallway, heavy with desperation.
Ahead, two figures stood—Chisato and Takina—just stepping out of the rooftop doors.
"Ryoma?!" Chisato called out, rushing forward with wide, panicked eyes. "Are you okay?! What happened?!"
"Where is Tatsuma?" Takina asked sharply, scanning the area for the enemy.
But both of them froze.
Their eyes fell on the unconscious girl on Ryoma's back—limp, pale, and fragile.
"Is she… Ayaka?" Chisato asked, her voice breaking with shock. "Is she alright?"
Ryoma didn't stop.
He didn't meet their eyes.
"Please… get out of my way, Chisato." His voice was low, cracked. Barely a whisper, but heavy like thunder in a storm.
Chisato's lips parted in protest, "Wait—Ryoma, we need to—"
But before she could say more, Takina gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Let him go, Chisato" she said softly, her gaze never leaving Ryoma.
Chisato looked at Takina, then back at Ryoma—at the way his body trembled, the way he gripped Ayaka like she was his entire world.
Like he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go.
Slowly, she stepped aside. Takina followed.
"Thank you…" Ryoma whispered, barely audible through the wind.
And then he ran—faster than before.
His legs burned, his chest ached, but he ran like time itself was chasing him.
Chisato and Takina stood still, watching his figure disappear down the stairwell.
"I hope they will be okay…" Chisato murmured, her eyes fixed on the direction where he had disappeared.
Takina stood beside her, arms crossed, her brows furrowed in quiet concern.
"We have to trust him," she said, though the subtle tremble in her voice betrayed the weight of her own worry.
From behind them, footsteps echoed—slow, tired.
Masaru stepped out from the shadows, his face weary and his clothes still disheveled.
"Just leave him alone…" he said hoarsely. "He needs a lot of time to calm down."
Chisato and Takina turned to him, their worry shifting toward understanding—but not disappearing.
Chisato took a step back, her heart pulling her toward Ryoma once more.
She turned and was about to run—until Masaru's voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Stop, Chisato."
She halted mid-step, slowly turning back, frustration rising in her chest.
"Why?" she snapped. "He needs someone—he needs comfort. I want to calm him down!"
Masaru's expression was solemn. "No one can truly understand someone else's pain… unless they've lived it," he said.
"And Ryoma… he's the kind of person who drowns silently."
Chisato's hands curled into fists. "So we just stand here and watch him suffer?!" Her voice cracked, raw with emotion. "That's cruel."
"He is suffering," Masaru admitted, pain flickering in his eyes. "But someone like Ryoma… the only way he knows how to survive that suffering… is to be alone with it first."
Chisato bit her lower lip hard, her shoulders trembling with restrained emotion.
She hated it—standing still, powerless, while someone she cared about bled from the inside.
"I understand, but…" she whispered, her voice catching.
Takina gently stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder again.
"Give him time, Chisato," she said softly. "Once the storm passes, then we'll go to him."
Chisato slowly exhaled, the tension easing slightly beneath Takina's touch. Her eyes remained heavy with worry—but she nodded.
"You're right…" she murmured. "Let's give him time."
Elsewhere in the hospital, the world had fallen into a cold, sterile stillness.
Ayaka lay motionless on the white bed, her skin pale against the crisp sheets.
The room was filled only with the rhythmic beeping of machines and the faint hum of life-support systems.
Electrodes clung to her temples, wires trailed from her chest to screens that pulsed with weak but steady signals—each line a fragile thread tying her to life.
Outside the ICU, Ryoma stood like a statue, frozen behind the glass.
His reflection stared back at him—eyes hollow, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white.
His breath fogged the glass, but he didn't move to wipe it away.
A doctor stood beside him, flipping through a chart. "This isn't just ordinary brain damage," the doctor said quietly, voice tinged with remorse.
"The electrical currents… they didn't just stun her. They destroyed the myelin sheath along her nerves. Think of it like a stripped cable—"
He paused. "Her brain is still… alive. Active. But the signals can't travel anymore. They're lost in the silence."
Those words sank into Ryoma like stones into water—rippling through his heart until the weight dragged him down.
He sank into a chair nearby, elbows on his knees, head low. His chest felt tight. Suffocating.
His mind screamed for someone to tell him it wasn't true—but no one did.
His trembling hand reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, carefully folded piece of paper.
The edges were worn from how many times he'd held it since that night.
Slowly, with aching fingers, he unfolded it.
His vision blurred as he stared at the words scrawled in neat, familiar handwriting.
"If you read this, I'm probably dead, young master.
I will fight Tatsuma. I've prepared myself for it.
But if I fail… there's something I've always wanted to tell you."
Ryoma's lips quivered as he read, his eyes stinging with tears.
"Young master, huh… I remember calling you that the first time we met. They told me I'd be scolded if I ever called you by name.
But it doesn't matter anymore. Not now.
Because this is the truth—And you deserve to know it.
I'll tell you the secret I've kept all this time, Ryoma."
Her name written in ink, her voice echoing in his mind.
And yet all that remained of her now was silence—broken only by the slow, cold beep of a heart monitor… reminding him that she was still there.
But unreachable.
"…Ayaka…" he whispered.
But she did not respond.
"I am the first child of the Murakami family in this generation."
The handwriting on the letter trembled slightly, as if even the ink carried the weight of sorrow too heavy to bear.
"But there is one rule... a rule known only to the head of the family and his chosen partner.
The successor of the Murakami household must be a son.
And if a daughter is born... she is not recognized as part of the family."
Ryoma's heart sank deeper with every line. His breathing grew shallow, and his fingers clutched the letter tighter.
"In past generations, when a daughter was born, they didn't just hide her.
They killed her.
They erased her before she could cry her first breath. A forgotten soul—unwritten in the pages of history."
Ryoma's throat clenched. He felt a sickness rising—at the tradition, the cruelty, the cold efficiency with which the family had ensured its legacy.
"As time moved forward, so did the methods. The executions were replaced with abandonment.
Daughters were discarded like broken heirlooms.
Thrown away..."
He could almost see it. A baby swaddled in soft cloth, left alone in the dark. No name. No belonging. No warmth.
"And I...
I was almost one of them."
His hands trembled violently now, the ink beginning to blur as tears fell onto the page.
"When I was born, I was not a blessing. I was a complication. An error.
They were going to discard me too.
But she—our mother—she couldn't bear it. She said the pain she went through to bring me into this world had to mean something.
So she made a choice.
She kept me... but not as Ayaka Murakami.
She gave me a new name. A name I could live with. A name I could hide behind.
She called me Ayaka Amamiya."
Ryoma clutched the letter to his chest and shut his eyes tightly.
The machines behind the glass continued their steady beeping.
Ayaka lay motionless. Her truth, her pain, had finally reached him.
"When I was six years old, I remember being so happy when I heard that our mother was pregnant again.
I didn't understand much back then, but when I found out the baby was a boy... I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt.
Because I knew what that meant.
I wouldn't be discarded like the others.
Not if I could prove myself useful.
On that day, I made a vow to myself—to work hard, to earn my place in this family, even if I had no name in its bloodline.
I wanted to serve you, Ryoma. I wanted to protect you, guide you, be there for you… even if I could never tell you why.
And when you were born… it felt like I had been given a reason to exist.
I was just a little girl, but I swore to do my best. I watched over you with everything I had, even when no one else saw me."
Ryoma could barely hold the letter steady, the words blurring as tears brimmed in his eyes.
"But for someone so brilliant... you're really an idiot sometimes."
"You never noticed we had the same hair color. Sure, mine's a little darker, but come on—didn't you ever wonder?"
"Hehe."
He could see it—her tired smile, her voice shaking between laughter and held-back tears.
"...That's why I was always too overprotective, why I followed you around like a shadow."
"Because I'm your older sister, Ryoma."
"And I was so proud to be one."
"Even if no one could ever know."
"Even if you never knew."
Ryoma's breath hitched, a strangled sound caught in his throat. His hands trembled violently now.
"I still wanted more time."
"Just a little longer. To see you grow, to cheer you on, to maybe… maybe be there on the day you get married."
"But I guess I'm running out of time, huh...?"
"I don't really know what else to write anymore. My hands were shaking even before I started."
"But there's one thing I've always wanted to say to you, more than anything else in the world."
"And if I can't say it out loud…"
"At least let these words reach you now."
"I love you, Ryoma."
"I love you so much, my little brother."
The letter fell from his hands.
Ryoma sank to his knees.
And for the first time in his life—he cried not out of anger, nor frustration, but a grief so deep it tore through every wall he had ever built.
She had been there all along. His sister.
And he never knew.
Ryoma stood up and walked into the ICU room.
"Ayaka..."
Ryoma knelt beside the hospital bed, his hands gripping the cold metal rail as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
Her body lay still beneath the soft white blanket, her chest rising gently with the help of machines—so alive, yet so far away.
His voice cracked. "I'll do anything… anything to bring you back."
His trembling fingers brushed a strand of her hair away from her face, as if that simple gesture could stir her awake.
Her expression was peaceful—too peaceful.
"You can yell at me again… nag me, follow me around like you always do…"
His throat tightened. "Call me idiot just one more time, please..."
Tears streamed down his face, falling onto the edge of her blanket.
And then his voice broke completely.
"ANYTHING!!"
He screamed with everything in him.
"JUST COME BACK TO ME, AYAKA!"
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Only the rhythmic beeping of machines answered him—steady, indifferent, merciless.
Ryoma buried his face into her blanket, his body shaking violently with sobs.
For all his intelligence… for all his strength…
There was nothing he could do now.
Except cry.
And beg the world to give back the only person who ever truly loved him.