When Ayumi left Feitan's house, the sky was still dark.
The blanket she had wrapped around him slowly slipped from his sleeping shoulders, and the kitten watched her as she gently closed the door.
She couldn't stay.
Her mother was alone.
And she couldn't forget that — not even now.
That night, Ayumi barely slept.
Not from fear.
But because of one thought that wouldn't leave her:
he had fallen asleep while listening to her.
She didn't see it as disinterest.
Not as escape.
It had been… a gesture.
A sign that, for the first time, with her, Feitan had been calm enough to close his eyes.
In the days that followed, they didn't see each other.
Sometimes she would look out at sunset, as if by accident.
From the balcony. Behind the curtain. On tiptoes.
The villa was there.
Still. Silent.
But the lights were on.
He was there.
And yet, Ayumi didn't go.
She didn't knock.
She didn't disturb.
"Maybe he doesn't want to see me."
"Maybe that night was just a passing moment."
Time slid by slowly.
The days were full, but inside her, a small space remained empty.
An absence that made no sound — but that could be felt.
Then, one evening… she saw him.
It was late.
The sky the color of ash, the air thick.
Ayumi had stepped outside almost out of habit — and suddenly, she spotted him:
Feitan.
He was leaving the villa.
He wasn't alone.
There were other men with him. Two, maybe three.
Hard faces. Downcast eyes.
Each one carried a suitcase, a duffel bag.
Ayumi saw weapons too. Long, protruding — like shadows beneath dark jackets.
They got into an old yellow van.
It looked like a forgotten school bus.
But the silence they moved in… spoke of something else entirely.
Feitan didn't look toward her house.
He didn't raise his eyes.
Ayumi stood still.
Her heart beat slowly — but unevenly.
As if something inside her had just taken a step back.
"He's leaving.
Another mission?
Another world that doesn't belong to me?"
She lowered her gaze.
She didn't cry.
She didn't get angry.
But inside, a soft voice whispered:
"Let's not bother him anymore. That time… maybe it's over."
She closed the window.
Her hands were cold.
The lights in the villa still on — like eyes that never sleep.
And for the first time in a long while…
she didn't wait.
---Feitan...---
Feitan didn't say goodbye.
He never did.
Climbing into the van was like putting on another skin — one that didn't ask, didn't feel, didn't remember.
They were four.
Him, Phinks, Nobunaga, and Uvogin — fast hands, trembling eyes.
It never lasted.
The cargo: weapons, ropes, masks.
The smell inside the van: metal, sweat, burnt leather.
The job was big.
A warehouse outside the city, where untraced foreign currency was being moved.
Cash.
A lot of it.
No cameras.
But yes — armed men.
Three shifts.
Two nights to study.
One to strike.
Feitan didn't talk.
Didn't laugh, didn't plan.
He cut.
When they entered, he went first.
No sound.
Only short, light steps.
As if he were a shadow choosing to become flesh for an hour.
The first guard dropped without a sound.
A clean strike to the jugular.
The blood sprayed — but Feitan had already turned his face.
Not out of disgust.
Out of boredom.
The second tried to scream.
He didn't get the chance.
Three broken ribs.
His throat crushed under Feitan's knee.
Silence.
The third was young.
Didn't shoot.
He asked: "Why?"
Feitan didn't answer.
Not because he had no words — but because he knew the question was useless.
He left him alive. But made him useless.
When it was all over, he came out with cold hands and a blank face.
The bags were full.
The numbers were high.
Very high.
Feitan didn't look at the money.
He looked at the sky.
And without meaning to… he thought of her.
Ayumi.
The scent of sweet onion in his kitchen.
The light on her hands as she petted the cat.
Her voice, which seeped into his bones.
Like an echo.
Like a dagger.
"Take her away?"
"Take her where?"
"Why?"
Questions he had never asked anyone.
Now they burned.
He had the means.
He could've done it.
A safe place.
A new roof.
A bed for just them.
But that wasn't the problem.
He was.
Feitan didn't know how to live with someone.
Didn't know how to share.
Didn't know how to hold.
What could he give her, besides silence?
He returned before dawn.
Didn't say goodbye to the others.
Stepped out of the van as if walking back into a cell.
Slowly.
With heavy bones.
He opened the villa door.
The kitten greeted him silently.
Feitan bent down, looked at him.
Didn't touch him.
But he was there.
He dropped the duffel bag on the table.
Didn't even open it.
The money didn't speak.
It had never been his language.
He took off his jacket.
It was dirty.
Smelled of gunpowder and dead skin.
He washed his hands.
For a long time.
Longer and longer.
Then, he sat on the couch.
In the exact spot where she had been.
Where she had spoken.
Where he had fallen asleep with her voice in his ears.
The blanket she'd draped over him was still there.
He touched it.
Just for a second.
Only with his fingers.
Then he closed his eyes.
And for the first time, after a clean, effective, lethal job…
he felt the emptiness.
Not as lack.
But as absence of her.
Ayumi wasn't there.
Feitan stood up.
Went to the window.
Her house was dark.
Her room unlit.
Her shadow… nowhere.
And something inside him started to move.
Not anger.
Not desire.
Fear.
What if she didn't come back?
What if this time, he had lost something he couldn't just cut away?
He stayed there, forehead against the glass.
His hands still dirty, even after the soap.
And his eyes open.
Waiting.
Not knowing how.
But doing the only thing he had always known how to do:
endure.