The docks at midnight were creepy as hell. The air smelled like salt, old fish, and oily water. Heavy mist rolled over the shipping containers, making everything look like a scene from a horror flick.
Yasuo stood by a stack of rusted crates, his heart doing a frantic tap-dance against his ribs. He was the "bait." He wore his bright yellow bakery hoodie—the one Daisetsu said made him look like a "delicious little lemon"—so he'd be easy to spot.
"You ok, Cutie Boy?" Daisetsu's voice crackled in the tiny earpiece Yasuo was wearing.
"I'm shaking like a leaf, Daisetsu," Yasuo whispered, hugging himself. "Are the cops really here?"
"Sato's men are in position. I'm ten yards behind you in the shadows. If anyone touches you, I'm ending them. Stay cool."
But cool was the last thing Yasuo felt. The message on Daisetsu's phone—the one about Yuka leaking the info—kept echoing in his head. What if this was all a setup?
Suddenly, a loud clack sounded. A pair of headlights cut through the fog, blinding Yasuo. A black SUV rolled to a stop, and four men stepped out. They weren't just street punks. They were wearing heavy jackets and carrying actual weapons.
"The baker," one of them sneered. It was the same guy from the gym. "Where's your teacher, kid? Or did he finally realize you weren't worth the trouble?"
"He's closer than you think," Yasuo said, his voice surprisingly steady.
"Is he? Because we heard a rumor you guys were setting a trap. Too bad your little reporter friend likes to talk after a few drinks."
Yasuo's stomach dropped. Yuka. It was true.
"Enough talk," the leader said, pulling a knife. "Grab the kid. We'll use him to draw the beast out."
As the goon lunged, the world exploded.
A shadow dropped from the top of a shipping container like a vengeful god. Daisetsu hit the ground with a heavy thud, and before the gang leader could even blink, Daisetsu's fist connected with his jaw.
CRACK.
"I told you," Daisetsu growled, his voice sounding like a literal demon. "Don't. Touch. Him."
"GET HIM!" the leader yelled, clutching his face.
The fight was brutal. Daisetsu went full "Berserker." He wasn't just fighting; he was a whirlwind of muscle and rage. He ducked under a pipe, grabbed a guy by the collar, and threw him into a stack of pallets. But there were too many of them, and the cops... where were the cops?
"Sato! Where are you?!" Yasuo screamed into his mic.
Silence.
Yasuo realized then—Sato wasn't coming. The Oversight Committee had used them. They wanted the gang and Daisetsu to take each other out so they wouldn't have to deal with the "problematic" teacher anymore.
"Daisetsu, it's a trap! The cops aren't coming!"
Daisetsu didn't stop. He kicked a guy in the chest, his eyes fixed on Yasuo. "Get to the car, Yasuo! Now!"
But Yasuo couldn't just run. He saw a gang member sneaking up behind Daisetsu with a heavy metal chain. Yasuo didn't think. He grabbed a heavy, rusted wrench from the ground and charged.
"GET AWAY FROM HIM!" Yasuo yelled, swinging the wrench with everything he had.
He caught the guy in the shoulder. It wasn't a knockout blow, but it was enough of a distraction. Daisetsu spun around, grabbed the chain, and used it to whip the guy across the face.
The two of them stood back-to-back in the middle of the foggy docks. Daisetsu was heaving, his shirt torn, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead. Yasuo was covered in rust and grease, his knuckles white around the wrench.
"You're supposed to be running," Daisetsu panted, his hand finding Yasuo's for a split second.
"I told you," Yasuo said, his eyes fierce. "Partners."
The remaining gang members hesitated. They saw the look in Daisetsu's eyes—the look of a man who had absolutely nothing left to lose except the boy standing behind him. They backed off, piling into the SUV and peeling away into the mist. They knew they couldn't win this fight without losing half their crew.
The docks went silent.
Daisetsu dropped the chain, his knees buckling. Yasuo caught him, sliding to the ground with the big man in his arms.
"We did it," Yasuo whispered, tears finally blurring his vision. "They're gone."
Daisetsu looked up at him, his face a mess of blood and sweat, but he was smiling. "You... you hit a guy with a wrench. My brave little baker."
He reached up, his hand trembling as he cupped Yasuo's face. The intimacy in that moment, surrounded by the cold fog and the smell of industrial waste, was the most intense thing Yasuo had ever felt.
"Let's get out of here," Daisetsu murmured.
They didn't go back to the bakery. Not yet. They went to a small, hidden motel near the edge of the city—a place where Sato's men couldn't find them.
The room was cheap and smelled like lemon cleaner, but it was safe. As soon as the door clicked shut, the adrenaline turned into something else. Something hot and hungry.
Daisetsu pinned Yasuo against the door, his hands sliding under the yellow hoodie. "I almost lost you," he groaned, his lips searching for Yasuo's. "When I saw them move toward you... I felt my soul go black."
"I'm here," Yasuo breathed, his hands pulling at Daisetsu's torn shirt. "I'm right here."
Daisetsu stripped off his shirt, revealing the map of scars and muscles that Yasuo loved. He lifted Yasuo up, his strong arms hooking under Yasuo's thighs, and carried him to the bed.
The "bromance" was payoff they had been building toward since the first rainy night. Daisetsu was dominant, possessive, and utterly devoted. Every touch was a promise. Every kiss was an apology for the danger.
"You're mine, Yasuo," Daisetsu whispered into the crook of his neck, his teeth grazing the skin. "The school, the gangs, the cops... nobody is ever taking you away from me."
In the dim light of the motel room, Yasuo gave himself over to the man who had traded his peaceful life for a world of blood and sugar. It was messy, it was loud, and it was perfect.
The next morning, Yasuo woke up to the sound of the shower running. He felt sore, loved, and strangely powerful.
He checked his phone. There were fifty missed calls from Yuka and twenty from Tenshin. But there was also an email from an encrypted address.
It was from Sato.
"The Iron Dragons are dismantled. Most were arrested three blocks from the docks. Your record is clean, Nakamura. But there's a price for the 'disappearance' of our backup. Leave the city. Don't come back to the school. If you stay, we can't protect you from the 'other' people we told."
Yasuo looked at the bathroom door. They were free, but they were exiles.
"Daisetsu," Yasuo called out, his voice steady. "Pack your bags. We're going on a road trip. And we're taking the sourdough starter with us."