Takagi strolled through the late morning streets of Nagoya, his hands resting lightly in his pockets. The world seemed brighter today, though he knew it wasn’t the sun—it was the memory of Akiko’s faint smile, the sound of her voice, the way her fingers had brushed his when she handed him the card.
He had already programmed her number into his phone, taking care to double-check every digit before stashing the card in the small lockbox hidden beneath the floorboards of his apartment. That number wasn’t just a string of digits—it was a connection, fragile and thrilling, and he wasn’t about to risk losing it.
His thoughts wandered back to their interaction, replaying each moment with uncharacteristic indulgence. Her sharp gaze, her composed demeanor, the way her voice had softened just slightly when she said, I’d like that.
What’s next? he wondered, the question sparking a flicker of excitement. He wasn’t naive enough to believe this could ever lead to something easy—rival clans didn’t write love stories. But the possibility of seeing her again, of navigating that razor’s edge between danger and intrigue, made his pulse quicken.
As he left his apartment and walked toward the Golden Crane Pachinko Parlor, the city bustled around him—delivery scooters zipping past, shopkeepers sweeping their stoops, the faint chatter of commuters spilling out of the subway station. The familiar rhythm of Nagoya grounded him, but today, even its rough edges felt softened.
Takagi was a man rarely caught in a good mood, but this morning, he carried it with ease.
He was nearing the parlor when something caught his eye—a dark sedan parked a little too perfectly at the corner of the block. The windows were tinted, but the faint movement inside gave away its occupants.
Takagi slowed his steps, pretending to adjust his sleeve as he studied the car. The glint of binoculars confirmed his suspicion. Someone was watching the Golden Crane.
Could be cops. Could be Hanabira. Either way, they’re playing in my backyard, Takagi thought grimly.
Instead of approaching head-on, he veered down a side street, circling the block until he came up behind the car. His footsteps were silent, his body tense but controlled as he moved within striking distance. Without hesitation, he brought his palm down hard on the roof of the sedan, the sharp slap echoing through the street.
The reaction was immediate. The man in the driver’s seat jumped, nearly dropping the binoculars, while his passenger fumbled to grab something—probably a weapon, though Takagi couldn’t tell from the angle.
He leaned in slightly, his face just visible through the half-open window. “Why are you spying on my business?”
The driver sputtered, his face pale as he stammered out a denial. “We’re not—we weren’t—”
“Don’t lie to me,” Takagi cut in, his voice low but razor-sharp. “Tell your boss—whoever it is—to keep their eyes off my turf. Next time, I won’t be so polite.”
The passenger muttered something to the driver, and without another word, the car screeched off, disappearing around the corner. Takagi watched them go, his hands still in his pockets, his expression unreadable.
When Takagi entered the parlor, the familiar cacophony greeted him—the flashing lights, the endless chime of the pachinko machines, the low hum of conversation. It was the same as always, but today, something was different.
Sho was leaning casually against the counter near the cashier’s desk, his usual fidgeting replaced by a newfound ease. He was talking to Ayaka, the young woman who worked at the parlor, and from the faint blush on her cheeks, she seemed to be enjoying the attention.
Takagi observed them from a distance, his sharp eyes noting the subtle changes in Sho’s demeanor. The younger man carried himself with more confidence now, his posture straighter, his gestures less erratic.
He’s coming to terms with last night, Takagi realized. Good. He needed this.
Sho glanced up as Takagi approached, a grin spreading across his face. “Aniki! You’re looking sharp today. Something happen?”
Ayaka looked away quickly, pretending to adjust a tray of change on the counter, but the faint smile on her lips betrayed her curiosity.
Takagi smirked, his hands sliding into his pockets. “You seem to be in a good mood yourself, Sho. What’s the occasion?”
Sho shrugged, though his grin didn’t fade. “Just feeling good. You know, like I’ve got this under control.” He glanced briefly at Ayaka, his voice softening slightly. “Not just... y’know, this. Everything.”
Takagi nodded, his expression unreadable but approving. “That’s good. You’re learning.”
Sho tilted his head, studying Takagi with a mischievous glint in his eye. “But you didn’t answer my question, Aniki. Why are you in such a good mood? Usually, you look like you’ve been chewing glass.”
Ayaka snorted softly, then quickly covered her mouth, pretending to stifle a cough.
Takagi chuckled, a rare sound that caught both of them off guard. “Maybe I just had a good morning. That so hard to believe?”
Sho grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “Not at all. But if you ever need advice on women, Aniki, I’m here for you. Got plenty of experience.”
Takagi raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Is that right? Guess I’ll know where to go.”
The lighthearted exchange was a welcome change, a reminder that even in the shadowy world they inhabited, moments of levity could still exist. Takagi leaned against the counter, watching as Sho and Ayaka continued their back-and-forth, their chemistry undeniable.
For a brief moment, the weight of the raid, the tension with the Hanabira, and the uncertainty of his own budding connection with Akiko faded into the background. Here, in the familiar chaos of the Golden Crane, life felt... manageable.
But in the back of his mind, Takagi knew it wouldn’t last.
Enjoy the quiet while it’s here, he thought, his gaze drifting toward the window, where the distant streets of Nagoya buzzed with unseen threats.
As he leaned against the counter, his gaze drifting to the flashing machines, his mind returned to Akiko. The memory of her faint smile played in his thoughts, unbidden but persistent. He remembered the way she had tilted her head slightly when she handed back his card, the confidence in her voice when she said, I’d like that.
Takagi had been around plenty of women—hostesses, flirty bartenders, occasional lovers. But Akiko was different. She wasn’t someone he could charm with a casual smile or a well-placed compliment. She was sharp, composed, and deeply rooted in a world as dangerous as his own.
And yet, for all her poise, there had been something disarming about her. A vulnerability that flashed briefly in her eyes, the way her fingers had tightened slightly on the shopping bag as they walked together.
He wondered what she had thought of him—if she had seen past his confidence to the storm beneath. He had no illusions about his reputation. The Lion of Sakae. A killer, an enforcer, a man whose name was whispered in back alleys with equal parts fear and respect.
But with her, he had felt... lighter. The playful banter, the shared meal—it was a glimpse of something outside the life he had built, a reminder that there were still moments of simplicity, of connection.
Takagi exhaled softly, his hands slipping into his pockets. He knew he was playing a dangerous game. Whatever this was—this spark of interest, this lingering infatuation—it had no place in their world.
Akiko wasn’t just another woman. She was Hanabira Koji’s daughter, the rising star of a rival clan. Their paths were meant to cross only in conflict, not... whatever this was becoming.
But it’s not something I can just ignore, he thought, his jaw tightening slightly.
He turned his attention back to Sho and Ayaka, who were now laughing about something he hadn’t caught. Sho looked lighter, freer, his usual bravado tempered by a newfound confidence. It was a good look for him, Takagi thought.
Maybe I should take a page out of his book, Takagi mused. Stop thinking so much. Just see where this goes.
As the minutes ticked by, Takagi’s thoughts continued to wander. What would Akiko think if he called her tomorrow? Would she even answer? The number she had written felt like a fragile bridge between them, one that could easily crumble under the weight of their respective worlds.
But as reckless as it was, he couldn’t help but wonder what another conversation might bring.
He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the faint outline of the business card. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Maybe she’ll pick up, he thought.
But he would start with a text message and see if he got a reply. Tonight, he thought. As for Kondo and the others, he wouldn’t mention their lunch date. I’ll wait for them to bring it up.
Afternoon – Sakura Lounge,day 6
The Sakura Lounge was quiet in the hours before opening, the muffled sounds of the prep crew drifting faintly through the walls of Akiko’s office. She sat behind her desk, a neatly stacked pile of papers in front of her—a never-ending labyrinth of ledgers, schedules, and reports.
Her pen tapped rhythmically against the polished wood of the desk as she leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling. It had been a long day already, and the weight of her responsibilities pressed against her shoulders. She allowed herself a rare moment of reprieve, closing her eyes and exhaling softly.
But the moment shattered with the faint creak of her office door.
Her eyes snapped open, and before she could process the intrusion, FujimotoRyusuke stepped into the room.
Fujimoto was a brute of a man, his broad shoulders and hulking frame filling the narrow doorway. His neatly pressed suit did little to disguise the raw menace he carried with him. He was older, a seasoned lieutenant whose reputation preceded him—ruthless, blunt, and well-known for his disdain of women in the yakuza.
Akiko straightened in her chair, her surprise quickly masked by a veneer of composure. But inwardly, she bristled. She hadn’t heard him come in. How had he slipped past the security staff without alerting her?
“Fujimoto-san,” she said, her tone icy. “You’re not supposed to be here. What do you want?”
Fujimoto didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he closed the door behind him with deliberate slowness, his twisted smile curling at the edges of his mouth. His sharp eyes glinted with something dark and unspoken, and the way he moved—a slow, deliberate advance toward her desk—sent a chill down Akiko’s spine.
Akiko’s fingers instinctively moved to the underside of her desk, brushing against the concealed button installed there—a silent alarm wired directly to the security team downstairs. Her thumb pressed down, and she kept her expression neutral, hoping the gesture had gone unnoticed.
Fujimoto’s voice broke the silence, low and gravelly. “You look tense, Hanabira-san.”
Her stomach churned, but she held her ground. “I’m busy, Fujimoto-san. Whatever you have to say, you can take it up with my father.”
He chuckled—a deep, sinister sound that sent prickles of unease up her neck. He stepped closer, his presence looming, suffocating. “Your father. Always so busy, isn’t he? But you... you’ve got time for me.”
Her composure wavered slightly, her hand gripping the edge of the desk. “I said, leave. Now.”
Fujimoto didn’t stop. He rounded the corner of the desk, closing the distance between them. His gaze flicked briefly to her purse on a nearby chair, just out of her reach, before returning to her with a cruel glint.
“You’ve got spirit,” he said, his voice dripping with mock admiration. “I like that.”
Akiko’s heart pounded in her chest as she stood abruptly, stepping away from the desk. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. The lamp? Too heavy. The paperweight? Too far.
“Fujimoto-san,” she said sharply, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “I’m warning you. Step back.”
But Fujimoto only laughed, his steps slow and deliberate as he backed her into the corner of the room. His grin widened as he loomed over her, a predator savoring his prey.
“What are you going to do, princess?” he sneered, grabbing her wrists with startling speed. He pinned them against the wall, leaning in too close, his breath hot against her face.
Akiko struggled, her heart racing, but his grip was like iron. “Get off me!” she hissed, trying to twist free.
The door burst open.
Akiko barely registered the movement at first, but then Fujimoto stiffened, his twisted grin faltering. Over his shoulder, Akiko saw Takahashi Daichi step into the room, his sharp eyes narrowing at the scene before him.
“Get off her,” Daichi said, his voice low and cold, the tone of a man who meant every word.
Fujimoto turned his head slightly, his grip on Akiko loosening just enough for her to pull free. “Or what, Daichi?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery. “You gonna scold me?”
Daichi didn’t answer. His hand moved in a blur, and before Fujimoto could react, he was staring down the barrel of a pistol.
“I’ll put a bullet in you,” Daichi said calmly, his aim unwavering.
For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Fujimoto’s lips twisted into a sneer, his hands slowly raising in mock surrender.
“Alright, alright,” he muttered, taking a step back. “You’ve made your point.”
Akiko pressed herself against the wall, her breath coming in shallow gasps as Fujimoto moved away. She watched as Daichi stepped closer, the pistol still trained on the older man.
“Out,” Daichi said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
Fujimoto chuckled darkly, his arrogance only slightly diminished. “Impressive,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “The kid’s got guts.”
But he didn’t argue. With deliberate slowness, he turned and walked toward the door, Daichi following close behind. The pistol never wavered, its presence a constant reminder of the thin line Fujimoto had crossed.
Before leaving, Fujimoto glanced back at Akiko, his twisted smile returning. “We’ll talk again, Hanabira-san. Another time.”
The door closed behind him, and Akiko let out a shaky breath, her legs threatening to give out beneath her.
Daichi returned a few moment later, tucking the pistol into his waistband as he shut the door behind him. His usually stoic expression was tight with anger.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice softer now, “Security’s taking care of him now.”
Akiko nodded, though her hands trembled as she brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice steadying.
Daichi frowned. “He shouldn’t have been able to get in here. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
She nodded again, straightening herself and regaining her composure. “Good. Make sure my father knows.”
“I will,” Daichi said firmly. He hesitated for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning her face. “You need anything else?”
“No,” she said, her tone cold now. “Just handle it.”
“Consider it done. I will be placing two guards by your door from now on. I’ll take my leave.”
Daichi gave a slight bow before stepping out of the room, leaving Akiko alone once more. She sank into her chair, her hands gripping the armrests as she stared at the door.
The Sakura Lounge felt safe again—for now. But in the back of her mind, Akiko knew this wasn’t over.
As the door clicked shut behind Daichi, Akiko rose from her chair with trembling legs and turned the lock with a sharp twist. The sound of the bolt sliding into place echoed in the silence, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the storm inside her.
She pressed her back against the door, her fingers gripping the frame as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. Her breath came in shallow gasps, the walls of her office seeming to close in on her.
Her chest tightened painfully, the edges of her vision blurring. The calm, composed mask she had worn so carefully began to crack, splintering under the weight of what had just happened.
Afternoon – Sakura Lounge,day 6
Akiko stumbled back to her chair and slumped into it, her elbows hitting the desk with a dull thud as she buried her face in her hands. The first sob came quietly, a muffled gasp that escaped before she could stop it.
Then the dam broke.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, her breath hitching as the panic clawed at her throat. She had held herself together for so long—through the constant judgment, the whispers, the pressure to prove herself worthy in a world that dismissed her. But this?
This had been different.
Fujimoto’s leering grin, the heat of his breath on her skin, the feel of his iron grip on her wrists—it all came flooding back in vivid, horrifying detail. She felt exposed, raw, as though the fortress she had so carefully built around herself had been torn down in an instant.
She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as a wave of anger surged through her. How dare he? How dare Fujimoto, with his twisted arrogance, treat her like she was nothing but an object, a target for his vile amusement?
But the anger wasn’t enough to quell the vulnerability, the overwhelming sense of powerlessness that still clung to her. She had been backed into a corner—literally and figuratively—and for a terrifying moment, she hadn’t known how to fight back.
She hated herself for that.
Akiko’s tears slowed, though her body still shook as she sat there, staring blankly at the papers scattered across her desk. She felt a bitter ache in her chest, a weight that refused to lift.
For all her intelligence, for all her ambition, she was still a woman in a world ruled by men like Fujimoto. Men who saw her as nothing more than an annoyance at best, a toy at worst. Her father’s name had protected her for so long, but now?
Does it even matter? she thought bitterly. If they don’t respect me, they’ll always find ways to remind me of my place.
Her mind drifted back to Takagi, to the way his sharp gaze had softened when he spoke to her, the way he had treated her with respect—not out of obligation, but because he seemed to see her as an equal.
The memory brought a faint warmth to her chest, but it was quickly overshadowed by the weight of her current reality.
Takagi was an enigma, a dangerous one at that. Whatever fleeting connection they had shared earlier that day felt like a distant dream now, eclipsed by the harsh truth of her position.
She couldn’t rely on fleeting kindness, couldn’t afford to let her guard down. If today had taught her anything, it was that she was more vulnerable than she had allowed herself to believe.
Akiko wiped her face with trembling hands, her breath still shaky as she forced herself to sit upright. She couldn’t let this break her—not now, not ever. Fujimoto had taken something from her today, but she would take it back.
Her gaze hardened as she looked around her office, her mind already working to regain control. She would tighten security, demand answers about how Fujimoto had slipped past the staff. She would confront her father if she had to, demand that something be done about men like Fujimoto.
No one would see her like this again.
She straightened her blouse, smoothing the fabric with deliberate precision as she steadied her breathing. The tears were gone now, replaced by a cold determination.
They’ll learn, she thought, her jaw tightening. They’ll all learn.
Late Afternoon – Hanabira Mansion,day 6
Hanabira Koji sat in his private study, the faint scent of cedar and tobacco filling the room. The sliding doors were closed, and the soft light of a paper lantern cast long shadows across the rows of bookshelves and the low lacquered desk. Koji exuded his usual air of control, his posture straight, his expression unreadable as he thumbed through a stack of financial reports.
The knock on the door was firm but polite.
“Enter,” Koji said without looking up.
Takahashi Daichi stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He gave a respectful bow, his sharp eyes flicking briefly over the room before settling on Koji.
“Hanabira-san,” Daichi began, his voice steady. “There’s been an incident.”
Koji’s gaze lifted, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he gestured for Daichi to continue.
“Fujimoto came to the Sakura Lounge earlier today,” Daichi said, choosing his words carefully. “He forced his way into Akiko-san’s office and... behaved inappropriately.”
Koji’s expression didn’t change, but the slight pause in his movements betrayed his surprise. “Inappropriately?”
Daichi’s jaw tightened. “He cornered her. Put his hands on her. He was going to attack her in a very intimate way, oyabun.”
Koji’s fingers drummed lightly against the desk, the rhythm precise and deliberate. “And?”
“I intervened, broke it up before things got worse.” Daichi said, his voice firm. “He let her go when I drew on him, but not without making a scene. He left the building at gunpoint. He chuckled the whole time.”
Koji leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. His calm exterior was like stone, but Daichi could sense the wheels turning behind those sharp eyes.
“That man,” Koji said finally, his voice low, “has grown too bold.”
Daichi nodded, though he knew better than to speak without being prompted.
Koji rose from his chair and moved to the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared out at the manicured garden below. The faint rustle of the cherry blossoms in the breeze seemed to emphasize the tension in the room.
“This wasn’t just about her,” Koji said, his tone measured but edged with steel. “Fujimoto was sending a message. To me.”
Daichi remained silent, waiting.
Koji turned slightly, his sharp gaze settling on Daichi. “He wants to prove something. That he can walk into my house—violate my blood—and face no consequences. It’s a declaration, Takahashi. He believes he’s above reproach.”
The words hung in the air like a blade.
Koji’s expression darkened slightly, though his tone remained calm. “Fujimoto is valuable to the clan. A good earner, with connections we’ve relied on for years. But ambition...” His voice trailed off, and for a moment, the faintest flicker of disdain crossed his features.
“He thinks he can challenge you,” Daichi said carefully.
Koji inclined his head. “Yes. And he thinks Akiko is the perfect symbol for his rebellion. Touching her wasn’t just an act of dominance over her—it was a message to me. A warning that he believes this clan would be better under his rule.”
Daichi hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly. He had expected Koji’s focus to land on Fujimoto’s insolence, but the lack of concern for Akiko gnawed at him.
“She’s your daughter,” Daichi said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “He crossed a line.”
Koji’s gaze flicked to him, cold and calculating. “Akiko understands the life we lead. She knows the risks.”
Daichi’s fists clenched subtly at his sides, though his expression remained calm. “She’s still your blood.”
Koji waved a hand dismissively. “Spare me the sentimentality, Takahashi. My blood is nothing if my authority is undermined. Fujimoto’s actions are a challenge to me, not her.”
Koji returned to his desk, lowering himself into the chair with a deliberate grace. “He must be disciplined, but not in a way that fractures the clan. The others respect him—or at least what he brings to the table. If I move too quickly, they’ll question my judgment.”
Daichi nodded, though the taste of the words sat bitterly on his tongue.
“I’ll have a conversation with him,” Koji said, his tone calm but carrying an edge of finality. “A warning. He’ll know exactly where the line is, and what will happen if he crosses it again.”
“And if he doesn’t heed the warning?” Daichi asked.
Koji’s lips curved faintly, though there was no humor in the gesture. “Then I’ll cut him down myself.”
Koji reached for his phone, turning it over in his hand as he glanced at Daichi. “I’ll speak to her now. Get it out of the way.”
“She’ll want to know he’s being dealt with,” Daichi said carefully.
Koji’s gaze sharpened. “She’ll know what I choose to tell her.”
Daichi gave a slight bow, suppressing the frustration that threatened to surface. “Understood, Hanabira-san.”
As Koji dialed the number, Daichi turned and left the study, his footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet hall.
Late Afternoon – Sakura Lounge,day 6
Akiko sat at her desk, her hands trembling faintly as she tidied the scattered papers into neat piles. The room still felt heavy with Fujimoto’s presence, the memory of his twisted grin and overpowering presence lingering like a stain she couldn’t scrub clean.
She had managed to pull herself together, but the rawness of her earlier breakdown still clung to her, fragile and unresolved. The knock on her door from a security guard earlier had reassured her that Daichi had taken control of the situation, but the lingering vulnerability left her on edge.
When her phone buzzed against the desk, she flinched, her heart skipping a beat. She glanced at the screen.
Father.
For a moment, she considered letting it ring, unsure if she was ready to hear his voice. But the thought of ignoring him—of what that might imply—pushed her to answer.
She swiped the screen, bringing the phone to her ear.
“Akiko,” came her father’s voice, low and calm, tinged with an uncharacteristic softness.
“Father,” she replied, her tone measured but not cold.
“I’ve just spoken with Daichi,” Koji began, his words deliberate. “He told me what happened.”
Akiko’s grip on the phone tightened. She waited, unsure of how much he would actually address.
“You must have been... startled,” he said after a moment, his tone carrying a practiced concern that didn’t quite reach his usual authority.
Startled? The word felt insufficient, almost laughably so, but Akiko didn’t correct him. “I wasn’t expecting him,” she said instead, her voice carefully neutral.
“Of course not,” Koji replied, as if placating her. “What Fujimoto did—his audacity—is inexcusable. I want you to know we’re summoning him. I’ll handle this personally.”
Akiko swallowed hard, her pulse quickening at the mention of Fujimoto’s name. “What does ‘handling it’ mean, Father?”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and when Koji spoke again, his voice had taken on a slightly sharper edge. “It means he will know his place. His actions were a slight against the clan, not just you. I won’t tolerate it.”
She nodded to herself, though the words did little to soothe the knot in her chest. “I understand.”
Koji’s tone softened again, shifting back to the faintly paternal warmth he used sparingly. “Akiko, you’ve been working hard—too hard, perhaps. I want you to take tomorrow off.”
“Take tomorrow off?” she echoed, surprised.
“Perhaps even a few days,” Koji continued. “You’ve done well managing the Sakura Lounge, but after today’s... incident, I’d prefer you stayed home. Rest.”
Akiko hesitated, her mind racing with conflicting thoughts. Part of her wanted to refuse—taking time off felt like admitting weakness, as though she couldn’t handle the pressures of her position. But another part of her, raw and tired, longed for the brief reprieve.
“I don’t need time off,” she said carefully. “The lounge needs me.”
Koji’s voice was firmer now, leaving little room for argument. “The lounge will survive a few days without you. Consider this an order.”
Her grip on the phone tightened, but she relented. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” Koji said. “This isn’t a punishment, Akiko. It’s for your own good.”
There was a pause, the silence stretching between them like a chasm. Akiko wanted to believe his concern was genuine, but she knew her father too well. His focus would always be on the clan first, and her well-being—if it mattered at all—was a distant second.
“Thank you,” she said finally, her voice quiet.
“Good,” Koji replied. “I’ll speak to you again soon. And don’t worry about Fujimoto. He won’t step out of line again.”
The line went dead before she could respond, leaving her alone with her thoughts once more.
Akiko set the phone down on her desk, her fingers brushing against the smooth surface as her mind replayed the conversation.
Her father’s tone had been calm, even comforting, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that his focus had been elsewhere. His words about Fujimoto being “handled” had felt more like a statement of control over the clan than an act of protection for her.
Was that his way of showing concern? she wondered bitterly.
She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling as the familiar ache of disappointment settled over her. Koji had always been distant, more of a figurehead than a parent. And yet, part of her had hoped—just for a moment—that he might have shown something more.
But hope was a foolish thing in their world, and Akiko had learned long ago to bury it deep.
Akiko leaned back in her chair, the soft creak of the leather filling the silence of her office. The phone sat on the desk, its screen dark now, but her father’s words echoed in her mind.
Take tomorrow off. Rest. This isn’t a punishment.
It wasn’t about her. It never was. Her father’s decision to summon Fujimoto, to “handle” him, wasn’t born from concern for her safety. It was about dominance, about ensuring the clan understood who still held the reins. Fujimoto had slighted him, not her—or at least, that was how Koji saw it.
Her jaw tightened as the familiar ache of frustration settled in her chest. She had spent her entire life trying to prove herself, to carve out a place in the clan where she could be more than just Hanabira Koji’s daughter. But moments like this reminded her of how fragile that place truly was.
She rubbed her wrists absentmindedly, the phantom sensation of Fujimoto’s iron grip still lingering there. The memory sent a fresh wave of unease through her, and she clenched her fists tightly, willing herself to push it away.
Never again, she thought bitterly. I won’t let someone back me into a corner like that again.
But the truth was harder to swallow. No matter how capable she was, no matter how much she achieved, there would always be men like Fujimoto—men who saw her as weak, as nothing more than a stepping stone to greater power.
Her gaze drifted to the corner of her desk where a sleek pen rested beside her notepad. The sight brought an unexpected thought to mind: Takagi.
She still didn’t understand why she had agreed to lunch with him, why she had given him her number. But now, in the quiet aftermath of the day’s events, she found herself thinking about him again.
Takagi had been bold, confident—dangerously so. But he had also been... respectful. He had looked at her in a way that few men did, not with disdain or lechery, but with something quieter, something genuine.
I’d like that.
Her own words echoed back to her, and she felt a faint warmth creeping into her chest despite herself. There was a small comfort in the memory of his presence, in the way he had treated her like an equal, even if it had been fleeting.
But it wasn’t just comfort. There was curiosity, too.
Akiko sat up straighter, brushing her hair back from her face as she reached for her pen. Her fingers hesitated over the notepad, tapping it lightly as her mind churned.
Should I call him?
The thought alone was reckless. Takagi was Nagasawa-kai—an enforcer, no less. Their clans were on the brink of conflict, and any connection between them could be seen as betrayal.
But...
But he had been kind. And after everything she had endured today, she needed that.
Her hand stilled, the pen resting against the paper. The weight of her thoughts pressed heavily against her chest, the vulnerability she had buried all day threatening to resurface.
What was she doing? Why was she even entertaining this idea? It was reckless, foolish, dangerous.
And yet, she didn’t put the pen down.
Akiko’s fingers tightened around the pen as she stared at the blank page before her. The notepad seemed to mock her indecision, its emptiness a reflection of the void she couldn’t quite fill. She tapped the pen lightly, her thoughts spinning in circles, each one more complicated than the last.
Would Takagi think less of her if he knew what had happened? No, she decided. It wasn’t weakness. She had been cornered, nearly violated by a man who should have been a trusted lieutenant of her father’s clan. It wasn’t her fault. But then came the crushing reality that followed—her father’s hollow words of concern, his focus not on her well-being but on what Fujimoto’s actions symbolized.
What had he said? “Take a few days off.” As if she could so easily untangle herself from the risks she navigated daily.
Her knuckles whitened around the pen as anger and frustration surged within her. She had built something profitable and legitimate, as much as one could in this world. The Sakura Lounge was thriving, a shining example of her competence. And yet, it didn’t matter. The risks were always there—men like Fujimoto waiting for her to falter, her father’s dismissive attitude reminding her that, to him, she was just another piece on the board.
Were all yakuza like this? Her mind drifted back to Takagi. He didn’t seem like the others—didn’t leer, didn’t sneer, didn’t demand. His compliments earlier in the day had felt sincere, unforced. Even his playful confidence had carried an undercurrent of respect.
Was he different, or was she simply desperate to believe someone could be?
She let out a shaky breath, her hand trembling slightly as the pen pressed against the paper. The risks she faced were climbing higher than she cared to admit, and even if she wanted to leave, she knew she couldn’t. Her position in the Hanabira-gumi made her a target, no matter where she went. She would never be safe.
A shudder ran through her, an icy chill settling in her chest as she contemplated the thought. If she called Takagi—if she trusted him—would he protect her? Could he?
Her resolve broke, the thought consuming her. She needed to reach out. Even a short, simple text would be enough—a bridge to a conversation, to something that might anchor her in this storm. But then the realization struck her like a blow.
She didn’t have his number.
Her heart dropped, a cold, sinking feeling replacing the flicker of hope she’d been holding onto. She had no way of contacting him, no way of reaching out even if she dared. Her breaths came shallow and quick, panic threading through her thoughts as she sat frozen, her mind scrambling for a solution.
Her eyes darted to her laptop on the desk. An idea sparked—reckless, foolish, but better than sitting in helpless silence. She reached for it, flipping the screen open and typing rapidly, her fingers trembling.
She scrolled through the results, her eyes scanning the text as the glow of the screen illuminated her determined expression.
What she was searching for? Did she even know? But as the faint, resolute glint in her eyes returned, one thing was clear: she wasn’t giving up just yet.
