Top Posts Tagged with #hayashiflora

Stay With Me (Sano Mikey Manjiro x Reader)

Chapter 1

Crazy

"Please let us go, boss. Please spare us. Show mercy," the male pleaded, his voice thick with desperation, but his plea was brutally cut short as a gunshot echoed through the room. He crumpled instantly, a searing pain blooming in his chest. A heavy, metallic scent—the unmistakable aroma of fresh blood—already hung thick and sickly sweet in the air, a silent, chilling testament to the violence that had just unfolded.

The pinkette, high on his favorite pills, fixed the traitor with a wild, unsettling gaze. "You should've known better than betraying Bonten. You know how much we hate traitors. Especially me."

High on his pills, the pinkette descended into a calculated frenzy. The building became an echo chamber for pure agony; the traitors' screams were relentless, sharp bursts of sound tearing through the tense silence of the hallways. Occasionally, a choked, ugly sob would mix with the din, but for the most part, it was just the brutal, unending sound of pain.

The [H/C] woman was deep in the world of her manga, her mind tracking a fictional crime, when the noise cut through the page. A high, desperate scream tore out of the nearby building, followed by another, chillingly real. Her first, logical instinct was to flee. But the horrifying sounds had already flipped a switch deep inside her. For someone obsessed with mystery and thriller stories, the actual, terrifying unknown was an irresistible magnet. She lowered the book, eyes fixed on the entrance, unable to turn away.

The moment Y/N stepped through the threshold, the air itself became a suffocating weight, heavy with the metallic tang of blood. She barely noticed the eight figures standing in the center of the room, her gaze instantly locked onto the grotesque display of three brutally killed men—bodies damaged to an unrecognizable degree. It was a scene ripped straight from a thriller, chillingly real. Then, amidst the horror, her gaze was caught by one of the observers: a man with striking short, platinum-white hair and unnerving obsidian eyes. He held her attention only for an instant before she recovered, realizing the extreme danger. She instinctively clamped a hand over her nose to ward off the sickening stench of carnage.

It was already too late. A powerful arm shot out from behind her, crushing her into a solid chest. A panicked squeal was forced past her lips as her arms were wrenched behind her back and held in an inescapable lock. She was an intruder, and her presence had not gone unnoticed.

"Boss, a woman is hiding here," a low voice reported.

It belonged to a tall, muscular man dressed entirely in black, including a long trench coat. His striking features—short black hair, a thick scar running from the back of his head to his left eyebrow, resulting in a damaged, left blind eye, and the flash of a red iris—made him impossible to ignore. A single earring gleamed on his right ear.

Just as terror threatened to overwhelm her, the chilling grip around her was violently interrupted. Two blurs of motion tore across the room, and the man pinning Y/N absorbed a staggering punch that sent him stumbling back. Y/N stumbled, catching her breath as she saw her attackers: two familiar faces whose arrival was both shocking and a relief.

"Kakucho, let her go," ordered the man with the striking purple mullet. His face was set in a glare that promised more pain if the command wasn't followed.

Kakucho rubbed his jaw, recovering quickly from the blow. He looked at Rindou with a mixture of confusion and irritation. "What the hell, Rindou? Did you take Sanzu's pills or something to be hitting me like that?"

The older Haitani, Ran, didn't bother with an explanation. "Shut up," he said, his voice carrying an unquestionable tone of authority.

The older Haitani's command hung in the air, instantly silencing the two men. Rindou immediately turned his attention to the woman. He gently placed a hand on Y/N's shoulder, checking for injuries as he looked her over. "Are you alright, Y/N?" he asked, his tone worried and surprisingly soft.

A wave of relief washed over Y/N at the sound of Rindou's worried voice. She offered a quick, affirmative nod, the movement stiff and slight. She was unhurt, physically, but the immediate release of tension made her sway slightly on her feet.

The pinkette, Sanzu, stepped away from the carnage, his high-laced fury now focused on the brothers. His eyes, wide and unnerving, flickered between Y/N and the Haitanis. "Is she your secret lover or something?" he sneered, his voice laced with venomous contempt. "Why the hell are you both defending that bitch?" Sanzu considers women as bitches and whores who bug them for attention.

"No, she is not," Ran snapped, his tone dismissive and sharp. He cut Sanzu off with a harsh glare. "Shut the hell up. Don't talk about her without knowing her."

"Ran? Rindou? What is this?" Her voice was barely a whisper now, small and fragile in the large, echoing space. "Why is there so much blood? You guys wouldn't..." She trailed off, her eyes wide as she looked into Ran's cold, warning expression. The realization that she didn't actually know these men at all except Ran and Rindou hit her with the force of a physical blow, stealing the very air from her lungs.

"Wait, Princess," Ran said, his voice dropping to a smooth, honeyed tone that felt dangerously out of place amidst the carnage. He took a small step toward her, his expression softening just enough to be disarming. "Just take a breath. Let us explain."

"I didn't want you to find out like this," Rindou began, his voice low and steady despite the metallic tang of blood in the air. He stood his ground, his eyes fixed on hers. "But it's time you know. Ran and I... we're executives of Bonten. This is the world we actually live in."

"Fucking hell!" Y/N's scream echoed off the high ceilings, her hands flying to her hair in disbelief. "Bonten... you're telling me you're part of Bonten? I can't believe this! You both stood there and lied to my face while you were doing... this?!"

Kokonoi leaned against a nearby pillar, seemingly bored by the carnage but intensely focused on the intruder. He flicked a stray speck of dust off his expensive suit. "Well?" he prompted, his voice echoing in the silent building. "Are you going to introduce us to the guest, or are we just going to keep standing in this mess? Who is she?"

"Who the hell is she?" Takeomi stepped forward, the glowing tip of his cigarette the only light in the shadow of his face. As the advisor, his mind was already cataloging the risks. He glanced from the bodies on the floor to the terrified woman. "Well, Haitanis? Is she a witness, or a reason for us to have another headache?"

Y/N let out a shallow, shaky breath, her face a ghostly shade of pale. "Umm, can we first go to a better place?" she asked, her voice cracking. She didn't wait for an answer, her eyes darting toward the exit. The presence of the other men was terrifying, but the room itself was a nightmare she couldn't endure for another second.

"How about the Haitani residency?" Ran offered, his gaze lingering on Y/N's pale face. He could see her trembling, and the "Princess" nickname felt hollow in a room that smelled of death. Beside him, Rindou was already moving to guide her toward the exit, his silent agreement clear. They needed to move—not just for her sake, but to keep the world of Bonten from swallowing her whole right then and there.

"Ok," Mikey said. The word was barely a whisper, yet it silenced the room more effectively than Ran's threats ever could. He didn't even look up, his hollow gaze fixed on some distant point. Without a second's delay, Ran and Rindou moved. They didn't wait for Sanzu to protest or for Kokonoi to ask more questions. They had the only approval that mattered, and they were going to use it to get Y/N out of that hellhole before Mikey changed his mind.

Before she could even protest, Ran hooked his arms under her knees and back, lifting her against his chest as if she weighed nothing at all. He didn't care about the blood on his suit or the eyes of the other executives; his only focus was getting her out. Rindou fell into step right behind them, his hand hovering near her as a secondary shield, while the rest of the Bonten members followed at a distance like a dark, silent funeral procession. The steady beat of Ran's heart against her ear was the only thing keeping Y/N grounded as the "slaughterhouse" finally vanished behind them.

The interior of the limousine was a world of polished wood and soft ambient lighting—a cruel contrast to the dark, metallic-smelling warehouse they had just left. Ran leaned back, crossing his legs with a sigh of local exhaustion, while Rindou stared out the window, his jaw tight. Y/N sat between them, shivering despite the warmth of the car. She looked down at her own clothes, terrified she'd find a stray drop of blood on her skin. They were moving fast, whisking her away to a private fortress where she would finally have to face the truth.

The elevator opened directly into a sprawling penthouse that overlooked the glowing veins of the Tokyo skyline. Ran stepped out first, still holding Y/N securely. He didn't stop until he reached the oversized velvet sofa, gently setting her down amidst the plush cushions. The air here didn't smell like iron; it smelled of expensive sandalwood and rain.

"Rindou, get her some water," Ran directed, peeling off his blood-stained blazer and tossing it aside as if it were nothing more than a dirty rag. He knelt in front of Y/N, his lilac eyes searching her (h/c) ones. "You're safe now, Princess. No more blood, okay?"

Despite being the one who had nearly fainted moments ago, Y/N's hospitable instinct kicked in as a defense mechanism, her voice small but clear as she told the group to make themselves comfortable. The shift in the room was palpable; the air of a "Bonten execution" was replaced by a surreal domesticity that felt entirely wrong. Sanzu let out a sharp, mocking bark of laughter, his eyes wide and roaming over the high-end decor as if he were looking for something to break. He didn't sit; instead, he leaned against a marble countertop, his hand resting near his mask as he stared at Y/N with a mixture of intense curiosity and blatant disrespect, clearly finding the civilian's attempt at politeness hilarious.

Kokonoi was the first to actually take the invitation, sinking into a designer armchair with a grace that suggested he owned the place himself. He crossed his legs, his eyes immediately scanning the room to calculate the value of the Haitanis' private taste, though he kept a sharp, analytical gaze on Y/N. Beside him, Takeomi remained near the entrance, his posture stiff as he lit another cigarette, giving a curt, skeptical nod toward her. Kakucho, however, looked the most conflicted. He stood with his arms crossed, his scarred face set in a deep frown. Unlike the others, he seemed to actually feel the weight of her distress; he didn't sit, but he shifted his weight, his gaze softening with a flicker of pity as he realized just how out of her depth she was in a room full of killers.

Mochi leaned his massive frame against a nearby wall, his presence making the expensive room feel suddenly cramped. He let out a low huff—somewhere between a grunt of acknowledgement and a sigh of boredom. He didn't care for the hospitality or the aesthetics of the penthouse; he was merely waiting for the order to move or stay. His eyes trailed toward the kitchen, likely wondering if "comfortable" included a drink or a meal, but he remained a silent, looming sentinel. The Haitani brothers reacted with a strange sense of possessive pride; Ran's lips curled into a faint smirk at Y/N's resilience, while Rindou moved to the kitchen to fetch water, his jaw tight as he ignored the judging eyes of his fellow executives.

At the center of the awkward stillness was Mikey. The "Boss" moved with a ghostly quietness, eventually taking a seat on the edge of a sleek lounge chair. He didn't look comfortable, but he didn't look out of place either—he simply existed in the space, his dark, obsidian eyes fixed on Y/N with a terrifying blankness. His presence was the anchor that kept everyone else in line; as long as he sat there, the residency was no longer just the brothers' home—it was a Bonten meeting ground. The tension remained thick enough to cut, a silent acknowledgment that while they were "comfortable," the danger hadn't left the room.

The air in the room seemed to thin even further as the words left Y/N's lips. The revelation of her name—of the shared bloodline—hit the executives with varying degrees of shock, instantly reframing why the brothers had been so uncharacteristically defensive.

Sanzu went dead silent, the mocking glint in his eyes replaced by a sharp, calculating squint. He looked between her and the brothers, trying to find the resemblance in her half-Japanese, half-Filipino features. The fact that she was a Haitani meant she wasn't just some "bitch" to be discarded; she was a liability to the family name and, by extension, to the organization. He tightened his grip on the marble counter, his mind racing with how this piece of information could be used or weaponized in the future.

Kokonoi raised a single, groomed eyebrow, his interest piqued by the mention of her heritage and her age. "Twenty-five, and a stepsister," he mused under his breath, his brain already cataloging her as a "protected asset" rather than a civilian witness. He exchanged a quick, knowing look with Takeomi, who let out a long, slow exhale of cigarette smoke. For the advisor, the situation had just gone from a simple security breach to a complex family matter that involved the hierarchy of the Bonten inner circle. Mochi and Kakucho shifted uncomfortably; the weight of her identity made their previous silence feel much more respectful, as they realized they were looking at the only woman the brothers would ever truly kill for.

Ran and Rindou didn't flinch, though a subtle tension left Ran's shoulders now that the truth was out in the open. Ran stepped closer to Y/N, his hand resting almost protectively on the back of the sofa where she sat. "Now you know," he said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly tone that addressed the room as much as her. Rindou returned from the kitchen, handing her the glass of water with a trembling hand that he tried his best to hide. He didn't look at his colleagues; he only looked at her, his expression a mix of exhaustion and a strange sense of relief that the double life was finally over.

Mikey remained the most unreadable of all. At the mention of her being 25 and family to his executives, his obsidian eyes flickered—the first sign of life since they had entered the penthouse. He didn't speak immediately, but the way he tilted his head suggested he was reassessing her value. In the world of Bonten, family was a weakness, but for the Haitanis, she was clearly their anchor. The "Princess" title wasn't just a nickname anymore; it was a rank, and every man in that room knew the rules had just changed.

The silence in the room was so thick it felt physical, a heavy pressure that seemed to push against the walls of the penthouse. Y/N's voice, small and uncertain, cut through the quiet like a glass shattering on marble. When she asked if she had said something wrong, Rindou didn't hesitate; his "no, princess" was the softest his voice had been all night, a rare moment of genuine tenderness that stood in stark contrast to the blood still drying on his knuckles. He moved closer to her, his shadow falling over her feet, desperate to convince her that her identity wasn't a curse, even if he knew the truth was far more complicated.

"Then why is everyone quiet?" she pressed, her gaze flickering from one cold, stony face to another. The silence wasn't because she was wrong—it was because she had just humanized the two most efficient "cleaners" in the organization. For Sanzu, the silence was a mask for the chaotic gears turning in his head; he was realizing that the Haitani brothers had a soft spot, a literal Achilles' heel sitting right in front of him. Kokonoi and Takeomi remained silent because they were calculating the logistics—how do you protect a civilian who knows the faces of Japan's most wanted? Her heritage and age were just data points to them, but her connection to Ran and Rindou was a massive, unforeseen variable in their carefully managed world.

Kakucho was the only one who looked away, unable to maintain eye contact with the girl who had just claimed kinship with monsters. His silence was one of guilt; he knew better than anyone that once you were "known" by Bonten, you could never truly be invisible again. Mochi simply exhaled a long, heavy breath, his massive chest heaving. He wasn't quiet out of shock, but out of a grim understanding of what came next. The "quiet" she felt was the collective weight of six dangerous men realizing that the rules of engagement had shifted. They weren't just looking at a witness anymore; they were looking at a piece of the Haitani soul.

Finally, the silence was anchored by Mikey, who sat perfectly still, his dark eyes never leaving Y/N's face. He was quiet because he was observing the "light" she brought into the room—a light that didn't belong in the darkness of Bonten. To him, her question was a reminder of a world he no longer inhabited, one where people asked for permission and worried about saying the "wrong" thing. He didn't answer her, but his continued silence was the loudest of all, signaling to the rest of the executives that for now, she was to be observed, not touched. The "better place" she wanted was still a room full of predators, only now they knew exactly what she was worth.

The sudden urge to retreat into a familiar routine hit Y/N like a wave, her voice trembling slightly as she stood and whispered, "Well, I'd better go practice." It was a desperate attempt to reclaim a shred of her normal life, a way to block out the suffocating presence of the six killers occupying her living room. She didn't wait for a response, her eyes fixed on the hallway that led to her sanctuary, away from the metallic scent of blood and the piercing, hollow gaze of the "Boss." The statement felt absurdly ordinary in such a grotesque context, but as she moved, the executives watched her in a stunned, heavy silence, wondering how she could even think of something as mundane as practice while the world they had just dragged her into threatened to pull her under completely.

Mochi's gravelly voice broke the brief silence, his brow furrowing as he processed the sheer absurdity of her comment. "Practice what?" he asked, his tone more confused than aggressive, though the sheer volume of his voice seemed to vibrate the glass coffee table. To a man like Mochi, whose life was measured in territories and physical force, the concept of a "practice" that didn't involve a shooting range or a boxing gym was entirely foreign. He looked at her small frame and then at the Haitanis, his eyes demanding to know what kind of hobby could be so important that she would try to excuse herself from a room full of the nation's most wanted criminals.

The word hung in the air, sounding impossibly light against the grim backdrop of the penthouse. "Oh! Choreograph," Y/N clarified, a small spark of her own identity flickering back to life despite the surrounding shadows. The admission shifted the tension once more, replacing the heavy dread with a sharp, confused curiosity from the men in the room.

Kokonoi's question was sharp and laced with the pragmatic skepticism of a man who didn't do anything without a clear "why." "Why are you gonna go do that, though?" he asked, his voice smooth but inquisitive as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. To him, the transition from a life-altering revelation about a criminal empire to practicing a dance routine was a leap in logic he couldn't quite calculate. He wasn't being cruel; he was genuinely baffled by the idea of someone prioritizing art over the immediate, terrifying reality of the men sitting in her living room.

Ran let out a low, melodic chuckle that vibrated through the tense air of the room, a sound that was both charming and deeply unsettling given the circumstances. He leaned back against the sofa, the sharp lines of his expensive suit shifting as he tilted his head to look at Kokonoi with a mocking glint in his lilac eyes. "Koko, don't be so dense," he drawled, his voice smooth as silk. "She has a deadline. Unlike us, her world actually runs on a schedule that doesn't involve waiting for someone to stop breathing."

Rindou's voice was steady as he spoke, his tone laced with a sharp, defensive edge that warned the others not to dismiss her career as a mere hobby. "She is a choreographer. She owns her own studio," he stated, the words carrying a heavy sense of pride that he rarely showed to his colleagues. By emphasizing her ownership, he was making it clear that Y/N wasn't just a girl with a dream—she was a businesswoman, an artist with a domain of her own that had nothing to do with the underworld or the blood on their hands. He stood a little taller, his gaze challenging anyone in the room to find a flaw in that reality.

The sudden, sharp exclamation of "Oh shit" from Y/N shattered the fragile quiet of the room, her eyes widening as she frantically checked the notification on her phone. The blood-drenched tension of the night was instantly swapped for a different kind of panic, one that was entirely civilian yet clearly overwhelming. Ran was on his feet in a second, his movements fluid and predatory as his previous amusement vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp alertness. "What happened?" he questioned, his voice dropping into that dangerous, low register he used when he was ready to eliminate a threat, his hand instinctively reaching for the weapon hidden beneath his blazer as his lilac eyes darted from his sister to the entrance, ready to tear apart whatever—or whoever—had managed to make her pale with such sudden terror.

"I'm hungry," Y/N blurted out, the sheer absurdity of the statement hanging in the air like a neon sign in a graveyard. The adrenaline that had kept her heart hammering for the last hour had finally bottomed out, leaving behind a hollow, gnawing emptiness that didn't care about secret organizations or high-stakes executions.

Ran let out a breathy, startled laugh, his hand sliding off the hilt of his weapon as his protective tension snapped into amused disbelief. "God, you really are a Haitani," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Even with the world ending, you're thinking with your stomach."

Rindou didn't even skip a beat; he was already halfway to the kitchen, his jaw set in a look of grim determination. "I'll order something. Don't move," he muttered, pulling out his phone. He looked like he was preparing for a tactical extraction, but he was really scrolling through high-end delivery apps to find something that wouldn't upset her stomach after the shock.

Sanzu threw his head back and groaned, his mask shifting with the force of his annoyance. "Are you serious? We're discussing the security of the most powerful syndicate in the country, and the Princess wants a snack?" He looked like he wanted to scream, but the way Ran's eyes flickered toward him kept his hand far away from his katana.

Kokonoi smirked, tapping a rhythmic beat against his thigh with his designer credit card. "Order the most expensive sushi in the city, Rindou. Put it on my tab," he said smoothly. To Koko, a hungry girl was a problem he could solve with money, and he found the mundane request a refreshing break from the usual talk of money laundering.

Takeomi just sighed, a cloud of cigarette smoke billowing around his head as he looked at the ceiling. He looked like a tired father who had spent too much time at a chaotic playground. He didn't say anything, but he shifted his weight, seemingly accepting that the "serious" portion of the evening was officially over.

Kakucho blinked, his scarred face softening into a look of genuine surprise before a small, lopsided smile tugged at his lips. He was the only one who looked truly relieved. To him, her hunger was a sign that she was still human—that the darkness of the warehouse hadn't completely broken her spirit yet.

Mochi let out a low, guttural grunt that sounded like a tectonic plate shifting. He didn't look annoyed; he looked related. "Finally, someone says it," he rumbled, his stomach giving a loud, answering growl that echoed through the minimalist living room. He looked at Rindou expectantly, clearly hoping the order would be large enough for everyone.

Mikey, who had been a silent ghost in the corner, finally shifted. He looked at Y/N, his obsidian eyes unblinking, before his gaze drifted to the kitchen. "I want taiyaki," he said, his voice quiet but absolute. The Boss had spoken, and just like that, the "Bonten meeting" had officially transformed into a surreal, late-night dinner party.

"Oh, brother, order ice cream too! I really need something sweet right now," Y/N added, her voice regaining a bit of its usual spark as she looked hopefully at Rindou. The request for something as innocent as ice cream felt like a fever dream in a room occupied by men who usually spent their nights deciding the fate of Tokyo's underground.

Rindou just groaned, though there was no real heat in it. He was already aggressively tapping on his phone screen. "Fine. Vanilla? Chocolate? Just don't blame me if you can't sleep later because of the sugar," he muttered, though he was already adding the most expensive artisan pints to the digital cart.

Ran beamed, looking entirely too proud of her. "That's my girl. A little sugar to take the edge off the trauma," he said, winking at her. He seemed delighted that she felt comfortable enough to demand treats in front of a group of international criminals.

Sanzu looked like he was about to have a physical meltdown. "Ice cream? Are we having a damn slumber party now?" He paced back and forth, his coat fluttering. "Someone fetch the pajamas and the nail polish! We can talk about the narcotics trade while we eat sprinkles!"

Kokonoi didn't even look up from his phone. "Order the gold-leaf-topped ones from that place in Ginza, Rindou. I want to see if it actually tastes like anything," he said, his obsession with luxury overriding his confusion.

Takeomi rubbed his temples, looking like he had aged ten years in ten minutes. "At least it'll keep everyone's mouths shut for a few minutes," he grumbled, though he didn't protest.

Kakucho chuckled softly, the tension completely leaving his frame. "Make sure there's enough for everyone. I think we could all use a bit of a reset," he suggested, glancing toward the others with a rare, relaxed expression.

Mochi nodded solemnly, as if the ice cream was a tactical necessity. "Strawberry for me," he rumbled, his voice like gravel. The image of the massive, scarred man eating a bowl of strawberry ice cream was almost enough to make Y/N forget about the warehouse.

Mikey tilted his head at the mention of sweets, his interest finally fully piqued. "Ice cream goes well with taiyaki," he stated simply. It wasn't a suggestion; it was an observation of fact. With the Boss's official endorsement of the dessert menu, the last shred of "Bonten's terrifying reputation" vanished into the scent of the upcoming delivery.

"So... are you gonna introduce yourselves?" Y/N asked, her voice gaining a sudden, bold clarity as she gestured toward the line of dangerous men sitting in her living room. "I mean, I've already announced my whole life story and my job, and you guys are just sitting there looking like a very expensive, very scary wax museum."

Sanzu was the first to break, a jagged, manic grin spreading behind his mask. "You've got some nerve, Princess," he cackled, bowing with a mocking, theatrical flourish. "Akashi Sanzu. Bonten's Number Two. I'm the one who handles the 'trash,' so try not to get on my bad side—it's a very messy place to be."

Kokonoi didn't look up from his phone, but he gave a lazy wave of his hand. "Hajime Kokonoi. I run the money. If you ever want to buy a studio in every city on the planet, I'm the person you talk to. Just don't ask where the yen comes from; it's better for your conscience that way."

Takeomi exhaled a long plume of smoke, looking at her with a tired, almost respectful gaze. "Takeomi Akashi. Advisor. I basically try to keep these idiots from burning the city down every other week. Sorry about the mess earlier; it wasn't exactly a 'first-impression' kind of night."

Kakucho stood up slightly, giving her a surprisingly polite nod. "Kakucho. I lead the hit units, but tonight... let's just say I'm the one making sure nobody else bothers you. It's nice to meet a Haitani who actually has manners."

Mochi didn't move from his spot against the wall, but his deep voice rumbled through the room. "Kanji Mochizuki. Mochi. I handle the muscle. If anyone gives you trouble, tell your brothers. If they're too busy, tell me."

Ran watched the scene with a smug, cat-like grin, clearly enjoying the fact that his sister was bossing around the most feared men in Japan. "See? They're just a bunch of softies once you feed them," he teased, nudging Y/N's shoulder.

Rindou just rolled his eyes, though he looked relieved that the tension had shifted to something more manageable. "They're not softies, Ran, they're criminals," he muttered, before looking at Y/N. "You already know them by reputation now, but for tonight... they're just guests."

Mikey was the last to speak. He looked at Y/N with those hollow, obsidian eyes, his voice a quiet, haunting thread in the air. "Manjiro Sano. But everyone calls me Mikey." He didn't offer a title or a threat; the way the others went dead silent when he spoke was introduction enough.

"Well, Manjiro," Y/N said, testing the name out loud despite the visible flinch from Rindou at her boldness, "I hope you like the ice cream."

The mention of his real name—a name that had been buried under years of blood and the title of "Invincible"—made the room feel like it had lost its oxygen. The executives stared at Mikey, waiting for a snap, a glare, or a cold dismissal. Instead, the Boss just tilted his head, his dark eyes flickering with a ghost of a memory.

"I do," Mikey replied simply, his voice devoid of its usual chilling edge. The simple acknowledgment felt like a royal decree, and the tension that had been strangling the penthouse finally dissipated into something resembling a very strange, very dangerous dinner party.

Sanzu slumped against the counter, muttering under his breath about "blasphemy" and "disrespect," though he didn't dare raise his voice. He looked at Y/N as if she were a ticking time bomb—one that didn't realize it was sitting in a room full of gunpowder. "You're either the bravest person I've ever met, or the most delusional," he snapped, though he finally sat down, his posture losing its aggressive edge.

Kokonoi let out a short, sharp laugh, his fingers flying across his phone screen. "Manjiro, huh? I haven't heard that name used without a prayer following it in years." He looked at Y/N with genuine amusement. "Since you're so bold, I ordered the gold-leaf vanilla. If you're going to be the sister of the Haitani Brothers, you might as well eat like it."

Takeomi actually cracked a smile, the first one Y/N had seen on his scarred face. He stubbed out his cigarette, realizing that the "civilian" in the room was the only one capable of making the Boss act human. "She's got the Haitani streak, alright," he grumbled to Kakucho, who was nodding in agreement.

Kakucho looked at Y/N with a newfound respect. "You have a way of clearing the air, Y/N. Most people can't even breathe in the same room as us, let alone ask for dessert." He seemed to relax into his seat, his role as a "hit leader" momentarily sidelined by the sheer normalcy she was forcing upon them.

Mochi checked his watch, his stomach giving another loud, impatient growl. "Ice cream better be here soon. I'm not 'comfortable' until I'm fed," he rumbled, though he gave Y/N a clumsy, awkward thumbs-up that looked hilariously out of place on his massive hand.

Ran draped an arm around Y/N's shoulders, pulling her into a half-hug. "That's my sister," he bragged, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Told you she was special. She doesn't care about your titles; she just wants her sugar." He felt a surge of relief; if Mikey was letting her use his name, she was as safe as anyone could be in this world.

Rindou just sighed, closing his eyes for a second as if thanking whatever god was listening that a fight hadn't broken out. "The delivery is five minutes away," he announced, pocketing his phone. He looked at Y/N, his expression a mix of exhaustion and deep affection. "Just... try not to call him 'Manjiro' in front of the lower-ranking members, okay? I don't think their hearts could take it."

"I'll try to remember that," Y/N teased, though her hands were still trembling slightly. "But if I'm hosting, I get to use whatever names I want."

The sound of the doorbell signaling the arrival of the ice cream was immediately drowned out by the heavy silence that followed Y/N's casual announcement. "So, since we're all being honest now," Y/N said, taking a brave sip of her water, "a guy from the studio asked me out for dinner tomorrow, and I'm thinking of saying yes. I really want to go."

Ran's eyes narrowed, the playful "big brother" smirk being replaced by a cold, sharp intensity that made the room temperature feel like it had dropped ten degrees. "No," he said, his voice flat and absolute, devoid of any of its earlier humor. He didn't even look at her; he was staring at the wall as if he could see the man in question through the concrete. "You aren't going anywhere with a 'guy from the studio.' You aren't going on a date, period."

Rindou slammed his phone down onto the marble counter with a crack that sounded like a gunshot. "Absolutely not," he hissed, his face flushing with a mixture of anger and genuine panic. "Are you insane? You were literally just in a warehouse surrounded by bodies, and now you want to go get pasta with some random civilian who couldn't protect you from a papercut?" He stepped toward her, his protective streak morphing into a suffocating wall. "The answer is no, Y/N. Don't ask again."

The other executives watched the fallout with a mix of amusement and clinical interest. Sanzu let out a loud, jagged cackle, leaning back to watch the brothers spiral. "Oh, this is better than the ice cream!" he crowed, pointing a finger at the fuming Haitanis. "The kings of Roppongi are being brought to their knees by a Tinder date. I hope he's a loser, just for the irony." Kokonoi just smirked, checking the balance on his card. "I'll pay the guy fifty million just to disappear if it'll stop Rindou from vibrating out of his skin," he offered casually, though his eyes remained sharp.

Mikey watched the brothers' meltdown with his usual hollow gaze, though his silence seemed to validate their refusal. To the Boss, a "date" was just another security risk—a variable they couldn't control. Kakucho looked at Y/N with a sympathetic wince, knowing there was no winning this argument. "They're not going to let it happen, Y/N," he said softly. "In their heads, every man who looks at you is a target, and every exit is an ambush." Mochi just nodded in agreement, his massive arms crossed. "Too dangerous," he grunted.

"But I'm twenty-five!" Y/N protested, her voice rising in frustration as she looked between her brothers. "I can't just stay locked in this penthouse because you guys decided to join a cult!" The word "cult" made Takeomi choke on his smoke, but Ran didn't move an inch. He simply reached out, tucking a stray hair behind her ear with a terrifyingly steady hand. "You're a Haitani, princess," Ran whispered, his voice a chilling blend of love and possessiveness. "And in this world, we don't share what's ours."

"That is so not fair!" Y/N snapped, slamming her glass down on the table with enough force to make the ice cubes rattle. "You two have been living this double life for years, doing whatever you want, and I finally get a chance at something normal, and you just... shut it down? I'm not a piece of property, Ran!"

The brothers didn't budge, forming a united front of stubbornness that even the other executives found impressive.

Ran just tilted his head, his expression shifting from cold to patronizingly calm. "Fair has nothing to do with it, princess," he said, his voice dropping into that smooth, terrifyingly patient tone. "Fair is you being alive and safe in this room. Unfair would be us having to clean up the mess when some guy who doesn't know how to check for a tail leads a rival gang straight to your table."

Rindou was pacing now, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as if he were trying to keep himself from grabbing his phone and hunting the guy down right now. "It's not an argument, Y/N. It's a fact. You're not going." He stopped and looked at her, his eyes wild with a protective edge she'd seen a thousand times before. "You think it's about control? It's about the fact that if anything happened to you because we let you go play 'house' with some civilian, I'd burn this entire city to the ground—and I'd start with him."

The gallery of monsters in the living room seemed to enjoy the drama a little too much. Sanzu let out a theatrical sigh, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "Oh, the tragedy! The forbidden love!" he mocked, leaning over the back of the sofa. "Tell me, Y/N, does he have a name? I'd love to know what to put on the bouquet for his funeral." The threat was thinly veiled, and it made Kakucho shift uncomfortably, though he didn't intervene. He knew better than to get between the Haitanis and their "precious" sister.

Kokonoi checked his watch, looking bored. "The ice cream is at the front gate," he announced, as if the life-altering argument wasn't happening two feet away. "Go get it, Mochi. Maybe the sugar will stop them from killing each other." Mochi grunted and stood up, his massive frame casting a shadow over the room as he headed for the door. Mikey remained perfectly still, his eyes fixed on Y/N. He didn't speak, but his silence was its own kind of "no"—a dark, quiet agreement that in the world of Bonten, freedom was the one luxury no one could afford.

The arrival of the ice cream did little to soothe the sting of their refusal. Mochi returned, carrying a stack of insulated bags with the same seriousness he'd use to transport a briefcase of cash, but the air remained thick with Y/N's indignation. "I'm not eating that," Y/N declared, crossing her arms and sinking back into the cushions. "If I'm being treated like a prisoner, I might as well act like one. You can't just decide my life for me because you're scared of a shadow."

The brothers exchanged a glance that was weary but unwavering.

Ran let out a soft, exasperated sigh as he began unpacking a pint of the gold-leaf vanilla Kokonoi had bragged about. He pried off the lid and held out a spoonful toward her, his expression softening into something coaxing. "Don't be dramatic, princess. You're not a prisoner; you're the most protected woman in Tokyo. Eat the ice cream. It cost more than that guy's car, I promise you." He was trying to charm his way back into her good graces, but his eyes still held that immovable, flinty resolve.

Rindou didn't try to play nice. He grabbed a tub of strawberry ice cream for Mochi and tossed it to the big man before leaning over Y/N, his face inches from hers. "You think we're scared of shadows?" he whispered, his voice cracking with a raw, jagged intensity. "We are the shadows, Y/N. We know exactly what's out there because we put it there. You call it 'not fair,' I call it keeping you breathing. Now, eat the damn ice cream before I throw your phone off the balcony."

The rest of the group dug in with a surreal level of casualness. Sanzu had pulled his mask down just enough to shove a spoonful of mint chocolate chip into his mouth, looking remarkably satisfied with the chaos he'd helped stir up. Kokonoi was delicately tasting his dessert, nodding in approval at the quality. "He's right about the car, by the way," Koko added between bites, looking at Y/N. "The delivery fee alone was enough to buy a modest sedan. You should at least appreciate the overhead." Takeomi sat on the floor, leaning against the wall with his own cup, looking like he had finally found a moment of peace in the middle of a war zone.

Mikey held a small cup of plain vanilla, his movements slow and deliberate. He stared at the white cream for a long moment before taking a bite, his expression remaining as unreadable as ever. The sight of the "Invincible Mikey" eating ice cream while a family feud erupted around him was enough to make anyone double-take, but he seemed completely unbothered. He looked up at Y/N, a stray bit of cold sweetness on his lip. "It's cold," he noted quietly. It wasn't an apology or a solution, but the way he said it made the room go quiet again. It was a reminder that in this house, his word—and by extension, the brothers' protection—was the only law that mattered.

"I really hate you both for now," Y/N bit out, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and genuine hurt. She refused to look at either of them, her eyes stinging as she stared at the expensive rug beneath her feet. The words were a sharp contrast to the domestic scene of ice cream and luxury, a jagged reminder that no amount of gold-leaf vanilla could coat the bitterness of having her autonomy stripped away by the people she trusted most.

Ran didn't flinch, though the playful light in his eyes vanished instantly. He set the spoon down slowly, the clink of silver against the container sounding like a gavel. "I can live with that," he said, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm, hollow tone. "Hate me all you want, princess. Be as angry as you need to be. But you'll be alive to hate me tomorrow, and that's the only trade I'm willing to make." He reached out to touch her hand, but his fingers hovered just an inch away, hesitating for the first time that night.

Rindou reacted like he'd been physically struck. His jaw tightened so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek, and he looked away, his grip tightening on his own cup until the plastic began to groan. "Fine," he snapped, his voice thick with a defensive, wounded pride. "Hate us. See if I care. But if you think for one second I'm letting some loser take you out after what happened tonight, you don't know me at all." He stood up abruptly, pacing toward the balcony windows to hide the fact that her words had actually managed to draw blood.

The rest of the executives were suddenly very interested in their own desserts, the humor of the situation evaporating. Sanzu went uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze darting between the siblings; even he knew when a line had been crossed into real family trauma. Kakucho sighed, looking at Y/N with a pained expression. He knew the burden of "protection" all too well, and he knew that in this world, love often looked a lot like a cage. Kokonoi took a slow, deliberate bite of his ice cream, his eyes scanning the room as he calculated the emotional "cost" of the evening—it was reaching a deficit even he couldn't balance.

Mikey broke the silence, his quiet voice cutting through the tension like a blade through silk. He didn't look up from his cup. "Hate is a heavy thing to carry," he murmured, his obsidian eyes fixed on the melting white cream. "But in this house, it's safer than hope." He finally looked at Y/N, his gaze devoid of judgment but filled with a cold, ancient understanding. He didn't tell her she was wrong, and he didn't tell the brothers to back down; he simply acknowledged the grim reality of their lives. The "peace" of the penthouse was gone, replaced by the suffocating weight of a family bond that had officially become a leash.

"But at least hear me out about that guy! He isn't just some 'random' civilian," Y/N argued, her voice rising in a desperate plea for them to see reason. "He's actually really sweet and helpful at the studio. His name is Chifuyu Matsuno, and he's nothing like the people you're worried about. He's just... normal." She looked at her brothers, hoping the name of a kind, animal-loving coworker would bridge the gap, completely unaware that she had just dropped a live grenade into the middle of the room.

The name Chifuyu Matsuno hit the air like a physical shockwave, and the atmosphere in the penthouse didn't just drop—it turned sub-zero. Ran and Rindou went deathly still, their expressions shifting from overprotective brothers to high-ranking executioners in a fraction of a second. Ran's hand, which had been reaching for the ice cream, paused mid-air, his lilac eyes widening before narrowing into slits of pure, homicidal intent. Beside him, Rindou's face went pale, his breath hitching as his brain processed the fact that his sister was being pursued by the First Division Captain and Vice-President of the Second Generation Tokyo Manji Gang.

The other executives reacted with a terrifying, synchronized shift in energy. Sanzu's laughter stopped instantly, replaced by a jagged, sharp intake of breath as he slowly reached for the hilt of his blade, his eyes glowing with a manic, bloodthirsty light. Kokonoi dropped his spoon, the silver clattering against the floor as he sat bolt upright, his mind already recalculating the "security breach" as a targeted declaration of war. Takeomi and Kakucho exchanged a grim, knowing look; to them, Chifuyu wasn't a "sweet guy"—he was the right hand of Takemichi Hanagaki, their most direct and dangerous rival.

At the center of the storm, Mikey didn't move a muscle, but the temperature of his presence became suffocating. At the mention of his former friend turned rival's second-in-command, the hollow void in his eyes seemed to darken until they were two bottomless pits of obsidian. He didn't speak, but the way his grip tightened on his cup until the plastic began to splinter spoke volumes. The "date" was no longer a matter of family protection; it was a matter of high-level espionage and the collision of two warring empires, and as Y/N looked around at the horrified, murderous faces of the men in her living room, she realized with a sinking heart that she had just made things a million times worse.

"Why are you all so quiet?" Y/N asked, her voice faltering as she looked around the room. The sudden, deafening silence was more terrifying than any of their earlier shouting. "I just told you his name. It's Chifuyu. Why do you all look like you're ready to kill someone?"

Ran finally moved, but it wasn't the fluid, graceful movement from before. It was mechanical. He set the ice cream container down with a slow, deliberate precision that made the marble countertop ring. "Chifuyu Matsuno," he repeated, the name tasting like poison in his mouth. He looked at Rindou, a silent, terrifying conversation passing between them in a split second. They weren't just overprotective brothers anymore—they were generals who had just realized the enemy was inside the house.

Rindou looked like he was about to be sick. He didn't pace; he stood like a statue, his hands trembling with a mix of fury and genuine fear for his sister. "You have to be kidding me," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Of all the people in this godforsaken city, you picked him?" He turned his head away, unable to even look at her, his mind racing through every security footage and tail they had ever missed.

Sanzu let out a low, distorted sound—half-laugh, half-growl. He stood up, his fingers twitching near his weapon. "Normal? You think he's normal?" he spat, his eyes wide and bloodshot. "That 'sweet guy' is a cockroach from Toman. He's the one who stays up at night dreaming of ways to put us in the ground."

Kokonoi was already on his phone, his thumb blurring across the screen as he sent out high-priority alerts to their intelligence units. "This isn't a date, Y/N," he said, his voice cold and analytical, stripped of all its earlier teasing. "This is a play. They're using you to get to the Haitanis. They're using you to get to us."

Kakucho and Takeomi had both stood up, their bodies instinctively moving into defensive positions near the exits. Kakucho looked at Y/N with a pained, hollow expression. "He's not who you think he is, Y/N. Chifuyu Matsuno is a soldier. And right now, you're the most valuable piece on the board."

Mikey was the only one who hadn't moved. He sat in the center of the chaos, his plain vanilla ice cream melting into a puddle in his hand. He looked up at Y/N, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something recognizable in his eyes—a deep, ancient grief mixed with a cold, absolute finality.

"He's not coming to the studio anymore," Mikey said quietly. It wasn't a question or a threat; it was a reality that had already been decided the moment his name left her lips. The room felt smaller, the luxury of the penthouse turning into a bunker, as Y/N realized that her "normal" life hadn't just been interrupted—it had been incinerated.

"W-what? But he said he owns a pet shop!" Y/N stammered, her heart dropping into her stomach as she looked around at the grim faces. "He shows me pictures of the cats all the time! He's just a guy who likes animals and works part-time at the studio to help with the music. You guys are making him sound like... like one of you!"

Sanzu let out a sharp, barking laugh that bordered on hysterical. "A pet shop? Oh, that's classic!" he sneered, his hand gripping the back of the sofa so hard the leather creaked. "Yeah, he loves cats, and he loves 'protecting' people even more. That 'part-time job' at your studio? That's called reconnaissance, Princess. He's been breathing your air just to figure out how to choke us with it."

Kokonoi didn't even look up from the tablet he'd pulled out, his face illuminated by the cold blue light of a dossier. "He does own a pet shop," Koko said, his voice flat and professional. "It's a legitimate business. It's also the perfect front for the Vice-President of the Second Generation Tokyo Manji Gang to hold meetings without attracting attention. You weren't a date to him, Y/N. You were a target."

Ran stepped closer to her, his shadow looming large against the penthouse walls. The warmth he'd shown earlier was completely gone, replaced by a terrifying, focused intensity. "He knew exactly who your brothers were," Ran whispered, his voice like ice. "He didn't find you by accident. He targeted your studio because he knew it was the one place we didn't have guarded like a fortress."

Rindou slammed his fist into the wall, the sound echoing through the room. "And we let him!" he roared, his frustration boiling over. "We let a Toman executive sit in the same room as our sister because we wanted to give her 'space'!" He looked at Y/N, his eyes brimming with a terrifying mix of anger and guilt. "He's a soldier, Y/N. A high-ranking one. Every 'sweet' thing he said to you was a lie to get closer to the Haitani bloodline."

Mikey set his cup down on the table. The sound was small, but it silenced the room instantly. He looked at Y/N, his expression unreadable, but his aura was heavy with the weight of a past he couldn't escape. "Chifuyu is loyal," Mikey said softly, almost to himself. "But his loyalty isn't to you. It's to a dream that died a long time ago." He stood up, his small frame radiating a power that made the air feel thin. "He won't be coming to your studio again. And you won't be going back there until we've cleared the building."

"But my students—my classes—" Y/N started, but Ran placed a firm, heavy hand on her shoulder, effectively cutting her off.

"The studio is closed, Y/N," Ran stated, his voice final. "As of five minutes ago, you don't have a job there. You don't have a coworker named Chifuyu. You only have us."

"So he really lied?" Y/N whispered, the realization hitting her like a physical weight. Her voice was small, hollowed out by the sudden collapse of her reality. She looked down at her hands, the same hands she'd used to show Chifuyu choreography notes while he smiled and talked about his cats. "I guess I am just a map in his eyes... a map to find you guys."

Ran's grip on her shoulder tightened, not to hurt her, but as if he were trying to physically anchor her to his side. He hated the look in her eyes—it was the same look of shattered innocence he'd spent years trying to prevent. "He's a loyalty specialist, Y/N," Ran said, his voice dropping into a low, predatory hum. "But his loyalty is a weapon. He didn't see a woman; he saw a weakness in our armor. I'm going to make sure he regrets ever looking in your direction."

Rindou looked away, unable to bear the sight of her crying over a Toman executive. He felt a sickening mix of rage and self-loathing. "That's how they work," he spat, his voice trembling with suppressed fury. "They play the 'hero' card. They act like the good guys while they're digging through your life for secrets. You weren't a person to him—you were a mission."

Sanzu let out a sharp, jagged whistle, his eyes dancing with a cruel sort of excitement. "A map? Oh, you were the 'X' that marks the spot, Princess!" he chirped, though there was no humor in it. "He was probably counting the seconds until he could hand your location over to Hanagaki. Don't feel bad, though. Being a map is better than being a corpse, which is what he'll be by sunrise."

Kokonoi finally put his phone down, his expression uncharacteristically somber. "It's a standard play, Y/N. Cold, but effective." He looked at her with a flicker of genuine pity. "He used the one thing we couldn't monitor—your kindness. He didn't just lie about the pet shop; he lied about every 'normal' moment you thought you shared."

Kakucho stood near the window, his back to the room. "He's not a bad man in his own world," he said quietly, "but in our world, he's a predator. He knew the risk of using you, and he took it anyway. That tells you everything you need to know about how much he 'valued' your friendship."

Mochi grunted, the sound echoing his grim mood. "Calculated. He's a veteran*. He doesn't do 'accidents.'"

*veteran- a person who has very long experience in a particular job or activity.

Takeomi just sighed, lighting another cigarette despite the tension. "Welcome to the family business, kid. Everyone wants a piece of the Haitanis, and they'll crawl through the mud to get it. Even 'sweet' guys with pet shops."

Mikey walked over to her, stopping just a few feet away. He looked at her tear-stained face with a haunting stillness, his obsidian eyes reflecting nothing but the dark. "He saw a way back to me through you," Mikey said, his voice a ghost of a sound. "People like Chifuyu... they don't understand that some things are better left broken." He reached out, his cold fingers briefly brushing the air near her cheek. "Don't cry for him. He made his choice the moment he walked into your studio."

Trending Tags

Last Seen Tags

#hayashiflora

Trending Tags

Last Seen Tags

#hayashiflora