Episode2

The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, but the scent of it lingered in the air when I woke. For a disorienting moment, I thought I was in my own apartment — until my eyes adjusted to the high ceiling, the velvet curtains, and the antique chandelier casting shards of light across the polished floor.

The mansion.

The events of last night came rushing back — the gunfire, Renji’s cold grip on my arm, the frantic ride through darkened streets. My chest tightened. I sat up slowly, running a hand through my hair, trying to push back the memories threatening to surface.

But it was no use.

---

I was eight the night my world burned.

The house was warm, filled with the low hum of conversation from my parents’ study. My father was away more often than not, but when he was home, his presence filled every room. My mother — gentle, patient — always made sure Rika and I were in bed before his meetings began.

That night, I had crept downstairs for a glass of water. I was halfway to the kitchen when the front door exploded inward. Men in black coats, masks covering their faces, stormed inside.

My mother’s voice — sharp, urgent — cut through the chaos. “Kaito! Hide!”

I froze. One of the men shoved her to the ground. Another grabbed me, but she lunged, striking him with a fire poker. He turned, raised his gun—

The shot echoed so loud it hollowed out the air.

I remember the way she looked at me — not with fear, but with something almost peaceful, as if telling me without words: It’s alright, you’ll live. And then she was gone, her body crumpled on the carpet.

Renji appeared moments later, gun in hand, his coat soaked in blood that wasn’t his. He tore me from the man’s grasp and dragged me toward the back door. But I fought him, screaming for my mother. He didn’t say a word. Just kept running, even as more shots rang out behind us.

I never saw my father again. They told me he died weeks later, but no one explained why or how. The only thing I knew was this: every face in that world was painted in blood.

And I swore I’d never be part of it.

---

“Kaito?”

The voice snapped me out of the memory.

A woman stood in the doorway, carrying a tray with breakfast. She was in her mid-thirties, with warm brown skin and a cascade of black curls pulled into a low bun. Her eyes were sharp but kind, her steps measured.

“I’m Hana,” she said, setting the tray on the side table. “Housekeeper here. Renji said you might not be in the mood to eat, but you should try. You’ll need your strength.”

“I’m not staying,” I muttered.

Her lips twitched. “That’s what you think.”

Before I could respond, she turned toward the hall. “You’ve got visitors, by the way. Your friends.”

I frowned. “My—? How do you—?”

But she was already gone.

A moment later, two familiar figures burst into the room.

“Kaito!”

Jun, my oldest friend, was all windblown hair and frantic energy, nearly knocking me over as he pulled me into a hug. He smelled faintly of engine grease — a reminder of his family’s auto shop where we’d spent countless afternoons tinkering with old motorcycles.

Behind him was Mei, tall and graceful, her sleek black bob framing a face that could freeze or melt anyone depending on her mood. Today, her eyes were blazing.

“What the hell happened?” she demanded. “We went to your place and there was police tape—”

Jun cut in. “And Rika’s at the hospital? We saw her there—”

“She’s fine,” I said quickly. “Shaken, but fine. Renji brought us here.”

Jun’s brow furrowed. “Renji? As in—”

“Yes. That Renji.”

Mei crossed her arms. “So it’s true. You’re—”

“Don’t say it.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “I’m not part of them.”

Jun exchanged a glance with Mei but didn’t press further.

The door opened again. Renji stepped in, his presence filling the room without effort. “Good. You’re awake.” His eyes flicked briefly to Jun and Mei, assessing them like a threat. “Friends?”

“They’re staying,” I said flatly.

He didn’t argue, but something in his gaze made it clear he didn’t approve.

“I need to speak with you privately,” he said.

“I don’t—”

“It’s about the men who attacked you.” His tone left no room for debate.

Jun started to rise, but I shook my head. “It’s fine. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Renji led me down a long corridor lined with oil paintings and locked doors, stopping in what looked like a private study.

“They were from the Moriyama syndicate,” he said without preamble. “Your father’s enemies. They believe killing you will keep the Kuroda throne vacant.”

“I told you, I don’t want it,” I snapped.

“And I told you,” he replied, stepping closer, “want has nothing to do with it. The second your father’s blood stopped flowing, you became a target. The only way to stop them is to take control.”

I laughed bitterly. “You want me to become the thing I hate.”

For a moment, his expression softened — barely. “I want you to survive.”

His words stirred something dangerous in me — the same feeling from last night, that mix of dread and heat whenever his eyes locked on mine.

I looked away. “And if I refuse?”

He didn’t answer. Just placed a folder on the desk and slid it toward me. Inside were photos — my apartment, the bookstore, Jun’s garage, Mei’s dance studio. All taken from a distance.

My throat tightened. “You’re saying they’ll go after them, too.”

“I’m saying they already are,” he said. “You can keep pretending you’re not part of this. Or you can fight back.”

---

Back in the guest room, Jun and Mei were sitting cross-legged on the floor, arguing over something in low voices.

When they saw my face, their expressions shifted from irritation to worry.

“What did he say?” Mei asked.

I sank onto the bed. “That this isn’t over.”

And deep down, I knew he was right.

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