Chapter 18 – Shadows of the Fang
The Saionji household loomed like a fortress, its gates tall and unyielding, guarded by men in black suits who gave Natsuki suspicious stares as he walked through. Even here, where wealth overflowed like a river, he could feel the eyes of judgment pressing down on him. No matter how many times he came to escort Mitsuri home, the servants and guards always looked at him as though he were a stray dog that had wandered in from the streets.
But tonight was different. Tonight, he wasn't here just to pick up Mitsuri.
Tonight, he had been summoned.
Mitsuri waited at the steps of the grand entryway, her usual calm elegance masking the faint tension in her eyes. "My father wants to speak with you," she said quietly, folding her hands together.
Natsuki raised a brow. "Your father? The one who pays me?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "…Yes. Be respectful. He's not someone you can afford to antagonize."
Natsuki smirked faintly. "Don't worry. I'll play nice… unless he doesn't."
Inside, the house was decorated with refined taste—marble floors, chandeliers, oil paintings that probably cost more than Natsuki's entire neighborhood. And at the end of the long hall, in a study lined with shelves of thick books, sat Saionji Akihiro, Mitsuri's father.
He was a man who carried power effortlessly. His black suit was crisp, his posture perfect, and his sharp eyes analyzed Natsuki like he was assessing a stock market investment.
"You must be Natsuki," Akihiro said, his voice deep and commanding.
Natsuki gave a short nod, standing tall despite the overwhelming aura of authority pressing on him. "Yeah. That's me."
Akihiro gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Sit."
Natsuki didn't hesitate.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Akihiro leaned forward, folding his hands together. "You're probably wondering why I chose you. Why a man of my means would entrust his only daughter's safety to someone with… your reputation."
Natsuki's jaw tightened. "You mean a delinquent."
Akihiro's lips curved slightly—not a smile, but something sharper. "That is what they call you, isn't it? A boy who lives in fights, hated by teachers and peers alike. To many, you are a disgrace."
Mitsuri, standing near the door, flinched at her father's blunt words. "Father—"
But Natsuki only chuckled dryly. "You're not wrong."
Akihiro's gaze sharpened. "And yet… that is exactly why I chose you. Fear is a weapon. Your name carries it. Your fists prove it. I need someone who can stand in the shadows—not a uniformed bodyguard who draws attention, but someone who blends into her daily life while keeping her safe."
Natsuki tilted his head. "Safe from what? Other gangs? Random thugs?"
Akihiro's expression darkened. He opened a drawer, pulling out a sealed envelope, and slid it across the desk. "Not gangs. My world is business. And in business, rivals do not play fair. There are whispers—plots to use Mitsuri as leverage, to abduct her and cripple the Saionji name."
Natsuki's fist clenched unconsciously against the armrest. "Tch… so that's it."
Akihiro leaned back. "I don't care what they call you, Natsuki. To me, you are a tool. Keep Mitsuri safe, and you will be compensated. Fail, and…" His gaze flickered to Mitsuri for only a second. "Failure is not an option."
Mitsuri's voice trembled with anger. "Father! You speak as if he's disposable! He's not just—"
"Enough, Mitsuri," Akihiro cut her off sharply.
The tension hung thick.
Natsuki stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. His eyes burned into Akihiro's with defiance. "I don't give a damn about your money or your threats. I took this job because I need it—for my mother. And because Mitsuri deserves better than to be treated like a chess piece in your stupid corporate games."
Mitsuri's eyes widened, her chest tightening at the raw sincerity in his voice.
For the first time, Akihiro's cold mask cracked. A flicker of surprise, maybe even respect, passed through his gaze. He said nothing for a long moment, then finally nodded. "…Perhaps Mitsuri is in good hands after all."
---
Later that night, as Natsuki walked back through the dimly lit streets, Mitsuri walked beside him silently. The tension from earlier lingered, but beneath it was something else—an unspoken bond that had deepened in the fire of confrontation.
"Natsuki," she murmured finally. "What you said back there… about me deserving better."
He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking away. "…Don't think too much of it. It's just the truth."
Her lips curved into the faintest smile. "Then I'll hold onto that truth."
But just as the night seemed to settle, a sound reached them—footsteps.
From the shadows of an alley, figures emerged. Four, five, maybe six of them. Their jackets bore a symbol sprayed in white paint—sharp fangs biting into nothingness.
Natsuki's eyes narrowed.
White Fang.
One of the gang members smirked, pulling out a folded note and tossing it to the ground at Natsuki's feet.
A single message scrawled in jagged writing:
"Hoshino Toshiaki sends his regards. The Fang watches."
The group melted back into the darkness, leaving only the echo of laughter behind.
Mitsuri gripped Natsuki's sleeve tightly, fear flickering in her eyes. "They… they know you."
Natsuki bent to pick up the note, his teeth gritted. "Yeah. And they're making their move."
As the night swallowed them, the weight of two worlds pressed down on him—the corporate threats from Saionji Akihiro's rivals, and the hungry fangs of Hoshino Toshiaki's gang.
Two predators. One target.
And Natsuki was the shield standing in the middle.
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