The apartment was too small for two people with that much tension between them.
Miki's place sat on the edge of Shinjuku's red-light maze part fight den, part crash pad, part sanctuary. Posters of dead punk bands curled off the walls. Her boots were kicked off at the door. Bloodied hand wraps lay on the coffee table beside a half-finished bowl of instant ramen and a knife she hadn't bothered to clean.
Riku stood in the doorway, dripping rain and adrenaline.
"Take off your shirt," Miki said, tossing him a towel.
"You could at least buy me dinner first."
She glared.
"Got hit during the match?" she asked, more clinical now as she lit a cigarette and curled onto the couch.
"Nothing serious."Still, he pulled off his shirt. Bruises bloomed across his ribs like half-open violets. She stared not at the wounds, but at the scar on his side. The long one. The one he never explained.
"You're not as indestructible as you used to be," she muttered.
"I've got more to lose."
That shut her up.
She got up slowly, crossed to him, and gently pressed the towel to his side. Her touch wasn't soft it was deliberate, focused, like a fighter checking for fractures. But there was heat beneath it. Static. Years of closeness hiding under bruises and sarcasm.
"You didn't answer me," Riku said. "You killed Aya's brother?"
Miki nodded. "He came at me after the gala. I think he knew about us. Or about me. Not sure which one pissed him off more."
"You realize what this means."
"Yeah. Open war if it gets out."
Her fingers paused over one of his deeper bruises. He sucked in a breath. Her touch lingered. And something in her broke.
"Why do you still protect her?" Miki whispered.
"She's a pawn. Just like me."
Miki stepped back, eyes flashing. "She's not just a pawn. She's part of them. You don't know what she's capable of, Riku."
"I know."
"Then why?"
"Because if I don't play both sides," he said, voice low, "I die. We die. And the truth about my family stays buried."
Miki's breath hitched. Her eyes shimmered not with tears. With rage.
"You don't get to say 'we' when you keep crawling back to her."
"Miki"
She kissed him.
It wasn't soft.
It wasn't slow.
It was hunger and fury and heartbreak all tangled into one.
He responded before his mind caught up hands gripping her waist, mouth devouring hers like it might be the last time. Her fingers slid into his hair, dragging him down onto the couch with her. They didn't speak. Didn't need to. Every bruise, every scar, every word unspoken passed between them in gasps and friction.
Clothes hit the floor like falling weapons.
She pulled him in like a storm swallowing light.
Later, as they lay tangled in sweat and silence, the only sound was the rain tapping against the window.
Miki traced circles on his chest. "You know this doesn't fix anything."
"I know."
"I'm not gonna be your secret, Riku. Not while you're promising rings to a corpse in heels."
He didn't respond. Couldn't. His eyes stared at the ceiling like it held answers.
Finally, she stood, pulling on his oversized hoodie.
"You should go. Before you make it harder."
He sat up. "Miki"
She turned, eyes hard again. "Just go."
He gathered his things, slowly, like leaving would change something. But he knew better.
The second the door closed behind him, she let herself crumble back against the wall, biting her lip to keep from screaming.
And inside his coat pocket, something cold and metallic brushed Riku's hand.
A coin.
Engraved with the Kurogawa insignia.
They'd been inside the arena.
Inside the crowd.
Watching.
Far across the city, beneath the silver roofs of the Kurogawa estate, Reiji Kurogawa stared at a surveillance screen.
He watched Riku leave the apartment.
Then Miki fall to the floor.
His smile curled like smoke.
"They'll tear each other apart," he murmured, sipping from his glass.
"Just as planned."