"Hey," his voice came immediately. "When are you coming home?"
She said nothing.
"I miss you," he added quickly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that earlier. I didn't mean it. I'll do better. I promise."
His voice softened, but it sounded rehearsed. Just like the beginning, when he was trying to fulfill the role of her husband properly.
"I know you meant it," she responded.
"What?"
"You meant exactly what you said. It's fine. You don't have to lie, anymore."
"Yumi—"
"You don't have to pretend."
She realised something then. He should not change. He should not try. He should just be himself. Do whatever he wanted. Act however he pleased.
She doesn't know how long they have left either; it's best he just live to his fullest. Sounds overly altruistic for her, but the least she cares about right now is some empty attention.
"I had already forgotten about everything. Been busy and will be very busy the next few days," she announced. "So I'm not coming home tonight. You should relax and do whatever."
"Yumi," he sighed. "Are you mad?"
"No."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"What are you doing?"
"Eating."
"..."
"If nothing else, then I'll go."
She ended the call.
At home, Toji stared at the darkened screen long after the line disconnected, his thumb hovering where her name still glowed faintly.
She stayed in the office for days. Two, maybe three, sleeping on the couch they had prepared for her. The princess ate when Lewis reminded her, and worked until the words on the screen became gibberish.
And yet, for all that motion, nothing came of it.
There was no sudden clarity. No answer waiting at the end of the exhaustion. What was she even looking for anymore? Was it a solution? Solution to what, actually?
What did she even want?
"Want."
The word felt laughable.
She had never been in a position to want anything in the first place.
What eventually settled into her bones was acceptance.
Her father had always taken whatever she cared about the moment he noticed the attachment.
He did it when she was small, when she clung too tightly to a blanket or a toy. When she cried over a kitten she fed scraps to behind the estate walls. Things she cared for would disappear overnight.
Attachment and love were liabilities.
He had taught her that lesson by removing it again and again, methodically, until the message carved itself into her blood.
If he did not remove the obstacle, he would say, then the obstacle would remove her. He provided real-life examples of betrayal, and soon she also experienced it all herself as she took over the empire.
She understood that Toji would be no different.
When she finally went home, her chest felt hollowed out, her body heavier than it should have been. She wondered why life itself had to be so complicated. Whether it was just her and her life, or if everyone else was simply better at hiding it?
Toji was more affected by the sound of the door opening than he expected. He had spent the past three days rotting in that apartment, waiting, even though he refused to admit it. He kept gaslighting himself into believing he was fine, that he was not waiting at all.
He fought with himself over calling her, over texting her, over showing up uninvited. In the end, he knocked himself out with alcohol.
He even tried to go out, back to the old bars he used to frequent. He ran into some old mates whose conversations were nothing but gossip and bad news.
Who died. Who got betrayed. Which syndicate moved. Which brothel opened. It was mediocre background noises.
And then her name came up. Of course it did.
"Akiyama Yumi."
The Princess.
Guess what they were talking about.
"Did you hear what Akiyama Yumi did last week?" one of them said, lowering his voice alittle even though the bar was loud.
Another snorted. "Which incident. She does something every week."
"The warehouse by the dockside one; clean out overnight holy shit."
"Oh, that," someone scoffed. "Three big families were wiped, I think someone from them was her childhood friend too."
"She didn't even show up," another added.
The first one muttered. "Her father used to make a show of it with meetings and threats and shit. That woman just skips it all."
"That's what scares me," another replied.
"But damn isn't she hella sexy."
"Yeah, men still line up for her," someone rolled their eyes. "Rich, pretty, and powerful. They don't care if she'll bury them."
Toji stayed quiet, glass pressed to his lips. It wasn't new. Those rumours had always existed.
He just never cared before, until now, they were talking about someone he shared a bed with every night...or more like used to.
None of the images they painted looked much like the Yumi he knew. Then again, even if he told them, they would not have believed him anyway.
"So, whatcha up to these days?" one of them asked, nudging him.
"Nothing much," Toji nonchalantly sipped his drink. "My wife's mad right now. Dunno what to do."
The table went silent.
"…Your what?""Since when the hell did you get married?""To who?"
"A few months back," he shrugged.
"So that's why you disappeared," one of them muttered.
Another then realised. "But if ya stopped killing, how do you even afford a wife?"
"She's rich."
Laughter erupted around the table.
"Don't tell me you married Akiyama Yumi," someone joked.
"Yeah, right," another scoffed.
He did not bother correcting them.
And, the bar did not help much.
So he ended up back in the apartment again, sitting on the couch, smoking in silence. Helpless. Like a golden retriever, he was instantly alert at the sound of the door unlocking.
Finally.
She stepped inside, he moved way faster than he realised.
"Yumi."
He pulled her into a desperate hug before she could react.
The contact made her chest ache sharply. She almost cried on the spot, which confused her more than anything else.
His voice saying her name made her want to melt.
"Toji," she whispered.
"Say it again," he demanded.
"Why."
"I want to hear it."
"Why," she dazed, "Are you in love with me or something?" It was mockery, but in soft whispers.
"'Course I am. I'm your husband."
He kissed her forehead, then finally pulled back to look at her properly.
She looked the same. Or maybe she didn't.
He could not quite tell. She looked tired. Of course she did. She had not been home in days.
"Only because I pay," another mocky response.
"Does it make it feel better saying that?" he pressed another kiss to her cheeks.
His affection made something in her crack. Her eyes reddened immediately, and she turned away.
"Look at me."
His arms stayed wrapped around her, tight and close. "Did you miss me too?"
"No."
Her voice caught halfway through the word. Damn it.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Are you still upset about that day. I was stupid. Come on. Forgive this old man."
He nuzzled against her. "Let me help you wash up."
And so they returned to something that looked normal.
But it was not the same.
There was a distance between them now. An invisible wall that had not existed before.
Even though she came back to the apartment, she rarely stayed. She slipped in after midnight, left again before sunrise.
She had lived like this before, but now the time she spent at home was even less. Their shared space became somewhere they seldom occupied together.
Yumi worked like she was racing something invisible. As if slowing down even slightly would allow it to catch her.
Toji would wake to the faint smell of coffee and burnt candles, find her already dressed in sharp lines, dark circles beneath her eyes.
She left before dawn and returned long after nightfall, hands trembling when she thought no one was watching, chin lifted like it always was.
It was her way of proving she had not changed.
To her father.
To the watchers she knew he had placed around her.
She was still efficient and obedient to the structure that owned her.
At first, Toji thought she was simply built differently. Probably ridiculously busy.
Then the cracks started to show.
She took her pills more often now without hiding nor explaining.
She would shake one into her palm, swallow it dry, and move on like it meant nothing.
"You okay?" he questioned once.
"Always," she replied swiftly, already walking away.
Toji did not understand it.
But he knew something was wrong.