Yasuo stood in front of the bakery's back door, the morning sun feeling like an interrogation lamp. "Stay with Grandma," Daisetsu had written. Yeah, right. Like Yasuo could just sit around icing cupcakes while his "Stoic Protector" walked into a trap.
"Grandma, I'm going out!" Yasuo yelled, grabbing his jacket and the mysterious key to Locker 402.
"Don't forget your heart, Yasuo! You left it on the couch last night!" Mayonaka-obaasan shouted back from the kitchen, her voice full of that annoying "Wise Catalyst" sass.
Yasuo ignored her and sprinted toward the high school. His lungs burned, and his head was a mess of "what-ifs." He reached the school gates just as the first bell rang. The place was crawling with students in crisp uniforms—a total contrast to the dark, blood-stained world Daisetsu had been hiding.
He found the locker wing. It was quiet, the air smelling of floor wax and old sneakers. 400... 401... 402.
Yasuo's hands were shaking so hard he almost dropped the key. He slotted it in, turned it, and the metal door creaked open.
Inside wasn't a weapon. It wasn't money. It was a black gym bag. Yasuo pulled it out and zipped it open. Inside was a change of clothes—black, tactical-looking gear—and a small, leather-bound notebook.
Yasuo flicked through the notebook. It wasn't a diary. It was a list of names, dates, and amounts. It was the evidence Daisetsu had been collecting against the gang. But on the very last page, in Daisetsu's handwriting, was something else:
"If you're reading this, Yasuo, I'm probably in the gym. Don't come in. Just take this bag to the police station. Stay safe, my cutie boy."
Yasuo's heart stopped. My cutie boy. He called him that. Even in a life-or-death note, Daisetsu was being a flirt. But there was no way Yasuo was going to the police yet.
He followed the sound of shouting toward the old gym at the back of the campus.
The heavy double doors were slightly ajar. Yasuo peeked through the gap, and his blood went cold.
The gym was dark, the only light coming from the high windows. In the center of the basketball court stood Daisetsu. He wasn't the "Sensei" anymore. He was the "Wounded Soul" in full combat mode. He was surrounded by four guys in leather jackets—the gang.
"Give us the ledger, Nakamura," one of them hissed. He was holding a lead pipe. "Or we start breaking things. Starting with that bakery."
Daisetsu didn't even flinch. He looked like a statue carved from ice. "The ledger is safe. You touch that bakery, and you won't have hands left to hold your pipes."
"Big talk for a guy who's already bleeding," the gang leader laughed.
Suddenly, one of the goons lunged.
Yasuo watched, paralyzed, as Daisetsu moved. It was like a dance—violent, efficient, and terrifyingly beautiful. He dodged the pipe, grabbed the guy's arm, and with a sickening CRACK, sent him hitting the floor.
He's like a berserker, Yasuo thought, his breath hitching. He's doing this for me. He's fighting them so they won't hurt me.
But there were too many of them. While Daisetsu was pinning one guy, another came up behind him with a wooden kendo stick.
"DAISETSU! WATCH OUT!" Yasuo screamed, throwing the gym doors open and charging onto the court.
The distraction worked. Daisetsu spun around just in time to catch the stick with his bare forearm. He didn't even wince. He kicked the guy in the chest, sending him flying back into the bleachers.
Daisetsu's eyes found Yasuo's. For a second, he looked furious—pure, unadulterated rage that Yasuo had disobeyed him. But then, his expression softened into something else. Something desperate.
"Yasuo! Get out of here!" Daisetsu roared.
"No!" Yasuo yelled back, clutching the gym bag to his chest like a shield. "I'm not leaving you again!"
The gang leader saw his chance. He lunged for Yasuo.
He didn't get far.
Daisetsu moved faster than Yasuo thought possible. He tackled the leader, the two of them hitting the floor with a massive THUD. Daisetsu was on top of him in seconds, his fists a blur of motion. He wasn't just fighting; he was protecting. He was a "Stoic Protector" who had finally snapped.
"Don't. Touch. Him!" Daisetsu punctuated every word with a hit.
The other gang members, seeing their leader get demolished, grabbed their fallen friends and bolted out the side exit. They knew when they were outmatched.
Daisetsu stood up slowly, his chest heaving. His knuckles were split, and there was a fresh cut on his cheek, but he looked like a king standing over his territory.
He walked over to Yasuo, who was shaking like a leaf.
Daisetsu didn't say a word. He just reached out and pulled Yasuo into a crushing embrace. He tucked Yasuo's head under his chin, his heart beating like a drum against Yasuo's ear.
"You idiot," Daisetsu whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You're supposed to be at the bakery. You're supposed to be safe...not here, you dumb."
Yasuo buried his face in Daisetsu's sweaty, hot neck. "I couldn't. I couldn't let you do this alone."
Daisetsu pulled back just enough to look Yasuo in the eye. He reached up and wiped a tear away from Yasuo's cheek with his thumb. The intimacy was overwhelming. They were in the middle of a dirty gym, surrounded by the smell of sweat and violence, but it felt like the most romantic place on earth.
"You're a mess, Baker-san," Daisetsu teased, though his eyes were full of heat.
"You're the one with the split lip," Yasuo countered, his blush returning in full force.
Daisetsu leaned in, his lips brushing against Yasuo's forehead. "I'm the one who's falling harder. Every time you save me, I fall a little more."
He didn't kiss him—not yet—but he held Yasuo's hand as they walked out of the gym together. The "bromance" was gone. This was real. This was a partnership.
As they reached the school gates, a silver car pulled up. Out stepped a tall, handsome man in a sharp suit. He looked at Daisetsu's injuries and then at Yasuo, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face.
"Well, well, Nakamura," the man said, his voice smooth and dangerous. "I see you've finally found something worth fighting for. Does the principal know you're bringing your 'bakery help' to school brawls?"
Daisetsu's grip on Yasuo's hand tightened until it almost hurt.
"Tenshin," Daisetsu hissed. "What are you doing here?"
"Just checking on my favorite colleague," Tenshin said, his eyes flicking to Yasuo. "And seeing if the rumors about a 'Cutie Boy' were true."