The weekend breeze was lighter than usual, and for once, Emi allowed herself a proper break. She sat across from Sora on a bench tucked away in a quieter part of the park, a bubble tea cup in her hand, her freshly trimmed hair brushing softly against her cheeks.
"So," Sora leaned in, her straw poking around the remaining ice in her drink. "You really had dinner at the Kazama estate?"
Emi gave a small nod, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. "Yes… his grandmother invited me. After work that evening, Ren drove me straight there."
Sora blinked. "Wow. You met her? Chiyo Kazama? The Chiyo Kazama who's basically mafia royalty?"
"She's... not what I expected," Emi said quietly. "She's kind. Warm. Nothing like what people say about their family. She even told me I was welcome anytime."
Sora raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. "Sounds like someone made a good impression. So?" Her voice lowered with teasing intent. "Do you like him?"
Emi's eyes widened. "What? No—I mean—I don't know."
Sora grinned. "You don't know?"
Emi looked down at her cup, her fingers tightening slightly around the plastic. "It's not that simple."
"Try me."
"I feel... grateful to him," Emi said after a long pause. "He helped me when no one else did. He gave me a job, protected me, and... there's something about the way he looks at me sometimes. It gets under my skin. But—" she hesitated, "we're eight years apart. He's twenty-eight, Sora. I'm just... a college student still figuring things out."
Sora stayed quiet, letting her speak.
The weekend breeze was lighter than usual, and for once, Emi allowed herself a proper break. She sat across from Sora on a bench tucked away in a quieter part of the park, a bubble tea cup in her hand, her freshly trimmed hair brushing softly against her cheeks. Her makeup was subtle—just enough to enhance her features without masking them.
"So," Sora leaned in, her straw poking around the remaining ice in her drink. "You really had dinner at the Kazama estate?"
Emi gave a small nod, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. "Yes… his grandmother invited me. After work that evening, Ren drove me straight there."
Sora blinked. "Wow. You met her? Chiyo Kazama? The Chiyo Kazama who's basically mafia royalty?"
"She's... not what I expected," Emi said quietly. "She's kind. Warm. Nothing like what people say about their family. She even told me I was welcome anytime."
Sora raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. "Sounds like someone made a good impression. So?" Her voice lowered with teasing intent. "Do you like him?"
Emi's eyes widened. "What? No—I mean—I don't know."
Sora grinned. "You don't know?"
Emi looked down at her cup, her fingers tightening slightly around the plastic. "It's not that simple."
"Try me."
"I feel... grateful to him," Emi said after a long pause. "He helped me when no one else did. He gave me a job, protected me, and... there's something about the way he looks at me sometimes. It gets under my skin. But—" she hesitated, "we're eight years apart. He's twenty-eight, Sora. I'm just... a college student still figuring things out."
Sora stayed quiet, letting her speak.
"I can't help thinking—what would someone like him see in someone like me? I've spent years just trying to survive, working part-time jobs to pay off my dad's debts. I'm not graceful or confident. I don't even know what it's like to be in a real relationship. And he's... Ren Kazama. Powerful. Composed. He's seen more of the world—both the light and the dark—than I can imagine. So how could he ever see me as anything other than a girl who needs saving?"
Sora watched her friend quietly, her teasing demeanor softening into something more thoughtful.
"And maybe... I'm scared too," Emi added, her voice barely above a whisper. "Scared that if I let myself feel something, I'll get burned. Or worse—he'll never see me the way I... think I might be starting to see him."
Sora's voice was gentle now. "Maybe you should stop wondering what he sees and ask yourself what you want."
Emi looked away, the question lingering like a quiet ache behind her ribs.
Just then, Sora's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and smirked. "Daiki."
"Daiki…? Wait—you have his number?" Emi's voice shot up an octave.
Sora smirked. "Yeah. I didn't tell you? He gave it to me that night after sending me home that night. Said to call if anything shady happened again. We've been texting randomly. He's kind of annoying, but not in a terrible way."
Emi gawked. "And you just casually forgot to mention this?"
"Oops," Sora said with a shrug, smiling innocently. Then she glanced at the message again. "Anyway, he asked if I'm interested in joining them at a nightclub tonight. Said it's a way to blow off some steam."
Emi blinked. "Are… you going?"
"I was tempted," Sora said, sliding her phone back into her pocket, "but I've got a shift at the café tonight. We're short-staffed."
"Oh."
Sora turned to her with a slow grin. "But you could go."
"Me?" Emi nearly choked on her drink. "No way. I've never even been to a nightclub."
"Exactly why you should," Sora said, her eyes gleaming. "You've got nice clothes now. A little makeup. You're glowing, Emi. I've never seen you like this."
"I'll stand out. I don't belong in places like that." Emi swallowed, her heart suddenly heavy.
"Who knows?" Sora said lightly, her voice dipping with meaning. "Maybe this will be the night you stop wondering if Ren Kazama sees you as a helpless girl… and finally start seeing yourself as the woman he already sees."
*****
The bass thumped like a second heartbeat as Emi stepped through the doors of the upscale nightclub Daiki had mentioned. The lighting was low, seductive, flashing in pulses of red and gold that reflected off the glossy floors and crystal fixtures. Music vibrated through the soles of her shoes. She hesitated just inside the entrance, blinking as her eyes adjusted.
She'd never been in a place like this before.
The smoky glamour. The confidence. The women in sleek dresses and the men in dark suits with eyes that didn't miss a thing.
Daiki was the first to notice her.
"Come with me," Daiki had said, dragging her along without explaining anything.
Emi had barely managed to keep up as they entered a high-end nightclub, filled with rich men, flowing champagne, and women dressed in shimmering outfits. The scent of expensive perfume and alcohol hung thick in the air, blending with the steady pulse of music vibrating through the dimly lit space.
She had never been in a place like this before. It felt like a completely different world, one she didn't belong in, one that felt too sharp and glittering, too full of power plays she didn't understand.
The music thumped in the background, lights flashing across the darkened space in rhythmic pulses. Daiki led her past the main bar, weaving through the tables with practiced ease.
And then she saw him.
Ren Kazama.
Sitting in a private booth at the far end of the room, looking completely at ease as a group of hostesses crowded around him. The low glow of the table's lighting cast sharp shadows across his features, emphasizing the sharp cut of his jawline, the smooth control in his expression.
One of the women was leaning close, whispering something in his ear, her fingers trailing lightly along the collar of his suit. Another had her hand on his shoulder, laughing at something he said, her body angled toward him like he was the only man in the room that mattered.
And Ren?
He was just sitting there, his usual unreadable expression in place, letting it all happen like he was used to it.
Emi's stomach twisted. A strange, unwelcome weight settled in her chest, making it hard to breathe.
She had no reason to feel this way. He wasn't hers. He was Ren Kazama—a man who belonged to a world full of power, danger, and beautiful women who knew how to flirt effortlessly.
She had no right to feel anything. And yet—something burned in her chest anyway.
Something she couldn't name. Something she shouldn't feel. She forced herself to look away.
And yet, when Daiki nudged her with an amused smirk, she could already tell he had noticed.
"Jealous?" he asked, voice teasing, eyes flickering toward the booth with obvious amusement.
Emi snapped her head toward him, scowling. "No."
Daiki chuckled, his grin widening. "Sure."
Before she could argue, he waved a hand toward the booth. "You should probably head over there. Boss might want to see you."
Emi hesitated.
For a second, she almost turned and walked away. But then Ren looked up and their eyes met across the distance.
His relaxed posture stiffened—just slightly. The hostess beside him continued talking, oblivious, but Ren's gaze didn't waver from Emi.
And then Ren stood up. The women around him blinked in confusion as he brushed past them without a second glance, walking toward Emi.
Her feet felt glued to the floor, her chest tightening as she watched Ren push past the hostesses and walk toward her with steady, deliberate strides.
And God—why did he look like that?
His usual calm mask was in place, but his eyes were sharper, darker than usual. Like he had caught something he wasn't expecting to see.
The hostesses behind him whispered among themselves, clearly confused. One of them—the one who had been draped over his shoulder just minutes ago—stood up, looking annoyed.
"Ren~" she purred, reaching out toward him. "Where are you going?"
Ren didn't answer. Didn't even glance back.
His focus was locked entirely on Emi.
Emi could felt the weight of his attention—the way it made her heart race against her will.
And yet, when he finally reached her, standing too close, she swallowed hard, pulse erratic.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was low, quiet enough that no one else could hear.
Emi lifted her chin, pretending she wasn't affected. "Daiki invited Sora but she could not make it. Sora asked me to come."
Ren's eyes flickered toward Daiki for half a second. His expression was unreadable—flat, but edged with something that made Emi's skin prickle.
"Leave us," Ren said, his tone sharp and final.
Daiki blinked, clearly caught off guard by the order. He wasn't the only one. Two elegantly dressed women who had been lounging beside Ren just now exchanged awkward glances before quickly gathering their bags and stepping away.
Daiki raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. "Sure thing, boss." He sent a wink Emi's way before strolling off toward the bar.
Now, it was just the two of them.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice lower now—rougher, more intimate.
Emi folded her arms, eyes guarded. "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your moment with those women." Her words came out colder than she intended, clipped and sharp, like a defense she didn't have time to put away.
His brows drew together. "Is that what you think you saw?"
She gave a soft, humorless laugh. "I saw enough."
He took a step closer and Emi didn't move.
"You're jealous," he said quietly, not as a tease—but a statement. A realization.
She looked away, her throat tightening. "I'm not."
He reached out slowly, carefully, and tilted her chin back to meet his gaze.
"You are," he murmured. "And I don't mind it."
Her breath hitched.
His hand was warm against her skin, his fingers gentle—but firm enough that she couldn't escape the truth in his eyes.
"I didn't ask those women to be here," he continued, his voice low, barely audible beneath the hum of the club. "I didn't even look at them."
Emi swallowed hard. "Then why didn't you stop them?"
"Because I didn't care," he said simply. "They meant nothing."
Her heart slammed in her chest.
"And what about me?" she asked, the words trembling out before she could stop them.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, his thumb brushed gently along her jaw, slow, deliberate. The kind of touch that wasn't casual. That meant something.
"You," he said, voice steady, "get under my skin."
She blinked.
"I don't know what to do with you, Emi," he admitted. "You make me think about things I shouldn't. Feel things that I never felt before."
The words wrapped around her, warm and heavy.
But still—doubt lingered in her eyes.
"We're eight years apart," she whispered. "You're… you. And I'm just some college student who barely knows how to wear heels."
Ren leaned in, his forehead nearly touching hers.
"Don't reduce yourself like that," he said. "You're not 'just' anything. Not to me."
Emi's breath stilled.
"I see the way you carry yourself. The way you fight for what you want, even when it's hard. I've seen how hard you've worked to survive. You think I'd waste time on someone I didn't respect?"
She didn't know what to say.
Her walls were crumbling—too fast, too easily—and she hated how much she wanted to fall into him.
"Ren…" she breathed.
He didn't kiss her.
But his hand slid from her jaw to the back of her neck, his fingers threading through her hair, holding her in place like he couldn't bear the idea of letting her walk away.
And for a moment—just a moment—she leaned in.
Their breaths mingled. They were so close.
But then—
Ren exhaled sharply and pulled back. Barely. Just enough to stop it.
"You should go home," he said softly, voice rough with restraint. "Before I do something we can't take back."
Her eyes searched his face, every inch of her burning with things she wasn't ready to say.
She nodded slowly and without another word, she turned and walked toward the exit.
Ren watched her the whole way. And in his chest, something unfamiliar twisted—tight and dangerous. Because Emi Fujimoto wasn't just getting under his skin anymore. She was already in his blood.