Three days later, I went to the market to buy supplies for the restaurant.
The rain had stopped, but the streets were still damp, the air thick with summer humidity.
As I walked through a narrow alley, voices echoed behind me — sharp, familiar.
— "Well, well… look who it is. The gaijin from the old lady's food stall."
— "That's her. The one who stabbed Yoshi's eye."
They stepped in front of me, blocking the path.
My heart sped up.
Cold sweat trickled down my spine.
Still, I tried to stay calm.
— "Please move," I said firmly.
One of them grabbed me by the waist and shoved me against the wall.
His hands closed tightly around my wrists.
I struggled, uselessly, my throat tightening.
— "Because of you, Yoshi's half-blind now, you little bitch."
I screamed, fighting to break free, panic rising fast in my chest.
Then suddenly, the man was thrown to the ground.
I looked up.
And there he was.
The man in the suit.
The same one from the restaurant.
His eyes were steel. Cold… but oddly grounding.
Without a word, he stepped into the fight.
Each blow was precise. Calm. Efficient.
— "Behind you!" I shouted.
He caught the punch mid-air and twisted the man's wrist like it was nothing — like snapping a toy.
A dozen more men rushed in, armed with metal pipes.
What kind of hell have I walked into?
He was ready to fight again — alone, against all of them.
I didn't think.
I grabbed his wrist and pulled.
— "Come with me!"
We ran.
Through narrow, rain-slicked streets, our footsteps splashing against puddles.
At some point, my hand slipped into his.
He didn't let go.
We turned into a side alley and stopped beneath a small awning.
Breathless, I leaned back against the wall, trying to catch my breath.
A soft laugh escaped me.
— "That was… close. We almost got caught."
I looked down.
Our hands were still joined.
Flushed, I slowly pulled mine back.
He was catching his breath too, though his face stayed unreadable. Then he looked at me.
— "Why did we run?"
— "Are you serious? Those men… they're not street punks. They're connected. Mafiosi, probably. You don't mess with people like that."
That's when I noticed the blood.
A thin red line across his hand.
— "You're hurt."
He glanced at the wound, as if he hadn't noticed.
I reached into my bag, pulling out a bandage. I stepped closer.
When my fingers brushed his, he grabbed my wrist — a sharp reflex, twisting slightly.
— "Ow!"
— "Sorry."
His grip loosened at once.
For just a second, his eyes softened — the ice cracking ever so slightly.
That flicker in his expression surprised me more than the pain.
— "Your reflexes are pretty good," I muttered. "It's nothing."
I smiled, trying to ease the tension.
— "I'll put the bandage on. Just… try not to break my arm this time."
— "Give it to me. I can do it myself."
— "No. You got hurt because of me. Let me."
Gently, I placed the bandage on his hand.
His gaze stayed fixed on mine, steady, unreadable.
But something was different.
For the first time… I thought I saw something behind that stare.
Surprise.
Maybe even hesitation.
— "I'm Amal," I said softly. "And you?"
— "Takashi."
I smiled.
More sincerely than I thought I could.
And just for a moment ,He looked away.
As if I'd caught him off guard...
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