The low hum of the blacked out SUV filled the silence, tires gliding over the paved road as the city rolled past in golden blur. The evening sun dipped low behind buildings, casting long shadows.
Itami sat in the back seat, fumbling with the knot of his tie.
"Why are people still going old school with private security?" he muttered, yanking the tie loose for the third time. "Can't I at least wear something else? I know some people just hire heroes to do this stuff."
"Tell that to all the royals and ridiculously rich families," Kael replied from the driver's seat, his helmet bouncing around in the passenger side. "Heroes have standards—and about ten times the red tape. Private security? We don't have to play by as many rules."
He glanced at Itami through the rearview mirror, smirking. "Besides, rookie, you clean up halfway decent when you're not covered in soot or burns. Unlike last time." A faint crackle of static popped from his palm.
Itami side-eyed him, still wrestling with the tie. "Still… why are ties this complicated? Next time I'm wearing a clip-on."
Lira, sitting beside him, let out an exaggerated sigh. "Here—God, you're hopeless."
"I can do it—"
She tugged the tie from his hands without asking. "Clearly."
Her fingers moved with practiced ease, tightening the knot and fixing the collar.
"You don't want a clip-on," she said casually. "They're cheap. No class." She adjusted the tie with a final tug, then added with a smirk, "Not that you had any to begin with."
Itami let out a breath, fingers twitching at the fixed knot. "Feels like a noose."
"That's the idea," Lira replied, sitting back with a smug smile. "Now you look just professional enough to pass for someone's glorified shadow."
"You're all heart," he said dryly, adjusting his cuffs.
Kael let out a small laugh from the front. "Try not to scowl too much when we walk in. The VIP's can smell attitude"
"Pretty sure they're used to hiring muscle looking miserable," Itami muttered.
"Not when that muscle's fifteen and still growing into his scowl," Lira said, flicking a speck of lint from his shoulder like she was polishing off a sculpture. "You'll get there."
Itami rolled his eyes and slumped back against the seat. His nerves buzzed faintly under his skin, not from anxiety—more like a low current of something unresolved.
We're just babysitting again. But still…
He stared out the window, watching the skyline inch past. It was almost time.
Drex cut through the comms. "Pull into the back parking lot. This will be the drop off for Wraith. Blast forge your only posing as a driver for now when you pull up to the front. Itami. You are to go inside and pick up our VIP."
Kael tapped the brakes, the car slowing as the street darkened under the looming shade of a building. Entering a parking lot behind a extravagant hotel.
"Alright, this is your stop Wraith" Kael said, the engine purring as Lira puts on her helmet.
"Showtime, And this time, keep the brooding to the minimum. "
The car purred to a stop at the front of the hotel. The sleek glass façade reflected the morning light in sharp angles. Kael didn't even look back as he muttered, "You're up, Rookie."
Itami adjusted his jacket, pushed open the door, and stepped out. The air smelled like expensive perfume and polished marble, red carpet unfurling toward the entrance. He took a breath, kept his shoulders relaxed, and walked into the lobby.
A small cluster of hotel staff lingered near the entrance. A couple of well-dressed guests brushed past him on their way out. No sign of her.
A minute passed.
Drex's voice cut in over the comm. "Have you located the VIP?"
Itami pressed a finger to his earpiece. "Not yet. Still—"
"You're my private bodyguard, right? Itami from Lizard Security?"
The voice came from behind him.
He turned.
She stood just a few feet away, framed by the glass door. Dressed in a fitted cream coat, dark shades hiding her eyes. Her posture was precise. Controlled. Not stiff—trained. Her long hair was tied back neatly, and she moved like someone who'd spent years under stage lights.
"Yes," he said, catching himself. "You must be Aika Rose."
She offered a smile—quick, polished. "Guess I picked the right guy in the crowd."
Itami blinked.
She's not supposed to know what I look like. How—
He didn't let it show. Just nodded and gestured to the curb.
"This way, Miss Aika."
She walked beside him, steps silent even on marble.
"Do you always work this low-profile?" she asked breezily. "Because I think half the lobby was expecting smoke machines and laser drones."
He noticed them—whispers, pointed fingers. Recognition. Cameras raised, some discreet. Others not.
"It's how we operate," he replied evenly. "Your safety is our top priority."
"I'm starting to envy your job a little," she said, half-smiling.
Kael popped the locks. Aika slid into the backseat without missing a beat.
Itami followed, the car gliding away into traffic.
For a while, silence.
Then her voice came quieter, thoughtful. "So. What do you know about me?"
"Your name. The threat. And that I'm your personal bodyguard until this tour ends."
She tilted her head. "Is that what they told you? Just a bodyguard?"
"That's the assignment."
Her fingers tapped the armrest once. Thoughtful.
"You're not much of a talker," she said. "That's probably for the best. Easier to pretend this is normal when the people guarding you don't act like people."
He didn't answer. Just watched the skyline slide past.
After a pause, she added, "Hope you like theater. The first few shows are in Shibuya. Big venues. Dramatic crowds. Have you been?"
"Can't say that I have."
Aika shifted in her seat, pulling off her sunglasses now that the car was shaded. Her eyes—sharp, calculating, but tired—met his.
"I always forget how quiet security types are," she said. "But I guess I'm not really good at small talk either."
"You're doing fine," Itami replied, tone neutral but not cold.
"Is this your first time guarding a performer?" she asked, voice casual.
"Yes."
"You don't look like a fan."
"I'm not."
Her eyebrow lifted faintly, almost amused. "Honest. That's rare."
Itami didn't look away. "They'd said it'd take a week. Might as well be honest."
"Good." She turned her gaze to the window again, fingers now drumming a slow rhythm. "Because I'm not really in the mood for pretending."
That caught his attention, just for a moment. Her tone was too flat for the words to be casual.
She noticed.
"What about you?" she asked, still watching the city. "Did you choose this line of work?"
"No."
"Ah. One of those paths you don't get to pick."
Itami's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. A small twitch of his shoulder. A beat passed before he answered.
"Something like that."
Aika didn't press further. The rest of the time was silent.
The car turned down a wide boulevard, the glowing signs of Shibuya now coming into view. Bright lights. Billboards. People. A different energy pulsed here—loud, constant, a mix of luxury and chaos.
"First venue's about ten minutes out," Kael said from the front, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting a dial. "We've got a secure drop point. Media in the front so we'll be heading towards the back entrance."
"Perfect," Aika murmured, reaching into her coat for a compact and checking her reflection.
Itami watched her from the corner of his eye. Something about her was off. Not just the polished act—but a tension under the surface. Controlled, yes. But not calm.
Like she's bracing for something she already knows is coming.
He looked away, back to the street ahead. The glow of the city easing him for a moment. Itami looked down at his watch.
Two hours till curtain. And a long week for me.
The back corridors of the theater buzzed with quiet movement—technicians double-checking wires, assistants darting in and out of dressing rooms, the hum of lighting rigs adjusting overhead.
Itami stayed close behind Aika as they made their way through the maze. Every hallway smelled faintly of wood polish and paint.
Aika removed her coat as they entered the dressing room. The space was minimal—just a mirror, a few chairs, and a rack of elegant, neutral-toned outfits. She hung the coat with care, then ran her fingers through her hair, her movements practiced and precise.
"You can wait outside if you want," she said, not looking at him.
Drex's voice crackled through Itami's earpiece, low and cold. "That's a negative."
I feel weird being in here…
"No," Itami replied, arms crossed. "I'm assigned to stay close."
Aika glanced at him through the mirror, raising a brow. "So by-the-book."
He gave a slight shrug. "I was told you were a high-value target. I don't take chances."
She smirked faintly. "And here I thought private security types were supposed to be charming."
"I'm not paid to be charming."
A quiet laugh escaped her. "Good. I hate fake charm."
She sat down at the mirror, picking up her makeup kit. For a moment, she just stared at her reflection—expression unreadable.
"Surprised you don't have a stylist," Itami said.
"They offered," she replied, brushing a soft line under her eye. "But I take pride in doing it myself."
He gave a small nod, saying nothing more.
Aika finished her makeup and set the brush down, then leaned back slightly in her chair. Her eyes flicked to the mirror, watching him in the reflection.
"You ever been to one of my shows before?" she asked.
"No."
"Didn't think so. You've got the 'this is a waste of my time' face."
Itami didn't answer, just raised an eyebrow.
She smiled faintly. "You don't talk much, but I get the feeling you're constantly thinking."
He shrugged. "Not always helpful thoughts."
"Well," she said, standing and brushing off her shoulders, "try not to look like you're counting down the seconds. My audience is weirdly good at noticing that stuff."
"I'll manage," Itami replied flatly.
She let out a quiet laugh, amused.
Then she crossed the room, opened a small black case, and pulled out a blindfold. Simple, sleek, like part of the act. Without hesitation, she tied it over her eyes with smooth precision, the fabric resting evenly across her face.
Itami tilted his head slightly.
She wears a blindfold? Must be one of those see-through ones.
She turned toward the door as the intercom buzzed to life. "Aika Rose, five minutes."
"Right on cue," she said lightly, adjusting the hem of her dress. Then, without missing a step, she added with a grin, "Try not to look too impressed."
The curtains parted with fluid grace. Aika stepped onto the stage like she belonged to it—every movement poised, deliberate, flawless.
Itami watched from the side, arms crossed, eyes steady.
The orchestra swelled behind her, a soft string arrangement building into something larger. Her voice cut through cleanly—high, clear, perfectly timed with each motion of her feet. Dance and song, perfectly interwoven. Not mechanical—lived in. Like her body knew this routine better than breathing.
Behind her, the stage pulsed with activity. Background actors and dancers moved like gears in a clock—shifting formations, passing props, adjusting lighting cues mid-motion. Aika stayed center. Untouched. A single thread weaving through chaos.
Itami's gaze stayed on her. Silent. Focused. Something about her presence on stage was different—less rehearsed, more… instinctual. But that thought passed as quickly as it came.
He shifted his weight slightly. Still alert. Still on duty.
The final note lingered in the air, the stage lights dimmed, and applause thundered from the theater. Aika gave a short bow before slipping offstage, breathing steady but eyes hidden behind the blindfold.
She said nothing. Just walked past him, calm and silent.
Itami followed, weaving through crew members and techs congratulating her. Back through the winding halls of the backstage, and into her dressing room. Itami caught the door before it closed and entered as Aika put her blindfold back.
She stood by the mirror again, hands steady as she peeled the blindfold off like it was nothing more than another part of her costume. Her hair was slightly tousled now, cheeks still faintly flushed from the performance, but her expression was unreadable.
Then—just as quickly as she'd gone silent—she exhaled sharply and dropped into the chair with a faint groan.
"Ugh. My legs are going to kill me tomorrow."
Itami raised an eyebrow. "That didn't seem to slow you down out there."
She pulled her hair free from its tie, letting it fall over her shoulders as she gave him a sideways glance through the mirror. "You think I just glide around like that naturally?"
"You made it look easy."
She gave a small laugh—more real this time. "You learn how to smile and bleed at the same time in this job. Don't be fooled."
Itami didn't respond. Just watched her calmly as she began wiping off her makeup with practiced ease.
Her tone shifted slightly—lighter, almost playful again.
"Be honest. You were impressed. Even if you're the strong-and-silent type, I saw you watching like a statue."
Itami gave a faint shrug. "You did your job. I did mine."
"Wow. High praise from Lizard Security." She smirked, then leaned back, tossing the used wipe onto the counter. "Next time I want a standing ovation."
"No promises."
She laughed again, just enough to fill the quiet of the room. Then she stood, slipping her coat back on and adjusting the collar.
"Alright, soldier. Back to the shadows."
They stepped out into the hallway, the backstage now quieter as the crowd outside began to disperse. The atmosphere had shifted again—less frantic, more composed. Controlled.
They exited through the back entrance. The SUV was already waiting in its usual position, engine humming.
Itami's stepped in front of Aika and opens the door for her. For a brief moment he noticed Kael wasn't driving it was Drex. Expression unreadable. Stance perfectly still.
Aika didn't seem to notice the change. She gave a polite nod to Drex and slid into the back seat, graceful as ever.
Itami followed, slipping in beside her. The door shut with a solid click.
The SUV pulled away and onto the road, with other passing cars.
The car moved silently through the glowing city streets, its interior dimly lit by the soft underglow of the dashboard.
Itami sat quietly beside Aika in the back seat, arms folded, his posture rigid from a long day of being alert. The low hum of the engine was the only sound.
Aika hadn't said a word since leaving the green room.
She stared out the window, unreadable.
Then—
With a soft click, she pressed a button on the side panel beside her. The center console between their seats split open with mechanical precision, revealing a sleek bottle of deep red wine nestled in velvet. Two crystal glasses rose into place like a ceremony on display.
"First night went well," Aika said at last. Her voice was back to being light, almost performative. "We should toast."
Itami didn't move.
She reached for the bottle, uncorked it with practiced ease, and poured the dark liquid into both glasses.
Aika offered one to him, holding it steady. Waiting.
"I don't drink while I'm working," Itami said evenly.
"Aw, come on. Not even a sip?" she smiled—but her tone didn't change.
Before he could reply, Drex's voice crackled through his earpiece—low, calm, almost detached.
"Accommodate the VIP. It's part of the assignment."
Itami's eyes flicked to the front.
Drex didn't look back, but in the rearview mirror, their eyes met.
A near-imperceptible nod.
Itami hesitated only a second longer before taking the glass.
"Sure, Just for tonight."
He looked at the swirl of dark red liquid.
Luxury of Illusion? They really need better names for wine.
The two glasses clinked. He drank. Smooth. Aged. Burned like hell on the way down.
Fighting a cough, he raised the glass again, trying not to make a face. "It's good."
Aika gave a soft nod, eyes back on the window.
Silence settled.
Itami leaned back. The warmth hit first. Then came the fog—slow at the edges of his vision. His limbs heavier. Head lighter.
Ugh. I hate alcohol. That tasted like Akuma's green tea.