Calm settled after the rain. The steady sound of drops crashing on the roof formed a kind of melancholic melody. Yuhida, still soaked, stood for a moment, eyes fixed on Bakuzan sitting on the couch. The aura of mystery surrounding him seemed more soothing than threatening that evening.
She took a deep breath, hesitated, then let herself fall beside him.
— Bakuzan…
He turned his head slightly toward her.
— Yes?
She kept silent for a moment, then let out, in a slightly hoarse voice:
— I never told you what I really do, did I?
Bakuzan looked at her without judgment, simply waiting.
Yuhida inhaled again, then spoke slowly:
— I never had a real family. I was adopted, you see... by people who were already involved in shady stuff. Juty, he's the one who raised me. He often said I was clever, quick, useful. So I ended up becoming what they wanted: bait. A girl put in front of carts to distract, to seduce, so others could steal quietly.
Her fingers clenched on her pants.
— Over time, it became a habit. We did robberies, thefts... always the same schemes. I didn't choose, I just... followed. And Juty is like a big brother to me. He taught me to survive, to fight, to lie too.
Her voice cracked a little.
— But last time... everything went wrong. We got caught off guard. Some guys from the gang were arrested, and it's my fault. I was distracted. I was thinking of you, of what you had become, of what I was doing out there. And now, Juty doesn't want me to come on missions anymore. He says I'm a danger. And that... that hurts, you see? Because it's my family. It's all I have.
Bakuzan remained silent for a moment. He finally raised his hand and placed his fingers on Yuhida's shoulder. His black gaze shone with an unexpected gentleness.
— I see… you know... the life you lead is risky. Not just because of bullets or prison. It's a life that tears you little by little from yourself. Every time you steal, lie, betray someone to survive, you drift further from the person you could become.
He slightly averted his gaze toward the window where the rain still slid down.
— I've seen people like that. People who thought they belonged to a "family" just because they shared the same crimes. But the day you're no longer useful, they drop you. Not because they're mean, but because they don't know how to do otherwise. Their world is survival. Not loyalty.
Yuhida remained mute, eyes fixed on the ground. She didn't expect him to judge her, but to understand — and he did. In a strange way, he seemed to have lived that kind of loneliness, the one hidden behind strength.
Bakuzan resumed in a softer voice:
— I don't blame you. And I won't forbid you to continue if it's the only thing you want to do. If you decide to stay with them, I won't hold you back. Everyone carries their own burden, Yuhida. But... ask yourself a question: do you still live for them, or just out of habit?
Yuhida felt a pang in her heart. Her lips trembled. She wanted to answer, but no words came out.
Bakuzan continued, without looking at her:
— If those people adopted you just to serve their plans, then that's not a family. A family is one that wants to see you free, not one that binds you with fear.
Silence fell again. Only the wind outside and the stubborn dripping of the rain could be heard.
Yuhida felt her throat tighten. These words resonated in her with a strange, almost violent force.
A family... that wants to see you free...
She thought of Juty. His laughter from before, the way he called her "little sister" after a successful heist. But also his cold gaze the night before, when he slammed the door without listening to her excuses.
A deep doubt settled. Had she been loved, or just used? Was she their sister... or just a convenient tool?
She closed her eyes for a moment.
Bakuzan's words sank into her mind like a truth she still refused to acknowledge.
He didn't force her to change. He imposed nothing. But that was exactly what hurt: he left her the choice.
When she reopened her eyes, Bakuzan was still looking at her, calmly, without pressure.
She whispered, almost to herself:
— Maybe you're right... Maybe I've been wrong from the start.
He nodded softly, a faint barely visible smile.
— We never really make mistakes, Yuhida. We learn, that's all.
And in that still humid night, Yuhida felt for the first time in a long while something different: not relief, but a kind of clarity.
As if the world around her, so blurry, was finally beginning to take shape with clear contours.
Days passed slowly, as if time itself wanted to give her the leisure to finally breathe.
Yuhida had not returned to see Juty. She had wanted to, at first — to apologize again, to be forgiven — but something inside her had changed.
This time, she wanted first to learn to exist alone, to rebuild herself before returning to the shadows.
And in this rebuilding, Bakuzan was there. Always there.
Not as a cumbersome guest or a burden, but as a calm presence, a kind of silent strength that gave meaning to her days.
He never said clearly that he stayed for her, but Yuhida saw it.
Every time she made a mistake planting a seed or damaged a tool, he approached, calm, sleeves rolled up.
— Here, look, this is how you do it. My father used to tell me this all the time when I was a kid.
Then he showed her the movements, precise, patient. And in those simple moments, the garden was no longer just a small patch of earth: it was a link between two wounded souls, between a past one tries to forget and a future one begins to hope for.
When her head hurt, he placed a hand against her forehead, and a soft glow — that dark violet nearly familiar by now — wrapped her in a soothing warmth.
— You should take care of yourself, he said simply. You have to always be well.
Yuhida didn't dare tell him how much such words did her good.
No one had ever taken care of her without expecting anything in return.
On tired days, it was he who tidied the house, did the laundry, or chopped wood for the hot water.
— Rest, he often said. I have nothing else to do today.
And she knew that was false. That he had his reasons, his secrets, perhaps even invisible battles to fight. But he stayed. And that alone was enough to warm the whole apartment.
When she cooked, it became a ritual: she always made too much, unconsciously, as if she already knew he would sit at the table without saying a word.
And when she messed up a recipe, Bakuzan tasted, frowned, and smiled gently.
— You put too much salt... or not enough. Look, I'll help you.
He tasted again, added a spice, corrected the flavor, then finished the plate.
— I don't like waste, he added calmly.
But Yuhida saw it was more than that.
It was his way of saying she wasn't alone. That he was there, in the small things of daily life, in every silence and every gesture.
Sometimes, she watched him discreetly.
His gaze, lost in the void, always seemed inhabited by an invisible weight. At times, his eyes took on that shade of deep night — as if another life, heavier, darker, still weighed on him.
But as soon as he met her gaze, he regained his calm, almost human expression, and simply said:
— You put too much rice again, Yuhida.
And she laughed. A real laugh, not forced, not nervous. A laugh she thought she had forgotten for years.
Two months passed like this.
Two months where the house vibrated with a peace she had never known.
The walls no longer echoed with cries, nor fear, nor anger. There was no more smell of gunpowder, no tension in the air. Just the crackling of fire, the steady sound of rain, and sometimes... Bakuzan's voice telling her snippets of his past.
He rarely spoke of himself, but enough to let her glimpse a vanished world — brothers, a sister, a mother who cooked better than anyone else, a father who taught patience and discipline. Memories he evoked with an almost nostalgic softness, like shadows of a time when everything still had meaning.
Yuhida loved those moments.
She didn't know why, but she felt Bakuzan spoke of a distant dream, something he would never see again. And yet, when he shared it with her, she felt privileged, almost chosen.
The more days passed, the more she realized how much her life had changed since he was there.
Before, every day was just a repetition of survival: steal, run, lie, fear.
Now, she woke up with a purpose. Even if it was just a simple shared lunch or a conversation about the rain, it was enough.
And in her heart, a soft yet frightening truth took shape:
Bakuzan had become the most beautiful gift life had ever given her.
A being from nowhere, wrapped in mystery and power, but capable of rare humanity.
She still didn't dare say it out loud, but she knew: she no longer wanted that parenthesis to end.
She wanted that everyday life to last... if only a little longer.
For the first time in her life, Yuhida felt she belonged.
Yuhida calmly washed the dishes, her gaze lost in the trembling reflection of the water. The house was silent, a rare thing for some time now. Bakuzan had left since morning, without saying where, but she had gotten used to his occasional absences — he always ended up coming back.
She hummed softly, her face calm, when suddenly, three dull knocks rang at the door.
Doom. Doom. Doom.
A familiar voice, hoarse, charged with tension she recognized immediately:
— Yuhida, are you there?
Her heart jumped.
Juty?
Her hands still wet, she hesitated for a moment before opening. And there he was — Juty, looking tired, nervous, accompanied by two men she didn't know.
— Hi, my little Yuhida, he said with a forced smile.
Without even waiting for her to invite them, they stepped into the living room and sat on the couch. The atmosphere immediately grew heavy, saturated with unspoken words.
Juty slumped, ran a hand through his hair, then said in a grave tone:
— We'll get straight to the point... Yuhida, we're being hunted.
She widened her eyes, swallowing hard.
— Hunted? By who?
— By the police. One of ours snitched from jail. They made him talk... apparently with torture. Now they know where we hide, who we are, everything.
Yuhida's heart tightened.
— But... what are we going to do?
Juty raised his hand, looking like a man on the verge of breaking.
— Wait, I'm not done. Besides the cops... other gangs are on our backs.
The room seemed to lose all its oxygen.
— The new recruits we brought last time? Spies. They passed our info to their bosses. Now it's war. We can't counterattack, not like this. The only plan left is to flee, far from here.
He looked her straight in the eyes.
— And since you're no longer here to play bait, it's become a real shitshow.
Yuhida felt a cold shiver run up her back. Part of her wanted to cry, another wanted to scream. But she stayed silent, upright, fists clenched.
Juty abruptly stood, in an authoritative tone:
— Pack your things. We leave in two hours.
He took a step toward the door, followed by his two men. But as he was about to leave, Yuhida interrupted him with a trembling voice:
— Juty... wait.
He stopped. His massive back froze.
— I have an honest question for you.
Silence. Only the dripping of still-wet dishes could be heard.
Juty slowly turned, his hard eyes plunged into hers.
— Go ahead, ask.
She took a deep breath, her gaze shining with anger and sorrow mixed.
— Tell me, Juty... who am I to you, really?
The question cracked in the room like a detonation.
The two men behind him exchanged an awkward glance.
But Juty did not answer right away. He stared at her, silent, as if the words she had just spoken had cracked something too deep inside him.
Yuhida continued, her voice firmer, charged with emotion:
— From the start... why did you adopt me? To serve as bait? To watch for the police while you stole? You say I'm your family, but what family would do that?
Juty clenched his teeth, jaw tight.
— You're like my sister, Yuhida... you know that.
— Then why was I always the only one to risk my life? she almost shouted, eyes misty.
A cold silence fell.
Juty finally looked away.
— That's how we survived, he said quietly. We do what we can, not what we want.
But this time, his words no longer touched her like before.
Something had just broken.
Bakuzan wasn't there, but his presence hovered in her mind.
What he told her echoed again: "You deserve better than to live in fear, Yuhida."
She felt a tear fall, not of sadness, but of clarity.
For the first time, she saw the truth:
what she called "family" might have been nothing more than a well-disguised cage.