Kurosaki Masaki's Desire
A faint blue flame burst from a gold-encrusted lighter as it landed on the mountain of cash, quickly igniting the banknotes.
The entire nation was stunned.
Even the reporters covering the incident were frozen in disbelief.
Bank robberies and kidnappings weren't new, but this crime shattered expectations. Those who valued money would never burn through it so recklessly.
Shiraishi grinned at their reactions. He recalled a Joker film he'd once seen, where the villain danced as stacks of money burned. He had always wanted to try something that bold himself—but he'd never had the funds, and the law stood in his way.
Now, his dream was reality.
Hopping off the counter, Shiraishi waved his hand.
Tai Hideo immediately stepped forward. Earlier, he had been offered a cigarette; now he obediently produced a Cuban cigar, cut it, and handed it over.
Shiraishi clenched the cigar between his teeth, bent toward the fire, and lit it with the flames of the burning cash. A fragrant stream of smoke escaped his lips.
Then, gripping a fire axe, he twisted his waist and swung in rhythm, breaking into a wild, almost dance-like performance before the blaze.
No one spoke.
Even the reporters—so used to filling silence—watched in awe, captivated by the strange elegance of the criminal's movements.
For a moment, some even felt the urge to join in.
"Wow, so cool!!"
A girl with orange, side-parted hair lay sprawled across a sofa, chin in her hands, feet crossed behind her. Her eyes sparkled as she stared at the color TV.
Kurosaki Masaki was mesmerized. That man's charm radiated even through the screen.
"But what a waste…" she muttered, pain flashing across her face. The burning pile must have been worth hundreds of millions of yen. Even one-tenth of it could have changed her life—enough to move out of the strict Ishida household, where her aunt's harsh rules weighed heavily.
Still, she smiled faintly. Finding joy even in suffocating circumstances was her way of surviving.
"Masaki, it's your turn to shower," a cold voice cut through her thoughts.
Ishida Ryūken, silver-haired and stern, strode into the living room shirtless, a towel around his waist. His chiseled frame would have left her classmates speechless, but Masaki barely glanced at him.
"Xiaolong, wait until this is over," she replied flatly, her gaze fixed on the television.
Ryūken frowned at the screen. Burning money, dancing with a cigar—it looked more like some overblown Western film than reality. "What is this supposed to be?"
"It's not a movie," Masaki corrected brightly. "This is live. That man robbed Karakura First Bank and kidnapped Tai Hideo—the head of the Tai Group."
"Criminals. Hmph. Pointless," Ryūken muttered. Rational to the core, he despised acts driven by impulse. No matter how flamboyant now, such a man would only meet prison or execution.
But Masaki shot back immediately. "You don't get it. He's doing exactly what he wants, all the way to the end. Isn't that cool?"
Perhaps because she had grown up beside this emotionally restrained cousin, Masaki found herself drawn to those who dared to break free of rules, people who lived boldly rather than suppressing themselves.
Ryūken gave no answer, uninterested in arguing. "I'll continue my Quincy training. Don't stay up too late."
Masaki barely nodded. She wasn't invested in Quincy training anyway—her aunt forbade pure-blood Quincies from fighting, leaving the work to half-bloods. Training felt meaningless.
Her attention never wavered from the screen.
After finishing his surreal dance, Shiraishi was approached by a nervous reporter.
"Hello, I'm Hiramatsu Tarō from TV Tokyo. May I ask your name?"
"Shiraishi," the silver-haired man replied smoothly.
"Mr. Shiraishi… why did you kidnap Tai Hideo? Was it for money? Revenge?"
"No," Shiraishi said casually. "I just wanted to see the fireworks."
The reporter froze, his prepared script crumbling. "You… what?"
"That's right," Shiraishi continued with a carefree smile. "Isn't it romantic? A Ferris wheel at night, fireworks in the sky, and then… one final jump together."
The words left the room silent. This criminal's motives weren't money or vengeance—just the pursuit of a fleeting, bizarre ideal.
Outside, hundreds of officers and three helicopters stood ready. The governor had even held a press conference. All this chaos—because one man wanted to see fireworks.
"Haha, don't overthink it. Just be happy," Shiraishi said, throwing his arm around the bewildered reporter.
The man stammered, "But… do you know what punishment awaits you?"
"No one can punish me," Shiraishi answered, his tone almost cheerful. "At eight tonight, my girlfriend and I will ride the Ferris wheel. We'll watch the fireworks, then jump from the highest point together. The law can't punish the dead."
His words were as reckless as they were resolute.
Masaki sat up sharply, her heart pounding. For the first time, she felt an overwhelming curiosity toward a stranger—a desire to know everything about him.
And more than that—she wanted to meet him.
The thought struck her like lightning, and once it formed, it couldn't be dismissed. Her aunt's strict rules, Ryūken's disapproval—none of it mattered.
If she didn't meet Shiraishi, she knew she would regret it forever.
Masaki leapt from the sofa, rushed to the entrance, and slipped on her shoes.