Aiko woke on the sofa, a soft cashmere blanket draped over her. Mochi was a warm, heavy loaf on her stomach. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was Kaito, standing by the window. He was holding a mug of tea, watching the sunrise burn away the last of the city's shadows. It wasn't the tense, guarded stance of a warden. It was the quiet vigil of a man watching over his home.
The heavy armor of fear and uncertainty she had worn for days had vanished in the night, replaced by a strange, fragile calm.
"Good morning," she said, her voice husky with sleep.
He turned, a flicker of a smile in his eyes. It was still a rare, surprising thing. "Morning. There's tea."
They drank their tea in a comfortable silence. The unspoken questions and the charged electricity were gone, replaced by an easy quiet. They were two people who had survived a long night together. It was enough.
"I don't understand," Aiko said, finally breaking the silence. "You attacked their gambling den. You hit them hard. Why would they immediately retaliate like that? Why come for me when they should be defending themselves?"
Kaito took a slow sip of his tea, gathering his thoughts. He no longer filtered his words with her. He spoke to her as an equal.
"Because the hit was too perfect," he explained. "Too clean. It wasn't just a loss of money; it was a loss of face. It made them look weak and foolish. A wounded animal doesn't retreat to its cave, Aiko. It lashes out blindly at what it thinks caused the pain." He looked at her, his expression grim. "And right now, they think you are the cause of all their pain."
He led her over to his laptop, which was open on the large dining table. The screen was filled with security footage stills—grainy images of the hallway outside the apartment and the street below. "Kenji is reviewing the footage from his ambush. They were sloppy. They were angry."
Aiko looked over his shoulder at the images of the dark-suited men who had tried to kill them. They were anonymous, terrifying figures. But as Kaito scrolled through the images, Aiko's eyes, trained by years of stocking shelves and noticing the smallest detail out of place, caught something.
"Wait," she said, pointing at the screen. "Go back."
Kaito toggled back a few images. It was a blurry shot of one of the men in the hallway, his face obscured. In his hand, he was holding a crumpled paper cup.
"It's just trash," Kaito said, ready to move on.
"No, look at the logo," Aiko insisted, leaning closer. It was a cheerful, cartoon cat wearing a little bell. "That's from 'Neko no Jikan' Cafe. It's a small chain, they only have a few locations. They're famous for their 3D latte art. It's... not the kind of place you'd expect a Yakuza thug to get his coffee."
Kaito stared at the screen, then at her. A new light of understanding—and respect—dawned in his eyes. "My men have been searching for a hidden base. A warehouse, an abandoned building, something discreet. They've been looking for soldiers." He looked back at the coffee cup. "You've been looking for people. And people have habits."
He immediately pulled out his phone and dialed Kenji. "Forget the warehouses," he said, his voice sharp and alive with a new energy. "Focus on the 'Neko no Jikan' Cafe locations. The one in Yanaka, specifically. It's old, quiet, and overlooks the cemetery. A perfect place for a discreet meeting. I want eyes on it. Now."
He hung up and looked at Aiko. The admiration in his gaze was unmistakable. "They've been searching for a fortress," he said quietly. "You found them at a cat cafe."
Aiko felt a flush of pride. For the first time since this had all begun, she hadn't been a victim or a burden. She had been useful. She had helped.
The new sense of partnership filled the room. They were a team.
Kaito watched her for a long moment, a plan clearly forming in his mind. The hunt was on again, but this time, they were the predators.
"The Kageyama are moving something through that cafe," he said, his voice a low, strategic hum. "Something they think is safe. I'm going to take it from them, right from under their noses." He paused, his dark eyes intense. "I need my men on the ground, but I need something more. I need someone who sees the details everyone else misses."
He looked directly at her, and the question was clear. But it wasn't an order. It was an offer.
"I can't take you there. It's too dangerous," he said. "But there is another way. A way you can be my eyes."