KENJI
The gravel crunched under my boots, each step echoing the sharp rhythm in my head. The takeout was clean, efficient.
Kento Nagumo was a stain wiped from the earth, and his operation would be absorbed by ours by dawn. That was the report. Simple.
But the girl.
She was a variable I hadn't calculated. A miscalculation. A complication wrapped in torn clothes and wide, terrified eyes. I hadn't planned on a witness. I hadn't planned on cargo.
I pushed open the heavy wooden door to the main house, the scent of old wood and incense washing over me. My mind, however, stayed stuck in the back seat of that car. On the way the light from the streetlamps had caught the delicate line of her throat as Tokito led her away.
Fuck.
The curse was a hot whisper in my mind. Why did she have to look like that? So… broken. So innocent. It was a lie, of course. No one comes from that auction innocent.
But the illusion was there, and it was utterly captivating. And so utterly beautiful. The thought was a poison, sweet and dangerous.
I wanted her.
The desire was a sudden, visceral punch in my gut. Not just to possess, but to corrupt. She was a blank canvas, shivering and pure in her terror.
I wanted to be the one to pick up the brush. I wanted to taint every inch of her with my colors, to teach her that fear and pleasure were two sides of the same coin, and that I held both in my hand.
I shoved the thought aside, hard. It was a distraction. A weakness. I couldn't afford weakness, not now, not ever. I schooled my features into the familiar, impassive mask as I reached my father's office. I slid the door open.
He was seated at his low desk, the glow from a single lamp illuminating the stern lines of his face. He looked older lately, the illness carving deeper hollows beneath his cheekbones.
But his eyes, when they lifted to mine, were as sharp as ever.
"Kenji," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Report."
I gave it to him, crisp and factual. The ambush, the elimination, the asset acquisition. I left out the girl. She was my miscalculation. My problem to handle.
But as I spoke, the image of her bruised wrist, peeking from that dirty sleeve, flashed behind my eyes. A blank canvas. And I was the only artist who would ever be allowed to touch it.
My report was met with a curt nod from my father. The business was concluded. But as I left his office, a different kind of plan began to form in my mind, and a slow, sadistic smirk touched my lips.
Nicole.
She was a complication, yes. But she was also an opportunity. A rare one. The problem was her age. She was a minor. A child in the eyes of the law, and even in our world, that came with… complications. I'd have to wait.
But the waiting wasn't a setback. It was a preparation period. She could heal. She could be cleaned up, fed, educated. She could become perfect. Untouched. And that would make it so much more satisfying when I finally chose to ruin her.
The thought of molding her, of watching her bloom only so I could be the one to pluck the flower, sent a thrill through me. The anticipation was better than the act itself.
I headed toward the Kitagawa clinic, my steps purposeful. As I approached, I saw Tokito leaning against the doorframe, his usual easy smile plastered on his face.
He was talking to Nemu, Toru's daughter, who was trying to look stern as she sorted medical supplies, but a faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her.
"…and I'm just saying, a walk by the sea would do you good," Tokito was saying, his voice a playful purr.
"Don't you have bodies to dispose of, Tokito-san?" Nemu retorted, not looking up from her bandages.
"All done. Now I'm focusing on more pleasant pursuits."
I didn't break stride. "Tokito," I said, my voice cutting through his flirtation. "We're done here."
He glanced at me, sighed dramatically, but pushed off the doorframe. "Duty calls." He winked at Nemu, who finally looked up, her eyes flicking from him to me before quickly dropping again.
I didn't look at Nicole. I didn't need to. I could feel her presence in the clinic like a fresh wound. Let her heal. Let her think she's safe.
The waiting would make the ruin so much sweeter.
Toru intercepted me just as I reached the courtyard. Her face was grave, the professional calm replaced by quiet outrage. "Kenji-san," she said, her voice low. "I examined the girl."
I stopped, giving her my attention, though my expression gave nothing away.
"She is compliant, but she refuses to speak. Not a word," she continued. "But the injuries... they are extensive. Old scars, new bruises. It is... severe." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "And she has a number. The numeral eighty-six. It is engraved on her ribs."
A brand. Of course. They always brand their livestock. The detail was filed away in my mind, a cold, hard fact. It changed nothing, yet it explained everything about her broken silence.
Toru looked at me, seeking guidance. "She needs to talk. To begin to process this. We need a way to reach her."
My expression didn't change. I had already calculated the next move. I glanced at Tokito, who was lingering nearby, pretending not to listen.
"Tokito," I said, my tone flat. "You got her to speak before. Talk to her again. And take Nemu with you."
Toru looked slightly surprised, then nodded in approval. It was a logical choice. Tokito's easygoing nature had already proven somewhat effective, and Nemu, being closer to the girl's age and completely detached from the violence of our world, might be a non-threatening presence.
I didn't say it was because a young woman might make her feel safer. I said it because it was strategically sound. Comfortable people let their guard down. And when her guard was down, we could learn what we needed to know.
"Find out about the number," I instructed Tokito, my voice leaving no room for debate. Then I turned and walked away, leaving them to their task. The girl was a puzzle, and every piece of information was a step closer to owning the complete picture.
I was almost to the hallway when Toru's voice stopped me. "Kenji-san." I turned. She was holding a slim manila folder. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were sharp. "I know you didn't ask," she said, holding it out. "But I think you'll need this."
I took it without a word. The folder felt light in my hand, but heavy with meaning. I nodded once and continued to my room.
The walk felt longer than usual. My head was filled with the image of that number, 86, burned into her skin. A brand of ownership. Someone else's mark on what was now mine. The thought left a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth.
When I reached the silence of my room, I slid the door shut. Leaning against the wall, I opened the folder out of curiosity. It was just basic medical information. Standard tests from Toru's examination.
Hemoglobin Test: O Positive.
Genotype:AA.
A list of vitamins she was deficient in.Notes on malnourishment.
Then, my eyes snagged on a single line near the bottom. A brief, clinical note from the gynecological exam.
Hymen intact.
A slow smile spread across my face, cold and genuine.
A virgin.
The thrill that shot through me was sharp and immediate. The waiting I'd thought would be a nuisance suddenly became something else. It became an anticipation. She wasn't just a blank canvas. She was an untouched one.
Now, the ruin would be perfect.