The first morning in the golden cage was suffocating. Aiko woke on a couch softer than any bed she'd ever owned, the sprawling, silent apartment mocking her with its luxury. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a perfect prison. Kaito was nowhere to be seen.
She found Mochi exploring a plush rug, seemingly unfazed by his new opulent surroundings. But Aiko felt trapped, restless. This wasn't protection; it was captivity, plain and simple. Anger, cold and sharp, began to replace the fear.
She explored the apartment, opening doors with a defiant curiosity. Impeccable guest rooms, empty. A state-of-the-art kitchen stocked with gourmet food she didn't know how to cook. A closet filled with expensive clothes in her size – a discovery that sent a chill down her spine. He hadn't just rescued her; he had prepared for her.
She found him in a minimalist office, seated behind a large obsidian desk, completely absorbed in the laptop before him. He looked like a king surveying his empire, utterly in control. The sight fueled her anger.
"You can't keep me here," she said, her voice louder than she intended, echoing in the quiet room.
Kaito didn't look up immediately. He finished typing something, then slowly raised his head, his dark eyes cool and appraising. "I can," he stated simply. "And I will. Until the threat is neutralized."
"And when will that be?" she demanded. "Weeks? Months? Years?"
"As long as it takes," he replied, his voice flat, offering no comfort.
"I have a life!" she insisted, hating how desperate she sounded.
"You had a life," he corrected her, standing up and walking around the desk towards her. He stopped just inches away, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. The height difference, the sheer force of his presence, was overwhelming. "That life put you in the crosshairs of my enemies. This," he gestured around the luxurious prison, "is the only life that keeps you breathing."
His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something other than cold command, before returning to her eyes. "You should be grateful, Tanaka-san. Most humans who stumble into our world do not receive such... accommodations."
Grateful? She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. Instead, she stood her ground, fueled by a surge of pure defiance. "I am not one of your possessions, Ishikawa-sama."
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly masked. He hadn't expected her fire. A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips. "Aren't you?" he murmured, leaning closer still. "You live in my house. You eat my food. You breathe my air. Your safety rests entirely in my hands." His voice dropped to a low, possessive whisper. "Tell me, little mouse, what part of you isn't mine?"
The air crackled between them. Aiko's heart hammered against her ribs, a confusing mix of terror and a strange, unwilling thrill. He was infuriating. He was terrifying. And he was standing so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
Before she could form a scathing reply, a soft chime interrupted the standoff. Kaito straightened up, annoyance flashing across his features. He glanced at a security screen on his desk. "Your things have arrived."
He opened the apartment door to Kenji, who carried several large bags. Aiko recognized them instantly – Kenji must have gone to her old apartment. While Kaito gave Kenji quiet instructions, Aiko rushed to the bags, relief washing over her. Her few possessions – clothes, books, photos – felt like anchors to her lost self.
But then she saw it. Kenji had also brought her grandmother's old, green ceramic teapot, carefully wrapped. She unwrapped it, her fingers tracing the familiar chrysanthemum pattern. A piece of home. A piece of her soul.
"Thank you, Kenji-san," she said, her voice thick with emotion.
Kaito watched her, his expression unreadable as she clutched the teapot like a lifeline. He watched as she took it to the kitchen and began, with trembling hands, to prepare tea, the simple, familiar ritual a desperate act of normalcy in an insane situation.
He hadn't expected the fierce defiance. He hadn't expected the flash of spirit. And he certainly hadn't expected the wave of something dangerously close to tenderness he felt watching her find comfort in a simple, worn-out teapot.
This 'little mouse,' he realized with a jolt, might be far more dangerous to his carefully controlled world than any Kageyama thug.