If there was one thing Daisetsu Nakamura was good at, it was observation. As a teacher, he had to spot a student passing a note from thirty feet away. But as a man currently "paying a debt" in a cramped bakery, his observation skills were starting to focus on things that had nothing to do with school.
He was watching Yasuo. Specifically, he was watching Yasuo's hands.
Yasuo was currently finishing a batch of his signature Anpan—sweet bean buns. He didn't just throw them together; he treated each one like a tiny masterpiece. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and he had a tiny smudge of flour on the tip of his nose that made him look unfairly cute.
Daisetsu stood back, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against a cool metal fridge. He was supposed to be inventorying the dry goods, but his clipboard was forgotten.
He's so meticulous, Daisetsu thought, his gaze lingering on the way Yasuo's nimble fingers tucked the dough. The way he handles the bread... it's like he's afraid of hurting it. He's too soft for this world.
"You're staring again, Sensei," Yasuo mumbled, not looking up. His ears were already turning red—a dead giveaway that he felt Daisetsu's heavy gaze.
"I am analyzing your workflow," Daisetsu lied smoothly. His voice was deep, echoing slightly in the quiet morning kitchen. "You spend three seconds more per bun than is industrially necessary. It's inefficient."
Yasuo finally looked up, his big brown eyes narrowed. "It's not 'inefficient,' it's love, you big robot! If I don't wrap them perfectly, the steam escapes and they get dry. Do you want dry buns?"
Daisetsu's eyes darkened slightly, a slow, teasing smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I definitely don't want dry buns, Yasuo."
The way he said it—dropping his voice a full octave—made Yasuo's heart do a backflip. Yasuo turned away quickly, grabbing a tray of buns to shove into the oven. "Then shut up and let me work! Go... go count the raisins or something!"
Daisetsu didn't go count the raisins. Instead, he walked over, his heavy boots thudding softly on the linoleum. He stepped right into Yasuo's personal space, reaching over the baker's shoulder to grab a stray piece of parchment paper.
The heat from Daisetsu's body was like a physical wall. Yasuo felt trapped between the hot oven and the even hotter teacher.
"You missed a spot," Daisetsu whispered in his ear. His chest brushed against Yasuo's shoulder blade, a deliberate, slow contact that sent a jolt of electricity down Yasuo's spine.
Daisetsu reached out, his large hand hovering near Yasuo's face. Yasuo flinched, expecting... he didn't even know what. But Daisetsu's touch was feather-light. His thumb swiped across the tip of Yasuo's nose, rubbing away the flour smudge.
The contact lasted only a second, but it felt like an eternity. Daisetsu's thumb was rough, warm, and smelled faintly of the soap Yasuo had given him.
"There," Daisetsu said, his voice low and vibrating right next to Yasuo's ear. "Now you're perfect."
Yasuo felt like his brain was melting into sugar syrup. Perfect? Did he just call me perfect? This isn't bromance! This is—this is Yabai!!
"I... I have to check the timer," Yasuo squeaked, ducking under Daisetsu's arm and practically sprinting to the other side of the room.
Daisetsu watched him go, his expression unreadable. He liked the way Yasuo reacted to him. He liked the way the shy baker turned bright red and lost his ability to speak. It was a power trip, but it was more than that—it was the only time Daisetsu felt like he wasn't a broken fighter or a cold teacher.
But the moment of peace was shattered by a buzzing sound.
Daisetsu's phone, sitting on the counter, vibrated violently. He glanced at the screen. A text from an unknown number.
'The debt isn't paid until we say it is, Sensei. We know where the sweets are.'
Daisetsu's face transformed instantly. The soft, teasing look vanished, replaced by a cold, murderous mask. His jaw tightened so hard Yasuo could hear the bone click.
"Is everything okay?" Yasuo asked, his voice full of concern. He had noticed the sudden change in the atmosphere. The warmth was gone, replaced by a chilling tension.
Daisetsu pocketed the phone, his movements sharp and aggressive. He didn't look at Yasuo. "Everything is fine. I have to go. There's... an emergency at the school."
"But your shift isn't over—"
"It is now," Daisetsu snapped, then immediately softened his voice when he saw Yasuo flinch. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. Don't... don't stay at the shop alone tonight, Yasuo. Promise me."
Yasuo was confused and scared. "What? Why? My grandma is here—"
"Promise me," Daisetsu repeated, stepping close again. This time, there was no flirting. He grabbed Yasuo's upper arms, his grip firm and desperate. "Close the shop early. Please."
Yasuo swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "Okay. I promise."
Daisetsu let go, looking like he wanted to say more, but he just turned and walked out the back door into the gray morning light, leaving the kitchen feeling cold and empty.
Yasuo stood there, the smell of fresh Anpan filling the room, but for the first time, it didn't feel sweet. It felt like a warning.
That night, Yasuo did exactly what he promised. He locked the doors at 5:00 PM, much to Grandma's confusion. As he sat in the dark living room upstairs, he looked down at the street.
A black car was idling across the road. It had been there for three hours.
Yasuo's phone buzzed. It was a message from an unsaved number.
'He's protecting you, Cutie Boy. But who's going to protect him?'