No matter how many times I sift through those police records, it's as if these guys are phantoms. It's like chasing shadows in the dark, searching for a monster under the bed that turns out to be all too real.
A decade's chasm unfolds in my mind as I reflect on how profoundly he might have changed during these ten years. I find myself grappling with the notion that I was possibly the last person he pushed away, or perhaps, I was the one who willingly released him. The weight of those intervening years, particularly the tumult that predates Bonten's ascendancy, presses upon me. Letting him go was more than a decision; it was a haunting necessity.
My thoughts drift to the past, wondering if he still dons the mantle of long, sun-kissed locks and cruises through the streets on his CB250. The echoes of those memories intensify, and I catch myself in a moment of sentimentality. "What am I even thinking?" I whisper, attempting to dispel the nostalgic reverie. Today is no day for indulging in the past. I deliberately chose to sever ties with Manjiro Sano years ago, and my resolve remains unwavering.
Yet, a persistent doubt claws at the edges of my consciousness. It prompts me to reach into my purse, fingers fumbling for my cellphone. As I scroll through my contacts, my eyes lock onto his number—an artifact from a bygone era. The rational part of me questions its functionality after all these years, but a small, rebellious spark urges me to take the plunge.
The call button is pressed, and each ring carries a weighted anticipation. An eerie silence ensues, amplifying my uncertainty until a familiar, haunting voice breaks through the void with a simple "Hello?" I stand there, gripped by a surreal stillness, my breath caught in my throat. Just as I'm about to retreat from this unexpected intrusion into the past, Naoto's voice punctuates the solitude, calling out for drinks in the background.
Reality crashes back, and I hurriedly move to end the call, but before I can, Mikey's voice, laced with recognition, echoes through the line. "Y/N? Is it you?" Panic surges through me like an electric shock, compelling me to abruptly sever the connection. What an audacious and foolish endeavor—I've exposed myself to a criminal, the most wanted in Japan, no less, and worse, he's my ex. Sometimes, in a moment of irrationality, I can be painfully naive.
Gathering my belongings in haste, I rendezvous with Naoto near the door. "Yes, drinks. That sounds like a welcome distraction," I respond, my words carrying a distracted undertone as my mind juggles a myriad of thoughts. Naoto, with his uncanny intuition, catches onto the turbulence beneath my composed facade. "Are you okay? You've been lost in your thoughts all day," he observes, a keen awareness etched in his gaze. It's a futile endeavor to conceal much from Naoto; he possesses an intuitive prowess that transcends mere conversation. "Yeah, it's nothing important," I offer in response, attempting to downplay the weight of my contemplations.
As we navigate away from the precinct, our steps weaving through the city's pulse, we head towards a bar a couple of blocks down the street. The day's events unfolded with an unsettling calmness, punctuated only by the somber verdict of a case ruled as suicide. It's a morbid routine, a chilling normalcy that shrouds any investigation involving the ominous presence of Bonten. The streets may be uneventful, but beneath the surface, an undercurrent of tension and unanswered questions lingers, amplifying the shadows cast by the notorious figures involved.
Today unfolded like a relentless marathon, each step burdened by the weight of an early misstep I wished to forget. Seeking solace in the amber glow of a bar, I drowned my regrets in a succession of shots. The burn of alcohol served as a temporary reprieve, allowing the day's troubles to dissipate, if only for a fleeting moment.
Around midnight, the bar's ambiance shifted, signaling an end to my self-imposed oblivion. Naoto, insisted on accompanying me home, a gesture I politely declined, granting him the freedom to continue the night's revelry on his own terms.
Stepping out into the chilly night, I lit a cigarette, the glowing ember casting a fragile warmth against the January cold. A deep inhale filled my lungs with the acrid taste of nicotine, and as I exhaled, the smoke merged with the misty air. The heavens responded with an unexpected downpour, raindrops dancing on the city pavement.
Under the veil of the night, I found myself navigating the quiet streets of Roppongi. A labyrinth of neon lights flickered, casting ephemeral shadows. As I strolled down a narrow alley, a piercing scream shattered the tranquility. Internal arguments surfaced as I whispered to myself, "No, you can't. You aren't an officer; you're a detective. You're alone. It would be stupid..." Rationality clashed with an unexplainable compulsion, propelling me toward the source of distress—an abandoned bowling alley cloaked in shadows, where the echoes of an unfolding drama awaited.
"Please, I swear I'll get your money... I just need a couple more weeks."
Peeking through the slightly ajar door, I witness a scene of desperation. A man pleads for mercy, his tear-streaked face revealing the gravity of his predicament. Yet, he's not alone. A towering figure in a pale lilac suit looms beside him, his wisteria hair immaculately styled, and his amethyst eyes piercing through the shadows. An emblem, distinct and ominous, is tattooed on his throat—a sign that sends a shiver down my spine. Poor choices stacked upon poor choices today, and now, I find myself contemplating vigilante intervention. Without a search warrant, I'm teetering on the edge of legality, but the urgency of the moment demands action. This man's life hangs in the balance.
Storming into the room with my gun drawn, I interrupt the ominous proceedings. "Stop it... Let him go," I demand, my voice cutting through the tension. The victim and the Amethyst-eyed man pivot to face me, their expressions a mix of surprise and defiance. The Amethyst-eyed man, unfazed, smirks and utters, "Who the fuck are you?" His voice, cold and cutting, resonates like a dagger.
"That doesn't matter. Let him go," I assert once more, the weight of my gun pointing directly at him. In response, he flashes a cocky smile. "You heard, Rindou? Little girl wanted to play hero," he mocks, a sinister laugh escaping his lips. Rindou? My senses heighten, realizing there's another player in this deadly game. Reacting swiftly, I evade an approaching figure from behind, delivering a decisive kick that sends the weapon clattering to the floor. Their cocky smiles vanish, replaced by the realization that their game has taken an unexpected turn.
"Damn... I've only seen one other person kick like that... I'm impressed," the other man scoffs, his tone laced with sarcasm. A younger version of the first guy, adorned in a cerulean suit and sporting a lavender mullet, he mirrors the ominous throat tattoo. "What's your name, doll?" he purrs, leaving me at a severe disadvantage. The puzzle pieces align in my mind—the bowling alley, the man on the floor, the unmistakable tattoos. These guys are from Bonten.
"Let this man go! Right now!" I exclaim, frustration seeping into my voice. The older guy assesses the situation and connects the dots. "She's a detective," he declares, swiftly ending the man's plea with a deadly shot. I flinch at the shock, realizing my plan is spiraling out of control. The gun now points at me, and I gather my composure. "My name is Y/N L/N... and yes, I'm a detective. I'm putting you both under arrest. It's futile to resist, as backup is on its way," I bluff, masking my vulnerability.
"That's a lie. You're on your own, aren't you?" he retorts, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. The younger guy, interjects, "Ran, Her name... and that kick... Could it be?" Their cryptic exchange reveals a piece of information I'm not privy to. The older guy nods knowingly, declaring, "Suddenly our night turned interesting. Good night, doll."
The ominous farewell hangs in the air, leaving me bewildered. "Good night? What do you mean by good night?" The answer arrives abruptly as a searing pain explodes at the back of my head. I've been struck—probably with a gun. Carelessness claims me, and I collapse to my knees as the lights in the abandoned bowling alley fade to black.
YOU ARE READING
Control You - ManjiroXReader (Bonten)
FanfictionA fledgling detective dares to gamble everything when she reunites with her childhood friend turned criminal lord, Manjiro Sano. Captive in his shadowy world, he demands she prove her unwavering morality, threatening that if she succumbs to the dark...
