Hanma X Reader: Bonten's Princess

First Day Back

Aomine squinted against the sunlight as they exited the warehouse, her eyes scanning the surrounding streets like a caged bird watching for an open door. Inui tossed her the keys to the car without a second thought, and she caught them, feigning indifference. But her heart raced. Today was her chance.

The deliveries were routine—quick exchanges at nondescript locations. As Aomine completed stop after stop, her mind churned, calculating. She needed to time this perfectly. The last delivery loomed on the list, and the knot in her stomach tightened.

"Inui," she called out casually as they loaded back into the car, "I'll handle this one solo. It's straightforward, right?"

He hesitated, but after a long stare, he shrugged. "Don't screw it up."

As soon as the car door shut, Aomine's hands gripped the wheel tighter. Her foot hovered over the gas pedal. "Don't screw it up," she muttered, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.

The second she was out of sight, she slammed the gear into sport mode. The engine roared, and the tires squealed as she tore down the road. Inui wouldn't catch her. Nobody would.

She weaved through traffic, heart pounding as horns blared and headlights flashed. A reckless exhilaration surged through her veins. Inui's car faded in her rearview mirror, and she grinned for the first time in months. She was free.

Outskirts turned to open highway, and with the city far behind her, Aomine pulled over at an isolated stretch of road. She rummaged through the car, grabbing the cash she'd stashed earlier. Her breath hitched as she zipped her bag, glancing back at the vehicle like it was a ghost of her past life.

"Good riddance," she muttered, slamming the door.

She walked for what felt like hours until the hum of an approaching truck broke the silence. Sticking out her thumb, she watched as a battered old pickup slowed to a stop.

The driver, a wrinkled man with kind eyes, leaned out the window. "Need a ride?"

"Yeah," she said, forcing a polite smile.

"Hop in," he said, pushing open the passenger door.

They drove in silence at first, the countryside stretching endlessly before them. The man broke it with a chuckle. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Just passing through," Aomine replied, eyes fixed on the horizon.

He nodded knowingly. "Well, if you need a place to stay, my family and I run a farm just outside Kyoto. Quiet life, good food—might do you some good."

Aomine hesitated. She'd learned to trust no one, but the exhaustion tugging at her limbs made her nod. For now, she needed somewhere to regroup, somewhere to breathe.

"Thanks," she said softly.

The farmer smiled, and as they turned down a dirt road toward the promise of sanctuary, Aomine clutched her bag tighter, the weight of her choices pressing heavy on her shoulders. She wasn't out of danger yet—but for the first time in years, she could see a way forward.

The farmhouse smelled of wood smoke and faintly of fresh bread as Takashi opened the door, motioning for Aomine to follow. Inside, the warmth of the room was matched by the soft chatter of a woman and child seated at the table.

"This is Manami, my wife, and our daughter, Satchiko," Takashi said, his deep voice filled with pride.

Manami stood, wiping her hands on her apron. She had a kind smile and tired eyes that mirrored her husband's warmth. Satchiko peeked shyly from behind her mother, clutching a stuffed rabbit.