𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐓 | 𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐊𝐄 | 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐀 𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐋 𝐏𝐓 𝟐

.⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

TOKYO 2006

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡

SUNLIGHT CREPT through the half-closed blinds, casting striped shadows across the room where he sprawled, a figure too large for the small size of the motel space.

black hair, straight and untamed, brushed the tops of his ears, a stark contrast to the pale white of the pillowcase it rested upon.

with every breath, his chest—a map of well-defined muscles under a plain shirt—rose and fell in a rhythm that was almost meditative.

the green of his eyes was dulled by contemplation.

the thin black arches of his eyebrows were relaxed, betraying no sign of the chaos that had put him thirty million yen down.

a scar pulled at the corner of his right lip. his casual attire, a mere facade of normalcy, did nothing to hide the potential energy coiled within his frame—ready to release.

he was a statue in this small sanctuary, a monument to patience as the clock ticked away the seconds.

the next two days were stretched before him, an expanse of time to be filled with the weight of his own thoughts.

the flicker of the screen played over his impassive face, a silent dance of light and shadow as he cycled through the channels with a languid flick of his thumb.

the remote, dwarfed by his hand, clicked with each press, the sound sharp in the stillness of the room.

a variety show caught his attention, the screen filled with the boisterous energy of "waratte iitomo!"—a stark contrast to the muted colors of the motel walls.

laughter and applause spilled from the speakers, a mixture of joy that seemed worlds away from the quiet calculation in his gaze.

but the variety show was cut short by the intrusion of a commercial, the screen now occupied by a [hair color] haired girl, her smile bright and alluring.

recognition flashed in his eyes, a spark of interest that was quickly masked by the return of his stoic demeanor.

he had seen her face millions of times.

and beyond just advertisements, she was a face known in certain circles, a high-risk target whose presence on the black market was whispered about with both greed and caution.

the price tag on her head was indeed enticing, a figure that could settle a man into a life of ease.

yet, there was too much risk that trailed behind that bounty, that he didn't take up the offer—unless he was certain he'd be paid handsomely.

his mind, however, was already ticking down the hours, thirty-seven to be exact, until the moment when he would play his part in the demise of another—riko amanai.

and there was the matter of wearing down the gojo clan's boy, a task that required focus, precision, and an undivided attention that the [hair color] haired girl's potential bounty could not fracture.

with a final click, he turned off the tv, the room returning to its previous state of quiet anticipation. the commercial, the variety show, and the [hair color] haired girl faded into the background as he centered his thoughts on the task at hand, the timer in his mind counting down with unrelenting steadiness.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋˚˚୨🦢୧⋆｡⊹˚. ♡ྀི

"i'm jealous," you grumble, the words feeling like rocks in your mouth. your shoe scuffs against the concrete, a rough, grating sound that matches your mood. "maybe i should go to okinawa too."