SUB ROSA | Wind Breaker

Arc 3 || 8. After Dark

Akame found herself back in the warehouse, the only place where she felt free, even if only for a fleeting moment. The silence welcomed her, the familiar creaks of the floor beneath her feet echoing through the vast, empty space. She let herself get lost in the rhythm of her movements, her body bending and twisting with the disciplined elegance of ballet, each step and leap a release from the weight she carried.

But tonight, she sensed something different. She felt eyes on her, a presence lingering in the shadows, observing her from the top floor. She didn't have to look to know it was him—the nameless boy from her last encounter, the one who had unsettled her in ways she couldn't fully understand. Knowing he was there, watching her, sent a thrill through her veins, igniting something that made her push herself further, reaching deeper into the performance, letting herself be swept up in the power of her own movement. She felt like a performer again, like she was on a stage, and he was her captivated audience.

When her routine ended, her cheeks were flushed, her breaths coming in short, trembling gasps. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, savoring the exhaustion, the release. But when she opened them, he was already approaching, his steps slow, purposeful, his presence as sharp and silent as a viper's strike. She turned, feeling the intensity of his gaze roam over her, not shying away as he let his eyes linger, drinking her in as if savoring every inch of her breathless stance.

Endo watched her every movement, memorized the way her body turned, spun, leapt into the air with a weightless grace that he found nothing short of intoxicating. To him, she was a beautiful broken doll, one he could handle and explore as if she were crafted just for his amusement. She wore a composed mask, graceful and refined, yet he could feel the shadows lingering beneath it. It fascinated him—the contrast between her quiet grace and the turmoil she carried within. She was everything he loved and everything he wanted to break just a little more.

He stopped just a few feet away, his smirk lazy and confident, his presence overwhelming. "Beautiful as always," he murmured, his voice low, almost a purr. "You know, you make it look easy... like dancing's the only way you know how to survive."

Akame's breath hitched at his words, the dangerous warmth in his gaze slicing through her carefully maintained composure. "It's just dancing," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, though her heart thundered in her chest.

He tilted his head, his smirk deepening as if amused by her response. "Just dancing?" he echoed, his voice dripping with mockery. He took a slow step forward, forcing her back until her spine met the cold, crumbling wall. Leaning in, he caged her with an arm braced above her head, his proximity stealing the air from her lungs.

His fingers brushed against her jaw, trailing down her neck with a touch that was neither gentle nor apologetic. "Funny," he murmured, his voice a taunting whisper. "I don't think you believe that."

Akame froze, her pulse racing as his hand slid to her neck, his grip firm yet restrained. It was a touch unlike anything she'd ever known—possessive, raw, unyielding. It felt dangerous, suffocating, and yet... she didn't pull away. There was something intoxicating about the way he broke through her defenses without even trying.

He leaned closer, his mouth just a breath away from her ear. "You're like porcelain, Akame," he murmured, his voice dark, edged with something she couldn't quite name. "Fragile. Beautiful. But there's something broken about you... and it makes me want to see how far I can push you before you crack."

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his hand still on her neck, fingers trailing down her collarbone in a way that sent another shiver down her spine. His touch was rougher than she was used to, as if he didn't care about breaking her—a sharp contrast to the way boys like Togame, Umemiya or Suo treated her, with cautious hands and tender words. Endo's touch was all hunger and intensity, as if he was barely holding himself back.