SUB ROSA | Wind Breaker

Arc 5 || 6. Lost. Not Yours to be Found

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a hazy glow over the streets of the red-light district. The air was thick with the scent of cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and lingering heat from the day. Signs flickered against the dimming sky, neon humming in colors too harsh, too artificial. The city breathed in a way that never quite settled, always shifting, always watching.

Akame moved through it like a shadow.

She wasn't meant to be here—not really. The district was nothing short of a predator's playground, a place where people came to lose themselves, to indulge, to take. She had dressed for Yuta's birthday, slipping into the silk black dress she had picked out in advance, only to throw a sweater over it at the last second, her instincts sharper than her vanity. Still, she could feel the eyes on her, the weight of lingering stares crawling over her skin, men looking but not speaking. They didn't have to.

Even in broad daylight, the place felt like it belonged to the night.

She kept her expression blank, unreadable, but her fingers clenched her phone a little tighter as she scanned the signs around her. The directions on the screen weren't matching the reality in front of her—a glitch. Or maybe she had taken a wrong turn without realizing. Either way, she had no time for frustration, just the quiet recognition that she needed to keep moving.

And then—

"Ballerina..."

A voice too familiar, too close.

Warm breath ghosted against her ear, a hand already slipping beneath her sweater, tracing the bare curve of her lower back.

Endo.

"Didn't know this was your scene."

He was already flush against her, already invading her space, pressing his claim like it had never been lost.

His fingers skimmed the exposed skin of her back, sliding over the silk of her dress where the fabric dipped dangerously low. His touch was slow, indulgent, like he was reacquainting himself with something that belonged to him.

And Akame—she did nothing.

Didn't flinch. Didn't push him away. Didn't react.

She simply exhaled, tired, unimpressed, swiping out of the app before reopening her location, focused only on finding the club.

Takiishi had watched the whole thing unfold from across the street.

He had been walking beside Endo not long ago, until Endo suddenly abandoned him. No warning, no hesitation—just a sharp shift in attention the moment he saw her. He had crossed the street immediately, weaving through moving cars as if the thought of not touching her right away was unbearable. Takiishi had barely spared it a second glance.

He had heard of her before, of course.

Endo had a way of talking about her when he didn't mean to, his complaints slipping into casual conversation like an afterthought—the girl who pissed him off, the girl who didn't react the way he wanted, the girl who wouldn't let him win.

And now, seeing them together for the first time, Takiishi understood.

It was unnerving, the way she stood there, perfectly composed despite Endo's hands on her, despite the way he whispered against her skin. Most people had a tell, something small, something instinctive—a flinch, a stiffening, a sharp inhale. Something.

But she gave Endo nothing.

And Endo was caught between frustration, arousal, and worship.

"Don't be like that, ballerina," Endo murmured, his voice a careful blend of irritation and coaxing. His hand slid further beneath the sweater, gripping her waist, feeling the softness of the silk beneath his fingers. He pulled her back against his chest, his breath warm against her hair, his grip just shy of possessive.