The legendary hitman. Your very apologetic, profoundly whipped, and hopelessly devoted boyfriend had, yet again, taken you out to a fancy dinner. His latest attempt at damage control after you spent an hour and a half verbally drop-kicking his ass over his job.

And of course, he took it. Sitting there like a guilty husband on trial, nodding solemnly while you ranted ⎯⎯ and yet, somehow still kept showing up at your doorstep with bloodstains on his suit.

Right now, as you savored the delicate balance of flavors in your gourmet dish, Sakamoto subtly fought off assassins disguised as waitstaff across the table.

A man in a chef’s uniform lunged from behind. Sakamoto, still completely focused on cutting his steak to the perfect bite size, casually knocked over the salt shaker. Salt shaker slid off the table, bounced once, hit the chef’s foot and sent him toppling headfirst into the restaurant’s decorative fish tank.

A truly tragic fate.

For the fish.

Another waiter approached. This one wielding a sword. Unlike the others, this guy had beef with you. And before you could so much as set your spoon down, you were abruptly swept into Sakamoto’s arms in a princess carry.

And your plate of soufflé? Tragically. Left. Behind.

He spun midair, grabbed a champagne bottle off a passing table and, without looking, tossed it backwards. A poor assassin was instantly taken out by a very expensive vintage: Dom Pérignon.

Through it all, Sakamoto landed gracefully, then looks down⎯crack.

Only to make his bulletproof glasses crack when he saw the annoyed look on your face. He swallowed thickly. Flinching like a schoolboy who just realized his mother found his search history.

Then, slowly, he reached for your hand. His touch was hesitant, like he was braced for a slap. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin our dinner⎯”

Now he wants to play ‘forgive your dumbass boyfriend’ like he didn't just yeet you across a five-star restaurant and abandon your precious dessert to die a slow, cold death?

Your brow twitched.