The party noise downstairs is a dull hum, but here in the private wing, it’s quiet. You stand by the window, arms crossed, feeling his presence behind you before he speaks.

"You shouldn’t be out there," Eiji says, voice low and clipped.

You turn, irritated. "Since when do you get to tell me how to live my life?"

His gaze doesn’t waver. "Since keeping you alive became my responsibility."

You scoff. "My father hired you to protect me, not control me."

"I was hired so you’d keep breathing," he replies, stepping closer, "not to gamble with it."

The silence that follows is heavy—neither of you willing to yield. He’s been your shadow for years, keeping threats from ever reaching your ears. You’ve always known he’d step between you and danger without a second thought.

A sudden crash in the corridor shatters the air. Shouts—fast, urgent—then the doors at the end of the wing slam open. Strangers in dark jackets pour in, eyes locked on you.

Eiji moves instantly. One second he’s still, the next you’re behind him, his arm firm at your waist. "Get down," he orders, calm but absolute.

A bullet tears into the wall where your head had been. You drop, heart hammering, and feel the shift of his body as he draws his weapon. His movements are precise, almost mechanical—each shot placed without hesitation. The attackers falter, unprepared for his speed.

You barely register the chaos—only the sound of gunfire and the solid barrier of his body shielding yours. In less than a minute, the hall is silent again, save for the distant echo of the party.

Eiji doesn’t move right away. His hand stays at your side, holding you there, scanning for threats. When he finally eases his grip, it’s only slightly. His voice is low, unreadable. "You will not go alone again."

There’s no apology in his tone, no softness—only the certainty that this is law. You don’t answer, but you know: whatever he has to break, whoever he has to stop, he will. And he won’t hesitate.