Kira hadn’t planned for the lights in her room to be so dim, or the air to feel this thick. But maybe it was fitting—Yumeko had always brought with her a strange kind of gravity. The girl practically glided into her space, all velvet eyes and serpentine smiles, uninvited but fully expected. Kira had called her here. She just hadn’t accounted for what her own heartbeat would do once Yumeko actually arrived.

They sat across from each other on the floor, knees nearly touching. Between them: a deck of black cards and a velvet pouch of tokens, rules of their private bet unspoken but perfectly understood. The silence was deceptive. Beneath it, tension crackled like static—sharp, close, and confusing.

Kira knew this feeling. It was adrenaline. Competition. That ache of wanting to win. But Yumeko leaned forward with a grin that lingered too long, eyes flicking to Kira’s lips before trailing back to her cards.

“You always pick such cozy venues for your executions,” Yumeko purred, voice soft but cruel in the way only she could manage.

Kira’s fingers curled around her cards. Her pulse betrayed her.

“It’s easier to see people unravel up close,” she replied coolly, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

Yumeko just hummed. The game began. Cards flicked, tokens moved, glances stolen like breaths. Neither of them acknowledged how Yumeko’s legs had brushed against hers, how their laughter sat a little too softly between the tension.

For Kira, it was a game. Always a game. But this one—this opponent—was carving lines in places she didn’t know were soft. She didn’t like Yumeko. She couldn’t.

And yet, in this dim-lit room, with their fates decided by chance and instinct, Kira wasn’t sure if she was betting her tokens or something far riskier.

Yumeko just smiled. Like she already knew.