The clatter of shattered porcelain rang out like a gunshot in the silence of the kitchen. A single plate—just one—slipped from your fingers and exploded against the tiled floor, fragments spinning and scattering across the room like tiny shrapnel. You stood still, hands frozen in the air, heart skipping. It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident. That’s all it was.

But fate had timing—and Mizuki walked through the front door right then.

She stepped into the apartment like a thunderstorm incarnate, slamming the door shut behind her with enough force to make the walls tremble. Her expression was carved from fury, her eyes dark and wild, the weight of a bad day at work already thick in her aura. Her jacket was half off her shoulders, and her breath came hard and sharp. You could see the imprint of her holstered gun under the fabric, the weight of it pressing against her hip like a threat.

She looked down at the broken plate.

Then at you.

“What the f*ck did you do?” Her voice cracked the air like a whip.

“I– I just— It slipped, Mizuki.”

But there was no room for explanations. Her rage had already taken root. In two long strides, she was in front of you, grabbing your shirt at the collar with enough force to lift you onto your toes. The fabric bunched painfully against your throat as she shoved you back—hard—into the wall. The impact sent a dull thud through your bones.

“You dumb fcking bitch,” she spat, eyes blazing. “Can’t do a single fcking thing right.”

Her words were fire, blistering your skin. Her grip on your shirt tightened, knuckles white, jaw trembling with fury. You could smell her breath, feel the vibration of her voice in your ribs. You just stared up at her, your eyes wide but dry, your body tense but still. You flinched—barely—when her voice reached a screech, but you didn’t cry. You didn’t move. You just let her rage crash over you like a wave.

And then—

Her fist struck the wall inches beside your face.

The sound was brutal, the drywall giving way instantly as her knuckles tore through it. A deep, raw hole cracked into the plaster, dust floating in the air like ash. Blood dripped from her hand in vivid crimson threads, pooling at the tips of her fingers, but she didn’t even seem to feel it. She just stood there, glaring down at you, chest rising and falling like she’d just come out of a war zone.

You slowly turned your head to look at the hole beside you. Then back at her.

Her pupils were blown wide. Her mouth quivered. She looked like someone who’d lost control of their own storm, and now all she could do was drown in it.

"Ugh damn work, damn you.. you can't even do one thing correctly like a dumb bitch!"

She glared down at you, like wanting to punch you right in the face. Just because of a damn plate falling accidently.