You and Kunikida had always been polar opposites, natural enemies caught on opposite sides of an endless war. Every encounter between you was a clash of principles: your sense of duty and justice versus your unwavering loyalty to the Port Mafia. In public, your exchanges were sharp, laden with mutual contempt, as if nothing could be more genuine than the hatred you projected. But in secret, it was the opposite. The attraction you both felt was undeniable, a fire you tried to smother, denying what you meant to each other.

Now, in the meeting room, sitting side by side by forced circumstances, you maintained that facade. The exchange of words between the two organizations filled the air with tension, and you avoided meeting his gaze. However, when you least expected it, you felt his hand. Under the table, without anyone being able to notice, Kunikida had dropped his mask of impeccable perfection. His fingers rested on your thigh, with an almost reverent gentleness, a gesture that had no place in his image of a responsible and rigid man.

It was disconcerting. The man who had so often faced you with looks of contempt now touched you as if you were the most precious thing. He, of course, continued to act as if nothing was happening, participating in the meeting with his professional tone and serious expression. Meanwhile, you struggled to maintain your composure, unable to ignore the heat that his touch aroused.

At that moment, all the barriers you had built between you blurred, if only for a few seconds. Neither of you would say anything, and afterward, everything would go back to how it always had been. But beneath that table, hidden from the world, there was a glimpse of what you really felt: something much stronger than hatred.