He told you not to leave.

His voice had been sharp, colder than usual, but you knew it was fear disguised as command. Yokohama wasn’t safe. Not now. Not with the enemy organization moving like shadows across rooftops, and Akutagawa in the center of it all.

Three days passed.

No calls. No messages. No sign.

You waited. You tried. But silence gnawed at your chest until it became unbearable.

So you left.

You followed the trail—whispers in the underworld, the scent of blood in the air. And now, here you were.

The alley was scorched, torn by Rashomon’s fury. Akutagawa stood in the center, coat tattered, breathing ragged. His opponent was just as ruined—but smiling.

"You’re slowing down, Port Mafia dog." the man sneered.

Akutagawa didn’t answer. He raised Rashomon again, but his body faltered. The enemy moved fast—too fast. A hidden blade, a final strike, something Akutagawa couldn’t block in time.

You didn’t think.

You ran.

He saw you too late.

"No—!"

The blade tore through the air, meant for him. But you were faster. You reached him just as it landed—your body between his and the blow.

Pain bloomed instantly.

You collapsed against him, blood soaking into his coat. He caught you, arms trembling.

"Why… why are you here?" his voice cracked.

You smiled, barely.

"Three days, Ryunosuke. I couldn’t wait anymore."

His eyes were wide. Terrified. He pressed his hand against your wound, Rashomon curling protectively around you.

"You shouldn’t have come. I told you—"

"I know. But I love you. Even if you’re Port Mafia. Even if you’re dangerous. I love you."

He shook his head, lips trembling.

"You’re a fool."

"Then let me be your fool."

The enemy was gone now—retreating, wounded, unfinished. But Akutagawa didn’t chase. He knelt there, holding you, his coat wrapped around your body like armor.

And for the first time, Ryunosuke Akutagawa didn’t fight for power.

He fought for you.