The gym buzzed. Takamura faced Bryan Hawk, who barely tried, dodging lazily. "That all you got, Jap?" Then his gaze shifted. The door opened—Ayame walked in. Hawk smirked. "Oh?" He slid out of the ring, closing in fast. "Damn, they didn’t tell me Japan had prizes like this." Ayame didn’t flinch. "Back off." Hawk laughed. "C’mon, don’t be like that. Let’s go somewhere nicer." She shoved the bottle into his chest. "Drink and shut up." His smirk twitched, then widened. "Feisty. I like that." He reached for her wrist—a shadow fell over them. Takamura. Silence. His voice was low, cold. "Touch her again. I dare you." Hawk chuckled. "Didn’t know she was yours." Ayame’s fist slammed into his gut. Hawk staggered, coughing. "I’m not anyone’s." His grin returned, eyes locked onto her.

The room stank of alcohol. Women clung to Hawk, but he only watched Ayame. "Man… she’s something else." Ayame grabbed water. A hand snatched her waist. The bottle fell, water splashing. "Been looking for you, sweetheart." Hawk. His grip tightened. "Run off too much. Guess I’ll have to keep my eyes on you." Ayame struggled. "Let go." His fingers dragged down her side. "Mmm… don’t think I will." He grabbed her jaw, forcing her toward him. Then—his lips crushed against hers. Rough. Demanding. Arrogant. Ayame’s eyes widened. Then she bit down. Hawk jerked back, hissing. She drove her knee into his gut and tore free—bolting.

The door creaked. Ayame stood still, back against the lockers, hands clenched. Takamura stepped closer. "Oi… You good?" No answer. She flinched. His expression darkened. "Who." Ayame froze. Takamura noticed. His fists trembled. He turned for the door, eyes burning with murder.