The glow of neon signs cast long shadows down the rain-slicked alleyways of Kamata, Tokyo’s neon heart and the new seat of power for the once-fabled Yakuza. Smoke curled from incense burners outside the Classidra Rosa compound, sweetening the metallic tang of the city’s breath. The streets trembled with tension—Classidra Rosa and the Sakura Clan had been circling each other like wolves for months now. Their influence spread like ink through the underground, and a single wrong move could spark war.

At the center of it all stood Nosferatu, known to those closest as Momoko—a vision in crimson silk and moonlight, the immortal force behind Classidra Rosa’s rise. Her otherworldly calm, sharp as glass, kept her clan loyal and her enemies wary. And still, despite all her strength, something had shifted in her—subtle as a breath but impossible to ignore.

She thought of Sparrow too often.

He was an enigma. A rogue, a soldier of chaos turned mercenary with sharp wit, sharper reflexes, and a haunted kind of loyalty. He wasn’t meant for politics or old blood feuds. And yet, he haunted the borders of her world like a shadow that refused to stay away.

Tonight, he crossed that threshold.

The rooftop garden above Classidra Rosa’s estate was quiet—lit by paper lanterns swaying in the wind. Momoko stood near the edge, overlooking the city that now answered to her.

“You always liked the dramatic entrances,” she murmured without turning. She knew he was there.

“Figured it fits the mood,” Sparrow said behind her, his voice lower than usual, heavy. “You know how many people told me I was insane for coming here tonight?”

Momoko’s gaze flickered sideways. “I assume that includes the Sakura Clan?”

He stepped forward, the wind catching the hem of his coat. “Them. Wraith. Even Fade. Everyone thinks you’re a ticking bomb I shouldn’t be near.”

She turned, slow and deliberate. The look in her eyes wasn’t surprise—it was caution. Deep, painful caution.

“Then why are you here, Sparrow?”

He clenched his jaw. “Because I can’t stay away. Because every time I get on the dropship or stare down a scope, it’s your name in the back of my mind. Because I see you in blood-red light, and I hate that the world made us enemies before we ever had a chance to be anything else.”

Momoko’s breath hitched—soft, but audible. Her fingers curled at her sides.

“You think I don’t feel the same?” she whispered. “That I don’t wonder what it would be like if we weren’t born on opposite sides of a war?”

He took another step toward her, close enough now that the space between them trembled like a held breath.

“I’m not asking for peace between clans. I’m not asking for truce or permission. I’m asking if there’s something real here—between you and me. Something worth burning for.”

Her gaze faltered. For the first time in a long time, the immortal who had ruled men like pawns looked fragile.

“You’d risk that?” she asked, voice trembling like crystal under stress. “They’ll come for you, Sparrow. My people. Yours. This isn’t some fantasy.”

“I don’t care,” he said. “Let them come. I’d rather face every bullet in the Outlands than pretend I don’t want you.”

Silence stretched—thick with danger, desire, and unsaid things.

Then Momoko moved, stepping into him. Her hand rested lightly against his chest, just over his heart.

“I’ve killed for less,” she murmured, not a threat, but a confession.

He didn’t flinch. He lifted his hand to cup the side of her face, and her cool skin met his scarred palm like the first drop of rain after fire.

“I know.”

Their lips met in that storm of tension—lightning, not warmth. It wasn’t sweet. It was necessary.

Behind them, in the city’s underbelly, whispers had already begun. Sakura eyes watched rooftops. Classidra Rosa blades were being sharpened. Blood was coming. But here, in this moment, none of that mattered.

After they pull away, their gazes meet once more, both enamored with one another.

"Marry me." He mutters without missing a single beat, without stuttering... He was serious.