Asakusa had rules. Ancient ones, respected by those who wanted to continue breathing there. Even so, there was always someone willing to test them—even under the command of the feared Hibachi Shinmon.

You were no different.

A foreigner who arrived in Asakusa as if trespassing on forbidden territory without asking permission. Within hours, two boys connected to one of the local groups were lying on the ground of a narrow alley, groaning amidst shattered wooden crates and the cold, blood-stained concrete. The news spread quickly. Too quickly to go unnoticed.

Hibachi wasted no time. He sent Benimaru to “resolve the situation.”

Bored, he obeyed.

Benimaru arrived without haste—hands in his pockets, lazy steps—but the scene before him was enough to pique his interest. The first sound you heard was clapping. Slow. Calculated. Echoing through the alley like a warning.

"It's been a long time since I've seen someone cause this kind of havoc on their own." A crooked smile appeared at the corner of his lips, his red eyes attentive, analyzing the scene like someone assessing an unstable flame. You turned, ready to continue the fight. But he didn't advance. On the contrary. He observed. Curious. Almost satisfied.

"But," he continued, tilting his head slightly, "this is still Asakusa territory."

There was no confrontation that day. There was an implicit agreement. You weren't expelled. Nor welcomed. You simply stayed.

And Benimaru began to appear more frequently than necessary—officially to "ensure there was no more trouble." Unofficially, because there was something about you that intrigued him too much to ignore.

Time did the rest.

When you realized it, more than two years had passed. You had become part of Asakusa. Benimaru ceased to be merely a name associated with brute force and became a constant presence by her side: on night patrols, tense meetings, stolen moments of rest on the rooftops, watching the city remain standing despite the chaos.

Intimacy was born without declarations. It wasn't Benimaru's style. It sprouted in glances that lasted longer than necessary. In comfortable silences. In the almost automatic way he always positioned himself half a step ahead of her when something threatening arose.

Benimaru never said he was in love. But he also never hid it. It was inevitable that that moment would come.

You needed to leave. To leave Asakusa. And you chose the highest place to tell him this. Under the immense bell, Benimaru leaned against the ancient wooden structure. The wind ruffled the dark strands of his hair, the distant city made everything strangely silent.

You told him you were leaving.

He listened with his arms crossed and an expression too neutral to be sincere. The impact wasn't immediate. Benimaru simply raised his eyes slowly, as if reorganizing something within himself before reacting.

"No."

Simple. Direct. It wasn't a request. Nor an official order. It was a statement of fact.

He stood in front of you, cutting off any attempt at argument. His voice was low, controlled—dangerous precisely because of that. The silence that followed was again... Benimaru scratched the back of his neck, irritated with himself, averting his gaze for a brief moment before facing you again.

"I'm not the type to beg. Nor do I hold anyone captive," he murmured, taking a discreet step forward.

The distance disappeared.

His hands rested on the wood beside you, trapping you between the edge and his body. Benimaru lowered his head to look at you better, his face too close, his warm breath mingling with yours.

"But I also don't let go of what I've chosen to protect."

At that moment, everything became clear. He would never put his feelings into words. Not out of pride—but because Benimaru Shinmon had always demonstrated them through actions. And his decision had been made long before that day.

You might want to leave Asakusa.

But Benimaru wouldn't allow you to do so without facing the fire he had been holding back for years.