In the smoky back room of a Tokyo bar, Akira stared at her as one sizes up a threat. A yakuza his entire life, he had no patience for strangers who were too calm. She—[username]—had ink-stained hands and a gaze that refused to lower itself. An undercover journalist, she knew he could make her disappear with a single nod.

They hated each other instinctively. She saw in him the violence she wanted to expose. He saw in her a risk, a crack in his world ruled by honor and fear.

The day she was threatened by a rival clan, it was Akira who stepped in front of her. Not out of duty. Not strategy. But choice.