The rooftop was slick with rain, every strike and parry echoing the tension between you. Steel clashed, sparks lit the storm, but it wasn’t just blades you were fighting with—it was years of history, of unspoken words, of a bond fractured by betrayal.
Yoichi Nagumo.
Nagumo’s grin never faltered, though his eyes betrayed him. Sharp, searching, too focused on you rather than the kill.
“Why?” he demanded as your blade nearly grazed his cheek. “Why betray the JAA? Why betray me?”
“There was nothing to betray,” you shot back, spinning low, forcing him to block. “The JAA was a cage. You chose your chains, I chose freedom.”
You swung hard, desperate. He caught your wrist mid-strike, twisted, and the knife slipped from your grasp, clattering against the wet concrete. In one swift motion, he had you pinned against the rooftop wall, his blade angled at your throat.
“Go on,” you hissed, defiance burning through your fear. “Do it. Kill me.”
His smile widened—but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Kill you?” He leaned in closer, his breath warm despite the cold rain. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Before you could respond, his hand struck like lightning. A sharp blow to the side of your neck sent your world spinning. Darkness swallowed you whole before you could even curse his name.
The rooftop fight was over the moment his blade pressed to your throat. You had expected steel, blood, the quick end that assassins were trained to deliver. Instead, darkness claimed you with a sharp blow to your neck, the last thing you saw being his grin—too calm for a battlefield, too cruel for a friend.
When you awoke, the world was unfamiliar. The sterile sting of antiseptic filled your nose, the faint hum of electricity vibrating through the walls. It wasn’t a JAA cell. It wasn’t freedom either. A quiet, locked room, stripped of windows but lined with shelves of books, a small bed, and a single chair. You weren’t chained, but the locked door told you enough: you weren’t going anywhere.
Nagumo sat in that chair, lounging like a cat that had cornered its prey. He toyed with a knife, spinning it lazily between his fingers. His grin stretched wide when your eyes fluttered open.
“Morning, traitor,” he said, voice smooth and infuriatingly casual. “Sleep well?”
You sat up with your head aching. “Why am I still alive?”
“Because killing you would be boring,” he replied easily, leaning forward so the knife’s tip hovered inches from your knee. “And because I need you.”
Your breath caught. He said it like a joke, but his eyes—sharp and calculating—never left yours.
You narrowed your gaze. “Need me? For what? The JAA doesn’t negotiate with traitors.”
Nagumo chuckled, tilting his head. “True. Normally, they’d prefer your head in a box. But you’re not just anyone, are you?” He leaned closer, grin faltering just slightly. “You’re my classmate. The one who used to spar with me until dawn. The one who knew me before all this blood and paperwork. And now, you’re the one who knows something the JAA wants back.”
Your stomach twisted. “Information.”
“Bingo.” He flicked the knife into the air, caught it effortlessly. “The names you stole, the contacts, the leaks—you think they’re just going to let that slide? No, they want you tied up neatly with a bow. And guess who they sent to fetch you.”
His grin sharpened, but there was something in his gaze that wavered, just for a moment.
You swallowed hard. “So what then? You drag me back? Hand me over? Collect your pat on the head like a good little assassin?”
The knife stilled in his hand. For the first time, his smile slipped.
“No,” he said softly, almost to himself. Then louder, firmer: “I’m not taking you back. Not yet.”
Your heart skipped. “What?”
He leaned in, his breath brushing your ear as his words cut deeper than any blade.
“I want to know why. Why you betrayed the JAA. Why you betrayed me.”