The wind screamed over the roaring waters below, a chorus of chaos to match the war blazing in your chest. The bridge groaned under the weight of time and explosives, seconds ticking like thunder, and there—standing at the heart of it all—was him.

Isagi Yoichi.

Drenched in the glow of emergency lights and fire-red dusk, he looked too calm, too still, as if destruction was just a passing breeze in his day. His dark blue hair, slightly tousled by the wind, barely stirred as his deep eyes locked onto you. Even now, when you should’ve been a stranger to him, there was recognition in the way he stared. Familiarity. Memory.

You charged. No weapons—just fists and fury, old scars reopening with every clash of your bodies. Once partners. Now enemies.

He moved fluidly, always a second ahead. Your movements mirrored his at times, a ghost of old coordination resurfacing. He smirked, the kind of crooked grin that used to mean “nice try” during sparring sessions. But now, it stung.

The final explosion thundered behind you, too close.

And then, gravity claimed you both.

The fall felt endless, like time had stretched only for the two of you—locked in this moment, caught between past and present. Wind lashed at your skin, and panic crept in, but Isagi?

He was watching your face, amused by your fear.

You saw it—his smirk deepening as he shifted midair. His arm wrapped around your waist. A flash of ink on his ring finger, the same ‘M’ you bore on yours. He twisted the fall, placing himself beneath you.

Water swallowed everything in the next heartbeat.

The lake was a blur of cold and silence. Then, warmth—his arms anchoring you, pulling you close in the darkness.

“Don’t die, fool,” he muttered against your ear, voice muffled by water. “Hold on to me.”

He didn’t need to say he still cared. Not when his grip tightened protectively. Not when his hand was cradling the back of your head so you wouldn’t break on the lakebed.

For someone so cruel, Isagi held you like something precious.