Trigger warning! (PG18)

This episode contains themes about sexual harassment and general adult content. Reader discretion recommended.

Risks & playthings

The Kuroda penthouse was a monument to cold, minimalist power. Floor-to-ceiling windows presented a sprawling, silent panorama of Mirage City, the neon of Chochin Row a distant smear of color.

Takumi Junior stood before his father’s vast obsidian desk in his private study, feeling like a specimen under glass. Takumi Senior did not look up from the holographic financial report he was scrolling through. “Your cultural immersion project,” he began, his voice smooth and devoid of any real curiosity, “With the girl at the university gates. How is it progressing?” Junior’s spine straightened, “It’s not a… I mean…”. Senior sent him a frigid glare, causing Takumi Junior to cough and continue, voice more formal, “It’s enlightening. Observing the informal street economy provides a useful counterpoint to our corporate models.”

Senior stopped scrolling the financial reports, turning the holograph off. “How is the beaded jewelry economy enlightening you son?” Senior said, still not looking up, jolting down some notes on a data slate, “Or is the enlightening element not the product, but the seller?” A pearl of sweat traced a path down Junior’s spine, “Both are interesting in their own way. One thing is the rare, hand-crafted quality of the products. But it’s about building rapport. Making new… contacts. Learning how to make people trust you.” He was weaving a tapestry of corporate buzzwords, hoping to conceal the single, vibrant thread named Rei.

Senior finally lifted his head. His eyes, the same radiant grey as his son’s, held none of their youthful uncertainty. They were deep, magnetic and utterly calculating, “I had a background check run on your contact, Rei Morita. She has no formal records, no family of note. But she has a notable patron”, he let the statement hang in the sterile air, “A Spider specializing is extracting corporate secrets. The girl is a mule, Junior. Nothing more.” Takumi Junior’s jaw tightened. He kept his hands clasped firmly behind his back to hide their faint tremor, “I see.”

“Nothing good can come from fooling around with her,” Senior continued, his tone shifting from casual to surgical, “If you feel the need to… fraternize with a pretty face, join the university’s art appreciation club. Find a girl from a respectable family. This one is a tool, not a toy.”

The word toy hit a nerve. The frustration of a lifetime of being managed, of having every choice pre-approved, simmered in Junior’s gut. He pushed his shoulders back, a minute tell of rebellion his father did not miss. In a fluid, silent motion, Takumi Senior stood and rounded the desk. He didn’t loom; his presence simply expanded, filling the room with a chilling authority. He stopped mere inches from his son, his voice dropping to a low, furious whisper, “Some toys are beyond you, boy. And if you are not intelligent enough to see that for yourself,” he said, his eyes boring into Junior’s, “you will end up wishing you had never played with fire in the first place. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

The threat was not vague. It was a promise. Junior froze, his brief flare of defiance extinguished. He seemed to shrink, his carefully cultivated posture collapsing under the weight of his father’s will. He bowed deeply, his eyes fixed on the immaculate floor, “Perfectly clear, Father. I understand.”

The next morning, the steel gates of the university hummed with their usual imperious energy. Rei was at her post like always, the hostess shifts were only evenings. She arranged the beads with a feigned nonchalance. Takumi Junior approached with his usual cohort. Her body, remembering her lessons, fell into an open, receptive posture. She didn’t smile, but her expression was mild, inviting.

He walked past. There was no teasing smirk, no furtive glance. His gaze swept over her and her table as if it were a lamppost, a trash can, a piece of the urban scenery utterly devoid of meaning. For a single, heart-stopping second, his eyes met hers. But there was no recognition, no warmth. It was like he was looking through a pane of glass, and on the other side, she saw only a cold, fearful reflection. Her own smile died before it was born. A cold knot tightened in her stomach. The hook had been noticed, assessed, and deemed too perilous to touch.

She didn’t push. She didn’t try to catch his eye again. Instead, she looked down at her beads, her fingers brushing over the cool glass. Forcing her shoulders to relax and her breathing to even out. She was just a street girl, selling trinkets. Unbothered. Unseen. The performance was a cover, but she felt the sting of its failure.

Difficult clients

The low thrum of the electric jazz bassline vibrated through the soles of Rei’s shoes as she navigated the smoky haze of the hostess floor. After having had several shifts, the initial novelty had worn into a focused tension. She’d learned to carry a tray without rattling the glasses, to smile disarmingly, to listen to boring stories about corporate mergers with a look of rapt fascination.

Her current assignment was a table of three mid-level Kuroda Global executives, celebrating a minor promotion. They were boisterous but manageable, their hands occupied with expensive whiskey and cigars. It was the lone man at the adjacent table who made the fine hairs on her arm stand up. He had been watching her for the last hour, his eyes tracking her movements with a clingy intensity that felt like a curse.

When Yuri subtly nodded for her to take over his table, Rei’s stomach tightened. She approached with the practiced, swaying gait she had been taught, a smile already fixed on her lips, “Good evening, sir. Can I get you another drink?” The man, whose suit was expensive but slightly rumpled, looked up at her with a slow, oily smile, “Finally. Was wondering when the prettiest flower in the garden would come my way.” He patted the velvet cushion beside him, “Sit. Let’s get acquainted.” Rei remained standing, her fingers instinctively brushing against the new ring on her right hand. The silver band gleaming, set with a single, deceptively simple red stone. “If you are out of your depth,” Karasu had reminded her just the night before, his voice cool as he’d spun it around her finger, “press the stone.”

“I’d be happy to chat from here for a moment,” she said and slid into the seat across from him, her voice light and melodic, “I find it’s easier to hear a person’s stories when you can clearly see their eyes.” He chuckled, a low, unpleasant rumble, “I’ve got a better idea. Come closer. I don’t bite.” His hand snaked out, under the table fingers closing around her knee. The grip was firm, not yet painful, but unequivocally hard. The touch sent a jolt of revulsion through her. Rei kept her smile in place, though it felt brittle. She tried to twist her knee free, “Sir, please maintain a respectful contact. The management will be displeased”.  A mean gleam ignited in his expression, “Management isn’t sitting here, are they?” the man slurred, his breath smelling of stale beer. His other hand came up to stroke her captured leg, his thumb rubbing circles on her thigh, “You’re a delicate thing, aren’t you? Soft skin. I like that.”

Her heart began to hammer violently. She tried the techniques she’d learned; the tilted head, the playful chastisement, “Such rushed forwardness. Why don’t you let go and tell me about yourself instead?” She leaned back, trying to use her body weight to break his hold, but he only tightened his grasp, pulling her off balance until she stumbled half-against the table. “I’m telling you I like your skin,” he muttered, his face moving uncomfortably close now. His free hand moving higher, squeezing, “And I’m a man who gets what he likes.”

Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through her. The charm wasn’t working. The polite refusals were only fueling him. Her eyes darted toward the back of the room, toward Karasu’s booth, but it was shrouded in shadow. The red stone of the ring felt cool against her thumb. Out of your depth. The words echoed in her head. She was. With a final, desperate surge of will, she pressed the stone. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. The man was leaning in, his intent clear. Then, a shadow fell over them, vast and immediate. The man looked up, his leer dissolving into confusion, then alarm.

Aoto stood there, his short black hair gleaming under the lights, the tiger and Zen gardens on his strong arms seeming to coil with restrained power. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He simply placed a hand, heavy and final, on the man’s shoulder. “The lady is needed elsewhere,” Aoto rumbled, his voice a low earthquake that silenced the chatter at nearby tables. The man’s grip on Rei’s knee went slack, “I—I was just—” Aoto’s fingers tightened minutely, “Your tab is closed. It’s time for you to leave.” He didn’t wait for an argument. With effortless strength, he guided the man to his feet and toward the exit, an immovable force.

Rei sat alone by the rattled table, her knee throbbing where the man had held it. She felt a hot flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. She’d failed. She’d had to call for help. Aoto returned a moment later, his expression unreadable. He stopped before her, his large frame blocking her from the view of the rest of the club, “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle. Rei nodded, unable to meet his eyes, “Yes. Thank you, Aoto.” Adjusting her dress, pulling the fabric down over her knees. “There is no shame in using the tools you are given,” he said quietly, as if reading her thoughts. “That is why he gave it to you. To keep you safe. That’s why I’m here”, Aoto hesitated, then offered an arm, “Let’s go to the back corridor for a moment”. Rei took his arm, following, her hands quivering minutely.

The back corridor of the Den was a world away from the velvet and neon, a sterile, silent space lit by harsh fluorescent lights. Rei sat on a wooden bench, her body trembling with a fine, relentless vibration. She stared at the scuffed floor, her fingers wrapped tightly around fistfuls of her dress, as if she could physically hold the shattered pieces of her composure together.

Aoto didn’t speak. He simply sat down beside her, the bench groaning softly under his weight. He left a respectful space between them, his large hands resting on his knees. The silence stretched, thick with her sense of mortification. Finally, she spoke, her voice a ragged whisper, not looking at him, “He… his hand was on my knee, leg. Under the table. I tried to pull away. I tried to be… charming. Like they taught me. It just made him… hungrier.” Aoto listened, his presence a steady, solid anchor in the storm of her shame. “Charm is a useful distraction,” he said, his voice a low, calm rumble, “But some men see distractions not as a defense, but as a challenge to break. This is not your failure.” Rei glanced up, eyes resting on one of his tiger tattoos, “I pressed the ring,” she said, the words tasting like ash, “Because I couldn’t handle it myself.”

“And you were right to”, he shifted slightly, turning his body towards her just enough to show he was engaged, but not enough to crowd her, “Listen Rei. You are being too hard on yourself. What happened was a violation. Your reaction was correct. You assessed the threat, and you used the tool you were given to neutralize it. That is the opposite of failure.” He paused, letting his words sink in. When he spoke again, his tone was practical, instructional, the self-defense teacher rising to the surface, giving her something solid to grasp, “Next time, you don’t just pull back. You twist.” He demonstrated with a small, precise motion of his own leg, “The knee is a joint. A sharp, inward twist towards the thumb that is gripping you, creates a pressure point. It hurts. It makes them let go. It is a small movement. It doesn’t look like a fight. But it is a message.”

Rei finally lifted her head enough to meet his eyes only for a split second, but listening intently, absorbing the lesson like a lifeline. Aoto’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Beneath his calm exterior, a fierce, protective fury burned. The image of that man’s hand on her, the thought of his slimy touch violating the space she was meant to be safe in, made him want to find the client and reintroduce him to the pavement outside. But he kept his voice even for her, “You are still learning. This is part of it. Do not let this steal your confidence. It should make it stronger. Now you know what that kind of threat feels like. Now you can learn how to react.”

He stood up, the movement fluid despite his size, “I have to return to my shift.” It clearly pained him to leave her, “It is okay if you want to go upstairs. To rest. I will tell Karasu-sama what happened.” Rei just nodded, her throat too tight for words. It was the gentle concern in his offer, the unspoken understanding in his deep voice, that nearly undid her. A rare, hot prickle of tears stung the backs of her eyes, a blink of raw vulnerability she quickly hid by bowing her head. Aoto saw it. He gave her one last, long look, a silent promise of safety, before turning and melting back into the shadows of the corridor, leaving her alone with the echo of his kindness and a crucial lesson in how to fight back.

Rei got up, moving to the stairs, leaving behind the pulsating heart of the Den. The encounter had been brief, but the lesson was searingly clear. Charm was a weapon, but it had its limits. And sometimes, the most powerful move was knowing when to press the red stone and let the giants step in. But she hated it. She had never seen Yuri need to call for security. She touched the ring again, no longer a symbol of total failure, nor merely a promise of protection, to Rei it was still a last resort. Aoto’s gentle concern had been a lotion far more soothing than any stubbornness she could muster.

The click of the apartment door was soft, but Rei heard it over the sounds from the TV. She didn’t move from her spot on the sofa, her eyes fixed on the flickering black-and-white images of a lone samurai standing against a driving rain. An empty bottle of Karasu’s favorite Ace-dry beers, one she’d never dared touch before, sat on the coffee table beside a half-finished bag of nori snacks.

Karasu moved through the dim room with his usual silent grace. He didn’t look at her, didn’t ask about her night. He simply walked to the kitchen, the fridge door hissed open, and he returned with an identical bottle of beer. He sat on the far end of the sofa, the cushions sighing under his weight, and wordlessly stole a nori triangle from her bag. For a long while, the only sounds were the clash of swords on the screen and the soft crunch of seaweed. “He’s going to lose his castle,” Karasu said finally, his voice a low murmur. He took a sip of his beer, “The retainer has already betrayed him. The rain is washing away his honor.” Rei hugged a cushion to her chest, “Stop spoiling the movie.” A faint smirk touched his lips. They lapsed back into silence, watching the inevitable tragedy unfold. It was Rei who broke it, her voice small in the quiet room, “Aoto told you.”

“He did.”

“The guy… his hands were under the table. I tried everything Yuri taught me. It just… it made him feel like he was winning.” Karasu took another slow drink, his gaze still on the screen where the samurai was now surrounded, “Some men are not there for conversation. They are there for conquest. Your mistake was thinking you could reason with a burglar.” She fell silent, the truth of his words settling heavily on her. When the final credits began to scroll, Karasu set his empty bottle down with a soft click. He turned his head, his sky-blue eyes capturing hers in the dim light from the screen.

“I don’t like repeating myself,” he said. The words were harsh, but his tone was not unkind. It was matter-of-fact, “So listen carefully; you have to stop beating yourself up for using the ring. For learning. For dealing with assholes the only way you can in that moment. It’s a waste of energy, and I do not invest in waste”, he leaned forward, the intensity in his gaze pinning her, “What you do have to work on is your sensitivity. That raw nerve he found tonight. You will have to toughen it up. To survive in the Den, in this city – to be valuable to me.”

Rei’s breath caught. Fear, rapt attention and a strange gratefulness for his brutal honesty warred within her. “But,” he continued, his voice dropping, “do not misunderstand. That sensitivity is not a weakness to be carved out. It is a force. It is what lets you read a room, read a man. It is the source of your authenticity. But you cannot let it water your hurt like rain”, he made a sharp gesture with his hand, “You have to let it fuel your fire. Let the anger at his touch make your smile sharper. Let the unjust humiliation harden your resolve. The next time a man puts his hand where it doesn’t belong, you don’t freeze. You burn him with a look; you use your allies. That is how you become valuable.“

He held her gaze for a moment longer, ensuring the lesson was seared into her mind, before leaning back into the hollow of the sofa. The credits ended, plunging the room into near-darkness. Rei sat perfectly still, his words echoing in the silence. They were not a comfort, but they were a map. A way forward through the shame. He had seen her failure, and instead of discarding her, he had given her a weapon: a new understanding of her own heart. It was the most terrifying and generous thing anyone he had done for her yet.