Trigger warning! (PG18)

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

Resolve & the Iron Oni

After some good shifts, Rei felt a new determination settling in her. On this night the club floor was alive with neon and bass, a pulsing blur of color and sound. Rei approached the table with a carefully measured smile, letting herself slide into the seat next to the client. She positioned the tray in front of them on the table, wine freshly poured. Tonight, she had decided that she would sit, she would engage, and she would test her own resolve and outline her limits.

The man’s grin widened immediately, eyes lingering. “Well, well… shall we get comfortable?” he snickered, leaning toward her, hand brushing hers as she adjusted the tray. Rei kept her knees pressed together, fingers circling her glass. “Let a girl get settled first won’t you?,” she said softly, voice melodic but firm, “I’m here aren’t I? –  I’ll sit. I’ll chat.” “Good, good,” he said, shifting closer, a hand brushing the small of her back, “I like a girl who shows a little spark.” Rei’s jaw tightened. She moved back, letting the edge between their seats serve as a subtle barrier, keeping a polite distance while allowing him to think he had power. “There there,” she said, voice steady, “I know my sparks, but there are lines sir.” The man chuckled, leaning further, “Lines? Lines are for fools, sweetheart. Just relax.”

Rei’s fingers twitched toward her ring. Not yet. Not yet, she thought, forcing herself to stay composed, to test herself rather than call for help prematurely. She let a playful smirk touch her lips, masking the panic rising in her chest, “I’m here to keep you company sir, not cuddle you.” She tilted her head coyly, keeping her tone firm but teasing. He laughed, bold and leering, brushing a hand too close to her waist. Rei’s pulse spiked.

Control the space, Karasu’s voice echoed in her head. Breathe. She rested her hand on her hip, nudging him gently back. “Careful,” she murmured, voice calm but ice beneath, “You might spill your drink.” His grin faltered slightly, but only briefly. He leaned in again, whispering, “You’re cute when you act tough… “.Rei’s chest tensed. Fingers tightening, she felt the red stone at her ring press against her palm, but she resisted. One more moment, she could tame him. Just one more. The client’s hand drifted again, moving from her hip to her side and closer to her breasts. She flinched but moved away to the edge of the seat.

The man’s smile sharpened. He leaned back just enough for her to breathe again, but his hand followed her movement, quick, precise, the way a fighter closes a distance. Before Rei could react, his fingers caught her wrist. It wasn’t a grab. It was domination. His thumb pressed into the tendons just above her pulse, the other fingers folding in a way that forced her hand still. It wasn’t painful, not yet, but it was deliberate, inescapable. A martial artist’s touch. Rei froze. Her first instinct was to pull away, but the way his grip shifted told her he was ready for that. He wasn’t guessing. He knew how to hold her without appearing to.

His half-open shirt revealed the ink coiling across his chest: thin stalks of silver bamboo etched like blades of moonlight, and over his heart, the head of a tiger, eyes closed, fangs bared in a silent snarl. Iron Oni. Her stomach dropped. The stories she had heard whispered about the Oni Syndicate, about their pride, their traditions, snapped into chilling clarity. The way this man moved wasn’t arrogance; it was heritage. Violence disguised as elegance.

“You know…,” he murmured, his breath heavy with whiskey, “…you play strong, but your hands say otherwise.” Rei forced her expression into something measured, “Sir, you’re very drunk.” He chuckled, low and humorless, “Maybe. Or maybe I just see through the mask.” His thumb brushed her wrist again, tracing the small ridge of bone. The pressure was soft, but there was no mistaking the warning in it, “Pretty hands. Too soft for this place.”

Rei’s pulse jumped under his touch. She tried to pull back again, gently, keeping her tone light, “If you squeeze much harder, you’ll leave a mark. And that wouldn’t be good for your reputation, would it?” His smile widened, teeth flashing, “A mark can be beautiful.” The words were slow, deliberate, and something in the air shifted, from drunken flirtation to something colder. His other hand moved, hovering just close enough that she felt the space narrow, the cage forming.

Breathe, she told herself. Control the space. Her mind raced, measure his movement, his balance, his center of gravity. He’s right-handed, right grip dominant, wrist turned inward. If she twisted. But then his grip shifted again, subtle and efficient. A fighter’s readjustment. He knew what she was thinking. That realization hit her harder than the hold itself. The world seemed to narrow, neon bleeding into gold, the low music fading beneath the thrum of her pulse. She felt small, cornered, the red stone of her ring burning faintly against her palm.

One signal, and the Den’s security would appear. But she hesitated. This was the test, her line, her threshold. “I think,” she said quietly, forcing her voice to steady, “you’ve made your point.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming, “Have I ?” The quiet menace in his tone was worse than anger. His grip didn’t tighten, but the certainty of his control made her skin prickle.

And then a flicker of shadow. A subtle shift in the lighting as someone passed by the booth’s entrance. The client’s gaze darted toward it instinctively, a fraction of a second, but enough. Rei exhaled, twisting her wrist with practiced precision, sliding free before he could reset his hold. She leaned back, smile poised. The man’s eyes narrowed, but before he could move, a new presence filled the air.  As if sensing the imminent escalation, a shadow fell over the table.

“Ahh…” Karasu’s voice was calm, measured, and filled the space with quiet authority. The client froze, the smile fading, “I see you’re getting quite cozy here.” The man looked up, eyes flickering with irritation and a touch of worry. Karasu stood, his presence dominating, dragons coiling on his arms like living warning signs. He gestured with a hand, effortlessly authoritative, “This table and your hostess have been reserved for someone else. Table three has been prepared for you, a bottle waiting. Enjoy it. Hope you will appreciate our hospitality.” The client’s jaw tightened, but he obeyed, shoving his hand away from Rei, muttering a reluctant, “Sure.”

Karasu’s gaze swept over Rei, sharp but not disapprovingly, as he led her away. “Self-control,” he murmured, voice low, “Even when they push too far, is not the same as being in control.” Rei exhaled, pushing her shoulders back, hiding the tremor in her fingers, as she set the tray aside behind the bar. The red stone on her ring glimmered, unused. Karasu had been one step ahead again. He walked with her behind the bar counter. “You’re improving, but don’t be hasty,” he said, lighting a blue cigarette, smoke curling around him, “Next time, you’ll set the rhythm, not just respond. And if they push too far…”, he paused, his expression was illegible, “you’ll know when to ask for back up – you’re not alone. Got it?” Rei’s cheeks burned, but more with determination than shame. She sat down the tray, meeting his blue eyes, “Yes Karasu-sama… next time I’ll hold my own – or call for help.” Karasu exhaled a plume of smoke, his look darkening, “Good. And Rei?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t let creeps take advantage of you.”

With that Karasu walked away. The jazz of the club hummed like a heartbeat, neon light reflecting off her flushed cheeks. She tested herself and once again survived but not succeeded, and Karasu was always watching.

Night-cap

Later than night, Rei cooked a late dinner on Karasu’s request. Steam curled up from the bowls between them, the smell of soy, ginger, and caramelized onion filling the small apartment. The night’s noise from the Den was only a hum below now, the muffled bass like a distant heartbeat under the wooden floor.

Rei sat opposite Karasu at the low dining table. Her hair was damp from a quick shower, loose now, and she wore one of the silk kimonos he had provided for her, crimson, cinched at the waist. Her chopsticks moved mechanically, small bites, polite motions.

Karasu ate in steady silence, every movement deliberate, precise. He never seemed rushed, not even when he was irritated. Tonight, though, his calm carried a different weight, something colder, controlled. He set his chopsticks down, blue smoke curling from the cigarette balanced between his fingers. “The man from earlier,” he said, voice low, almost casual, “You handled yourself… adequately.”

Rei paused mid-bite. “Adequately,” she repeated quietly, eyes on her bowl. He smirked faintly. “You didn’t panic. You read him. That’s progress”, he leaned back slightly, tapping ash into the small ceramic tray beside him, “But you shouldn’t handle it alone.” Her eyes lifted at that; dark, cautious, unreadable. “You said I needed to learn control,” she replied softly. “I did,” Karasu admitted, taking another drag, “But control doesn’t mean isolation or accepting when clients push it. You’re not here to prove how much you can take.”

He poured himself more tea, and then more for her. “That man tonight,” he continued, tone turning deliberate, “was Iron Oni.” Rei’s hand froze around her cup, “…the infamously ruthless gang?”

“The very same,” Karasu said sharply, then softened his voice, “You’ll know them by how they move. Their arrogance isn’t bravado, it’s bred into them. They live in hierarchies. Power isn’t shown with money or manners, it’s shown by how far they can push without being stopped.” Rei set her chopsticks down slowly, “He pushed far.” Karasu’s eyes flicked to her, assessing, “Yes. And he knew exactly how far he could go before I stepped in.”

He took a sip, gaze unfocused for a moment, “They thankfully don’t cross certain lines in my club. Because…” His voice trailed off. A shadow passed behind his eyes, and Rei, attuned to his silences by now, didn’t press. He inhaled from his cigarette again, exhaled through his nose, and said more quietly, “Still. The Iron Oni are dangerous in ways most people don’t understand. They remember debts. They remember insults. And they always, always watch.” Rei’s voice was barely a whisper, “So… I should I be afraid of them?”

Karasu studied her for a long moment before tilting his head, “Only as afraid as you are of fire – it can burn, but it can be useful. Just be aware, respectful, careful and never take risks with them.” His tone hardened slightly, “That’s why I told you to use the tools you’ve got. The ring, the signals, the staff. Don’t go solo for no reason. You’re learning how to tame fire; you’re not fireproof.”

Rei’s gaze dropped, guilt flickering in her chest, “I didn’t want to seem weak.” His response came instantly, cutting through her words like the soft edge of a blade, “Weakness isn’t asking for help. It’s thinking you don’t need it, when you do.” That shut her up. The words landed heavy, not cruel, but solid, true. Karasu took another sip of tea, his expression softening when he saw the shadow in her eyes, “He won’t trouble you again. I made sure of it. Oni or not.” She gave a faint nod, murmuring, “Thank you.” He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They ate in silence after that. It was calmer now, no tension in the air, only quiet exhaustion.

Rei’s appetite faltered, though. Every so often she caught herself replaying the client’s smirk, the weight of his touch, the way Karasu’s shadow had fallen across the table just in time. She wondered what he saw when he looked at men like that, enemies, reminders, or demons. When she rose to clear the dishes, Karasu reached out and caught her wrist gently. The movement was instinctive, almost casual, but the contact froze her. His thumb brushed the faint bruise near the edge of her sleeve before he let go, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Leave that,” he said, nodding to the dishes, “You’ve done enough for tonight.” Rei hesitated, “But—” He interrupted, quieter now, “Go sit on the soft seats, Rei.” There was no threat in his tone, only quiet insistence. So she nodded, placing the bowls aside, moving to the couch instead.

After a moment, Karasu rose, fetched a bottle of plum wine, and set it on the low table. “You look like you could use something sweeter than soy sauce.” The faintest smile touched Rei’s lips, weary but real, “A nightcap?” He met her gaze, eyes glinting faintly under the low light, “Something like that.” As she settled onto the couch, careful not to sit too close, he moved to the turntable and put on a record; something old, something that crackled to life like memory itself.

A woman’s voice rose, soft and nostalgic, singing in Japanese. Rei glanced at him, curiosity stirring, but he said nothing, only poured the wine, handed her a glass, and sat beside her. The quiet hum of the record player filled the space. It was soft, melancholy, the kind of music that sat comfortably between conversation and silence. For a while, they just listened, resting in the kind of silence that said everything. The record spun, crackling gently as the haunting voice of a Japanese chanteuse filled the room. The melody was slow, wistful; the kind of song that carried remembrances.

Rei sat curled in one corner of the couch, her knees drawn up beneath her, the silk of her loose house kimono pooling like liquid around her. She cradled her glass of plum wine, watching Karasu. “I love plum wine”, she said, gratitude flashing in her tired face. He hummed, “good”, smiling faintly as he sat slouched beside her, jacket discarded, collar open, one arm draped lazily across the back of the couch. The smoke from his cigarette rose and twisted in the lamplight.

“I didn’t know you liked this kind of music,” Rei said softly, smiling a softly. Karasu’s sky-blue eyes glinted through the haze. “Not many remember the classics anymore,” he murmured, “My mother used to dance to this.” Something in his voice, a slight roughness, a slant of memory, made Rei’s breath still. She didn’t speak. Just waited. He took a long drag, exhaled, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling before he went on, “She was… an Iron Oni princess,” he said with a wry half-smile, as though it were a joke told too many times to strangers, “Her father was one of the old heads; the kind who thought honor and bloodlines were worth dying for.”

Rei tilted her head, “But she didn’t think so?” Karasu chuckled quietly, “She thought with her feet. Danced her way out of their cages. Met my father, an English boxer who couldn’t speak a word of Japanese but could take a hit like a goddamn tank. They ran off. That was… the end of her dynasty.” He took another sip of his wine, “She used to say love was its own kind of fight. That it leaves bruises you can’t see.”

Rei leaned closer, chin resting on her knees, “Did you ever meet them? The Oni family?” His gaze turned inward, “Only my grandmother. She came for birthdays and such, years after my mother was cut off. Brought me a charm wrapped in silk and told me to never forget who I was, even if everyone else did.” He smirked faintly. “Sounds like she cared”, Rei’s smile was faint, warm. “She cared in the only way they know how, quiet, distant. The Oni don’t say ‘I love you.’ They hand you a blade and expect you to survive.” The record hissed softly between songs. Outside, a siren wailed somewhere in the night, distant and lonely.

Rei reached for the bottle and refilled his glass, her movements careful, “Did your parents run the club before you?” Karasu nodded, swirling the liquid, “Yeah. Back then it wasn’t velvet and neon. Just a dive bar for drunks and dreamers. And in the back, a ring. My dad fought there every week. The smell of sweat and cheap beer was the perfume of my childhood.”

He paused, eyes unfocused, somewhere decades away, “She danced while he fought. Two kinds of rhythm, same song.” Rei didn’t interrupt. She knew when silence said more than words. When he looked at her again, the cool mask he usually wore had slipped just a fraction. There was something open and human beneath it, something that made her chest tighten unexpectedly.

“She used to hum this song,” he said quietly, gesturing toward the record player, “Said it reminded her that no matter how far you run, the past always finds you in the quiet moments.” Rei’s lips parted, “Is that why you never play it downstairs?” Karasu gave a small, rueful smile, “Down there, it’s all noise. Up here… I can afford to remember.” They sat like that for a while, two survivors of different scars, listening to the old record spin and the city breathe around them. Rei sat her glass down; her voice was barely above a whisper, “You talk like a nostalgic poet when you drink.”

Karasu chuckled, flicking ash into the tray, “I don’t usually… don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.” She smiled, “Your secret’s safe.” He looked at her then, really looked, and for a moment, the Master Spider, the manipulator, the dangerous man the city whispered about was gone. In his place sat a man with a past, a son remembering a mother who danced against the world. In Rei’s dark eyes, he saw the same thing his mother must have once seen in his father; defiance, fire, and something dangerously close to hope of a better future.

The plum wine was sweet and heavy with warmth, clinging to the air like incense. The record spun softly in the background, the singer’s voice gentle and old-fashioned, full of a kind of longing that didn’t demand attention but filled the room all the same. Rei held her glass between her palms. The alcohol had painted her cheeks faintly pink, softening the edges of her usual reserve. Karasu was calm beside her, one arm draped over the backrest, his other hand loose around his glass. For once, he didn’t seem to be watching her, or anyone. His eyes were distant, a little unfocused; the way people look when memory and drink have wrapped around them like fog.

“When she danced to this, people would stop talking,” he said finally, voice quiet but clear. Rei turned her head slightly, not wanting to break the spell of the moment, “Your mother?” He nodded once, “Back when the bar was still just a bar. Before the velvet. She’d dance barefoot, sometimes just to make my father laugh. He pretended he didn’t like it, but she could make anyone stop breathing when she moved.” His tone wasn’t sad. It was remembering, heavy, but not regretful. Rei looked at the turntable as if she saw his mother above it, “It sounds… like a dream.”

“It was,” he murmured, “Too much so, maybe. The kind of fantasy that you can lose touch with yourself in.” Silence folded around them again. Only the faint rustle of the record, the slow throb of the city beyond the window. Rei found herself watching the light play across his face; the sharp planes softened by the amber glow of the lamp. She’d seen Karasu angry, amused, commanding, cold. But this quiet weariness laced with warmth, felt like something secret. “You don’t usually talk about her much,” she said softly. He glanced at her, one brow arching. Rei froze at the intense look in his eyes, then smiled just a little apologetically, “You talk around her. Like she’s still watching.”

That earned her a low, surprised laugh. “Maybe she is”, he leaned back, tipping his head toward the ceiling, “She’d hate what I’ve done with the place. She wanted me to make something worth dancing in.” Rei turned her glass in her hands, “You did, in your own way.” That caught his attention. “The women here,” she continued quietly, “They just dance differently, from table to table. And you protect them. That’s something worth dancing for.”

He stared at her for a long moment; long enough for her to start fidgeting under the weight of his gaze. Then, to her surprise, his expression softened. “When you talk like that…”, he said, his tone low, almost amused, “…you almost sound like you think I’m a good guy.” Rei spoke before she could stop herself, “I do.” The words hung there, unguarded, clumsy, a little too honest. Karasu’s lips curved slightly, but the warmth behind it faltered. Something in him, the man behind the authority, retreated. He sat up straighter, set his empty glass on the table with a muted clink.

“Keep dreaming. Now, that’s enough nostalgia,” he said, voice regaining its usual commanding steadiness, “Go get some sleep.” Rei blinked, startled, “Karasu, I—” He cut her off gently, but firmly, “Tomorrow, go sell jewelry at the university gates, and then take a full hostess shift after. Don’t drag your feet, or you’ll be tripping over them by sundown.” The way he said it was final. His authority reasserting itself like a door quietly closing.

Rei hesitated, then nodded, “Yes, Karasu-sama.” He rose slowly, stretching one arm across his shoulder, “Good.” For a moment, it almost seemed like he might say more, but instead, he turned, moving toward his room. His steps were unhurried, his silhouette thinning into the low light until it disappeared behind the sliding door.

The apartment grew still again. Only the soft hiss of the record remained. Rei lingered a while, staring at the wine in her glass. It was strange, she felt both steadier and somehow unmoored. The warmth he left behind was the kind that made her chest ache a little, though she couldn’t quite name why. Eventually, she rose, gathered the glasses, and went to her room.

Rei’s bedroom was quiet, flickers from the street slashing thin lines across the floor. She sank onto the edge of her bed. She let her fingers trace the edge of her bedframe, thinking back to the client. The flush in her cheeks, the quickened pulse, the momentary panic and the shame of it mixed with resolve. She had kept herself safe. She had almost activated her ring, almost, but hadn’t.

She pressed her forehead to her knees. The hesitation, the instinct to recoil from him, that was what she wanted to erase. The ability to breathe, to touch, to charm without flinching, and demand or create the necessary distance.

Outside, the hum of the city bled through the glass, soft and far away. She wondered if Karasu was already asleep, or if he was sitting up, cigarette in hand, listening to the same faint song from the record. The thought of Karasu as he intervened, saving her from the Oni client surfaced and she shivered; not just from the relief, but from the memory of his presence, close and commanding. I need more than theory. I need practice.