First Report After Sakura Avenues

The first rays of a pale, smog-filtered sun sliced through the blinds of Rei’s new apartment, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air-conditioned space. She woke with a jolt, the memories of the week crashing over her; the exquisite food, the charged conversations, the ghost of Takumi’s lips on her cheek, the terrifying, thrilling promise of a negotiated encounter that he had still to bring up again. And then, the other reality: Karasu. The report. Today.

A bolt of anxiety shot through her. She had nothing in the fridge. No coffee, no food, nothing to ground herself with before facing him. Throwing on a simple pair of black lounge pants and a hoodie; a stark contrast to the week’s work attire; she grabbed her clutch and practically ran out the door.

The streets of Sakura Avenues were just beginning to stir. She arrived at her local 24-hour market, its neon sign flickering, and moved through the aisles with a frantic efficiency born of a lifetime of scarcity. Coffee, eggs, rice, spring onions and a few basic seasonings. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to perform the ritual, to create a semblance of normalcy.

Back in the tiny but well-equipped kitchen, she cooked hurriedly, the sizzle of eggs in the pan a comforting, familiar sound. As she ate a simple omelet standing at the counter, her mind raced. What to tell Karasu? Every detail felt like a landmine. The dress, the perfume, the intimate restaurants, the way Takumi looked at her. She couldn’t lie. Karasu would have his own sources, his own ways of knowing. But the truth, the full, unvarnished truth of the magnetic pull she felt and the promise of a favor she’d made, could ignite a jealousy so cold and destructive it terrified her.

She showered quickly, the hot water a temporary reprieve. She reached for the luxurious, scented shower gel from Takumi’s box. The complex aroma filled the steam, a sensory reminder of the chackles surrounding her. She used it almost defiantly, as if covering herself with the scent would deny any unjust guilt. Her life was marked by both men now, in more ways than one. She would let Karasu smell the extravagance on her, hoping it might thwart him from asking certain loaded questions.

Dressing in simple, practical clothes, dark jeans, white T-shirt, boots, her old leather jacket, was like a homecoming. She left her hair down, a bright curtain around her face, seeing her old self in the mirror, feeling almost nostalgic somehow. She applied minimal makeup, erasing the glamour, trying to look more like the tool he remembered and less like the jewel someone else was polishing.

The sub-way ride and walk to The Electric Dragon Den felt long. Each step was heavy with dread. She rehearsed phrases in her head, editing, censoring, trying to find a version of the truth that would satisfy his need for information without triggering his wrath. It was a business dinner. He was feeling out his new asset. We discussed terms. It was… professional. The story felt thin, even to her.

She stopped at the familiar, graffiti-scarred alley that housed the club’s entrance. The neon dragon sign was off, the place silent in the morning light. She took a deep, steadying breath, the air tasting of damp concrete and yesterday’s trash. As she walked closer she could still smell the faint, intoxicating trace of Takumi’s perfume on her own skin, just beneath the leather of her jacket. She closed her eyes for a second, steadying herself. Then, squaring her shoulders, she pushed open the heavy door and stepped back into Karasu’s world.

Rei pushed through the heavy door, the click of her practical boots a stark contrast to the deadly whisper of the heels she wore for Takumi. The air in the Den was thick with the stale scent of last night’s smoke and spilled liquor. It felt like a different planet from the hushed, perfumed serenity of the fancy tearooms and restaurants. The first week with Takumi had been a string of lunch and dinners between his business meetings, each providing a new outfit; one suitable for their private dinners, one for a corporate business lunch, one for an elegant teahouse, one for a walk in a park and a tweed two piece suitable for a Kuroda employee.

Karasu was in his booth, a ledger open in front of him, a blue cigarette smoldering in the ashtray. He didn’t look up as she approached, but she felt the shift in his posture, a subtle coiling. He’d known the moment she walked in. She slid into the seat opposite him. The silence stretched, heavy and accusatory. When he finally lifted his head, his blue eyes scanned her from head to toe, a cold, clinical assessment. His inspection was looking for signs, for any physical evidence of the week. He found none. Her armor of normalcy was intact.

“Report,” he said, his voice a gravelly command. The lover from the kitchen was gone; the Nephila present. Rei kept her voice neutral, factual, “The restaurants and cafés he took me too were all exclusive. Sushi, French Patisseries. High-end. We were almost always the only ones there”, she listed the details like items on an invoice, “The conversations were primarily small talk, sometimes negotiation. I thanked him for my apartment… I negotiated terms for a favor in return to make us square and he accepted them” She omitted the talk of art, the brush of his lips. Those were her secrets, her ammunition.

“What favor?”, Karasu’s eyes narrowed, “A… I gave him some options. Either information related or a… physical favor… he seemed most interested in the latter, even though I offered gathering or delivering info to his son… or you”, she met his gaze, refusing to flinch, “The specifics are to be negotiated later.” A muscle in Karasu’s jaw twitched. The ember of his cigarette flared as he took a sharp drag.

She could almost see the images flashing behind his eyes, the scenarios of what a physical favor for a man like Takumi could entail. His fingers tapped the table in a ruthless rhythm. “And?”, he bit out, the word laced with venom. “And nothing. A guard of some kind, Cillian, brings me out and home again. I go to bed”, she shifted in her seat, her own frustration beginning to bleed through the calm façade, “It is business lunches and dinners, food based escort services. You leased me to this man. I’m doing the job.”

“I can see that,” he snarled and gestured aggressively at her with his cigarette, “You walk in here smelling like his expensive fucking perfumes, talking about negotiating favors…”, he spat, his composure cracking. “You’re the one who made the deal, not me!”, she shot back, her voice rising, “You rented me out! What did you think was going to happen? That he’d just give you a pile of Units and never collect?”

The truth of it hung between them, ugly and raw. He had triggered this situation, assigning her to seduce Takumi’s son. His pride, ambition and commands had put her directly in Takumi’s path. Karasu stared at her, the fury in his eyes warring with something else; something that looked startlingly like regret. He looked away, stubbing out his cigarette with vicious force. “Get to work upstairs,” he muttered, his voice low and drained, “The apartment is a mess. The fridge is empty, so go shopping too. Have dinner ready around seven.” It was a dismissal. A retreat. He wouldn’t engage with the reality of her words.

Rei stood up, her body trembling with a mixture of anger and a strange, hollow triumph. She had reported and had held her ground. But the chasm between them felt wider than ever. She was his asset, his possession, his greatest liability. As she walked away to go grocery shopping first and foremost, the phantom scent of expensive perfume clung to her, a taunting reminder of the other, more sophisticated cage that was now waiting for her on Monday.

The hours dragged on, each minute a lifetime of scrubbing, vacuuming, prepping dinner, sorting Karasu’s takeaway trash and laundry. Every mundane maid-like task, felt strikingly like personal insults after the calculated, intense elegance of the previous days with Takumi. Karasu’s cold jealousy was a stone in her shoe, rubbing with every step. Did he think she enjoyed this tightrope walk? Did he really think balancing the terrifying pull of Takumi with the raw, possessive anger of the man she actually loved was some kind of pleasure cruise?

By the time dinner was all prepped and an hour still left until dinner, Rei’s patience had worn thinner than the stockings Takumi bought her. She didn’t want to be dismissed. She marched straight to Karasu’s office. Without knocking, she pushed the door open to find him pouring himself a whiskey, his back to her, shoulders set in a broad line.

“We need to talk,” she said, her voice flat, all the hostess sweetness stripped away. “I’ve heard enough for one day”, he didn’t turn. “Tough”, she stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a soft but definitive click, “You don’t get to send me into the lion’s den and then punish me for coming back smelling like the zoo.” That got him to turn around, “I’m not punishing you.” His eyes were dark, the blue nearly black with suppressed emotion. “Aren’t you?”, she crossed her arms, leaning against the door, “My report today was met with a glare and maid work. You act like I’m betraying you by doing exactly what you, and he, are forcing me to. I’m trying to protect you, you stubborn ass, and all I get is your jealousy. It’s exhausting.”

Karasu set his glass down with a hard thud, “What do you want me to do? Applaud?” He slipped a hand over his combed back hair, then picked his whiskey glass back up frustratedly. “No, but I want you to be my partner in this, not my disapproving warden”, the words burst out of her, sharper than she intended. She took a breath, forcing her voice back to a determined calm, “So, here’s my idea. New rules, just for us.”

She held up a finger, “Option one: I report to you verbally and you listen. You check your anger at the door. You treat it like a mission debrief, not an interrogation of your wayward girlfriend. You respect the fact that I am acting under your orders as much as his, and after a debrief I’m just your lover, no more work talk”, she held up a second finger, “Option two: I send you written reports. Clinical, just the facts. No personal contact. I’ll still cook you dinner and breakfast, but that’s it. You get your information, but you lose… work-me in any physical capacity.”

She let the options hang in the whiskey-scented air. It was a calculated risk. She was leveraging the one thing she knew he truly wanted, her presence, her closeness, against his strain to control his own emotions in front of her. Karasu stared at her, a storm raging behind his eyes. He looked from her raised fingers to her determined face. He saw the exhaustion, the weariness, the love and the unwavering steel beneath it. She wasn’t a girl pleading for understanding; she was a woman dictating her own terms. A long, electric silence filled the room. Finally, he let out a sharp, exasperated breath, the fight draining out of him. He ran a hand over his face.

“Option one,” he grumbled, the words seeming to be dragged from him. He picked up his whiskey and drained it in one go, refusing to look at her, then added, “Verbal reports.” A small, hard-won triumph settled in Rei’s chest. She nodded once, “Okay.” She walked over and stopped in front of him, close enough that he had to look down to meet her eyes, “Then starting now,” she said, her voice softer but no less determined, “The debrief is over. And I’m no longer your asset tonight. When you come home for dinner, I’m just your fox.” Then she gave him a quick kiss on the mouth, turned and walked out, leaving him standing alone, the terms of their fragile new truce laid bare between them.