The Last Morning

The first slivers of dawn were just bleeding through the blinds, painting Karasu’s bedroom in shades of gunmetal and rose. Rei was a warm weight against his side, breathing deeply and evenly. For a few stolen moments, the world was quiet. Then the low, electric hum of a vehicle idling cut through the silence. Not just any vehicle. The sound was too smooth, too expensive. Karasu was out of bed in a fluid motion, crossing to the window. He nudged   the blind aside with a single finger.

Below, parked directly in front of the scarred entrance of the Den like a panther slumming in an alley, was a matte black Kuroda limousine. Cillian, Rei’s security guard, stood beside the passenger door, arms crossed, staring directly up at the window as if he could see through the walls.

A fury tightened in Karasu’s chest. The audacity, the fucking statement of it. Rei stirred, sensing the shift in the air. “Karasu?”, her voice was sleep-soft. “Get up,” he said, his tone clipped, “Your ride is here.” She scrambled out of bed, joining him at the window. Her breath fastened. “It’s 6 a.m. On Fridays Cillian arrive around 9:30 – and at my apartment…”, the dread in her voice was sharp. Karasu turned to light a cigarette. “Takumi is reminding us who holds the leash this morning,” he bit out, taking a long drag. The blue tip flared, mirroring the anger in his eyes, “He knows you’re in my bed.”

Pure panic coursed through Rei, “Karasu, I don’t usually get picked up in limos, what if he also came… came to-“. He cut her off with a hand reaching out, cupping her face, “Rei, listen carefully: I’ll do everything in my power to fight for you, but you’ll have to be brave and go to him now. To fight a man like Takumi, we will have to work in the shade and strike when he least expects it – do you still trust me?” Rei nodded, tears welling in her eyes, shallowing hard. Karasu caressed her cheek, wiping away a tear. “Good, then get ready”, his voiceboth gentle and leaving no room for disobedience.

Rei stepped back, determination washing over her wet face as she unleashed a whirlwind of anxious energy. Her corporate armor, the tailored dresses, the severe blazers Takumi had provided, were back in her Sakura Avenues flat. She was in the heart of Karasu’s world, with nothing but the remnants of the night and old clothes. Diving into his closet, her hands flying past his suits, she emerged with a few items: a slip of black silk he’d bought her on a whim, the red, transparent lace lingerie she’d worn the night before. Then her eyes landed on a patterned paper box in the back of the closet. She opened it slowly.

Inside, folded with impossible care, was her favorite kimono. Not the cheap fabric of a tourist garment, but heavy woven linen in a deep grey. Embroidered across the back and around the front was a magnificent nine-tailed fox in silver and bronze thread, its eyes cunning, its tails swirling like smoke. A precious gift. Karasu had given it to her after she’d successfully played a Yakuza lieutenant during one of her hostess nights. “A fox for my little fox,” he’d said, his voice rough with something that wasn’t just pride.

She threw the silky slip over the lingerie, then wrapped the kimono around herself, tying the obi tight. Hurrying to her old room, she sat at her worn vanity, her hands steady now, a mask of concentration falling over her features. With quick, precise movements, she painted her face. Pale foundation, sharp red lips, eyes lined to perfection. She swept her hair up into an elegant, classic style.

Rei was transforming, right before his eyes, from the woman in his bed to a work of art. Karasu watched her, smoking silently, his jealousy and annoyance burning like acid in his gut. She was magnificent, his creation, his masterpiece; and she was dressing herself in his gifts to go and be paraded for another man.

The contrast was a deliberate, brutal provocation. The transparent lace beneath, the intimate slip, the precious kimono; all chosen by him, all marks of his influence. The geisha mask she was applying was the ultimate defiance. She was walking out of his Den dressed not in Takumi’s corpo chic, but in the most iconic symbols of Japanese tradition and subtle power. She was telling Takumi, without saying a word, exactly which world she came from, and which man understood its language.

Rei met his eyes in the mirror, “How do I look? Elegant enough for the Kuroda standard you think?” He took a final drag of his cigarette, crushing it out. “He’ll either be furious,” Karasu said, his voice a low gravel, “or he’ll be more obsessed than ever.” He walked over to her, brushing the embroidered fox tail on her shoulder, “Either way, my fox, you are as beautiful as it gets.” A small smile touched her painted lips. She stood, a vision of variations; innocent and carnal, traditional and utterly defiant. She walked out of his apartment looking back only once, blowing him a kiss.

Karasu went to the window again, watching as she emerged from the Den. Cillian’s stoic expression didn’t flicker, but he did a double take, his eyes lingering on the kimono for a fraction too long before he opened the door for her. Karasu lit another cigarette, envisioning the moment Takumi saw her like that, smelling the Den and his cologne on her skin; it was going to eat him alive.

The limousine’s door was open before Rei could even step fully from the Den’s shadow. Cillian held the door agape as she approached the dark, silent mouth. She hesitated at the curb, the morning air cool on her legs beneath the kimono. Rei had only ever driven in limousines with Takumi. Her fears were confirmed as a smooth voice floated from the darkened interior, “Get in, Rei.”

Her blood ran cold. She slid onto the butter-soft leather seat. Takumi sat opposite her, impeccably dressed in a marine suit. His gaze bore through her, traveling over her makeup, down the exquisite charcoal kimono, his eyes contracting almost imperceptibly at the embroidered fox. He took in the entire, bold presentation. A detached smile touched his lips.

“Charming,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth, “A nostalgic aesthetic. Now wait here. I’ve got some business to attend to.” Before she could form a word, he was out of the car. Cillian send Rei an apologetic look before pushing the car door, causing it to thump shut. She reached for the handle, but heard the locks click. The hush of the limousine was absolute, a vacuum sealed by tinted glass and the faint, hum of the air filtration system. Rei sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap. The embroidered fox felt like a brand, a claim she had worn as a shield, but which now seemed like a target.