The scent of burning incense lingered in the air, heavy and cloying, as if trying to mask the blood that once stained the wooden floors of the Himura estate. Though years had passed, the memory of that night clung to the walls like a shadow refusing to die.
Himura Aiko was only seven when her world was painted in red.
The storm outside had roared like a beast—thunder cracking through the sky as if the heavens themselves protested the act that was about to unfold. Inside, in the vast, dim-lit hall of the traditional compound, Aiko had sat quietly in her room, tracing her fingers over the petals of a chrysanthemum pattern stitched into her kimono. Her father, Himura Daiki, the head of the feared Himura-kai syndicate, had told her that chrysanthemums were a symbol of honor. Dying with one in hand, he said, meant dying with pride.
But he hadn't died with pride. He had died betrayed.
That night, her father was found lying in his study, a blade through his chest, the calligraphy he had been writing soaked in blood. There were no signs of struggle—just the silent ending of a man who had trusted too deeply.
And then came Tsukishima Ren.
Already Daiki's right-hand man, Ren was the only one who stepped forward to take in Aiko. But unlike the cold and ruthless reputation he held in the underworld, he never passed that darkness onto her. He had sworn to her father—no matter what happened, Aiko would never fall into this life. So, he raised her not with harsh discipline or weapons, but with warmth. With goofy grins, awkward dad-jokes, and late-night snack raids. He made sure she laughed. That she felt safe. That she never had to know the monsters he kept at bay behind the scenes.
And for ten years, he kept his promise.
Now, in the present—
The final bell rang across the schoolyard, and students spilled out of classrooms like birds released from cages. Himura Aiko walked with a small group of her classmates, her dark hair tied loosely, laughter tugging at the edge of her lips as one of her friends shared a meme she didn't quite understand but laughed at anyway.
"Hey, Himura-san," one of the girls nudged her with a grin, "Is that a car waiting for you?"
Aiko blinked, eyes drifting toward the sleek black car parked just outside the school gates. The windows were tinted, but she already knew who sat behind the wheel.
Ren.
She hesitated, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah... that's my... bodyguard."
"Ooh?" her friends chorused teasingly. "Bodyguard? That sounds so cool."
Aiko just smiled awkwardly and waved goodbye as she approached the car.
The passenger door clicked open the moment she neared, and she slid inside, setting her bag on her lap.
"I heard what you said there, little minx," came a teasing voice.
Ren didn't even look at her as he spoke—his left hand was on the wheel, while the other reached over and gave her head a ruffle, messing up her neatly combed hair.
"Hey!" Aiko protested, trying to smooth it back down, her voice slipping into a sulky tone. "Am I wrong? Aren't you one? Always following me around, everywhere…"
Ren chuckled, his smile wide and annoyingly smug. "It's for your safety," he said, though his voice, beneath the lightness, carried an unspoken firmness.
Ren drove with one hand on the wheel, sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose, a glint of mischief in his eyes every time he glanced sideways at her.
"What do you want for dinner?" he asked casually, like he hadn't just spent the last few minutes teasing her who didn't know when to stop.
Aiko stared out the window, fingers tapping silently on her thigh. "Anything," she murmured, her voice low and barely there.
"Anything," Ren echoed with a quiet smirk, but the sound didn't carry far.
Later, at home—
The kitchen was dimly lit, the lights above casting a warm, golden hue over the room. The smell of soy, garlic, and grilled meat still lingered faintly in the air, but the plates on the table were untouched. The food had gone cold.
And in the middle of the kitchen stood Ren—his arms wrapped around Aiko, her face buried into his chest like she was trying to disappear. Her hands trembled where they gripped his shirt, the silence between them loud and suffocating.
He should've stepped back. He should've said something, anything.
But he didn't.
Her lips found his—hesitant, searching, desperate. A quiet plea she didn't speak aloud. And he didn't stop her.
He didn't pull away.
Because in that moment, all his rules, all his promises to keep his distance, shattered under the weight of her touch. This wasn't the little girl who clung to his hand ten years ago. This was Aiko now—grown, beautiful, broken in all the places he had once sworn to protect.
And he was the one breaking her now.
His hand curled gently around the back of her head, the other gripping her waist—not too tight, but enough to keep her grounded. His mouth moved with hers, slow, aching, and too familiar.
He knew it was wrong.
So wrong it made his stomach twist.
But God… he couldn't help it.