Chapter 30

“Well,” Dori says lightly, lifting the bouquet a little, “that’s one way to greet your boyfriend.”

Yuki just stares at him, her eyes wide.

Her grandmother blinks between them. “Boyfriend?”

Dori dips his head politely toward the old woman. “Good evening, ma’am. I’m very sorry for coming this late.” He straightens just enough to meet her eyes. “My name’s Dori. I.. well, I’m Yuki’s boyfriend.”

Haruka studies him for a moment, her hand still resting on the door. Her eyes move slowly over the flowers, the chocolates, the teddy bear, and then back to his face. Her expression softens, but a small crease forms between her brows.

Then she glances sideways at Yuki. “Yuyu, is this true?” she asks. “Have you been seeing him? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Yuki freezes, her mouth opening to deny it, but the calm, confident look on Dori’s face stops her. Her throat tightens, and all she can do is glance down at the floor, unable to meet either of their eyes.

Dori chuckles softly. “She was probably just worried about how you’d react to me,” he says, glancing at Yuki with a faint smile. “I can be.. a bit intimidating with this scar, my blind eye, and white hair.”

Her grandmother’s eyes soften, and she lets out a small, amused sigh.

“Oh, Yuyu..”

She reaches out and places a hand on Yuki’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I don’t care about his looks, dear. What matters to me is that you’re happy and safe with him,” she says.

Yuki stiffens slightly under her grandmother’s hand. Her fingers curl faintly at her sides, and she forces out a small, tight nod that doesn’t quite look convincing.

Her grandmother doesn’t seem to notice. She pats her shoulder once more before turning her attention back to Dori.

She looks him over again, this time with a thoughtful little hum.

“And for what it’s worth,” she adds, “I think you’re a very handsome young man.”

A soft laugh escapes him before he bows slightly. “I appreciate that, ma’am,” he murmurs.

Haruka blinks, a flicker of recognition suddenly crossing her face. “Wait a minute,” she murmurs softly, more to herself than anyone else. “I’ve met you before, haven’t I?”

“That’s right,” Dori replies. “I brought a box of gifts for Yuki last time. You took them inside for her.”

For a moment her eyes go distant, the memory slowly pulling into focus.

“Oh my.. yes. I remember now,” she murmurs, a little laugh escaping her. “I knew I had seen that smile somewhere before.”

Yuki shivers slightly as the cold winter air brushes past them. Haruka notices.

“Well,” she says, brushing her hand over her granddaughter’s arm gently, “Why don’t you come inside for a bit?”

“What?” Yuki blurts, her voice tense. “Grandma, it’s really late. I don’t think we should―”

But Haruka barely glances at her.

“Come on in, dear,” she urges, nodding back toward the warm glow of the living room. “You must be freezing.”

“Oh my f*cking life..” Yuki mutters under her breath as Dori steps inside. Her eyes narrow into a sharp glare, boring into him as he casually holds out the bouquet, the box of chocolates, and the teddy bear.

She can feel the urge to snatch them and toss them across the room, but her grandmother’s presence behind her pins her in place.

With a grudging groan, she takes them reluctantly, gripping them stiffly.

Dori’s lips curl into a faint, knowing smirk, and without waiting, he bends slightly to remove his shoes, placing them neatly by the door.

“Come on, both of you, sit at the table,” Grandma says. “I’ll make you some tea. It won’t take long.” She then disappears into the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone.

Dori moves toward the small wooden table near the window and sits down. Yuki follows him, dumps the gifts on the couch with a heavy thud, and whirls back to face him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, showing up here like this?” she says under her breath, her voice tight with restrained anger. “Especially after what you did to Isamu.”

Dori leans back slightly in his chair, completely at ease. “I didn’t do anything. Isamu nearly killed Mei―a rich, crazy man’s daughter. He brought it on himself,” he says calmly, tilting his head a little.

Yuki’s hand slams down on the table, rattling the wood. “You know damn well what I mean,” she hisses. “You took away his only leverage over her!”

She glares at him, her chest rising and falling with tension. “Why?” she demands. “He didn’t do anything to you!”

Dori’s eyes meet hers without a hint of guilt. “He was in the way. So was that detective. So I got rid of them.”

Yuki snaps.

“YOU’RE THE ONLY MOTHERF*CKER IN THE WAY!” she yells, and storms a few steps toward the window, then back to the table, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides as she paces anxiously, her mind racing with fear about what might be happening to Isamu right now.

Dori’s eyes darken, and his jaw tightens. His calm is slipping as he watches her, clearly irritated and displeased by her outburst.

Just then, the soft clatter of footsteps and the faint rattle of a tray announce her grandmother’s return. She steps into the room, carrying the steaming cups of tea, her brow slightly furrowed.

“Yuyu?” she asks softly, setting the tray of tea and a small plate of cake on the table. “Did I hear you yelling just now? Are you alright, dear?” She glances at Dori, then back at Yuki, worry etched across her face.

Yuki forces a small, dismissive smile. “Ah, it’s nothing, Grandma. Just.. a silly argument,” she mutters.

“Are you sure? You sounded very upset.”

Yuki nods quickly. “Yes, I’m fine. But could you.. maybe give us a moment, please?”

Haruka studies her for a bit, then glances at Dori.

He meets her gaze with a calm, reassuring smile. “It’s nothing to worry about, ma’am. She’s upset, but it’s nothing serious. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

Her grandmother nods slowly, giving Yuki’s shoulder a light, comforting squeeze. “Alright,” she eventually says. “I’ll be in the kitchen then. Call me if you need me.”

She steps toward the doorway, glancing back once more before disappearing from the room, leaving the two alone.

A heavy silence settles between them, thick and tense. Only the faint clink of porcelain breaks it as Dori lifts his cup of tea to his lips, taking a slow, measured sip. He sets it down gently, then reaches for a piece of cake, cutting a small slice and popping it into his mouth.

Yuki’s eyes linger on him, her frown softened but her mind still tangled with fear for Isamu. The calm, deliberate way Dori sips his tea and eats the cake only sharpens the desperation coiling in her stomach.

Finally, she can’t hold it in any longer. With a shaky breath, she drops to her knees in front of him.

“Please.. please save him,” she begs, her eyes glistening. “I’ll be your friend this month. I won’t ignore you, avoid you, or be cold. I won’t complain. I’ll hang out with you like an actual friend. So please.. just.. please help him.”

Dori pauses and studies her silently for a long moment, his face unreadable. There’s no warmth in his eyes―if anything, a faint edge of irritation and distaste flickers across his features, but there’s a glint of something else too.

Interest.

He leans back slightly, tilting his head.

“Three months,” he says, letting the words hang. “And not friend. But girlfriend. That’s the deal if you want me to even think about saving his ass.”

Yuki’s eyes widen, and her lips press into a tight line. She hates the terms, hates the idea, but the thought of Isamu keeps her rooted in place.

After a shaky inhale, she nods reluctantly, muttering, “Fine..”

Dori leans forward in his chair, one elbow resting on his knee so his face is just above hers. His fingers brush lightly through her hair, almost tenderly, before his eyes harden.

“But listen carefully,” he warns, eyes locking on hers. “If you break the deal.. it won’t be Mr. Hanekawa who comes for him. It’ll be me. And I promise you, I won’t hesitate.”

Yuki flinches slightly at his words, her hands tightening in her lap as her chest heaves. The warmth of his touch on her hair clashes with the cold, lethal weight behind his gaze, leaving her frozen.

Dori watches her for another moment, then slowly pulls back, the faintest trace of satisfaction in his expression. He leans into his chair again, the tension in his posture easing as if nothing had just happened.

“Get up,” he says, and gives a small nod toward the other side of the table, where her untouched cup of tea sits beside the plate of cake. “Drink your tea.”

Yuki slowly pushes herself up from the floor, before moving around the table. She pulls out her chair and sits down stiffly. Her both hands wrap around the warm cup, though she doesn’t drink.

For a moment she just stares down at it, trying to steady her breathing.

Then her eyes lift to him.

“Can you please hurry..?” she murmurs quietly, “Isamu’s life is on the line..”

Dori lets out a slow, weary sigh, the kind that sounds almost exaggerated, like the entire situation is beginning to bore him. He leans back in his chair, the wood creaking faintly under the shift of his weight.

“Relax,” he mutters, his voice carrying a hint of irritation. “I already said I’ll help him. I know Mr. Hanekawa.. I know how he operates, and I know he’s not killing Isamu anytime soon.”

“But.. he could be hurting him!”

Dori lifts a brow, unbothered. “So what? He tried to murder his daughter. He deserves whatever he gets for that.”

Yuki’s eyes flash with anger. “It was an accident! And you’re in no position to judge him. You’ve done far worse yourself.”

Dori’s gaze sharpens, and the faint smirk at the corner of his lips doesn’t reach his eyes, which are cold and calculating.

Yuki swallows hard, forcing herself to meet his stare.

“Like what?” he asks, tilting his head slightly as if daring her to continue.

Her throat tightens, and she hesitates. “I mean.. the stories.. that you’ve killed before, and that you.. enjoyed it,” she murmurs.

“I told you that part was made up.”

Yuki’s eyes narrow, a flicker of doubt in her gaze. “But.. is it..?”

He doesn’t answer, while the smirk on his lips slowly fades.

He just looks at her, unblinking, his gaze intense and unreadable, holding hers for a long, heavy moment that makes the air between them feel almost suffocating.

Then he leans back slightly in his chair, letting out a low, measured sigh that seems to carry the weight of his patience and amusement all at once.

His eyes narrow just a fraction as he echoes softly, almost teasingly, “Is it?”

“I.. I don’t know,” Yuki mutters. “I mean, yesterday you said you’re nothing like Kuro, but you still act the same. It just feels like.. that’s who you really are. You love control, you’re violent, and you seem to enjoy watching people suffer. So.. it wouldn’t surprise me if those stories about you k-killing people.. and taking pleasure in it.. were true.”

Dori studies her without a word. Then he gives a slow, deliberate nod, and leans forward, resting his forearms lightly on the table.

“Well.. yeah,” he says finally. “You’re right. I am indeed like Kuro. That’s why I can’t pretend—even for one f*cking day—to be anything else.”

Yuki swallows hard, and her fingers tighten around her cup. “Then.. did you..” she begins, but before she can finish, Dori’s calm, unflinching tone cuts through the air:

“Yes. I’ve killed before.”

Yuki stiffens, a chill running down her spine. Even though she said she wouldn’t be surprised, hearing it aloud hits her differently.

Dori props an elbow on the table, resting his chin lightly on his hand. His lips curl into a slow, unnerving smile, and his blind eye glints in the dim light.

“And yes, I enjoyed it.”

Silence follows—thick, suffocating, stretching far too long.

Yuki doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, her heartbeat loud in her ears as his words settle heavily between them.

Then suddenly—

Ding-dong!

The sharp sound of the doorbell cuts clean through the tension.

Yuki blinks, confusion flashing across her face as she turns toward the door.

Who the hell..?

Dori’s expression, on the other hand, shifts into faint irritation, his eyes narrowing slightly at the interruption. He leans back again, as if dismissing it, and reaches for his cup, taking a slow sip of tea.

Yuki hesitates for a second, then pushes her chair back and stands. She walks toward the door, unease still lingering in her chest as she reaches for the handle and pulls it open.

She freezes.

Her breath catches as her eyes widen, recognition hitting instantly.

Mr. Hanekawa’s men. The same ones who took Isamu.

For a split second, she can’t move.

“Wha―”

She barely gets the sound out before a rough hand grabs her arm. She yelps, panic surging through her as another hand clamps over her mouth, dragging her forward.

It happens too fast.

Her feet stumble against the ground as they pull her away, her muffled cries swallowed by the night. The cold air rushes past her as she’s shoved toward a waiting black car, the door yanked open, and she’s forced inside.

The engine roars.

Inside, Dori’s head snaps toward the noise. The cup clinks sharply against the table as he’s already on his feet, chair scraping loudly behind him. He moves fast, crossing the room in seconds and yanking the door open.

Just in time to see it.

Yuki being shoved into the backseat.

The car door slamming shut.

Tires screeching as the black car speeds off into the night.

At the same time, headlights sweep across the street as a car pulls up just in time to catch the chaos. Hans, behind the wheel, freezes for half a second as his eyes lock onto the scene.

“Shit―!”

He reacts instantly, slamming his foot on the accelerator and jerking the wheel, his car lurching forward as he gives chase without a second thought.

Behind him, Dori bursts from the house, already wild-eyed and fuming. In a blur, he swings onto his motorcycle, straps his helmet on, and the engine roars to life.

A low mutter escapes him, barely more than a breath: “You’re so dead, Hanekawa. You’re so f*cking dead.”

With that, he guns the throttle, the bike lurching forward and joining the frantic chase.
 
 
TO BE CONTINUED...