Sunday morning cracked open with a chill in the air and a fire in Raijo's chest. He woke up under the bridge, same as always, but this time with a wad of crumpled yen in his pocket and a mission in his blood. He washed off in the lake, teeth chattering, then pulled on his hoodie and jogged toward the city.
The ramen and pizza slices from the week had kept him alive. Barely. His ribs still showed, but his eyes were sharper than ever. He had ¥103,000. Not enough for a proper suit, but close. He needed a miracle—or a hustle.
He hit the warehouse first. Not to work, but to say goodbye. The foreman handed him a cigarette and a nod. "Didn't think you'd last the week."
Raijo smirked. "Didn't think I'd survive the year. Yet here I am."
He left the warehouse behind and headed straight to the backstreets of Harajuku. Word on the street was that a designer named Reina ran a boutique that dressed underground idols and rich brats. He had her card—one of the deliveries from earlier in the week.
The shop was hidden behind a noodle bar, marked only by a red curtain and a gold bell. He stepped inside. Reina looked up from a sketchpad, eyes widening.
"You actually came."
"You said you'd suit me up."
She stood, walked around him slowly, fingers grazing his shoulder. "You're lucky I like projects. And you've got the body for it."
He handed her the cash. "This is all I've got."
She took it, counted it, and nodded. "It'll do. Barely. Come back in three hours."
Raijo wandered the streets, killing time. He bought a cheap comb, cleaned his nails in a public restroom, and sat on a bench watching people pass. Couples. Businessmen. Tourists. He didn't envy them. He just knew he'd never be one of them—not really. He was something else. Something rising.
Three hours later, he returned. Reina handed him a black suit that shimmered subtly in the light. Slim fit. Sharp lapels. Tailored like it was grown on his skin.
He changed in the back. When he stepped out, Reina whistled. "Damn. You clean up like a villain."
Raijo adjusted the silver tie clip Aria had given him. "Let's see if the world agrees."
He walked out into the Tokyo dusk, the city lights catching on his suit like stars. He didn't have a home. He didn't have a plan. But he had a look, a name, and a card in his pocket.
He dialed the number on Yumi's card.
It rang once.
"Hello?" Her voice was silk and steel.
"It's Raijo," he said. "I've got the suit."
There was a pause. Then: "Good. Be at the Grand Kuro Hotel. Penthouse. Midnight."
Click.
Raijo stared at the phone, then at the skyline.
The game had just begun.
Midnight. Grand Kuro Hotel.
The elevator hummed as it climbed, smooth and silent, like it knew it was carrying something dangerous. Raijo stood alone, dressed in the suit Reina had tailored, the silver tie clip from Aria catching the low light like a blade. He didn't fidget. Didn't blink. Just stared at the numbers as they ticked up.
Penthouse.
The doors slid open to a hallway lined with black marble and soft golden lights. At the end, a single door. No number. Just a crimson lacquered surface and a gold lion's head for a knocker.
He didn't knock.
The door opened before he could.
Yumi stood there barefoot, wrapped in a silk robe the color of blood. Her hair was up, her lips painted, her eyes unreadable.
"You're on time," she said.
"I'm always on time," Raijo replied, stepping in.
The penthouse was a world of its own. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed Tokyo's skyline in all its neon glory. A grand piano sat untouched in the corner. A bottle of champagne chilled in a silver bucket on the bar. The air smelled like jasmine and ambition.
Yumi walked ahead of him, hips swaying, robe whispering secrets with every step. "You clean up well."
"You expected me not to?"
"I expected you to fail. Most men do."
Raijo smirked. "I'm not most men."
She turned, eyes locking with his. "No. You're not."
She circled him slowly, inspecting the suit, the posture, the calm in his eyes. "You know what I like about you?"
"My face?"
She chuckled. "That too. But no. It's the way you don't flinch. Most men either try too hard or shrink. You just… exist. Like you belong."
"I do."
She stopped in front of him, close enough to feel the heat. "You're still a virgin?"
He nodded once. "Still."
She tilted her head. "Why?"
"Because I've been too busy surviving."
Yumi reached up, fingers brushing his collar. "And now?"
Raijo didn't move. "Now I'm listening."
She leaned in, lips grazing his ear. "Then listen closely."
She stepped back, walked to the bar, poured two glasses of champagne. "This isn't about sex, Raijo. Not yet. This is about power. About potential. I don't need a pretty boy. I need a weapon. A man who can walk into any room and make people nervous."
He took the glass, sipped. "And you think I'm that?"
"I think you could be. With the right polish. The right push."
Raijo looked out at the city. "So what's the deal?"
Yumi smiled. "You work for me. I teach you. Mold you. Introduce you to people who matter. In return, you give me loyalty. Obedience. And when I say move, you move."
He turned to her. "And if I don't?"
She shrugged. "Then you go back to the bridge. And this suit becomes a memory."
Raijo finished his drink, set the glass down, and stepped closer.
"I'm in," he said. "But I don't do obedience. I do results."
Yumi's smile widened. "Good answer."
She reached for his tie, tugged him forward.
"Let's see what else you do."
The city glowed beneath them, but inside the penthouse, the world had shrunk to two people and the space between them.
Yumi's fingers lingered on Raijo's tie, tugging it loose with deliberate slowness. "You wear confidence like a second skin," she murmured, eyes locked on his. "But I wonder what's underneath."
Raijo's voice was low, steady. "You'll have to find out the hard way."
She smiled, stepping closer, her breath brushing his jaw. "I plan to."
Their lips met again, deeper this time — not a test, but a promise. Her hands slid beneath his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. He let it fall, never breaking the kiss. His fingers traced the curve of her spine, the silk of her robe slipping away like water.
They moved through the room slowly, deliberately, like dancers in a private performance. Every touch was a question. Every kiss, an answer. She pressed him against the wall, then he spun her into his arms, lifting her effortlessly. She laughed — a low, breathy sound that melted into a moan as he kissed down her neck.
"You're dangerous," she whispered, nails grazing his back.
"You like danger," he replied, voice rough with restraint.
"I like control."
"Then you're in trouble."
They collapsed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and heat. The city lights painted their skin in gold and shadow. Time unraveled. There was no clock, no world outside. Just the rhythm of breath, the heat of skin, the sound of her voice rising and falling like a song only he could hear.
She whispered his name like a secret. He answered with his hands, his mouth, his presence — never rushing, never hesitating. She teased him, tested him, tried to pull him apart. But he held his ground, matching her intensity with his own.
Hours passed. The night deepened. Their bodies moved in sync, sometimes slow and tender, sometimes wild and unrestrained. She showed him sides of herself no one had seen — soft, unguarded, insatiable. He gave her something she didn't expect — not just heat, but hunger with purpose.
When the first light of dawn crept through the windows, they lay tangled in the sheets, skin damp, hearts still racing.
Yumi traced lazy circles on his chest. "You're full of surprises."
Raijo smirked, eyes half-lidded. "You haven't even scratched the surface."
She propped herself up on one elbow, studying him. "You're not just beautiful. You're dangerous. That's rare."
He turned to her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You're not just powerful. You're lonely. That's rarer."
She blinked, caught off guard. Then she smiled — not her usual smirk, but something softer. "Don't get cocky."
"Too late."
She leaned in, kissed him again — slower this time, lingering. "You're going to ruin me."
Raijo pulled her closer. "Only if you let me."
They lay there in silence for a while, the city waking up around them. But in that room, time still belonged to them.
And the game had only just begun.
The sky outside had shifted from obsidian to a soft, smoky blue. Morning crept in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting pale light across the tangled sheets and the two bodies lying within them.
Yumi lay on her side, one leg draped over Raijo's, her breathing finally steadying. Her skin still tingled, her muscles ached in places she didn't know could ache, and her lips were swollen from hours of kissing, biting, gasping.
She stared at the ceiling, dazed, her mind trying to make sense of what had just happened.
How the hell did he do that?
She'd expected to be in control. She always was. Men were predictable — eager, clumsy, overconfident. She knew how to handle them. Knew how to take what she wanted and leave them dazed, grateful, and forgettable.
But Raijo?
He didn't rush. He didn't beg. He didn't even try to impress her. He just… was. Present. Focused. Unshakable. And when he touched her, it wasn't just lust. It was like he was reading her — every sigh, every twitch, every unspoken need.
Five hours, she thought, blinking slowly. Five hours and I'm the one who tapped out.
She turned her head to look at him. He was lying on his back, one arm behind his head, the other resting lightly on her hip. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was calm — not exhausted, not strained. Just… steady.
What kind of man is this? she wondered. Where did he learn to move like that? To hold back, then unleash like a storm?
She reached out, traced a finger along his jaw. He didn't stir, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"You're not normal," she whispered.
He didn't open his eyes. "Neither are you."
She smirked, then sighed, letting her head rest on his chest. His heartbeat was slow, deep, grounding.
I brought him here to test him, she thought. To see if he could handle the pressure. The power. Me.
But now, lying there, her body still humming, her mind still spinning, she realized something else.
He didn't just pass the test. He flipped the script.
She wasn't sure if she wanted to reward him… or run.
But one thing was certain — Raijo wasn't just a pretty face. He was a storm in a suit. And she had just invited him into her world.
Whether that was brilliance or madness… she'd find out soon enough.
End of chapter 3.