Page 10

10

Fruits Are Good for You

MOMOI

" G et away from me," I said again, my voice steadying, but the fear was still there, burning in my gut.

The second man stepped closer, his eyes cold and calculating. "You think you’re untouchable? You think we don’t know what you really are? You’re Yakuza , aren’t you? The illegitimate daughter of some big shot in the city, just a broken-down whore’s kid who thinks she can escape. Well, guess what?" He smiled, the grin spreading wide across his face. "No one escapes the past. No one."

I didn’t wait another second.

I pulled the knife from my jacket, the cold steel heavy in my hand. The first man lunged, thinking he could overpower me, but he underestimated me. I stepped to the side, and with a swift motion, I slashed the blade across his arm. He yelped in pain, stumbling back, clutching at the blood pouring from the wound.

But I didn’t stop there. I couldn’t. Not with them. Not with how they looked at me as if I was on the menu for tonight.

The guy from the bar lunged at me, and I leaped back, swinging my grocery back into his skull. He stumbled but quickly recovered and threw a punch at my shoulder, sending pain up my neck. I gritted through it and swept my feet under him while pulling out an orange and throwing it directly at his partner’s head.

The second man’s eyes widened in shock, but it was too late. While the stranger from the bar was still getting to his feet, I jabbed the knife forward into his stomach. He gasped, his hands instinctively reaching for the wound. He staggered back, clutching at the blood, but I was already moving.

I didn’t look back, but I could hear their footsteps behind me, heavy and determined. I turned down an alley, ducking into a small convenience store to lose them in the maze of shelves and tight aisles. My heart pounded in my chest, but I didn’t slow down. I couldn’t. Not now.

The store was small, cramped, and the fluorescent lights flickered overhead as I darted through, knocking a can off the shelf with my shoulder. The sound of it hitting the floor barely registered as I rushed past rows of snacks and drinks, trying to find an exit. I burst through the back door into another narrow alley. The air was thick with the stench of the city, but the momentary escape from the chase didn’t last long.

I heard their voices now, closer, angrier. “You think you can run forever?” the man from the bar shouted, his voice cutting through the night.

I didn’t answer. My pulse raced faster than my feet could carry me. I turned another corner, weaving between dumpsters and old boxes, desperate to shake them off. Every breath was sharp in my chest, but I pushed harder, ignoring the ache in my legs and various places.

It didn’t escape my notice that the locals weren’t even batting an eye at what was unfolding. It was as if this kind of chaos, this violence, was just another part of daily life in the slums of Japan. They were all so used to it.

I thought I’d lost them. I really did.

But then, they were there. The first man, blood still dripping from the gash I’d given him, stepped into the alley ahead of me, blocking my escape.

"You think we’re done?" he growled, wiping the blood from his arm.

I stopped dead in my tracks. They had me cornered. The adrenaline was starting to fade, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

The second man appeared behind me, grinning through the blood and pulp of the orange I’d thrown at him. "You made a mistake running. You should’ve stayed put. In fact, all of this could have been avoided if you’d just let me buy you a drink."

I felt trapped. My knife was still in my hand, but I knew it wasn’t enough. These men weren’t scared. They weren’t backing down. They knew exactly who I was. Or at least, they thought they did.

Just when I thought I might have to fight my way out with everything I had left, I heard it. A footstep. Then another. Slow. Calculated.

I turned instinctively, my hand tightening around the knife. My body tensed, ready for more of the same.

But it wasn’t them.

It was him.

Tatsuya.

He stepped into the alley as if he owned it, his posture straight, his eyes locked on the two men. His presence was a wall of calm, and for a moment, it took everything in me not to drop my guard. I didn’t understand how he got here.

Was he with them? Was this all a setup?

Without a word, Tatsuya moved in a blur. One fluid motion, and he was on the first man. The strike was quick—graceful, even—but lethal. The man barely had time to react before Tatsuya’s fist collided with his jaw, sending him crumpling to the ground. But that wasn’t all. Tatsuya moved again, fluid as water, grabbing the second man by the arm, twisting it with a crack that made me wince. The man howled in pain, and in the same breath, Tatsuya spun him around, locking his other arm in a painful hold.

I stood there frozen for a second, watching as Tatsuya effortlessly dismantled them. I had never seen someone move like this—so precise, so controlled, a body honed and made for this kind of violence. But it wasn’t mindless. It was calculated. He wasn’t just fighting for survival; he was in control of everything around him.

“You really think I’d allow you to touch her?” Tatsuya’s voice was steady, low, but full of authority. There was no hesitation in him.

A chill ran through my spine at his choice of words. Allow? Who the hell did he think he was?

The second man, still writhing in pain, spat blood at him. "Who the hell are you?" he growled.

Yeah, Tatsuya… We’d all like to know.

Tatsuya didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Instead, he tightened his grip, forcing the man to his knees with a look of disdain.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t stand there, watching him handle it all effortlessly. "No one asked for your help, monk," I snapped, my voice raw.

Tatsuya turned his gaze to me, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared, as if measuring me, as if he understood something I didn’t. His eyes flicked back to the two men, now on the ground and struggling to get up.

"Doesn’t matter," he said quietly, his tone holding a finality that made it clear this wasn’t up for debate. "You’re not alone."

For a split second, I felt something stir inside me, something I didn’t want to feel—something akin to relief. But I couldn’t let that show. I wouldn’t, not after everything.

This has to be a trick, right? He was probably working undercover for my father’s men. It was probably his plan all along to make me let my guard down. Why did we keep running into each other? Was he assigned to follow me? And to disguise himself as a monk, of all things? Isn't that sacrilegious?

Pfft. It's the Yakuza. They'll go to any lengths to get what they want . But what could be so important about me?

With a sharp motion, he let go of the second man, sending him sprawling to the ground. The man groaned in defeat, barely able to keep himself upright.

Tatsuya’s eyes met mine again, and there was something in his stare—a quiet, almost unspoken question, as if asking if I was okay, if I could bear whatever this was. I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t even know if anything between us was real or if it was all built on a foundation of lies too deep to see.

Without a word, I turned and walked away, but the weight of his presence followed me. I didn’t need to hear him speak to feel it—his silence hung heavy, suffocating the space between us. It was enough.

I walked faster, my steps quickening as the tension between us thickened. I could feel him behind me, close enough now that I could almost sense the heat of his presence. Then, without warning, I felt his fingers brush against my arm.

The touch was light, but it sent a jolt of panic through me, my survival instincts kicking in before my mind could catch up. I spun around, eyes wide, heart racing. My body instinctively took a step back, ready to flee.

Tatsuya froze, his hand still outstretched, and for a moment, there was only the thick silence between us, pulsing with something neither of us seemed ready to face.

I couldn’t look at him. My throat tightened, and I forced myself to breathe evenly, as if the air could calm the storm swirling inside me. But I couldn’t ignore the feeling of his fingers lingering in the space where my skin had met his.

"I..." My voice faltered. I wasn’t sure if I was angry, scared, or just completely thrown off balance. "Don’t."

The word hung in the air, fragile and sharp, and I saw something in his eyes flicker—regret, maybe, or confusion. But it wasn’t enough to stop him from stepping forward again.

And again, I took another step back, my instincts warning me to stay out of reach.

I saw it then—something dark flickering behind his eyes, something wild, something chaotic. A storm was brewing in there, a turbulence that pulled at the edges of his calm. For a second, it was as if I was staring at a mirror, seeing the very thing I’d tried so hard to hide—my own rage, my own desperation, the mess I never let anyone see.

The realization punched me in the gut. The familiarity of it, the rawness of it—it scared me. I wasn’t sure what was worse: the fact that I recognized it or the fact that it was in him.

“Don’t you dare,” I snapped, my voice rising before I could stop it. “Don’t you dare try to play some game with me, Tatsuya. You think I can’t see through this? You think I’m just going to sit here and let you mess with my head?”

I took a step forward, my chest tightening with anger. “I don’t need your help, and I don’t need whatever the hell this is! You don’t get to drag me into your mess. You don’t get to touch me and pretend this means anything.”

His expression faltered, but I didn’t care. I was too angry now. Too afraid.

Without thinking, I turned and ran. My feet slapped against the pavement as I pushed myself faster, harder, trying to escape the suffocating weight of everything that was happening. But no matter how far I ran, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something inside me—the part of me that I hated—was still there, lurking in him.