"Wha… Dean?!" Benjiro rasped, nearly choking in Daiki’s iron grip.

With a razor-sharp smirk, Daiki's eyes were darting between them.
"So, you do know each other."

Both men froze.
The same thought flashed in their minds — We’re screwed.

The panic on their faces said everything.

Without warning, Daiki tossed Benjiro toward Dean like he was nothing more than a snack.
"If either of you takes one step out of this door, I’ll kill you." His gaze slid deliberately to Dean.

"Both of you."

He turned to leave, hand on the door — then paused. 

Swinging it open again, he held up a phone, voice low and steady.
"I’ll keep this. Wouldn’t want you calling your men."

And then he went out, slamming the door with a heavy thud.
Silence settled instantly, broken only by the slow fade of Daiki’s footsteps down the hall.

Dean’s jaw clenched as he folded his arms tighter.

Seeing his best friend walk in with Daiki stirred something sharp inside his chest.

Frustration? No… it was something even he couldn’t quite name.

“What is this all about?” he demanded, eyes locked on Benjiro. “What did he mean — your men?”

Benjiro flinched at the question, words tripping over his tongue.
"Tha… tha… it’s just—"

He shot Dean a sideways glance. 

Dean’s anger flared at the evasive answer, his fingers tapping restlessly against his arm.

Benjiro then forced a defensive scowl, trying to mask whatever was running through his mind.

"What about you? What are you doing here?" he said in a fake angry tone.

When Dean didn’t answer right away, Benjiro added quickly:
"Weren’t you supposed to be in America, working on something?"

Dean’s expression shifted.

His arms dropped like they’d been carrying a heavy weight, his legs too.

He sank onto the couch. Fingers laced tightly together, head bowed.

His heart was beating so hard, he could hear it in his ears.

The anger in Benjiro’s chest softened without his permission. 

He didn’t understand why Dean looked so… wrecked, but seeing him like this made something twist inside.

Dean drew in a long breath, voice quiet but clear.
"I came because of you."

Benjiro froze. For a heartbeat, he forgot how to breathe.

The words hit like a punch to the ribs.

 His face flushed red, heat rushing to his ears.

Benjiro had expected excuses — work, coincidence, anything but that.

The idea that Dean had left everything behind for him sent his pulse racing.

"That… you didn’t have to come ju—"

Dean cut him off, fingers gripping his own hair as his voice shook.
"I thought I’d be happy to see him after all these years… but I’m not. Not at all."

A pause — raw, heavy with regrets.
"I wish I hadn’t come."

Benjiro’s chest tightened — 

He stared at Dean, lost between confusion and a strange ache deep in his chest.
Whatever was clawing at Dean’s heart was invisible to everyone but him — and it hurt just to watch.

It was as if Dean were screaming in pain, yet no sound escaped his lips.

Unlike at Akimitsu’s house across the city, where the screams were deafening… loud enough to be heard a mile away.

Kazan and his men stood ready, waiting for orders from Mrs. Cho, who was busy “interrogating” their prisoner.

"Oh, man…" muttered one of Kazan’s men as the sounds of agony seeped under the door.

Kazan’s brow curved up after hearing that — then the screaming stopped.
Just like that. 

He straightened from the wall, arms uncrossing. 

He didn’t need to see her to know — Mrs. Cho had gotten what she wanted.

She emerged moments later, calmly wiping blood from her gloved hands.

Her voice was steady, but her eyes blazed.
"We got a name."

Passing the bloodstained cloth to a nearby man, she added coldly, without looking at Kazan:
"Clean the garbage inside."

Then her gaze met his — sharp enough to make him flinch.
"Do it fast. We have something to do."

Like the soldier he was, Kazan simply nodded.
"Yes, madam."

And without delay, Kazan signaled to several men, and they entered the room.

The sight inside could have been ripped from a horror movie — blood splattered across the walls, the prisoner’s skin mottled crimson and pale.

Several fingernails had been ripped out; one man gagged and turned away.
They weren’t even sure if he was still alive.

Even Kazan, who had seen plenty, was taken aback.

He knew Mrs. Cho could be ruthless — but this was beyond anything he’d imagined.

She was past fury.

Losing her husband in what she knew was a murder had lit a fire in her — but now, with her daughter in danger, that fire had become an inferno.

Kazan, at this point, wondered…

Could he handle the madam alone?
Or should he call Daiki — now that he knew he was alive?

But Kazan had no idea… Daiki was nowhere near ready to help.

He had another important thing to do — interrogating his kidnapper.

Who now sat in silence with the desperate Dean in that locked room.

Both acutely aware that whatever fate awaited them…

Was already on its way.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Author’s Note