Hen Akoto sat in his dimly lit living room, the quiet hum of the city filtering through the window as he stared blankly at the ceiling. His thoughts churned, a storm of anger, disbelief, and unease brewing in his chest. The weight of what he'd learned pressed down on him, making it impossible to find peace.
Miroku. Hisashi's ex.
The revelation was still fresh, like a wound that refused to close. Hen knew Miroku far too well—knew the bully who had tormented him and countless others during their school years. Miroku's reign of cruelty had left scars on everyone he touched, but the knowledge that his actions extended to something as heinous as sexual assault left Hen sick to his stomach.
Sexual assault. And Hisashi had been the victim.
The thought made his blood boil, his hands curling into fists as the anger surged. He could almost feel the weight of the betrayal Hisashi must have felt, the vulnerability she'd been forced to endure. The fact that Miroku had done this, that he'd violated someone as strong and vibrant as Hisashi, filled Hen with a rage he could barely contain.
"You okay there?" Alexander's voice cut through his thoughts like a blade, pulling him back to the present.
Hen glanced at his friend, who was leaning against the doorway with a headset around his neck and a glass of water in hand. The concern in Alexander's eyes was genuine, but Hen hesitated before answering, the words heavy on his tongue.
"Miroku sexually assaulted Hisashi," Hen finally said, his voice low but laced with simmering fury.
Alexander choked on his water, sputtering as he set the glass down quickly. "What?!" he exclaimed, his tone a mix of disbelief and anger.
Hen's expression was grim as he nodded. "That bad."
Alexander stared at him, his shock evident as he tried to process the information. "Jesus… That explains why her uncle's always on edge about her. I mean, I get it now."
"Her uncle was seething when he found out, he's around," Hen added, his jaw tightening as the memory of Kumoku's reaction replayed in his mind.
Alexander let out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. "Man, this changes everything," he said, his voice quieter now. "You know what this means, right?"
Hen glanced at him, his expression questioning.
"It means you've gotta buckle up, Niko," Alexander continued, his tone serious. "If you want something with her—and I know you do—you've gotta be careful. All eyes are gonna be on you. Her uncle, her friends, hell, probably the whole damn crew."
Hen exhaled sharply, the weight of Alexander's words sinking in. He knew it was true. Hisashi's past wasn't just her burden; it was now intertwined with his own feelings for her, and he couldn't afford to misstep.
Alexander's lips quirked into a knowing smirk, though his voice carried a note of warning. "And let's not forget, you've got a history, Niko. You're trouble when it comes to girls."
Hen's gaze snapped to Alexander, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. "This isn't about trouble," he said firmly. "This is about protecting her. About making sure she doesn't have to deal with assholes like Miroku again."
Alexander nodded slowly, his smirk fading as he realized the depth of Hen's determination. "Then you'd better be ready," he said simply. "Because this isn't gonna be easy."
_______________
In a fit of rage, Miroku stormed into his garage, his footsteps echoing off the walls like the harbinger of a brewing storm. His fists clenched at his sides, and his eyes burned with frustration as he surveyed the space around him. The usually orderly garage, his sanctuary, now seemed suffocating, filled with the reminders of a day gone wrong. Without a word, he began to grab whatever was within reach and hurl it across the room. Tools, spare parts, and even furniture went flying as he unleashed his pent-up anger, each throw more forceful than the last.
The clatter of metal and the shatter of glass filled the air, each crash reverberating through the garage, punctuating his fury with a cacophony of destruction. His movements were wild and erratic, fueled by a tumultuous storm of emotions swirling within him. The once organized shelves now lay in ruins, the floor littered with the remnants of his outburst.
As the chaos unfolded around him, Miroku's breathing grew heavy and labored. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his chest heaved as he continued to unleash his wrath upon the inanimate objects in his path. Each throw was accompanied by a primal roar, a release of the pent-up tension that had been building inside him. The sound of splintering wood and crashing metal echoed in the confined space, matching the turmoil within his mind.
Finally, spent from his outburst, Miroku sank to the floor amidst the wreckage he had created. He sat there in silence, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, leaving him with nothing but exhaustion. His chest rose and fell with each labored breath as he struggled to regain control of his emotions. The once orderly garage now lay in disarray, a physical manifestation of the turmoil that raged within him.
It was then that Goro arrived at Miroku's garage, his steps hesitant as he approached the entrance. Goro exudes an intimidating yet controlled energy, his dark skin and chiseled features radiating strength and determination. With piercing dark eyes and a strong jawline, his intense presence commands attention. His short, neatly cropped hair complements his no-nonsense demeanor, while his sleek gangster-inspired style—fitted leather jackets, slim-cut dark jeans, and black boots—adds a touch of danger to his formidable appearance. The sight that greeted him was shocking. The usually organized and meticulously maintained space was now in complete chaos. Tools lay scattered across the floor, parts strewn about haphazardly, and furniture overturned.
Goro's sharp gaze softened as he observed his friend, the once-composed Miroku now unraveled before him. The chaos in the room seemed to mirror Miroku's inner turmoil, and Goro, ever the confidant, crouched beside him, placing a firm yet comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Geez, Miroku, what happened here?" Goro's deep voice was steady, cutting through the tension. His presence was imposing, as always, but there was an undeniable sense of camaraderie in his tone.
Miroku looked up from where he sat, his hands trembling slightly as he gestured toward the mess around him. "Just... her," he muttered, his voice low and raw with frustration.
"Angela?" Goro guessed, leaning in slightly.
"Hisashi," Miroku corrected bitterly, his voice cracking with a mix of anger and something far more vulnerable.
"Hisashi?" Goro's brows lifted in surprise. "Your ex? Thought you were over that."
"I was!" Miroku barked, his fists clenching as he spoke. "Until she chose him. Takawara."
Goro straightened, crossing his arms as he took in Miroku's words. "Takawara? Bold choice. Didn't expect that."
Miroku let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "She never gave a damn about racing before. If it's her family's legacy, fine, but Takawara?" His voice hardened, his jaw tightening as he bit back the emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
Goro tilted his head, studying Miroku intently. "Sounds like this runs deeper than a bruised ego, my friend."
Miroku exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I thought I had it all figured out. Moved on. Put it behind me. But the second I saw her... everything came flooding back."
A flicker of amusement crossed Goro's face, though his tone remained even. "You've charmed women who'd put movie stars to shame, yet Hisashi—your childhood flame—is the one who's got you twisted."
Miroku hesitated, his gaze distant as he grappled with his emotions. "She's not like them, Goro. She's... different. Always was. Innocent, honest, infuriatingly stubborn. When we were together... it was more than just chemistry. It felt real."
Goro arched a brow, leaning back slightly. "And yet her uncle slapped a restraining order on you."
A dark shadow crossed Miroku's face at the memory. "Her uncle never liked me. Thought I was trouble. Maybe I was," he admitted, his voice quieter. "But Hisashi listened to everyone but me. Trusted everyone but me. And now..." He trailed off, his fists tightening. "Now she's riding with him."
"Tough break," Goro remarked, though there was a hint of sympathy in his voice. "Takawara's no saint, either. Whatever game he's playing, you're not wrong to be suspicious."
Miroku's gaze sharpened, his anger bubbling to the surface. "That's exactly it. I don't trust him. He's always been a fucking smug bastard. And now, he's dragging her into this world."
Goro's lips quirked into a faint smirk. "You don't seem too concerned about her choice, though. More about the man she chose."
Miroku shot him a glare, his voice low and venomous. "Because she doesn't belong with someone like him."
Goro raised a skeptical brow. "You sure it's about her well-being? Or are you just pissed she moved on?"
Miroku's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing. "She said things, Goro. Things that make me question if she's even the same person. But Takawara? That's where I draw the line."
Goro stood, his imposing figure casting a shadow over his friend. "Sounds like you've got some soul-searching to do, Miroku. Either let her go or fight for her—but don't get lost in this rage. It won't end well."
Miroku's gaze followed Goro as he turned toward the door. His friend's words lingered, each syllable cutting through the haze of his anger. As Goro paused at the threshold, he glanced back, his tone lighter. "And for what it's worth, Takawara might be an ass, but if she's choosing him, maybe you should ask yourself why."
Left alone, Miroku's fists slowly unclenched, the weight of Goro's words settling heavy on his chest. He didn't have an answer, but one thing was clear: this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.