The sky had begun to brighten into a soft, dull gray as the early morning settled into full daylight. With the situation wrapped up and the mercenaries hauled away, Raito leaned against the edge of a police cruiser, arms folded, waiting.
Yumi approached from across the street, jacket a little scuffed, cheeks slightly flushed—not from exertion, but from something else.
"I'm taking you home," she said without giving him a chance to refuse.
Raito raised a brow. "Didn't we already go through this?"
"Yeah," she muttered, looking away. "And I still don't care. After what happened, I'm not just letting you walk off like it was nothing."
He sighed, realizing there was no use arguing this time too. "Fine."
The car ride was quiet at first. The city blurred past in streaks of steel and concrete. Raito leaned his head against the window, arms crossed, watching the buildings pass while Yumi focused on the road.
"So," he finally said. "The person those criminals hit… who was it?"
Yumi glanced at him briefly. "City councilman. Low-profile, but with just enough influence to be considered a threat to the wrong people. He's alive, but in the hospital."
Raito gave a slow nod. Just as I thought. This wasn't some random job. It was a message—sloppy, but dangerous.
"I'm guessing you figured that out already," she added with a tired smile. "You've got that annoying look on your face."
Raito looked over at her. "What look?"
"The 'I already know everything but I'm going to let you catch up anyway' look."
He didn't argue. Didn't need to.
A pause followed, quieter than before. The engine hummed beneath them, a low comforting sound.
"…I'm sorry," Yumi said suddenly. "That you got dragged into this. I thought it'd be a simple drop-off, not a brawl in the street."
"I've dealt with worse customers" Raito replied.
"I'm serious." She gripped the wheel tighter. "You didn't have to do anything back there, and even if it was just a punch or two—thanks. Really."
He nodded once. "You did most of the work."
Another pause.
"…And, uh—sorry about the boyfriend thing," she added, voice lower now. "That must've been weird. Especially since you know, I'm probably not the kind of girl someone like you would even think about dating."
She stared hard at the road, her ears slightly pink now.
Raito's response was immediate, sharp, but calm. "There's nothing wrong with you."
Yumi blinked, caught off guard.
"It shouldn't matter if you're not into dresses or tea parties or whatever it is people expect," he said, his voice cool but firm. "You held your own back there. You didn't hesitate. That's more than the other cops in your precinct can say."
Yumi's grip on the wheel loosened slightly, her lips parting in quiet surprise.
"…Thanks," she said, shyly not expecting him to be that direct.
Raito leaned back in the seat, eyes closed now. "You're fine, Detective. Don't apologize for being who you are."
The rest of the ride passed in thoughtful silence, both of them lost in their own worlds. But something had shifted slightly in the air at least for the detective—her mind racing from Raito's simple but comforting words.
"You must be quiet well off if you live here huh?" Yumi added as they arrived closer to his villa
Raito gave a casual shrug. "Insurance pays well."
Not how he paid for it—but close enough.
When they pulled up in front of Raito's place, she gave a short nod while there was still tint of pink on her cheeks. "Alright. Get some rest. And try not to sell any more insurance during street fights."
Raito remained expressionless as he got out with his groceries. "No promises."
---
The door clicked shut behind Raito as he stepped into the quiet villa, arms weighed down with grocery bags. He set them down on the kitchen counter with a sigh and glanced at the clock—9:30 AM.
Too early to be dealing with annoying mercenaries. Too late to crawl back into bed.
He rolled his shoulders, walked down the hall to his room, and quickly changed into a another plain black T-shirt and loose sweatpants. On his way back, he paused at the guest room. Still quiet.
He knocked, then again, louder. "Raika. Wake up. Get the baby up too."
A groggy voice called from behind the door, muffled by blankets. "Wha…? What time is it?"
"Almost ten."
"Go away… I'm sleeping for two more hours…"
Raito stared at the door for a beat, debating whether to argue. He sighed and walked away, muttering under his breath, "Unbelievable."
Back in the kitchen, he dug through the bags and pulled out rice, vegetables, miso, and eggs. His fridge finally looked like it belonged to someone who ate real food. He reached for the simple black apron hanging near the stove and tied it around his waist, pulling his hair back into a loose tie to keep it out of the way.
With practiced motions, he started the rice and chopped vegetables with a chef's calm precision. He didn't exactly enjoy cooking at first—but after years of living alone, it had become second nature and a hobby to him.
And then—right on cue—Kurai's voice echoed in his mind.
Oh, look at you. Apron on, hair tied back. You're this close to becoming someone's housewife.
Kurai's voice was as smug as ever.
"Don't start," he muttered.
But I must. You're being so cute. Cooking breakfast after fending off weak mercenaries. And your girlfriend didn't even give you a thank-you kiss. Tragic.
"Real funny" Raito replied flatly, cracking an egg over the pan. "She's a cop. I only helped because I had to."
Mmm-hmm. And that sweet little speech about her being 'fine just the way she is'—purely professional?
He scowled slightly. "I just said what I meant. I don't have time for relationships."
Right, right. Too busy selling insurance during street fights. You should add that to your resume.
"I was buying time," he muttered, stirring the miso soup. "Those men were weak anyway. No training. No strategy. Like amateurs playing soldier."
Then why were you dodging like a scared civilian?
"Because I am a civilian" he said dryly.
The bathroom door creaked open down the hall. Footsteps—bare feet on cool tile—echoed softly. Raito didn't turn around. He was plating the eggs and rice with steady hands when Raika walked in, rubbing her eyes with one hand and her hair still damp from the shower.
She blinked at him once, and then again, slower.
"…Are you wearing an apron?"
Raito, still focused on presentation, didn't look up. "I'm cooking."
Raika stared for a second longer, then raised a brow. "Who were you talking to just now?"
"...No one," he said flatly, sliding a plate onto the table.
Raika gave him a side glance, suspicious but too tired to press further.
"Whatever," she mumbled. "Smells good, though."
He nodded once. "Eat before it gets cold."
The sound of quiet chewing filled the kitchen, broken occasionally by the gentle clink of chopsticks against ceramic. Raito sat across from Raika at the small kitchen table, both of them eating in silence. The morning sun filtered in through the blinds, casting warm slats of light across the floor.
Raika looked up from her bowl of rice and soup, eyes drifting lazily over Raito—hair tied back, apron still on, sleeves rolled up.
"You know," she began, swallowing her bite, "if you weren't so serious all the time, you'd actually be kind of husband material."
Raito blinked. "hmm?"
Realizing what she just said, Raika immediately choked on a sip of soup, coughing and turning red. "I-I mean—! Not like that! I just meant—like—you can cook, and you're clean and all that!"
Raito shrugged, reaching for more rice. "Wouldn't marry you either."
Raika stared at him, cheeks puffing slightly as she pouted. "You didn't have to say it like that."
Before she could fire back another complaint, Raito spoke up, his tone casual but curious. "Did you wake Emi up yet?"
Raika sighed, letting the moment pass. "Not yet. I'll take care of her in a bit. She usually wakes up on her own when she hears noise anyway."
Raito looked thoughtful. "You said Emi's your sister. But your ages don't exactly match up for that."
Raika nodded slowly. "Yeah. Mom and Dad… waited. Dad was always busy with work, and Mom had health issues for a while. It was rough. I guess they weren't planning on having another kid, but…"
She looked down at her bowl, her voice softening.
"I wanted a sister. I kept asking. I think Dad gave in just to shut me up."
Raito didn't say anything. He just listened as he stirred what was left of his miso soup.
After a moment, Raika looked up again. "What about you? Any siblings? What were your parents like?"
The silence stretched.
Raito's eyes stayed fixed on his bowl. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Raika frowned, sensing the wall slam down between them.
"Fine. Be that way," she muttered.
The rest of breakfast passed in silence again, the earlier warmth in the air replaced by something heavier. When they were done, Raika stood, stretched, and finally wandered back toward the guest room.
"I'll go wake Emi," she said quietly.
Raito gave a small nod.
He heard soft coos from down the hall as Raika gently lifted Emi from her crib. The baby was quick to fuss, but she quieted once Raika popped the formula bottle into her mouth—made with the exact brand Raito had picked up earlier that morning.
Meanwhile, Raito returned to the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his black T-shirt and pulling off the apron. He didn't know how long the quiet would last—but he had questions that needed answering.
The mercenaries from earlier… their movements, their formation, even their gear—it didn't sit right with him. Too coordinated to be random thugs, too sloppy to be professionals. But definitely not independent.
Something about the job reeked of inexperience masking intent.
He stepped into his study, sat at his desk, and pulled out his laptop.
If someone had sent those mercenaries, he needed to know who—and more importantly, why.