Wrapping up her extensive workload at the desk, Akira officially brought her editing sessions to a temporary close. She had pushed herself to the limit, aligning her focus strictly up to this point in the manuscript.
Meanwhile, miles away at the house, Naea had reached her absolute breaking point. Her pride, her anger, and her stubbornness had completely dissolved, leaving behind a raw, desperate yearning. She just wanted to see Akira. She wanted to hold her, to look into her eyes, and to talk to her. But no matter how many times she dialed, Akira remained a ghost, refusing to answer her calls or reach out.
Trapped at home with a sleeping Naria, unable to physically leave the house to search the city, Naea felt a sudden, intuitive urge to call the one person who might have answers. She dialed Wei.
The phone rang briefly before Wei's voice echoed through the speaker. "Hello?"
The moment the line connected, Naea burst out, her voice fractured with breathless, agonizing sobs. "Wei... please. I need Akira. Please just tell her that I miss her so incredibly much! Please call her and tell her to answer me... she isn't picking up my calls at all. I can't even leave the house to look for her... I don't even know where she is! I called the editing cafe counter, but they told me she wasn't there. Wei... I am damn fucking missing her! Please Wei just call her and tell her!"
Hearing the sheer, unadulterated pain and desperation in Naea's voice, Wei's heart instantly melted. She had never heard the composed, elegant Naea sound so entirely shattered. "Naea, calm down," Wei reassured her gently, her tone softening into a warm comfort. "Don't worry, Naea. I will talk to her, and I promise you she will be by your side tonight. So please, stop crying. I'll call that absolute fool right now and tell her exactly how much you miss her."
Relief washed over Naea so intensely she could barely breathe. "Thank you, Wei..." she whispered brokenly before ending the call.
The moment the line went dead, Wei didn't waste a single second. She bypassed any text messages and dialed Akira's personal number directly.
Inside the quiet cafe, Akira saw Wei's name flashing on the screen. Knowing Wei had just visited her, she instinctively swiped to receive the call. Before she could even utter a word, Wei's sharp, authoritative voice cut through the receiver.
"Go home, Akira. Right now," Wei ordered, leaving zero room for argument. "She is in absolute agony because of you, completely losing her mind with worry. And listen to the recording I just sent you on your chat. If you don't believe my words, just listen to the sound of her voice. I am completely sure that after you hear it, your legs won't allow you to sit in that cafe for another second."
Without waiting for Akira's response, Wei abruptly ended the call.
With a racing pulse, Akira opened the audio file Wei had instantly forwarded. It was a crisp, clear recording of the conversation Wei had just shared with Naea.
As the audio played, the silent corners of the editing cafe filled with the sound of Naea's desperate, trembling weeping. Hearing Naea choke on her tears, hearing her utter those raw, breathless words—"Wei... I am damn fucking missing her!"—felt like a physical blade piercing straight through Akira's chest.
Hot, heavy tears instantly flooded Akira's eyes, spilling over her lashes. The realization of her own stupidity hit her like a tidal wave. She had been sitting here playing a cruel, calculated game of emotional endurance, forcing herself to ignore her family, while the love of her life was weeping in absolute helplessness at home. She couldn't do this anymore. She could never bear to see her Naea this vulnerable and broken.
Wiping her tears with a swift, aggressive motion, Akira gathered her keys and packed her belongings in a frenzy. She had successfully completed editing exactly 50 chapters of the manuscript. Walking up to the chief book editor's desk, she placed the heavy files down with a firm, decisive thud.
"It's done," Akira spoke, her voice thick but ringing with an unshakeable resolve. "This is the absolute end of my editing chapters."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and sprinted out of the editing cafe. She threw herself into the driver's seat of her car, started the engine, and slammed her foot down on the accelerator, racing blindly toward home.
The dashboard clock glowed a steady, sharp 7:00 PM as her car tore through the evening streets, counting down the final minutes before the ultimate confrontation.Stepping on the gas, Akira navigated the evening traffic with a single-minded focus, her heart hammering against her ribs with the rhythmic echo of Naea's weeping voice. The city streets blurred past her windows as the dashboard clock crept past 7:10 PM.
Suddenly, her sharp eyes caught a chaotic commotion in a dimly lit alleyway just a few blocks away from her residential sector. A group of older high school boys had cornered a lone, terrified student, aggressively shoving him against a brick wall.
Under normal circumstances, with the weight of her own family crisis pressing down on her, Akira might have driven straight past the scene. But the fierce, protective instinct embedded deep within her soul refused to let her turn a blind eye to injustice.
Slamming on the brakes, Akira pulled her car over to the curb. She threw the door open, stepped out into the cool evening air, and marched directly into the alley.
"Step away from him. Right now," Akira commanded, her authoritative, icy voice cutting through the bullies' rough laughter.
The bullies turned around, glaring at her with hostile, bloodshot eyes. "Mind your own business, lady!" one of them snapped, delivering another brutal shove to the cornered boy. "This snitch isn't getting away tonight. He ran straight to the principal and told them we were cheating during the exam. The board dismissed our entire papers because of him!"
Fuelled by academic failure and pure malice, the boys raised their fists to strike the crying student again.
Akira stepped directly into their path, her posture rigid and unyielding. "I said, back off. You can either listen to my words right now, or I promise you, it won't take me more than a few seconds to make this an official police crime scene."
Hearing the word 'police,' one of the boys—a volatile, psychotic student whose paper had also been rejected—completely lost his sanity. The sheer terror of his abusive father finding out about his academic expulsion short-circuited his brain. Blinded by fury, he suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out a gleaming, sharp switchblade knife. "If my life is ruined, I'm taking you down first!" he screamed, lunging frantically toward the helpless student.
Before the blade could pierce the boy's skin, Akira's reflexes kicked in with lethal precision.
Throwing herself into the line of fire, she shielded the boy with her own body, her hands instantly shooting out to grip the psycho's wrist to snatch the weapon away. A violent, desperate struggle ensued. As Akira forcefully twisted the bully's arm to dislodge the weapon, the sharp edge of the blade sliced deeply across her forearm.
Blood instantly welled from the deep cut, staining her sleeve a bright, violent crimson.
Seeing actual blood spilled, the rest of the cowardly bullies gasped in absolute terror, turning on their heels and scattering into the dark streets like rats.
The burning sting of the laceration ignited a towering wave of rage inside Akira. Disregarding her own injury, she used her good hand to deliver a fierce, echoing slap across the psycho bully's face. The sheer force of the blow knocked him to the ground, the knife clattering harmlessly against the pavement.
Leaning over him, Akira's eyes burned with a terrifying intensity. "If you do not get up and run straight to your house this very second, I will personally ensure you spend the rest of your youth behind bars. Move!"
Terrified by her fierce aura and bleeding arm, the psycho scrambled to his feet, grabbed his bag, and bolted out of the alleyway in a panicked frenzy.
The alley finally fell into a heavy, breathing silence. The rescued student, trembling from head to toe, looked up at Akira with wide, tearful eyes. "Th-thank you... thank you so much for saving my life," he stammered, his voice shaking.
As his eyes dropped to her arm, his expression instantly turned serious. "Oh my god, you're bleeding badly!" Without a single second of hesitation, the boy pulled a clean, thick handkerchief from his pocket. Moving with calm, calculated precision, he pressed it firmly against Akira's deep cut, wrapping it tightly around her forearm and securing it with an expert, restrictive knot to apply maximum pressure.
"You need to go to a hospital right now, ma'am," the boy spoke urgently, checking the makeshift dressing. "I've tied it as tightly as possible to ensure the bleeding stops for now, but it definitely needs medical stitches."
Akira stared down at the neat, tight knot on her arm. The precise application of pressure, the calm demeanor during a medical emergency—it was the classic protocol of proper first-aid knowledge.
Instantly, a profound image flashed across Akira's mind. Naea. This was exactly how Naea would have reacted. This was the exact medical discipline Naea practiced and taught. A bitter, aching warmth flooded Akira's chest at the sudden reminder of her partner.
Looking down at the grateful student, Akira offered a faint, tired nod. "Take care of yourself kid. Go straight home," she murmured softly.
Without waiting for her own pain to register, Akira turned around, walked back to her car, and slid into the driver's seat. Clutching the steering wheel with her uninjured hand, her eyes locked onto the road ahead. The bleeding had slowed down under the tight handkerchief, but her heart was racing faster than ever. She didn't care about the hospital, and she didn't care about the stitches. Her paradise was waiting for her in tears, and she was finally coming home.
Clenching her jaw until her teeth ached, Akira summoned every remaining shred of her willpower to keep her grip on the steering wheel. The deep laceration on her forearm was throbbing violently, sending waves of blinding pain straight up her shoulder. Heavy beads of cold sweat rolled down her temples and soaked her collar. Breathing heavily, she reached out with a trembling hand and turned the car's air conditioning to its maximum setting, but the gush of cold air failed to cool the burning, suffocating fever consuming her from within. Her only focus, her only medicine, was surviving the drive back to her driveway.
Meanwhile, inside the silent, darkened house, the clock slowly crossed 7:25 PM.
The rooms were wrapped in an absolute, heavy twilight. Naea sat alone in the center of the shadows, perched on a dining chair with both of her knees pulled tightly against her chest. Resting her forehead against her folded knees, she let her tears silently soak into the fabric of her night gown.
She had spent the last hour pouring all her guilt and devotion into the kitchen, meticulously preparing every single one of Akira's absolute favorite dishes. The dinner layout sat pristine and perfectly arranged on the dining table nearby, untouched and waiting. She was done screaming, done misjudging, and completely done waiting. She just wanted her shelter back.
Suddenly, the faint, familiar rumble of a car engine purred outside the driveway, followed by the heavy click of the front gates.
Naea's breath hitched in her throat, her entire body freezing in anticipation.
Stepping through the front door, Akira entered the quiet house. Her eyes, adjusted to the dark, immediately locked onto the silhouette sitting on the dining chair. Even in the absolute pitch blackness of the room, she didn't need light to recognize the curvature of that form. She knew exactly who it was. She knew the soul that was waiting for her in the dark.
Lifting her gaze, Akira spoke into the empty air, her voice cracked, raspy, and thick with a raw, bleeding exhaustion.
"Naea..."
That single word—that deep, familiar cadence of Akira's voice—was the exact lifeline Naea's dying heart had been starving to hear all day.
The moment the sound waves hit her ears, Naea snapped her head up. Stripped of all pride, questions, or hesitation, she threw her legs off the chair and bolted across the dark living room. She ran with a desperate, frantic speed, her bare feet slamming against the cold floor until she crashed directly into Akira's solid chest.
Throwing her arms violently around Akira's neck, Naea pulled her down with an all-consuming desperation and captured her lips in a fierce, breathless, and deeply passionate kiss. It was a kiss born of pure terror, overwhelming relief, and an unshakeable love—a silent plea begging Akira to never leave her in the dark again.
Inside the velvety darkness of the living room, Naea's kiss was driven by a violent cocktail of desperation, lingering anger, and profound relief. She consumed Akira's lips with a breathless ferocity, anchoring her hands behind Akira's back as if she were physically anchoring her existence, trying to absorb every ounce of her presence to prove she was finally home.
Matching her overwhelming intensity, Akira's restraint snapped. Sliding her uninjured hand into the thick strands of Naea's hair, she gripped it firmly, tilting her head back to claim her mouth with an equal, burning hunger. The kiss didn't soften; it spiraled out of control, turning deeper, hungrier, and intensely hot, altering the very oxygen in the room into a heavy, intoxicating friction.
But as the passion blinded them, Naea's searching hand accidentally slid down along Akira's forearm, pressing directly against the deep, lacerated wound.
"Ahh—!"
A sharp, involuntary hiss of agonizing pain ripped from the back of Akira's throat, her entire body tensing up instantly.
The sound broke the spell. Naea pulled her lips back instantly, her breathing ragged as she stared through the darkness at Akira's shadowed face. "What... what's wrong?" she gasped, her protective maternal instincts immediately locking in.
Before Akira could even formulate a lie, Naea's eyes tracked downward. Even through the fabric of her sleeve, a dark, heavy stain of crimson wetness was visible. Moving with swift, clinical precision, Naea gently lifted Akira's arm into the soft light filtering from the hallway. Her breath caught as she spotted the tight, expert knot of the student's handkerchief.
Without throwing a dramatic fit or wasting time on hysterical questions, Naea's demeanor shifted instantly into that of a disciplined medical professional. She carefully untied the knot, peeling back the blood-soaked linen to reveal the deep, jagged cut underneath.
Naea looked up, her gaze locking with Akira's with an unyielding, serious authority. "Wait right here."
Leaving no room for argument, she turned on her heel and glided into the storage room, where she strictly maintained her personal emergency surgical kit—a collection of professional medical tools she kept handy for unexpected domestic crises.
The moment Naea disappeared into the room, Akira let out a long, heavy sigh. Slipping off her shoes, she didn't wait in the living room; instead, she quietly tiptoed into the bedroom to check on Naria. The baby girl was sound asleep under her blankets, completely oblivious to the emotional tempest outside her door.
When Naea returned to the dark drawing room with the surgical tray, she found it empty. Knowing Akira's heart better than anyone, she instantly understood where her partner had gone. She walked into the bedroom, stepping up to the side of the crib where Akira stood watching the baby.
"She only fell asleep about an hour ago," Naea whispered softly, her tone laced with a deep, emotional warmth.
Hearing her voice, Akira turned around. Seeing the sterile first-aid tray, the local anesthesia, and the gleaming curved suture needles in Naea's hands, she offered a quiet, submissive nod. She followed Naea out to the bedside, sitting down quietly on the edge of the mattress as Naea adjusted the reading lamp to illuminate the injury.
Moving with seamless grace, Naea began the cleansing process, wiping away the dried blood with antiseptic swabs before examining the edges of the jagged tear. Finding the laceration deep enough to require immediate intervention, she picked up the syringe, drawing a precise dose of local anesthesia.
"This will numb the area," Naea murmured, gently injecting the solution around the perimeter of the wound.
As the cold, tingling numbness began to spread through her forearm, Akira stared down at Naea's focused, elegant profile. The sterile scent of the antiseptic, the precise manner in which Naea held the surgical forceps, and the rhythmic pulling of the black suture thread through her skin suddenly triggered a powerful wave of déjà vu.
Akira's mind drifted back through the year, racing across time to their very first meeting at Tokyo General Hospital. Back then, she had been a bleeding, battered stranger, and Naea had been the beautiful, distant medical resident stitching up her wounds with the exact same clinical perfection. The wheel of destiny had turned full circle; they were back where they started, but this time, their souls were permanently intertwined.
Snapping the thread with a clean snip of her surgical scissors, Naea finally broke the heavy silence. She set the forceps down on the metal tray, picked up a fresh roll of sterile gauze, and began wrapping the forearm with a tight, neat dressing.
Without lifting her gaze from her handiwork, Naea's voice dropped into a quiet, piercing register.
"How did you get this cut, Akira?"