He tapped the screen. The message thread opened, and the image loaded.
Ren's breath hitched, completely dying in his throat.
It was clearly taken in one of the harsh, white-tiled bathrooms of the Jujutsu High dorms. Maki was standing in front of the mirror, holding her phone up with one hand.
She hadn't bothered to put on anything overly complicated or traditionally lingerie-esque. Instead, she was wearing the exact same oversized black t-shirt of his that she had claimed as her own the night before.
But the way she was wearing it was devastating.
She had purposefully pulled the wide collar of the t-shirt down, letting it hang completely off one bare, athletic shoulder. The fabric draped loosely, dangerously low over her chest, hinting heavily at the fact that she wasn't wearing anything underneath it.
But it wasn't just the sheer intimacy of the outfit that made Ren's heart slam against his ribs. It was her expression.
Maki wasn't looking at the camera. Her face was turned slightly away, her eyes staring hard at the tiled floor as if she were trying to set it on fire.
Her face, her ears, and the exposed skin of her neck were burning a brilliant, violent shade of crimson.
And right there, perfectly framed by the pulled-down collar of the black shirt, was the dark, bruised reddish-purple love bite he had left on her pulse point.
Three text bubbles rapidly popped up beneath the photo in quick succession.
Maki: Don't get used to this.
Maki: If you save this, I will break every single bone in your body.
Maki: I'm unsending it in exactly sixty seconds, idiot.
Ren stood completely paralyzed on the empty sidewalk. The cold night air suddenly felt entirely suffocating.
He stared at the image, his heart hammering against his ribs. Sixty seconds.
His thumb moved with the kind of blinding speed usually reserved for life-or-death combat, pressing the side buttons simultaneously. The screen flashed white, capturing the screenshot and securing the image in his camera roll before she could even think about deleting it.
He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
Ren tapped the text box. He let his fingers type out the familiar, effortless teasing she expected.
Ren: Screenshot saved. Deal with it.
Ren: Also, I think you completely misunderstood the definition of a 'cute' photo...
Ren: But never mind. I'm definitely not complaining. I like this version a lot more.
Ren: If possible, next time... maybe just drop the shirt entirely? Just a suggestion.
He hit send, leaning back against the metal pole of a streetlamp as he waited for the inevitable explosion.
It didn't take long. The 'Read' receipt popped up almost instantly, followed by the three little typing dots flashing furiously on the screen.
Maki: I AM GOING TO MURDER YOU.
Maki: I AM LEAVING THE DORMS RIGHT NOW. YOU ARE A DEAD MAN.
Maki: THERE WON'T BE A NEXT TIME, YOU PERVERT.
Ren couldn't help the genuine, soft laugh that escaped his lips, the sound echoing quietly in the empty street. He could practically see her pacing around her dorm room, completely flustered, steam practically coming out of her ears as she gripped her phone.
Ren: Looking forward to it. Go get some sleep, boss. Good luck with your tournament preparation.
The typing indicator stopped. A long minute passed. The aggressive, defensive anger melted away just as quickly as it had arrived.
Maki: ...Goodnight, idiot.
Ren slipped his phone back into his pocket.
He pushed off the cold metal of the streetlamp and started walking the remaining blocks to his apartment.
He unlocked the deadbolt to his apartment and stepped inside, tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter. The silence of the empty rooms was deafening.
Ren walked into the bathroom and flipped on the harsh overhead light. He pulled his flannel and t-shirt over his head.
...
The Next Morning
The alarm buzzed at 8:00 AM sharp.
Ren hit the off button and sat up, expecting the usual lingering soreness from keeping pace with a superhuman the night before last.
There was nothing.
His Heavenly Restriction processed rest with terrifying efficiency. His muscles were completely repaired, his mind felt razor-sharp, and the deep fatigue had vanished. He pushed himself out of bed, the movement effortless and silent.
He moved through his morning routine quickly. Shower. Black t-shirt. Dark denim jacket. The only new addition was the non-negotiable ritual: securing the matte-black scabbard of the Wraith's Fang against his lower spine with a fresh roll of athletic tape.
He checked his reflection, twisting at the waist to ensure the weapon remained completely concealed under the heavy denim. The blade's hilt pressed firmly against his skin, keeping the Ocular Resonance trait active.
Grabbing his keys and his black surgical mask, he headed out the door.
The commute to Harajuku was relatively smooth. He kept his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. He spotted a few localized clusters of negative energy—the usual misery radiating from exhausted salarymen—but no actual curses.
He arrived at the vintage streetwear boutique right at 9:55 AM. The familiar smell of expensive leather and aged denim hit him as he pushed through the glass doors.
"Look who came back," the manager called out from the main register, looking up from a clipboard with a sharp grin. "I was half-expecting you to ghost us after dealing with the Harajuku crowd on your first day. You're early."
"I told you I was reliable," Ren replied smoothly, pulling his black mask down to his chin.
"Good. Grab the steamer from the back room. We got a new shipment of imported silk jackets, and I need them on the floor by ten."
"On it," Ren said, heading toward the staff area.
The rest of the shift went by in a blur of expensive fabric and forced smiles. Ren managed to get through the entire day without accidentally tearing a single imported silk jacket or crushing the intricately carved wooden hangers.
By the time 6:00 PM rolled around, the manager was practically glowing, waving him off with a promise of premium weekend shifts.