Chapter 26: Worth
Ren’s brain short-circuited. The world became a narrow tunnel, framed by Akiji’s sincere, expectant face leaning closer. The scent of sandalwood and expensive cotton filled the space between them. The guard, Kirishima, was a blurred statue in the periphery. The gentle murmur of the old street was a distant hum.
First date? The question echoed, but the intent was clear. This was the prelude. The man was going to kiss him.
Every instinct in Ren’s body screamed—a raw, electric jolt of pure, unadulterated no. His fight-or-flight response, normally reserved for losing boss battles, kicked into overdrive. Flight was impossible. Fight, in this context, meant ruining everything.
So his mouth, operating on a panic-fueled autopilot wholly separate from his freezing limbs, did the only thing it could.
“We need you to help us break into the Yamato estate to kidnap Suki back before the wedding!”
The words erupted, too loud, tumbling over each other in a rushed, graceless heap. They hung in the air, violent and absurd, shattering the intimate quiet.
Akiji froze. He had been leaning in, his eyes half-lidded. Now they flew wide open. He didn’t jerk back in horror, though. He simply stopped, his head tilted, processing the verbal grenade that had just landed between them. Confusion, then dawning comprehension, then something remarkably close to amusement flickered across his features.
Behind Ren’s ear, the earpiece produced a strangled, staticky sound that might have been a suppressed scream. Then, crystal clear, came Yuna’s hissed voice, trembling with rage. “You idiot. You unbelievable, gods-damned moron.”
From farther away in the van, Hikaru’s dry sigh was audible. “Facepalm. Audible facepalm achieved.”
Ren stood there, Rena’s delicate features arranged in a perfect mask of ‘oh god what have I done.’ His heart wasn’t just pounding; it was trying to batter its way out of his ribcage.
Akiji slowly straightened. He blinked. He looked at Rena—truly looked—seeing past the flustered blush to the sheer, unvarnished terror beneath. He glanced, almost imperceptibly, towards the distant van tucked down a side street. A long, silent moment stretched between them, filled only by the trickle of water from a nearby bamboo pipe.
Then, he did the unexpected. He chuckled. It was a soft, breathy sound, devoid of malice. “Well,” he said, his voice laced with a wry resignation. “That certainly explains the nervous laughter.”
“I… I can explain,” Ren stammered, the script utterly vaporized.
“I believe you just did,” Akiji replied, his expression settling into one of weary understanding. He ran a hand through his hair. “So. The quiet, mysterious Rena is part of C4. You’re here for your friend.” It wasn’t a question. He pieced it together with frightening speed. “. "The conveniently timed meeting. This was never about… me.”
There was a hurt there, buried under the practicality. Ren, to his own surprise, felt a pang of guilt. “It… it wasn’t not about you,” he tried, failing spectacularly. “The plan just… escalated.”
Akiji’s smile was thin, bittersweet. “Plans have a way of doing that around my family.” He shoved his hands back into his pockets, shoulders slumping. “You realize what you’re asking is impossible. The Yamato compound is a fortress. Their security is discrete but total. You’d be caught before you reached the inner garden.”
Just then, the side door of the parked van slid open with a decisive thud. Yuna emerged, her platinum bob gleaming like a weapon under the Kyoto sun. She was followed by Hikaru, whose expression was unreadably neutral, and Mina, who was practically vibrating with anxiety. They descended on the scene like a stylish, mildly furious tribunal.
“Forgive my sister’s… directness,” Yuna said, her voice a smooth, public-facing glide as she offered a slight bow to Akiji. She didn’t look at Ren. “Our methods lack finesse. Our motivation, however, does not. Suki is our friend. She doesn’t want this.”
Akiji studied the three of them, his gaze lingering on Hikaru, then returning to Yuna. “The charismatic stylist. Of course. This has your fingerprints all over it.” He didn’t sound angry. He sounded impressed, and deeply tired. “You recorded our conversation.”
“We did,” Yuna admitted without flinching. “We needed confirmation of her location. The eastern hills. The red torii. You gave us that. For that, thank you.”
“And now you want me to betray a centuries-old alliance and help you storm the gates.” Akiji stated it flatly.
“Betrayal is a strong word,” Hikaru spoke up, her stage-brightness absent. Her voice was low, pragmatic. “You called her a prized bird. You don’t want this either. This isn’t an alliance; it’s a transaction you’re being forced to honor. We’re offering you a chance to… reroute the shipment.”
Akiji let out a long, slow breath, watching the koi swirl in a nearby basin. The guard, Kirishima, remained motionless, his face a professional blank. The decision was being made right there, in the quiet street.
“I cannot openly help you,” Akiji said finally, his voice firm. “I cannot be seen opposing my family or the Yamatos. The repercussions would be… severe. For everyone.”
Yuna’s sharp eyes narrowed, calculating. “We’re not asking for a knight. We’re asking for a key.”
“What kind of key?”
“Access.” A slow, cunning smile spread across Yuna’s lips. It was the look she got when a particularly outrageous fashion concept clicked into place. “Infiltration. You said it yourself—the security is for outsiders. What about insiders? The Yamato household employs a small army of servants for the pre-wedding preparations. Caterers, cleaners, florists.”
Akiji caught on immediately. “You want to go in disguised.”
“Exactly. You have legitimate business there. You could arrive with an… extra retinue. A few additional staff for setup. No one questions new faces if they arrive under the wing of the groom’s family.”
Ren’s stomach, which had begun to settle, twisted into a new knot. More disguise. More acting. He was going to be a maid. He just knew it.
Akiji was silent for a full minute, weighing it. He looked at Rena, who was staring at the ground, looking thoroughly defeated. “And her?” he asked quietly.
“She’s part of the team,” Hikaru answered, her tone leaving no room for argument.
“I see.” Akiji nodded slowly, a resolution hardening in his eyes. It wasn’t the look of a man in love. It was the look of a man seizing an unexpected, chaotic opportunity. “Very well. I can get you onto the grounds. I have a meeting with Suki’s father tomorrow afternoon to discuss final logistics. I will bring a team of specialists to assess the garden for the ceremony’s photographic sightlines. You will be that team.”
“Specialists,” Yuna repeated, the idea taking glorious, detailed shape in her mind. “Yes. I can work with that.”
“But,” Akiji continued, holding up a finger. His gaze swept over them, finally landing, with a strange, lingering intensity, back on Rena. “Once you are inside, you are on your own. I will create the distraction, provide the cover. What you do, how you find her, how you get her out… that is your operation. If you are caught, I will deny any knowledge. You are freelancers I hired based on a recommendation.”
“Understood,” Yuna said, extending her hand. It was a business gesture.
Akiji took it, shook it once. His grip was firm. “I will send the details—uniforms, arrival time, backstories—to your hotel tonight. Be ready.” He released her hand, took a final, long look at the downcast “Rena,” and offered a small, complicated smile that held no romance, only a shared, desperate complicity.
Without another word, he turned and walked away, Kirishima falling into step behind him. The two men disappeared around a corner, leaving the group standing in the sudden, heavy silence of the street.
Yuna waited until they were truly gone. Then she slowly pivoted on her heel to face her brother.
The fury was gone, replaced by something colder, more analytical. She reached up, plucked the tiny recorder from his ribbon, and popped the earpiece from his ear. “You,” she stated, her voice devoid of all warmth, “are a catastrophic liability. You are also, somehow, a lucky charm. We got what we needed. Don’t ever do that again.”
Hikaru walked over to Ren. She didn’t facepalm him. Instead, she reached out and flicked his forehead with her middle finger. It stung. “‘Is this your first date?’” she mimicked, her voice a deadpan monotue. “Yeah. Mine too. Next time, just knee him in the groin. It’s less complicated.”
Mina just hugged him, squeezing tight. “That was so scary! But also kinda cool! Like a spy movie twist!”
Ren didn’t feel cool. He felt wrung-out, exposed, and queasy. The relief of the confession was immediately swallowed by the dread of the new plan. He had to go back in there. As someone else. Again.
Ren slid into the backseat, the weight of the silk blouse and the ridiculous ribbon suddenly unbearable. He stared out the window at the timeless beauty of Kyoto, a city of secrets and arranged marriages, and felt a profound, soul-deep longing for his messy Tokyo apartment, his gaming chair, and the simple, unambiguous failure of a lost ranked match.
(Author note: Only Yuna and Hikaru know Rena is actually a guy)