Chapter 11: Recruitment Drive
The harsh fluorescent lights of the medical room buzzed overhead, casting sterile shadows on the steel cabinets stocked with bandages and antiseptic. Sakura winced, gingerly lowering herself onto the cold vinyl of the examination table, the thin cotton-candy pink fabric of her lingerie still awkwardly bunched and chafing tender skin from Hana’s assault. Each movement sent a fresh jolt of remembered pain where the elastic had bitten deep.
The door hissed open, cutting through the oppressive quiet. Emi Shinakawa stood silhouetted for a moment, her silver Hime-cut hair catching the light, her expression unreadable. She stepped inside, the heavy tread of her goth boots unnaturally loud on the linoleum. Her big, dark eyes, usually so expressive, were flat and cold as she took in Sakura's hunched posture, the reddened lines visible above the waistband of her barely-there panties, the lingering humiliation clinging to her like a second skin. Sakura instinctively tried to pull the edges of her open robe – retrieved hastily backstage – tighter over her exposed lingerie.
Emi didn't speak immediately. She moved with predatory silence, circling the examination table like a bird of prey assessing wounded quarry. The scent of her clove cigarettes faintly overlaid the sharp tang of disinfectant. She stopped directly in front of Sakura, forcing the younger woman to look up into that unnervingly pale face. Sakura flinched, anticipating anger, blame for the loss, blame for the exposure. Instead, Emi’s lips curved into a thin, chilling smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
"Little flower," Emi murmured, her voice low and smooth, devoid of its usual commentary-booth sharpness. Her gaze drifted pointedly down Sakura’s body, lingering on the chafed skin and the bunched fabric at her hips. "Hana... she pulled hard. Stupid girl." She reached out, not quite touching, but her fingers hovered near the angry red marks above Sakura's hipbone. "Hurts, ne?"
Sakura nodded mutely, shame burning hotter than the sting. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the edge of the cold vinyl.
Emi leaned in slightly, her silver hair falling like a curtain, blocking out the harsh overhead light. "Willow Grey," she breathed the name like a curse. "She did this." Emi’s eyes locked onto Sakura’s, holding her captive. "She humiliated you. She humiliated Hana. She humiliates Japan." The last word was a hiss, loaded with quiet venom. "This... foreign weed. Thinks she owns our ring? Our tradition? Our kimono?" She straightened, her expression hardening into something fierce and frightening. "No."
Sakura swallowed, the lump in her throat almost choking her. "She strong, Emi-san. Too strong. We... we tried..." Her voice trembled, trailing off into a whisper.
"Two was not enough," Emi stated flatly, her earlier predatory calm snapping back instantly. Then, her hand shot out, cold fingers closing like a vice around Sakura’s thin wrist. Sakura gasped at the sudden, bruising grip, the shock cutting through her daze of pain and shame. Emi pulled her forward slightly, forcing her off balance on the slippery vinyl. The predatory smile was back, wider now, showing a hint of teeth, utterly devoid of warmth.
"I have friend," Emi declared, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial murmur laced with dark promise. Her grip tightened, making Sakura whimper. "Another... strong friend. Very angry at Willow Grey." Her dark eyes gleamed with pure, cold malice in the sterile light. "Three against one gaijin?" She gave Sakura’s captive wrist a sharp, painful little shake. "Sounds... fair for Willow."