Amara didn't have any shifts at the Arakawa house for the next two days. Still, even though she was physically far, her mind couldn't distance itself from him for even a second. Every time she tried to focus on a lecture, Yamato's image would invade her thoughts — with that serious gaze, with the certainty of a man who knows who he is, and with a darkness she could no longer deny. Fear wrestled with curiosity. She imagined him as a storm in human form — you never know when it will explode, but you know that it will.
Her apartment was quiet, almost claustrophobically peaceful. Hana stopped by every day, trying to cheer her up."That man is literally a manga character in real life," she'd joke. "But hey, you're lucky, you know? You're not just some cleaner. You're the main heroine.""You're not helping," Amara would sigh.
Yamato, on the other hand, was immersed in work. At a warehouse near the port, he supervised shipments that arrived — boxes of "ceramic souvenirs," as they called them, which would later mysteriously vanish from the books. In reality, they contained everything from rare pharmaceuticals to modified tech components illegally traded on the black market.Some days, he was all business — dressed in dark suits, signing documents, issuing orders.Other days… well, other days he wore an Attack on Titan T-shirt, ate ramen with his feet on the table, and philosophized about epic narrative arcs while his men looked at him like he'd fallen from Mars.
His mother just peered over her glasses and said,"Yamato, make up your mind. Are you a mafia boss or an otaku? You can't be both."
On the third day, Amara put on her simple beige blouse and black slacks again. Her shoes, though no longer new, had become trusted allies. Even though she tried to act normal, her heart pounded like a drum. It was the first time she would see him again since he surprised her at the café.
She entered the house, and his mother greeted her warmly as always."Dear, we've got a bit more mess today. Yamato came home late last night. He's still asleep, as he always is after making a mess."Amara nodded, grabbed a rag, and started her duties, trying not to glance around. Even though she hadn't seen him yet, his presence lingered in the air.
And then — the moment.
As she dusted the hallway, his bedroom door creaked open. Yamato emerged, wearing a white shirt, sleeves casually rolled up. He looked… exhausted, but still carried himself like royalty.
He walked past her, and that's when she noticed — a dark stain on his shirt. Blood. Right on his right side, near his ribs. The stain was spreading.
Her eyes widened. Instinct took over.
"Mr. Arakawa," she whispered. He didn't look at her and kept walking.
Without thinking, she stepped forward and grabbed his wrist. He jerked back, surprised."What—?""Come with me. Now," she said firmly, softly. And pulled him back toward his room.
Yamato followed her, half-annoyed, half-curious. The door closed behind them.
"Amara, what are you—"She lifted his shirt wordlessly."Hey! What are you doing?! Trying to undress me or—""You're bleeding," she muttered. "If your mother sees this…"
That stopped him.
For the first time, he looked at his side and realized — the wound. Shallow but nasty, from a scuffle the night before when someone had caught him during a smashed bottle incident."Oh. That."
He sat on the bed, watching her rummage through a drawer for first aid supplies. She found bandages and antiseptic.
Amara knelt in front of him. When she lifted his shirt higher, her eyes widened — his body was covered in tattoos, traditional irezumi style. Dragons, masks, fire — a whole story inked onto his skin.
Her hand trembled as she touched his side. He just watched.
"It doesn't hurt," he said quietly."It hurts me to look at it," she whispered.
She wrapped the bandage slowly, carefully. She poured antiseptic onto a cotton pad, then looked up. Their eyes met. For the first time — no fear. Only silence. And something simmering beneath.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked."I don't know… maybe because I care," she blurted out.
Silence.
He smiled, the first time that day."Or because you don't know better."She just looked at him and said,"Maybe both."
Yamato sat on the edge of his bed, shirt open, bandage around his side, while Amara knelt in front of him, hand gently resting on his skin. The smell of antiseptic and fresh gauze mixed with her shampoo — light, unobtrusive, but somehow surrounding him.
Look away, Yamato… look away… he kept telling himself, staring at a spot above her shoulder. Every time her fingers brushed his skin, his heart skipped a beat. He wasn't sure if it was the pain or her. Maybe it didn't matter.
She's too young.She's a foreigner.She has a life outside this chaos.You're just a storm to avoid.
Then — she pushed him.
"Lie down," she said softly, but firmly, pressing him down toward the pillow."Hey, what—" he started, but didn't resist. His body gently fell back, landing on the mattress.
"I can't wrap this properly if you're sitting," she muttered. "Just… stay still.""Amara," he said, trying to sit up again, "it's just a scratch. I'm more embarrassed than in pain."She looked at him — her eyes were cloudy, as if she might cry any moment. Her lips trembled, but she swallowed every emotion like bitter medicine.
"I don't like blood," she whispered. "I didn't say before, but…"
She trailed off.
Yamato propped himself up on his elbows. His tone was no longer cocky or commanding. It was… gentle."What happened?"
She shook her head and looked down."Nothing. I just… don't like when someone bleeds. It doesn't matter."
That "nothing" weighed more than any answer.
Yamato silently watched her trying to finish up quickly, to tie it off, to forget, to retreat.
The silence grew thick.
Then, with a grin that masked all the things he didn't know how to say, he spoke:"You know… if my mother finds us now, she'll think we're doing something completely immoral."
Amara's mouth fell open. She looked at him in shock, then quickly looked away, cheeks reddening."Don't be ridiculous," she muttered."Well… it'd be easier to explain than why you pushed me onto the bed and undressed me," he added with a raised brow.
She immediately stood, stepping back, trying to restore seriousness to the room."It's done," she said coldly. "I can get back to work now."
She turned to leave, but he stopped her with a voice — soft, almost inaudible."Thank you."
She didn't turn around, just nodded and disappeared down the hallway, leaving him staring at the door.
Who is this girl, and why the hell do I care more about what she thinks than what the police do?
The day was ending, and Amara had just finished the final round of floor cleaning. Her hands were red from detergent, but her heart still trembled from what had happened earlier in Yamato's room. Though she tried to focus on the job, his eyes, that quiet "thank you," and the sound of that aching silence between them kept replaying in her mind.
As if on cue, near the end of her shift, she heard footsteps in the hallway.
Yamato appeared in the doorway, now dressed in his usual dark shirt and elegant trousers. He looked as if the moment earlier — shirtless, injured, vulnerable — had never happened. His face was serious, but his eyes… his eyes trembled slightly when they landed on her.
His mother popped up behind him, drying her hands with a kitchen towel."Amara," she smiled. "I saw you earlier, rummaging through Yamato's room. Hope he didn't rope you into more of his messes, hmm?"
Amara blinked, heart racing."Oh… no, no, just… he told me to clean the study for the first time," she lied, trying to sound casual.
His mother looked at them both, suspiciously and a little playfully."The study? Yamato usually doesn't let anyone near that room. He must really like you."
Amara immediately dropped her gaze, and Yamato crossed his arms, shaking his head."I was just… being generous," he mumbled."Yeah, very generous…" his mother said with a smirk, then wandered off.
Yamato stepped closer to Amara, pulled an envelope from the inside pocket of his blazer, and handed it to her."For today," he said shortly, avoiding eye contact. "And… for the other thing."
She took it, trying not to look suspicious in front of his mother."Thank you, Mr. Arakawa," she mumbled, quickly slipped on her sneakers, and headed outside.
Evening fell over the city as she unlocked the door to her modest apartment. Once inside, she sat at the table and opened the envelope.
She hadn't expected much more than the usual amount.
But inside was… significantly more. Her breath caught in her throat. Beneath the bills was a folded note, carefully tucked inside.
The handwriting was his.
For additional private nurse services.And for your discretion.Our little secret.—Y
She smiled.For the first time that day, truly.
But then her face darkened.
She looked at the money and closed the envelope.
No, she couldn't keep this.
It was too much.