It was early morning. The sun had just started to break through the buildings, and the street in front of her building was still sleepy, quiet, as if someone had drawn a cobweb-like curtain over the city.
Yamato stood in front of her door, his hand hanging just above the buzzer. He took two breaths, then on the third—he pressed it. The sound was soft, but in his chest, it echoed like he had knocked on fate's door.
The door opened shortly after. Amara stood there in her pajamas, hair messy, eyes still cloudy with sleep. But in that rawness—she was more beautiful than ever. She didn't know how naturally she wore her vulnerability. Or how that very vulnerability made her the strongest woman he had ever known.
"Yamato?" she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "Is everything okay?"
"Can I come in?" he asked quietly, like a stranger visiting for the first time.
She stepped aside and let him in. The apartment was just as modest and cold as it had been yesterday. He sat on the only chair that didn't creak, while she pulled the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands and sat across from him.
"How's your leg?" he asked.
"It hurts," she said honestly. "But it'll be fine. I'm just tired. I haven't really slept."
He nodded, then took a deep breath. "I know it's early, and I kind of barged in, but… I came with a request."
She raised an eyebrow. Watched him directly, fully awake now. He closed his eyes briefly, gathering his thoughts.
"I know it might feel awkward… but I wanted… we wanted, actually… for you to move in with us." Her gaze didn't waver. He continued, "My mother suggested it. She's alone most of the day, and you… she likes you. And it'd be easier for me too, to… look after you."
Amara was silent. Her eyes scanned him, weighing what lay between the lines.
"I won't be in your way," he added quickly. "I'll be out most of the time, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I just… I'd feel better if you were there."
She was quiet for a long time, then finally said softly, "I'll come."
Something clenched inside him. He hadn't expected her to actually say yes.
"But," she added, "I have one condition."
Yamato looked up, cautious. "Tell me."
"If I'm coming to live with you, then I want us to make a deal."
"What kind of deal?"
"When things get hard for you, when you don't know who to talk to… you talk to me," she said. "Not everything. Just… the thing that hurts the most. I won't judge. I'm not asking for the truth about your business. Just about you. And in return—when it's hard for me, I'll come to you."
Yamato was taken aback. He didn't know whether to call it friendship, an alliance, or something far more dangerous. But he felt he needed it more than he was ready to admit.
"Deal," he said.
She stood up and began to pack. She didn't need much—a few pieces of clothing, books, a notebook. It all fit in one bag. There was something painful in that simplicity.
When she closed the door, she turned once more toward the apartment, as if saying goodbye.
They walked down the stairs, and he opened the car door for her. She sat quietly. He started to circle around the car, then paused for a moment. Looked at her through the glass—that single bag, that slender arm over her knee, that look that said: We're on the same road now.
His heart skipped a beat.There was no going back now.
The car slid through the streets of Tokyo, in the soft stillness of early morning that felt too calm for what they both carried inside.
Yamato drove carefully, not like he usually did—not like a man used to speed and control. Today he slowed down at every red light, as if trying to stretch out the drive, to prolong the moment before everything changed.
A tense silence filled the cabin. Amara sat beside him, eyes locked on the window. She held her bag in her lap, pressed it to herself like a shield. Yamato opened his mouth several times to say something, but changed his mind each time.
Eventually, he did speak, in a quiet, carefully chosen voice:"I never asked… Where are you from, exactly, I mean, before you came to America?"
She glanced at him, a gentle but somewhat guarded look. "Ivory Coast."
He nodded, eyes still on the road. "When did you leave?"
"I was nine. My mom and I ran. We had an aunt in Dallas."
"Aunt?" he echoed thoughtfully.
"Yeah… My mom's sister. She helped us get on our feet, as much as we could."
Yamato nodded again. Silence returned, but he didn't want to let it linger.
"Do you have any siblings?"
"No," she said immediately. "It's just me."
"And your mother? She's still in the States?" he asked, though something already shifted uneasily in his stomach.
"Yes, she's still there. Works in a nursing home. Almost fifteen years now."
"Sounds like a brave woman," he said sincerely.
Amara smiled, but it felt more polite than genuine. "She is."
"And your father?"
A pause.A long one.Uncomfortable.
The air between them thickened.
"He… isn't with us," she finally said, staring at her hands.
Yamato glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Not with you?"
"No," she repeated, softer. "He wasn't… a good man. I don't like to talk about it."
That wasn't an answer. Too many gaps. Too many missing words.
Yamato felt it instantly—both as someone who knew when he was being lied to, and as a man who had lived long enough in the dark to recognize when someone was hiding in it.
But he didn't press. Not yet. Instead, he only said:"Okay. When you're ready."
She looked at him, mildly surprised by those words. Maybe she expected a cold gangster who would push, interrogate, demand answers. But Yamato was quieter. More dangerous in silence. And strangely… gentler.
The car continued toward their home. The city was waking up, people entering bakeries, children in uniforms.
But in that cabin, between them, far more was left unsaid than spoken.
The ride continued in semi-silence. It was no longer as heavy as before, but that thin thread of unspoken things still hung between them, as if both knew they were walking a fine line.
This time, Amara was the one to speak."Can I ask you something?"
Yamato glanced at her cautiously. "You can."
"How did you… end up where you are?" Her voice was calm, but her gaze was piercing. "I mean, you could've been anything… Why this?"
He gave a small smile—the kind that hid more than it revealed."That's a long story."
"Well… we've got another ten minutes," she said, shrugging.
He sighed, eyes fixed on the road."When you're young and have no choice… you start doing what's offered to you. First small things. Then bigger. At some point… they're no longer choices. It's just the path that opens itself."
"Sounds like you got lost and stayed at the wrong station," she said softly.
Yamato smiled bitterly. "Or like I was born on that station."
A short silence followed, then Amara spoke again, this time more directly."Why have you never married?"
Yamato almost hit the brakes from how much that question threw him off rhythm. He looked at her sideways."Pretty direct, huh?"
"You know how I am," she said with a soft smile.
Yamato exhaled and shook his head, as if trying to find words that wouldn't reveal too much."You can't have a normal relationship when you live the life I do. Everything I touch—becomes a target. No woman should have to carry that. And… I was never good at holding on to people."
"That sounds like someone who never really tried," she said quickly.
He looked at her, then immediately turned his gaze back to the road. He was confused. He didn't know if it was a challenge, a remark, or maybe… a suggestion?
"Or someone who's watched what he loves get shot at one too many times," he said softly.
Amara felt it. That tone in his voice, rough and buried, was more than words. She didn't push. Just smiled gently and whispered:"Someone should forbid you from being this mysterious. It's not good for my peace of mind."
Yamato smiled for the first time that morning. Really smiled. Quietly. He didn't respond, but the warmth in his eyes said he appreciated her restraint.
When they arrived, the house door opened and his mother was already waiting. Her face lit up when she saw Amara. She didn't even let her get out of the car properly—she embraced her like a daughter.
"My sweet child… you're an angel, do you hear me? An angel!" she hugged her tightly. "What you did for me, for my son… I'll never be able to repay you."
Amara looked confused by such overwhelming gratitude, barely managing to say, "It was nothing… really."
"Nothing?! You stood in front of me, you could've been killed!" the old woman's voice trembled.
Yamato stood aside, watching them. He didn't interfere. Just watched how the two women held on to each other and realized that… he had never gained anything worth having without it hurting.
And maybe, this time, something was coming—and it didn't hurt. At least, not yet.