Trust and Fear

The rain hadn’t stopped. It poured relentlessly against the windows of the small, half-abandoned apartment they’d found as a temporary hideout.
Hayato was sitting on the couch, drying his hair with a towel, while Shiromi stood by the window, scanning the streets below. Every passing car made her tense.
“They’re not here,” Hayato said quietly. “You can relax a little.”
“I’ll relax when that man’s behind bars,” Shiromi replied, not turning around.
Hayato sighed. "Would you really feel "relaxed" after that?”
Her eyes flicked toward him—sharp, defensive. “What are you implying?”
“That you’re not planning to hand him over. You’re planning to end him yourself, aren’t you?”
The air thickened.
Her fists tightened at her sides. “…If that’s what it takes.”
Hayato stood, stepping closer. “And what happens after that? You think revenge will make the pain disappear?”
“Don’t talk like you understand,” she snapped, finally facing him. “You didn’t see what I saw. You didn’t hold your brother’s hand while he—”
She stopped herself, biting down hard on her trembling lip.
Hayato’s expression softened. “You’re right. I didn’t. But I lost my mom too. And my father—whether he’s guilty or not—I’ve been living under his shadow all my life. You think I don’t hate what that feels like?”
Silence acrossed the whole room.
The rain filled the room with a steady rhythm.
For a moment, they just stared at each other—two people with the same scars, carved by different hands.
Shiromi looked away first. “...You talk too much.”
Hayato chuckled weakly. “And you’re bad at saying thank you.”
She shot him a glare. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“But you didn’t refuse it either.”
She opened her mouth to retort—but then a sound cut her off.
A faint "ping" from the laptop.
Hayato turned quickly. The screen flickered to life—an email notification. The sender was unknown. The subject line read:
“I know who killed them.”
Hayato’s eyes widened. “This… wasn’t here before.”
Shiromi stepped closer, her pulse quickening. “Open it.”
He clicked. Inside was a single image—grainy security footage from years ago. Three men at a dockside meeting. One was Hayato's father. Another was the man with the black phoenix tattoo.
The third—his face obscured—wore a distinctive silver watch.
Hayato froze. “That watch… it looks like…”
Shiromi’s voice dropped, almost trembling. “My father had one just like that.”
The color drained from Hayato’s face. “Wait… You mean—”
She stared at the screen, her reflection overlapping with the image of the hidden man.
"What if my father wasn’t the victim… but part of it?"
Her world tilted, and suddenly revenge didn’t feel so clear anymore.