Chapter 33: The Call in Gray

POV: Kaito Minami

I stared at my phone for longer than necessary, thumb hovering over her name. Every alert, every headline I’d seen since that café photo, weighed against a single truth: she needed to hear my voice before the world caught up with her.

I pressed the call button.

“Hana?” My voice came low, measured. Gray. Controlled. The kind of voice that could strip color from chaos and leave only precision.

“…Kaito-san?” Her voice cracked over the line, hesitant, bright with alarm. I could hear her pulse in it, her world bleeding in red and gold through the receiver.

I kept my tone even, deliberate. “It’s me. I’m calling.”

“…I… I saw the photo,” she admitted. “I—I don’t know how—”

“I know,” I said. Calm. Smooth. Gray. “It’s out. Public. Already.”

There was a pause, almost tangible. I could hear the faint tremor in her breathing, the panic coiling in her chest. My own pulse stayed steady, methodical.

“I—I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice tight. “I didn’t think—”

I cut in, firm but not sharp. “It’s not your fault. One moment. One sip. Someone saw it. That’s all.”

Silence again. But this time, I let it stretch just long enough for her to process. My world thrummed in muted grays—calculations, contingencies, protective measures—but also with a faint, unacknowledged pull toward her chaos.

“They’ll see… my family—everyone—” she said, trembling.

I exhaled slowly, deliberately. “I’m handling it. Carefully. No one will approach you. Not beyond this.” Gray edges lined the words. Protection, authority, a hint of… something else, restrained but present.

Her fingers tightened around the phone. I imagined her wide eyes, flushed cheeks, the colors of her world fraying at the edges. And I… stayed gray. Controlled.

“Are you… okay?” she asked softly.

“I am,” I said, measured, calm. “But I need you to stay careful. Until this is resolved.”

Her quiet “I—yes” barely crossed the line. A colored heartbeat in my gray world. Enough.

“Thank you for answering,” I said softly. Gray, precise. “I wanted to make sure you’re safe. That’s all I need right now.”

“I… I’m safe,” she whispered. “I’m… fine.”

Good. That was all I required. That, despite the chaos outside, she was intact.

“Good,” I said, controlled. “I’ll call again once I’ve contained it.”

There was a pause, weighted, as though the distance between us stretched across the line itself. Then she said quietly, “I… Kaito-san… thank you. For… thinking about me.”

Gray and controlled, I let the words linger before answering. “...Of course.”

The line went silent.

I lowered the phone, gripping it briefly. Gray walls enclosed me again—the penthouse, the city, the unseen machinery of the company—but inside me, the faintest trace of color remained. A single thread, fragile and restrained, running from me to her.

And that was enough.