Chapter 33: Something to Contain

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.

I could imagine her fingers tightening around the phone, 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.