Chapter 14 - Obey or Break

By the time I wake, night has already pressed in. The room is quiet, shadows stretching long across the walls. Only the dull throb in my ankle and the steady tick of the clock break the silence. It is 10:30 at night.

I’ve slept too long—yet not enough. My head is heavy, my eyes raw despite the ice. My ankle pulses steadily beneath the heavy compression wrap, each beat a dull, rhythmic reminder of the accident, and more painfully, of the events that led to it.

A knock startles me upright. It isn’t a tentative tap, nor a casual rap. It is a sound that demands attention, authoritative and sharp, slicing through the quiet room. It is too firm, too deliberate—too controlled to be anyone but him.

My heart skitters. A sudden, cold memory of the night before—not the exact words, but the heavy, crushing weight of them—makes my breath catch. Is he here to deliver another verdict? To enforce the cold terms of the argument that left me feeling like shattered glass?

I push myself up, crutch in hand, each step toward the door weighted with hesitation. My muscles are tight with a fear that isn’t about the injury, but about the overwhelming authority he represents.

Then, I open it.

Asami stands there, framed by the dim hallway light. He isn’t dressed sharply like usual—his collar hangs open, sleeves rolled halfway, hair still messy from sleep.

I have never seen him so unpolished. The lapse in his meticulous control is momentarily shocking—it makes him seem human, and that sudden vulnerability is more unsettling than his usual severity.

A faint shadow darkens beneath his eyes, and when he speaks, his voice holds the rough edge of someone who hasn’t fully recovered from drinking.

“I brought you food.” His tone is flat, but not careless. He lifts the tray just enough for me to see—rice, soup, something light.

Steam curls in the air between us, the warm aroma of broth momentarily clashing with the faint, cold scent of whiskey clinging to him.

I swallow hard. My chest is already too tight.

“Master Asami, you didn’t need to—”

“Eat.” He cuts me off, the word final. His gaze sweeps over me once—sharp, lingering.

“You look worse than yesterday.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” I answer timidly, wishing the simple lie sounded less hollow to my own ears.

“Eat,” he says simply, holding the tray out. His voice is a low, resonant vibration, like gravel dragged through silk.

I blink at him, confusion knotting with the ache in my chest.

“You… brought this?”

His eyes narrow a fraction. “Do you see anyone else here?”

The sharpness in his voice can’t conceal the truth—he carried it himself.

I step back, letting him in. He moves past me and sets the tray on the small table by the bed. The smell of broth fills the room—warm, comforting—yet my stomach turns with nerves. I don’t sit. I just stand there, gripping the crutch, unsure.

Asami straightens slowly, pressing his fingers to his forehead as though the effort costs him something. That small crack in his composure draws me in more than any command.

“You’re pale,” he mutters, turning to face me fully. His gaze traces my face, lingering too long on my swollen eyes. His jaw works once, tight.

“Have you been crying all day?”

Heat rushes up my neck. I turn away, wishing the shadows would swallow me whole.

“It’s nothing.”

He steps closer. Too close.

The air shifts, heavy with his presence. My back brushes the wall before I realize I’ve retreated. My breath catches. The closeness isn’t an accident—he could have stood back, but he doesn’t.

Every fiber of my self-control screams for me to pull away, to assert the distance he already commanded last night, but I find myself held captive by the radiating heat of his body.

I should step away. I don’t.

His gaze drops to my face, sharp and assessing, before his arm slowly ascends—a deliberate, agonizingly drawn-out gesture. His knuckles graze the curve of my cheek.

The contact is feather-light, yet it burns all the same, a tiny point of searing heat against my chilled skin. I freeze. I am acutely aware of the fine smoothness of his palm—it isn’t a gentle hand, but it is steady.

His thumb moves, meticulously tracing the edge of my swollen eyelid—careful, almost reverent. My chest tightens, breath locking between us.

“You should eat,” he says again, softer this time, though his hand doesn’t move.

His fingers slide down, brushing my jaw before pausing beneath my chin. He tilts my face up, forcing me to meet his eyes. The pressure is minimal, yet absolute, trapping my gaze.

My pulse thunders. I can’t look away. Can’t breathe.

I lower myself onto the bed, awkward with the crutch, my injured ankle screaming at the shift. He notices—of course he notices—and in a sudden movement, he crouches in front of me, one hand braced on the mattress near my thigh.

I hold my breath. His face is so close I can see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the faint stubble shadowing his jaw.

“You’ve been crying,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

His gaze lingers, a silent pressure, before he moves again. This time, his palm settles directly against my cheek—warm, rough, and steady. It isn’t a tentative brush; he cups my face, forcing my full attention, as if testing the absolute fragility of my resolve. As if testing whether I’ll flinch.

I don’t. Can’t.

My heart pounds so hard I am sure he can feel it through the space between us.

“Asami—” My voice cracks.

I should look away, but his eyes hold me, pinning me like the words he chained me with the night before.

His thumb brushes under my eye—slow, deliberate—as if to erase the swollen evidence of my breakdown. He exhales sharply, and I feel it—his breath against my skin, hot and unsteady.

Then—suddenly—his lips brush the side of my neck. Just the barest hint. Not fully a kiss, but enough. Gone in an instant, yet enough to send heat surging through me so strong I think I’ll collapse right there on the mattress.

His hand braces beside my head, his body caging mine in, heat radiating from every line of him. My pulse explodes, hammering against his palm still pressed over my chest.

“Don’t,” he cuts in—low and rough.

His eyes burn into mine—unreadable, wild. His face hovers inches away, his breath mixing with mine until I can’t tell which belongs to whom.

I try to turn my head, but his hand slides up, fingers curling under my jaw, forcing me to face him again.

“You think I don’t know what you’re feeling?” His voice is hoarse, but beneath it is something worse—pain. “You think I don’t see it written all over you?”

I swallow hard. My throat is too tight to answer. My chest rises against his, my heartbeat crashing into his hand as if begging him to notice.

He leans down, his lips brushing my temple first, then sliding lower until his mouth ghosts over my cheek, the edge of my jaw, the line of my neck. My breath hitches—sharp, uncontrollable.

He trembles against me. Asami—the one who never falters—is shaking. His lips press harder, lingering at my throat, not quite kissing, not quite pulling away.

I close my eyes against the dizzying sensation, the confusion of desire and terror warring in my chest. Does he regret the previous night? Is this twisted proximity an apology, or just another exercise of his absolute power? I can’t tell, and the uncertainty is a razor blade against my composure.

My hand moves on its own, clutching his sleeve. I don’t push him off.

“Asami…” I whisper, though I don’t even know what I am asking for.

His grip on my jaw tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough to pin me in place. His chest presses to mine now, the weight of him stealing the air from my lungs. His heart hammers a rhythm just as chaotic as mine, a discovery that momentarily strips away his Master status, leaving only two people caught in a dangerous, uncontrolled moment.

“You don’t understand,” he mutters against my skin, his voice breaking at the edges. “You make me—”

He stops, biting the words back, his forehead pressing hard against mine. His breath comes ragged, his whole body tense as though restraining himself by force.

For one unbearable second, I think he will give in—his mouth finally crashing into mine, the restraint shattering. For one dizzying heartbeat, I think he’ll close the gap entirely, pull me against him, and erase every doubt with the press of his mouth.

But then he stills.

His hand trembles once against my jaw before dropping away. His lips leave my skin, his shoulders pulling back as the wall slams down between us again.

“Eat,” he repeats, clipped now, as if nothing happened. His eyes are opaque, dark and unyielding, but his voice cracks—just faintly—at the edge.

I swallow, my whole body trembling, the echo of his touch burning hotter than the broth cooling on the table. I nod, because what else can I do?

He steps back, giving me air, though the weight of him lingers. Without another word, he turns toward the door.

He lingers by the frame, his hand braced against the wood like he needs it to keep from coming back. His eyes cut to me one last time—dark and unyielding.

“Obey,” his voice is low, final, “or break.”

The door shuts behind him, but the words stay, pressing into my skin harder than his touch ever has.

Leaving me in the quiet, heart racing, lips tingling with the light touch that wasn’t supposed to happen.

******

A Note from Author:

And with that, Season 1 has ended!

Thank you so much for following Ichinose’s journey up to this pivotal moment. This chapter marked the end of her initial perspective and the climax of the fragile dynamic between her and Asami.

We’ve reached the point where the relationship breaks the line—not with a bang, but with a terrifying, absolute question of control. The words “Obey or break” define the new battlefield.

Prepare yourselves for the next chapter, because Chapter 15 will open Season 2 by diving directly into the mind of Master Asami.

See you in Season 2!

– Crystel Jane

To be continued…