Akira emerged from the bedroom dressed in comfortable casual wear just as the delivery arrived. But the sharp ring of the doorbell woke Naria, whose startled cries immediately drew Naea back into the room to soothe her.
Akira stepped to the door to collect the order. As she prepared to pay, the delivery man spoke up hesitantly. "Well, Miss... would it be possible to pay in cash? My phone isn't working, so I can't accept digital payments right now."
Akira turned, intending to ask Naea, but she saw her partner emerged from the bedroom with Naria in her arms, her hands full with the baby. Akira's gaze shifted to Zheng, who was standing nearby, watching the exchange.
"Zheng, could you do me a favor?" Akira asked calmly. "My purse is on the left-side table in the bedroom. Please, go and grab it for me."
Zheng nodded and went inside without a word. A moment later, she returned and handed the purse to Akira. Akira opened it, pulled out the cash, and handed it to the delivery man along with a generous tip.
Once he left, Akira set the delivery boxes on the kitchen counter. She was about to head back to put the purse away when something caught her eye—something inside the bag that hadn't been there before, or perhaps something that had been disturbed. Akira froze. Her casual demeanor vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a cold, piercing intensity.
She slowly looked up, her gaze locking onto Zheng with a look that was no longer polite. It was the look of an Agent who had just found a crack in the wall.
Akira didn't hesitate. She walked straight up to Zheng, her hand outstretched, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Zheng. Give it back to me."
Zheng passed her a look of utter confusion, while Naea watched, bewildered. "Give what back, Akira? What are you talking about?" Naea asked, trying to lower the rising tension.
Ignoring Naea's question, Akira kept her focus locked on the girl in front of her. Her voice dropped an octave, becoming even more dangerous. "Zheng. I said, give it back."
"I don't know what you want me to return, Miss Akira," Zheng replied, her voice trembling slightly but her eyes holding a defiant glint. "What do you mean?"
The denial was the final straw. Frustrated, Akira slammed her hand onto the table with a resounding thud that made the pens rattle. "Return exactly what you took out of my purse! Now!"
Naea stepped between them, her protective instincts for her student kicking in. "Akira, enough! Will you tell me what is going on?"
But before Akira could explain, Zheng spoke up, her voice sounding small and victimized. "I don't know why Miss Akira is being so aggressive with me, Miss Naea..."
That was it. Akira's patience snapped. In one swift, powerful motion, she reached out and grabbed Zheng by the collar, hauling the girl up from her chair until they were eye-to-eye.
"I don't like playing games, and I certainly don't like drama," Akira hissed, her 'Agent' side fully unleashed. "Give it to me quietly, or things will get very ugly."
The air in the room felt like it was vibrating with Akira's fury. Naea rushed forward, trying to pull Akira back, but Akira wouldn't let go. Her grip on Zheng's collar was like iron. In a flash of pure, uncontrolled rage, Akira's fist connected with Zheng's jaw in a powerful, calculated punch.
The force of the blow sent Zheng spinning. She hit the ground hard, a sharp cut opening near her chin where Akira's knuckles had grazed her. Zheng gasped, clutching her face as she curled into a ball on the floor, the pain radiating through her entire skull.
"Akira! Have you lost your mind?!"
Naea's voice wasn't just loud—it was a scream of pure shock and betrayal. Without thinking, Naea's hand swung through the air, landing a sharp, stinging slap right across Akira's face. It was the first time in their lives that Naea had ever raised a hand against her.
The room went deathly silent. Akira's head remained turned to the side, her cheek burning red, her eyes wide with shock.
Ignoring Akira, Naea immediately knelt beside Zheng. Since Naria had luckily stayed asleep through the chaos, Naea quickly took the baby into the bedroom, laying her down with trembling hands. She returned a moment later, her face like stone. She didn't even look at Akira as she grabbed the first-aid kit.
Naea sat on the floor next to Zheng, gently lifting her head to inspect the wound. "It's okay, Zheng. I've got you," she whispered, her voice full of a cold protectiveness that was directed entirely away from Akira.
Akira couldn't bear to watch the scene any longer. Seeing Naea tenderly treat the wounds of the person who had just robbed her was too much. Without a word, her eyes burning with a mix of betrayal and cold fury, Akira retreated into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
Left alone in the living room, Zheng felt the sting of the punch on her jaw, but it was overshadowed by a dark, twisted sense of triumph. She didn't care about the pain; she was intoxicated by Naea's undivided attention and care.
As Naea turned away to put the first-aid kit back in its place, Zheng reached into her pocket. She pulled out a crumpled piece of paper—the very thing that had caused the explosion.
[Flashback]
When Akira had asked Zheng to retrieve her purse from the bedroom earlier, Zheng's curiosity had gotten the better of her. She had peeked inside and found a carefully drawn sketch of a woman. Upon closer inspection, she saw it: hidden within the intricate lines of the woman's clothing was the name 'Naea', written in Akira's elegant handwriting. It was a secret confession of love and obsession. Driven by a sudden, sharp jealousy, Zheng had stuffed the drawing into her pocket before bringing the purse out.
[End of Flashback]
Now, holding the stolen sketch, Zheng waited for Naea to return. When Naea approached her to apologize one last time for Akira's behavior, Zheng put on her most innocent, wounded expression.
"Miss Naea..." Zheng whispered, holding out the paper. "I think Miss Akira was talking about this. I just found it lying here on the floor. I think she thought I stole it."
Naea snatched the paper, her eyes scanning the sketch. To her, it just looked like a drawing Akira had lost. "Is she insane?" Naea hissed, her voice trembling with anger. "She started a fight and hit a student over a piece of paper?"
The misunderstanding was complete. Fueled by a new wave of protective rage, Naea turned and marched toward the bedroom to confront Akira, leaving Zheng sitting in the shadows with a faint, chilling smile on her lips.
Naea marched into the bedroom, her fury radiating in the small space. Akira was sitting on the edge of the bed, her head down, the weight of the slap still visible on her reddened cheek. Naea stood before her and thrust the crumpled paper into the air.
"Have you lost your mind, Akira?" Naea's voice was sharp with disbelief. "You caused all this chaos... you punched a student over a piece of paper? Seriously? Zheng didn't even hide it; she found it lying on the floor. You attacked her over a simple drawing of a girl!"
Akira slowly stood up. The "Agent" coldness was gone, replaced by a deep, aching vulnerability. She reached out and took the sketch from Naea's hand, her fingers tracing the lines with a tenderness that made Naea pause.
"This isn't just a 'normal drawing,' Naea," Akira said, her voice low and steady despite the emotion. "This is a sketch of you. It was from our last meeting in Osaka—the one we didn't even realize was our last at the time."
She looked into Naea's eyes, her gaze intense. "I needed to see you, but I didn't have a single photo of you. Then I remembered... one day, while you were studying, I recorded a short video of you without asking. I'm sorry for that. But in Osaka, that video was all I had. It only showed your side profile, so I sat there, keeping your face in my mind, and I drew this. I even hid your name in the folds of the clothes because you were my secret strength."
Akira held the paper closer to Naea. "I've kept this in my purse every single day since Osaka. It wasn't just paper to me, Naea. It was the only part of you I had when the world was pulling us apart."
The room was heavy with the weight of Akira's confession, but the air remained still. Both Naea and Akira spoke in hushed, strained whispers—a forced calm to ensure that Naria, sleeping just a few feet away, wouldn't be disturbed by the storm breaking between by them.
Naea took the sketch from Akira's hands, her fingers trembling slightly as she examined it under the dim light. Now that she knew what to look for, she saw herself in the lines—the curve of her jaw, the focus in her eyes. And there, woven into the texture of the drawn fabric, was her own name. A soft gasp escaped her lips. This wasn't just art; it was a piece of Akira's soul that had survived the distance of Osaka.
She carefully folded the paper with a newfound reverence and handed it back to Akira. As Akira tucked her treasure away, Naea's gaze fell upon Akira's cheek. The red mark from her own palm stood out like a brand of betrayal.
The anger that had fueled Naea moments ago vanished, replaced by a wave of overwhelming love and guilt. She stepped closer, her movements soft and fluid, and cupped Akira's face in her hands. She looked deep into those intense, charcoal eyes—eyes that usually held the cold focus of an agent, but now held only her.
"Akira..." Naea whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "You could have just told me this then. You didn't have to hit her... it made me lose my temper. I shouldn't have slapped you."
She traced the mark on Akira's skin with her thumb, her touch as light as a feather. Then, leaning in, she pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the bruised cheek, an unspoken plea for forgiveness.
Naea felt a surge of adoration for the woman standing before her. Akira had every right to be furious, yet she hadn't said a single harsh word in return. She hadn't retaliated. She had simply walked away to control her rage, choosing silence over hurting the woman she loved.
In the heavy, quiet air of the room, Naea tilted her head, her gaze never leaving Akira's. Moving with a slow, deliberate tenderness, she leaned in until her lips finally met Akira's in a kiss that tasted of regret, devotion, and a promise to never let a shadow come between them again.
Inside the dim room, the air was thick with the scent of rain and regret. As Naea's lips met Akira's, the memory of the slap flashed through her mind—the sound of the impact, the sting in her own palm, and the shock in Akira's charcoal eyes. Every touch now was an attempt to erase that moment. Naea slid her hands slowly and swiftly toward the nape of Akira's neck, pulling her closer, starting the kiss with her usual softness—a plea for forgiveness.
But as the kiss deepened, the rhythm shifted. The passion turned into a release of all the frustration Akira had been bottling up. She took control, her kiss becoming harsh and demanding, pouring all her silent hurt and protective rage into the moment. Naea didn't pull away; she stayed, letting Akira vent her soul through the touch, accepting the intensity as her penance.
Meanwhile, in the living room, time had stretched too long for Zheng. Her jaw throbbed, but her mind was even more restless. Driven by a dark curiosity and a desperate need to know if her manipulation had worked, she stood up. She moved like a ghost toward the bedroom door.
With trembling fingers, Zheng pushed the door open just a fraction. Through the narrow sliver of light, she saw them—locked in a passionate, unbreakable embrace. The sight hit her harder than Akira's punch ever could. The reality of their bond, so raw and undeniable, felt like a physical weight crushing her chest.
Gasping for air, Zheng retreated instantly. The pain inside her was so sharp it felt like her world was collapsing. Blinded by a mix of agony and jealousy, she began to pack her things with frantic, shaking hands. She couldn't stay a second longer in a house where the air belonged to their love.