The air in the school changed the very next day. It wasn't just "owkey weird; it was straight-up freezing. Ryuji, that icy new Principal, was walking around with a smirk that meant someone was about to get wrecked. Daisetsu felt it in his bones. The Iron-Fist didn't like being watched, and he liked being trapped even less.
Daisetsu was called into the office before first period even started. Ryuji didn't say a word. He just turned his laptop screen around. There it was—grainy, but unmistakable. The roof. The Savage Heat. The way Daisetsu had pinned Yasuo against the brick wall. It was a total game-ender.
"This is a lot of 'extracurricular' activity for a teacher, Nakamura-sensei," Ryuji drawled, his voice oily and full of malicious intent. "Imagine if the school board saw how the 'Iron-Fist' treats his favorite baker. Or better yet, imagine if the police thought you were taking advantage of a former student."
Daisetsu's knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the desk. He could handle being a Violent Fugitive, but the thought of Yasuo's name being dragged through the mud made his vision go red.
"What do you want?" Daisetsu growled, his death-stare eyes glowing with a protective rage.
"Simple," Ryuji smiled. "You work for me. You use those 'Iron-Fist' skills to clear out the rivals my father left behind. You become my personal enforcer, or this video goes live."
Daisetsu walked out of that office feeling like a caged animal. He didn't go to his classroom. He went straight to the temporary kitchen space where Yasuo was prepping some pastries for the local morning market. The bakery was still a shell, but Yasuo was trying to keep the "Nurturer" spirit alive.
The second the door clicked shut, Daisetsu didn't even say hello. He grabbed Yasuo by the waist and hauled him onto the stainless steel prep counter, scattering a cloud of flour into the air.
"Daisetsu? What's wrong?" Yasuo squeaked, his Cutie Boy eyes wide with worry.
"Everything," Daisetsu rasped. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to reclaim. He wanted to drown out Ryuji's voice with the sound of Yasuo's breathing.
The Physical Touch exploded into a Savage Hunger. This wasn't like the roof; this was Deep and Desperate. Daisetsu ripped open his shirt, his tough, muscular chest pressing against Yasuo's thin apron. He needed to feel that Yasuo was still his, despite the cameras and the blackmail.
He hoisted Yasuo's legs over his broad shoulders, the cold steel of the counter a sharp contrast to the Extreme Heat between their bodies. Daisetsu didn't waste time. He entered Yasuo with a heavy, rhythmic force that made the prep table rattle against the wall.
"Say you're mine," Daisetsu commanded, his voice a "gravelly" rumble. "No matter what that prick does, say you belong to me."
"I'm yours! Always!" Yasuo cried out, his voice echoing in the small kitchen. He was blushing fiercely, his skin slick with a mix of sweat and flour. He wrapped his arms around Daisetsu's scarred neck, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted like salt and Ride-or-Die devotion.
Daisetsu didn't just move; he dominated the space. He shifted Yasuo, turning him around so he was pressed chest-down against the cold metal. He leaned over him, his muscular body a heavy weight that kept Yasuo grounded. He bit the back of Yasuo's neck, right over the spine, leaving a dark, purple mark that was a territorial promise to anyone who dared to look.
The Physical Payoff was a Lightning Strike that left them both shattered. Yasuo's body arched, his fingers clawing at the smooth metal of the counter, while Daisetsu groaned, his Wounded Soul finding the only peace it had left.
As they stood there in the quiet kitchen, flour covering their clothes and hearts racing, Daisetsu whispered into Yasuo's ear. "He thinks he has me. But he doesn't know who he's dealing with. I'm going to end him, Yasuo. For us."
Yasuo turned around, straightening Daisetsu's ruined shirt. "Then let's do it. No more running."