The city lights looked like spilled jewels from the top floor of Ryuji's private penthouse. It was a cold, glass palace that screamed malicious wealth. Daisetsu and Yasuo weren't here for a fancy dinner, though. They were dressed in all black, moving through the shadows like twin ghosts. Tenshin had given them the ghost-code to the elevators, and now they were inside the lion's den.
Daisetsu's fierce eyes scanned the high-tech living room. He was highkey on edge. Every muscle in his hard, muscular body was coiled like a spring. He wasn't just the Stoic Protector tonight; he was a savage on a mission to delete the chains holding them down.
"The server room is behind that painting," Yasuo whispered, pointing his tablet toward a hideous abstract piece on the far wall. His Cutie Boy face was set in a look of pure fierce determination. He wasn't blushing now—he was locked in.
As Yasuo began his secretive hacking, the air in the penthouse became heavy with a different kind of pressure. The adrenaline of the heist was mixing with the physical touch that always flared when they were this close to danger.
"I'm in," Yasuo breathed, his fingers flying across the screen. "Deleting the roof footage... now. Deleting the kitchen files... now."
But just as the progress bar hit 100%, the lights in the penthouse flared to a blinding white.
"I figured you'd show up sooner or later," Ryuji's voice echoed from the balcony. He stepped inside, holding a glass of wine, looking totally unbothered. Behind him stood two massive "executioners" with their arms crossed. "You really think I only keep one copy of my favorite home movies?"
Daisetsu stepped in front of Yasuo instantly. He looked "savage," his chest heaving under his black tactical shirt. "Give me the drives, Ryuji. Or I stop being a teacher and start being the Iron-Fist for real."
"Touch me and the video goes to every parent in the district," Ryuji smirked.
But Ryuji didn't know that Yasuo wasn't just deleting. He was uploading.
"Check your phone, Principal," Yasuo said, his voice cold. "I didn't just find your blackmail files. I found your father's offshore accounts. And I just sent them to the National Tax Bureau. The police are downstairs right now."
Ryuji's face went from smug to ghostly pale in two seconds. The sirens started wailing in the street below. He tried to lung for Yasuo, but Daisetsu was faster. He didn't even use the pipe—he used his bare hands. A heavy force punch sent Ryuji flying into his expensive glass table. The Iron-Fist didn't stop until the goons were down and Ryuji was sobbing on the floor.
"Let's go," Daisetsu growled, grabbing Yasuo and pulling him toward the back exit.
They didn't go back to the hotel. They went to a tiny, forgotten apartment Tenshin kept for emergencies. The door had barely clicked shut before the savage heat exploded. The danger, the victory, and the ride-or-die energy turned into a primal bond that couldn't be contained.
Daisetsu slammed Yasuo against the door, his hands admiration as he ripped away the tactical gear. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to claim. He hoisted Yasuo up, pinning him to the wood.
"You were incredible," Daisetsu panted, his mouth crashing onto Yasuo's with an extreme hunger.
The physical payoff was the most intense yet. No cameras. No blackmail. Just them. Daisetsu entered Yasuo with a heavy, rhythmic force that made the door rattle on its hinges. It was raw and wild. Yasuo wrapped his legs tight around Daisetsu's waist, his frantic moans filling the small hallway.
Daisetsu shifted him to the floor, the carpet rough against their skin, but they were too obsessed to care. He moved with a savage pace, his muscular body a heavy, grounding weight over Yasuo. He bit Yasuo's shoulder, leaving a dark, purple mark that was a territorial promise for their new future.
The lightning strike of their climax left them both shattered and gasping in the dark. The status quo was finally, truly dead. They were free.