Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
The woman followed, crying now.
Tears cut tracks through her white makeup as she begged them to stop.
But they couldn't hear her.
Or wouldn't.
They were lost in their fury, in their need to destroy each other.
The first man's blade found its mark. His sword sliced across the second man's shoulder, and to my utter shock, red exploded from the wound.
I gasped. “What?”
But it wasn't blood.
It was red cord. It poured from a hidden place in his costume, spilling down his arm, pooling on the floor of miniature Tokyo. The crimson threads spread across the streets of Shinjuku like rivers of blood.
Oh. This is so dope!
The injured man staggered, but he didn't fall. He swung back. His blade caught the first man across the ribs, and more red cord burst forth. It cascaded down the man's side.
This is absolutely incredible.
I had no idea how they were doing this. How the cord was hidden. How it released at exactly the right moment. The illusion was perfect—it looked like they were genuinely cutting each other apart.
Meanwhile, the woman screamed. She threw herself between them again, her arms spread wide, her kimono blazing. The men paused, chests heaving, their bodies draped in red cord that looked like gore.
"Please!" Her voice broke. "Please stop! I'll choose. I'll choose one of you. Just stop."
My mouth parted.
Who will she choose?
The men didn't lower their swords. Their eyes stayed locked on each other.
They don't care anymore. It's not about her now. It's about winning.
The woman's face crumpled.
She stepped back.
Her hand moved to the wide sash around her waist and emerged with something small.
A dagger.
Silver.
Gleaming.
It looked real.
Both men saw it, and their swords lowered.
What is she about to do?
The woman looked at them.
At the red cord draping their bodies.
At the destruction they'd caused for her.
And slowly—so slowly—she raised the dagger to her own throat.
Oh fuck. Girl, don’t do that.
The men stepped forward.
She stepped back.
The drum pounded.
They froze.
And then music lowered, and the koto played a single repeated note.
Mournful.
Final.
The woman smiled.
It was the saddest smile I'd ever seen.
And then she drew the blade across her neck.
Red cord erupted.
It poured from her throat in a waterfall of crimson—endless, impossible amounts of it. The cord cascaded down her chest, over her fire-colored kimono, pooling at her feet. It spread across the miniature Tokyo like the city itself was drowning in blood.
No. . .
She swayed.
Her eyes fluttered closed.
And she fell.
Her body crumpled to the floor in a river of red, her kimono spreading around her like flames being extinguished. Her head came to rest near the base of a tiny Shinjuku skyscraper. Her hand, still holding the dagger, landed and fell open at her side.
The two men stood frozen. Their swords hung limp at their sides. They looked at the woman they'd destroyed.
Then they looked at each other. And I saw it in their painted faces—the realization that they'd both lost. That their fight had cost them everything. That she'd rather die than watch them tear each other apart.
The koto struck its final note.
And then there was only silence.
I couldn't breathe.
Holy shit.
I stared at the display—at the red cord covering everything, at the woman lying still as death, at the two men standing in the ruins of their own making.
What did I just watch?
Kenji's lips brushed my shoulder.
I'd almost forgotten he was there.
I turned my head slightly and found him watching me. “Did you see that?”
“Barely.”
“Kenji that was fucking amazing.”
“Not as amazing as watching you watch. You were scared, Tora.”
"Kenji." I shook my head. "That was incredible. Is it okay for me to clap? Is that the normal thing to do?"
“Of course.”
I faced the performers and clapped my heart out, letting them know that they had absolutely thrilled me. “Bravo! Bravo!”
The woman rose with the dagger clutched in her hand. All three smiled, got closer to us, and bowed deeply.
First to Kenji.
Then, to me.
And I kept on clapping.
The musicians rose and bowed as well.
Soon, they slipped away with the performers.
And then we were alone.
Kenji turned me in his arms until I faced him.
"Thank you," I whispered. "For sharing that with me. For sharing. . .your childhood and your mother’s tradition."
"Thank you for receiving it. For being here. For giving me your day."
"Our day," I corrected.
"Our day."
He kissed me.
Slow this time.
Deep.
His mouth moved against mine like we had all the time in the world. Like the war room didn't exist. Like Tokyo wasn't glowing at our feet. Like there was nothing outside this moment except the heat building between us.
When we pulled apart, I was dizzy.
His eyes searched my face. And then his expression shifted and became serious. “Tora. . .”
I smiled. “Yes.”
"We need to have a conversation. A difficult one."
It’s time.
My stomach tightened. "Can't we just. . .pretend everything is fine?"
"No, Tora." His hand found my jaw and cradled it gently. "I won't do that. You're my Tiger. You're my Heart. And you deserve honesty, even when it's hard."