The wind rushed past Dahlia's ears as she surged down the sidewalk, her stride stretching out with controlled power while her hair streamed behind her in the slipstream of her own speed, each step landing in a sharp, consistent rhythm against the rain-slick concrete as her breath came in short, measured bursts that kept time with her pace.
She wove through the crowd without hesitation, slipping between pedestrians with instinctive precision, her body turning just enough to avoid contact as startled voices rose behind her, curses thrown in frustration from those forced to jump aside, yet none of it reached her, none of it mattered, because the only thing that existed was the path ahead. The route cut straight through Harajuku, through clogged intersections and restless foot traffic that swallowed entire streets, forcing her to carve a line through movement that never truly stopped.
Her gaze dipped briefly to the smartwatch strapped to her wrist, the timer counting down in steady, merciless digits that left no room for missteps, no margin for hesitation.
As she reached the corner, her body dropped low in one fluid motion, center of gravity shifting as her boots bit into the pavement, cleats screaming against the concrete as she forced the turn, the friction dragging against her momentum while a thin trail of smoke curled from her soles. The world seemed to tilt for an instant as she held the line, carving through the curve in a clean arc before releasing into the exit, her body snapping forward again as she launched out of the turn without breaking stride.
The movement drew eyes.
Some turned in passing curiosity, others stopped outright, recognition flashing across their faces as they tried to place what they had just witnessed, something familiar in the precision, in the way she carried speed through the turn without losing control.
Dahlia didn't slow, didn't look back, her focus locked ahead as the seconds continued to fall away.
"In twenty-five seconds, take a sharp left. Stay tight to the lane and increase your speed."
Light's voice came through the earpiece, clear and exact, each word placed with purpose.
"You have four minutes remaining."
Dahlia's jaw tightened as instinct rose immediately to challenge it. "Light, that route pushes me further out. I can just—"
"No compromises," Logan cut in, firm and grounded, leaving no room for negotiation. "Stick to the call. Focus on your time, focus on your speed. Every second matters. Move."
Dahlia clenched her teeth as she drove forward, forcing herself to commit despite the pull of habit, despite the voice in the back of her mind telling her she knew better, that she could shave seconds off if she trusted her own route.
The bag strapped to her back had long since faded from her awareness, no longer the dead weight it once was when every delivery felt like dragging a burden across the city, no longer something that slowed her down or threw off her balance, because Logan's training had stripped that weakness from her, reshaped her until what once held her back had become part of her movement.
He had already pushed her body further than she had ever believed possible, past the limits she once thought defined her, and now he was asking for something far more difficult than strength or speed, something far more exacting in its demand, a level of control and trust she had never truly allowed herself to give.
Dahlia exhaled sharply as she steadied herself, forcing down the instinct that rose within her, the urge to take over, to reclaim the route, to fall back on what she knew and what had always carried her through when things began to slip, because it would have been so easy to do it, to seize control and run the way she always had, but she held that impulse in check, tightening her grip on it as she grounded herself in the moment.
Light was their navigator, and if this was going to work, if this was going to become something real, then she had to let go of that need to command every step and instead place her trust in him, allowing herself, perhaps for the first time, to follow.
****
"You know," Logan said, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed, the warmth of his third cup of coffee settling in his hand as he took a slow sip, "when you said you needed a minute to set up…"
His words trailed as his gaze drifted toward the table, toward what could no longer be described as a simple setup, but something far more intricate in its design.
Light's laptop sat at the center, though it was merely the anchor to something much larger, three additional screens mounted in a curved formation around it, each alive with movement as streams of data flowed continuously across their surfaces. Her fingers moved in rapid succession across the keyboard, not frantic, but precise, every keystroke measured as her main display filled with cascading lines of code that moved too quickly for most to follow, forming a constant stream that never seemed to pause.
Her focus was absolute.
Her eyes shifted between the screens in a steady rhythm, tracking multiple layers of information at once, never lingering too long in one place before moving to the next, as though she could hold all of it in her mind without effort. One display showed a network of camera feeds, black and white images stitched together into a living map of the city, a green marker locked onto Dahlia as it traced her movement and projected her path forward.
Another screen displayed a live map, a blinking red dot updating in real time as a countdown ticked beside it, each passing second tightening the margin. The third streamed an unbroken feed of traffic data and intercepted law enforcement chatter, text racing down the screen faster than a conversation could be followed.
"I didn't realize just how deep this went," Logan continued, lowering his mug slightly as he took it in, a faint shake of his head following. "I mean, damn, Lady sure lucked out with you."
Light gave no response.
She didn't acknowledge him, didn't break from what she was doing, her expression set in a focused stillness that shut out everything beyond the screens in front of her, as though the rest of the room had ceased to exist the moment she began. Logan had seen navigators before during his time around the MRA, had watched how crews operated under pressure, how information flowed and decisions were made, and he knew well enough that even the best of them began to crack when too much came at them at once.
But this was different.
Light wasn't reacting to the flow of information, she was ahead of it, drawing from multiple streams at once and shaping them into something usable, something immediate, processing it all with a clarity that never faltered. His gaze settled on the program running across her main screen, the structure of it unfamiliar, layered in a way that suggested it hadn't come from any standard system, but from her own design, something built piece by piece to serve exactly this purpose.
She wrote that.
The realization sat with him for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as the thought sharpened. If foolishness had a face, it would have been Lady's, because it took a particular kind of blindness to stand beside something like this and fail to see its worth, to cast it aside without understanding what it could do, what it already was.
"You're coming up on the turn in three… two… one," Light said, steady and precise, every word placed with intention. "Now."
On the screen, Dahlia moved without hesitation, her body lowering in one fluid motion as she transitioned off the pavement and onto the asphalt, her cleats biting hard into the road as friction screamed beneath her, the force of the turn carving a clean arc as she held the line through it before releasing into the exit, driving forward and into the uphill stretch ahead without losing even a fraction of her momentum.
"Ease your speed when you reach the junction," Light continued, her eyes moving rapidly between the screens, tracking multiple streams of information at once while never losing sight of Dahlia's position. "Cut through the traffic cleanly, don't commit too early, and when the light turns red, take a hard right."
Her gaze flicked briefly to the timer, the numbers falling in steady succession.
"Fifteen seconds," she added, her tone unchanged. "You're ahead by one minute. Five hundred meters to your destination."
Logan allowed a faint smile to form as he lifted his mug and took a slow sip, his attention fixed on the screens while something far older stirred beneath the surface of his thoughts, something he had not felt in a long time. For a brief moment, the present gave way to memory, and he found himself standing years back in a very different place, facing a group no one else had wanted, a collection of misfits and overlooked talents dismissed by those who only knew how to chase what already shone, people who never understood that true potential rarely revealed itself so easily.
Even then, he had known better.
Diamonds did not come from the earth polished and cut, ready to be admired. They came rough, indistinct, easily mistaken for something worthless by anyone unwilling to look closer, and it took the right hands, the right patience, to shape them into something the world could no longer ignore.
That had been his craft.
That had been his name.
The Hand of God.
The man who took what others discarded and forged it into greatness, who built champions where none were expected to rise. The thought lingered as his gaze returned fully to the present, to Dahlia following the line being drawn for her in real time, to Light guiding her with unwavering clarity, and to the fragile but growing trust forming between them with every step, every call, every second that passed without hesitation.
And for the first time in a long while, he felt it again, not as a memory, but as something returning, something that had never truly left him, only waiting for the right moment to surface.
Maybe that part of him was still there.
****
"Arriving at your destination in six… five… four…"
Dahlia tore down the road with everything she had left, the steady rhythm of her stride now pushed to its limit as sweat soaked through the brim of her cap, darkening the fabric while damp strands clung to her face, her ears slick with moisture as they pressed back against the rush of air. Her lungs burned with every breath she forced in, each inhale sharp, each exhale tight, yet she did not slow, could not afford to, her focus locked ahead as the world narrowed into a single point.
The customer.
He stood just outside an office building, dressed in blue polo and black slacks, one hand resting on his hip while the other held his phone, his attention fixed on the screen as he waited, unaware of what was about to arrive.
Dahlia's eyes sharpened, a faint smirk pulling at her lips despite the strain.
She was going to make it.
Her boots struck harder against the asphalt as she pushed into a final burst, the force cracking faint lines into the road beneath her as she surged forward, the air roaring past her as the T-junction loomed ahead, closer with every step.
Then, through the rush of wind, something broke through.
"Dahlia, wait!"
Light's voice cut through the earpiece, sharp, urgent, stripped of its usual control.
"The light's still red!"
The words landed a fraction too late.
As Dahlia reached the junction, something flickered at the edge of her vision, a movement that didn't belong, and her gaze snapped toward it in the same instant her body continued forward.
A bicycle.
The rider wore tight cycling gear, a neon yellow helmet catching the dull light, and for a split second, everything slowed, his expression shifting in a way Dahlia knew too well, fear settling in as the realization hit him that he wouldn't stop in time.
In the reflection of his tinted shades, she saw herself.
Already too close.
Instinct took over.
Her foot shifted, her entire body twisting with it as her boots screamed against the asphalt, smoke curling from her soles as she spun just enough, the cyclist and his bike slicing past her by the narrowest margin, close enough that she could feel the air displacement brush against her side.
She didn't have time to recover.
A car surged through the red light at the same moment, engine roaring as it barreled straight through the junction, directly into her path.
A sharp breath tore from her chest.
She moved.
Dahlia launched upward, her body folding and extending in one fluid motion as she cleared the front of the car, her gloved hand striking the bonnet with a solid smack that gave her just enough lift to carry her over, her form rotating cleanly before she dropped back down on the other side.
The customer barely had time to react.
His eyes widened, his entire body frozen as Dahlia landed hard on the pavement in front of him, dropping into a knee before pushing herself back up, her chest rising and falling as she fought to steady her breathing, sweat slipping from her jaw and onto the ground below.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Dahlia straightened, forcing a grin onto her face despite the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.
"Someone order a katsu-don?" she asked.
The young man blinked, still processing what he had just witnessed, before giving a slow, stunned nod.
"Uh… yeah," he said, glancing down at his phone before looking back at her. "But you're kinda early."
****
Light let out a long, unsteady breath that seemed to leave her all at once, her shoulders sinking as she fell back into her chair, the tension that had held her upright finally giving way now that the moment had passed.
Beside her, Logan's grip had faltered without him even realizing it, his mug tilting just enough for coffee to spill over the rim and splash onto the floor, some of it trailing down along his jaw and soaking into the front of his shirt, though he didn't react, didn't even seem to notice.
For a brief stretch of time, neither of them moved.
They stood there, caught in the aftermath of what could have been, the image of Dahlia's near miss still hanging sharp and vivid in their minds, the understanding settling in with quiet, chilling clarity that they had come within a breath of watching her become just another number, another name folded into a statistic no one ever wanted to acknowledge until it was too late.
Then, Logan's expression tightened, slamming the mug on the table, loud enough to make Light flinch, he then snatched the earpiece and placed it to his ear.
****
"Thank you for ordering with UMAI," Dahlia said, pulling the zipper of her bag closed with a quick motion as she straightened, forcing a polite smile despite the lingering strain in her chest. "Hope you have a great lunch."
The customer didn't return it.
His gaze dropped to the bag, lingering on the damp patches that had soaked through during the chaos of the delivery, his expression flattening into something unreadable before he gave a short, indifferent nod. "Right," he muttered, already turning away as he headed back into the building, the door closing behind him without another word.
Dahlia's smile faded the moment he disappeared from view.
She let out a sharp breath, fishing her phone from her pocket as she pulled up the app, her eyes scanning the screen before her expression tightened. "Dammit, one star." She scoffed under her breath, frustration settling in. "There goes the tip. Damn bicycle, and that car…"
"They ain't at fault, kid."
Logan cut through the earpiece, calm at first, but edged with something firmer beneath it.
Dahlia's hand rose to her ear instinctively. "Come on, you saw what happened, I know you did," she shot back, her tone defensive. "That thing came out of nowhere."
"Because you weren't paying attention!"
The snap in Logan's words hit harder than she expected, sharp enough to make her flinch as the words landed.
"I get it," he continued, the frustration bleeding through now, "you wanna beat the clock, and it's real easy to get tunnel vision when you're pushing like that, but I've told you this like I've told you a thousand times. This ain't the Twinkle Series. This ain't a controlled track, and it sure as hell ain't safe." His tone dropped, heavier now. "You lose focus for even a Goddamned second out here, and you don't get a second chance. You're done!"
Dahlia's jaw tightened, the instinct to push back rising immediately, words already forming on her tongue, but she stopped herself before they could come out. The anger in her chest eased just enough for something else to take its place, something steadier, more grounded.
She exhaled slowly.
"…You're right," she said, quieter now. "I'm sorry, I should've had my eyes forward."
A brief silence followed, the tension easing on the other end of the line before Logan spoke again, his tone no longer sharp.
"It's alright," he said. "I shouldn't've snapped like that." He paused, then added, "You were doing good, kid. Real good. That's why we're runnin' this drill in the first place."
Dahlia rolled her shoulders slightly, the weight of the moment beginning to lift.
"Still," Logan went on, a hint of something lighter returning, "that move you pulled back there? That was a hell of a save. I think you just gave me an idea. Something we can build on for the Stakes."
Dahlia let out a small chuckle, the tension finally breaking as she slipped her phone back into her pocket.
"Yeah?" she said, a faint grin returning. "Now I'm curious what you're gonna come up with."
"But first things first, you're not done yet," Logan said, his words settling back into that steady rhythm of instruction. "Light's already got your next delivery lined up."
Dahlia's face twisted in disbelief. Her breath still uneven from the run as she straightened. "Wait, what?" she blurted, dragging a hand through her damp hair. "I just ran halfway across Shibuya, at least give me a second to breathe!"
"Yeah?" Logan shot back. "Maybe you can tell the runners at the Stakes the same thing while they're blowing past you." There was a faint pause, then, "You want me to set you up with a cozy little beanbag too? Maybe something hot and sweet while you catch your breath?"
Dahlia's eyes flattened into a deadpan stare. "I could do without the sarcasm, thank you very much," she muttered, though there was no real heat behind it now. She exhaled, steadying herself, the frustration bleeding off as she rolled her shoulders and reset. "Fine. Let's get it over with."
"Keep it in your head," Logan continued, shifting back to instruction as she started moving again. "You're racing the clock, but that ain't all you're racing. You've gotta stay locked in on your navigator and keep your awareness up at all times. It sounds like a lot, but the more you do it, the more it settles in. It'll become instinct before you know it." A brief pause followed. "I'm signing off. Light, you've got her."
"O-okay," Light came through a moment later, still carrying a trace of nerves, though steadier than before. "Head toward the Yoshinoya on Takeshita Street. Your next delivery's going to Sendagaya. Estimated time is fifteen minutes."
"Got it," Dahlia replied, a grin pulling at her lips as her body leaned forward into motion again, fatigue pushed aside as determination took its place.
Then she was off, boots striking the pavement as she picked up speed, cutting back into the flow of the city as she drove toward her next run.
****
The door to Dahlia's apartment slammed open with a heavy thud as she stumbled inside, her body folding forward under the weight of exhaustion, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed in stubborn defiance as she tried to keep herself upright for just a moment longer. The delivery bag slipped from her shoulder and hit the floor with a dull, weighted drop, the straps sliding from her fingers as she kicked off her boots with a sharp motion, already noting the wear on her cleats and the need to replace them first thing tomorrow.
Her gloves followed, tossed aside without care, then her cap, the fabric darkened and soaked through with sweat, her shirt clinging uncomfortably to her skin as her tail flicked weakly behind her, the last of her energy draining out with each passing second.
"God, Logan's a demon," she muttered through her teeth as she dragged a hand through her damp hair. "What was he thinking? Thirty deliveries… thirty." She let out a strained breath, her shoulders sagging. "I swear my legs are about to fall off."
She forced herself upright, her spine protesting as she leaned back slightly, a series of cracks and pops running through her back as she stretched out the tension, her jaw still tight from the strain.
"Still…" she exhaled, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite everything, "twenty big on tips isn't bad."
Her gaze drifted, the edge in her expression softening as her thoughts slipped back to the runs, to the steady stream of instructions that had guided her through the city. Light's directions had been constant, precise, cutting through the chaos with clarity, every call shaving seconds, sometimes entire minutes off what Dahlia would have done on instinct alone.
Routes she never would have considered had opened up in front of her, quiet neighborhoods that slipped past the usual congestion, narrow alleys hidden between buildings, paths that led her over fences and through half-finished construction sites, even through abandoned structures she would have otherwise dismissed as dead ends.
There had been moments where everything in her wanted to push back, to ignore the call, to trust her own sense of direction, the instincts she had built over years of running the city on her own terms. More than once, she had nearly done it.
But every time they reviewed the run back at Logan's apartment, the truth had been laid out in front of her in cold, undeniable detail. The routes she would have taken, the ones she trusted, were riddled with delays she never could have seen in the moment. Traffic bottlenecks. Road closures. Sudden disruptions. Obstacles that would have cost her time she didn't have.
Dahlia let out a quiet breath, something shifting in her chest as she thought of Light, of the way she worked without pause, without hesitation, processing everything at once as though she could see the city from above, every moving part laid bare before her.
It had been frustrating at times, especially when instructions came late or changed without warning, when she had to adjust on instinct alone with no time to question it, but Logan had been clear about that too. Out there, things changed without warning. Routes shifted. Situations turned in an instant. If she couldn't adapt, she wouldn't last.
And that was when it truly sank in.
The difference between what she knew, and what she was stepping into. The URA and the MRA weren't just different leagues, they were entirely different worlds, built on different rules, different expectations, different ways of surviving. And the thought that she had once believed she held an advantage simply because she knew how to run on a track now felt almost naive.
Her expression dimmed slightly.
She was lucky.
Lucky to have Logan forcing her to see it now, lucky to have someone show her just how wide that gap truly was before she stepped into it for real. Because for those who didn't have that guidance, for those who walked straight out of Tracen and into the shadows thinking their talent alone would carry them, the lesson would come far harsher.
And most of them wouldn't walk away from it.
Dahlia let out a long breath, her shoulders sagging as the last of the strain left her body, and reached for the towel hanging by the wall, dragging it slowly through her damp hair while her pulse still thudded in her ears. "Scarlet, I'm home," she called, rough from exertion as she stepped further inside. "Give me a second, I'll get dinner—"
The words caught in her throat before she could finish.
Something in the air stopped her, something warm and familiar that settled deep into her chest before she could even name it, the rich scent of spices carrying through the apartment, layered with the unmistakable aroma of stewed meat, carrots, and potatoes. It hit her all at once, not just as a smell, but as a memory she hadn't allowed herself to touch in years, one that rose unbidden and vivid.
For a fleeting moment, she was somewhere else.
Back home, where the table was always full, where her mother moved between the kitchen and the dining room with quiet ease, where her father sat with a tired but content expression, where Scarlet was beside her and everything felt whole. There were no sharp words hidden beneath kindness, no tension buried beneath polite smiles, just laughter that came easily and warmth that filled the space without effort.
A time before loss had carved its way through them.
Her mother had taught her how to make that curry, had guided her through every step with patient hands, yet no matter how many times Dahlia had tried to recreate it after she was gone, something always felt missing, something she could never quite bring back. That gift had always belonged to Scarlet instead, who could take a memory and turn it into something real again, who took pride in it in that quiet, teasing way that had once filled their home with lightness. Dahlia had her music, Scarlet had her cooking, and it had always been enough.
The memory slipped away as quickly as it came, leaving her standing in the present with her breath caught somewhere between disbelief and recognition. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Dahlia turned toward the dining area, her gaze drawn forward as though something were pulling her there.
She heard it before she fully saw it.
A soft hum, gentle and familiar, the melody of a song their mother used to sing without thinking, something so ordinary once that it had never seemed important, yet now it felt like it carried the weight of everything that had been lost. The table was set neatly, placemats aligned, napkins folded with care, steam curling from a crock pot at its center as the scent of curry filled the room.
And there she was, Scarlet.
Seated in her wheelchair, her posture relaxed, her movements careful but assured as she scooped rice into a bowl, her long rose-tinted hair falling down her back in smooth strands that caught the light. Her ears twitched softly at the sound of Dahlia's presence, and when she turned, her rose colored eyes met hers with a warmth that made Dahlia's chest tighten.
"Oh, you're back," Scarlet said, her smile easy, natural, as though nothing in the world had ever been broken between them. Her gaze shifted briefly toward the table. "Sorry I couldn't finish setting everything up. It was supposed to be a surprise."
She set the bowl aside and turned her chair to face her more fully, that same quiet pride settling into her expression.
"Took me a while," she continued, the quiet satisfaction in her words carried more by what she had done than how she said it, "I ran into a few problems getting it right, because… well, you know." Her gaze drifted downward, settling briefly in her lap before shifting toward the sink, where pots, pans, and utensils had been left in a small, undeniable mess. "Also, I might've made a bit of a disaster along the way, but I finally got the taste right. It's been a long time, after all."
Dahlia stepped forward without realizing she had moved, her lips trembling as her vision blurred, the moment feeling fragile, almost unreal, as though it might slip away if she so much as breathed too hard.
Scarlet smiled again, her eyes closing briefly. "I hope you don't mind, I used most of what we had. Maybe we can go shopping again real—"
The sentence never finished.
Dahlia dropped to her knees and pulled her into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around Scarlet with a force that came from somewhere deep, somewhere she had kept locked away for far too long. The first sob broke free before she could stop it, raw and unguarded, her body trembling as she buried her face against her sister.
"Um… Dahlia?" Scarlet said, startled, her eyes widening as she tried to adjust in the sudden hold. "You're hugging me a little tight—"
But Dahlia only held on tighter, as though loosening her grip would unravel everything, as though this moment, this warmth, this impossible piece of something she thought she had lost would vanish if she let it.
Her sobs came harder, breaking through her in waves as she clung to her, the sound filling the room with everything she had held back, everything she had buried beneath distance and silence and guilt.
Scarlet's expression softened, the surprise fading as she closed her eyes and returned the embrace as best she could, one hand resting gently against Dahlia's back.
"Welcome home, Dahlia," she said quietly.
And Dahlia cried, raw and unrestrained as it spilled into the space around them, until even the distant hum of the city beyond the walls seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of her holding on to something she refused to lose again.
****
"You're joking, Logan-san," Light said, staring at him from across the small dining table, her eyes wide as she held her cup of green tea in both hands, the steam curling gently between them. "Hachimitsu Melody… is your daughter?"
Logan let out a quiet chuckle, lifting his coffee for a slow sip before setting the porcelain mug back down against the wood with a soft clink, the sound small against the weight of the moment. "Yeah," he replied, the word coming out more like a breath than a statement, as though it carried more behind it than he cared to show. "Dahlia had about the same reaction. Hard to believe, right?"
"N-no, that's not—" Light caught herself, her face flushing slightly as she shook her head and drew in a steadying breath. "That's not what I meant." She glanced down at her tea before lifting her gaze again, her expression settling into something more thoughtful. "I mean, when you think about it, it makes sense. Her mother is Kadokawa Hornet, after all."
Light let out a soft laugh, the tension from earlier easing just enough for something lighter to slip through. "Still, I have to admit, I didn't expect that you of all people who'd end up marrying his own trainee."
Logan gave a short snort, leaning back in his chair as he picked up his mug again. "It's more common than you'd think, kid," he said, taking a sip before lowering it. "Back in the States, a lot of trainers end up with their former trainees, or with their partners. Comes with the territory." He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk pulling at his lips. "See, over there, trainers usually work in pairs."
He gave a small shrug.
"I was the odd one out," he added. "Turns out not many people are lining up to partner with someone old enough to be their kid."
Light laughed again, softer this time, though the amusement faded as something else returned to her thoughts. She hesitated for a brief moment, her fingers tightening slightly around her teacup before she spoke again.
"By the way, Melody's name has been everywhere lately."
Logan's brow lifted slightly, his attention sharpening. "Meaning?"
Light met his gaze. "You haven't seen it?"
"Not really," Logan admitted, leaning back slightly in his chair. "I'm not much of a mainstream media guy. You spend enough time in the States, you start picking your sources real careful." He gave a small shake of his head. "I stick to a handful I trust."
Light nodded faintly before continuing, her tone measured, though something beneath it carried unease. "There's been a lot written about Melody leading up to her G1 debut at the Shūka Shō. Most outlets are already calling her the favorite, some even saying she could follow in the footsteps of the Emperor, maybe even match what her mother did during her time at Strider." Her expression softened briefly at the mention, but it didn't last. "But there's one reporter in particular who's been… different."
Logan's gaze darkened slightly. "Go on."
"His name is Sensuke Fujii," Light said, the name leaving her lips with quiet weight. "He built his reputation praising Oguri Cap during her racing years, then shifted his focus to Scarlet Rose, who you know is Melody's rival." Her grip tightened subtly around the teacup as her eyes lowered to the surface of the tea. "And then the accident happened."
Logan said nothing, but his attention didn't waver.
Light's expression hardened as she continued, the calm in her words held together by something more restrained. "I know that name because he spent months tearing my father apart, tearing my family apart."
Her gaze lifted again, sharper now. "He accused my father of abuse, claimed he was intoxicated when the accident happened, even suggested he was paid off by the mob to rid Melody of any obstacles."
Her fingers tightened further around the cup. The heat forgotten. "All of it just to frame Scarlet as the victim he wanted her to be."
Logan let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head. "Yeah, I've seen that type before," he said, his tone edged with disdain. "Back when I was still active in the States, there were plenty of guys like him. People who don't care who they drag through the dirt as long as it sells."
Light exhaled softly, though the tension in her shoulders didn't fully ease. "Over the past few months, he's shifted again," she said. "Now he's targeting Melody, trying to paint her as someone who's only succeeded because Scarlet isn't there to compete."
A brief pause followed as she gathered her thoughts. "At the same time, he's been criticizing law enforcement, pushing narratives that make the MRA seem justified, even necessary, while framing the government as the real problem."
Logan's hand rose to the bridge of his nose, pressing there as he exhaled slowly, the irritation settling in with quiet intensity. "Alright," he muttered after a moment. "If I ever run into this Fujii guy, I'm gonna have a real hard time keeping things civil."
"As much as a part of me might want that," Light said as she looked across the table at him, "I'd rather you didn't act on it, Logan-san. The last thing Dahlia and I need is for you to end up behind bars again."
Logan let out a quiet scoff, leaning back slightly as a crooked, almost mischievous grin pulled at his lips. "I wouldn't lose sleep over that," he said, the edge in his tone returning. "After the way Fujii's been running his mouth about law enforcement, I doubt he'd get much sympathy if he went crying to them." He gave a small shake of his head, amused in a way that didn't quite soften the sentiment. "Cops can hold a grudge just fine, no matter where you go."
Light smiled faintly at that, though it didn't linger, something more tentative taking its place as she hesitated, her fingers tightening just slightly around the warm porcelain of her cup.
"Um… Logan-san," she began carefully, her eyes lifting to meet his. "Melody…" She faltered for a moment, then gathered herself. "She doesn't know, does she? That you're her father?"
Logan's expression didn't change much, though the energy in the room shifted all the same as he exhaled quietly, his gaze drifting down to his coffee before returning to her. "No," he said simply. "She doesn't."
He rested his forearm against the table. "Long story short, I made a deal with her grandmother and her husband. I stay out of it, keep my distance, and in return, she gets to grow up without any of my baggage tied to her name." He lifted a finger slightly as Light looked ready to respond. "And yeah, I know how that sounds. Dahlia's already said her piece about it too."
A faint pause followed before he continued.
"She's a smart kid. She'll figure it out eventually," he admitted. "But until that day comes, I'd rather keep things the way they are. When it happens, I'll deal with it then."
Light nodded slowly, accepting it even if the weight of it lingered, her gaze dipping for a moment before she spoke again.
"She's lucky," she said softly. "Even if she doesn't know it yet." A small pause followed, her expression shifting into something more reflective. "In a way, you remind me of my dad."
Logan tilted his mug slightly, watching the surface of the coffee ripple as he considered her words before lifting his eyes back to her.
"Yeah?" he said, his tone easing. "Tell me about him."
"Well," Light began, quieter now, the warmth from before giving way to something more solemn as she held her teacup a little closer, as though drawing comfort from the heat, "if you don't already know, my father is Suzuki Hiroshi." She paused, letting the name settle before continuing. "He was the man behind the wheel in Scarlet Rose's accident."
She lifted her gaze toward Logan, bracing herself for what usually followed, for the shift in expression she had come to expect from others, the flicker of shock, the tightening of judgment, the quiet distance that always came after.
But Logan didn't move.
"If you're waiting on a reaction, you're not getting one," he said after a moment, lifting his mug for a slow sip. "Dahlia already filled me in, so we can skip the part where you brace yourself for the worst." He set the mug down again with a soft tap. "Besides, you're talking to someone who's done a hell of a lot worse than your old man. Trust me on that."
Light blinked, caught off guard, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly as a faint flush crept across her face. "Oh, right," she murmured, rubbing the back of her head awkwardly. "Then, I guess I'll start somewhere else."
She drew in a breath, steadying herself.
"My dad wasn't what most people would call… smart," she said carefully, her words chosen with care, not out of hesitation, but respect. "At least not in the way society expects. He's autistic, and when he was growing up, that wasn't something people understood. They labeled him instead. Lazy. Useless." Her gaze softened as she spoke, not with pity, but with quiet certainty. "He was forced out of school, and when he turned eighteen, my grandparents kicked him out. I've never met them, and I don't think I ever want to."
Logan let out a low breath, something between a curse and disbelief, though he didn't interrupt.
Light nodded faintly and continued. "He moved out to the countryside after that, lived off whatever work he could find. Odd jobs, part-time labor, anything that paid enough to get by. He was good with his hands, always had been." A small smile touched her lips, softer now. "That's where he met my mother."
Her eyes brightened slightly at the memory.
"She was the daughter of a farmer. Her father was ill, couldn't work the land anymore, so my dad helped out where he could, and somewhere along the way, they fell in love." She let out a quiet breath. "They got married, and then I came along."
Logan's expression softened without him realizing it.
"Sometimes I think about that life," Light continued. "How simple it was. We didn't have much, but we didn't need much either. It felt enough." She paused, then shook her head lightly. "But my dad wanted more for us. He didn't want us to grow up the way he did, without options, without a chance. So, he and my mom decided to move back to the city so we could get a proper education."
Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup.
"For a while, things were good. Not easy, but stable. Then my brothers came along, one after the other, and finally my youngest sister." A faint, almost amused breath escaped her. "Funny, I ended up being the only uma. I helped my mom as much as I could while my dad worked, took care of the house, helped my siblings with their homework. That sort of thing."
Her words faltered just slightly.
"And then, my mom got sick."
Logan's gaze shifted, something tightening behind his eyes, a quiet understanding that didn't need words.
"Dad sold the farm to pay for her treatment," Light continued, the edges of her words worn down by memory. "But it still wasn't enough. She got worse, and eventually… she passed."
The words lingered in the space between them.
"After that, it was just us and him," she said, her expression dimming as she stared down into her tea. "He worked harder than anyone I've ever seen. Double shifts, sometimes triple, taking whatever jobs he could find just to keep us afloat." She swallowed, steadying herself. "I tried to pick up what I could at home. Just trying to make things easier for him."
Her gaze drifted, distant now.
"I thought, somehow, that the worst of it was already behind us," she said, the weight of it settling into her words as her thoughts turned inward. "That maybe the world had done enough, that it would finally ease its grip and let us breathe for once… but then the accident happened."
She didn't elaborate.
She didn't need to.
"I think you already know the rest," she said quietly.
Silence settled between them, not empty, but heavy with everything that followed that single moment, everything that neither of them needed spelled out to understand.
"My dad isn't perfect," Light said. "No one is. There were times I couldn't even hold a proper conversation with him, not the kind most people expect, not the kind that flows easily, but I never once doubted that he loved us. I never doubted how hard he worked for us."
Her fingers tightened around the cup.
"He couldn't get a stable job because he never finished school, and even when he tried, people would turn him away the moment they realized… how he was. They'd look at him, judge him before he could even speak." Her jaw tightened as the memory settled in. "I've heard the neighbors talk. Whispering behind his back, saying someone like him shouldn't be raising children, that we deserved better."
Her eyes lifted again, sharper now.
"They didn't even bother to hide it. They'd say it loud enough for him to hear, and I know he understood every word, but he never reacted. He just kept going, like it didn't matter."
The calm in her words thinned, something heavier pressing through.
"And then the media came in, and people like Fujii…" she said, the name catching slightly as she forced it out. "They tore him apart. Turned him into something he's not. Painted him as this irredeemable monster people could point at and condemn without thinking twice." Her breath wavered, her composure beginning to crack. "It hurts, because they talk like they know him, like they've seen what he's done, but they haven't."
Her grip trembled.
"They don't see the man who comes home late at night after working all day, skipping meals just to save a little more so we wouldn't have to worry about going hungry," she said. "They don't see the man who still finds the time to sit with us, to make sure we're okay before we go to sleep."
A tear slipped free before she could stop it.
"They don't see the man who stayed by my side when I was sick for days, feeding me, taking care of me, making sure I was never alone," she added, her words breaking slightly now. "They don't see any of that."
She lifted her gaze to Logan, her eyes shining, filled with something that refused to be shaken.
"He's my dad," she said. "He's my world. He's the only one who's ever been there for me, for all of us." Her breath hitched. "And what they've done to him… to us… it's not fair."
The words gave way as the weight finally broke through, tears spilling down her cheeks as she tried to wipe them away quickly, as though she could catch them before they were seen.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. Her ears splayed forward as her tail flicked behind her. "I didn't mean to—"
Logan set his mug down with care, the porcelain touching the table with a soft, muted sound before he reached across and rested his hand over Light's, grounding her just enough to draw her gaze back up to him.
"Kid," he said, "I don't have to tell you this, but the world's messed up in ways most people don't even wanna look at."
He exhaled slowly, leaning back just enough to give the words room to settle.
"We grow up thinking there's some kind of balance to it all, that bad people get what's coming to them, and if you just keep your head down, do right by others, stay decent, then somehow the world pays you back for it." A faint shake of his head followed, not bitter, but certain. "That's a nice story. Doesn't make it true."
Light didn't interrupt, her fingers still beneath his hand as she listened.
"More often than not, it's the other way around," Logan continued. "The people who cut corners, who don't care who they hurt, they're the ones who get ahead, and the ones who try to do right, they get taken advantage of." His gaze settled on her, steady, direct. "Being good doesn't protect you. Sometimes it just makes you easier to use. Hell, what happened to you is proof enough."
Light's eyes dropped, the truth in it landing heavier than anything louder could have.
"And here's the part no one likes to say out loud," he went on. "If you live your life thinking that not hurting people means life won't hurt you back, all you're really doing is painting a target on yourself. There's always someone out there carrying their own mess, their own anger, and they're looking for somewhere to put it, someone to take it out on because it's easier than dealing with it themselves."
He paused, letting the silence stretch for just a moment.
"Doesn't mean people deserve what they go through," he added, quieter now. "Most of them don't. But life doesn't run on fairness. It just keeps moving, and it expects you to keep up whether you're ready or not."
His expression eased, just slightly.
"Your dad sounds like a good man," Logan said, the words simple, but sincere. "And from what you've told me, the world's shafted him harder than most, but he's still standing, still doing what he can for his family." A faint smile touched his lips. "That counts for more than anything those people say about him."
He drew a slow breath before continuing.
"What happened was an accident. If it had been anyone else, it probably would've faded into the background, just another bad day people forget about by the next morning." His gaze held hers. "But it didn't play out that way."
The truth of it lingered.
"And I know that part of you wants to push back," Logan said, "to hit back at the people who've been tearing him down, to make them feel even a fraction of what you've had to carry." He paused, the weight of it settling before he continued. "I know that feeling better than I'd like to admit."
His gaze drifted for a moment, not unfocused, but distant, as if something older had surfaced.
"After Bee passed," he went on, more softly now, "I realized real quick that nothing's off-limits. You get the condolences, the respectful pieces, people saying all the right things, and then there's always someone out there who decides to go the other way just to stand out, just to stir something up, because controversy sells better than truth ever will."
A faint, humorless chuckle left him. "Johnny, big bastard that he was, had to physically hold me back from putting a guy through a wall for running his mouth at her damned funeral."
The memory lingered for a brief moment before he brought himself back, his eyes lifting to meet Light's again.
"The point is, the world doesn't care," he said, not harshly, but with a certainty that came from experience rather than bitterness. "It doesn't care if you've been wronged, or if you're hurting, or if you're angry about it. Everyone's out there chasing their own version of things, and some people won't think twice about who they step on along the way, because in their heads, they're not doing anything wrong. Nobody ever sees themselves as the villain."
He let out a slow breath, his hand still resting lightly over hers.
"Life doesn't play fair, kid," he said. "Sometimes it just swings, and you're the one left standing there trying to figure out how hard you got hit." A brief pause followed. "But at the end of the day, you don't get to stay down. Not if you've got people counting on you."
His gaze held hers. "You take what's left, you put yourself back together however you can, and you keep going," he said. He let the silence breathe for a moment before continuing. "That's all any of us really get. There's no going back to what's already gone, no matter how much you want it, so there's no sense standing there staring at it. You look at what's still in front of you, at what's still yours."
He leaned forward slightly, his words lowering just enough to carry weight without losing its calm.
"You're still here," he went on. "Your brothers, your sister, they're still here too. That matters more than anything you've lost." His eyes softened, though the conviction behind them didn't fade. "You threw yourself into the MRA thinking you could fight your way back to something that looked like the life you had before, maybe even build something bigger out of it."
A faint smile touched his lips, not dismissive, but understanding.
"I'm not gonna sit here and tell you everything's gonna turn out the way we want it to," he said. "Life doesn't work like that. But what I can tell you is this, Dahlia and I… we're not stopping. We're seeing this through, all the way."
He held her gaze a moment longer, letting the offer settle between them.
"So, what about you?"
Light's expression softened into a genuine, quiet warmth, the tension that had weighed on her easing as she nodded, her ears giving a small, almost reflexive twitch. She set her teacup down carefully on the table, fingers lingering for a moment before she withdrew them. "Thank you, Logan-san," she said. "I… needed that." She brushed away the last of her tears with the back of her hand, taking a breath to compose herself before pushing her chair back and rising to her feet.
"It's getting late," she said, straightening as she gathered herself, brushing a stray thought aside along with the moment. "I should head home before it gets any later. I'd rather not run into those Gurentai again."
Logan's brow lifted slightly, his attention sharpening. "Gurentai?"
Light nodded, her posture tightening just a touch as she shifted her weight. "Yeah, the ones that have been all over the news lately, those would-be gangsters causing trouble after dark." Her expression flickered, something uncertain passing through it before she looked down for a brief moment. "The same ones you… well… back then... with me and Daichi."
"Oh," Logan said, tilting his head as the connection settled in. "So, that's what they're calling them now?"
"Seems like it," Light replied, exhaling softly "From what I've been hearing, it's been getting worse these past few weeks, and the police are already stretched thin dealing with the MRA situation." She let out a quiet sigh. "Feels like things are only going to get uglier before they get better."
Logan studied her for a moment before speaking. "I can drop you off if you want," he offered. "At least walk you to the station so you don't have to deal with anything on the way."
Light shook her head, a small, polite smile returning as she dipped into a respectful bow, her movements natural, unforced. "That's alright, really. You've already done more than enough for me today." She straightened again, meeting his gaze. "Thank you, for the tea, and for listening."
Logan paused, then let out a faint chuckle as a small smile tugged at his lips. "Anytime, kid," he said, though his eyes lingered on her just a second longer before he let the moment pass.
Light reached for her bags and slung one over her shoulder, lifting the rest, before making her way toward the stairs that led up to the door, her steps light but purposeful. Just before she reached it, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder, a small smile returning. "I'll see you and Dahlia tomorrow," she said. "We've got a lot of work ahead of us." Her expression brightened just a little. "Good night, Logan-san."
Logan gave a small nod in response, watching as she climbed the steps, opened the door, and stepped out into the corridor. The door eased shut behind her, though it didn't quite latch, leaving a narrow gap where the cool air slipped quietly into the room.
He leaned back in his chair, shoulders settling as the silence returned, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette case, flipping it open with practiced ease before sliding one free and placing it between his lips. The metallic click of his lighter followed, the small flame catching at the tip as he drew in a breath and exhaled a slow plume of smoke that curled lazily into the air.
"I know you're there, old man," Logan said as his eyes shifted toward the door, sharpening in an instant. He took the cigarette from his lips, holding it loosely between his fingers. "Might as well shut it while you're at it."
****
Outside, Saburo let out a low, amused chuckle, the sound carrying a quiet familiarity as he shook his head, his hand settling on the door before pulling it closed with a soft, measured thud that sealed the room behind him. He draped the towel back over his shoulder in a practiced motion, then rolled his shoulders as his spine gave a series of tired cracks, the kind that spoke more of long years than simple strain, before turning and making his way toward the stairs, his steps unhurried as he headed up to his apartment on the top floor.