The morning haze had given way to a crisp, clear Tokyo day. Nestled between two skyscrapers, the rooftop restaurant K-1-N-G-S overlooked the city with elegant glass railings, rich blackwood tables, and quiet jazz playing in the background.
Riku and Mei sat at a table near the edge. A breeze lifted Mei's hair gently as she sipped her iced matcha. Riku, casually leaning on his chair, stirred his coffee slowly—watching her more than his drink.
The waiter placed down their brunch: salmon toast for Mei, a classic Japanese breakfast set for Riku. "Enjoy," he bowed before leaving them alone again.
Mei poked the salmon with her fork, smirking. "Still watching me like I'm some kind of puzzle?"
"You are," Riku said, smiling faintly. "But I don't want to solve you. I want to keep getting surprised."
She laughed softly. "That's dangerously smooth, Tensai."
"I had time to practice last night," he teased.
Mei blushed. "You're… different now."
"How?"
"Lighter. Like a weight's been lifted."
He leaned forward, voice gentler. "It's you. You bring out the side of me I forgot existed."
Her eyes softened. "I was scared yesterday. When everything got canceled, I thought you'd disappear again—like you always do when things get hard."
"I thought about it," Riku admitted, looking out toward the city. "Running. But then I remembered your hand… how tightly you held mine when I said I'd come back alone."
She looked down at her plate, quiet.
"I realized," he continued, "I don't want to eat alone anymore. Walk alone. Sleep alone. You changed that."
Mei looked up at him. "Say that again."
Riku leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't want to be without you."
Silence fell—soft, golden, warm.
Then she smiled, took a piece of salmon with her chopsticks, and held it up. "Then feed me, lover boy."
He grinned and leaned in. "Yes, ma'am."
And under the quiet hum of morning jazz, surrounded by clinking plates and Tokyo's skyline, the two forgot the world—the tournament, the cameras, the chaos—and simply existed in each other's company.
As the late morning turned golden, Riku and Mei called the waiter over and ordered dessert—strawberry mochi ice cream and a special matcha souffle pancake topped with cream and honey.
The waiter placed the sweets in front of them with a courteous bow.
Mei's eyes sparkled the moment she saw the dessert. "This looks way too pretty to eat."
"Too bad I'm not as respectful," Riku said, already holding his chopsticks.
"Wait!" Mei held up her hand and picked up a soft slice of the souffle. "Let me try something."
She leaned forward with a teasing grin, holding the piece toward Riku.
Riku raised an eyebrow. "You're feeding me now?"
"Be quiet and open your mouth."
He chuckled but obeyed, leaning forward with his eyes half-lidded. She slowly fed him the bite—just as he took it in, she tapped his cheek with her finger.
"Sweet?" she asked.
He chewed, then said with a smirk, "Yeah, but still not as sweet as you."
Mei rolled her eyes, laughing. "You've been reading romance novels or something?"
"Maybe," he said, picking up his own chopsticks now. "My turn."
He sliced a soft piece of mochi, carefully lifting it toward her lips.
"Don't drop it," she warned.
"Trust me."
She leaned in—and just as she opened her mouth, he playfully pulled the chopsticks back and tapped her lips instead.
"Riku!"
He laughed. "Now you know how it feels."
But this time, he didn't pull back. He leaned forward with the mochi still at the tip of the chopsticks—Mei took the bite gently, but as she did, she let her lips brush ever so slightly against the chopsticks… and lingered.
Riku froze for half a second. The contact was subtle… but it felt electric.
Mei licked a bit of cream from the side of her lip and whispered, "Tastes sweeter now."
He set the chopsticks down slowly. "Mei…"
She tilted her head innocently. "What?"
"You're dangerous."
She leaned across the table, her voice low and full of mischief. "Then maybe you should stop underestimating me."
As the laughter between Riku and Mei faded into soft smiles, Riku stood up to stretch.
"That was perfect," he said, lightly tapping his stomach. "I might never eat again."
Mei giggled. "Don't lie. You'll be hungry again in two hours."
As Riku turned slightly to the side to grab his jacket draped on the chair behind him, his elbow lightly nudged the edge of the next table without realizing it. A ceramic plate near the edge wobbled… then slipped.
Clatter!
The plate hit the floor with a loud crash, splattering food across the floor—and onto the white shoes of the girl seated there.
Riku froze.
"I'm so sorry—" he began, turning quickly.
The girl turned too, her brows raised slightly in surprise. She had soft features, long brown hair, and gentle eyes—though now, they were locked on the fallen plate.
"...Yumi?" Riku said, stunned.
Before she could answer, a chair scraped loudly against the floor. A tall, athletic guy stood up beside her.
Black jacket, sharp eyes, defined jawline—it was Sol Yoshida.
Riku's eyes narrowed. "Sol…"
Sol looked down at the mess on the floor, then back at Riku.
"You seriously still that clumsy?" Sol said coldly.
"It was an accident," Riku replied calmly. "I didn't even realize there was a table this close."
Sol stepped forward, not yelling—but his presence grew sharp like a blade. "Yumi's shoes are ruined. This place matters to her. Do you know how hard she works to keep things together?"
"Sol, it's okay," Yumi said softly, touching his arm.
But Sol didn't take his eyes off Riku. "You think you can just walk through people's lives, break things, and say 'sorry' like that covers it?"
Riku's face remained unreadable. "I said it was an accident. But if you're that angry, go ahead—add it to the list of reasons you already don't like me."
The tension crackled. Mei stood now too, placing a careful hand on Riku's arm. "Riku, let's just go. Don't let this turn into something more."
Riku didn't look away from Sol. "You're right."
Then he turned to Yumi and offered a short bow. "I'm sorry, Yumi. Let me replace your shoes."
Yumi looked between both men, then nodded politely. "It's okay, Riku. Really."
Riku nodded again, took Mei's hand, and turned to leave.
Sol stared after them, his jaw clenched. Yumi gently pulled him back down into his seat. "It really was an accident, Sol…"
But the fire in Sol's eyes said something deeper. This wasn't just about a plate.
It was about history.
In the dim-lit corner of the elegant restaurant, far from the clashing tension near the center, a couple sat quietly at a private booth. The soft jazz playing overhead contrasted the rising intensity nearby.
Rei Tsukihara, dressed in a sleek black coat, leaned back slightly in his seat, his eyes never leaving the scene with Riku, Mei, Sol, and Yumi.
Across from him sat Misaki Tsukihara, stirring her tea calmly, as if she hadn't noticed anything unusual. But the glint in her eyes said otherwise.
"You're watching again," Misaki said, her voice soft but knowing.
Rei's gaze was still fixed on Sol. "That boy… always lets emotion control him."
"You mean Sol?" Misaki asked, tilting her head.
Rei's fingers lightly drummed the table. "Him. And Riku. They both burn too hot."
"Riku didn't fight back," Misaki pointed out.
Rei's eyes narrowed slightly. "No. But not because he couldn't. Because he didn't want to. There's a difference."
Misaki leaned closer, resting her chin on her hand. "You think it'll escalate?"
Rei finally looked at her, the corner of his lips twitching. "It already has. We're just waiting for the fire to reach the fuse."
He turned back toward the other table, where Sol still sat rigid and Yumi gently tried to soothe him. Mei and Riku were walking toward the exit, Riku's expression unreadable.
Misaki's smile faded. "You're not planning to stop it, are you?"
Rei didn't respond. He just took a sip of his drink.
Because the truth was—he had no intention of stopping anything.
He was here to watch.
To understand.
And when the time came… to move.