August 1st, 2026
At Ellie's apartment - 8:45 PM
The soft hum of the elevator stopped with a gentle ding as Ellie Park unlocked the door to her temporary apartment. The building was modern, minimalist, and towered over the quiet side streets of Tokyo.
Ian stood behind her, soaked from the rain, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Ellie - a girl who grew up eating canned beans in a South Carolina orphanage - was now renting a luxurious three-story apartment. It didn't make sense, but he didn't question it.
"Make yourself at home," Ellie said cheerfully, kicking off her sneakers and tossing her umbrella to the side.
Ian stepped inside, blinking at the sleek white walls, polished oak floors, and wide windows offering a panoramic view of the city's glittering skyline. The place felt like a showroom from a lifestyle magazine. She really was doing well.
"You're seriously renting this whole place? For just a few weeks?" Ian asked, still stunned.
Ellie laughed. "Tokyo's been good to me. Sold some paintings. Landed a few rich buyers. You know how it is."
He didn't. Not really. But he nodded anyway.
There was something healing about being around Ellie again. Their connection, unshaken by time or distance, had a warmth that softened the ache in Ian's chest.
After a quick shower and change into the clean clothes Ellie lent him, they decided to relive a piece of their past - their favorite meal from the orphanage: cheesy potato casserole with a hint of spice and a buttered baguette on the side.
The supermarket was bustling, but Ellie took control. She breezed through aisles like a seasoned local, tossing ingredients into the cart with confidence. Ian followed behind, holding the bags like a pack mule. It didn't bother him. He liked feeling useful.
Back at the apartment, they got to work in the spacious, ultramodern kitchen. The moment the butter hit the skillet and garlic started to sizzle, the space filled with the nostalgic scent of their childhood.
"You still cut the potatoes like a maniac," Ellie teased, watching him.
"And you still burn the edges," Ian retorted.
They laughed.
Then Ellie's phone rang.
She answered casually, but the conversation on the other end caught Ian's attention. The voice on the phone was male - soft but firm and the tone between them was intimate. Ian, respectful of boundaries, didn't listen closely, but Ellie's expressions said enough. She was happy.
She hung up and turned back to him.
"That was my boyfriend. He's coming over in a bit," she said, drying her hands.
Ian raised an eyebrow. "Didn't know you had a boyfriend. Is that the 'friend' you mentioned earlier?"
"Guilty as charged," Ellie grinned.
Ian gave a small chuckle. "Why call him just a friend?"
Ellie leaned back against the counter. "Didn't want to drop that on you out of nowhere. Thought it might be… weird."
"I don't get surprised anymore," Ian said quietly. "Back at the orphanage, half the boys had a crush on you anyway."
Ellie tilted her head and smirked. "Including you?"
Ian paused for a moment, then looked away with a wistful smile. "Yeah. But I knew we'd get separated eventually."
Her smile softened. There was something tender and melancholic in the air. She changed the subject to lighten the mood, chatting about her art and recent travels. They laughed, cooked, and clung to the warmth of nostalgia like a soft blanket in the cold.
Meanwhile, across Tokyo, in a completely different world, Ruth Tachibana-Kawasaki stood in the middle of her luxurious penthouse in the heart of the nightlife district.
The atmosphere was stark. Dimly lit, the scent of expensive wine mixed with the curling smoke of her cigarette. One wall of the room was floor-to-ceiling glass, the entire city glittering below her feet. She sat on a leather couch like a queen on a throne, her black nightgown hugging her figure like silk poured over porcelain.
A knock at the door broke the silence.
"Enter," she said coldly.
The door opened, revealing a man barely taller than a child. He wore a tattered hoodie, a cloth mask covering the lower half of his face. His presence was almost ghost-like, silent and efficient. A former ninja, now a loyal tracker.
"Report," Ruth commanded, sipping her wine.
"I followed your man," the tracker said, his voice quiet and sharp. "He was wandering through the eastern district. The rain forced him into shelter. A bus shelter. A woman met him at a bus stop. They went together to a luxurious, three-story apartment."
Ruth's brow arched. "A woman?"
The ninja nodded. "A foreigner. American, judging by the accent."
Something snapped quietly inside Ruth. Her fingers clenched the wine glass with such force, it was a miracle it didn't shatter.
"Anything else?" she asked calmly.
"They seem... close," the ninja said carefully.
Her eyes burned with a silent rage. She stood up, walked slowly to the massive window, her figure silhouetted by the city lights.
"Why is he with another woman?" she whispered. Her voice was void of life. Then colder. "I'm going to kill her."
The ninja remained still, not daring to speak.
Ruth turned to him, her voice a blade. "What's the address?"
He handed her a slip of paper. She read it silently. Memorized it.
Then her expression hardened to something monstrous. Controlled fury danced behind her eyes.
"Now," she said, "get the fuck out of my sight."
The ninja bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the floor, then disappeared without a word.
Ruth took another drag of her cigarette and downed the rest of her wine. The glass finally did crack in her grip, a thin vein of fractured crystal running through it like a warning.
A storm was coming - and Ian was dead center.