Time passed.
Three days.
A week.
Two weeks.
And yet, the stranger — Bakuzan — did not seem willing to leave the house.
He slept on the living room couch, silent as a shadow. In truth, he was so discreet that sometimes one would forget he was there. Even Yuhida, naturally wary, found herself thinking he might not be there anymore… until she saw him in the evening, sitting in the gloom, his gaze lost in the void.
Every day, he went out without a word, and came back well after nightfall. Sometimes out of breath, his gaze troubled, other times nervous, as if an invisible battle gnawed him from the inside.
Once, Yuhida even double-locked the door before he left — a simple way to check if he would really go. But the next morning, Bakuzan was there, quietly seated in the living room as if nothing had changed.
She had no idea how he got back in.
And something, in this impossibility, stopped her from speaking about it.
To her gang of robbers, she simply declared that "the stranger had left." She couldn't tell them the truth. Bakuzan was too strange, too unpredictable — perhaps dangerous.
But at the same time, he had never shown hostility.
He asked for nothing: no food, no water, no attention.
All he wanted was a roof. Nothing more.
And despite the dull fear she felt, Yuhida had eventually grown used to it.
Until that night.
She was coming back from a heist that had gone wrong. A bullet had grazed her hand — enough to hurt, not enough to kill. A makeshift bandage wrapped her palm, and the pain throbbed with every heartbeat.
When she entered the living room, she was surprised to see Bakuzan already there. He had come back earlier than usual, sitting on the couch, his head tilted, looking thoughtful.
She made a move to pass by without a word, but his deep voice stopped her:
"Yuhida..."
She stopped, sighed, then threw out with an ironic tone:
"Yes? Mr. Mystic squatter who refuses to leave my house?"
Bakuzan slowly looked up at her. His eyes, usually calm, had a strange intensity, almost unsettling.
"What happened to your hand?"
Surprised, Yuhida lowered her eyes as if seeing the wound for the first time.
"This? Nothing serious, just a work accident."
But before she could pull back her arm, Bakuzan approached. His fingers gently closed over her bandaged hand.
"Can I see it up close?"
His voice was not commanding, but it carried something stronger: a mix of calm and gravity, as if this simple contact held a meaning she did not yet understand.
"Hey, don't hold back or anything!" Yuhida said with a hint of irritation, feeling her cheeks warm as Bakuzan still held her hand.
He didn't answer. With precise motion, he slowly removed the bandage, revealing the still reddish wound.
A slight furrow creased his brow.
"I see..." he murmured in a low voice.
Then, raising his eyes to hers:
"So in your work, you can get hit by rifle bullets?"
Yuhida jumped.
"What?! How do you know it's a bullet?"
Bakuzan didn't answer right away. A strange glow lit his irises — a purple flame, soft yet disturbing. In an instant, a flow of purple mana escaped from his palm, enveloping Yuhida's injured hand.
The young woman recoiled, breathing suddenly faster.
"What are you..."
"Stay calm," he said simply, in a tone so quiet it seemed unreal.
"I don't want to hurt you."
Silence fell.
The purple light pulsed, intensified, then slowly faded, as if absorbed by Yuhida's skin itself.
When she dared to look down, she was shocked:
the wound was gone.
The flesh, once bruised, was smooth again, intact — as if nothing had ever happened.
Yuhida's eyes widened, mouth slightly open.
"What...? How did you do that?!"
Bakuzan remained silent for a moment, eyes evasive, as if the answer didn't matter much.
Finally, he sighed:
"It doesn't matter."
Then, sketching a slight smile:
"Let's just say that since I live under your roof, I feel I must make sure you're okay.
It's my way... of paying the rent."
For a brief instant, their eyes met.
Yuhida felt her heart skip a beat and abruptly turned her head, hiding her confusion behind a sulky expression.
"Tsk... don't think you'll stay here indefinitely, okay!"
she grumbled, pulling her hand back to her chest as if to protect it.
Bakuzan said nothing. He only gave an almost imperceptible smile — one that you guess more than see — before slowly turning his head toward the window, where night was beginning to fall.
Days passed slowly, and despite his distant attitude, Bakuzan had settled into Yuhida's life like a familiar shadow.
The gesture he had made to heal her hand, simple in appearance, continued to haunt her.
She thought back to that strange warmth that passed through her skin, to his calm, almost kindly gaze.
Since then, something had frozen in her mind — a persistent image, a silent unrest.
Even during her missions, amid the noise of weapons and adrenaline, her mind wandered.
She found herself wondering who Bakuzan really was, what he hid behind that impassive facade.
Maybe she should try to know him a little more...
That night, coming home, she felt an unusual impatience stir inside her.
But the house was empty.
Silence. No sign of him.
A slight pinch tightened in her chest.
"What if he had left... for good?"
She gave a nervous laugh, trying to chase the thought away.
"That would still be pretty rude," she murmured to herself,
"to slip away without even saying thank you."
She shook her head, put on comfortable clothes, and hurried under the shower.
Warm water ran over her skin but could not soothe the strange feeling of emptiness.
When she got out, she started cooking automatically — a simple, warm, somewhat improvised dish.
But without realizing it, she made enough for two.
When she noticed, she sighed softly.
"Tsk… what an idiot."
She placed the two plates on the table, then settled on the couch, the same spot where Bakuzan often slept, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the door.
She waited.
Over and over.
Minutes turned into hours.
Fatigue finally overcame her.
Her gaze slowly faded in the dim light of the room, and she fell asleep there, lulled by the memory of Bakuzan's calm tone.
In the morning, a light chill made her shiver.
She opened her eyes slowly — and noticed that a blanket had been laid over her.
Her heart tightened.
"He's back…"
She looked around.
The couch was empty.
No trace of him, except the blanket neatly folded over her shoulders.
A mixture of relief and disappointment overwhelmed her.
"Why didn't you wake me, idiot..."
she breathed in a barely audible whisper.
She stayed there a moment, eyes lost in the void,
thinking of that man as elusive as a shadow,
and wondered, sincerely for the first time,
if she hadn't started to become attached to him.
The sun was setting slowly on the dusty roads crossing the old Kanmura district.
Another evening, another heist.
Yuhida adjusted her jacket, glanced at the truck approaching in the distance, and let herself fall on the roadside, simulating fatigue and pain as she knew so well how to do.
"It's your moment, kid," Juty said through the walkie-talkie held between his fingers.
"Yeah, I know," she replied wearily.
The truck stopped a few meters from her. Two men got out, worried.
One knelt down:
"Hey, miss! Are you alright?"
She slowly raised her eyes to him, gave a shy smile...
"Oh… me? Nothing serious."
A second later, the forest echoed a sharp sound: clack-clack!
The thieves burst from the bushes, weapons raised, masks lowered.
Cries erupted, hands rose, blows rained down.
In minutes, the load was under their control. TVs, jewelry, sealed crates — fortune carried in their arms.
When it was all over, Juty's men laughed, slapping each other on the back.
"To the good life!"
"Tonight, we buy drinks!"
But Yuhida stayed back.
Sitting on the truck's step, eyes lost in the void, she stared at the red sky of dusk.
She no longer really heard the laughs or jokes.
Her mind was elsewhere… where it should not be.
On Bakuzan.
It had already been several weeks since he hadn't come back to her place. No trace, no word.
Was he even still alive?
Juty noticed her for a moment, frowned, but said nothing. He just thought she was tired.