Kurogane Sports Agency – Photoshoot Set
The studio lights burned hotter than usual. Kenji flexed his stiff fingers under the glare of the camera flashes, the photographer barking orders like a drill sergeant.
"More intensity, Tachibana! Show us that basketballfire!"
Kenji forced a smirk, twisting his body into another pose—basketball mid-spin, designer watch glinting. The perfect blend of athlete and model.
Then the door clicked open.
"That'senough."
The voice sliced through the studio like shattered glass.
Kenji turned—and his blood turned to ice.
AmiNakamura stood in the doorway, clad in a sleek black pantsuit, her crimson nails tapping against a clipboard. The gold "KuroganeGroup" badge on her lapel gleamed under the lights.
"We're done for today," she announced, flashing the photographer a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
The crew scattered like startled birds.
Kenji's throat tightened. "What are you—"
"Your newsupervisor," Ami purred, stepping closer. "Didn't Kaito tell you? I'm overseeing all your contracts now."
Her perfume—something expensive and floral—clung to the air between them. It was the same scent she'd worn when they'd first met.
Now it smelled like poison.
---
The "Accident"
"Let's discuss your newterms," Ami said, flipping through her clipboard.
Kenji reached for the papers—
CRACK.
Ami "tripped", slamming the clipboard down—directly onto Kenji's outstretched fingers.
Pain exploded through his hand. He bit back a curse, his knuckles already swelling.
"Oops," Ami murmured, not sounding sorry at all. "Clumsy me."
The photographer gasped. "His hand! The Rakuto game is in two days—"
"He'll live," Ami interrupted, her eyes locked on Kenji's. "Won't you, darling?"
Kenji's jaw clenched. This wasn't clumsiness.
This was a message.
You'reminenow.
---
Aftermath – The Warning
The agency medic wrapped Kenji's fingers in tape, muttering about "possible microfractures."
Ami leaned against the wall, sipping champagne. "Such a shame. If only you'd stayed loyal, this wouldn't have happened."
Kenji met her gaze. "You're working for them willingly?"
Ami's smile turned razor-sharp. "I'm using them. Just like they're using you." She set her glass down with a clink. "But here's the difference, Kenji—I enjoy it."
She strode out, leaving behind the scent of flowers and betrayal.
Kenji stared at his bandaged hand.
Two days until Rakuto.
And now he couldn't grip a ball.
---