The fire was back.
And this time, it was personal.
Setagaya. Tokyo's veins pulsing with late-night neon and secrets.
The rumble of a motorcycle echoed off narrow streets as the crowd instinctively parted.
Drake stepped off the beast like a storm had just kissed the earth.
Tiger-print leather jacket—half zipped.
Faded, loose denim clinging to powerfully built legs.
Army-style boots clicking like gunfire against the pavement.
An expensive pair of sunglasses hugged the sharp lines of his face—despite the moon hanging overhead.
His leather bag swung in rhythm, heavy with more than just clothes.
His eyes—cold, calculating—scanned the entrance of the minimalist hotel he'd booked. Fifth floor. Corner room. Window facing the street. Perfect sniper range.
He didn't smile. He didn't speak.
He just tilted his chin, one hand casually resting near his belt—close to a blade only legends knew existed.
Setagaya didn't know it yet…
But the devil in tiger skin had arrived.
And someone's final breath was counting down.
Setagaya, Tokyo — 2:13 AM
The rain drizzled cold, but the air was electric with vengeance.
Bad Boy swaggered down the alley, a blade tucked in his boot, a pistol under his jacket. He thought he was alone. He always thought he was the hunter.
Until a shadow detached itself from the darkness behind him.
Drake.
Tiger-print leather jacket soaked, combat boots echoing heavy on the wet concrete. The moment his sunglasses came off, those eyes gleamed like a demon returned from hell.
"You know who I am?" Drake's voice was velvet soaked in poison.
Bad Boy turned, tried to smirk, cocky till the last second.
"You're the watchdog Adam sends when he's too scared to get his own hands dirty."
Drake didn't blink.
"No. I'm the reckoning."
Faster than Bad Boy could reach for his weapon, Drake lunged. A brutal, bone-crushing punch landed in Bad Boy's gut, forcing blood from his mouth instantly. He staggered, and Drake used the moment to drag him by his collar deeper into the alley, slamming him against a rusted dumpster.
"You aimed a gun at Snowflake."
Another punch — this time to the jaw. A tooth clattered on the pavement.
"You made her bleed."
Knee to the ribs — three of them cracked audibly.
Bad Boy tried to fight back, pulled a dagger, slashed Drake's cheek.
Drake wiped the blood, smiled.
"Finally. Something real."
And then it began — the real punishment.
Drake dropped the daggers.
He pulled out two brass knuckles, inscribed with the words: "FOR HER" and "TILL DEATH."
He beat Bad Boy until his screams turned to gargles, until his face was a swollen mess, until his knees buckled and he collapsed.
But Drake wasn't done.
He straddled Bad Boy, pulled his special blade — curved like a serpent, carved from obsidian.
"This blade's name is Snowflake," he whispered into Bad Boy's ear, voice almost tender.
"Let her taste your sins."
He carved into the man's abdomen, not to kill — to punish. Shallow slices, blood blooming like red flowers.
One over the heart. One across the spine. One through the tattoo of his gang emblem.
And finally, he leaned close, held Bad Boy's shaking jaw in his gloved hand.
"Adam wanted to burn your empire. I decided to start with your soul."
The last cut was swift — clean across the throat.
Blood spilled like ink into the night, mixing with the rain. The alley stank of iron and justice.
Drake stood up, breathing steady. Lit a cigarette.
"One less ghost haunting her."
He turned and disappeared into the Tokyo mist, leaving only blood, silence, and a name whispered in the dark:
Snowflake.
Lee grinned, phone pressed to his ear, pacing slowly outside the hospital wing.
Drake's voice came through with wicked satisfaction, "He begged like a rat before the last slice. A gift from me… for her."
Lee chuckled, letting the weight of vengeance fade into warmth.
"She's okay now. Woke up, stronger than ever. That girl's got steel in her smile and softness in her soul. She'll be discharged soon."
There was a pause. Then Drake, dramatic as always, said:
"I've hunted traitors, bled beside monsters, and never once lost my heart. And this little Snowflake… this tiny thing… turned Adam—the Cold Prince of Crime—into a stuttering schoolboy?"
Lee burst out laughing.
"You had to see his face when she kissed his cheek. Looked like someone set his soul on fire."
Drake whistled.
"Well, damn. I need to meet her. The girl who melted Adam Smith. I'm booking a ticket. I need to know what kind of witchery she's brewed."
Lee smirked.
"Just don't fall for her yourself, Drake."
"Too late," Drake teased. "I already love her a little—for making Adam human."
Lee grinned, eyes twinkling.
"Then come meet our miracle, brother. But beware—one glare from Adam, and he'll burn your flirtation to ash."
"He can try," Drake said with a laugh. "But he should know… I come bearing chocolates and charm."
They both laughed, two dangerous men softened by one girl's heartbeat. Snowflake. The storm no one saw coming.
The discharge day arrived like a sigh of relief wrapped in sunshine. Snowflake, delicate yet glowing, sat on the hospital bed with her favorite plushie in hand, her soft hoodie slightly oversized, hair tied in a lazy bun. Jaciee fluffed her pillow one last time as Adam entered—eyes only on her, always only her.
Adam had arranged everything with a precision no surgeon could match. Her bedroom at the mansion? Fresh linens, pastel canopies, warm fairy lights, and a bed filled with plushies. He even replaced the drawer knobs with tiny teddy heads because "She deserves a room that smiles at her," he had whispered to Lee.