Kenji sprawled on the worn leather of the sofa, mindlessly scrolling through the endless stream on his phone, yet his thoughts were consumed by something else entirely. With a frustrated sigh, he tossed the device aside and reached for a pack of cigarettes, the crumpled box a familiar comfort. The first drag sent a wave of relief through his tense muscles. He closed his eyes, and the image of her immediately flooded his vision.

Kenji could still vividly recall that day, now a blurry montage of violence. Another skirmish with the Kitsune – nothing new: the sting of fresh wounds, the sickening crack of bone, the throbbing ache in his knuckles. But then, everything had shifted, sharpened into a focal point with the sudden appearance of the girl. He'd been frozen, practically rooted to the spot, momentarily stunned, allowing several blows to land unopposed. No women were ever involved in the gang fights, it was almost a law, so where had she even come from? And, more strangely, how she fought...it was hypnotic, almost mesmerizing. It wasn't just beating down random thugs; it was like a deadly, breathtaking dance. But just as quickly as she'd appeared, she vanished, leaving him to wonder if the whole thing had been a hallucination. Since then, her image had haunted him, no one else had embedded themselves in his brain so deeply as she had done.

In the corner of the room, Kato sat hunched over a laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he was doing some shady things. Suddenly, the door slammed open, and Hiroki burst into the room, nearly sending a nearby table crashing to the floor.

"Boss!" he exclaimed, a sense of urgency radiating off of him in waves. Kenji's eyes narrowed, his body tensing as he fixed his gaze on his ever reliable right-hand man.

The day of the performance arrived, draping Tokyo in a blanket of neon lights and hushed anticipation. Kenji arrived at the designated location, a traditional geisha house tucked away in a narrow alleyway. He looked utterly out of place, a brooding figure in dark clothing amidst the silk kimonos and delicate lanterns.

He took a seat in the back row, melting into the shadows, and watched as the stage was prepared. Then, she appeared. Kenji's heart leaped, a rogue acrobat performing a chaotic somersault in his chest before settling back down with a heavy thud. He gripped the arms of his chair, fighting the impulse to jump onto the stage and steal her away right then and there. But he was a gentleman, wasn't he? He repeated it in his head in reassurance.

He watched, spellbound, as the geisha danced, her movements graceful and powerful, a captivating blend of elegance and hidden strength. When the performance ended, he swiftly rose to his feet, ignoring the curious stares of the other patrons and the geishas who lingered near the stage.

He found himself holding a bouquet of white lilies. Where had they come from? He didn't even remember buying them. Without a moment's hesitation, he strode towards her, extending the flowers to her. As she reached for them, her fingers brushing against his, he seized her hand and pulled her close, his grip firm but not bruising. Before she could react, he scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder in a swift, practiced motion.

Ignoring the gasps of surprise and outrage, he strode towards the exit, his jaw set, determined. He wasn't letting her go, not after weeks of obsessive thoughts and countless sleepless nights with her face burned behind his eyelids.

As he pushed through the door and into the cool night air, he spoke, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against her back.

"I've stolen you, little butterfly."