28Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEZWmXbdoDHThe morning sun caught the brilliant crimson of Hanabi’s lips as she walked down the avenue. With a casual grace, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The movement made her dangling earrings jingle, a soft, musical sound against the background hum of the city.
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She moved effortlessly through the morning crowd toward her favorite coffee shop. A few familiar faces called out greetings as she passed. She gave them a polite nod and a warm smile, her thumb tapping out a quick text on her phone before she slipped it into her pocket and pushed open the glass doors.
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The cafe was warm, smelling of roasted beans and sweet pastries. Hanabi ordered her usual coffee and walked over to an empty table.
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As she sat, her eyes instinctively drifted across the room. Four girls sat at a opposing table, huddled tightly over their drinks. They were giggling and whispering, their eyes constantly darting toward Hanabi before looking away. They thought they were being subtle, but Hanabi caught them with a sharp side-eye.
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She let out a quiet sigh and turned her back to them.
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The petty gossip brought back an old, familiar sting. Growing up, bad luck had clung to her like a shadow. It was always one disaster after another, until she turned fifteen. That was the year a middle-aged woman had stopped her on the street and handed her a good-luck bracelet.
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Since that day, Hanabi had fought tooth and nail. It hadn't been easy—she had struggled, starved, and sacrificed—but she had finally done it. She had built her own business. A modest, beautiful little spa plaza.
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Hanabi smiled to herself, visualizing the front of her shop, remembering the proud sigh that escaped her lips every time she stood outside and looked up at her own name on the sign.
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Clink.
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The sound of her coffee mug hitting the table pulled her out of the flashback. She picked up the cup, took a sip, and reached for her phone again.
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Suddenly, the screen lit up. An incoming call.
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She swiped to answer. "Hello?"
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"Hanabi! Thank god you picked up!" The voice on the line was frantic, breathless with pure terror. "There's been an accident! A massive truck just lost control—it crashed right into the spa!"
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Hanabi froze, her breath catching in her throat.
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"The appliances are exploding, Hanabi! Half the plaza just collapsed to the ground... oh god, the whole place is on fire! Some of the customers are still inside, they’re severely injured—"
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Hanabi stood up so fast her knees slammed into the table. The phone stayed pressed to her ear, but her mind went completely numb. The call disconnected.
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The ceramic mug slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor and splattering hot coffee across the tile.
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She didn't care. She turned and ran.
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She tried to keep her composure, moving in a breathless, panicking hurry past the table of gossiping girls. They stared at her, wide-eyed, immediately nudging each other as if wondering what kind of disaster had struck Hanabi’s life this time.
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"Hey! Miss! What about the bill?" one of the cafe workers shouted, his voice echoing across the room just as Hanabi reached the exit.
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Without even looking back, Hanabi shoved her hand into her purse, ripped out a fistful of cash, and threw it blindly over her shoulder. The bills fluttered through the air, scattering across the floor by the door as she burst out into the street.
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She sprinted toward her car, her hands shaking so violently she could barely press the unlock button.
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"Hanabi? Is everything alright?" a neighbor called out from across the street, noticing her frantic pacing.
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"Yeah!" she lied through her teeth, her voice cracking.
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She yanked the car door open, threw herself into the driver's seat, and slammed it shut with a heavy thud. She twisted the key, threw the car into drive, and slammed her foot onto the accelerator.
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She drove like a maniac, weaving through lanes in a way she never normally would. But the universe was playing a sick joke. Just as she approached the main intersection, the traffic light turned a bright, mocking red.
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"Damn it! No, no, no!"
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She slammed on the brakes, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. She tapped her fingers furiously against the leather, her mind racing. Every single dollar she had saved, every sleepless night, every sacrifice she made to build that spa flashed before her eyes. It couldn't all be gone. It couldn't be.
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The light shifted to green.
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Hanabi stomped on the gas with pure rage, the tires screeching as the car shot forward. She drove recklessly, cutting off corners. Angry horns blared behind her, and passing drivers shouted curses out their windows, but she didn't hear any of it.
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Then, the engine sputtered.
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The dashboard lights flickered and died. The accelerator went completely dead under her foot.
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Hanabi’s mouth opened wide in sheer disbelief. "Are you serious right now?!"
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She stomped on the pedal again and again, hitting it with furious force, but the car just coasted to a pathetic stop at the side of the road.
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Desperate, she threw the door open and hopped out. Her only choice now was the bus.
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She scanned the asphalt, but the road was completely empty of public transit—just a steady stream of private cars zooming past. Hanabi stood at the curb, throwing her thumb out, but the drivers didn't even tap their brakes.
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Wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead, she crossed to the opposite side of the road to try a different angle. She tossed her hair back, putting one hand on her waist and stretching her other arm out with her thumb up—forcing herself to look like a stunning, confident model just to get someone, anyone, to pull over.
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Car after car passed her by.
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"Get off the road!" a guy yelled at her in Japanese as his sports car sped past.
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"Screw you!" Hanabi screamed back in furious Japanese, her temper completely snapping.
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Exhausted, her heels aching, she resolved to just run the rest of the way to the spa. But just as all hope felt lost, she heard the heavy rumble of an engine behind her. She glanced back. A public bus was moving down the street, traveling unusually slow.
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"Wait! Stop!"
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Hanabi turned and ran after it, waving her arms wildly. "Please, stop the bus!"
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Through the large glass windshield, she caught sight of the driver. He looked incredibly stiff, his face pale and nervous. As Hanabi ran alongside the vehicle, the driver’s head slowly, stiffly tilted forward, acknowledging her—but instead of braking, his foot hit the gas. The bus suddenly sped up, leaving her behind in a cloud of exhaust.
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Hanabi stopped in the middle of the road, dropping her hands to her knees as she gasped for air. Tears of frustration pricked her eyes. She was right on the verge of a total emotional breakdown.
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But then, the screech of heavy brakes echoed.
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She snapped her head up. The bus had stopped about twenty yards ahead. The folding doors hissed open, and a lone hand reached out, gesturing urgently for her to hurry up and get on.
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A wave of pure relief washed over her. "Thank God," she whispered, forcing her tired legs to sprint forward.
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She clambered up the steps of the bus, immediately fumbling with her purse to find her wallet. "Thank you so much for stopping, I really—"
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The words died in her throat.
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Hanabi took a involuntary step backward, the cash freezing in her trembling fingers.
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Sitting in the driver's seat was a man dressed entirely in tactical black, his face obscured by a dark mask. And pressed firmly against the side of the trembling driver’s temple was the cold, matte-black barrel of a handgun.
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Hanabi’s heart stopped.
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She slowly turned her head toward the back of the bus. The entire cabin was suffocating in a thick, terrifying silence. Passengers were huddled in their seats, paralyzed with fear. Some were weeping silently, hands clamped over their mouths to stifle their sobs.
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And then she saw the dark stains. Crimson blood splattered across the vinyl seats, and the lifeless forms of both adults and children slumped awkwardly in the aisle.
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Six more men in black masks stood positioned throughout the bus. Six more guns pointed directly at the heads of the remaining passengers.
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A tidal wave of thoughts crashed into Hanabi's brain all at once—the fire, the car, the bus, the blood—overloading her system. The world tilted violently. Her knees gave out, and before her body even hit the blood-stained floor, darkness took her. Hanabi woke to the sound of a faint, muffled voice.
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Her head throbbed. She tried to look around, but everything was pitch black. Her breathing became shallow and fast as she realized her head was trapped inside a heavy, coarse sackcloth.
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Suddenly, a rough hand tapped her leg. Hanabi flinched back instantly, scrambling blindly against the floor.
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"Get up!" a harsh voice ordered, yanking her to her feet by her bound arms.
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Alongside the trembling remnants of the bus passengers, Hanabi was marched forward into the unknown. With her head forced down in sober despair, she could see nothing but the dirt beneath her feet, but the shifting sounds told her everything. They were entering a building. The heavy stomp of combat boots echoed off concrete, and a gruff voice welcomed the team back from the bus, answered by a chorus of rough, unfamiliar laughter. The gang was much larger than she thought.
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The captives were brutally split up. Hanabi was shoved through a heavy metal door into a gloomy, windowless room illuminated only by the harsh glare of two bare bulbs. Three other passengers were thrown in alongside her.
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Through the thick walls, the distant, muffled wailing of other captives echoed, followed by the sharp, terrifying crack of a gunshot. Hanabi’s heart skipped an erratic beat. She was shoved roughly into a wooden chair, and a coarse rope was bound tightly around her wrists behind her back.
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With a violent tug, the mask was ripped from her head.
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The sudden light blinded her for a second. As her eyes adjusted, the first thing she saw was a kidnapper standing a few paces away, casually cradling an AK-47.
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She looked to her left. Two terrified passengers from the bus sat shivering in their chairs.
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She looked to her right. Sitting next to her was a young man, his posture remarkably straight despite the ropes binding his wrists.
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Hanabi dropped her gaze back to the floor. Her mind went completely blank, her eyes reflecting nothing but pure, unadulterated hopelessness. Beside her, the young man’s eyes lingered on her for a beat, taking in her defeated posture, before he looked back toward the front of the room.
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Four kidnappers guarded the space, their presence suffocating.
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Knock-knock.
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A sharp rattle shook the metal door. The guard standing closest to the frame leaned his ear against the cold steel.
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"We need two," a muffled voice muttered from the hallway.
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Without a single moment's hesitation, the guard turned, raised his weapon, and fired.
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Bang! Bang!
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The deafening blasts echoed in the small room. Hanabi gasped, screaming into her choked throat as the two passengers to her left slumped over. She trembled violently, hot tears spilling down her cheeks as she watched the guard casually drag the bleeding bodies across the concrete floor, leaving a sickening, bright red trail behind them.
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Beside her, the man’s gaze merely shifted to the crimson streaks on the floor. His breathing remained perfectly, terrifyingly steady.
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The shooter exited with the bodies, and another guard stepped into the room to lock the door behind him. Three kidnappers left. Two hostages remaining.
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One of the guards stepped toward Hanabi, his boots clicking against the concrete. She dared not look up, burying her chin in her chest.
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Tap... Tap... Tap.
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A low, rhythmic sound echoed in the silence. The man beside her was slowly tapping his left foot.
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"Calm down, miss," the kidnapper mocked, leaning down to peer into Hanabi's shivering frame. "We only needed two to fetch us a good ransom. But don't worry, your turn will come soon enough."
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He barked out a cruel, booming laugh. The other two guards joined in, their obnoxious jeers filling the room. One of them reached out, roughly shoving Hanabi’s head sideways. Hanabi squeezed her eyes shut, her face darkening with pure misery as their laughter grew louder and more menacing.
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Tap.. Tap.. Tap. The foot tapping beside her sped up.
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"That's enough."
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The voice cut through the laughter like a blade. It was loud, bold, and dripping with absolute annoyance.
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The kidnappers' laughter died instantly. A heavy, shocked silence blanketed the room.
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Hanabi’s eyes tracked up in slow disbelief. She looked past his chest, up to his face. He was a young Black man with rich, chocolate skin. He looked incredibly cool, entirely composed, taking a slow, deep breath as if he were simply waiting in line at a grocery store rather than staring down the barrels of three automatic rifles.
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Who... who is this guy? Hanabi thought, a sudden, unexpected spark of wonder igniting through her terror.
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"I am sick and tired of the three of you laughing and making damn noise," the man said, his voice deadly calm.
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The kidnappers exchanged bewildered, angry looks, utterly baffled by his nerve.
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"I have a lot on my mind right now, and I’m trying to think things through," he continued, turning his sharp gaze directly onto the lead guard. "But you idiots won't shut up. Standing there bullying a terrified girl like a bunch of schoolyard children... it's pathetic.
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Do yourselves a favor: shut your mouths and keep quiet." The room remained in silence as the man sighed with relief.28Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5Ncw2W11S5
and then Add to home screen.