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“Kaji Ryouji,” growled the man with the pistol. “What makes you think you’re going to leave our meeting alive?”
“The same thing as last time – you can’t bring yourself to kill a real-life bishounen.”
The man literally snarled: a gurning, guttural expression of anger that Ryouji didn’t know humans could produce in real life, and it suddenly hit Ryouji that he could have pulled the trigger if he wanted.
His heart started racing as he processed the surreal set of circumstances. He had made a casual joke which could have given this hot-blooded, thin-patienced heavy the green light to end his life, and he had done so almost automatically.
Adrenaline surged through the veins of this man who didn’t fear death, because there was something chilling about his new perspective. He had turned his own life into a game of Russian roulette; and here, now, every action, every breath, every second felt like a silent pull of the trigger.
He would never have imagined that this would bother him.
Do cats count their nine lives?
“Why did you come to Fuyutsuki’s aid?”
Should a cat be careful with its ninth life?
Ryouji wasn’t used to speechlessness. It felt like ice.