Junko turned the key over in her hand, inspecting it. It looked and worked like a normal key - she knew because she had tried it on the door and it had unlocked - but she was still half-expecting it to blow up in her face.

She looked at Tommy, who was still blissfully asleep on the couch. Either he had set out the key as a trap or he was much dumber than she had originally thought. Since nothing had happened when she took the key and unlocked the door, she decided it was the latter.

Sighing, she set it down on the table, next to the empty bowl and spoon. She felt a lot better now that her stomach was filled with hot soup, but a full belly and a currently-harmless man meant that her present was taken care of, so there was little stopping her mind from slipping into the past.

Junko stayed still, eyes on the ground, as she replayed Hyata's death over and over in her head. All the details were there - the tension in the air, the way she'd just completely... lost it when she felt his hand on her cheek, the blinding anger and the almost-satisfied thrill that ran through her as she saw the horror in his eyes and she drove the blade into his chest-

Her thoughts stopped. She drew in a slow, shaky breath. No. No, no, no. Wait, no. This wasn't right. She was supposed to feel... What was she supposed to feel? Guilty? Remorseful?

She slowly stood up - the movement made less painful by the ointment and warm muscles - and began pacing the room. Her knuckles were pale as she wrung her hands nervously. This wasn't normal. She was supposed to feel deeply ashamed that Hyata was dead. And yet... she wasn't. There was a tinge of the feeling there, but it was towards the long years between her parents' deaths and his - not about her taking a human life.

"Shit," she muttered. This was it. She was starting to lose her mind. No normal person should feel pleased that they'd killed someone. No sane person.

She walked over to the bed and sat down on it, hardly feeling the cool covers. Emotions mixed and stirred in her stomach, resurfacing at different times. Anger, satisfaction, fear, childish stubbornness, then back to anger. She felt conflicted; she knew her parents would highly disapprove of her actions. But dammit - after countless nights of lying awake in bed, barely holding back tears as she bitterly cursed Hyata over and over again, it had felt... beyond cathartic to grip the handle of the blade that took his life.

Her heart pounded as she stared at her hands, lost in her own thoughts. Did this mean she was incapable of feeling empathy, just like psychopaths? No, that wasn't true. A bit of her was still reeling from the shock of having taken a life, but the rest were jumbles of extreme satisfaction and grief over her parents - fresh and brought to the front of her mind by the recent events.

Junko bit her bottom lip, a lump forming in her throat. No. She was not going to cry. She wasn't fifteen anymore. Inhaling slowly, she willed the strong emotions away. Her parents would want her to move on with life, even without them.

But she'd be lying if she claimed it didn't tear at her chest to think of them.

"Tissue?"

She almost jumped out of her skin. As a response, her side gave in to a fresh wave of pain and she almost cried out. Tommy was - obviously - awake, and was offering her a box of tissues.

Tommy blinked. "I'm sorry. Did I scare you?"

"N-no." Hell yes, he did.

"If you say so." He shrugged before placing the box on the bed a few inches away from her. With a small sigh, he lay down on the couch again, but stared up at the ceiling instead of going back to sleep. Maybe he had never been asleep. Nobody looked that alert seconds after waking up.

Her eyes fell on the small scar on his cheek. Right. If he had a dangerous job or past, he probably had to wake up quickly.

"You're trying to place me," he said after a few minutes of silence.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Did you forget already? My name is Tommy."

"I know that."

"Then why do you ask?"

"Have we met before?"

"Why do you want to know?"

One of Junko's fingers twitched. "Stop answering my questions with more questions. I want to know why you saved me."

He had a small grin on. She briefly felt her blood go hot. Did he think this was some kind of a game? That she was here simply to chat? "Imagine the events of last night through my eyes. A woman dressed in rags runs in front of my motorcycle, followed by a mob of men. What would you do, if you were me?"

Junko lifted her head, not looking away from his gaze. "I would call the police."

"What if you knew the woman would be dead by the time the police arrived and you knew you were a capable fighter? Wouldn't you help the woman?"

Junko blinked. Had he just implied that she was incapable of taking care of herself? Rude. "I... suppose," she admitted. "But that doesn't give you permission to take her to a house and lock her in. You could've taken her to a hospital."

"I don't think taking a murderer to a hospital is going to increase her chance of evading arrest."

Junko froze. Her throat seized up. "H-how-"

"Your assassination and escape attempt wasn't exactly stealthy. I simply followed the trail of silk and blood back to a yakuza stronghold today." He sat up. Good grief, how could he look so calm in front of her? "Hyata Ryuji, huh? What did he do to you? Or are you going to make me guess?"

She stared back at him. "Guess."

"He did something to your parents," he answered without hesitation.

"How did you-"

"You were muttering about a 'mother' and 'father' under your breath while we were walking."

Her cheeks flushed. Was she really that loud? She could've sworn she had been barely audible.

Swallowing, she answered, "He killed them."

"Ah. A vendetta, then."

"No. This was not planned."

Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Is that really true, or are you lying to yourself?"

"I had no intention of killing him."

"But I'm willing to bet you've thought of doing so more than once."

That made her pause. That part was true. She'd long since lost count of the number of ways she could make Hyata suffer if he ever was at her mercy. "Who wouldn't?" she whispered. "It was not yet their time to go. He deserved it."

He nodded. "I understand."

She was this close to snapping at him. How could he ever hope to understand what she was going through? He wasn't a mind-reader. There was no way he could imagine what life was like so far for her. But she kept her mouth shut. Provoking him was not in her best interest, however tempting it was at the moment.

"By the way, what's your name?"

She briefly considered giving him a false name. There was no telling what someone like him could find out about her if she gave him her name. Then again, he didn't need to know her family name, so she supposed just her first name was okay.

"Junko," she finally responded.

He nodded. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Junko."

She bowed her head. "Likewise."

Funny how they were 'acquaintances' but they stayed in the same room. Her geisha oneesan would throw a fit if she ever heard that young, unmarried Junko was staying under the same roof with an older, possibly-married man. Had she still been a geisha, this would have crushed her reputation.

Junko stared at the bedsheets. Of course - she couldn't be a geisha anymore. Geisha weren't murderers; they were soft, flowing works of art. Art that Junko herself had admired for a long time until she became one. At first, it was wonderful. Praises were showered on her about her dance, her beauty, and her charm.

She'd thoroughly enjoyed it... until she realized the empty praises and exclamations were just that - empty. Her job became quite... dull. It was one night entertaining rich old guys, then another night doing the exact same thing to a new group of men. It was repetitive and boring, but it was always, always about the clients. At one point, Junko had seriously wondered if she was becoming no more than a pretty, rentable slave.

In a way, she supposed, she was glad that she wasn't a geisha anymore. She'd grown to dislike entertaining people. No more smiling flirtatiously at a man so old he could practically be her grandfather. No more polite nods and words of agreement to narcissistic clients she wanted to punch in the face.

But if she wasn't entertaining as a geisha, what else could she do?

"What now?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"I don't know. You tell me." Tommy was boiling water at the stove.

"Are you going to turn me in to the police?"

"No. If I was going to, I would have already done so." He opened one of the cabinets and took out a can of tea leaves.

"You could always change your mind," she said sourly. "Nobody sane would stay in a room with a killer for company."

He turned his head to look at her, and... was he smiling? "Guess that makes us both insane, then."

It took way too long for Junko to realize what he meant. When she did, her displeased face quickly turned into a classic 'oh-shit' expression. "You've killed people."

"Yes."

Junko went silent, trying to remember the fight last night. She remembered seeing a blur dash between yakuza, knocking them out seemingly without physical contact. That was... that was Tommy. He was the shadowy figure she saw take out the yakuza effortlessly. No man could do that; those were some of Hyata's best guards!

"What are you?" she breathed.

He carefully measured out some tea leaves and added them to the teapot along with the hot water. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me. I'm sure I've heard worse."

Tommy took out two teacups from the cupboard and set them down on the small table. "I'm a ninja," he said casually, as if he was reporting the weather instead of his occupation.

Junko blinked. "... Huh?"

"Ninja. Shinobi. Shadow warriors. Whatever it is the general public calls us nowadays."

"... You're joking." She leaned away a little. "They disappeared centuries ago."

"Disappearing is what ninja do best." He glanced at a small, wall-mounted clock. "You still hungry? I bought noodles."

"I- no, thank you." She shook her head. "Look - I know you're a good fighter; I saw what you did last night. But ninja? No, that's... that's too far-fetched."

"Suit yourself." Tommy shrugged as he opened and closed cupboards and cabinet drawers in search for ingredients. "More noodles for me."

She glared at the back of his head. "Aren't you going to say something in response about your job?"

"I just did: 'Suit yourself.'"

"... I just basically said you were lying to me and your response is simply 'suit yourself?'"

"I told you you wouldn't believe me." He poured her a cup of tea. "It's not like I go around announcing that I'm a ninja then doing a backflip whenever somebody shouts, 'Prove it!' If you don't believe me, fine. If you do believe me, then you're either too-easily convinced or someone who has seen a ninja before."

She stared at the cup of tea, watching the steam curl upwards from it. It made sense, she supposed. He had nothing to lose by telling her his job if she didn't believe him. But did she believe him? Despite the ridiculousness of claiming to be a ninja, he had shown that he was an excellent fighter. Some kind of martial artist, for sure. But the ninja thing was a joke… right?

There was something else, though... something that happened after the fight. "... Wait."

"Hm?" Tommy didn't look away from the pot of boiling water.

"Last night, when you took the... the objects from the jacket I was wearing." She looked up at him. "I... I could've sworn I saw a shuriken."

He looked at her over his shoulder. "So?"

"Do you still have it?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"May I see it?"

He turned around. Was that an actual smile on his face? "Certainly."

Junko watched in half-shock as he produced a shuriken out of nowhere and spun it mesmerizingly before holding it out to her. Eyes wide with interest, she carefully took it.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, turning it over in her hand as she inspected the blades and design.

"That one actually has dull edges." He sipped at his tea, amused by her fascination. "You may keep that one. If you'd like, I can teach you how to properly sharpen it after dinner."

The look she gave him strongly reminded him of Billy that one time his mother gave him a Snickers bar. "You mean it?" Her voice was higher than usual.

"Of course. After dinner - mind you - so don't get so excited yet."

Her expression fell for a moment, but she perked back up a little. "Tommy?"

"Hm?"

"May I also have some noodles?"