“Everyone’s doing it,” he replied, unfazed. “It’s the best way to carry our fruits and vegetables.”
He tucked the items into my uniform one by one before placing my left hand on a pineapple. “Grab. I’ll take the knife with my other hand.”
Just then, someone barreled into us hard. The clink of metal hitting the floor echoed loudly.
“Watch it, assholes!” Jiro barked, frustration creeping into his voice. “We need to get down. Our knife fell under the table.”
Awkwardly, we bent down together and scrambled to recover the knife, the produce in my uniform moving further down around my belly and the sides of my waist. When we stood and returned to the table, I was sure we were the last to start.
“Talk to me, Jiro,” I said, trembling. “What’s everyone else doing?”
“They’re moving slow and being overly cautious,” he said.
Suddenly, a sharp tug at my uniform caught me off guard. My lapels were yanked open, and the contents spilled onto the table with a dull thud. Heat rushed to my face as I realized my chest was exposed to anyone not blindfolded. Jiro reached inside, his hands fumbling near my hips. Before I could fully process the moment, he was done, and my uniform was closed again.
“Grab,” he commanded, guiding my right hand toward something cool and rough. I closed my fingers around it—dragon fruit. He moved my hand over to the handle of the knife, and I picked it up.
“Remember, let me guide. Don’t try to fight my movements, okay?”
Jiro started slow and precise, the sound of slicing filling the air.
Then a sharp cracking noise rang out, followed by a blood-curdling scream, shattering my focus. “What’s happening?” I whispered.
“It’s Iron Face,” Jiro said. “He’s using a whip on anyone moving too slow.”
The crack exploded again, closer this time, followed by a gut-wrenching cry. My grip tightened instinctively. “Shit,” Jiro muttered under his breath. “There’s blood. The whip…”
“Hurry!” Iron Face’s voice boomed over the chaos. “Time is running out!”
My arms stiffened, my hands tense as I fought against Jiro’s movements.
“I need you to relax, Akiko,” Jiro said, his voice calm and steady. “Don’t fight me.”
“But the whip…”
“Let me worry about that. You just focus on being the best puppet possible.”
I swallowed hard and forced myself to comply, relaxing my shoulders and letting him guide my right hand. His precision felt sharp, deliberate, though I couldn’t see it. All I could do was trust him and pray he didn’t make a mistake.
Another crack, another scream. My pulse pounded in my ears. “That’s one design done,” Jiro said.
“How does it look?” I asked.
“Good enough,” he replied.
Before I could respond, the whip cracked again, this time so close it sent a sharp, stinging pain shooting through my ear. Jiro let out a guttural yell, his body jerking against mine.
“Jiro! Are you okay? Can you keep going?” Panic laced my voice. The thought of him incapacitated sent a fresh wave of fear through me.
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice strained. “Grab.”
I obeyed, reaching out blindly just as a sound—an inhuman cry—froze me in place. It was followed by “My hand! My hand!”
“What’s happening?” I asked, unable to control the fear in my voice.
“Someone’s hurt,” Jiro said in a lowered voice. “Badly.”
The chaos around me grew louder. Screams. Shouts. The clatter of something falling. “You did it on purpose!” someone yelled, followed by a panicked cry: “Oh my God! His neck! His neck!”
