The crowd answered for him. The chant rose, shaking the stands:
“Flamebound! Flamebound! Flamebound!”
I sat frozen, my heart pounding. What did that mean? Was it just theater, a story crafted to whip the audience into a frenzy, or was it real?
I searched for Ginji, desperate for a clue, but his focus was on the crowd, his face gleaming with triumph.
Spotlights snapped on again. A line of Chopmen stood revealed, each one pounding a massive taiko drum. The thunder rolled through the arena, the rhythm rising, heavy and relentless.
Another spotlight flared, revealing Akiko struggling against the Chopmen as they gripped her arms, all an act. It was surreal to see this playing out. Surely Akiko was being forced to play along for the crowd’s entertainment. I watched the Chopmen drag her across the arena, pushing and pulling in perfect choreography. They presented her to a single Chopman waiting at center stage. He was holding a large chain, which he then clamped dramatically around her wrist, like she was now his property.
Ginji continued his narration. “Destiny is cruel. Even the brightest flame can be claimed by another. One more powerful. One who would take darling Chisana Itamae as his own.”
The crowd roared. Some cried out, others gasped, at the ugly twist.
Another spotlight blazed alive, revealing Jiro surrounded by Chopmen. Their movements were dance-like as they feigned striking him, blows landing in rhythm. Jiro staggered, fell, then went limp.
They lifted him to his feet and dragged him toward another circle of light, where a barred “cell” waited—a stage-prop prison made from a row of iron bars.
Two costumed men with masks stood inside. I recognized them instantly from last night’s Soemono—they had been competing beside Akiko to save Jiro from the attacks. The tall one had ended up killing nearly all their opponents.
The Chopmen threw Jiro into the cell. He rushed to grip the bars.
Ginji continued above the beating drums. “But can true love endure? Can the Black Shield fight against fate itself and set himself free? Can he shatter the chains of power and save his little sushi chef from an unwanted bond?”
The drumming quickened, pounding inside my chest. The crowd rose to its feet, swept up by Ginji’s storytelling. “Flamebound,” they screamed.
I glanced over at Ginji. The expression on his face told me everything. This wasn’t entertainment or theater. He was making a point.
And I had a feeling it was leading to something terrible. Something very real.
68
Jiro
I stayed pressed against the fake bars, arm outstretched as Naomi had instructed, until the spotlight cut out. When it did, I turned to Kai and Sora, dropping the act.
“Are we still in agreement?”
“I’m still in,” Kai said. “You were right, Jiro. Everyone’s guard is down.”
Sora’s eyes tracked the old man at center stage. “So long as I can have Haru to myself, I’ll do whatever you ask.”
I followed his gaze. Akiko was still on her knees beside Haru, begging for mercy as he threw his head back and laughed, milking the crowd.
It had all started earlier, when Naomi and her husband arrived in the staging area. She announced that Soemono and the Blade challenge were canceled for the night, replaced with a special Flamebound performance. The moment she said it, I knew fate had finally cracked the door open for us.
Akiko and I, Kai and Sora, the other Blades—even the Chopmen—we were all to be folded into a grand theatrical spectacle for the crowd. As Naomi laid out the details, I had to hide my excitement. Every word she spoke gave me hope.
They were so caught up in the spectacle, they didn’t notice the danger. To them we weren’t prisoners—we were props, employees, a means to an end.
Their tunnel vision was obvious; they saw only profit and missed how easily this could unravel. I couldn’t believe Ginji had agreed.
Then Naomi had gathered the Handles and ran through the performance. I’d recruited Kai and Sora to join Akiko and me.
When Naomi described the bit where I ended up in the pretend jail with Kai and Sora, I knew what to do. Three men with surprise can do a lot—Sora had fighting experience, and most Chopmen were cast as actors, focused on hitting marks. Their “weapons” were props.
Akiko worried it could backfire; I told her it was the perfect opening. With the show thrown together at the last minute and everyone fixated on choreography, no one would watch us closely. If we jumped first, we’d thin the Chopmen fast, slip into the crowd, and head for the docks.
