Miki was our weak link—we couldn’t reach her or Masaki before the show.
“If I have to climb into the viewing box to get to Miki, I will,” Sora told Akiko. “I don’t care how many people I have to cut down. We won’t leave without her.”
I placed a hand on Sora’s shoulder. “We don’t have much time before we’re back on. You have it?” I asked.
He produced knives for each of us, grinning. “I slit the necks of those Chopmen with ease. We left their bodies in one of the jail cells.”
“Yeah, no one blinked when we walked into the staging area without our escort,” Kai added. “Everyone was too crazed getting ready for the show.”
“Good. We’re locked in now—no turning back. Not with two dead Chopmen in a cell.”
Kai and Sora started digging shallow holes in the dirt to hide their prop weapons. I didn’t need to—the Chopmen had already stripped the shield blades off my arms.
As those two dug, I walked myself through the next part of the plan. The story went that we’d break out of this jail and fight our way across the arena to Akiko. The Chopmen were supposed to go down in defeat, one after another, their falls timed for the crowd’s cheers. Only this time the falls would be real. When they hit the ground, they’d stay down.
Finally I’d take down Haru, the last Chopman, and then rescue Akiko, reclaiming my true love like the story demanded. Naomi had been clear: The audience wanted a happy ending.
When the lights cut, that would be our window to grab Miki. We’d move fast, snatch her from the viewing box, and vanish into the chaos.
I counted on the crowd to react to the dead Chopmen, the others to hesitate, and the Handles to blink at our unscripted move—enough confusion to hide our run to the docks, where we’d seize a boat.
69
Akiko
I lay collapsed to one side, one arm holding me up, the other stretched toward Haru in a pathetic plea, just like Naomi had instructed.
He stood over me, throwing his head back in laughter, feeding off the crowd. The roar swelled with every bark of his madness. The villain role fit him too well—he wasn’t acting. He was savoring it.
“You’re a sick man, Haru,” I said, just for his ears.
His grin widened, teeth flashing. “Do I sense jealousy? You think you’re the only one who can win their love?” He punched a fist into the air.
“That isn’t love,” I said. “It’s hate. Hate for tearing apart the ones they’re really cheering for—Jiro and me.”
He looked down at me, still smiling for the stands. “Who cares? To them, you’re my little bitch now.”
“Not for long,” I said. “That’s not how the story goes.”
“I don’t care about the story,” he said, dropping into a growl. “I care about real life—the one where I’m still a Chopman and you’re still my prisoner.”
Jiro’s spotlight flared back on. He was at the bars, arm snaked through the gap and locked tight around a Chopman’s neck, choking the life out of him. To the crowd it was all part of the act, but if our plan was working, Jiro had a knife buried in the man’s back.
The Chopman went limp. Jiro let him drop, the body hitting the dirt like another staged fall. The crowd clapped at the timing, never knowing what they’d really witnessed. That was the cue for all three of them to escape the jail.
A siren shrieked over the speakers. More spotlights popped to life, catching Chopmen as they rushed toward the three of them.
They had rehearsed the fight with Naomi’s script, simple choreography meant to thrill the audience—each Chopman cut down one by one as Jiro, Kai, and Sora battled their way to me.
From the stage, I watched Jiro slash at his first opponent. The man spun and collapsed in dramatic form. Sora and Kai matched him move for move, dispatching their Chopmen.
The crowd loved it. They cheered louder with every staged death, never realizing the blood in the dirt was real. Jiro, Kai, and Sora kept advancing, cutting down anyone in their path.
“Flamebound! Flamebound! Flamebound!” the arena chanted, their voices rising with every step closer they came.
When they reached center stage, the plan was simple: Jiro would come to my aid; Sora would take Haru. That was how Naomi had written it, how we’d rehearsed it, how everyone expected it to go.
Jiro slid to his knees beside me and wrapped me in his arms. For a moment, everything else dropped away. I clung to him. Then he pressed his mask against mine and gave me a kiss, long and deep.
