Chapter Seven Rule Number Two
Chapter Seven
Rule Number Two
Hana stood in front of the pawnshop’s door, her fingers wrapped around its tarnished brass knob. The metal chilled her skin. She had watched countless clients walk in and out of their pawnshop, but not once had she dared to follow them outside. Her clients were not bound by the same rules as she was, and this particular rule did not require an enforcer.
What Hana had been told about the world outside the front door was something out of a tale mothers would tell their children to make them behave. She had heard that there was a time when it might have been difficult to tell the two worlds apart, but now they could not be more different. Her clients’ world was a twisting maze of blind corners and dark paths of regret. Hana had not met a single client who was not lost. Raised in a world where detours were forbidden and one’s entire life was mapped, she could not imagine a more terrifying place. To be sent to the other world was called “exile,” though Hana knew that it was just a kinder word for the truth. To linger in the world beyond the door was to be erased, until not a strand of hair, an inch of skin, or a fragment of bone remained.
Hana’s father told her that being erased wasn’t painful, but the look in his eyes told Hana that it was simply what he chose to believe. She did too. Hana did not like to think that her mother had suffered when the Shiikuin had sentenced her to exile, dragged her outside the door, and left her to die.
Hana tightened her grip on the doorknob, wondering how much time she had on the other side before she faded away. Takeda Izumi’s choice and her father were missing, and it had become very clear where they had both gone—out the front door. Whether the choice had been stolen or had escaped did not matter. The consequences of not retrieving it were the same. The Shiikuin’s greatest pleasure was to be cruel.
Hana imagined her father chasing after the missing choice, casting every rule aside. And now she was about to do the same. She steeled her jaw and pulled the door open. A dark shape towered over her. Hana jumped back and screamed.
“I…I’m sorry,” said a voice as smooth and smoky as the whiskey her father saved for special occasions.
Hana ripped off her mother’s glasses and squinted, trying to make out the figure standing against the sunlight. The man was tall and lean, his perfect posture cutting a sharp line. “Who are you?”
“I’m sorry I startled you. I was just about to knock. My name is Minatozaki Keishin.”
Hana studied his face, attempting to reconcile his accent with his features. Though there was no fault in his choice of words, the way he spoke them gave away that he was from a place far from Tokyo. Her gaze traced his sharp jawline and the elegant symmetry of his nose and lips, but the warmth of the pools behind his dark lashes kept her from straying from his eyes for too long. Hana blinked to keep from falling into them. “What do you want?”
“A cure for jet lag.” Keishin flashed a lopsided smile. “But I’ll settle for a bowl of ramen. This restaurant was highly recommended by a colleague at work. I haven’t been able to sleep since my flight got in last night and so I figured I would just take my chances and check if you were open for breakfast.”
“This is not the restaurant.” Hana spoke slowly, trying to keep her voice steady.
“But the sign outside said—”
“This is my pawnshop.” My pawnshop. The words cut Hana’s tongue.
“Oh. My mistake. Sorry for bothering you.” He made a small bow and froze midway, his eyes stopping at Hana’s bare feet. “You’re bleeding.”
Hana glanced down. Blood pooled beneath her left heel. She winced, noticing the pain for the first time.
“That looks like a pretty deep cut.”
“It is nothing.” Hana gripped the edge of the door and took the weight off her bleeding foot.
Keishin caught a glimpse of the chaos behind her. “Holy shit,” he said, cursing in a language Hana did not understand. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I’m going to call the police.”
“No.” Hana clutched his wrist. The warmth of his skin rippled through her fingers. Her breath caught in her throat. This was the first time she had touched anyone from the other side of the door.
Hana had taken great care to keep her clients at a distance, regardless of how much they wept or silently longed to be held. She had imagined they would feel cold and stiff, like the tags she wrote their names on. Transactions, her father often reminded her, were not meant to be warm. She pulled Keishin inside the pawnshop and shoved the door shut. She let go of his arm and stuffed her hands deep into her pockets, keenly aware of the lingering heat over her skin. “There is no need for the police.”
Keishin ran a finger over the spot where Hana had held him, seemingly undecided if he was startled or bemused. Hana wondered if she felt warm to him too. He glanced around the pawnshop, his brows wrinkling into a frown. “What happened here?”
“There was…an accident.”
Keishin narrowed his eyes. “What kind of accident?”
The cut in her foot throbbed. Hana bit down the pain.
“We should take a look at that cut. Do you have anything we can use to clean it?”
“I do, but—”
“Good. Hopefully, it isn’t too deep and you won’t need stitches.”
“Thank you, but I do not—”
“Don’t worry. I’m a doctor.”