Izumi890

Izumi carries her coffee back to her station, the chair rolling back slightly as she sits. Her desk is a controlled mess, notes pinned to the board, audio transcripts half-highlighted, a blinking cursor waiting patiently for attention. She wakes the screen with a tap and begins typing, fingers moving with practiced speed. Words come easily. Truth always does when you know where to cut. The newsroom buzzes around her. Phones ring. Someone laughs too loudly. A countdown echoes faintly from the studio next door. A shadow falls across her desk. “Hey, Izumi…” She doesn’t look up. Instead, she takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyes fixed on the screen. “Do I know you?” she asks casually. “I have a short memory span.” The man chuckles, clearly mistaking disinterest for charm. “My name is Satoshi Isshi- She cuts him off without hesitation. “Which one do I call you?” Izumi finally glances up, unimpressed. “Satoshi? Or Isshiki? Make up your mind.” There’s a pause. Then- “Isshiki,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. Izumi hums once, already turning back to her screen. “Sorry to be direct. What do you want?” He shifts his weight, straightens. “I was wondering if we could go out. There’s a new restaurant in town." Her fingers stop. “…Well,” she says after a beat, expression unreadable, “this is quite sudden.” Isshiki braces himself. “Okay,” she adds calmly. “Why not?” His face lights up like he’s just won something he didn’t expect. “Y–Yes! Then I’ll see you tonight.” Before she can respond, he’s already retreating, grin intact, confidence buoyed by success. Izumi watches him disappear into the crowd for exactly two seconds. Then she reaches for the cupcake on her desk, peeling back the wrapper and taking a neat bite. “Nothing wrong with finding love,” she murmurs, eyes returning to the glowing screen, tone light, thoughts unreadable. The cursor blinks. She resumes typing. Night settles quietly over the neighborhood as Izumi steps out of the house, slipping her shoes on by the door. “Mom,” she calls casually, keys already in hand, “I’m going out.” A reply comes from somewhere inside, distant, unconcerned. Izumi doesn’t wait. She steps into the cool night air, gets into her car, and drives off, the engine humming steadily as streetlights blur past her windshield. The restaurant glows ahead, warm lights, polished glass, laughter spilling out every time the doors open. Izumi parks. She checks her phone once. Nothing. She steps inside, scans the room with a single, effortless glance. Couples. Friends. A waiter adjusting a tie. No Isshiki. “…Wow.” The word drips with sarcasm as she exhales slowly. “I was duped,” she mutters, already turning on her heel. “I should’ve known. Who would want to go out on a date with me?” She barely makes it three steps before a hand clamps around her wrist. The world shifts. She’s yanked backward, dragged into the darkness of an alley before she can react, her back hitting a brick wall, breath knocked loose. Cold metal snaps around her wrists. Her car keys are ripped from her grasp. Izumi stares down at the cuffs. “…Great.” She twists her hands experimentally, then relaxes, shoulders loosening instead of tensing. Slowly, deliberately, she reaches up and slides a thin pin from her hair. “You really thought you could steal my car?” he says lightly. “Think again.” A sharp movement. A soft click. The cuffs fall open. Izumi straightens, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeves. She pins her hair neatly back into place, expression calm, almost bored. Izumi Kageno. Also known in darker circles as Izumi 890. S-ranked assassin. Twenty-one years old. Living quietly with her mother. Her father is dead. Her little sister was murdered a year ago, killed by rogue assassins who vanished without consequence. Tonight isn’t about romance. Tonight is just another reminder. And she never forgets debts. Izumi pulls out her phone, the screen lighting up her face as she taps once, twice. The tracker blinks. Havana Theme Park. She exhales through her nose. “…What an idiot.” Without another glance back, she turns toward the side of the building. Her foot finds the narrow emergency stairs, and in one smooth motion she’s climbing fast, silent, purposeful. Metal rattles softly beneath her steps, but she’s already gone before the sound can settle. She reaches the rooftop and pauses. The wind cuts across the open space, tugging at her dress, threading through her icy blue hair. The city stretches beneath her, restless and unaware. Her dark blue eyes narrow, reflecting the sky as clouds gather, heavy and low. “It’s going to rain,” Izumi murmurs. She steps back, measures the distance, then runs. The first jump is effortless. Roof to roof, shadow to shadow, she moves like the night itself, leaping across buildings with practiced precision. The city becomes a series of angles and distances, ledges and escape routes. Somewhere in the distance, the lights of Havana Theme Park flicker bright, loud, foolishly inviting. Izumi doesn’t slow down. Izumi stands on the edge of a building opposite the park, the city sprawled beneath her. Below, parked neatly by the curb, is her car. Her twilight-fog Rolls-Royce, pristine, untouched, sitting as though it had never been stolen at all. “…Weird,” Izumi murmurs. “The way my car is parked… it’s like the thief wants me to go there.” She doesn’t hesitate. Izumi flips off the building, lands cleanly on the pavement below, knees bending just enough to absorb the impact. No sound. No stumble. She straightens. Somewhere behind her, the heel of her boot loosens, just slightly. Izumi doesn’t notice. “I don’t plan on being rude tonight,” she mutters as she walks toward the car, “so I’ll just retrieve my car and return to my date… oh. Right. He never came.” She reaches the vehicle and peers through the darkly tinted windows. Empty. Her reflection stares back at her, alert, unimpressed. That’s when she moves. Izumi turns sharply, stepping away- The window explodes. Glass shatters outward as a fist punches through the driver’s side, shards scattering across the pavement. Izumi whirls around. “That must’ve hurt,” she snaps. “Do you have any idea how much that’s going to cost?! You son of a- The figure yanks his arm free and lunges at her, fast and brutal. Izumi shifts her stance just as the first raindrops hit the ground. “Izumi890!” the thief shrieks, voice cracked with manic delight. “Am I right?!” Izumi grins. She charges, fists cutting through the rain-soaked air. “Isshiki,” she says casually, ducking past his reach. “Am I right?” Instead of striking, she hooks her fingers into his mask and yanks. It comes off. Isshiki stares back at her, eyes wild, smile wrong. “You were supposed to die last year!” The words hit harder than any blow. Izumi stumbles back. The damaged heel finally gives way, snaps and she hits the ground, landing hard on the pavement. Her breath catches. Her vision burns. “…You,” she whispers. “You—you killed Kaori.” Rage ignites. Izumi bolts upright and kicks off her boots, discarding them without a second thought. Isshiki lunges. In a blink, his hand closes around her throat, slamming her back against the car. “I can show you the fastest way to your sister,” he hisses. Izumi’s hands still. “You will pay,” she says calmly. Isshiki laughs, eyes shining. “Yet on the brink of death, you display no fear at all.” Izumi tilts her head, even with his grip tightening. “Who said I’m going to die?” A blade flashes. She drives the knife up from her dress and into his arm. Isshiki snarls and jerks away, clutching the bleeding wound. Izumi straightens, rain slicking her hair, expression unreadable. “How old are you?” she asks. He blinks. “What the hell are you talking about?” She steps closer, knife still in hand. “We’re on a date. The whole point is to get to know each other.” Isshiki laughs, low, dangerous and smiles. “Twenty-two.” Rain pours harder. Izumi tilts her head slightly, lips curling. “What’s your favorite color?” Before she can finish, Isshiki drives a knife through her stomach. Pain explodes through her, crimson spilling over her dress. “Red,” he hisses, twisting the blade. She coughs, blood flecking the rain-soaked pavement. Before she can react further, he kicks her, sending her soaring through the air. She lands hard, feet scraping the asphalt, sliding with grace and control. “This will be a night to remember!” he shouts, manic. The cut is impossibly clean. Her head, detached from her body, tumbles forward, rolling to stop at Isshiki’s feet. “Am I really… dying?” she blinks, her voice eerily calm. The phone slips from her fingers, landing with a dull thud next to her headless body. Rain drips over both, mixing with the blood. Izumi’s gaze, somehow still alive, still sharp, locks on the man in front of her. And the night stretches on, cold, wet, and far from over.