Twisted Thrones

Life and Death

Sunday, 9:02 A.M.

Tokyo, Japan

One Month Before the Kolkata Blast

The morning sunlight spilt across their modest apartment, glinting off the polished rice bowls and sliding doors. Birds chirped somewhere beyond the low-rise buildings, and the hum of early traffic threaded through the neighbourhood.

“Issei! Get up! How long are you going to sleep? We’re going to be late!”

Akano’s voice was sharp but gentle. The kind of voice that carried both affection and authority. Issei groaned, stretching his limbs under the thin blanket, the smell of miso and fish from last night’s preparations lingering faintly in the air.

He rolled over and peeked at her. Akano stood near the futon, arms crossed, a small frown creasing her forehead. Her dark hair fell perfectly across her shoulders, catching the morning sun.

Groggily, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Hey, you naughty! Not now! Go wash your hands and face first. You were mischievous enough last night. No more for now. We have to leave soon,” she scolded, though her tone softened almost immediately.

Issei chuckled, rubbing his eyes. “Alright, alright, I’m going,” he muttered, pushing himself off the futon. The wooden floor was cool under his feet.

The bathroom mirror reflected a man in his late twenties, unshaven, with hair in disarray, but the moment he saw his own eyes, he felt something steady, something grounded. Six months of marriage and life with Akano had changed him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. The thought made him smile.

By the time he returned, the aroma of freshly made breakfast filled the room. Miso soup simmered in the pot, tiny clouds of steam curling into the air. On the table, fried fish lay neatly on the plates, with soy sauce beside it, and a small bowl of natto gave off its characteristic pungent smell.

“Why do you make so much effort every day? You could just prepare it the night before,” Issei asked, settling onto a cushion at the low table.

Akano shook her head, arranging the chopsticks neatly. “You wouldn’t understand. If you were in my place, you would,” she replied, a faint smile touching her lips. Her eyes, dark and bright, held a mix of patience and gentle amusement.

Issei dipped a piece of fish in the soy sauce, thinking about her words. Maybe she was right. I would never understand. He had never cared much about the small routines of domestic life before Akano. Yet, now, watching her move around the small apartment with precision and grace, he felt a tenderness he hadn’t expected.

“Okay, fine. Let’s eat,” he said finally, breaking the moment.

The meal passed in comfortable silence, broken occasionally by shared smiles or the clinking of chopsticks. Outside, the city thrummed to life, with schoolchildren in uniforms running down the narrow streets, old men sipping tea at the corner shop, and the faint rumble of subway trains beneath the city.

After breakfast, they packed a small bag. Akano was particular about what she carried, folding each garment with meticulous care. Issei watched her, a quiet admiration threading through his mind. I could follow her anywhere, he thought. Even through the chaos of the world.

The morning was a flurry of activity. They walked through the narrow streets, past the scent of street food stalls, the chatter of vendors calling out prices, and the distant clang of a bicycle bell. Akano paused occasionally, picking up trinkets or adjusting her scarf, and Issei waited patiently, a protective instinct rising in him.

The memory of their marriage flashed in his mind. It had been sudden, almost reckless. One week of dating, and yet the connection had been undeniable. He had seen her photograph on a marriage website, and something had clicked deep inside him. The next two days were a whirlwind of introductions, arrangements, and conversations. Her father, a bank officer with a sharp mind and softer eyes, had scrutinised him carefully.

“I assume you understand what marriage means,” her father had asked, voice calm but firm, the first day they met in his living room.

“I do, sir,” Issei had replied, keeping his posture straight. “I will protect her, respect her, and care for her.”

Her father had leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly. “You are in the military. Discipline is expected, yes. But life is not just order and strategy. It is compromise, trust, understanding.”

Issei nodded. “I understand, sir. I have lived by discipline, but I know there is room for the heart as well.”

A pause. Then her father’s eyes softened. “Very well. You may proceed. But remember, marriage is not a mission with an objective. It is a journey with unknown paths.”

It had been enough. Akano had smiled quietly, her hand brushing his as if to seal an unspoken promise. That moment had felt like victory and surrender, all at once.

Now, walking through the Tokyo streets, Issei thought back on that first meeting. I did not know then what I was getting into. Not fully. But I knew I would not let her go.

By mid-morning, they were standing outside a small park, cherry blossoms trembling in the gentle breeze. Issei took a deep breath. The air smelt of early spring, of damp earth, and of something unidentifiable, something that smelt like possibility.

“Issei”, Akano said softly, “you remember how nervous you were when my father first spoke to you?”

Issei laughed, a low sound. “Nervous? Maybe. But I didn’t want to seem unworthy. I wanted him to see… that I could care for you.”

Her smile widened. “And you did. You still do. Every day.”

Every day. Issei’s mind returned to the rhythm of their life: briefings in the morning, emails from the military, quiet evenings with Akano reading manga, or sketches sprawled across the table.

I live for these moments. For her.