Simple soul

Shadows of the Pact

Chai Ke didn't want to tie Keiko down like this, but he had no choice—it was his mission. Half duty, half something deeper, something that tasted like love.

Though his relationship with Sakura had iced over lately, he still stole a moment from his chaos to think of her. The less they spoke, the more his mind wandered, weaving fantasies around her. Three years she’d been abroad now. At first, they’d video-call daily; now, just a perfunctory phone call every two weeks—no more face-to-face, no matter how he asked. He found himself wondering if she’d met someone else, some young buck halfway across the world.

Sakura was two years his junior. He’d graduated college when she was just a wide-eyed freshman. If he hadn’t camped out in the library that year, killing time before his next chapter, he never would’ve stumbled on the quiet girl who lived between books. Thick glasses, clothes that covered every inch—neck, shoulders, legs—no matter the season. A walking picture of innocence, her world a square: library, cafeteria, classroom, dorm. Rarely straying beyond campus borders.

That summer, he followed her every day, and she never noticed. After the library closed at ten, they’d walk the shadowed paths—she with an armful of books, him in a black baseball cap, hands in pockets, hunched like a thief.

“Ah, those days…” He sighed, staring at the car’s tablet. Just tried calling Sakura again. No answer. His chest felt hollow, like someone’d scooped out the middle. One woman he couldn’t touch, another he could—but couldn’t reach. He hit redial, thumb hovering over Sakura’s name… but the screen lit up with a different face.

Chai Ke’s gaze locked on that face, and he swerved hard, peeling off Chaikebin Boulevard onto a narrow side street.

“Leader,” he said, gesturing to accept the call.

“What’s the situation?” Her voice was smooth, neither young nor old. The face on screen was eerily perfect—symmetrical, proportioned like a sculptor’s dream—yet her features radiated a cold authority that made his spine prickle. Those deep brown eyes bore into him.

“Possible breach by officials,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “Either the Design Institute or the Archaeology Research Center. They found some files. I activated the contingency—rerouted them to the underground passage. Fear’ll push ’em down the lamp-lit path.”

“Hm. Why now? After all this time.” She paused, as if sifting through thoughts. “Someone’s meddling. Chai Ke, dig into their backgrounds. Detain a couple if needed.”

“Understood, Leader. At once.”

He merged back onto Chaikebin Boulevard. The wind off the water hit his face—salty, damp, carrying the weight of memories he usually buried. When the past bubbled up like this, he knew: something big was coming.

He thought of the year flu tore through Sakura’s dorm. She’d dragged her feet to the infirmary, and he’d faked symptoms—swore he had a fever, cough, the works. They’d locked the two of them in a room for 24 hours, meals slid through a slot like prisoners. He’d been young then, hotheaded. Pounded the door, yelled about lawsuits, how they were treating them like animals.

Then she’d stepped up—tiny, in her round glasses, hair in a messy bun—tugged his sleeve. It looked like it cost her every ounce of courage to say, “Stop. The window’s unlocked.”

He’d turned. Sure enough, the latch was loose. But he never told her: he’d wanted to be locked up with her. The tantrum? All an act. He’d known she’d calm him down.

But they were on the third floor. Jumping would’ve been suicide. So he’d grinned, seized the chance: “I’ll go first. Be your cushion. You can step on me to climb down.”

“No! I can’t—” She’d shaken her head, eyes wide. “It’s too high!”

“Not that high. See the ledges? Stairs, basically.”

“I checked. They’re too narrow.”

“Then what’s scaring you?”

“I… I don’t want to get others sick.”

At midnight, they’d finally let them go.

Walking the moonlit campus, something shifted in him. He’d grabbed her arm, heart racing: “Be my girlfriend. Please.”

Back then, he’d been reeling from a failure—some stupid mistake that still stung. Sakura? She was easy. No games, no puzzles. A breath of fresh air for his frayed nerves.

She’d nodded, calm as ever. “I suppose. But I need to ask my parents first.”

He’d gaped. They walked the dark path in silence for ages before it clicked. “You knew?”

“Of course. You followed me every night. To keep me safe.”

“Jesus. What kind of person doesn’t think the world’s full of creeps?” He’d laughed, half-amazed.

“I watched you,” she’d mumbled. “You’re kind.”

After that, they kept it pure. He knew she’d said “yes,” but there was always a distance—like she was keeping one foot out the door. He couldn’t explain what she gave him, only that she was his anchor. Lose Sakura, and he’d lose his reason to exist. It was that simple.

Their second year together, he got a job at Pineapple City’s fanciest design firm. Funny place, Pineapple City—no factories, no industry, just artists. Every painter, sculptor, poet in the country flocked there. People said the energy drew them in.

Then Sakura got her study-abroad offer. He covered every cent of her living costs; her scholarship handled tuition. No questions asked.

Now, Chai Ke dragged himself into his run-down apartment complex, scanned his face to enter a drab unit. Finally, he sank into the leather couch, hit a button to close the curtains, flicked on the stereo. The TV hummed to life—not with shows, but with Keiko’s living room. He checked the feed nightly, ** she stayed in. His hand found a book on the shelf: One Hundred Years of Solitude. He flipped to his dog-eared page, read a paragraph, then yawned.

Before sleep claimed him, he fished a notebook from the couch cushions. Scrawled: Day 3. They’re here. Next: guide them. Old-school paper, old-school ink—no digital trails to trace. “The only way to hide from her,” he thought. Glanced at his Rolex. Guilt gnawed at him. Sakura had no idea. To keep her fed, housed, safe… he’d sold his soul to the devil.

A shiver jolted him awake. On screen, Keiko was opening her door to a man—someone Chai Ke recognized, though he couldn’t place where. The surveillance was crystal clear; he could hear their voices.

“Who is it?” Keiko asked.

“Me. From **. We agreed.”

“Oh.” She opened the door a c***k. The man slipped through like an eel. First time in her place, and he acted like he owned it—kicked off his shoes, flopped on the couch, propped his feet on the coffee table, spread his arms and legs like he was king of the castle.

“Pour me some wine.”

“Who do you think you are, my lord?” Keiko’s tone sharpened.

Two kilometers away, Chai Ke’s blood boiled. He was exhausted, bone-tired, but fury lit a fire in him.

“f**k it. Maybe I’ll let it slide tonight.” He glared at the screen. The guy was nothing special—generic face, generic confidence. Clothes looked like they came from a bargain bin, probably ordered off some cheap app.

“Aren’t we supposed to be dating? Loosen up.” He reached for her. Keiko dodged.

“Can’t take a joke?” He rolled his eyes.

Chai Ke tensed. He’d never make it there in time. Fingers flying, he hit a button on his phone—triggering the fire alarm in Keiko’s apartment.