chapter I

Miya Atsumu hasn’t been in the guy’s lap thirty seconds, and there is already a hand on his ass.

God, he's already regretting his decision to give him a lap dance just to steal what's actually his.

Carefully schooling his expression, keeping the irritation well beneath the surface, Atsumu batts the asshole’s hand away. He is one of those middle-aged financial types and according to the blonde, definitely too much of a baby to possess the specific item Atsumu wants back so badly.

His gaze flicks to the desired object, then to the man’s throat. Actually, it's quite easy to get it back into his hands. Atsumu could just kill him. Easy.

A knife is warm in the sleeve of his burgundy jacket, a sharp blade pressed against his arm and ready to slit his throat and let him bleed. But this isn't a job he needs to get done – at least not an ‘official’ one, no. Atsumu only commits murder under three circumstances.

One, when it’s a paid hit that he is willing to accept. Two, when he’s in actual immediate danger. Three, when it’s inevitable in order to get him to his real target.

Paid hits usually come from Yakuza and whoever is the executor for those has actually no chance to refuse them. Saying no to Yakuza was a death sentence for an independent contractor but Atsumu is an assassin from Inarizaki and well—they don't let Yakuza tell them what to do.

All the mob does is suggest what mark they would pay for, and anyone who wants to push the limits and force Inarizaki's assassins into a job pays with their lives. These bastards knew that.

But no, this man on whom he is seated isn’t a mark Yakuza wants dead and Atsumu is definitely not in danger nor is it necessary to kill him in order to get this item. Besides, he still needs that asshole alive because that lovely thing hooked to his belt so splendidly does indeed belong to his brother Osamu, and Atsumu can't remember his twin of all people gifting this very knife to anyone but himself.

“’S pretty,” Atsumu says with a nod towards the leather sheath paved to the man’s belt. Two symbols adorn the loop of the brown cover, sewn on a patch and infallibly intended for the twins. A sun and a crescent moon. Atsumu and Osamu.

“Not as pretty as you are,” murmurs the man into his ear and Atsumu wants to puke.

God, he hates him.

Atsumu has been seducing this idiot all evening until he was finally taken to his hotel room. They're somewhere in Miyagi, in Sendai, on the 39th floor of a fancy hotel, and this man is so keen on Atsumu that he can barely restrain himself. Atsumu scowls at the ceiling as that jerk places a defiant hand firmly on his hip, itching to go back down to his ass.

Disgusting.

“Where’d’ya got it from?”

“Who cares?”

The man nibbles at Atsumu's jaw, one finger sneaking under Atsumu's waistband while his other hand gropes back at his ass. It was nerve-wracking and by no means in a good way. Atsumu knows he has the looks and how to move his body just right but that doesn’t mean he grants everyone permission to touch him. Especially not those fuckers who think of themselves as Gods.

The pressure of the knife hidden in his sleeve feels better with every passing second.

“I care,” Atsumu drops his playfulness as he grabs the man’s wrist and shoves his hand away but the man snatches Atsumu’s arm, gripping it tightly, and oh—that was a mistake.

In a heartbeat, Atsumu has him shoved back against the mattress of the king-size bed they are sitting on, fingers tight around the asshole’s throat. He dugs his knee against the man’s crotch, blood boiling beneath his skin while his patience wears thin.

The bastard seizes Atsumu's arm with both hands and tries to yank him away, but he is too feeble. So, he just choked underneath him, eyes gleaming with remorse for having touched Atsumu at all. He couldn't know any better, could he?

Never in his life would he have deliberately touched an assassin against their will, let alone accepted a lap dance from them. But how could he have known what awaited him? There were no assassins in Miyagi–or at least that's what he thought.

It was cute, Atsumu hadn't even pulled out his knife yet and the man was struggling, fearing for his life. He was weak, no threat. Atsumu smirks; he would have Osamu's baby back in his hands in no time.

Easy.

“I really hate to repeat myself, but for ya, honey, I'll do it again.” The grip on that asshole’s throat tightens, Atsumu’s gaze flicks to Osamu’s knife. “Where did ya get it from?”

“Please–”

Atsumu slips one of the knives from his sleeve into his hand and taps the man’s nose with the tip of the blade. His eyes widen in fear and panic.

“It’s a simple question, ya know?”

“I—oh God, please, don’t kill me!”

“I won’t if ya jus’ answer my damn question.”

He’s getting impatient.

Atsumu lost count of how many times he already threatened people to get information that was actually useful for him. It isn’t any different now.

The man in his grip starts crying, begging, sobbing that he doesn't want to be killed, and Atsumu massages his temples with the sharp knife in his hand, annoyed with his victim of whom he has already forgotten his name.

“Please,” the man cries again. “I-I have a family! My wife... m-my children! I can’t—”

“I toldja I won’t kill ya if you tell me where ya got this from.”

Asshole. Says he has a family but was about to fall between the sheets with Atsumu—not that the blonde would have ever let it happen. He isn't Atsumu's type at all.

“I can’t tell you! They would kill me if they found out I stole it from them!”

“From who?” Atsumu snaps and after a moment of hesitation, the man parts his quivering lips.

“From—"

Thump.

A bullet finds the asshole’s head and silences him before he has the chance to voice relevant or important information. He was shot, but not by Atsumu. Fuck.

Atsumu's gaze snaps up to the floor-to-ceiling windows at the head of the king-size bed. He feels his eyes widen as he spots the reflection of a tall person standing behind him, dressed all in black, unsure if it's a foe or a friend. Oh, who is Atsumu trying to fool? No one in this city is his friend.

The gun is still pointing at its target and Atsumu is aware that he can't waste another millisecond wondering what the fuck is going on. It's do or die, and Atsumu isn't ready for the latter.

He jerks his body around and throws the knife from his hand towards the stranger behind him, aiming at the outstretched arm with the pistol. In the movement, Atsumu rips the leather pouch that carries Osamu's knife from the belt of the dead man beneath him, almost destroying the clasp of the cover’s loop and tucking it in the back of his pants.

Osamu would kill him if he ruined the fabric.

Just as Atsumu turns around, he feels gloved fingers sneaking around his wrist. Suede. But before the stranger could take advantage of the situation, Atsumu kicks his chest and pulls himself free from his grip. The man staggers back a few steps and kneels on one leg, grunting a heavy breath at what must have been a sudden attack.

Atsumu pulls another knife from his other sleeve while the man reaches for his chest and presses his slender fingers into his ribcage. To check if something is severely injured? Atsumu wishes it was so. Jet black curls. That's all he's staring down right now.

As Atsumu lunges and rushes toward him, the man's gaze snaps up, causing Atsumu to flinch for a split second, to hesitate for a moment too long. A black mask hides half of his face, making it difficult for Atsumu to read him. All he has are these eyes. These onyx eyes... oh, so cold. Atsumu's movements are fast, but the man is faster.

He stands up, grabs the blade in Atsumu’s hand, and draws the assassin close to him. His knee finds the soft muscle of Atsumu’s stomach and holy shit – that fucking hurt. Pain creeps up to his back, numbing his nerves in a way that is dangerous and causing his eyes to water, nausea more prominent with each inhale. Atsumu is about to double over, a groan leaving his lips, but he is pulled back again, the knife snatched from his hand and thrown away with a clatter.

Bastard.

The masked man wrenches Atsumu’s hands behind his back and presses him into the wall. Atsumu huffs out a laugh as his cheek kisses the cold edges of the wood paneling in the hotel room, and his gaze catches the figure holding him tightly and painfully in place. Atsumu is panting and the need to kill his enemy is bigger than ever.

“Hey, handsome,” he gasps, curling his lips into a sick smirk. “Now what? You gonna kill me?”

“If I wanted you dead, Miya,” the man pulls and twists Atsumu's arm even more, making him hiss and contort his face in torment. “You would have been by the second I walked into this room.”

“Oh? Omi-Omi is generous? My pretty face must’ve reeeeeally charmed ya.”

“The only thing that charms me about your face is putting a bullet between your eyes to shut you up once and for all. That, my dear, is very tempting.”

“If I’m such a hassle to ya, why don’t cha just kill me?”

Sakusa Kiyoomi. Atsumu can hardly wait for the day when he draws his blade through his throat. He presses his weight against Atsumu's body and Atsumu's hiss turns into a low groan as the bastard twists his arm harder.

“Believe me, I wouldn't hesitate for a second to pull the trigger, but unfortunately there are people who need you alive.”

There weren't many people Sakusa Kiyoomi would take orders from, and in fact, there was only one person he would ever obey. The drawbacks of being a member of fucking Yakuza. Atsumu sneers.

“People, you say? People as in Oikawa Tōru?”

“People as in that's none of your fucking business.”

“It is my business if someone wants me dead or alive.”

“Why? So, you can thank them by sucking their dick if they spare your life?”

Atsumu laughs simply because he finds it genuinely amusing.

“Jealous if I would?”

Atsumu offers him a toothy grin and swallows the physical pain Sakusa inflicts on him. He's having too much fun pestering the prickly Yakuza member and he wouldn't mind annoying him further, but today it's Atsumu who's slightly irritated by Sakusa.

Atsumu was this close to finding out how the now dead man obtained Osamu's knife. This close to finding out who he got it from. After so many weeks, this could have been another lead to where his brother might be, but that asshole behind him had to shoot the 'innocent’ man. It’s not like Atsumu would mind, but he needed that damn information.

Hatred isn't even an expression of what Atsumu feels for Sakusa. He loathes him. Even more than that. Atsumu has known him for a few months now and it happens far too often that Sakusa gets in his way. Wherever he meets him, it means trouble. Yakuza means trouble. It's a law of nature.

It's honestly a miracle they haven't killed each other yet. Sakusa is presumably just waiting for the command of his Kumichō Oikawa Tōru, and Atsumu wouldn't dare kill him in a district swarming with his armed members. That would be suicide.

One day, however, he would. Slowly. Torturously.

“Okay. So yer not gonna kill me? That’s great, Omi-kun, ‘cause while we were fighting, I had a splendid idea on how to kill ya!”

“We weren’t fighting. That was your pathetic attempt to escape me and now look how miserably you failed.”

“Sure, whatever ya call it buttercu—ahhhh what the fuck?! Are you stupid?!”

Stabbing pain spreads from his neck into his spine and extends into his back. It creeps down into his legs and begins to worry him whether it was a mistake to have been so careless minutes before. Actually, it’s not even debatable, because being imprudent was clearly a flaw. So, the question here is rather, how bad is the situation Atsumu is currently in?

If he didn't know better, Atsumu would have thought Sakusa had just stabbed him. But if there's one thing he's learned over the past few months in Sendai, it was that the asshole in question never got too close to his victims, let alone touch them. A callous murderer who is disgusted by killing his marks with his own hands. It's almost ridiculous.

Atsumu's eyes are observant, and he knows very well that Sakusa would always prefer a gun to a knife. Safe distance. Far enough away to kill his victim and leave no trace of the crime on himself. God, Atsumu wishes he could kill him, and it would make such a mess that Sakusa would be disgusted by himself.

Atsumu groans as the pain drives into his head and clouds his mind. He feels his muscles go limp and his resistance to Sakusa's grip weaken.

What the fuck did Sakusa do?

“Awww, look at you. You’re just begging for someone to put you in your place,” Sakusa taunts. Fuck him.

One cut. Atsumu only needs one cut, and he could take out that obnoxious bastard. He's not done with him yet, no matter how sick he feels right now.

“Ha, and you think you can handle that? Yer cute, Omi. I could have ya on yer knees in a heartbeat, y’know? It would suit you.”

“You think about that image a lot?”

“Don’t flatter yerself.”

Atsumu grits his teeth. His gaze flicks for a millisecond to the gun in the holster on Sakusa’s belt, then back into his darkened eyes. They’re cold. Icy and murderous.

“It’d shock ya how rarely I actually think of ya.”

“It shocks me that you think at all. Didn't your mother teach you not to lie?”

Atsumu is pissed. He releases a breathless smile but is cut off as Sakusa tightens the grip on his arm and pushes him harder against the wall. A faint hiss escapes from Atsumu's lips. He closes his eyes and contorts his face in pain and dizziness, swallowing his true condition and not letting on how miserable he feels.

Shit, this is not good.

He opens his eyes as he notices Sakusa shifting behind him. Fuck, he can no longer focus his gaze. Everything starts to blur. Whatever Sakusa has injected him with is about to hit the fan and it’s definitely not good.

Atsumu has no idea if this was poison or some kind of narcotic. He has no idea if Sakusa changed his mind and might kill him after all, thus defying his boss. Oikawa Tōru is an asshole, so Atsumu would kind of understand if Sakusa got tired of him.

But fuck, he could only hope that he wouldn't defy Oikawa. Atsumu can't die just yet.

If he is fast enough, he can break free from Sakusa's grip and overpower him. If he is fast enough, he can snatch the gun out of his holster and kill him first. If he is fast enough–

“You want this?”

Sakusa shows him his pistol and taps the muzzle twice against Atsumu’s cheek. He can't see much out of the corner of his eye, but he guesses it's Sakusa’s .22 magnum glock pistol. It’s pitch-black and adorned with roses writhing around the grip. A symbol of love and passion. A sign for Sakusa's bloodlust.

Atsumu was only once close enough to see the branching flowers and leaves. Only once close enough to almost harm Sakusa, but never close enough to touch him. The goon was good, and it pissed Atsumu off. He frowns.

“Children shouldn’t play with guns,” Sakusa says and takes off the safety. Atsumu’s eyes widen at the almost silent click.

Shit.

If he ‘accidentally’ pulls the trigger, he could end Atsumu's life. One twitch, one wrong move, and he is dead. Over and out, and any effort to find Osamu would be ruined. No, his life can't end like this. Not at Sakusa's hands.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Sakusa holds the pistol in front of their faces and twists it to the side so he can admire it while Atsumu just scowls at the metal. Then Sakusa asks mockingly, “Would you even be able to handle a gun?”

“Wouldn’t mind findin’ it out on ya,” Atsumu scoffs and suppresses the urge to vomit. He hasn't felt this bad in a long time. He must be damn careful.

“Don't worry.” Sakusa runs the barrel of the shotgun across Atsumu's cheek, traces it behind his ear, and places the muzzle on the back of his neck. Atsumu hisses as Sakusa points the gun at the same spot where he injected him with something minutes prior. One shot. Dead. “Once again, I am not here because of you.”

Sakusa taps his gloved finger on the barrel. Every bullet he ever fired was dead on target. He never missed his mark and Atsumu is lucky he supposedly wasn't on his list today. Atsumu knows that.

He has watched Sakusa Kiyoomi long enough to know how to regain control of this situation. Atsumu is at least as skilled as Sakusa – he would even claim to be more talented. But today he can't do much.

It wouldn't be the first time Atsumu eliminated a member of Yakuza, only this time he didn't have a contract to do so. On top of that, they're in Miyagi – Oikawa's territory. And since this masked bastard belongs to his troupe, it would be suicide to kill him.

Fulfilling a sanctioned hit was one thing – the person who called in the hit would be blamed and punished if anyone felt compelled. The hitman was doing his job after all. But killing a sort of a made man without a contract put the blame squarely on Atsumu’s head.

No, killing Sakusa has to be postponed.

“Are you scared, Miya?”

Sakusa leans toward him and even though Atsumu can't see his miserable face, he knows he's grinning wickedly underneath his mask. He notices the way the corners of his eyes crease into a nasty smile, and he catches the derisive tone lacing his voice.

Honestly, Atsumu can’t wait for the day when someone would tell him Sakusa is going to be his next mark.

Atsumu glares at Sakusa, knowing full well that he wants to elicit something in Atsumu that will permit him to kill him as well. But he holds his gaze like Sakusa couldn’t have intimidated him if he’d wanted to. No fear whatsoever. Just icy indifference. Atsumu looks him straight in the eye, cool and collected, and silently dares him to make him blink.

“What do ya want?” He asks calmly.

Sakusa tilts the pistol and draws the barrel down Atsumu's spine, stopping when he reaches the knife stuck in the back of Atsumu's cargo pants. Sakusa stuffs his gun back into the holster strapped to his belt and snatches the leather sheath, along with the knife, from Atsumu's grasp. Atsumu grunts and stirs to wrestle back and stop Sakusa from taking Osamu's knife away from him, but Sakusa almost easily holds him back in place.

Atsumu is running out of strength.

“I want the knife back,” Sakusa smirks. “Maybe get a lap dance from you too.”

Atsumu snorts, “Yakuza are the last rats I’d be dancin’ for.”

“Hmmm…” Sakusa growls, lips close to Atsumu’s ear but kept away by the mask he is wearing. Atsumu shudders. “Too bad.”

It does unholy things to his stomach, causing heat to ignite inside him that he hates and wants to suppress. Atsumu feels blood rushing to his cheeks and ears, and he wishes he could stop it from tinting his skin into a soft crimson red.

Atsumu doesn't know what Sakusa Kiyoomi really looks like. His skin is constantly hidden in those damn expensive suits or underneath his battle gear. Hands covered with black leather. Half of his face is unknown beneath the black mask. Only dark eyes are visible, embellished with twin moles above his right eyebrow.

Is his whole body this pale? Is his skin graced with even more moles? Is his touch soft? Is his whole face as beautiful as what he already dares to show to those around him?

Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut and shakes the thoughts from his head. He is his enemy, so he shouldn't care. And yet, he would probably grant Sakusa permission to touch him like he didn't allow the asshole before if they weren't at each other's throats.

Or maybe not. Sakusa is still an asshole too.

Atsumu takes a deep breath, but his world is spinning the moment he opens his eyes again. The only thing holding him in place is Sakusa's grip. Atsumu's legs are shaking, his gaze is unable to focus.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit, this isn't good at all.

Sakusa drops Atsumu's arm, grabs him by the collar, spins around, and hurls him off the wall onto the floor behind them. Atsumu trips and falls. He tries to catch the impact with his hands, but he can't balance his body. Instead, he falls in front of Sakusa's stupid polished oxford shoes and stares up at him with a glare.

One enemy. Two. Three. Atsumu's gaze betrays him.

Sakusa checks the leather sheath in his hand and gently pulls out the knife. He examines the curved blade from both sides and then turns back to Atsumu.

“It is a beautiful knife. Truly a powerful weapon.”

“And above all, 's not yours.”

“I will return it to its rightful owner, don't you worry, Miya.”

“I am its rightful owner,” Atsumu lies because actually it’s Osamu. Sakusa sneers.

“Don't you think that's a little too much for you to handle? You might hurt yourself.”

“Awww, Omi!! Didn’t know ya were taking so much care of me.” Atsumu smirks and feels the poison kick in.

Sakusa crouches down before him, probably grinning at least as sickly as Atsumu. He holds the knife loosely in his grip, barely dangling the blade above the floor. Sakusa considers Atsumu wordlessly for a moment before abruptly grabbing his chin, pulling Atsumu's face toward him, and placing the blade against his skin.

Sakusa’s eyes are dark and cold and Atsumu shudders at the murderous gaze he shoots him. Adrenaline drives Atsumu to focus his gaze, but his eyelids grow heavier, and his heartbeat slackens.

Sakusa traces the tip along Atsumu’s cheekbone and cuts his skin slightly, so a thin line of blood runs down his face. Atsumu hisses at the sharp cut Sakusa causes, but he can't help but grin. Atsumu knows he's not going to die. As screwed up as Sakusa is, he's a man of his word and if Oikawa apparently instructed him not to kill Atsumu, then he wouldn't. At least that's what Atsumu hopes.

“Wanna ruin that pretty face of mine? There’re plenty of different ways to do that, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says smugly, a hint of playfulness lacing his voice. Kiyoomi snorts and pushes Atsumu away by his chin. Atsumu grunts and contorts his face as he slams the back of his head on the floor. Nausea now very prominent again.

Sakusa stands up and Atsumu wants to mirror his move, but his muscles refuse, and his vision grows weaker. His body is limp and tired and all he can think about is how to cut that fucking bastard's throat the next time they see each other and let him bleed.

Sakusa stares down at him and huffs a laugh.

“I bet there are.”

Fuck you, Sakusa Kiyoomi. Fuck you, you fucking obnoxious fucker. Fuck you in every single way.

Atsumu has come to a point in his life where he needs a stronger word than ‘fuck’. He curses himself for being naïve enough to enter Sendai without any genuinely dangerous weapons. He curses himself for being careless. For Sakusa taking the only chance Atsumu ever gave him to get himself knocked down.

Atsumu curses himself and Sakusa in every possible way.

“For now,” that bastard says as he walks to the door. He peers over his shoulder and watches Atsumu lying motionless on the floor. His hands are tucked in the pockets of his slacks, and Osamu's knife is back in the leather sheath now attached to Sakusa's belt. The realization that Atsumu has lost the only lead to his brother he has had in months tears a hole in his gut.

Sakusa’s face is indifferent as he continues talking.

“Sweet dreams? Ah, or even better… dream of me, Miya.”

The door falls shut, and Atsumu’s vision turns black.

The light filtering in is too bright when Atsumu's eyes flutter open. He passed out all night and apparently didn't wake up until the earth rotated once almost completely on its axis. The orange-red light seeping into the room indicates a warm sunset, and Atsumu hopes it is indeed just one day he has missed and not more.

A sharp pain creeps from the back of his neck up into his head and spreads like an unstoppable fire, kindled in a forest that has grown too dry. His entire body aches and Atsumu wishes Sakusa had just killed him instead of letting him suffer right now.

He can’t even put his finger on what hurts the most. Probably his neck? His arm is also upfront – damn it, everything hurts. As if not enough, a penetrating feeling of nausea returns along with the headache.

Fuckin’ kill me…

Atsumu groans and rolls onto his back, squeezing his eyes shut and running a hand through his disheveled hair, gripping it tightly. He blinks groggily and gulps in a miserable attempt to get rid of the dryness in his throat but failed. He places his palms on the floor and tries to sit upright, but is quickly, too quickly, caught up by the feeling of nausea.

He lifts his head and notices Sakusa is gone. 

Atsumu scans the deserted room as much as his sore muscles and shitty vision would allow, but there is no sign of the guy. It should put Atsumu's mind at ease that he's alone, but the fact that he didn't even notice Sakusa when he entered this hotel room to shoot the now dead asshole on the bed worries him.

He didn't hear anything and that was unlikely. Not a click of the door, not a sound, not even footsteps fading into the night. 

They got ninjas joining Yakuza in this town or somethin’? Atsumu thinks before nausea kicks in. Fuck—

His mind acts on its own, forcing his body to get up instantly and rush to the bathroom. He rips the toilet lid open, bends over the bowl, and throws up. His legs tremble and he feels his body getting weaker and weaker. Ugh.

Atsumu flushes the toilet, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and slides onto the floor beside it, one arm resting on the toilet seat for support. He feels like trash. His hands are sweaty, his body is freezing, and his mind is still foggy.

He knows for a fact that Sakusa must have injected him with a narcotic, Rohypnol most likely, and he could bet everything he got that Sakusa intentionally set the dose higher than needed just to make Atsumu feel so fucked up right now. Because maybe, just maybe, Atsumu pulled the same move on a job Sakusa did when they both had the same mark and Atsumu wanted to beat him to it.

Atsumu takes a moment to get his body working again and breathes deeply. He closes his eyes as he recalls the infuriating events of last night, and curses softly under his breath as he realizes that Sakusa has taken from him what he could not afford to lose again. Osamu's knife.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” he groans and scrubs a hand over his face.

Atsumu totters on wobbly legs to the sink and rinses his mouth, then washes his hands and face. He checks himself in the mirror in front of him and realizes how worn out he looks, the small cut on his cheek already healed, though. Sendai is starting to get to him. Sakusa starts to push him to his limits.

The blanched light of the bathroom makes his bottle blond hair almost white and ignites the color of his intense eyes in golden fire. His tanned complexion appears paler than usual which could either be due to the light or Atsumu's nausea.

He touches his sturdy chest and feels his necklace beneath the black turtleneck shirt he’s wearing. A necklace that would always remind him of his brother. A piece of jewelry that Atsumu would never take off.

He exhales deeply.

I want the knife back, Atsumu recalls and figures the dead man stole it from one of Oikawa’s Yakuza members. Not Sakusa, though, no. Unfortunately, no one could get to this jerk. But someone else must have been stupid enough to lose the weapon, and Sakusa has been here to ‘return’ it to Oikawa.

Atsumu sighs and props his palms on the sink while staring deeply into the eyes of his reflection. The last thing he wants to do is mess with Yakuza. But what if they have what belongs to him (or rather Osamu)? Well, to hell with all the unspoken and unofficial rules. It's about his brother and Atsumu has vowed to give everything to find him. Come what may.

If Yakuza think they can just take anything away from him, they are wrong. Atsumu doesn't care how strong and mighty they think they are, they would soon face the wrath of Miya Atsumu. God, it was time to take them all down.

Atsumu must know how Oikawa got the knife. This means a short trip to the crappiest Kumichō in the whole wide world is inevitable. Great. Good thing he was alone in Sendai and barely carried any weapons... Atsumu definitely stands a good chance. Yep.

But whatever Oikawa knew would certainly bring Atsumu to his brother. So, he has to figure out how to get to the goon, and here's the thing: Atsumu doesn't exactly plan, he just acts as it strikes. He wouldn't mind blowing up Oikawa's headquarters, but that would get him nowhere. No, this one might actually need some planning.

Atsumu needs to meet what is probably the highest guarded man in entire Miyagi without getting himself killed. And heck, if Osamu was here, or Suna, or anyone from Inarizaki, then maybe the odds wouldn't be so bad. But all alone? In a place where he really had no business being? It's almost like suicide.

Atsumu's grip on the sink tightens but instantly loosens as he realizes that not everyone in Sendai is on Oikawa's side, though. His eyes are wide open as he takes in his reflection one last time. Yeah, Atsumu has an idea. A good one.

He presses his lips together and points his index finger at his reflection, nodding his head and shaking his hand in a sly motion. A smile emerges on his lips.

"Miya Atsumu, yer an unfathomable genius," he praises himself and grins broadly.

He taps his palms once each in quick succession euphorically on the edge of the sink before hopping out of the bathroom. The smile fades instantly, however, when he sees the dead man on the bed. The sheets beneath him are soaked in a dark red. Atsumu’s nausea returns.

He shuts his eyes as he steadies himself in the doorway and takes a deep breath. Nope, he's going to keep whatever wants out of his stomach inside.

Atsumu gulps and opens his eyes. He stares at the man for a moment and frowns. Would he have killed him if he told him that he stole the knife from Oikawa? Probably not. He wasn't relevant to Atsumu.

Now he almost feels a little bad for trapping the man and practically handing him over to Sakusa. To that moron, of all people. Fuck him. Atsumu will kill him sooner or later.

He heads for the door and picks up his knives which he threw at Sakusa. Too bad, they don't have a single drop of blood on their blades. Sakusa must have dodged them pretty well and that thought alone annoys Atsumu to no end.

Next to the door on top of the dresser, Atsumu finds a jar containing various lollipops. He fishes one out, unwraps it, and pops it in his mouth while stuffing the wrapper in the pocket of his burgundy jacket. The taste of cherry and coke displaces the evidence of the things that left his body because of his narcotic overdose and resulting nausea.

Atsumu opens the door and sneaks into the corridor of the hotel. He already feels sorry for whoever would find the dead man in this room. The sight is anything but pretty, but that's not his problem anymore. He has more important things to do.

Atsumu sneaks out over the fire escape to the backyard. He makes sure no one sees him and is relieved when he manages to leave the hotel unnoticed. Atsumu heads for his accommodation where he has been staying for the past few months and pulls his phone out of his pocket as he walks down the street.

In the dusk, the screen illuminates his face from below and Atsumu’s stomach churns at the several unread messages that pop up once he unlocked his screen. He frowns and swallows thickly. Among countless missed calls, it was this one person whose message made him feel so uncomfortable.

Atsumu has already left his what’s close to being a ‘Kumichō’ on read for two weeks, but now it seems like he really couldn't ignore him anymore. He opens the chat and reads the few meaningful lines that Kita has written to him.

Kita-san (10/20/2022, 11:37 pm):

>> Hello Atsumu, how are things in Miyagi? I hope you’re okay.

Kita-san (today, 5:28 pm):

>> Call me immediately.

He sighs and removes the lollipop from his mouth, covers it back in the wrapper, and stuffs it back into his pocket.

Of course, Kita cannot be called a Kumichō. That would be an insult, so to speak. Assassins in Inarizaki have no one to boss them around – they are free in everything they do. But Kita counts as someone who is truly respected by everyone in Inarizaki, heck in all of Hyōgō even. Someone who has prestige, whose opinion certainly matters.

Kita is only five years older than Atsumu and is one of the few who knows the most brutal sides of being an assassin. He has probably seen more shit than anyone else in Inarizaki, but no one would ever dare ask Kita what he has actually been through. There are only a few selected people who know about it. Atsumu is none of them, but he has heard enough.

No one in their right mind would voluntarily mess with Kita.

By now, he worked as an independent contractor. Kita is the go-between for a motley crew of thugs and contract killers (some who work together, some lone wolves like Atsumu) who would carry out some of Yakuza’s dirty work if they’re in the mood to.

Call me immediately.

It could be anything. Maybe Kita had important news for Atsumu. Or maybe Inarizaki is on fire right now and they need his help.

Oh, who is Atsumu kidding? They were better off without him.

The reason Atsumu has avoided Kita for so long is that he fucked up. When he left Inarizaki, he promised him he wouldn't come back until he found his brother. But with every message he exchanges with Kita, he is reminded of how badly he screws up. That he is failing to track down Osamu. That he's a no-good.

It's Atsumu's fault that Osamu has been missing for almost two years already, and that's why it's his job to bring him back. Two years in which so much has happened. Too much.

How is Atsumu supposed to tell Kita that he had a hint about Osamu and then lost it to fucking Yakuza? How is Atsumu supposed to tell Kita that he fails at everything he tries to accomplish here in Sendai? How can Atsumu bring himself to call him when all he will hear is disappointment?

Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. His steps slow down until they come to a stop. He looks up at the evening sky and sighs.

Kita is his friend. And yet it feels strange to know that he needs to talk to him.

“Atsumu-san?”

Atsumu whips his head around and meets big observant brown eyes, holding a light that would never fail to make Atsumu smile. In front of him stands a man slightly shorter than him. Atsumu's gaze catches unruly orange hair, which he would recognize even with miles between them. Atsumu tilts his head and smiles genuinely.

“Shōyō-kun.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you that.”

“Ummm...” he points behind him and chuckles. “On the way to work. Night shift is calling.”

“Right. I forgot,” Atsumu’s smile grows wider.

Hinata Shōyō is probably one of the few people Atsumu can actually call his friend. He works as a temporary worker in a small convenience store near Atsumu's accommodation and has helped Atsumu find his way around Sendai when he first came to this city.

Hinata is pretty cool, someone Atsumu likes to hang out with. He is cheerful and energetic and definitely someone with whom it's easy to chat about the most mundane things. Atsumu likes his company and always feels at ease around Hinata. He is one of the few people he gets along with in a city full of assholes that Atsumu would like to kill all together.

Atsumu raises his brow as he notices Hinata frowning at him. He follows his skeptical stare and gasps as it lands on his white sneakers, having caught a few tiny splatters of blood.

“No fuckin’ way!”

There are two things for which Atsumu would set the world on fire. First, Osamu. His brother is sacred to him, even if he would never admit it out loud. Second, his white sneakers. No one has the right to stain them, and blood would be shed on whoever dared to do so.

This time? Sakusa fucking Kiyoomi.

Oh, Atsumu would make sure his death will be slow and agonizing.

“A-Atsumu-san, are you okay?” Hinata asks, slightly disturbed.

“Oh, don’t worry! This blood isn’t mine!” Atsumu assures, realizing the moment Hinata’s eyes widen that this doesn’t exactly make things better. “I umm… I mean don’t worry? It’s nothing?”

“Is that a question?!”

“No!”

“Atsumu-san, this is blood—”

“Not mine! Uhhh…” Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut and rubs the back of his neck. He cracks one eye open and peers at Hinata almost apologetically. “I promise, it’s nothing, Shō…”

Hinata gulps and nods. His eyes are wide open as he hands Atsumu a tissue. By the look Atsumu catches from Hinata as he takes it, the assassin immediately realizes Hinata is smart enough not to ask any more questions. Of course, he is. The store he works in is in Oikawa's district. Atsumu doesn't want to know how many times Hinata has had to turn a blind eye because some fucking Kumichō thinks he owns the whole city.

“Are you in trouble?” Hinata murmurs, his gaze averted from Atsumu.

Atsumu's head snaps up, his golden eyes immediately searching for brown ones. Atsumu is about to wipe the blood off his sneakers but halts his movements when Hinata catches him thinking about something Atsumu hasn't contemplated in a long time. Is he currently in trouble? Is he about to get himself into some?

Shit, Atsumu is alone in a city teeming with Yakuza. And if that's not dangerous enough, he's plotting to get his hands on their fucking Kumichō.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Hinata asks worriedly when there is no answer from Atsumu.

Atsumu shakes his head. “No... no, Shō, everything's okay.”

The last thing Atsumu wants is to drag innocent people into his shit. Hinata was a good guy and Atsumu would make sure no one would harm him.

“Okay,” Hinata releases a long almost shaky breath and turns around. “I really have to go now... are you sure everything is alright?”

Atsumu nods. “I'm good Shōyō, thanks.”

He offers him a weak smile, which Hinata returns just as weakly. Atsumu stands up and tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The two stare at each other in silence for a moment before Hinata nods goodbye and steps away from him. Just as he is about to leave, however, Atsumu stops him.

“Hey, Shō!” Hinata turns and faces Atsumu questioningly. “By any chance… d’ya know where I can find Oikawa Tōru?”

Atsumu catches Hinata's frown and the way his body tenses doesn't bode well. Shit, he must have hit a nerve here. The assassin immediately regrets his question when he notices how nervously the man in front of him gulps.

“You don’t find him, Atsumu-san…” Hinata starts, keeping his voice loud enough for Atsumu to hear. “Oikawa-san will find you instead.”

Atsumu frowns and nods. He decides not to inquire further, the question must have already caused Hinata enough stress. His reaction was proof that he must have already dealt with Oikawa before, and Atsumu concludes it was far from being pleasurable. He wouldn't have expected anything else either. Yakuza never means anything good.

Atsumu is on his way to his apartment and could swear he feels eyes on him since the conversation with Hinata, watching every move he makes. He observes his surroundings, but spots nothing unusual, deciding to shake the instinct off.

Maybe it's still the uneasy feeling that Sakusa managed to sneak up behind him, leaving a warning to his perceptions to be more careful. Maybe he was overreacting. But maybe he should take that warning to heart and be more cautious. Sendai was full of shit. The last thing Atsumu needed was a knife or a bullet in his back just for being careless for even one second.

And that's exactly what gets him so messed up. Being constantly on guard, not being able to rest for a minute. No idea how long Atsumu would be able to keep this up.

But what immediately restores his peace of mind is the golden retriever that jumps towards him when Atsumu opens the garden gate to the house where his apartment is located. A smile finds his lips and his hands are immediately in the soft and ruffled fur, tousling it until the dog lies down on its back before him and lets him scratch its belly. So much for vulnerability.

“Emi, come back!”

The dog jumps up and speeds with his tongue hanging out to a man with sandy-colored hair that's parted unevenly into two sides. He's stepped out the front door onto the porch and is nuzzling his golden retriever when the dog has obeyed him and rushed back to his side.

Atsumu chuckles as he puts his hands back in his pockets and watches the two in front of him. He slowly saunters toward them, his grin widening as he does so.

“Emi is a traitor, Shirabu.”

“A guard dog who is truly miserable at her job,” Shirabu Kenjirō replies with a smile on his face as he showers his dog Emi with unconditional love. Atsumu scratches Emi's head before pushing past Shirabu.

“Is everything okay, Atsumu?”

“Huh?” Atsumu peers at Shirabu over his shoulder.

“I haven't seen you since the morning before yesterday. Is everything okay?”

Shirabu Kenjirō owns various apartments in a Yakuza independent district in Sendai and is definitely a savior to Atsumu. He rents the apartment directly above his own and, by being at home all the time, ensures that no one can sneak into Atsumu's place.

The fact that Shirabu's fiancé is a high-ranked police officer is a mixed blessing as well. Atsumu truly doesn't have to worry about his safety, but on the other hand, he also has to be damn careful not to let them be suspicious of him. Because all they know, or think they know, is that Atsumu is a reporter investigating a secret case that he's not allowed to share details about.

Atsumu has always been a good actor.

So, it's no wonder why Shirabu is worried when Atsumu disappears for several days without letting him know. And Atsumu appreciates it. Really. There aren't many people he can trust here in Miyagi. Shirabu and his fiancé, however, are among them.

“Everything is fine, don't worry,” Atsumu bares his teeth and sees Shirabu's shoulders relax. Good. “Say, is Semi home already?”

Shirabu nods to his apartment door. “Just got home. He's not really in a good mood though...”

“What happened?”

Shirabu shrugs, “He didn't really want to talk about it, just mumbled something about how much Oikawa and Sawamura piss him off.”

“Oikawa Tōru?”

“I guess so...”

Atsumu whips his head around as the door to Semi and Shirabu's apartment opens. Semi steps out with a rather irritated look on his face, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning against the doorframe.

“Please don't mention this name.”

“I warned you, Atsumu,” Shirabu chuckles as his fiancé joined in their conversation. Semi Eita’s grumpy appearance evaporates when Shirabu kisses him on the cheek and their golden retriever Emi nudges her nose against his leg. Of course, he can't resist his sweethearts.

“I will leave you two alone now. Come in, Emi!”

Semi smiles lovingly at Shirabu and squeezes his arm lightly as he walks past. Whatever this is between the two of them, Atsumu wishes that this kind of bliss would hit him someday too. Unconditional love. Indispensable trust. A dream come true.

“Did you want to talk to me?” Semi asks him with one eyebrow raised. He was in a much better mood now.

“What's going on with Sawamura and Oikawa? Are they in cahoots?”

Semi scoffs and detaches himself from the door frame. “If I had proof, I would have locked those two behind bars long ago. Daichi is hiding something, I'm sure of it.”

“What makes you think that?” Now Atsumu was the one crossing his arms and steadying his stance. He glances questioningly at Semi with a furrowed brow.

Sawamura Daichi is the senior police officer of the Sendai police station and thus Semi's boss. Semi has suspected for several weeks now that Daichi is covering for Oikawa's crimes and therefore he will never be able to catch the Kumichō as long as Daichi is able to get in his way.

“I arrested one of Oikawa's henchmen yesterday. He was carrying a gun and beat a man bloody until we tore him away.” Semi huffs out a laugh, staring at the ground in front of him while frowning. “This man showed no remorse.”

“How do you know it was one of Oikawa's guys?”

“Is this another one of your reporter questions?”

Atsumu grins mischievously, “Maybe.”

Semi sighs and shakes his head with a smile. Atsumu has gained so much trust that Semi would tell him anything. He thinks he can vent to Atsumu and probably hopes that the blonde can actually do something about the mafia in Sendai. Oh, if only Semi knew that Atsumu's charm is always tied to his own advantage.

“When I handcuffed him and explained his rights, he just sneered at me and said that 'Iwaizumi will sort things out'.” Atsumu frowns and Semi continues, answering Atsumu's unspoken question. “Iwaizumi is Oikawa's right-hand man. The man he trusts the most.”

Atsumu's eyes widen. Jackpot. Getting to Iwaizumi shouldn't be that difficult. Then he would lead Atsumu to Oikawa.

“It didn't take long for Sawamura to get a call that was visibly getting on his nerves. But a few hours later, the henchman was walking around freely again, and it all seemed as if nothing had ever happened.”

“Iwaizumi ransomed him?”

“Sawamura called it 'a mix-up' and that this case was a misunderstanding. If you ask me? Yes, Iwaizumi or Oikawa ransomed him.” A pout crept onto Semi's lips; his brow furrowed in frustration. “I don't know how deep Sawamura's in their shit… but if this keeps going on, Oikawa's soon going to have his hands all over Sendai.”

“You wanna stop him.”

“That's my duty.”

“How?”

Semi scoffs, “Can't you ask me something simpler?”

Atsumu knew Semi was after Oikawa. The good thing about this cop is that he detests Oikawa's Yakuza at least as much as Atsumu does. So, if he can help him to get closer to the goon, it would bring Atsumu to his target as well.

“Lemme get that right: all ya need is evidence against Sawamura so ya can operate freely and proceed against Oikawa?”

“All I need? You make it sound like it's a piece of cake.”

Atsumu puckers his mouth into a snort and stifles a mischievous grin. Semi had no idea who he was facing, after all. It is indeed easy for Atsumu to dig up the deepest secrets of a police chief. Knowing that Sawamura is all to get Atsumu to Oikawa makes the search for his brother much easier. Oh, this is very simple.

Atsumu licks his lips, eyes inflamed with hunger and anticipation for the upcoming hunt.

Game’s on.

As Atsumu walks the stairs up to his apartment, the feeling of being watched intensifies. His steps are slow, quiet, and soundless, and his mind is more vigilant than before. Semi may be downstairs, but Atsumu is almost certain that something is wrong here, that somebody is present.

He perceives his surroundings but cannot find anything remarkable. His chest moves up and down in languid controlled patterns, Atsumu makes sure he's been absolutely silent.

He sneaks outside through a window in the hallway and climbs up the facade of the house onto the roof. If someone was in his apartment, it would be suicide to walk in through the door.

On the roof, Atsumu crouches down and pulls out a knife that was attached to his ankle. It was sharper than the other two in his sleeve and larger – hard to dodge. Atsumu scans the area one more time but spots nothing.

What is going on here?

He sneaks to the window of his bathroom and carefully lowers himself from the roof as his feet reach the windowsill. He hugs the wall and breaks open the window without a peep, pushes it up, and climbs into his apartment.

To be honest, Atsumu still feels like shit. He’s nauseous and his mind is still covered in a veil. He would love to just abandon Sendai and leave this dirty city with all its rotten inhabitants behind him. But no, he was currently about to get himself into even deeper shit.

And just when he thinks things can't get any worse, Atsumu catches a tall, slender person with dark brown hair that is swept outwards and eyes of the corresponding color. He is wearing a black suit plaid with delicate white lines and a white turtleneck sweater underneath, tucked into the slacks of his suit and held in place by a black 'Louis Vuitton' belt with the initials gleaming in gold.

Atsumu straightens up from his slouching position as the two make eye contact but tightens his grip around the knife in his hand. There was no need for the man to voice it, Atsumu knew immediately who he was.

Oikawa Tōru.

Oikawa grinned, revealing teeth that were flawless aside from the misfortune of being in this man’s head. He sits crossed-legged on Atsumu's bed and plays with a gun in his lap, staring at Atsumu like some good boy who has been eagerly waiting for him to return home.

“Y’know there’s a police officer downstairs, ready to take ya out and arrest ya?”

Oikawa chuckles, “And you think I came here alone?”

Of course, he didn’t. Atsumu already felt the presence when he chatted with Shōyō. Eyes that watch him. Hands that were ready to pull the trigger. A body that was ready to move. They are here. Very close. He didn't know who it was, but he knew this one was a threat.

Oikawa, on the other hand, seems harmless. But this impression might be deceptive.

“Miya Atsumu,” Oikawa chuckled devilishly. “Sit down.”

“I prefer standin’.”

“That wasn't a question.”

“What? Ya think I’m yer bitch?”

“I could make you be exactly that.”

Atsumu snorts. He knew Oikawa was one of the biggest jerks here, but it still amazed the assassin to seeing him being so full of his shit.

Oikawa draws a silver case and a lighter from his jacket. He pulls out a cigarette, sticks it between his lips, and flips open the lighter. He takes a drag or two until the smoke swirls through his lungs and then holds out the case to Atsumu, offering him one as well.

“What d’ya want?”

Golden fire meets endless gasoline. It's a dangerous game, too easy to get hurt. One that can quickly turn deadly.

Their eyes are locked as Oikawa puts the case, as well as the lighter, back into his jacket and slowly rises from the bed. He leaves the pistol on top of Atsumu's mattress and approaches the assassin with slow, wary steps.

He tilts his head to the side as he stands in front of Atsumu to blow the smoke from his lungs, brown eyes steadily locked with gold ones. Oikawa is taller than him, and yet Atsumu is not one bit intimidated. He is cautious, and observant, keeping an eye on the Kumichō's every move.

“Shiratorizawa? Seriously Atsu-chan? You could have chosen any part of Sendai to stay in, and you chose Shiratorizawa?”

“I heard they don't like you.”

“What a lie,” Oikawa sneers. “Everyone loves me.”

“Sure, darlin’.”

The person who is keeping an eye on Atsumu must be somewhere behind him. If he cuts Oikawa's throat, he is sure to be a dead man as well.

Fucking Yakuza...

Oikawa reaches behind his back and pulls something out from under his jacket. Atsumu's eyes widen in surprise as he hands him a brown leather sheath with a patch sewn on it, showing a sun and a crescent moon. Atsumu's gaze falls to the knife in Oikawa's hand for a split second before sinking back into his big brown eyes. Atsumu frowns.

“It belongs to someone you're looking for, doesn't it?” Oikawa drags on his cigarette and gestures with the item in his hand, “Take it.”

Atsumu swallows thickly and shifts his gaze back to Osamu's knife. He reaches for it hesitantly, hand clasping the soft leather tightly, convinced he will never let it go. Is it a trap? Atsumu has no idea. He knows very well that someone is standing right behind him pointing a gun at him, and yet he trusts Oikawa not to harm him.

Honestly, when did Atsumu become so stupid?

“You’re looking for your brother, aren’t you?”

“Doesn’t seem to be any of yer business.”

“Osamu,” Oikawa smirks sickly. “Wasn’t that his name?”

Atsumu’s eyes widen, and the grip on his knives tightens.

How can Oikawa be so many steps ahead of him? How could he know that Atsumu would come looking for him? How could he know that Atsumu would be after this very knife in his hands? How did he know that Atsumu would be here? And most important of all, how could he know about Osamu?

Atsumu's plan to help Semi catch Sawamura is now obsolete. Oikawa stands before him in body and soul, and Atsumu still has no idea how dangerous this current situation actually is. He can't see through Oikawa. He doesn't even understand why he just handed him Osamu's blade when fucking Sakusa Kiyoomi knocked him out hours before and snatched that very knife from him.

Maybe Oikawa has answers to all the questions floating in Atsumu's head. He needs to know about Osamu's disappearance. He needs to know where his brother is and how to rescue him. And above all, Atsumu needs to know if—

“He’s alive, Atsumu.”

Atsumu's gaze snaps up to Oikawa. His body tenses.

What?

“Where did ya get it from?” The words unconsciously leave his lips.

‘Samu is alive…

“Chibi-chan found it and gave it to me a while ago. Some bastard stole it along with some other stuff and thought he could bootleg shit… weapons, drugs, gold… in the middle of Sendai! Do you believe that?! The audacity!”

Oikawa slumps down on Atsumu's bed and flails his arms as he speaks. Atsumu's eyes are still wide open, his body not twitching a bit. Atsumu gulps.

‘Samu…

“The knife isn't all I have, Atsumu.” Oikawa stubs out the cigarette on Atsumu's nightstand and throws the stub on the floor. This bastard has no manners. “Apparently your brother left some more things in Sendai.”

‘Samu, are you here?

“What d’ya want?”

Atsumu repeats, his expression is serious. He has no clue what Oikawa is planning.

“Power. Fortitude… evidence,” Oikawa's eyes are dark, menacing. “Just like you, I need to find Miya Osamu.”

“Why?”

“Because he's the key to me regaining Seijoh from the asshole that expanded in Tokyo,” Oikawa explains with a pissed-off look on his face.

Said asshole from Tokyo is Ushijima Wakatoshi and he is, along with Oikawa, one of the three big Kumichōs that took the largest territories in Japan. Atsumu has never seen his face. However, he has heard a lot about him.

Atsumu doesn't know much about the internal conflicts of the three big Yakuza. When someone orders him to eliminate a certain asshole, he doesn't care which group they belong to, because one less member means one more ease for Japan. However, what he has noticed is that the frontiers between them aren't as peaceful as they used to be a while ago.

There’d been an uptick in violence among the three big Yakuza over the last few months. From all three sides, men were sending up smoke signals to each other in blood and gunpowder. There is a war brewing. A big one. Atsumu knows that.

From what he could gather about Oikawa and his members, he knew that Seijoh was Oikawa's home. Losing that territory to a rival, an enemy, must have been like a slap in the face. So, if Oikawa has to find Osamu in order to obtain evidence to regain his territory, then Atsumu could take advantage of that. He would no longer fight alone.

But it's fucking Yakuza and he truly had no reason to get involved in their disputes.

“Join me, and we’re going to find him.”

Atsumu knows it's wrong. But he is tired, exhausted, and desperate. He has been looking for his brother for almost two years now and the progress he makes on his own is small. Much too small.

He knows it’s a deal with the devil, but Atsumu spent his entire life in hell so what difference would it make? It shouldn't be a problem to abandon them once he has his brother back. Maybe this is his only chance.

So, you're seriously gonna let Yakuza help you?

The voice inside his head is small, but he is sure it belongs to Osamu. He won't be amused to find out what Atsumu is getting himself into just now. No one from Inarizaki will be. But for Atsumu, this is the only chance.

“Tell me what ya know.”

Atsumu extinguishes his inner conflict and surrenders to his heart, which cries out to cling to any opportunity to bring his twin back home. His current option? Oikawa Tōru.

I will save you, ‘Samu.

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