Katsuki left Chikusa at exactly 7:00 PM.
Not for dramatic effect. For efficiency.
The roads were clearer. He'd calculated the route like a case brief—factoring in optimal rest stops, fuel efficiency, caffeine intake, and the probable scenario in which Hana screamed at him again and slammed a door in his face.
He'd packed in under eight minutes. T-shirts, two pairs of jeans, a single dress shirt—for video meetings, not for appearances—and sweatpants in case he needed to sleep in his car or confront his life choices in something that didn't restrict blood flow. No suit. No tie. He wasn't going to court. He was going to Akita. And there was no way in hell he was showing up to a sake brewery in a three-piece.
He pulled on a black T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Shoved a cap over his hair because he hadn't bothered with a mirror. Grabbed his laptop, charger, and the protein bars he kept stocked like ammunition. Everything went into the backseat of the Panamera. He started the engine without hesitation and merged onto the expressway before his fifth cigarette of the day.
The Taylor Swift playlist started somewhere outside Komaki.
Not his doing. Obviously.
Hana had changed his Spotify the last time they drove to Gifu District Court. Said his "aggressively male playlist" was giving her a migraine and making the whole car feel like a pre-fight locker room. He'd told her to shut it. She'd changed the playlist anyway.
He'd meant to reset it. Never did.
Now he was speeding north on the Chūbu Expressway listening to a ten-minute song about scarves and emotional trauma like some sad bastard in a Korean drama.
He snorted but didn't turn it off.
Because apparently he wasn't even allowed to control that anymore.
Not his music. Not his car. Not his goddamn assistant, who had screamed at him—twice—and then walked out like she was the one who'd been betrayed. No warning. No time. Just ten seconds of fire and fury before disappearing like he was supposed to just take it.
And now she was hiding.
In Akita, of all places. Where he couldn't just storm over and yell at her in the break room. Where she could pretend he didn't exist while making daikon pickles and getting coddled by her sake-brewing parents.
She didn't even give him the chance to explain. Like his mistakes—his, who cleaned up everyone else's for a living—were unforgivable. Like he wasn't allowed to mess up. God forbid he miscalculate one fucking conversation.
Typical.
Emotionally reckless. Catastrophically stubborn. Entirely allergic to communication.
Well, fine.
He'd drive to Akita. He'd find her. He'd drag her back to Meieki if he had to do it with one arm around her waist and the other holding her resignation hostage.
Because the firm needed her.
That was the official reason. The logical one. The one he repeated in his head like a legal argument whenever his jaw clenched too hard.
The firm was in chaos. Someone wrote a petition—an actual, handwritten petition—demanding her reinstatement. Like they were in the middle of a school field trip and not running a boutique litigation powerhouse with billion-yen clients and three lawsuits in arbitration.
He'd shove the petition in her face. Remind her that actions had consequences. That people depended on her. That this wasn't some drama she could walk out of halfway through the season.
And then—then—they'd talk. She'd listen. He'd explain. Calmly. Rationally. Without shouting. Unless she started shouting first.
Which she would.
He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. The cabin was cool—perfectly calibrated AC, of course—but the tension in his shoulders hadn't budged. His thumb tapped against the leather. His jaw was tight. Everything in him was tight. Rage folded neatly beneath logic. Frustration hiding behind a schedule.
He was three hours in when the call came through. Phone connected automatically, Kai's voice filling the car with smugness and leisure.
"You could've taken the train," he said. "Or a plane. You know. Like a person."
Katsuki didn't glance at the screen. "This thing needs a long drive."
Technically true. He hadn't had the time to break it in properly since he bought it last December—trials, clients, chaos. If he was going to spiral, he might as well do it at 180 kilometers an hour in German-engineered silence.
Kai chuckled. "So what's the plan? Full stalker mode?"
Katsuki took a drag from his cigarette, exhaled through the cracked window. "I know you're in Osu."
A pause. Then lightly, "What makes you think that?"
Katsuki rolled his eyes.
Because Kai hadn't shut up about Yuna since they left the apartment. Because even now, his voice had that thin edge of distraction, like he was trying not to look too interested while sitting directly next to the source of his interest. Because despite the polished charm and predator's grin, Kai never played around when it came to people he actually wanted.
And this? This wasn't playing.
So instead of spelling it out, Katsuki just said, "The same way you knew where I'm going."
A laugh. Followed by the subtle shuffle of the phone being passed.
Then Yuna's voice, bright and merciless: "So, listen up, Bossman. You're gonna drive yourself straight into a drama, so at least take the scenic route. First—stop over in Joetsu, yeah? You'll be dead by the time you hit Yamagata otherwise, and your emotionally constipated soul needs rest. In Yamagata, there's a traveler's inn near the station called Tsuki no Mado. Quiet. No frills. Perfect for brooding in silence."
He didn't argue.
Mostly because she wasn't wrong.
"From there," she continued, "it's another three-ish hours to Nikaho. You'll come in through Route 7—keep the coast on your left, mountains on your right. Once you see Mt. Chōkai looking like it's about to swallow the sky, you're close."
That was… oddly specific.
"The brewery's in the older part of Konoura. Residential area just off the main road, near the base of the mountain. When you reach the area, just ask where the Sukehiros live."
"Got it," he said.
"And a warning," she added. "Hana might've mentioned she has two brothers. They're weirdly protective. The younger one, Ren—you might be able to scare him. Might. But Rei-niisan?" A pause. "That man gives off shovel-in-the-trunk energy."
Katsuki didn't flinch.
Good.
Let them try.
The call ended with a click. The cabin returned to silence.
And then—
Spotify shuffled.
Of course. Her favorite.
"I know that I'm a handful, baby
I know I never think before I jump…"
Katsuki's eye twitched.
He could hear her voice layered over the track—loud, off-key, unapologetic. Feet on his dashboard. Hair a mess. Pointing at him like she was on a talk show and this was her roast segment.
"And there's a lot of cool chicks out there…"
She used to smirk when she hit that line. Like he was the one with options. Like she wasn't the chaos incarnate he'd somehow let rewrite his Spotify and half his goddamn schedule.
"Trouble's gonna follow where I go—"
That, at least, was accurate.
"You'll never find another like me…"
He snorted.
Right.
As if the universe would be kind enough to curse him twice.
-----
Katsuki – Midnight at Joetsu
It was 12:04 AM when Katsuki pulled into the Joetsu Service Area.
The Panamera rolled to a smooth stop, headlights slicing through the empty lot before cutting out. The gas tank had been nagging him for the past thirty kilometers. His bladder was worse—sending increasingly aggressive signals that he could no longer ignore. So much for German engineering solving everything.
He shifted the gear into park, took a slow breath, and exhaled. The highway was dark, lined with distant neon signs and silence. Even the vending machines buzzed quietly, like they knew how ridiculous this entire trip was.
He stepped out, stretched his spine with a grunt, and rolled his shoulders until they popped. The night air was cool up here—crisp, damp, carried a faint whiff of pine and asphalt. He glanced at the time again, because of course he did. Five hours since he left Chikusa. Nearly halfway to Akita.
And what exactly was his plan when he got there?
He'd been rehearsing it in his head the entire drive. Over and over again, like a deposition from hell with a witness who never played by the rules.
Possible Scenario One: Hana screams at him.
Most likely. High probability. Her volume range defied physics. He'd have to stay calm. Firm voice. Minimal sarcasm. Do not roll his eyes unless he wanted to get stabbed with something blunt and floral.
Scenario Two: Hana hits him with something.
Also likely. Especially if she had access to ceramic cookware. Best case, it'd be a shoe. Worst case, a full rice paddle. He'd accept it. Take the hit like a man. As long as she talked afterward.
Scenario Three: Hana cries.
Unlikely. She didn't cry when she failed the bar. Didn't cry when her ex ghosted her. The idea of Hana crying in front of him felt like a hallucination. But if it happened? He'd short-circuit. There was no protocol for that. He might combust.
Scenario Four: Hana is happy to see him, hugs him, forgives him, and they live happily ever after.
He snorted aloud.
Right.
And then they ride a unicorn back to Meieki while Taylor Swift sings their wedding theme. Sure.
Scenario Five: Worst-case scenario. She looks at him like she doesn't know him. Doesn't yell. Doesn't cry. Doesn't smile. Just stares right through him like he's a client she's already forgotten about.
That one—the silent one—was the real threat.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and headed toward the convenience store, jaw set, footsteps loud against the quiet concrete.
He'd buy canned coffee. Maybe another pack of cigarettes. Refuel. Piss. And keep driving.
Because regardless of the scenario, he was still going to Akita.
Still going to find her.
And still going to drag her stubborn, chaotic, emotionally destructive ass home.
Even if she threw a rice paddle at him on arrival.
Especially if she did.