Page 12 of The Oni's Heart

I froze for a second, my breath catching in my throat. He looked different now—his face still calm, but there was a steel in his gaze that wasn’t there before. His body was positioned protectively between me and the man who had dared to lay a hand on me. I could see the slight tension in his posture, the veins popping out the side of his bald head, prepared for whatever came next.

The man who had grabbed me scoffed, still holding onto my arm, but his eyes flickered between Tatsuya and me.

"Mind your business, monk," the man sneered, his grip tightening on my wrist, pulling me closer toward him. “This doesn’t concern you.”

But Tatsuya didn’t flinch. His voice was low, almost serene, but it held a quiet authority that made the man hesitate. "Itdoesconcern me. Let her go."

The thug scoffed again, his grip on me tightening. “And what? You’re gonna stop me? I think you’ve got the wrong idea, monk.”

Tatsuya didn’t even blink. "You’re the one with the wrong idea."

He stepped forward, closing the distance between him and the stranger, moving with the calm precision of someone who knew how to handle conflict without making a show of it.

I didn’t have time to process what was happening. One moment, the loser was pulling me toward him, and the next, Tatsuya had moved in a flash, grabbing the man’s arm andtwisting it behind his back with a practiced move. The stranger gasped, letting go of my wrist in an instant as he staggered to the side, clearly shocked by Tatsuya’s swift action.

"Let me make something clear," Tatsuya said, his voice unwavering. "You will not touch her again." His grip tightened on the guy’s arm, and the man yelped in pain, his body starting to go limp as he realized there was no way out of this situation.

I stood there, a bit impressed, trying to make sense of what was happening. I hadn’t expected Tatsuya to step in like this—not after the brief interaction we had before. He was a monk, after all. This kind of thing was the last thing I imagined him getting involved in. Weren’t monks about peace and all?

Realizing he was outmatched, the guy from the bar cursed under his breath. "This isn’t over," he spat, and with a final, desperate jerk, he tried to pull away from Tatsuya’s hold. But the monk didn’t budge, keeping him in place with ease.

"It is now," Tatsuya said, his tone cold but resolute.

The stranger growled, stumbling backward as he finally gave up, retreating into the night, his pride bruised but his life intact.

I watched him go, my heart still racing. The adrenaline from the fight was starting to wear off, and I was left with the eerie quiet of the night around us. I turned to face Tatsuya, my mind still trying to catch up with what had just happened. No one had ever interceded for me before, let alone a male. In the past, the males usually joined in with whatever they had planned for me.

For a moment, neither of us said anything. I could feel the weight of his presence next to me—a calm in the middle of the storm. He was standing there, unmoved, as if he had no trouble with the confrontation at all.

Finally, he spoke, his voice softer now, but still steady. “Are you all right?”

I blinked, taken aback by the concern in his voice. It was strange hearing it, and even stranger that he seemed genuinelyconcerned about me—the girl with an attitude problem because she couldn’t process her emotions earlier, and he happened to be the closest casualty. I wasn’t used to this—I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

People like him, people who seemed so untouchable, didn’t care about someone like me. Not in this way.

I didn’t answer yet. Instead, I looked away, pushing down the gnawing feeling in my chest that told me to distrust this moment, to keep my distance. I wasn’t used to this kind of care, this kind of protection. I was always able to take care of myself on the streets.

“I’ll be fine,” I muttered, my voice rough, not meeting his eyes.

Tatsuya didn’t push. He just nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before he stepped back, his presence still a calming anchor in the chaos of the night.

“Stay safe,” he said, and guilt began to eat away at me.

“Momoi.”

“What was that?”

With a deep breath, I fought every survival instinct I grew up with. “My name. It’s Momoi.”

He didn’t need to know my last name.

I felt something shift in me, something I wasn’t ready to acknowledge, and I turned away before I could feel any more of it. I wasn’t ready for this—whatever this was.

Without another word, I walked off into the night. I couldn’t make sense of him. But one thing was clear—he had just saved me, in more ways than one. And that thought stayed with me, heavy and uncertain, as I disappeared into the shadows of the city once again.

8

A Drop of Rage

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