6 years ago...
At the bar campus, Tokyo University - 8:23 PM
Back then, the world hadn't yet turned dark. No secrets, no lies. Just cheap beer, neon lights, and music blasting in a crowded college bar called Neon Fang.
It was a Friday night, and the place was alive with youth. Laughter bounced off the walls, sneakers squeaked on the sticky floor, and a cloud of cigarette smoke floated lazily above the heads of students pretending they weren't just a paycheck away from broke.
Ian sat in a corner booth surrounded by his friends , most of them from his Literature and Cultural Studies major. He looked good. Not flashy, but sharp. A clean black shirt, sleeves rolled up just right, silver watch glinting under the low light. There was a natural magnetism about him, the way he spoke, how he carried himself. Confident without being cocky. Cool without trying.
"Bro, did you finish the Hesse paper?" his friend asked mid-sip of beer.
"Typed the last line while half-asleep this morning," Ian chuckled.
"It probably reads like a drunk philosopher rambling to himself." He added.
"Perfect. Just like the rest of your academic career," another guy chimed in, and everyone laughed.
Ian leaned back with a grin, raising his glass, clinking it against the others. "To drunk philosophers and barely passing grades."
Then he saw her.
Across the room, at the bar.
She wasn't dressed to stand out. A faded leather jacket, tight jeans, boots that had seen their share of sidewalks. Hair tied in a loose ponytail, no heavy makeup, no attention-grabbing accessories. Yet somehow… she had presence. That kind of quiet confidence that didn't need a spotlight.
Ruth.
She leaned casually against the counter, a half-empty glass of whiskey in her hand, unfazed by the noise around her.
Ian didn't feel thunderstruck. No cheesy love-at-first-sight moment. Just… curious.
But it wasn't Ruth that caught his attention entirely, not at first.
It was the guy beside her.
Hiro.
A known campus flirt and self-proclaimed ladies' man. He was halfway into one of his classic routines, leaning in too close, hand already touching Ruth's arm like she hadn't just flinched away.
"You know, you look like a girl who appreciates poetry," Hiro said with a smirk.
"Roses are red, violets are blue—"
"Let me stop you right there," Ruth cut him off.
Ian leaned forward, watching.
"You're not a poet. You're not even literate. You're just a walking STD with commitment issues." Ruth added, downing the rest of her whiskey in one motion.
The girls nearby laughed. Hiro blinked, then tried to recover. "Whoa, damn, no need to be mean. I was just being nice."
"Being nice?" Ruth tilted her head. "You just stared at my chest for thirty seconds and called it poetry. That's not nice. That's clinical perversion."
Even Ian winced a little, but also smiled. That was brutal. And kind of impressive.
Hiro stammered,
"Whatever. Your loss." He said.
"Not really," she said flatly, waving the bartender for another drink.
Hiro retreated with his ego bruised, and Ian watched the scene unfold with growing amusement. This girl didn't just shoot guys down - she vaporized them.
He stood up, drink still in hand.
"Where you going?" One of Ian's friends asked.
Ian shrugged. "To make a questionable decision."
He approached Ruth slowly, casually, not trying too hard. He leaned against the bar, just far enough to not be invasive.
"Well," Ian said with a sideways smile, "that might've been the most entertaining public execution I've seen since the campus open-mic night."
Ruth glanced sideways at him, unimpressed.
"You here to try your luck too?" She said.
"Nah," he chuckled. "I don't flirt with war machines. I just admire them from a safe distance."
That earned a short laugh from her.
Ian extended a hand. "Ian."
"I know," she said, shaking it. "You're the Lit major who called our philosophy professor a 'pretentious nihilist with a God complex' in front of the whole class."
"Oh… you were there?"
"I wasn't. But it made its way around the campus gossip chain. Along with your dramatic exit."
Ian smiled. "In my defense, he asked me to 'challenge the boundaries of thought.' So I did."
"You also walked out quoting Bukowski and slammed the door so hard the clock fell off the wall." Ruth added.
"I like to make an impression," he grinned.
Ruth smirked, sipping her new drink. "Well. Consider it made."
There was a pause. Not awkward, just… slow. Natural. Comfortable, even.
"So," Ian asked, "you always roast guys in public or was Hiro just lucky?"
"He was dumb enough to believe a leather jacket made him edgy," Ruth replied. "I had to say something."
"Noted," Ian said. "I'll leave mine at home next time."
They talked for the next hour. About books. About music. About their shared hatred of performative activism on campus and professors who used ten-dollar words to say nothing. Ruth had wit, edge, and a strange charm - like a grenade with a bow tied around the pin.
And Ian? He made her laugh, for real. Not the polite kind. The real kind.
The night rolled on. Friends filtered out. Lights dimmed. By the time they realized it, they were the only two still at the bar.
Ruth looked at him, eyes a little softer than before. "I don't usually do this," she said.
"Do what?" Ian asked, curious.
"Talk to strangers. Or stay in one place for too long."
"Well," Ian said, sliding his empty glass to the side, "if it helps, I don't feel like a stranger. And this doesn't feel like standing still."
She looked at him for a beat longer. Then she smiled, not the savage one, not the polite one.
A real one.
"Ian."
"Yeah?"
"You might be trouble."
He shrugged. "Probably."
She clinked her glass against his. "Good. I like trouble."
And just like that, the fuse was lit.
They didn't fall in love that night.
But something started.
Something real.
Something dangerous.