Ninja Warrior Auditions

Malik woke up to cold sheets.

His hand reached instinctively for warmth, but she wasn't there. Only the faint smell of cherry vanilla and something buttery lingered. He sat up, running a hand through his dark, tousled hair, golden eyes narrowing with silent calculation.

Six days left.

That's how long his boss had told him to lay low. "A week, tops," he'd said, casual as always, like vanishing into thin air was just another Tuesday chore.

But Malik knew better.

The last time he'd trusted "a week," he'd returned to find half his contacts dead, his safehouse torched, and a price on his head so high even toddlers were probably hunting him with plastic knives. He ended up off the grid for a month—wounded, hunted, barely breathing.

So no. He didn't trust timelines. Didn't trust promises. Didn't trust them.

All he knew was that the clock was ticking—and whether it was six days or sixty, he had to make them count.

He clenched his jaw, thoughts clicking rapidly like the loading chamber of his favorite gun. What could he do in that time? What could he give them in such a fragile window?

Skills.

If he couldn't stay as their shield, he'd make them their own weapons.

His chest tightened painfully at the thought. He didn't want to do it. He didn't want to drag them deeper into this filthy, bloody mess. But survival was a currency they couldn't afford to lack. If he had to ship them off somewhere safer – anywhere safer – they needed to at least stand a chance.

He exhaled harshly and stood up, tugging on his black sweatpants and a loose dark shirt before stalking down the steel corridor.

They'd start today. No more delays.

The smell hit him first – butter, flour, and sizzling eggs. Then the soft, melodic sound of their voices, laughter curling like morning smoke.

He walked in silently, a shadow among the warmth. Both girls turned to him.

Zina stood at the counter, flour dusting her pink hair and cheek, her lips curved in a tired but soft smile. Hana was scrambling eggs, an oversized black tee hanging off one shoulder, humming under her breath like a lazy cat in the sun.

"Training starts today," he said gruffly, voice still husky from sleep. "Eat light."

They both paused, blinking at him like he'd sprouted a third eye.

Zina narrowed her eyes. "Wow. Good morning to you too, Malik."

Hana scoffed. "Training? For what – the Ninja Warrior auditions?"

Zina snorted at her sarcasm but turned back to him with wary crimson eyes. "Seriously… why do we need training?"

Instead of answering, he moved.

In a blur, he stepped forward, grabbed Hana's wrist, twisted it behind her back, and nudged her knees until she buckled to the floor with a startled yelp.

"What the hell, Malik!" Zina screamed, slamming her spatula down.

He ignored her, golden eyes locked onto Hana's wide, stunned ones as he held her down with a single large hand.

"Get off me, you–!"

"See that?" he said coldly, voice like ice cracking. "You're slow. Vulnerable. If I wanted, I could break your neck before you even screamed. This is why you train."

He released her abruptly. Hana scrambled up, clutching her wrist, glaring with murder in her gaze. "Asshole."

"You don't survive in this world with only digital skills," he continued, turning his gaze to Zina. His eyes softened slightly but remained hard around the edges. "Forget your hacking for a moment. Out there, your body is your last line of defence."

Silence followed his words like a dark shadow.

He turned away, ready to leave, his broad back tense under the thin black fabric. But before he could step out, Zina's small, hesitant voice stopped him.

"You're… you're not eating breakfast?"

He paused. Turned. She stood there, holding up a tray of golden scones, steam curling from their buttery crusts. She picked one up, holding it out to him with hopeful, trembling fingers.

"I made your favourite. Buttery scones… just like you used to love."

His chest clenched painfully, something hot and bitter blooming in his throat.

In two strides, he was in front of her. Without a word, he cupped her flour-dusted hand in his large, calloused one, brought the scone to his lips, and bit into it silently, eyes never leaving hers. He chewed, swallowed, then leaned down and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to her temple.

"That's enough for me," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin." Listen training won't be easy. You will scar, you will bleed but you will emerge stronger. This is just a fair warning, okay?"

Then he turned and walked out, silent as a shadow disappearing into dawn.

Zina stood frozen, crimson eyes wide, lips parted in shock.

Beside her, Hana smirked devilishly, elbowing her ribs.

"Damn… when are you guys gonna go at it already?"

"Shut up!" Zina screeched, her entire face burning red as she threw a scone at Hana's laughing face.

Zina stood frozen, crimson eyes wide, lips parted in shock.

Beside her, Hana smirked devilishly, elbowing her ribs.

"Damn… when are you guys gonna go at it already?"

"Shut up!" Zina screeched, her entire face burning red as she threw a scone at Hana's smug face.

Hana ducked, cackling as the pastry splatted against the steel wall.

"You know he practically moaned after one bite, right?" Hana said, licking butter off her fingers. "You fed him. That's soulmate behavior. That's 'we fight, then bone in a weapon closet' energy."

Zina covered her face with her flour-streaked hands, groaning. "Can you just… not for one second?"

"Nope." Hana picked up another scone and munched it like popcorn. "He grabbed me like a judo daddy, and you still managed to steal the show with a baked good. Iconic."

Zina turned back to the tray, smoothing the parchment paper just to have something to do with her hands. But her heart was racing.

Not because Hana was being ridiculous—though, she was.

But because Malik meant it. That wasn't just "thanks for the scone." That was goodbye in layers.

She turned her gaze toward the hallway where he'd disappeared. Something clenched in her gut. She didn't like how far away he felt—even standing just a room away. The man had secrets strapped to his bones, and even though he held her last night like a man afraid to lose something again, he was slipping.

Preparing to vanish.

And she couldn't let that happen.

"Hey." Hana nudged her gently. "You good?"

Zina nodded once, too quick. "Yeah. Yeah."

"You're lying," Hana said bluntly.

Zina laughed bitterly, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. "How do you do that?"

"Live with you long enough, you start reading the soundtrack in your sighs."

Zina turned to face her. "I don't want him to leave."

Hana's eyes softened. "Then don't let him."

"How? Tie him to the bed?"

"Girl, I would pay to see that," Hana said, then waved her spoon. "But no—this is Malik. You can't trap him. But you can remind him what he's fighting for."

Zina bit her lip. "What if I'm not enough?"

"Z." Hana looked her dead in the eyes. "He's Malik. The man literally ate your scone like it held ancient magic. I think you're enough, babe."

Zina smiled weakly. "Thanks, Hana."

"Anytime." She paused. "Now come on. Let's go get our asses kicked by scone daddy."

Zina choked. "HANA."