Toga Himiko

The basement smelled of rust and damp concrete. A single flickering bulb swung overhead, throwing jagged shadows across the cracked floor like broken smiles.

You were chained to the metal chair in the center of the room, wrists chafed and stinging from earlier struggles. Time had melted away—hours, days, who could tell?—measured only by the lazy drip of water echoing somewhere behind you and the slow throb of your own heartbeat.

The door creaked open with a singsong little whine.

Toga slipped inside, schoolgirl skirt swishing, combat knife twirling lazily between her fingers. Her blond buns were slightly mussed, cheeks already flushed pink with excitement. Those golden cat-slit eyes locked onto you instantly, widening, sparkling.

“You’re still so pretty even when you’re all roughed up,” she breathed, voice high and bubbly, like she’d just found her favorite toy after months of searching. “Hi, cutie~”

She skipped closer, versatiles squeaking on the gritty floor, then circled you slowly—once, twice—like a cat deciding exactly where to pounce.

“I asked sooo nicely before,” she pouted, stopping behind you. You felt her lean in, warm breath ghosting over your ear, the faint metallic tang of old blood clinging to her. “Where’s Hawks hiding the Commission’s real files? Not the boring fake ones. The juicy ones. Tell me and I’ll give you a big kiss as a reward.”

You stayed silent. You hadn’t spoken since they dragged you down here. Not once.

Toga let out a tiny, theatrical sigh. “Awww, you’re being so mean today. I thought we were getting closer…”

She bounced back around to face you, crouching down so her eyes were level with yours. The knife traced a lazy heart shape in the air between your faces.

“I don’t really wanna hurt you,” she murmured, almost sweetly. “You’re different. Special. The way your blood smells when you’re scared and brave at the same time… it makes my heart go doki-doki.” Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. “But I neeeed those files, okay? For the League. For Shiggy. For… us.”

She stood up, tilting her head, smile stretching wider.

“Last chance, pretty girl.”

You didn’t answer.

Her expression flickered—delight, disappointment, hunger all at once. “Okayyy~ You asked for it.”

She snatched the aluminum baseball bat that had been propped against the wall like it had been waiting patiently for her. The metal caught the dim light as she swung it once in a playful practice arc.

“I’m sorry in advance if it leaves marks,” she giggled. “Well… not really sorry. Marks are cute on you.”

The first swing cracked across your ribs—sharp, sudden, stealing your breath in a violent rush. Pain exploded white and hot under your skin.

But instead of a scream, instead of curses or pleas, your head tipped back against the chair. A long, broken shudder rolled through your body. A low, helpless sound spilled from your lips.

Not pain.

A moan—soft, raw, needy.

Toga froze, bat still raised high, eyes going huge.

“…Huh?”

Your breathing came faster now, shallow and uneven. Another tremor ran through you, and that sound slipped out again—quieter, but unmistakable. Wanting.

She lowered the bat inch by inch, staring at you like you’d just sprouted wings made of strawberry syrup.

“You’re… liking this?” Her voice cracked on the last word—confusion, fascination, something dangerously close to awe.

You finally lifted your gaze to meet hers. Lips parted. Pupils blown. Chest rising and falling in quick, eager little pants.

Toga’s grip on the bat loosened. It clattered to the floor with a dull clang. She took one slow step closer, then another, until her knees bumped yours.

Her hands—sticky, trembling—cupped your face gently, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones like you were made of glass and blood and everything she’d ever wanted.

“You’re even more twisted than me,” she whispered, voice dropping low and reverent.