Chapter 2094 - App 48

"Jack..." Her voice trembled, thick with barely contained emotion. She pressed her lips together, as if trying to compose herself, before continuing in a rush. "Please... take care of Haruna for me. And Yuko—" Her voice broke. "Even when she acts like she doesn't need it."

"I will," I promised, my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest. The weight of her trust settled on my shoulders.

Kasumi hesitated, then added in a softer tone, "You can come to Japan. To meet me." Her eyes searched mine through the screen, hopeful yet uncertain. "With Haruna... and Yuko, if she'll come. I would... I would like that very much."

The vulnerability in her expression made my heart ache. "Don't worry, Aunt," I said firmly. "I'll bring them both to you. I promise."

A small, trembling smile curved her lips. "Thank you, Jack," she whispered before the screen darkened.

The moment the call ended, the dam broke. Haruna launched herself at me, her small frame shaking with sobs. "Jack!" Her voice was muffled against my chest as she clung to me. "I just want my family to be whole again. Why does everything have to be so hard?"

I wrapped my arms around her, one hand cradling the back of her head as I pressed my lips to her hair. My gaze drifted toward Yuko's closed door, where I knew she was probably sitting in the dark, fighting her own battles.

We were all fractured in different ways—Yuko with her walls of thorns, Kasumi with her ocean of regret, Haruna with her desperate hope, and me... caught in the middle, wanting to fix what I couldn't fully understand.

But maybe that was the point.

Maybe healing wasn't about fixing the broken pieces perfectly. Maybe it was about holding them together, even when they didn't quite fit yet.

I tightened my hold on Haruna, making another silent promise—not just to Kasumi, but to all of us.

We would find our way back to each other.

Even if we had to do it one painful, beautiful piece at a time.

body trembling, her grip on my hand so tight it almost hurt.

And I realized—she wasn't just broken.

She was terrified.

Terrified of needing someone. Terrified of letting anyone in.

But for the first time, she wasn't pushing me away.

And that was enough.

Overhearing Yuko and Kasumi's conversation, I realized there had to be more to the story. Yuko's anger wasn't just about her mother's plea to abandon the assassin's life and embrace normalcy. There was something deeper, something unspoken. If it were anything less, SERA would've already uncovered it.

I turned to Haruna, her small frame trembling in my arms, her tears warm against my skin. Gently, I wiped them away, my thumb brushing her cheek. "Don't cry," I murmured, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. "I'll fix everything. I promise."

Haruna nodded slowly, her fingers clutching at my sleeve like a lifeline. "I believe you," she whispered. "I haven't seen sister laugh or chat with anyone the way she does with you. And today... she actually spoke to Mom. Even if it was just yelling, it was something." Her voice cracked. "Before, no matter what, she wouldn't say a word to her. Even if I put the phone on speaker, she'd just... stay silent."

A cold dread settled in my chest. "Haruna," I asked carefully, "do you know what happened between Sister Yuko and your mother?"

She shook her head, her eyes glistening with fresh tears. "I don't know. But when her sister was eighteen, she disappeared for a long time. We couldn't find her anywhere. Mom even filed a police report, but nothing happened."

"Then, one day, she just came home... and we tried to live normally again." Her breath hitched. "But then, sister brought me here—far away from Mom. I asked her what happened, but she wouldn't tell me. And Mom... she won't talk about it either."

I exhaled slowly, my mind racing. There was more to this. So much more. Yuko's anger wasn't just about her mother knowing she was an assassin. It wasn't just about Kasumi begging her to quit, to live a normal life. No, this ran deeper.

Haruna turned to me, her eyes wide and searching. "Jack... what do we do?"

I reached out, gently pinching her nose between my fingers, earning a weak swat from her. "First," I said with a teasing grin, "I think I need to feed my girlfriend until she turns into a fat little pig."

"Jack!" she gasped, her cheeks flushing as she tried to pull away. "I am not going to be a fat pig!"

I chuckled, ruffling her hair before standing up. "You stay here. I'll bring dinner."

But Haruna was already on her feet, her expression shifting to determination. "No, I need to talk to my sister. She can't just shut me out like this." She moved toward Yuko's door, her hand hovering over the wood as if unsure whether to knock.

I watched her for a moment before heading to the kitchen. By the time I returned with two steaming plates, Haruna was back, her shoulders slumped, her face pale. "Jack..." she murmured, her voice barely audible. "She said she's not hungry. She won't even open the door for me."

I set the plates down on the table, serving her food with a quiet sigh. "You and your sister really are two peas in a pod, you know that?" I glanced at her. "Just this morning, you locked yourself in your room and refused to talk to anyone. Now she's doing the exact same thing."

"It's not the same!" Haruna protested, though her heart didn't seem to be in it.

I pulled her closer, guiding her onto my lap. She let out a surprised "Aah! Jack, my sister's still—"

I flicked her forehead lightly. "What's going on in that head of yours? I'm just feeding you." I wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her steady. "And don't worry—I'll talk to Sister Yuko after you've eaten. Okay?"

Haruna hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of my shirt. "I'm not hungry..." she mumbled.

As if on cue, her stomach let out a loud, betraying growl. Haruna's face burned crimson, and she buried it against my chest with a muffled groan. "Ugh, I hate my stupid stomach," she grumbled, her words muffled against my shirt.

I couldn't help but laugh, my fingers hooking under her chin to tilt her face up. Before she could protest, my hand came down with a sharp, playful slap on her ass.

The sound echoed in the room, and she let out a startled "Aaaah—! Jack, don't—!" Her cheeks flushed even deeper, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she squirmed.

I grinned down at her, completely unfazed by the way she squirmed in my lap. Her cheeks were still flushed from the earlier teasing, and I couldn't resist leaning in just a little closer, my voice dropping to that tone that always made her roll her eyes but lean into me anyway.

"Haruna," I said, my voice a mix of firmness and affection, "you're being punished for lying to your boyfriend." My thumb brushed against her lower lip, slow and deliberate, watching the way her breath hitched just slightly. "And you know what happens when you lie to me."

She let out an exasperated huff, her glare lacking any real heat. "Ugh, you're impossible," she grumbled, but there was no conviction behind it—just embarrassment and that familiar spark of amusement she always tried to hide.

"I wasn't lying. I just... wasn't that hungry." She stabbed at the food on her plate with more force than necessary, as if the poor meal had personally offended her.

I chuckled, shaking my head as I reached for the fork in her hand. "Oh, really?" I raised an eyebrow, my fingers wrapping around hers as I gently pried the utensil from her grip. "Then why did your stomach just betray you so spectacularly?" Without waiting for an answer, I scooped up a bite of the food and brought it to her lips. "Open up."

She hesitated for a second, her eyes narrowing, but then she obeyed, her lips parting just enough to take the bite. I watched as she chewed, her expression softening despite herself. "You're such a child sometimes," she muttered after swallowing, but there was no real bite to her words.

I just smirked. "And yet, you still let me feed you like a baby bird." I scooped up another bite, holding it out to her. "Come on. One more."

She sighed dramatically but opened her mouth again, her eyes never leaving mine. After a few more bites, she finally spoke up, her voice quieter now, less defensive. "Jack..." She tilted her head slightly, studying me. "Why aren't you eating? You should have something too."

I shook my head, my thumb brushing away a stray crumb from the corner of her mouth. "I'll eat later," I said, my voice low. "With Sister Yuko. I'm going to use the excuse that I'm starving to get her to sit down with me. She can't exactly refuse if I'm making food for both of us, right?"

Haruna's expression shifted, her eyes filling with something softer, more vulnerable. The fork clinked against the plate as she set it down, her fingers twisting together in her lap.

"Jack..." Her voice was barely above a whisper now, thick with emotion. "Thank you. For... everything." She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to her hands. "I'm sorry. For being difficult. For—for not telling you things. For making everything harder than it needs to be."

I didn't let her spiral. My fingers slid under her chin, lifting her face until her eyes met mine again. "Haruna," I said, my voice gentle but firm, "stop. Just... stop." I brushed my thumb over her cheek, wiping away the last remnants of her earlier tears. "The past doesn't matter right now. What matters is that we're here, together. That's all I care about."

For a moment, she just stared at me, her breath unsteady, her lips parted as if she wanted to say something else. But instead of words, she leaned in, her mouth crashing against mine in a kiss that was all heat and desperation. Her lips were still warm from the food, and she didn't hesitate to deepen the kiss, her tongue slipping into my mouth with an eager, almost clumsy urgency. She pressed closer, her hands gripping the front of my shirt like she was afraid I'd pull away, her breathing uneven as if she were trying to pour every unsaid word, every apology, every ounce of gratitude into that single, messy kiss.

I let her. My hands cradled her face, my fingers tangling in her hair as I kissed her back just as fiercely, savoring the taste of her, the warmth, the raw honesty in the way she clung to me.

When she finally pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen, and her breathing was ragged. She rested her forehead against mine, her eyes squeezed shut for a second before she let out a shaky laugh. "I probably taste like garbage," she mumbled, her voice muffled against my lips.

I chuckled, pressing a quick, soft kiss to the tip of her nose. "You taste like my garbage," I teased, earning a swat on my chest. She buried her face against my shoulder, her body shaking with laughter, but I could feel the way her fingers still clung to me, like she wasn't quite ready to let go.

After a moment, she pulled back just enough to look up at me again, her expression softer now, more open. "Promise me something?" she asked, her voice quiet.

I raised an eyebrow. "Depends on what it is."

She rolled her eyes but didn't pull away. "Promise me you won't let Sister Yuko push you away. She's... she's not as tough as she acts. She just... doesn't know how to ask for help."

I smiled, my hand cupping the back of her head, pulling her in for another quick kiss. "I promise," I murmured against her lips. "Now eat the rest of your food before it gets cold. And then I'll go talk to your sister, okay?"

She nodded, her fingers tightening around the fork as she finally brought another bite to her lips. Her eyes never left mine, as if she were searching for something—reassurance, maybe, or just the quiet certainty that I wasn't going anywhere. "Okay," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "But if she yells at you, I'm blaming you for not listening to me."

I laughed, reaching out to ruffle her hair affectionately. "Deal." My fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against the strands before I pulled away. "Now eat. I'll handle Yuko."

Haruna watched me as I stood up, her expression flickering between worry and trust. She didn't say anything else, but the way her fingers tightened around the fork told me she was holding back. I gave her one last reassuring smile before turning toward Yuko's door.

I took my time arranging a plate, carefully serving a little of everything—enough to make it look like I was genuinely hungry, but not so much that it would seem suspicious. Balancing the plate in one hand, I knocked on Yuko's door with the other. "Sister Yuko," I called, keeping my voice steady and warm. "It's me, Jack. Please open the door."

Silence.

I waited, my ear pressed lightly against the wood, listening for any movement inside. When her voice finally came, it was muffled but sharp, laced with exhaustion. "Jack... please. Just leave me alone. I don't wanna talk to anyone right now."

I didn't push. Not yet. Instead, I leaned my forehead against the door, my voice dropping to something softer, more understanding. "I get it. I do."

I paused, letting the words sink in. "But you haven't eaten anything, have you? And I made too much food. It's just going to go to waste if you don't help me out here."

Another stretch of silence. I could almost hear the conflict in it—the way she wanted to stay shut off, but the practicality of my words was harder to ignore.

"I'm not hungry," she said finally, but her voice lacked the same conviction as before.

I sighed, sliding down to sit against the door, the plate still balanced on my lap. "Yeah, well, neither was Haruna about twenty minutes ago. But she's eating now, so you're up next."

I kept my tone light, but there was an edge of seriousness underneath it. "Look, I'm not asking you to talk. I'm not even asking you to open the door all the way. Just... take the plate. Eat something. You can yell at me tomorrow if you want, but right now, just let me do this one thing for you."

There was a long pause. I could picture her on the other side, arms crossed, debating whether to give in or not. Finally, the doorknob turned just slightly, the door cracking open barely enough for a hand to slip through.

I didn't say anything, just passed the plate into the gap, my fingers brushing against hers for the briefest second before she pulled back.

"Thanks," she muttered, her voice so quiet I almost missed it.

The doorframe dug into my back as I leaned against it, my weight rooted in place like I was physically holding the moment still. The hallway behind me was quiet, the kind of quiet that hums with unspoken words, the kind that makes you aware of every breath, every shift in the air. "You're welcome," I said, my voice soft but steady, like I was speaking to a skittish animal that might bolt at the wrong tone.

On the other side of the door, Yuko was still. I could almost hear the storm inside her—the way her thoughts must be whirling, the way her heart was probably pounding against her ribs. I waited, giving her the space to decide whether to let me in or shut me out completely.

"And Sister Yuko?" I paused, listening for any sign she was still there—any rustle of fabric, any hitch in her breathing. "I know you hear me." Another beat of silence.

"Whenever you're ready to talk—about anything, no matter how big or small—I'm here." I let my voice drop, almost to a whisper. "No pressure. No deadlines. No judgment. Just... here. Like I've always been."

The silence stretched so long I thought she might have slipped away. Then, finally, a shaky breath. "That..." Her voice was barely audible, cracked at the edges. "I don't... I don't know what to say." Another pause. "I don't even know where to start."

"You don't have to start anywhere," I said gently. "You don't even have to talk. We could just sit here in silence. Or I could tell you about my disastrous attempt at making miso soup today—it was so salty I think I saw my taste buds cry." I tried to keep my tone light, but my chest ached.

She didn't laugh this time. The door creaked open just enough for me to see her face—her eyes red and puffy, her cheeks still glistening with tears.

She looked away almost immediately, like she'd been caught revealing something she'd meant to hide. "Never mind," she muttered, her voice thick. Then, abruptly, "Have you eaten?"

I shook my head, my gaze locked onto hers. "How can I eat when my sister is in here, drowning in whatever's hurting her?" I kept my voice low, steady, but the words carried the weight of everything I wasn't saying. "I'm not leaving, Sister Yuko. Not like this."

Yuko's eyes flickered with something sharp—pain, maybe, or frustration. "You..." she started, but the word hung there, unfinished. She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the edge of the door. "Have Haruna eaten?" she asked abruptly, her voice laced with something bitter. "She must be hungry. You can go and eat with your little girlfriend."

I heard the edge in her voice, the way her words twisted like she was trying to hide the sting of them. It wasn't anger—it was jealousy. Raw, ugly jealousy, directed at our own sister.

"She's eating... right now," I said carefully, measuring my words.

Yuko's lips pressed into a thin line. "You're hungry, and she's eating out there..." Her voice was low, dangerous. "Let me teach her a lesson. Is this her love for her boyfriend—the one she was crying about?" She took a step back, her eyes flashing with a mix of hurt and something darker, like she was searching for a target to blame.

I raised a hand, cutting her off before she could spiral further. "Sister. Yuko." My voice was firm but soft, the way you'd speak to someone standing too close to the edge of a cliff. "It's not Haruna's fault. She said she wasn't hungry, but her stomach had other plans."

A ghost of a smile tugged at my lips as I remembered the way Haruna's face had turned bright red when her stomach growled loud enough to shake the table.

I shook my head, chuckling softly as the memory surfaced. "You should've seen her, Sister Yuko," I said, my voice warm. "Haruna's stomach growled so loud, I thought the neighbors might file a noise complaint." I mimicked the sound—deep, rumbling, exaggerated—and grinned when Yuko's lips twitched, her stern expression cracking just a little.

She sighed, a real laugh escaping her this time, low and reluctant. "That girl..." she muttered, shaking her head.

But there was fondness in her voice, the kind that only comes from years of loving someone despite their chaos. "She's always been like that. Loud. Unfiltered. Completely unaware of how much attention she draws."

"Yeah," I agreed, my smile softening. "But that's Haruna. She doesn't know how to be anything else." I hesitated, then added quietly, "And honestly? I don't think any of us would want her to change."

Yuko's gaze flickered to mine, something unreadable passing through her eyes. For a second, I saw it—the weight of everything she carried. The fear of losing Haruna to the world, to mistakes, to heartbreak. The loneliness of always being the one who had to hold everything together.

I let my voice drop, grounding the moment. "I forced her to eat something," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. "She tried to argue, but I wasn't having it. And as for me..."

My gaze drifted to the floor for a second, gathering my thoughts, before lifting to meet hers again. "I wanted to eat with you, Sister Yuko." The words hung between us, simple but heavy. "That's all."

I held up a hand, stopping Yuko before she could retreat. "Wait... I'll get my plate." My voice was steady, but my heart was pounding. I turned and walked back toward the dining table, my mind racing.

Yuko had actually opened the door. She had actually let me in. That was progress. Fragile, but progress.

Haruna was still at the table, leaning back in her chair with one hand absently rubbing her stomach. She looked up as I approached, her face lighting up. "Jack..." she said, her voice warm, "did Sister open the door?"

I nodded, grabbing my plate. The food had gone cold, but it didn't matter. "Yeah. She asked me to bring my plate... and eat together with her."

Haruna's eyes sparkled with relief. "Jack, you're amazing," she said, shaking her head slightly. "Seriously. No one else can get through to her when she's like this. Once she digs her heels in, it's like talking to a brick wall." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "What's your secret?"

I smirked, grabbing a pair of chopsticks. "No secret. I just... listen." I hesitated, then added, "And I don't give up on her."

Haruna's expression softened. "That's why she trusts you." She paused, then bit her lip, suddenly looking nervous. "Jack... after dinner... You should stay here."

She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, avoiding my eyes. "Aunt Julie is still furious at you, and it's getting late. There's no reason for you to go back there tonight."

I opened my mouth to argue, but she cut me off with a sharp look. "Don't be stubborn. Just stay." Then, almost shyly, she took a step closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You can take the guest room... or, if you need anything, I'll keep my door unlocked."

My breath hitched. Haruna had always been bold, but this was different—softer, more intimate. There was something vulnerable in her eyes, something that made my chest tighten. "Haruna..." I started, but before I could say anything else, a sharp sound cut through the air—footsteps.

We both froze.

Yuko stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. But her eyes—sharp, accusing—were locked onto Haruna.

Haruna's face went pale, then flushed crimson in an instant. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. "S-Sister! I—I wasn't—!" She stumbled over her words, her usual confidence shattering under Yuko's gaze. "I was just joking! I didn't mean—!"

Yuko's voice was ice-cold. "Haruna. You're still young. You can't just invite boys into your room like that."

Haruna's hands flew to her face, her cheeks burning. "N-No! It's not like that! I just meant—!" She glanced at me, mortified, before bolting toward her room, slamming the door behind her.

The silence that followed was deafening, thick enough to suffocate. Yuko stood frozen in the doorway, her jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscles twitching. Her fingers dug into her arms, her short nails leaving faint red marks on her skin.

I didn't need to hear her thoughts to know what was going through her mind—her eyes said it all. Fear. Anger. A desperate, almost frantic need to protect Haruna from everything, even from shadows that hadn't formed yet.

Then, like a whisper slipping through the cracks, her thought brushed against my mind—raw and unfiltered.

[Why is she so bold? Inviting Jack to her room like it's nothing... Does she not understand what could happen? Does she not see how dangerous it is?]

I kept my expression neutral, but my chest tightened. Yuko's fear wasn't just about Haruna's innocence—it was about her own past, the scars she carried that none of us could see.

She exhaled sharply, her shoulders dropping just a little as she turned and walked toward the dining table. The chair scraped against the floor as she pulled it out and sat down, her movements stiff. "Jack," she said, her voice low and controlled, "I'm keeping an eye on you."

I raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. Instead, I sat across from her, setting my plate down. "Noted."

Her gaze locked onto mine, unwavering. "Don't think about Haruna. She's still young. She can't..." Her voice cracked slightly, her fingers tightening around her chopsticks. "She can't hurt her body. Or end up..." She swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence. "Or become pregnant."

The words hung between us, heavy and sharp. I knew what she wasn't saying—like I did.

I didn't push. Instead, I picked up my chopsticks and started eating, giving her the silence she needed to collect herself. The food was cold, but neither of us cared.

We ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clinking of chopsticks against plates and the distant hum of the refrigerator. Finally, Yuko set her chopsticks down and leaned back, her expression unreadable. "You can stay here tonight," she said, her voice firm. "And don't think about going to Haruna's room."

I looked up, meeting her gaze. "I wasn't planning to—"

"I'm staying here with you," she cut in, her tone leaving no room for argument. "So you don't get a chance."

I sighed, setting my chopsticks down and leaning back in my chair. "Sister Yuko..." I said, feigning innocence, "you don't trust me?"

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dark and bitter passing over her face. "I don't trust any men," she said, her voice low and venomous. "They're all... liars. Bastards." She looked away, her jaw tightening. "Every single one of them."

The raw pain in her voice made my chest ache. I knew she wasn't just talking about me. She was talking about the ones who had hurt her, the ones who had made her build walls so high that even Haruna and I sometimes struggled to climb them.

I reached across the table, hesitating before gently tapping her hand. "Not all of us," I said quietly.

She flinched, pulling her hand away like she'd been burned. "Prove it," she snapped, but there was a fragility in her voice, a crack in the armor she wore so well.

I nodded slowly, meeting her gaze. "I will."

She held my stare for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, finally, she looked away, her voice barely above a whisper. "...Good."

The meal ended quietly, the kind of silence that wasn't awkward but comfortable, like the hum of a familiar song fading into the background.

We didn't speak—just sat there, lost in our own thoughts, the weight of the day settling between us. When I finally pushed my chair back and reached for the plates, Yuko's voice cut through the stillness, soft but firm.

"I can do the cleaning."

I turned to face her, my hand already wrapped around the edge of a bowl. Her fingers—still slightly red from the earlier accident—twitched as if reaching for the dishes out of habit. Without thinking, I set the plates back down and placed my hand over hers, just for a second.

"Your fingers just got hurt," I said, my voice lower than I intended. "You shouldn't be using them. Let me do it."

She opened her mouth to argue, her brows furrowing the way they always did when she was stubborn. I could already see the words forming—I'm fine, it's nothing, I can help—but I shook my head before she could speak.

"Just let me."

For a moment, she hesitated, her dark eyes searching mine as if trying to decide whether to fight or surrender. Then, slowly, she exhaled and pulled her hand back, letting it rest against the table. I picked up the dishes again, the clink of ceramic against ceramic filling the space between us.

The kitchen sink was warm when I turned the faucet, the water rushing over my hands as I scrubbed the plates clean. I could feel Yuko's presence behind me, a quiet warmth, like sunlight filtering through a half-drawn curtain.

When I glanced over my shoulder, she was leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, just watching. There was something in her expression I couldn't quite name—gratefulness, maybe, or something softer, something that made the air between us feel heavier.

I didn't ask her what she was thinking. The words hovered on the tip of my tongue, but something held them back—maybe the fear of breaking the fragile quiet that had settled between us.

I didn't turn around, didn't even pause. Instead, I let the silence stretch, thick and warm, like the steam rising from the sink. The sponge moved in slow, deliberate circles over the plates, the rhythm steady, almost hypnotic. It felt like a promise—one I didn't need to say out loud.

Yuko stayed where she was, her presence a quiet weight against my back. I could almost hear the gears turning in her mind, the way her breath hitched just slightly whenever her thoughts pulled her deeper. The kitchen light cast long shadows across the floor, and for a moment, it was like we were suspended in time, the rest of the world fading into the background.

When the last plate was dried and placed carefully in the cabinet, I finally turned to face her. She was still standing there, her gaze distant, lost in a thought so deep it was as if she'd forgotten I was in the room. Her lips were parted just a little, her brows knit together in that way they did when something was weighing on her.

I watched her for a second longer, the urge to reach out and pull her back from wherever her mind had taken her growing stronger.

Then, without thinking, I stepped closer and snapped my fingers lightly in front of her eyes.

"Hey."

The sound of my fingers snapping in front of her eyes was just loud enough to pull her back—sharp, but not unkind. Yuko blinked rapidly, her dark eyes fluttering as if she were surfacing from deep water.

For a moment, she looked lost, her gaze unfocused, like she'd been standing in a storm of her own thoughts and only now realized she'd been caught in it. Then, slowly, recognition returned. Her lips twitched, caught between a smile and a sigh, and she shook her head lightly, as though shaking off the last remnants of whatever had pulled her so far away.

"Sorry," she murmured, her voice still soft with distraction. "I zoned out."

"Happens to the best of us," I replied, keeping my tone light, though something in her expression made me wonder what she'd been thinking about.

She hesitated for a second, then seemed to gather herself. "Come with me," she said, pushing away from the doorframe. "I'll take you to your room."

I followed her down the hallway, the wooden floorboards groaning softly under our steps. The house felt quiet, almost too quiet, like it was holding its breath. The guest room at the end of the hall was neat but slightly dusty, the kind of space that didn't get much use.

Yuko moved to the bed, smoothing out the sheets with careful hands, though they were already perfectly in place. There was something deliberate in the way she did it, as if she needed the distraction, the small task to ground herself before she could say what was really on her mind.

When she finally turned to face me, her fingers still lingered on the edge of the blanket. "You can sleep here," she said, gesturing toward the bed. "It's not much, but it's comfortable."

I sat down on the edge of the mattress, testing its firmness. "It's fine. More than fine, actually."

Yuko didn't sit right away. Instead, she hovered near the recliner in the corner, her fingers tracing the back of it absently. The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw tightened just slightly, like she was bracing herself.

Finally, she exhaled and sank into the chair. "About earlier..." she started, then paused, her fingers twisting together in her lap. "You must be surprised by my mother's call."

I leaned back slightly, giving her space to say what she needed to. "A little, yeah. I didn't expect it."

She let out a humorless laugh, her gaze dropping to her hands. "Neither did I. She doesn't usually..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "We don't talk much. Or at all, really."

I watched her carefully, sensing there was more she wasn't saying. "That must be hard."

Yuko's fingers stilled. For a moment, I thought she might not answer. Then she looked up, her dark eyes meeting mine with a raw honesty that made my chest tighten.

"It's not just hard. It's... complicated. There are things she's done, things she's said, that I can't just forget. And I won't." Her voice was steady, but there was a tremor beneath it, something fragile. "So if you're worried about me telling her anything—about you, don't be. I don't talk to her. I won't."

The weight of Yuko's words pressed down on the room like a storm about to break. It wasn't just reassurance—it was a vow, sharp and unyielding, forged in years of silence and pain. Her voice carried the finality of someone who had long since drawn their lines in the sand, who had built walls not out of spite, but survival.

"Sister Yuko—" I started, but she cut me off with a sharp shake of her head, her dark eyes flashing with something fierce and unspoken.

"I just wanted you to know," she said, her voice softer now, but no less heavy. The anger had drained out of her tone, replaced by something weary, something that sounded like resignation. "You don't have to walk on eggshells around me. Not about this."

I studied her—the way her fingers dug into the armrest of the chair, her knuckles white, the way her shoulders had slumped just slightly, as if the weight of her own words had settled onto them. There was a fragility there, hidden beneath the steel in her voice, and it made my chest ache.

"Thanks," I said quietly. "For telling me."

She didn't respond right away. Instead, she stared at the floor, her jaw clenched, like she was fighting some internal battle. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until I couldn't bear it anymore.

I took a deep breath, my mind racing. I wanted to reach her—not just in this moment, but forever.

I wanted to be someone she couldn't forget, someone who understood the storms inside her. The thought was sudden, almost desperate, but it burned through me with a clarity I couldn't ignore.

"Sister Yuko," I began, my voice careful, "you know about my mom and dad, right?"

Yuko's head snapped up, her eyes locking onto mine. She knew. Of course she did. She had to have looked into my past, just as I had glimpsed the fractures in hers. The death of my parents wasn't something I talked about often, but the pain of it was something I carried every day.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but it wasn't pity in her tone—it was understanding. She knew what it was like to lose something irreplaceable.

I exhaled slowly, the words clawing their way out of me. "I had so many things I wanted to say to them. So many things I wanted to give them, to show them." My voice cracked, and I paused, forcing myself to steady it. "Now I have everything a son could ever give his parents—success, stability, everything—but they're not here. They'll never know."

The room felt smaller, the air heavier. I could feel the grief pressing in around me, but I pushed through it, my gaze fixed on Yuko. "So whatever happened between you and your mother... it doesn't change the fact that you love her. Deep down, no matter how much it hurts, that love is still there."

Yuko's entire body went rigid. Her fingers dug into the armrest so hard I thought the fabric might tear. When she spoke, her voice was a low, trembling growl, raw with years of buried fury.

"No."

The word was a blade, sharp and final. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor, her dark eyes burning with something wild and untamed. "You don't know what you're talking about," she spat, her voice shaking with barely contained rage. "You don't know her. You don't know what she did."

I stayed silent, letting her fury fill the space between us. I could see it—the storm inside her, the way her chest heaved with each breath, the way her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"I don't love her," she hissed, her voice breaking. "I hate her. I hate her. She doesn't deserve my love. She doesn't deserve anything from me."

Her voice cracked, and for a second, I saw it—the pain beneath the anger, the wound that had never healed. She turned away, her shoulders shaking slightly, but not from tears. From fury. From the weight of everything she'd never said.

"You don't understand," she whispered, her voice raw. "You can't."

I wanted to reach out—to pull her back from the edge of her own pain, to wrap my hands around hers and tell her she wasn't alone. But I knew I couldn't. Not yet. The storm inside her was too fierce, too raw, and any attempt to calm it might only make it worse. So I stayed where I was, my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat, and let her rage fill the room. Let it crash over us like waves against a shore.

Because sometimes, anger is the only thing that keeps you from drowning. And right now, Yuko was fighting just to stay afloat.

The air between us was thick with the weight of everything unsaid, every wound left open, every scar still tender. I could see the way her shoulders trembled, not with tears, but with the sheer force of her fury—her fists clenched so tightly her nails must have been digging into her palms. She stood there, her back to me, as if she couldn't bear to face me, couldn't bear to let me see the cracks in her armor.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice low, rough with regret. "If I hurt you... I didn't mean that. I just... I just don't want you to have any regrets."

The words hung in the air, fragile and uncertain. I meant them. More than anything, I didn't want her to look back one day and wish she had said the things she was too afraid to say now. But I also knew that some wounds run too deep for simple words to heal.

Yuko didn't move. She didn't turn around. She didn't even flinch. She just stood there, perfectly still, as if my apology had frozen her in place. The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating, until I wasn't sure she was going to respond at all.

Then, slowly, she exhaled—a shaky, uneven breath that sounded like it had been torn from her. "You don't get it," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of something far louder. "Some things... some things can't be fixed with words. Some things can't be fixed at all."

She turned her head just slightly, enough that I could see the profile of her face, the way her jaw was still clenched, the way her eyes were dark with something that looked like grief. "You think I'll regret not telling her I love her? You think that's the thing that will haunt me?"

A bitter laugh escaped her, sharp and hollow. "It's not. It's the fact that I did love her. That I gave her everything, and she still broke me."

Her voice cracked, and for a second, I saw it—the pain beneath the anger, the little girl inside her who still didn't understand why she wasn't enough. It gutted me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. What could I possibly say? That I understand? That it would get better? Those were lies, and she deserved more than that.

So I stayed silent. And for the first time, I let myself truly see her—not just the strength, not just the anger, but the person beneath it all.

She was still fighting. Still drowning. Still clinging to the wreckage of something that had shattered her long before I ever walked into her life. The realization settled over me like a weight, heavy and unshakable. I could see it in the way her breath hitched, in the way her fingers trembled when she thought no one was looking—she was holding on by a thread, and that thread was fraying.

And in that moment, I made myself a promise: I wouldn't try to fix her. I wouldn't reach into the storm and try to drag her out, not when she was still learning how to swim through it.

But I would stand there with her. I would stay, even when the waves crashed higher, even when the silence between us grew so thick it felt like it might suffocate us both.

Maybe—that would be enough.

Yuko finally turned to face me, her dark eyes burning with something raw and exhausted. "Can we..." Her voice was rough, like she'd been screaming and only now stopped. "Can we not talk about her? Please. I don't even want to think about her."

The plea in her voice cut through me. I nodded slowly, my throat tight. "I won't."

She exhaled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders, but her gaze didn't waver. It stayed locked on me, like she was trying to decide if she could trust me with this—with the fragility she'd just let me see.

"Sister Yuko..." I said gently, "You should go to sleep too."

She let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. "I'm not going anywhere." Her voice was firm, almost defiant, as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I have to keep an eye on you."

I raised an eyebrow, but before I could respond, she continued, her tone shifting into something sharper, something that felt like a distraction—like she was grasping for anything to keep the conversation from circling back to the pain she'd just exposed.

"And don't think I don't know." Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of something raw and unreadable passing over her face—annoyance, maybe, or something sharper, something that looked almost like betrayal. "You must be thinking about Haruna's invitation, right?"

There was an edge to her voice, something that cut deeper than mere suspicion. It was the kind of tone that made the air between us feel thinner, like she was daring me to deny it. Like she was already bracing for the answer.

I didn't respond right away. The truth was, I had thought about it—briefly, in passing—but not in the way she seemed to fear. Still, the way she said it, like she'd caught me in some kind of betrayal, made my chest tighten.

Before I could speak, she continued, her voice dropping into something colder, something that carried the weight of old wounds. "And that little girl..." She let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking her head. "What is she thinking? How can she invite you like that?"

I froze. The name hung between us, unexpected and loaded. I hadn't been thinking about it—not really—but the way she said it, like she'd caught me red-handed, made my chest tighten.

"That's not happening," she said flatly, her voice leaving no room for argument. "So forget about it."

I studied her for a long moment—the way she leaned back in the recliner, her posture deceptively casual, like she wasn't holding her breath waiting for my reaction. Like she wasn't already bracing for a fight.

"You should also take a rest" I said again, softer this time. Not just because she needed it, but because I could see the exhaustion in her—the way her eyelids were heavier, the way her movements had slowed, like her body was finally catching up to the weight of everything she'd been carrying.

She let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping just a fraction. "I am taking it right and keeping an eye on you." But the way she said it made it clear she had no intention of leaving. Not yet.

The space between us had changed—not a void anymore, but a quiet pulse, something alive with the whisper of understanding. I sank deeper into the bed, letting the silence stretch like a suspended breath, neither of us rushing to break it. It wasn't awkward. It was delicate, like the first step onto thin ice, testing its strength.

I turned my head just enough to find Yuko in the recliner. Her shoulders had unclenched, and the rigid line of her anger dissolved. Her eyes were closed now, her breathing slow and steady, as if she'd finally surrendered to stillness, even if just for a moment.

Seeing her like that—unarmed, exhausted—sent a sharp ache through my chest. She looked almost at peace, the storm inside her momentarily hushed.

Then my phone buzzed, a jarring vibration against the room's quiet. I pulled it out carefully, as if the wrong movement might shatter the fragile calm. The screen lit up—a message from Julie. Not just a photo this time. Words, too.

"I've been thinking about you all day. About how much I want you to fill me up, stretch me open. Look what I'm doing to myself while I imagine it's you..."

I swallowed hard and opened the image.

Julie's ass was lifted, her cheeks spread wide, one finger buried deep inside her tight, glistening hole. The skin around it was flushed, the muscles clenching around her knuckle as she worked it in and out, slow and deliberate.

A second finger teased at her entrance, as if she were preparing herself for something bigger, something thicker. The caption beneath it was bold, demanding: "I want your cock here. Now. Show me what you'd give me."

My breath hitched, my cock swelling painfully against my pants. The arousal was instant, my pulse roaring in my ears as I imagined sinking into her, feeling her tighten around me. My thumb hovered over the screen, my body screaming to respond, to give her what she wanted.

But then my gaze flicked back to Yuko.

Yuko was still there, still resting, still trusting me enough to let her guard down. The contrast was brutal—Julie's raw, desperate hunger versus the quiet fragility of the woman in front of me. The silence in the room had shifted again, thick with tension, with choice.

The phone felt heavy in my hand as I locked it, my pulse pounding in my ears. But I couldn't resist. I pulled it out again, my fingers trembling with the need to give Julie exactly what she craved—a reaction she wouldn't forget.

With a slow, deliberate motion, I unzipped my pants, freeing my cock. It was already rock-hard, throbbing with need, the head swollen and dripping with pre-cum.

I gripped the base, giving it a slow stroke as I angled my phone to capture every thick, veiny inch of me. The camera flashed, freezing the image of my cock in all its glory—glistening, hungry, ready to claim her. My fingers flew over the screen as I typed, my voice rough with lust:

"You want this inside you, Julie? Tell me how bad you need it. Tell me how you'd take it—every. Fucking. Inch."

I hit send, my cock twitching at the thought of her response, the anticipation making me ache. I slipped my phone back into my pocket, but the silence in the room was no longer quiet—it was thick with tension, with the promise of what was to come.

Then my phone buzzed again.

Julie's reply was waiting—a photo so filthy it made my breath hitch. She was on her knees, her ass lifted high, her cheeks spread wide to reveal her tight, puckered hole.

One finger was buried deep inside, stretching her open, while the other hand teased her clit, her skin glistening with sweat. The text beneath it was a desperate plea:

"Fuck, Jack... I want it so bad. My asshole is aching for your cock. I've been fingering myself all night, imagining how it'll feel when you finally split me open. Tomorrow... I want you to wake me up with this thick cock buried in my ass. Please... I need it."

My cock jerked at her words, pre-cum dripping down my shaft. I couldn't hold back. I snapped another photo, this time gripping my cock tighter, my fingers wrapped around the base as I gave it a slow, teasing stroke. The angle was perfect—every ridge, every vein, every drop of pre-cum on full display. I typed back, my words dripping with promise:

"Don't worry, baby. Tomorrow morning, you're getting every inch of this cock buried deep in that tight little asshole of yours. I'm gonna stretch you open so good you'll be begging for more before I'm even done."

Julie's response was instant—a photo that made my cock throb painfully. She was licking her fingers, the ones that had just been buried inside her ass, her tongue swirling around them as she moaned softly. The text beneath it was a whisper of pure, unfiltered need:

"I'll be ready... and so fucking wet for you."

I put my phone away, but the images were burned into my mind—Julie on her knees, her asshole gaping slightly from her fingers, her lips wrapped around them as she tasted herself. My cock was still rock-hard, my balls aching with the need to bury myself inside her.

But then my gaze flicked back to Yuko.

She was still there, still resting, her breathing slow and even, her lips slightly parted as if lost in a world far from this one. The contrast was brutal—Julie's filthy, desperate hunger, her asshole clenching around her own fingers as she begged for my cock, versus the quiet, fragile connection humming in this room.

The silence wasn't just silence anymore. It was a choice, a crossroads between raw, unapologetic lust and something deeper, something that made my chest tighten with an unfamiliar ache.

I let my gaze linger on Yuko, tracing the soft curve of her cheek, the way her dark lashes rested against her skin. A slow, dangerous idea slithered into my mind—something I'd never tried before, something that felt both forbidden and intoxicating. My lips curled into a smirk. Why not?

I closed my eyes and leaned back, letting my body relax as I reached out with my mind, tendrils of power brushing against the edges of Yuko's consciousness. Telepathy—something I'd toyed with before, but never like this. Never with her. I focused, my thoughts weaving into the fabric of her dreams, shaping them, bending them to my will.

In her dream, I crafted a world where Yuko and I had been married for a year. That morning, I woke with her still nestled in my arms, the warmth of her presence lingering like a half-remembered promise.

Every detail was vivid—the photos of our wedding day, the quiet intimacy of our shared life—yet I left her memories untouched. To her, it would feel like stepping into a parallel world: familiar, yet entirely new. In this reality, her bond with her mother was healed, and Haruna thrived, wrapped in the same quiet happiness we all shared.

But there was one crucial thing missing: her memories.

I didn't alter her mind. I didn't plant false recollections of a wedding, of vows, of a year spent as my wife. No, I wanted her to wake up in this world as herself—unchanged, untouched, teleported into a reality that made no sense. A parallel world where everything was the same, yet wrong.

And that's exactly what she felt when she stirred awake.

Yuko's lashes fluttered as consciousness pulled her from the depths of sleep. The first thing she registered was the warmth—my body pressed against hers, my breath fanning against the back of her neck. Her instincts screamed at her to move, to react, but for a moment, she was too disoriented to do anything but lie there, her mind struggling to catch up.

Then she felt my lips brush against her shoulder, soft and possessive, and her body jolted like she'd been struck.

"Aaaaaah—! Jack—! How dare you—!"

Her voice was sharp, laced with the familiar venom of her defiance, but there was something else beneath it—confusion.Fear. She tried to jerk away, but my arm tightened around her, holding her in place. She wasn't just trapped by my grip; she was trapped by the world I'd built around her.

I pulled back slightly, my expression feigning shock. "Honey...? What are you talking about?"

The word honey hit her like a slap.

Yuko's entire body tensed, her fingers curling into the sheets. "Honey? I'll—I'll kill you—!"

But then her gaze snagged on the photo frame on the dresser.

Her breath caught.

The image was us. Yuko, in a white dress, her hand clutching mine, her face radiant as she laughed up at me. The background was a blur of flowers and smiling faces—her mother, Haruna, people she recognized but couldn't place. And then there was the ring on her finger, a delicate band of gold she didn't remember putting on.

Her mind reeled.

[What... what the hell is this? A nightmare? Why does it feel so—?]

She could feel the weight of the ring, the way it fit perfectly, as if it had always been there. She could see the happiness in her mother's eyes in the photo, the way Haruna was grinning like she'd never been happier. It was all so real. Too real.

And that was the worst part.

Because she knew it wasn't.

She didn't remember any of this. She didn't remember a wedding. She didn't remember us. She was herself, dropped into a life that felt like it belonged to someone else.

Before she could voice another word, a knock echoed through the room.

"Yuko? Jack? Come on, breakfast is ready!"

Yuko's blood ran cold.

That voice—

Her mother's voice.

[Mom...?]

Her thoughts spiraled, panic clawing at her chest. [Why does this feel so real? Why does it hurt like it's real? What the hell is happening to me?!] She could smell the food—miso soup, maybe, or the sweet scent of tamagoyaki. She could hear the clatter of dishes, the soft hum of her mother's voice singing a tune she hadn't heard since she was a child.

The dream wasn't just a dream anymore.

It was a lie.

And she was trapped inside it.

I watched Yuko's face—her wide, panicked eyes, the way her breath hitched like she was drowning. She clawed at the sheets, her fingers trembling, her mind screaming for an escape that wouldn't come. The longer she stayed in this fabricated world, the more the edges of her reality blurred. And the more she wanted it.

I smirked.

It wouldn't be long now.

Soon, she'd be throwing herself into my arms—not just in this dream, but in reality.

I reached out, my voice dripping with false concern. "Yuko... are you okay? You look like you had a nightmare."

Her heart hammered against her ribs, her thoughts a frantic whirl.

[Why am I not waking up? Why does this feel so—]

Before she could finish the thought, I pulled her into my arms, my grip firm, possessive. "Let me take a look at my wife," I murmured, my voice a dark caress.

And then I kissed her.

Not gently. Not sweetly.

I kissed her hard, my lips crashing against hers, my tongue forcing its way past her gasp. I sucked on her lower lip, my teeth grazing just enough to make her whimper. Her body stiffened—then melted, betraying her before her mind could catch up.

Yuko's eyes flew open, her hands flying to my chest—not to push me away, but to anchor herself.

[He—he kissed me...]

Her thoughts were a storm.

[Is this really a dream? Why does it feel so—]

I pulled back just enough to see her face—flushed, breathless, mine. My thumb traced the curve of her swollen lips, my voice a dark, velvety whisper. "See? Just a dream." The words were a lie, smooth and sweet, but the way her body trembled beneath my touch told me she didn't entirely believe it either.

And neither did I.

Because even in the dream, my cock was hard—throbbing, aching, pressing insistently against her thigh. Julie's filthy messages and the images of her fingers buried inside herself still lingered in my mind, but it was Yuko who had me burning.

The way her breath hitched when I touched her, the way her body softened before her mind could protest—it was intoxicating. She was a contradiction, sharp and defiant in waking life, but here, in this fabricated world, she was pliant. She was mine.

She felt it too. Her eyes flicked downward, her gaze snagging on the obvious bulge straining against my pants, before snapping back up to meet mine. Her voice was a shaky, breathless whisper. "Don't—"

Yuko wrenched herself back, her fingers flying to her lips as if she could scrub away the sensation of my kiss. But the look in her eyes wasn't anger. It was a shame.

A deep, trembling vulnerability that made my chest tighten with something dangerously close to satisfaction. She was ashamed—not of me, but of herself. Of the way her body had responded, the way her lips had parted for me, the way her heart had ached when I called her wife.

[Why does his kiss feel so good...?]

The thought was a whisper in her mind, raw and trembling. She pressed her fingers harder against her lips, as if she could physically erase the memory of my touch. But it lingered, like a brand.

[I should be disgusted. I should be pushing him away. So why... why don't I feel anything but this... this warmth where he touched me?]

Her breath came faster, her thoughts spiraling.

[And even if this is a dream... how am I his wife? Dreams don't just happen. They're made of what's buried deep inside you. So does that mean...?]

Her stomach twisted.

[Do I want to be Jack's wife? No. No, that's impossible. I don't deserve happiness. I don't deserve love. Jack is Haruna's boyfriend. He could never be mine. And even if he could...]

A bitter, hollow laugh bubbled up in her throat, but it died before it could escape.

[Even if he could... he'd never want me if he knew the truth. If he knew what I've done. What I am. A monster. A killer. Who could ever love someone like me? Who could look at me and not see the blood on my hands?]

Her fingers curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms hard enough to hurt. The pain grounded her, reminded her of who she really was.

[I don't get to have this. I don't get to be happy. I don't get to be wanted. Not by him. Not by anyone.]

She swallowed hard, her throat tight with something she refused to name.

[I'm broken. And broken things don't get fixed. They get thrown away.]

I watched her, my smirk deepening as her thoughts unraveled. She was drowning in her own self-loathing, in the belief that she was unworthy of anything good. And that made her perfect. Because a woman who thought she deserved nothing would cling to the first person who made her feel like she deserved everything.

I looked down at Yuko, still lost in the storm of her own thoughts, her dark eyes wide and conflicted. Before she could protest, I pulled her against me, my arms wrapping around her with a possessiveness that made her gasp. Then, without warning, I lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against my chest like she weighed nothing.

"What—?! Let me go! How can you just—" Her words died in her throat as she realized she wasn't fighting as hard as she should have been. Her hands hovered near my shoulders, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt instead of pushing me away.

I carried her toward the bathroom, my grip unyielding, my voice smooth and amused. "I'm taking my wife to take a shower."

The words sent a jolt through her.

[I am his wife... in this dream.]

Her mind raced, her thoughts tangled between panic and something dangerously close to longing.

[This is just a dream, Yuko. Don't take it seriously. Once you wake up, everything will go back to normal.]

[But why do I feel so secure in his arms? The way he's looking at me... It's making my heart flutter. Is this how he looks at Haruna?]

The thought sent a sharp pang through her chest.

[No. No, this is just a dream. My mind is playing tricks on me because I'm stressed.]

[Maybe I should just... relax a little. Yeah.. this is a dream.. here I don't have to worry about anything]

Her gaze flicked up to me, her lips twitching with a thought that was equal parts defiant and intrigued.

[Jack kept teasing me all day, and then I ended up as his wife in some twisted dream... Hmph.. I'll bully him to death.]

A slow, evil smirk curved her lips.

I noticed.

And I loved it.

I set her down inside the bathroom, my hands still resting on her waist, my thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of her nightgown. The air between us was thick with tension, the kind that made her breath hitch and her pulse flutter beneath my touch. "What are you smiling for?" I asked, my voice dropping into that low, commanding tone that made her shiver. Then, without waiting for an answer, I added, "Quickly. Remove your clothes."

Her smirk vanished in an instant, replaced by wide-eyed shock. "Remove my—?!" Her voice was a mix of outrage and something else—something that sounded suspiciously like nervousness. Her eyes darted downward, and for the first time, she seemed to truly notice what she was wearing.

The thin, silky nightgown clung to her like a second skin, the fabric so sheer it left little to the imagination. Her fingers twitched at the hem, her cheeks flushing a deep, betraying crimson as she realized just how exposed she already was.

And I wasn't about to let her forget it.

I stepped closer, my body crowding hers, my voice a dark, velvety murmur. "Yeah..." My fingers trailed up her arms, sending a visible shiver through her. "Quickly. Let's take a shower together." I let my gaze flick toward the door, my lips curling into a smirk. "Mother-in-law is waiting for us."

Yuko's breath hitched, her mind racing, her fingers clutching the fabric of her nightgown like a lifeline. I could see the panic in her eyes—wild, desperate, trapped. She took a stumbling step back, her voice coming out in a rush. "Jack—that—you should take a shower here first."

I tilted my head, my smirk deepening. "Yuko, what happened to you?" My voice was smooth, taunting. "Isn't it your idea to take a shower together? You said it increases love between husband and wife."

Her face went pale. "That—I—I'm not feeling well today..." Her thoughts were a frantic storm. [What the fuck kind of dream is this?! I would never say things like that! Never! This isn't me!]

She didn't wait for a response. She turned on her heel and ran, her bare feet slapping against the polished wooden floor as she bolted out of the bathroom, out of the room.

I let her go.

For now.

Because this dream wasn't over, it was only just beginning.

I stood there for a moment, listening to the fading echoes of her frantic footsteps, my lips curling into a slow, predatory smirk. Then, with a thought, I reshaped the dream around me.

The air grew thick with the scent of steam and soap, my skin prickling with the illusion of water droplets still clinging to me. My clothes shifted, dry and fresh, as if I had just stepped out of a shower. The towel I'd draped over my shoulders was damp, the fabric clinging just enough to sell the lie.

Control was intoxicating.

I stepped out of Haruna's room with the slow, deliberate confidence of a man who knew he owned every inch of this world. The house was exactly as I'd crafted it—warm golden light spilling through the windows, the scent of miso soup and grilled fish thick in the air, the faint clink of dishes as Kasumi moved gracefully in the kitchen. Her voice, soft and melodic, carried the tune of an old lullaby, the kind a mother would hum to soothe a restless child.

My gaze flicked toward her.

Kasumi.

Even though I knew she was nothing more than a figment of my imagination—a perfectly sculpted illusion in this dream-world—my pulse still kicked up at the sight of her.

She moved with an effortless elegance, her dark hair swept up in a loose bun, the sleeves of her kimono rolled to her elbows as she stirred the pot on the stove. The years had only sharpened her beauty, her features still striking, her presence carrying the kind of quiet allure that made my fingers twitch with the urge to reach out.

Fuck.

I tore my gaze away and settled into my seat at the dining table, my mind already shifting back to Yuko. She was still in Haruna's room, no doubt trying to steady herself after our last encounter. I could feel her there, her thoughts a storm of denial and something far more dangerous—longing.

And then, because I could, because this world bent to my will, I reached out with my mind and pulled the strings.

Haruna's voice—sweet, playful, mine—floated from the hallway, perfectly timed, perfectly cruel.

"Sister~" A giggle, light and knowing, the kind that would make Yuko's skin burn. "Tell me... did your husband bully you all night? Mom and I could hear your moans... in our rooms."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then—

Yuko's face, seen through Haruna's eyes, turned crimson, her entire body locking up in sheer mortification. "W-What?! No! That's—not—Shut up, Haruna!" Her voice was high-pitched, frantic, her hands flying up to cover her flaming cheeks.

I could feel the heat radiating off her, the way her thoughts spiraled into chaos.

[They heard?! But—but that didn't happen! Did it? No, no, it was just a—]

Haruna's laughter exploded like fireworks—loud, relentless, and deliberately cruel. "Ohhh, come on, Sister Yuko! Don't act like you're some shy little bride! I'm happy for you! Jack's a catch—tall, strong, attentive—" She waggled her eyebrows, her grin widening as Yuko's face burned crimson.

"HARUNA!" Yuko's voice shattered like glass, her humiliation so thick it choked the air. Her hands flew to her cheeks, as if she could smother the heat radiating off them.

"Y-You—! I—! That's not—!" She stumbled over her words, her brain short-circuiting under the weight of her sister's teasing.

I didn't even need to push Haruna this time. She was already darting toward the kitchen, cackling as Yuko lunged after her, fingers curled like claws. "Mom! MOM! Save me, Sister is trying to kill me!"

Kasumi didn't even look up from stirring the miso soup. "Oh, Yuko. Always so dramatic." But the smirk playing at her lips betrayed her amusement. "Though I did hear you last night. Quite... enthusiastic, weren't you?"

Yuko froze mid-step, her entire body locking up like she'd been struck by lightning. "M-Mom—!" Her voice squeaked, her throat tightening. [No. No, no, no. This isn't happening. This can't be happening.]

She pressed her palms to her burning cheeks, as if she could will herself to disappear. "I—I wasn't—! It wasn't—!"

Oh, sweetheart. If only you knew how deep the rabbit hole goes.

I leaned back in my chair, swirling the coffee in my cup as I listened to the delicious chaos unfold. Yuko was drowning in this dream, her carefully constructed walls crumbling under the weight of her own mortification. And the best part? She still hadn't realized I was the one pulling every string.

Haruna, ever the instigator, leaned in with a mock-whisper. "You know, if you really want to keep it a secret, you should at least try to be quieter next time. The walls aren't that thick."

Yuko's face flushed an even deeper shade of crimson. "There won't be a next time!" she hissed, her voice trembling.

"Oh, really?" Haruna's tone was sugar-sweet, but the smirk in her voice was razor-sharp. "Then why are your ears still red? And why do you keep glancing at the door like you're expecting him to walk in?"

Yuko made a strangled noise, her hands flying up to cover her face. "I.. I'm not! Shut up, Haruna!"

"What? It's true!" Haruna giggled, dodging as Yuko swiped at her. "You're practically glowing, sister. It's adorable."

I stayed in the dining room, watching as Yuko's embarrassment reached its peak. She whirled toward me, her cheeks still flushed, her eyes burning with a mix of fury and something far more vulnerable. "This is all your fault!" she snapped, storming over. "How could you let me be humiliated like this?!"

The moment Kasumi and Haruna stepped into the dining room, the scent of miso soup and steamed rice filling the air, I knew exactly how this would unfold. Kasumi's sharp eyes landed on Yuko first, her expression a perfect blend of maternal warmth and disciplined reproach.

"Yuko." Her voice was soft, but the weight of it made Yuko flinch as if she'd been struck. "How are you speaking to your husband?" Kasumi's gaze flicked to me, then back to Yuko, her tone laced with disappointment. "Is this what I taught you?"

Yuko's entire body tensed, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. "I.... I'm sorry, Mom..." The words tasted like ash in her mouth, her voice barely above a whisper. But then her eyes locked onto Kasumi's face, and something in her expression shifted—hardened. A flicker of defiance cut through the humiliation.

I didn't need to see her thoughts to know what was coming. But I wanted to.

So I reached out with my Telepathy, slipping into her mind like a shadow.

[No...] Her thoughts were a storm, chaotic and raw. [No, no, NO. Why do I have to listen to her? This isn't real. This is just a DREAM, Yuko. You don't have to obey her. You don't have to obey any of this. WAKE UP.]

Her mental voice was frantic, desperate. She pinched the inside of her wrist, her nails digging in until I knew it had to hurt. [Wake UP!]

Nothing.

Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow gasps. [This isn't happening. This isn't HAPPENING.]

But it was.

I watched as her body betrayed her, her limbs locking up, her eyes widening with something akin to terror. She was trapped—not just in the dream, but in the realization that she couldn't escape it. Not by force. Not by will. Not by anything.

She was mine.

I stood smoothly, my chair gliding back without a sound, and closed the distance between us. Yuko didn't move, didn't breathe—she was a statue, frozen in place, her mind screaming while her body refused to respond.

The moment her sharp, frozen gaze locked onto us, I didn't hesitate. My arm wrapped around Yuko's waist, pulling her against me as if shielding her from the storm brewing in her mother's eyes. The air between us crackled with tension, but my voice remained low, deliberate—each word a bridge between misunderstanding and truth.

"Mother-in-law," I began, my fingers tracing idle circles on Yuko's hip, grounding her—or maybe grounding myself—"don't take this the wrong way. Yuko isn't scolding me." A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through Yuko's frame, and I tightened my hold just enough to let her know I had her.

"This... this is just how she loves me." My lips brushed the shell of her ear as I spoke, a whisper meant only for her. "Her fire, her stubbornness—it's all for me. Always has been."

Kasumi and Haruna exchanged a glance, so knowing it might as well have been a shared secret, their laughter was soft as morning sunlight filtering through the curtains.

It was the kind of sound that made the air feel warmer, the kind that made Yuko's skin prickle with awareness—of them, of me, of the way her pulse had started to race the moment I'd pulled her onto my lap.

Yuko squirmed against me, her voice dropping to a mortified whisper that tickled against my collarbone. "What are you doing?! Let me go—Mom and Haruna are right there!" Her fingers dug into my wrist, not to push me away, but to anchor herself, as if she feared she might otherwise dissolve into the embarrassment burning her cheeks.

I ignored her struggle entirely, lifting a bite of food to her lips with deliberate slowness. The scent of miso and rice curled between us, earthy and familiar. "Here," I murmured, my smirk sharp enough to cut. "Let me feed my angry wife." My thumb brushed her lower lip, just barely, as I added, "Open up."

Yuko's thoughts were a tempest.

[He's so gentle sometimes... And then he does this—bullying me, embarrassing me, in reality and in my dreams! Her nails bit into her palms. Does he even realize how much it hurts to want something you can't have?]

But beneath the frustration, something warmer flickered—something dangerous.

[Is this what it's like to be taken care of? To be... cherished? ]

She hesitated.

Her lips parted the barest fraction, just enough for me to slip the bite between them. The flavor exploded on her tongue—rich, savory, comforting—and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the heat of my fingers against her chin, the weight of my gaze holding hers captive.

[This... doesn't feel so bad after all.]

The thought slithered in, insidious.

[What if this weren't a dream? What if this were real? What if I could wake up every morning to this—his voice, his touch, the way he looks at me like I'm the only thing in the room worth seeing?]

Her eyes widened in horror.

[NO.]

The denial was a blade twisting in her chest.

[What am I thinking?! Yuko, get a grip! Jack is Haruna's boyfriend! He loves her!]

Her breath came faster, shallower.

[Am I really standing here, letting myself imagine—? Am I that selfish? That terrible?]

The shame was a physical weight, crushing.

I pinched her nose lightly, snapping her out of her spiral. "Stop overthinking," I ordered, my voice a velvet command. "Eat."

Yuko glared up at me, but the fire in her eyes had dimmed to embers—more smoke than flame, more exhaustion than defiance. She obeyed, taking another bite in silence, her shoulders still rigid, but the fight draining out of her like air from a punctured lung. The tension in her frame wasn't anger anymore; it was something far more fragile, something that trembled on the edge of surrender.

Haruna finished her breakfast with a satisfied sigh, the legs of her chair scraping against the tile as she pushed it back. "Sister," she said, her grin unapologetically teasing as she stood, "I'm going to meet Hannah. Try not to combust from embarrassment while I'm gone."

There was no malice in her tone—just the easy, affectionate ribbing of someone who'd long since accepted Yuko's flustered reactions as part of the family's rhythm. As if Yuko's blushes were as familiar and comforting as the morning sun.

Kasumi stood as well, smoothing her skirt with the practiced elegance of someone who'd spent a lifetime perfecting grace. "Hannah, I'm coming with you. Julie and I have that shopping date, remember? Let's go together." Her gaze flicked to Yuko, lingering just a second too long—knowing.

It was the kind of look that made Yuko's stomach twist, as if her mother could see every traitorous thought unraveling inside her, every secret she'd buried beneath layers of pride and duty.

Yuko watched them leave, her fingers twisting into the fabric of my shirt, knuckles white.

[This isn't real.]

The words were a lifeline, a mantra, a desperate attempt to cling to something solid in a world that felt like it was dissolving around her.

[None of this is real.]

But the way my thumb traced idle circles on her hip—that felt real. The way her heart stuttered when I leaned in, my breath warm against her ear—that felt real. The way her body, traitorous and hungry for something she'd never let herself admit, melted into mine—that was the most real thing she'd ever known.

[But... what if it were?]

The thought slithered into her mind, dangerous and sweet.

She looked up at me, her gaze searching, her thoughts shifting like sand beneath the tide.

[Maybe in this dream... I can feel what love feels like.]

The realization was a slow, aching unraveling.

[And Jack loves me... here. So maybe I should just live this life... with him. Here. In this dream.]

The thought was terrifying. Liberating.

I kept feeding her, bite by bite, until her plate was empty. The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable—it was charged, thick with everything neither of us dared to say. Then, so softly it was almost lost beneath the hum of the morning, I heard her voice:

"Jack..." Her fingers tightened in my shirt. "Do you love me?"

I looked down at her, my expression unguarded for once, raw and honest. "Yeah," I said, my voice rough with something that wasn't just affection—it was possession, devotion, a quiet kind of awe.

"I love my wife, Yuko. I love how she gets angry. I love to see her embarrassed face. I love the way she tries to hide how much she wants this—wants me." My hand slid up to cup her cheek, my thumb brushing away the tear she hadn't even realized had fallen. "I love all of her. Even the parts she thinks are too sharp, too broken."

Yuko's breath hitched.

Then, before I could react, she kissed me.

It wasn't hesitant. It wasn't shy.

It was hers—fierce and sudden, her lips crashing against mine with a desperation that stole the breath from my lungs. "I love you too..." she whispered against my mouth, her voice trembling with the weight of the confession.

She pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, her face flushed crimson, her eyes wide with shock—she had initiated it. She had crossed that line, even if it was just a dream, even if none of it was real.

But it felt real.

Her expression crumpled, the tears spilling over as she lowered her head, her voice breaking. "Jack... there's something... I have to tell you."

I didn't press. I didn't rush. I just waited, my hand still cradling her face, giving her the time she needed to gather the shattered pieces of herself.

She took a shuddering breath. Then, in a voice so quiet it was barely more than a whisper, she began to speak.

She told me about Kenzo.

About the blood on her hands.

She didn't just tell me about the life she'd lived—she unfolded it, like a blade dragged slowly across skin. A life of violence. Of survival. Of becoming something that stared back at her from mirrors with hollow eyes.

A killer. Not the kind born from malice, but the kind forged in necessity, in the crucible of a world that had long since stopped offering choices. She spoke of the first time her hands didn't shake when she pulled the trigger.

The first time she watched the light leave someone's eyes and felt nothing. Not triumph. Not guilt. Just the cold, clinical understanding that it was done.

And then—because dreams have a way of unraveling the things we bury—she told me the truth about her mother.

I listened. I listened. And for the first time, I understood.

SERA had given me the outline: Yuko's return, the blood, the plea. But the truth was messier. Darker. More human.

Yuko had come home in pieces—her body a map of wounds, her knuckles split, her ribs bruised from a fight that had nearly ended her.

Kasumi found her like that, collapsed against the doorframe of their childhood home, her breath ragged, her clothes stiff with dried blood. And when Kasumi demanded answers, Yuko—who had spent years lying to the world—finally broke. She told her mother everything.

The killings. The missions. The way her soul had calloused over, layer by layer, until she barely recognized herself.

Kasumi's response wasn't anger. It was grief. A mother's grief, the kind that carves canyons into a person's face. She didn't scream. She didn't weep.

She knelt beside her daughter in the dim light of the hallway, her hands hovering over Yuko's injuries as if she could will them away. And then she said the words that would shatter everything:

"Yuko, Leave this life."

Just like that. As if it were that simple.

But Yuko laughed—a sound like broken glass. "You don't understand. This is my life now."

What Sera hadn't told me—what Yuko now confessed in a voice thick with old betrayal—was that Kasumi hadn't stopped there. She had looked her daughter in the eye and said, "Then let me meet the woman who did this to you."

Yuko had refused. Begged. But Kasumi was immovable. "If she cares for you at all, she'll listen."

So, Yuko, cornered, had no choice but to arrange it.

The meeting took place in a backroom of an izakaya in Kabukichō, the air thick with the scent of nicotine and cheap whiskey. Akane arrived like a shadow, her presence making the room feel smaller.

Kasumi didn't flinch. She didn't plead. She looked at the woman who had turned her daughter into a weapon and said, "Thank you for saving her life."

Akane's expression didn't change. But something flickered in her eyes—something like regret.

Then Kasumi dropped to her knees.

"Please, let her go," she begged. "No more missions. No more blood. I don't want to lose her."

Yuko had screamed at her mother after. "You had no right!" But Akane had only watched her, quiet, before turning to Yuko with a sadness that felt like a verdict.

"Yuko, when I took you in, I thought you were like me," Akane said. "Alone. Broken. With nothing left to lose. But I was wrong, you can still return to a normal life." Her gaze flicked to Kasumi, still kneeling.

Akane's voice was quiet, but it cut deeper than any blade Yuko had ever felt. "You have people who love you. Who would die for you." Her exhale was slow, controlled, like she was unclenching a fist she'd held too long. "This life doesn't end well, Yuko." Her dark eyes flicked to Kasumi, still kneeling on the tatami, her hands trembling in her lap. "Live with your mother. With your sister. I'm leaving."

Yuko's breath hitched. "Master—"

"And don't try to find me." Akane's lips curled, not in cruelty, but in something worse—pity. "You should know that by now. Unless I want to be found, no one can."

The words landed like a knife twist. Yuko's vision blurred. "Master, don't—!"

But Akane was already turning away, her silhouette dissolving into the shadows of the izakaya's backroom. The door clicked shut behind her.

Yuko spent the night tearing through Tokyo's underbelly, her rage a living thing, her blame a blade pointed at Kasumi's heart. She searched every bar, every alley, every place Akane might have gone.

But Akane was a ghost when she wanted to be. By dawn, Yuko was hollowed out, her fury curdling into something colder. Something that looked a lot like hate.

The next morning, Yuko moved like a ghost through the house, her movements mechanical, her face a mask of carefully constructed indifference.

She packed a single bag—clothes, a knife, a photograph of Haruna as a child—and woke her sister with a shake of her shoulder.

Haruna, still half-asleep, blinked up at her in confusion. "We're leaving," Yuko said, her voice hollow. "Now."

No explanations. No goodbyes.

Kasumi found them at the door, her face pale with dawn's first light. "Yuko—" she started, but Yuko cut her off with a look so cold it could have shattered glass. "Don't." The word was a blade. "You've done enough."

The flight to Germany was a blur of silence. Haruna, sensing the storm inside her sister, didn't ask questions.

Germany became her new hunting ground. The streets of Berlin, the neon glow of back-alley bars, the weight of a pistol at her hip—it was all familiar, all easy.

She threw herself into the violence like a penitent into flames, as if each kill could burn away the memory of her mother's betrayal.

And then—this dream.

The silence between us was a living thing, thick with the weight of everything she'd just confessed. Her body trembled not from cold, but from the terror of what came next. Would I look at her differently now? Would I flinch? Would I—

"Yuko."

She flinched at the sound of her name, as if she'd expected me to call her something else. Monster. Murderer. Liar.

I kept my voice deliberately light, my confusion feigned. "What are you talking about? You and your mother—you've always been close. She loves you."

Yuko's laugh was a broken thing, more breath than sound. She shook her head, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her sleeves. "It's just a dream," she whispered, as if that explained everything. As if that made it hurt less. "None of it's real. Not her. Not you."

The air between us was thick with the weight of her confession, so heavy it pressed down on my chest. I watched the way her fingers twisted into the fabric of her skirt, her knuckles whitening as if she could tear the cloth apart. Her entire body was coiled tight, her shoulders hunched forward like she was trying to make herself smaller, less visible. Less there.

"You must hate me now," she whispered, her voice so fragile it was almost swallowed by the silence. Her eyes remained fixed on the floor, as if looking at me would make it all real. "After everything I just told you..."

I stayed silent. Let her sit with it for a moment.

She swallowed hard, her throat working. "I wouldn't blame you. If you did. If you..." Her voice cracked, and she took a shuddering breath. "If you wanted me to leave."