Winter is already here, even though the calendar still says autumn. The air cuts like blades and the sky is a dirty gray that looks like it will never clear.
I walk down the nearly empty avenue, hands shoved into the pockets of an oversized gray hoodie (XXL, with a pixelated cat print and the phrase "Touch me and die" in pink letters). Underneath I'm wearing black cycling shorts that barely peek out, thigh‑high striped black‑and‑white socks, and studded combat boots. My black hair is tied up in a messy bun, loose strands falling everywhere, and my round glasses slip down to the tip of my nose because I'm sweating even though it's cold.
In my right pocket, my phone buzzes every few seconds with TwitCasting notifications. Last night was… incredible. Hoshi wore the collar I sent her (the collar I paid for with my own money!). When she said my name live, when she rang the little bell and said "this is for my favorite kitty, KuroNeko‑chan~", I nearly fainted from excitement.
I bite my lip just remembering it. I imagine her moaning voice, whispering "Akira…" while I… Enough! I shake my head hard, wipe the corner of my mouth because I literally drooled.
And then, without meaning to, Reiji's face appears in my mind. That wild black hair, those gray eyes that seem to pierce through you, that deep voice that gives me goosebumps…
A threesome. The three of us. Hoshi, Reiji, and me. All tangled together, sweaty, him in the middle, me biting his neck while Hoshi…
"Stop it, crazy!" I tell myself out loud, slapping my cheeks. People passing by look at me strangely. I don't care.
One of these days I have to thank Reiji for the other time… Even if it's just to see him up close again.
I leave the supermarket with a bag full of cheese‑flavored chips, cheap beer, and a couple of onigiri so I don't starve. I walk home, humming the song Hoshi played at the end of her stream.
And suddenly… A strong hand grabs my shoulder and drags me into an alley with such force I almost drop the bags.
"NO! DON'T KILL ME! MY PARENTS WILL PAY ANYTHING! HAVE MERCY! I'M AN ONLY DAUGHTER!"
I'm shoved against the wall. I open my eyes, terrified. And I find myself less than ten centimeters from Reiji's face.
His gray eyes stare straight into mine, serious, unblinking. His black hair falls slightly over his forehead. He's so close I can smell his cologne (or lack of it), and feel his warm breath on my face.
My brain shuts down. My face explodes in red.
"R‑Reiji…!" I stammer, my voice trembling. "Wh‑what… what are you doing…?"
He doesn't answer right away. He pulls his phone from his pocket, turns it, and holds it up in front of my face.
On the screen: my TwitCasting profile. @KuroNeko_Chan My photo with glasses and bun, full description, all my donations to Hoshi highlighted.
My eyes widen so much they nearly pop out.
"Th‑that's not mine!" I shout, nervous.
"I don't know who this Akira is! And… and I don't know you either! Let me go, psycho!"
But my voice trembles so much it sounds like a lie even to me.
Reiji raises an eyebrow, not moving an inch.
"Really? Because last night someone with this exact profile donated 30,000 yen to a streamer named Hoshi. And asked her to wear a very specific collar. And that same person has a photo exactly like the girl who gave me a wad of cash in class yesterday."
"That's coincidence!" I scream, sweating. "There are lots of girls with glasses and buns! And… and I don't know anything about streamers! I only watch… watch… cat videos! Yes, that's it!"
Reiji sighs, but doesn't step back.
"Akira." he says, voice low and serious. "I know it's you. Stop lying."
I fall silent. My heart pounds so hard I think it's going to burst out of my chest.
"H‑how… how did you know…?" I whisper at last, my voice broken.
He looks straight at me.
"It doesn't matter how. What matters is why."
Reiji doesn't take his gray eyes off mine. That cold gaze that normally paralyzes me now has something different… something that burns inside me.
"Akira…" he says softly, almost a whisper. "Hoshi, the streamer of your dreams… is Hoshino."
The world stops. My mind goes blank. The air escapes my lungs. I can only stare at him, mouth slightly open, unable to process what he just said.
"W… what…?"
He doesn't repeat himself. He just watches me, waiting for my reaction.
And then, as if to finish me off, he raises an eyebrow and gives me that look. That soft, almost tender look of a lost puppy that I had never, ever seen him wear. And he smiles. A small, tilted smile, barely perceptible… but real.
My heart lurches so hard I think it's going to leap out of my mouth.
"Since… since when do you smile like that?" I murmur without realizing.
Reiji blinks, as if surprised himself, and the smile vanishes for a second… but then returns, wider.
"I need you to come to your house with me," he says bluntly. "Now."
I go pale instantly. All the romantic warmth disappears, replaced by pure embarrassment.
"WHAT?! NO! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!," I shout, flailing my hands like crazy. "Not my house! Never! Ever! It's… it's…!"
"Yes or no?" he cuts me off, raising his phone again.
On the screen: Hoshi's livestream. Live. Right at this very moment.
And that puppy look returns. More intense. With a smile now impossible to ignore.
I melt.
"…Yes" I whisper, so low it's barely audible. "But… but… quickly…"
──────────────────────────────────
My house is in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the city: three‑story homes with perfectly kept gardens, luxury cars in the driveways, electronic gates and cameras on every corner. Mine is white, with large windows, a minimalist Japanese garden at the entrance, and an underground garage big enough to hold a small plane.
Reiji whistles softly when he sees it. —Nice house.
I turn red to my ears.
"C‑come in quickly!" I whisper, pushing him toward the door. "Before…!"
"Akira‑chan~! You're here, my princess!"
A cheerful, sing‑song female voice rings out behind me. I freeze.
From the side door comes my mother. Kurokawa Misaki, 42 years old, former model, now a luxury jewelry designer. Long, perfectly straight black hair, a fitted white dress, high heels, a toothpaste‑ad smile. She's so beautiful she looks unreal. And she's staring at Reiji with shining eyes.
"You're the boy from Shibuya, aren't you?," she exclaims, clasping her hands. "The one who saved my Akira‑chan from those criminals! What a joy to see you again! Come in, come in! Don't stay out there!"
I want to die.
"MOM!," I shout, red as a tomato. "Don't call me that! And… and don't talk about that in front of him!"
But she's already hugging Reiji (HUGGING HIM!) and patting his back like he's her long‑lost son.
"Thank you, truly! I'll never be able to thank you enough! If it hadn't been for you, my girl would have…!" her voice breaks theatrically.
Reiji, uncomfortable but polite, nods.
"It was nothing, Mrs. Kurokawa."
"Nothing, he says!" my mother exclaims. "Come in, come in! I'll make tea! Or coffee! Or whatever you want!"
I'm about to faint from embarrassment. And Reiji glances at me from the corner of his eye… with that same puppy smile.
And I just want the earth to swallow me whole.
...
...
Akira's mother is… a whirlwind of energy and affection I didn't expect. She hugs me again at the entrance, tells me I'm "her daughter's hero" and that any day I want I can come over for her famous sukiyaki dinner.
The goddess in my head is literally melting. "Oh, how cute! Look how much she adores you!Mom waifu approved 1000%!This is every light novel protagonist's dream!"
"Shut up." I mutter mentally, though a smile slips out.
While her mother keeps talking, a new memory unlocks like a violent flash. Shibuya, months ago. The old Reiji wandering aimlessly, headphones in, scowl on his face. A group of drunk guys with knives surrounding three girls in an alley. One of them was Akira. But not the Akira I know now. She was… different. Short pink hair, a normal school uniform, no chains, no attitude. She was crying, cornered, while one of the guys lifted her skirt and the others laughed.
The old Reiji wasn't going to intervene. He walked past. Until one of the thugs shouted, "Hey, damn yankee, get lost if you don't want trouble!" and tried to steal his phone.
That changed everything. Five minutes later, all five were on the ground, bleeding, with the police arriving.
Akira sat staring at him from the ground, eyes full of tears and absolute admiration. From that day she started imitating him: dyed her hair black, bought dark clothes, acted tough. Because she wanted to be like him.
I let out a long, deep sigh. That's why she idolizes me. That's why she pretends to be a juvenile delinquent. Because one day, the old Reiji saved her without even knowing it.
"Reiji‑kun, come up, come up!," Akira shouts from the top of the stairs, pulling me out of the memory. "Mom, bring us something later, okay?"
"Of course, darling! I won't be long!"
I climb the marble steps, following Akira who walks quickly, nervous, not looking at me. We reach the door to her room. She stops in front, hand on the knob, eyes wide.
"Don't… don't make fun of me, okay?," she whispers, almost pleading. "It's… it's a bit chaotic."
She opens the door. And my eyes widen.
The room is huge, but it looks like a Hot Topic store exploded inside an anime convention. Black walls, purple and red LED lights, giant posters of visual kei bands, of games like Nier, of dark anime. A giant poster of Hoshi on the main wall, with her lilac wig and bell collar. The bed unmade, clothes scattered everywhere, anime figures on shelves, a gamer setup with three monitors, RGB mechanical keyboard, glowing mouse, pink gamer chair with cat ears.
Akira stands behind me, red as a tomato, twisting her fingers.
"D‑don't say anything weird! It's my personal space! And… and yes, I like the gamer vibe and the dark kawaii aesthetic! Don't laugh!"
I turn to her, smile faintly. "It's… cozy" I say, sincerely.
Her eyes go wide, the blush rising to her ears.
"R‑really? You don't think it's… nerdy?"
"Not."
I walk toward her desk. Three monitors, professional webcam, condenser microphone, ring lights. Everything ready for streaming.
"Akira," I say seriously. "Open Hoshi's stream."
She swallows hard, nods, and sits in the gamer chair. She powers on the monitors. And there she is.
Hoshi live. With the perfect purple wig, straight, two high ponytails. She's wearing a black long‑sleeve crop top with bare shoulders and a heart with the word "resurrectio" in white gothic letters, a black choker with silver spikes, a short pleated black skirt with small crosses embroidered at the hem and straps clipped to connect skirt and top. Black stockings and tall boots. She's seated, legs crossed, smiling at the camera with that syrupy, artificial voice.
"Nyaa~! Hello my favorite kittens! KuroNeko‑chan is here, my number one donor! Look at this cute outfit I wore today just for you~!"
Akira stares at the screen, pale.
"No… no way… That can't be Hoshino… That weird girl from class can't be…"
I roll my eyes. The logic of this world is unbelievable. How could she not notice from simple details?
"Look at her name," I cut her off, pointing at the screen. "Hoshi. She just dropped the last two letters of her surname. Look at her eyes. Honey. Exactly the same color. And those black bandages… they match perfectly with the outfit."
Akira covers her mouth with her hands.
"No! It can't be! Hoshino is… she's a bore! She doesn't talk to anyone! She's…!"
"It's her," I state firmly. "And you are her biggest donor."
I tell Akira, voice low but firm: "Donate something. Not much. I'll give it back to you later. But write a subtle message. Just her name: "Hoshino."
Akira looks at me for a second, then nods quickly and opens the donation window. She types the message: "Hoshino"
And when I see the amount she's putting in… My eyes go wide.
"100,000 yen! Akira, damn it, that's too much! I only asked for something small!"
She shrugs, with a mischievous smile.
"For me that's nothing. I want to see her face."
"No! That's a lot of money..." I say at last, resigned.
She presses the button. On the screen appears the giant notification: KuroNeko_Chan donated ¥100,000 Message: "Hoshino"
Hoshi (Hoshino) is in the middle of a seductive pose when the notification pops up. Her honey eyes fly open. The artificial smile freezes on her face.
"H‑Hoshino…?," she reads aloud, her voice trembling slightly. "Wh‑why… why did KuroNeko‑chan write that…? Is… is this a joke…?"
The chat explodes with questions. Akira is already typing again, fingers nervous but determined. This time she writes: "Hoshino Mizuki." And donates another 100,000 yen.
The alert appears on screen again, bigger, with the special "queen donation" sound. Hoshi goes completely blank. The smile vanishes. Her hands tremble over the keyboard. Her eyes fill with pure panic.
And then, suddenly, she lets out a forced laugh, sharp, sounding like breaking glass.
"Hahaha! How funny, my KuroNeko‑chan! It must be a typo! Or someone pretending to be her! Don't be silly, kittens! Hoshi‑chan is still here for you~!"
And, as if to distract, she begins slowly lowering the black off‑shoulder top. First one shoulder. Then the other. The top slides down, revealing the edge of a black lace bra, the deep neckline, pale skin…
I turn my face instantly, red as a tomato.
"Damn…" I mutter.
Akira, on the other hand, is staring at the screen, eyes wide, face flushed, breathing fast.
The goddess, of course, can't hold back. "LOOK AT THAT! LOOK AT THOSE BREASTS!Threesome NOW! Immediate threesome!You, Akira, and Hoshi on that bed full of purple lights!I'll direct, I'll play the music, I'll bring the toys!"
"Shut the hell up already!" I shout mentally.
Akira still doesn't look away. I turn back to her, serious.
"Akira. All this time… you've been harassing, humiliating, and bullying your favorite streamer. The girl you say you would adore with all your soul."
She whirls toward me, pale.
"WHAT?! I didn't know! I didn't know it was her! Hoshino is… she's a nobody in class! She never talks! She's always alone! How was I supposed to imagine that… that she was my Hoshi‑chan…!"
Her voice breaks.
"I didn't know…! I swear to you, Reiji! If I had known I would never have done anything to her! Never!"
I cross my arms and look at Akira with a mocking smile I can't hold back.
"So the great KuroNeko_Chan, the one who pretends to be tough and the leader of bullies… was crying because she accidentally harassed her favorite waifu?"
Akira pouts hugely, lips swollen, eyes shining.
"Don't make fun of me! It's just… I didn't know! If I had known I would never have done anything to her! I swear on my life!"
I let out a low laugh and, without thinking too much, raise my hand and ruffle her messy bun.
"Relax," I say in a teasing tone. "It's over."
She stays still for a second… and then lets out a soft sound, almost a meow, and a huge, happy smile escapes her, as if I'd given her the best gift in the world.
"Do you know where Hoshino lives?," I ask, turning serious again. "After all, you were the boss of the ones who bullied her. You must have her address."
Akira blushes again, but nods quickly.
"Yes… yes, I do. She lives in the Minami‑Senju neighborhood, in an ordinary house… I'll send you the address right now."
She pulls out her phone, types quickly, and sends me the location.
————————————————
An hour later I'm standing in front of the house. It's a typical two‑story Japanese home, plain and ordinary, the kind you see in any working‑class neighborhood. White walls a bit dirty, gray tile roof, a small front garden with potted plants that need watering. A rusty bicycle leaning against the wall. Nothing that would suggest anything strange is happening inside.
But from the second‑floor window shines a subtle, flickering violet light. The glow of streaming LEDs.
I check my phone. Hoshi's livestream is still active. She's sitting there, in the purple wig, the gothic‑lolita outfit, speaking in a syrupy voice, pretending everything is fine.
The goddess, for the first time in a long while, speaks with worry: "Kazuo… are you really going to do this?Go in like this, without warning…What if you're wrong?What if it's just a coincidence?"
"I'm not wrong," I answer coldly. "Remember how Ren acted with Sakurada. That "special arrangement." That job."
And Hoshino… her name is Mizuki. Same as my ex. The one who sat on her boss's lap while I stood at the door like an idiot.
A bitter smile, full of disgust, spreads across my face.
"I have a very bad feeling. And I'm not going to stand by and do nothing."
The goddess falls silent.
I step closer to the door. Raise my hand. Knock twice. Hard.
On my phone, I see Hoshi jump slightly in her chair. She glances back, nervous.
I knock again, harder. She quickly stands, says in a trembling voice: "Kittens, wait a second! I'll be right back!"
She pauses the stream.
Three minutes later, hurried footsteps echo down the stairs. Things clatter, small cries. The door bursts open.
And there she is. Hoshino Mizuki. Without the wig, short brown hair tousled, wearing an old T‑shirt and pajama shorts. Her huge honey eyes, filled with held‑back tears. She really did change quite fast.
She looks at me. She freezes completely. And only manages to whisper, voice broken:
"…Reiji… senpai…?"
I open my mouth to speak, to ask Hoshino if she's okay, to tell her she doesn't have to hide anymore…
And then a side door opens with a slow, grating creak.
Ren appears in the doorway. Pristine white coat, glasses perfectly in place, professional smile… but his eyes flicker for a single second when he sees me.
"Reiji Ryūsei…" he says, voice calm; too calm. "What a… belated surprise. To what do we owe the honor?"
Hoshino freezes beside me. Her hands are shaking, her eyes darting from Ren to me, from me to Ren, like a cornered animal.
I take a step forward and place myself right next to her, shoulder to shoulder. My arm brushes hers. She presses herself a little closer to me, as if I'm her only shield.
Ren raises an eyebrow.
I lift my phone. On the screen: the paused TwitCasting stream of "Hoshi," her face perfectly visible, gothic outfit, purple wig. Then I tilt my chin toward Hoshino.
Ren's smile falters by a millimeter.
"What exactly are you trying to tell me?" he asks, voice still soft, but now edged with steel.
I take a deep breath.
"TwitCasting. An app that found a legal loophole to keep existing on the Play Store even though, in practice, it's an adult streaming platform in disguise. Explicit content behind paywalls. Private rooms accessible for obscene amounts of money. All of it run from servers in unregulated tax havens.
"And the real owner, the one listed in the Cayman Islands parent company records… is Sakurada Takeshi. With Ren Sakurasawa as silent partner and technical administrator. It was easy to find out, thanks to the internet."
Ren's smile vanishes completely. His eyes turn to blocks of ice.
Hoshino stifles a sob.
I keep talking, colder, harder.
"Hoshino Mizuki. Eighteen years old. Covert digital prostitution. Private recordings sold to VIP clients. And you, Ren, are the one who manages the access keys. The one who collects the money. The one who forces her."
Ren says nothing. He just stares at me.
And then… he lets out a low, dry, humorless laugh.
"You know what's the funniest part, Reiji? That you think you have proof. That you think anyone will believe you—a juvenile delinquent with a record—over a respected veterinarian and a successful businessman."
I take another step forward.
"The proof is on the servers. In the payment logs. In the private messages Hoshino keeps on her phone. In the recordings Sakurada keeps 'for his personal collection.' And I have copies of everything."
A lie. Every word I'm saying is a lie, just to rattle him.
But he doesn't know that.
And Ren's face gives him away.
Hoshino, beside me, starts shaking harder.
Suddenly she whips her head around and screams—a short, sharp, terror-filled scream.
I turn.
And I see him.
Sakurada Takeshi in the hallway, aluminum baseball bat gripped in both hands. Shirtless, sweaty, eyes bloodshot, face red with rage and alcohol.
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" he roars. "HOW DARE YOU STICK YOUR NOSE IN MY BUSINESS?!"
I don't have time to react.
The bat rises.
And comes down.
The impact is brutal. A dull explosion inside my skull. White-hot, blinding pain. The world turns blurry, shapes warping, colors melting together.
I feel myself drop to my knees. I feel warm blood running down my temple.
And the last thing I hear before everything goes black… is Hoshino's heartbreaking scream.
And Sakurada's laughter. Dark. Endless.
And the world goes out.
...
Darkness wraps around me, thick, hot, full of buzzing and distant echoes. I feel the blood on my temple, the brutal throbbing in my head, the cold floor against my cheek.
And then a voice cuts through everything, hysterical, desperate:
"KAZUOOOO! WAKE UP! WAKE THE FUCK UP ALREADY, DAMN IT! IF YOU DON'T OPEN YOUR EYES RIGHT THIS SECOND I'M COMING DOWN TO THAT WORLD MYSELF AND DRAGGING YOU OUT BY FORCE!"
"Shut up," I mutter; this time it's not in my head, it actually comes out of my ruined throat.
A weak, almost laughable punch lands on my cheek.
It doesn't hurt. It doesn't even move my head. I just feel fresh warmth: blood dripping from my nose.
I open my eyes.
And the world snaps into focus.
What I see freezes the blood in my veins.
Hoshino.
Half-naked.
The purple wig perfectly in place, the black corset pulled down to her waist, breasts exposed, eyes full of tears, lips trembling. She's on her knees on the stained mattress.
Next to her, Sakurada—that disgusting pig—has one thick, sweaty arm wrapped around her, pressing her against his bare torso. In his other hand he still holds the bat, smeared with my blood.
And to my left, Ren.
Standing, professional camera in hand, red light blinking. Recording.
He smiles with that coldness I now understand perfectly.
"You're going to be a great actor, Reiji," he says, voice calm, almost kind. "A brave boy watching his little friend fuck the mafia boss to save his own skin. The audience will pay pure gold for this."
I wipe the blood from my nose with the back of my hand and stare straight at him.
"That's the best you've got? A camera and a fat old man?"
Ren narrows his eyes.
He steps closer.
And punches me again.
Weak. Pathetic.
It barely moves me.
The goddess in my head lets out a hysterical laugh.
"Of course it doesn't hurt, you idiot! I chose this body! It's immune to pathetic little hits like these!"
I laugh. Blood on my teeth.
"Is that it?" I spit on the floor. "Is that all you've got?"
Ren hits me again. And again.
Hoshino screams, voice breaking:
"Stop! Please, stop! Don't hurt him!"
Sakurada laughs, low and wet, squeezing Hoshino tighter against him.
"Shut up. This is part of the show."
Ren keeps hitting.
One. Two. Three.
It doesn't hurt.
I only feel rage.
Pure, black rage that burns inside me.
And in the middle of it all…
I look at all three of them.
At Ren with his camera.
At Sakurada with his hand on Hoshino's breast.
At Hoshino—crying, shaking, broken.
And I say, voice low, calm, deadly:
"You're going to regret this. Both of you. Until the very last day of your miserable lives."
Sakurada releases Hoshino and shuffles toward me, the bat dangling from his hand like a pendulum of death. His eyes gleam with sick excitement, mouth open, tongue peeking between his yellow teeth.
"Still feel like talking?" he whispers, his voice trembling with pleasure.
I laugh. Even though my throat hurts, even though it tastes like iron.
"You're pathetic, old man. Not even with a bat can you do real damage."
The first blow lands on my back like lightning.
The aluminum bat crashes between my shoulder blades with a dry crack that echoes through my entire body. The air rushes out of me in a burst. A broken groan escapes my throat—real, deep, impossible to hold back.
The pain is white, blinding.
The goddess screams inside my head, her voice cracking for the first time:
"KAZUO! GIVE THE ORDER! SAY IT NOW! I'LL COME DOWN AND TURN THEM TO ASHES IN A BLINK! DON'T HOLD ON ANYMORE!"
"No," I whisper, barely audible, blood on my lips. "Not yet."
Another blow.
This time to the ribs.
I feel the bone snap, a wet crack inside my chest. The pain pierces me like a burning spear. I cough up blood. Hot tears stream down my cheeks without permission.
Hoshino screams—a torn cry that rips my soul apart:
"STOP! PLEASE, STOP! I'LL DO ANYTHING! ANYTHING! DON'T HURT HIM ANYMORE!"
Ren keeps recording, impassive, the red light on the camera blinking.
Sakurada wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
"When we finish the video," Ren says, voice calm, almost bored, "we'll get rid of the body. An accident. A yankee who stuck his nose where it didn't belong. No one will ask questions."
I breathe in ragged gasps; each inhale is a fire in my chest. Blood fills my mouth, dripping down my chin.
Ren crouches down and kicks my face with the toe of his shoe.
I feel my nose crunch.
I lift my gaze with effort.
He's holding my phone in his hand, smiling.
"Looking for this?"
I laugh. Blood on my teeth.
"Keep it. You'll need it to record your own downfall."
Sakurada hits me again, this time on my right leg.
The bat slams into my ankle.
A burst of white, unbearable pain.
I scream.
The bone breaks like dry wood.
The world goes black for a second.
The goddess screams, desperate:
"ENOUGH! GIVE THE ORDER, KAZUO! SAY IT OR YOU'LL DIE!"
"No," I whisper, voice broken but calm. "Not yet."
I look at Hoshino.
She's tied at the wrists and ankles with black zip ties, kneeling on the mattress, corset pulled down, tears falling uncontrollably. Her eyes red, swollen, full of pure terror.
I smile at her.
A small, weak, but real smile.
"Everything's going to be okay," I mouth silently.
Sakurada turns toward her, the bat dripping my blood.
"Now then, kitten… Enjoy the show, kid," he says to me without looking. "You're about to see how your little friend pays for your sins."
He approaches her.
He raises his fat hand toward her face.
Hoshino closes her eyes, trembling.
And then…
Knock knock.
A sharp rap on the front door.
Everyone freezes.
Knock knock knock.
Louder.
Absolute silence.
Sakurada looks at me.
Ren lowers the camera for a second.
And I, on the floor, bleeding, with a broken rib and a shattered ankle…
smile with all my teeth.
"Were you expecting visitors?" I ask, voice broken but full of venom.
Because I know who's on the other side of that door.
A firm, authoritative voice smashes through the door like a hammer:
"Police! Open up immediately or we're kicking the door down!"
Sakurada freezes with his hand halfway to Hoshino, eyes bulging, face suddenly the color of a corpse. Ren slowly lowers the camera, staring at me, jaw trembling with pure rage.
I smile. Blood on my teeth, body broken, but I smile.
"Surprised? My phone's been on an open call since the moment I got here. Recording everything. Every word. Every blow. Every confession."
Ren opens his mouth; nothing comes out.
"A friend of mine is at the police station right now," I continue, voice shredded but clear. "With the cops. Listening live. They traced the signal. Pretty stupid of you not to smash the phone, doctor."
The door explodes inward with a deafening crash. Splinters of wood fly everywhere.
Eight officers storm in, rifles raised, bulletproof vests, shouting: "DOWN ON THE GROUND! HANDS UP!"
Ren stays frozen a second too long. An officer drops him with a sharp blow to the back of the neck, slams him to the floor, cuffs him brutally.
Sakurada starts screaming like a wounded animal, trying to run, but two officers tackle him against the wall; the bat clatters to the ground.
Hoshino is still on the mattress, wrists and ankles bound, half-naked, shaking uncontrollably. One officer cuts the zip ties with a knife; another drapes a thermal blanket over her.
She staggers to her feet. The purple wig falls off, revealing her short brown hair.
She runs to me.
Drops to her knees beside me, throws her arms around me, burying her tear-soaked face in my bloody neck.
"Reiji! Reiji, please! Don't die! Please don't die!"
I whisper into her ear, barely any voice left:
"It's okay… It's over…"
The officers free my wrists and carefully lift me. One shouts into his radio:
"Ambulance NOW! Serious injuries, possible internal bleeding!"
The goddess in my head is crying—from fury and relief at the same time:
"YOU IDIOT! You almost died! Never, EVER do that to me again! Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
"Sorry," I whisper, a bloody smile on my lips. "The phone was on a call with Akira the whole time. She brought the police. Everything recorded. Ren was an idiot for not checking it."
"You suicidal maniac! You reckless fool! But… damn it… it worked…"
"Can you… heal me tonight? In the hospital. Just enough. I want to be ready for tomorrow."
Silence.
Then her voice, low and dangerous:
"Of course I will. Tonight I heal you. And tomorrow… tomorrow those two are going to wish they'd never been born."
I smile.
They lift me onto the stretcher.
Hoshino screams my name as they try to pull her away, but no one officer lets her come with me.
Blood fills my mouth.
The pain is unbearable.
But I close my eyes…
and smile.
Because I know tonight I'll be healed.
And tomorrow…
tomorrow Ren and Sakurada are going to learn what real pain feels like.
...
I'm in a hospital room that smells of disinfectant and cold metal. I know it even though I haven't opened my eyes yet.
An oxygen mask covers my nose and mouth, forcing damp, icy air into my lungs every few seconds. A thick nasogastric tube runs through my nose down to my stomach to drain the blood I swallowed. An IV line in my right arm pumps saline and painkillers; electrodes stuck to my chest monitor my heart with slow, steady beeps. My right ankle is locked in a rigid splint, swollen like a balloon. The broken ribs are wrapped so tight that every breath is a battle… though it doesn't hurt nearly as much as it did before.
I know I woke up about an hour ago. But I keep my eyes closed. The moment I open them, the police will come. Questions. Statements. And I'm not ready yet to play the fragile victim.
The goddess, of course, won't leave me alone even in the ICU.
"Are you still alive in there, or do I have to come down and give you a princess kiss to wake you up?" Her voice is relieved, but still has that playful edge she never quite loses.
"I'm alive," I answer in my head, voice hoarse even inside my own skull. "Just… resting."
"Resting? You've got more tubes than a cyborg! You know how sexy you look like this? You're like the lead in a medical drama… dark version."
"Thanks for the compliment. Now shut up for a while, okay?"
"No way! I've gone hours without talking to you; I almost died of anxiety. Plus… I'm curious." She lowers her voice, seductive and dark at once. "What are you going to do to those two pigs tomorrow?"
I smile behind my closed eyelids.
"Enjoy the show. It's a surprise."
"Don't do this to me! Tell me! Are you going to break them little by little? Snap their fingers one by one? Make them beg like Hoshino did?"
"Something much better," I whisper. "Patience."
I crack my eyes open. It's night. The room is dim, lit only by the green glow of the monitor and the orange streetlight filtering through the blinds.
I look down at my body: bandages, tubes, bruises blooming purple and yellow.
"Goddess… heal me a little. Not completely. Just enough so I can move tomorrow. Make the doctors think I'm a 'miracle case,' but not so much that they get suspicious."
"Just a little? I can have you brand-new in ten seconds."
"Just a little," I repeat. "I want them to see me walk in tomorrow… and shit themselves."
Silence.
...
...
I won't go to school tomorrow. Or the day after. Maybe I'll never set foot in that institute again.
It's late at night. The room is dark except for the thin sliver of moonlight slipping through the gap in the blinds. I'm sitting on the bed, knees pulled tight against my chest, blanket pulled up to my chin. I've been like this for hours. Crying. Crying silently so my parents won't hear me from the other side of the hallway.
They don't know anything. They don't know their daughter spent two years as a digital prostitute. They don't know the "perfect boyfriend" I introduced them to (Ren, the kind, responsible veterinarian) was the one selling me. They don't know Sakurada Takeshi, that disgusting man, paid to touch me, to record me, to hurt me. They don't know I have scars that will never fully heal, neither on my arms nor in my soul.
Ren won their trust from day one. Flowers for my mom, expensive gifts for my dad, always smiling, always polite. He threatened me from the very beginning: "If you say a single word, your parents will know everything. And no one will believe you over me."
I fell in love with him when I was fifteen. He was handsome, older, attentive. He made me feel special. Until one day he asked me for "a little favor." An "innocent" livestream. Just to make some extra money. Then another. And another. And when I wanted to stop… it was already too late.
I thought that would be my life forever. A broken doll who put on wigs and smiled at the camera while dying inside. Marks on my arms, marks on my soul. A life of darkness, shame, and constant fear.
Until he showed up.
Reiji.
The boy everyone feared, the one they called a monster… who one day sat down in a dirty alley to play with my kittens. Who defended me without asking for anything in return. Who told me I could stay at his place whenever I wanted. Who smiled at me like I was actually worth something.
And now… now he's in the hospital because of me.
I remember every second in that ambulance.
The paramedics shouting, cutting off his clothes to examine him, shoving tubes down his nose and throat, needles into his arms. The blood that wouldn't stop pouring from his head. The sound of his broken ribs when they tried to move him. His eyes closed, skin pale, breathing shallow.
I screamed his name over and over. They had to hold me back so I wouldn't get in the way. But he… he looked at me for one second before passing out, and he smiled. With blood on his teeth. And he told me everything would be okay.
And I could only cry.
At the hospital they examined me for hours. Bruises on my wrists, back, neck. Old and new scars on my arms. They asked questions I didn't want to answer. They made me cry in front of strangers and in front of my parents. They told me I'd need therapy for at least two years. That they'd have to monitor my physical and mental health. That this was a case of prolonged abuse.
The police came afterward.
I told them everything. Everything. From the first livestream to that final night. The names. The dates. The payments. The videos. The threats. I cried so hard I thought I'd never stop.
I only asked for one thing: that my name never appear in the media. That no one at school, that no one in the world, ever find out that Hoshi was me. They agreed. They sealed the case. They filed charges: human trafficking, sexual exploitation, aggravated assault, conspiracy…
I hope they rot in prison. I hope they suffer everything they made me suffer. And more.
But right now… right now I'm in my room, alone, hugging my knees.
And I'm crying.
I'm crying because Reiji is hurt because of me. I'm crying because I don't know if he'll wake up tomorrow. I'm crying because I don't know how to ever thank him for what he did for me.
And through the tears, I close my eyes and remember his face.
His crooked smile. Those gray eyes that seemed to see right into my soul. His deep voice when he said "everything's going to be okay."
That memory calms me.
Just a little.
Tomorrow I'll wake up early. I'll go to the police station to sign whatever needs signing. Then I'll run to the hospital.
I want to see him. I want to hug him. I want to curl up against his chest again and feel, for the first time in so long…
that someone is truly protecting me.
I close my eyes.
...
...
Then a soft warmth spreads over me, like an invisible blanket wrapping around my body. The pain in my ankle vanishes. The ribs stop burning. The blood in my throat disappears. I can breathe without agony.
I open my eyes fully.
There is no more pain.
Only cold, clean, perfect rage.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"You're welcome," she answers, satisfied. "Tomorrow is going to be a beautiful day."
I smile into the darkness.
I glance at the wall clock: 03:12 a.m.
In a few hours the police will come.
I'll give them my perfect statement.
I'll cry if I have to.
And then…
then I'll walk out of here.
And Ren Sakurasawa and Sakurada Takeshi are going to learn what real hell feels like.
Because I'm no longer Kazuo, the cuckold who cried in silence.
I'm Reiji.
And tomorrow…
tomorrow I collect.
With interest.
...
...
I leave the police station with my heart pounding so hard I think it's going to burst out of my chest.
The morning air is cold, but I don't care. My parents are behind me, faces still pale, eyes swollen from crying all night. I begged them to let me go to the hospital alone. I pleaded. I told them I had to do this by myself, that I needed to see Reiji, that it was my responsibility. They didn't want to let me. My mom was crying, hugging me, telling me never to be alone again. My dad just nodded, jaw clenched, like he was holding back all the rage in the world.
But in the end they gave in. Because they knew nothing could stop me.
Inside the station I signed everything they asked: statements, attachments, consent for psychological follow-up, permission to examine my phone, my laptop, my accounts… everything. They took pictures of my scars. They asked me over and over if there were other victims. I told them I didn't know. That I only knew my own hell.
And now I'm out here, on the street, alone.
I'm wearing an oversized gray hoodie that almost reaches my knees, hood pulled all the way up over my head and ears. Underneath, thick black leggings and old boots that squeak when I walk. A huge scarf covers half my face. I don't want anyone to recognize me. I don't want anyone to see me cry.
And I run.
I run like my life depends on it.
The streets are almost empty, the sky is gray, but I don't care. I can only think of one thing: Reiji. Reiji on that stretcher. Reiji full of tubes. Reiji bleeding because of me.
I reach the hospital in under ten minutes, panting, legs shaking.
I burst inside.
The nurses try to stop me at reception.
"Miss! You can't just run in like that! ID! Visiting hours are only until—"
I ignore them. I sprint down the hallways, reading the room numbers, retracing the path I took yesterday in the ambulance.
Room 412.
There it is.
I shove the door open with both hands.
And I freeze.
Reiji is standing.
Limping badly, leaning on a crutch, wearing an oversized hospital gown, black hair a mess. A nurse is holding his left arm, a doctor is telling him something about "don't push yourself," but he's just smiling.
And when he looks up…
and sees me…
he smiles.
That small, crooked, tired… but real smile.
Tears spill down my face uncontrollably.
I run.
I push past the nurse, the doctor, anyone in my way.
And I throw myself at him.
I hug him with all my strength, burying my face in his chest, clutching his gown like it's the only thing keeping me alive.
"Reiji!" I sob against his shirt. "Reiji, Reiji, Reiji…!"
He lets out a soft groan of pain (probably from the ribs), but he doesn't push me away. On the contrary. With his free arm he wraps me tight, pulling me closer.
"Miss! You can't do that! He's still recovering!" the doctor shouts.
"It's fine, doctor," Reiji orders, voice hoarse but steady. "Leave me with her… please."
The nurses and doctor exchange looks, hesitate, but finally step out and close the door.
And we're alone.
I keep crying against his chest, shaking all over.
He strokes my hair under the hood, slowly, gently.
"Shh…" he whispers. "I'm here. It's over."
And I only cry harder.
Because for the first time in years…
I feel safe.
And I'm never letting him go again.