Ken's brain's a mess the next morning, all tangled up with those stolen glimpses of Sumi. It's like he's got this gross, secret knowledge about his own sister, this peek behind a curtain he never should've lifted. Now, every time he thinks of her, that image in the leotard flashes in his mind, a weird mix of innocent and… not so innocent. He can't shake this feeling that she's walking into something she doesn't understand, something dark and slimy.
He's even noticing how she's, like, blossoming. It's stupid, but after seeing those photos, he can't help but see the way her t-shirts fit a little differently, the subtle curve of her hips under her jeans. It's like his eyes have been opened to something he should've stayed blind to. And Sumi? She's just going about her day, humming some dumb pop song, totally clueless about the eyes that have already undressed her.
He finds himself outside her room, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He tells himself he just wants to make sure she's okay, but there's this other, grosser reason tugging at him too. He pushes the door open a crack.
Sumi's by her closet, a fluffy white towel clinging to her damp skin. Her hair's all tousled, and the towel's slipped down just enough to show the tops of her little boobs, that faint line of cleavage making his stomach do a weird flip. Her skin's got that soft, just-out-of-the-shower glow.
"Dude? What's your deal?" she asks, turning around, a sleepy frown on her face.
He tries to keep his eyes on her face, but it's like they've got a mind of their own. "Just… you still doing that photoshoot thing?"
"Yeah," she yawns, fiddling with the towel. "Hiro texted me again. This afternoon. But that dress he wants me to wear? It's kinda… whoa. Way dressier than I thought for a casual thing."
He knows "whoa" means "totally showing off your barely-legal body." "Look, Sumi," he says, his voice coming out a little rough, "if it feels wrong, just ditch it. Seriously. Don't do anything you're not cool with."
She shrugs, that teenage dream of being popular flickering in her eyes. "But Hiro said it could be a real chance, you know? Get my face out there. Maybe even do some actual modeling."
"You're already popular, you goofball," he says, trying for a brotherly jab, but it feels hollow.
She gives him this soft, sleepy smile. "Thanks, Ken." Then she hesitates, looking down at her bare feet. "I guess I'll just see what happens. Maybe it won't be as weird as I'm thinking." She starts heading for the bathroom, that towel clinging to her still-damp ass in a way that makes his jaw clench. "Gotta shower. Catch ya later."
He watches her disappear into the steamy bathroom, the image of her in that towel burned into his brain. He knows the kind of "opportunity" Hiro's peddling, the creepy eyes that are probably already anticipating her every move. He knows the price that's been paid. He knows something bad's coming, but he's too messed up to stop it.
Ken walks through the school gates, a strange mix of anxiety and a perverse anticipation churning within him. He tells himself he needs to talk to Nana, to make sure she's okay after that photoshoot with Takashi. But beneath that concern lies a darker, more shameful curiosity. The images from the secret chat have stirred something unsettling within him, a twisted desire to hear about her interactions with another guy, to vicariously experience a forbidden intimacy. It's a burgeoning cuckold fantasy, unwelcome yet insistent.
He scans the crowded hallways, his eyes searching for Nana's familiar figure. He finally spots her near the old gym structure, a place usually deserted in the early morning. But she isn't alone. Takashi, the hulking senior from the photos, is standing uncomfortably close to her, his presence radiating a clumsy possessiveness. Nana's body language screams discomfort. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, and she keeps shifting her weight, her gaze darting around as if searching for an escape route.
Ken watches from behind a cluster of lockers, a knot of conflicting emotions tightening in his gut. He never imagined someone like Takashi, so awkward and frankly repulsive, would ever get this close to Nana. Yet, here it is, playing out in front of him. Takashi leans in, his face inches from hers, and Nana visibly recoils. Takashi's hand then brushes against her arm, a seemingly accidental touch that lingers for a moment too long, his thick fingers pressing into her skin. A wave of anger surges through Ken, a primal urge to protect his friend from this unwanted intrusion.
But then, a darker curiosity takes hold. He finds himself focusing on the point of contact, imagining the sensation of Takashi's hand on Nana's skin. He wonders if she feels disgusted, or if there's a flicker of something else, something that ignites a shameful heat within him.
Takashi then places his hand more deliberately on her back, his palm pressing against her, his thumb dangerously close to the curve of her spine. Nana flinches, her shoulders tightening. Ken's breath hitches. It's wrong, so undeniably wrong, yet a perverse excitement stirs within him, a twisted desire to know every detail of their interaction. He wants to hear how Takashi touched her, what he said, how she reacted.
Finally, Takashi grins, a wide, unpleasant display of teeth, and says something that makes Nana's forced smile falter. He then pulls her into a brief, possessive hug, his bulky frame pressing against her smaller one. Ken's jaw clenches. But as Takashi lumbers away, a strange, uncomfortable anticipation settles in Ken's gut.
Ken approaches Nana, his steps hesitant despite the burning curiosity within him. "Hey," he says, trying to sound casual, "who were you talking to outside?"
Nana sighs, a hint of annoyance in her voice. "Just some guy from that photoshoot yesterday. Takashi."
"Oh, right," Ken says, feigning ignorance, his heart pounding a little faster. "How was that, anyway? The photoshoot."
Nana pulls a face. "It was… weird. The dress Hiro picked was way too much, you know? And the poses he wanted me to do felt kind of awkward."
Ken's groin tightens almost imperceptibly. "Awkward how?" he asks, trying to keep his voice neutral.
"Just… showing a lot of skin, I guess," she replies, a slight blush creeping up her neck. "And the guy I was paired with… Takashi? He was just… ugh."
"Ugh how?" Ken presses, a strange mix of concern and a perverse fascination warring within him.
Nana shudders. "He was just… too touchy. Hiro kept telling him to put his hands on me for the shots, and he was way too into it. Like, his hand kept lingering on my waist, and he kept trying to get closer than he needed to." She wraps her arms around herself, a visible sign of discomfort. "It was just… creepy."
Ken's jaw clenches, a surge of protective anger momentarily eclipsing the unwanted arousal stirring within him. "That's messed up, Nana," he says, his voice low.
"Yeah," she sighs again. "And Hiro kept directing these poses that felt… I don't know… too suggestive? Like I was some kind of… object."
Ken's imagination fills in the blanks, the images from the secret chat flashing through his mind. His groin hardens further, a shameful response to her distress. He wants to comfort her, to tell her she doesn't have to do this, but the perverse curiosity to hear more, to understand the extent of her exploitation, keeps him rooted.
"He kept… getting really close," Nana continues, a tremor in her voice. "Like he was trying to whisper things in my ear, but they were just… ugh. And that hug he gave me after? It felt so… slimy."
Ken nods, trying to project an air of sympathy while a dark, twisted part of him is picturing the scene, imagining Takashi's unwanted closeness, the feel of his hands on her body.
"I just hope the actual photoshoot for the poster is better," Nana says, a hint of worry in her eyes. "Hiro said it would be more professional, with more people around."
"Yeah," Ken says, his voice still a little rough. "Yeah, I'm sure it'll be fine." He wants to tell her to quit, to run, but the words catch in his throat, choked by his own conflicting desires and the fear of exposing his dark secret.
They walk back to class together, a heavy silence hanging between them. The bell rings, and they take their seats, the weight of the unseen darkness settling over them both.
The clock in the classroom ticks with agonizing slowness for Ken. Each passing minute brings Sumi closer to the "opportunity" Hiro has orchestrated, closer to the clutches of ViperStrike. The image of his fifteen-year-old sister, vulnerable and trusting, walking into that photo club churns in his gut, a toxic blend of dread and a shameful, persistent arousal. The memory of those stolen photos, the leotard clinging to her nascent curves, the innocent fullness of her barely-there breasts – it all fuels a perverse excitement he despises. He wants to scream, to warn her, to physically drag her away from the impending violation, but he's paralyzed by his own complicity, his own dark secret. There's nothing he can do, he tells himself, a pathetic lie that offers a sliver of self-preservation.
The final bell shrieks, a sound that should signal freedom but instead feels like a death knell. He watches Sumi gather her things, a naive smile on her face, completely unaware of the darkness that awaits her. She waves goodbye and heads towards the photo club, and Ken is left behind, a prisoner of his own conflicting desires and his paralyzing fear.
Hiro is already waiting when Sumi arrives at the photo club, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he takes in her youthful beauty. Her face, still bearing the soft contours of adolescence, is undeniably cute, framed by the innocent halo of her hair. Her eyes, wide and trusting, hold a naive sparkle. But it's her body that truly captures his attention. The subtle swell of her breasts beneath her school uniform, the gentle curve of her hips, the slender line of her legs – it's a body just beginning to blossom, a tender fruit ripe for the picking. He briefly considers the depraved desires of the man who paid for this privilege, a flicker of envy mixing with his avarice. He wants to touch her, to mold her to his own twisted fantasies, but the substantial sum ViperStrike offered outweighs his own urges.
He plasters on a professional smile. "Sumi! Great to see you. Ready for your special shoot?"
Sumi smiles back, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Excellent!" Hiro claps his hands together. "Today's theme is… intimate casual. We want to capture a sense of relaxed comfort, but with a touch of allure." He gestures towards a garment bag laid out on a nearby table. "I've got a dress here for you. Go ahead and change in the back, and we'll get started." His eyes linger on her for a moment longer than necessary, a silent appraisal of the merchandise he is about to deliver.