I walk through the hallways of Seiran Academy with my back straight, high ponytail perfectly aligned, the student council badge gleaming on my lapel. The outward calm I've always cultivated as armor is intact. No one looking at me from the outside could guess that inside me there's a whirlwind of emotions I don't know how to sort out.
Yesterday was… happy. Too happy. I don't remember ever having a day like that. Reiji, Hoshino, Akira, the cats, even poor Natsuki drunk out of her mind sleeping on the sofa like a giant koala. We laughed, ate, talked nonsense, played with the kittens… It felt like, for the first time, we had formed a strange, improvised, but real family.
And yet… even then I felt jealousy.
Jealousy that burned inside me every time I saw Hoshino curled up against Reiji, every time he stroked her hair with a tenderness he's never shown me, every time she laughed with a freedom I've never had. Jealousy that hurt in my chest like knives.
But last night, when we took Natsuki back to Hoshino's parents' house and we were alone in Hoshino's room, I confessed everything. I told her I was still in love with Reiji. That I didn't know what to do. That I was terrified of losing her and losing him. And she hugged me and told me she supported me, that she wanted me to be happy, that she didn't want anyone to suffer because of her feelings.
And I cried. I cried like a little girl.
Because I'd never had a friend like that.
But today… today all of that feels distant.
Because I'm at school.
And he's here.
I'm walking down the third-floor hallway when, without realizing it, I bump into someone.
The impact is light, but my body tenses like a wire.
I look up.
And my heart stops.
Haruto.
Surrounded by his usual group: five tall guys, athletes, jackets open, wearing that aura of superiority like a medal.
He looks at me. Smiles. That smile that used to seem charming and now only makes me nauseous.
A hand lands on my shoulder. His hand.
He pulls me close with feigned gentleness, as if we were the perfect couple everyone thought we were.
"Look, guys… my beautiful girlfriend," he says loudly, so everyone can hear. "Isn't she the prettiest in the whole school?"
The group laughs and chimes in.
"Damn, Haruto, you're so lucky. The perfect president with that model body!"
"And she cooks too! I want a girlfriend who makes me bentos every day!"
"Though with that ice-queen face, she's probably a volcano in bed, right, Haruto?"
Haruto laughs, squeezing me tighter against his side.
How disgusting.
So fucking disgusting.
I smile. A fake, perfect smile, the one I've practiced for years.
"Thank you, guys," I say sweetly, trembling inside.
But the comments don't stop.
"Hey, president, is it true you go to that delinquent Ryūsei's place every day? Or do you just like it rough?"
"How much does he pay you for the bentos? Or does he fuck you in exchange?"
The laughter gets louder.
Haruto squeezes me harder, his hand discreetly sliding down to my waist.
"Come on, guys, don't be mean to my girlfriend… Though… it's true she likes visiting a certain yankee, huh, Reika?"
My body shakes.
I remember perfectly the first time he slapped me.
We were in the hallway after classes.
I tried to explain that I was just going to Reiji's to help him study, that we were friends, that nothing was happening.
And he slapped me in front of everyone.
Then came the blackmail.
Photos.
Photos I took months ago, when I still thought I loved him, when I still let him touch me. Photos in underwear. Photos in his bed. Photos I never should have allowed.
"If you talk, I'll send them to your parents. To the whole school. To everyone. And I'll say you're a slut who spreads her legs for anyone."
That's why I kept pretending.
That's why I kept smiling.
That's why I kept letting him touch me in the hallways, call me "girlfriend," humiliate me in front of his friends.
Because I was afraid.
And now I'm here again.
Trembling.
Smiling.
While they laugh.
And all I can do is pray for this to end soon.
Because I don't know how much longer I can take it.
...
The final bell of the day rings like a hammer in my head. I leave the classroom with my backpack hanging off one shoulder, eyes fixed on the floor, counting the tiles one by one so I don't have to think about anything else. I'm exhausted. It's not just physical tiredness (though I've been sleeping four hours a night all week); it's something deeper, heavier, that weighs down my shoulders and makes every step feel like a ton. The hallways are full of voices, laughter, weekend plans, but everything reaches me distant, like I'm underwater. I just want to get home. Sleep. Forget.
I bump my forehead against the main door of the school because I didn't even realize I'd arrived. The impact is soft, but it wakes me a little. I push the door open and step out into the cold afternoon air.
The walk home is automatic. Familiar streets, traffic lights, the same park where the pigeons always are, the same convenience store where I sometimes buy tea when I can't sleep. But today everything looks gray. Grayer than ever.
I get home.
The automatic gate opens with a slow buzz. The house is just as I left it this morning: big, white, perfect, empty. The maid isn't here anymore. I vaguely remember my mother came two weeks ago, walked in, left a note on the fridge saying she was going to New York for "urgent business" and fired Mrs. Yamada because "you're old enough to take care of yourself now." Not a "how are you?", not a "I miss you," not a hug. Just the note and the house quieter than ever.
I drop my backpack on the entryway floor, kick off my shoes carelessly, toss my coat over the banister. I drag my feet up the stairs. Open the door to my room—that huge room with a king-size bed, designer desk, closet that could be a store—and collapse face-down onto the bed without even taking off my uniform.
And then the tears come.
Silent at first.
Then stronger.
I cry into the pillow, clutching it tight, biting it so no one can hear me (even though there's no one who could).
Because I'm scared.
Because Haruto has me trapped.
Because the photos he has of me (those photos I took when I still thought he loved me, when he convinced me it was "normal" between couples) are a ticking time bomb. He told me that if I left him, if I spoke up, if I tried anything… he'd send them to everyone. To my parents. To the student council. To the whole world.
And I know he will.
Because Haruto has no limits.
Because he enjoys watching people break.
Because he's done it before.
And all I can do is smile.
Fake.
And pretend.
And endure.
Because if I say something… if I ask for help… he'll destroy everything I have left.
I think about Reiji.
About his crooked smile.
About how he never made me feel invisible.
About how he looked at me like he really saw me.
Maybe… maybe I could tell him.
Maybe he…
No.
I don't want to drag him into more trouble.
He's already done too much for me.
He almost died for Hoshino.
I can't burden him with this too.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
I pull it out with shaking hands.
A message.
From Haruto.
"Hey gorgeous. I'm at the usual park. Come. I want to take a walk with you. Don't be late."
I know perfectly well it's not a request.
I know perfectly well that if I don't go…
tomorrow the whole school will see those photos.
I wipe my tears with my sleeve.
Take a deep breath.
And stand up.
Because I'm still scared.
And because, no matter how much it hurts…
I still believe I don't deserve to be saved.
...
I look at myself in the dressing room mirror and feel nauseous.
The black spaghetti-strap top, so short it exposes my navel and half my back. The leather miniskirt that barely covers the tops of my thighs, so tight every step is a struggle. The high-heeled boots he forced me to buy last week—black, shiny, making my legs look endless. The heavy makeup: smoky black and purple eyes, thick eyeliner, dark red lips that make me feel like a cheap doll. My hair loose and straight, with that artificial shine I hate.
I hate all of this.
I hate showing my body like this.
I hate that he's turned me into this.
I never used to dress like this. I used to wear knee-length skirts, buttoned-up blouses, soft colors. I used to feel… like myself.
But since the blackmail started, every time we "go out," he forces me.
"If you don't dress like the slut you are, everyone will see the photos, Reika."
That's what he always says.
And I obey.
Because I'm scared.
I leave the house with my head down, long coat covering me as much as possible until I reach the park.
And there he is.
Haruto.
Surrounded by a much larger group than usual. Ten, twelve guys. All from the basketball team or his friends, all tall, all laughing, all holding beers even though it's still afternoon.
They see me coming.
And the whistling starts.
"Damn, Haruto, what a hot girlfriend you've got!"
"Look at those tits, man! How they stand out in that top!"
"And those legs…! In that skirt it looks like she's begging to get it hiked up!"
Haruto smiles at me, that predatory smile that used to seem charming.
"Come here, gorgeous."
He drags me to him before I can even greet anyone.
His hands go straight to my waist, yanking me onto his lap, pressing me against him.
His fingers dig into my bare skin under the top.
I hate it.
I want to scream.
I want to punch him.
I want to run.
But my body doesn't respond.
I just smile.
Fake.
Shy.
Terrified.
The comments keep coming.
"Look how she's blushing! She's probably soaked already!"
"Haruto, show us a little more!"
"Hey, president, you like being touched in public or what?"
Haruto laughs, grabs one of my breasts over the top, and squeezes hard.
"Of course she likes it! She's a secret slut! That's why she dresses like this—so everyone stares!"
I want to cry.
I want to die.
But I know if my makeup runs…
he'll hit me again.
So I smile.
And obey.
The "outing" continues as always.
We walk to an expensive bar downtown, one of those places with red lights and leather sofas where only people with money or connections get in.
He sits me on his lap again.
In the middle of the group.
His hands don't stop: on my waist, on my thighs, under my skirt, brushing the fabric of my panties.
I don't drink anything. I hate alcohol. The smell, the taste, what it does to people disgusts me.
But they drink.
And talk.
And laugh.
And touch me.
And I just smile.
Fake.
Heartbroken.
And then Haruto leans into my ear, his hot, alcoholic breath against my skin.
"Hey, gorgeous… Want to please my friends today? Just a little… Like last time…"
I freeze in shock.
The world stops.
The laughter becomes distant.
The air leaves my lungs.
And the only thing I can think is:
No.
Please.
Not again.
The memory hits me like a whip across the face.
That "last time."
A private room in the back of another bar, red lights, loud music so no one could hear anything. Haruto sitting on the sofa like a king, smiling, telling me that if I didn't do it "voluntarily," the photos would go public that very night. His friends around him, drunk, laughing, zippers already down. Me on my knees on the cold floor, makeup running from tears I couldn't fully let fall. One hand after another. One cock after another. The smell of alcohol, sweat, cum. The moans, the insults, the laughter. "Come on, faster." "Look how well the perfect girl does it." "Open your mouth wider." And Haruto recording everything on his phone, smiling, enjoying every second of my humiliation.
All I feel is disgust.
Disgust that rises in my throat like bile.
I stand up from his lap abruptly.
The world spins.
I look at him.
For the first time in months, I look at him with pure fury.
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" Haruto shouts, standing up, voice slurred from alcohol. "GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!"
I turn around.
I run out of the bar.
The cold night air slaps my face, burns my lungs.
I run with no direction, heels clacking on the sidewalk, tears stinging my eyes, heart pounding so hard I think it'll explode.
I want to go to the police.
I want to burst into the nearest station, scream, report him, end this once and for all.
I'M DONE!
But my legs stop on their own.
I stand in the middle of the street, shaking like a leaf.
Fear eats me alive.
Fear that he'll post the photos.
Fear that my parents will hate me.
Fear that everyone will see me as the slut he says I am.
Fear that no one will believe me.
I scream inside my head, a silent scream that tears my throat apart.
Haruto's shouts get closer.
"REIKA! GET BACK HERE, DAMN IT! DON'T MAKE ME COME GET YOU!"
The tears finally fall, burning.
And then…
"Reika?"
That voice.
That deep, calm voice that saved me once.
I look up through tears.
Reiji is there.
Standing under a streetlamp, hands in his hoodie pockets, looking at me with mild surprise in his gray eyes.
The world crashes down on me.
My legs tremble.
My lips part, but only a broken whisper comes out:
"Reiji…"
And everything I've been holding in…
all the fear, all the rage, all the pain…
collapses in that moment.
Because he's here.
Reiji looks me up and down, gray eyes narrowed in surprise and something else I can't quite read. The streetlamp lights half his face, leaving the other half in shadow, and for a second he seems taller, larger, as if the night itself had stepped behind him to shield him.
"Reika…? What the hell are you dressed like that for? And why are you crying?"
His voice is low, calm, but there's a note of concern that pierces my chest like a hot knife.
I want to speak. I want to tell him everything: the blackmail, the photos, the slaps, the humiliation, the disgust I feel for myself right now. I want to throw myself into his arms and beg him to get me out of here, to take me far away, to save me like he saved Hoshino.
But I can't.
My lips tremble. My hands clench into fists at my sides. I feel dirty. Like my skin is covered in something rotten I'll never wash off. I don't deserve for him to touch me. Not after everything I've let happen to me.
I take a step back, nearly tripping over my own heels.
And then I hear heavy footsteps behind me.
I turn.
Haruto.
Face red from alcohol and rage, eyes blazing, fists clenched.
He's about to yell something (I can see it in his face, in the way he opens his mouth), but he freezes when he sees Reiji.
The air crackles with tension.
Haruto smiles. A twisted, venomous smile full of contempt.
"Well, well… look who showed up. Ryūsei, right? What a coincidence."
Reiji doesn't answer right away. He just looks at me again, up and down, then locks eyes with Haruto.
"Why is she dressed like that?" he asks, voice calm but edged like a blade.
Haruto laughs, a dry, cruel sound.
"Jealous, yankee? She's my girlfriend! She loves dressing like this for me! Right, Reika-chan? She loves being stared at, being touched… She's a slut with great taste in clothes."
My body shakes harder.
I want to scream no, that it's a lie, that he forces me, that I hate every inch of this outfit, that I hate myself for wearing it.
But the words stick in my throat.
Haruto takes a step toward me, reaching out as if to grab my arm.
"And if you like her so much," he continues, voice syrupy and cruel, "you can join us. There's room for one more. I'll let you have a taste. Free of charge."
My world collapses.
Tears fall uncontrollably.
I look up at Reiji.
And he looks at me.
And he smiles.
That small, calm smile.
The one that says, without words: "Everything's going to be okay."
Then he turns his head toward Haruto.
And his voice, when he speaks, is pure ice.
"No, thanks. I'm not interested. I'm taking Reika home."
Haruto lets out a mocking laugh.
"You? Escort her? Please! She's mine! She's always been mine! And she'll stay mine until I get bored! Go back to your shitty neighborhood, Ryūsei! You don't belong here!"
And then, from the darkness of the park, the others appear.
Twelve guys.
All tall.
All drunk.
All wearing predator smiles.
They surround us.
My body finally reacts.
I run.
In a second I'm behind Reiji, clutching his hoodie with both hands, hiding behind him like he's the only shield I have left in the world.
Haruto stares at me.
And spits on the ground.
"Ungrateful slut. Acting hard to get now? After everything I've done for you? Get back here or I swear tomorrow everyone will see who you really are!"
Reiji doesn't move.
He just stands there.
Between them and me.
And all I can do is tremble, clinging to his back, crying silently.
Reiji, without taking his eyes off Haruto, asks in an icy voice, almost curious:
"What do you mean by 'everyone will see who she really is'?"
The air turns thick, unbreathable.
I freeze.
My heart pounds so hard I think I'm going to faint.
Please, no. Please, Haruto, don't say it. Don't show it.
Haruto smiles. A slow, cruel smile full of victory.
"Oh, right! The hero doesn't know everything yet!"
He slips his hand into his pants pocket and pulls out his phone with theatrical calm.
The group of guys around him laughs; some whistle, others make obscene comments I can't even process.
Haruto opens the gallery.
And turns the screen toward Reiji.
In the photo, it's me.
On my knees.
In black lace lingerie, bra pulled down to my waist, breasts exposed.
Hands tied behind my back with my own school tie.
Mouth open, eyes full of tears, makeup running.
And behind me… him.
One hand in my hair, yanking my head back.
The other… touching himself.
The photo is taken from above, so everything is visible.
Everything.
The world crashes down on me.
I start hyperventilating.
Air won't reach my lungs.
Tears fall uncontrollably, burning my cheeks.
I can't look at Reiji.
I don't want to see the disgust in his eyes.
I don't want him to see me like this.
I don't want him to know who I really am.
Haruto laughs.
"Look, Ryūsei! Your 'perfect little princess' isn't so perfect, huh! She's a slut who gets on her knees when I tell her to! And I've got hundreds more! One for every day she was mine!"
Reiji looks at me for a second.
And all I can do is lower my head, shaking, crying silently, waiting for him to turn around and leave.
To abandon me here.
To hate me.
But he doesn't.
Reiji looks back at Haruto.
And when he speaks, his voice is pure ice, sharp as a blade.
"You're a son of a bitch."
Haruto blinks, caught off guard.
"What did you say?"
"I said you're a son of a bitch," Reiji repeats, louder, not shouting, but every word weighs tons. "Because of you, she changed. Because of you, she dresses like this. Because of you, she cries every night. A real boyfriend would never treat his girlfriend like a sex object. A real man doesn't need blackmail to be loved."
Haruto clenches his teeth, face red with rage.
He takes a step toward Reiji, the two almost chest to chest.
"And what do you know about being a man, you piece-of-shit yankee? She's mine! She's always been mine! And she'll stay mine until I'm done with her!"
And then…
his eyes go wild.
He pulls a knife from his back pocket.
A small folding knife, but sharp, the blade glinting under the streetlamp.
He points it straight at Reiji's stomach.
My voice finally breaks free, shattered, desperate:
"HARUTO, NO! PLEASE, DON'T HURT HIM!"
He looks at me, eyes full of hate.
"Shut up! One more step and I gut him right here! And it'll be your fault! Like everything else!"
I freeze.
Tears fall uncontrollably.
The group of friends laughs; some whistle, others shout "Do it, Haruto!" like it's a game.
And Reiji…
Reiji just looks at me over his shoulder.
And smiles.
That same small, calm smile.
The one that tells me everything's going to be okay.
Even with the knife inches from his stomach.
Even surrounded.
Even as the world falls apart.
He's still there.
Protecting me.
The air rushes out of my lungs like someone just punched me in the diaphragm. I see the knife, its tip already sunk a millimeter into Reiji's hoodie. My legs shake so hard I think I'm going to collapse.
Reiji takes another step forward.
Deliberate.
The knife sinks a little deeper.
And he, voice calm, almost bored, says:
"Do it. Kill me. Here. In front of everyone. Go ahead."
I mumble incoherently, voice broken, barely a thread:
"No… please… Reiji… no…"
Everything falls silent.
Even Haruto's friends, who were whistling and laughing a second ago, go quiet. One of them—a tall guy with dyed-blond hair—mutters in a low, nervous voice:
"Haruto… let's go… this is getting out of hand…"
"SHUT UP!" Haruto screams, eyes never leaving Reiji. "NOBODY LEAVES!"
He sounds like a wounded animal.
Then he looks back at Reiji, face red with rage and alcohol.
"It's all your fault, damn it! She was perfect! She was mine! And you… you changed her! Now she'd rather be with a delinquent like you than with me! Because of you she doesn't obey me anymore! Because of you she doesn't get on her knees when I tell her to!"
Reiji smiles. That small, cold smile that terrifies and calms me at the same time.
"No, Haruto. It's your fault. For being a son of a bitch. For forcing her. For breaking her. She changed because she stopped being afraid of guys like you."
Haruto clenches his teeth so hard the muscles in his jaw bulge.
And then Reiji moves.
A quick, precise motion—almost invisible.
His right fist shoots out and connects directly with Haruto's nose.
The crack is dry, like wood snapping.
Haruto staggers backward; the knife flies from his hand and clatters against the asphalt.
Blood pours from his nose like an open faucet.
Reiji crouches calmly, picks up the knife from the ground, and folds it shut with a click.
He stands.
And looks at Haruto on the ground, voice serious, deadly:
"Get out of here. Now."
Haruto half-sits up, spitting blood, face full of hate.
"ATTACK HIM, DAMN IT! ALL OF YOU! KILL HIM!"
But no one moves.
Haruto's friends look at each other nervously, slowly backing away.
The blond-dyed one mutters:
"Dude… this is too much… Let's go…"
One by one they start leaving—first slowly, then running.
Haruto stares at them, incredulous.
"COWARDS! SONS OF BITCHES! GET BACK HERE!"
But no one remains.
Just the three of us.
Reiji crouches again, reaches into Haruto's pocket, and pulls out his phone.
He unlocks it with his finger (the idiot didn't even have a passcode).
He glances at it for a second.
Then looks at me.
And says, voice calm but echoing down the whole street:
"If you ever come near her again… if you ever threaten her… if you even look at her… next time there won't be any police to save you."
Haruto glares at him from the ground, coughing blood, eyes full of hate and fear.
Reiji pockets the phone.
And looks at me.
With that same small smile.
The one that tells me everything's going to be okay.
...
I walk beside Reiji in complete silence, his oversized hoodie covering me down to mid-thigh, sleeves so long I have to roll them up multiple times to use my hands. The night cold bites at my bare legs (I'm still in the miniskirt and boots), but the hoodie smells like him—like soft detergent, warmth, safety—and that makes the chill bearable. My head is bowed, eyes fixed on the ground, counting the cracks in the sidewalk one by one. I can't look at him. Not after what he saw. Not after the photos. Not after everything.
Reiji tries to speak several times.
"Are you… are you okay? Does anything hurt? Want to stop for a moment?"
I don't respond.
I just keep walking, small steps, heart still racing.
He doesn't push. Just walks beside me, slowing a bit to match my pace, not touching me, not pressuring me.
And little by little, the scenery changes.
The wide streets full of neon lights give way to narrower alleys, older buildings, flickering streetlamps. Reiji's neighborhood. I know we're getting close because I recognize the smell: street food, dampness, real life.
I blush slightly without knowing why.
We reach the building.
Reiji opens the lobby door with his key, lets me go first.
We climb the stairs in silence.
When he opens the apartment door, warmth envelops me like a hug.
And there's Luna.
In the middle of the living room, sitting with that feline dignity she has, meowing long and loud as if scolding us for being late.
I smile. A small, shy, but real smile.
Reiji crouches instantly, scratching behind her ears.
"Hey, queen… we're home."
The kittens emerge from their hiding spots and rush toward us, meowing in chorus.
Reiji suddenly looks at me, with that calm expression he always has.
"Hey… it's late. If you want, you can stay here tonight. No problem. Or if you prefer, I'll walk you home—whatever you want."
I open my mouth to say no, that I'll be fine, that I don't want to impose…
but the words come out on their own, strong, decisive:
"I'll stay here!"
I cover my mouth instantly, red to the ears.
"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to yell! It's just… it's just… yes, please… can I stay?"
Reiji looks at me for a second, surprised.
Then he smiles. That small, warm smile that melts me inside.
"Of course. I'll sleep on the sofa. You take the bed."
I nod timidly, still with my hand over my mouth, heart pounding hard.
...
It's very late at night. The digital clock on the microwave shows 03:14 in blinking red numbers, like a heart beating in the darkness. Reiji's room is completely dark, except for the sliver of light coming through the half-open door from the living room and the faint glow of the streetlamp filtering through the blinds. I'm buried in his bed, sunk into sheets that smell like him—like cheap detergent and something warmer, more his own, that I can't describe but that wraps around me like a blanket. I'm wearing one of his old T-shirts (he offered it before going to the sofa), which reaches almost to my knees and makes me feel small, protected, but at the same time exposed. My heart is beating too fast. I can't sleep.
I toss and turn in the sheets. First on my back, then on my side, then face-down, hugging the pillow that still carries his scent. Every time I close my eyes, the memories come: the knife, the photos, Haruto's voice, Reiji's face when he saw the picture… and then the warmth of his smile as he brought me home, his calm voice telling me everything was going to be okay. I want to get up. I want to go to the living room, throw myself onto him on the sofa, curl up against his chest and beg him to hold me until I stop shaking. I want to feel his arms around me, his steady breathing, his warmth, his voice whispering that I don't have to be afraid anymore.
But then I think about Hoshino.
About her radiant smile this afternoon. About how she curled up against him like it was her place in the world. About how her eyes shone when she looked at him. She loves him. Truly. With all her broken and mended heart.
And I… I love him too.
But I have no right.
Not after everything I've done. Not after everything I've let happen to me. Not after failing her, failing myself, failing everyone.
I scold myself mentally, in a voice that sounds too much like my own when I hate myself:
"Stop it, Reika! Don't be selfish! Hoshino needs him more than you do! She's been through a worse hell! You're just… just a coward who let herself be humiliated! You don't even deserve to be in his bed!"
I bury my face in the pillow, trying to muffle the sobs rising in my throat.
My body won't stop shaking.
Legs, arms, chest… everything trembles as if I'm cold, even though the room is warm.
I can't sleep.
I can't stop thinking.
I can't stop wanting.
...
...
I'm lying on the sofa, arms behind my head, staring at the cracked ceiling I already know by heart. The living room is dark, only the streetlamp light sneaking through the window slats, drawing yellow stripes across the floor. Luna is sleeping in her box with the kittens, a collective purr the only thing breaking the silence. My body is still trembling slightly—a tremor that doesn't come from the cold, but from something deeper, older. It's not fear. It's… residual adrenaline. The same kind I felt when I was Kazuo watching the videos.
The goddess speaks, voice soft, almost maternal—rare for her:
"Even if you'd died out there… I would've brought you back. Again. And again. As many times as it took."
I smile in the darkness.
"That's true. But I was worried Reika would get hurt because of me. I didn't want them touching her. Not for a second."
"Mmm… what a gentleman. You murdered two guys with your bare hands and now you're worried about a skirt. It's almost… sweet."
"It's different," I reply, voice low. "Those two deserved it. Her… I want her alive. And happy. And far away from all that shit."
The goddess falls silent for a moment.
Then, voice seductive, almost a hot whisper:
"Look to your right…"
I do.
And my eyes widen slightly.
Reika is standing in the bedroom doorway.
Barefoot, wearing my old T-shirt that reaches mid-thigh on her, black hair loose over her shoulders, eyes shining with unshed tears. She's trembling. Arms crossed over her chest, as if trying to hug herself. She looks at me with a pleading, vulnerable gaze I've never seen on her before.
"Reika…?" I ask, voice hoarse from sleep. "What's wrong?"
She avoids my eyes.
Cheeks red, lips trembling.
Then, voice so low I can barely hear:
"Can I… can I lie on top of you? Just… just hold me… Please…"
I'm stunned.
My heart flips.
My cheeks flush a little—I can't help it.
I don't know what to say.
I just nod slowly, like an idiot.
She sees it.
Takes a step.
Then another.
And another.
Slow, shaky, as if afraid I'll reject her.
She reaches the sofa.
Kneels for a second, hesitating.
Then lies down on top of me.
Carefully, as if I were made of glass.
Her warm, light body presses against mine.
Her head buries in my neck.
Her arms wrap around my chest.
She whispers, almost voiceless:
"Hold me… Please…"
I wrap my arms around her body.
Pull her close.
Tight, but gentle.
She trembles a little more.
Then, little by little…
she stops trembling.
Her muscles relax.
Her breathing steadies.
And she whispers against my neck, voice broken but relieved:
"Thank you… Thank you, Reiji…"
And I close my eyes.
And hold her tighter.
We're silent. A warm, peaceful silence broken only by Reika's slow, deep breathing against my neck. Her body rests on mine in a way that doesn't feel heavy—it feels comforting. My arms wrap around her instinctively, one hand on her back, the other on her waist. Luna meows softly from her box, as if approving the moment. There's no rush. No fear. Just the two of us, on this too-small sofa, in this rundown apartment, in a night that feels endless.
And then she breaks the silence.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, Reiji…"
I open my eyes slightly, surprised.
"For what?"
She presses closer, face buried in my neck, voice trembling.
"Because… because you saw me in those photos… So vulnerable… so dirty… so… broken… I didn't want you to see me like that… I didn't want you to know… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
She starts crying.
Hot tears soak my shirt, muffled sobs shaking her whole body.
"Forgive me… Please forgive me… I didn't want you to see me like that…"
My hand moves without thinking, settling in her soft black hair, stroking it slowly, tenderly.
"Reika… Listen to me. You never have to apologize to me. Ever. Those photos aren't your fault. The disgust you feel… it's not yours. It's his. Only his. You're not dirty. You're not broken. You're… the strongest person I know. The one who smiles even when everything inside hurts. The one who stays standing even when the world has tried to knock her down a thousand times. That's not dirt. That's light. And I… I only see light when I look at you."
She sobs harder, but this time it's not from guilt. It's relief.
She lifts her head.
Makeup running, eyes red, cheeks wet.
And she's beautiful.
She leans in slowly.
And presses her lips to mine.
I freeze for a second.
My heart flips.
I instinctively try to pull back (this is all too fast), but she follows, her lips seeking mine again—soft, trembling, full of fear and desire.
And then I close my eyes.
And kiss her back.
It's a gentle kiss. Romantic. Unhurried. Just lips against lips, breaths mingling. No tongue, no sexual urgency. Just need. Just love.
It lasts minutes.
Or hours.
I don't know.
When we part, we're both breathing a little harder, faces flushed, eyes shining.
She looks at me.
And whispers, voice breaking:
"I love you, Reiji… I've loved you for so long… Ever since the day you saved me… Ever since you let me cook for you… Ever since you looked at me like I really existed… You were the only one who never made me feel invisible… The only one who saw me."
She shifts, slowly straddling me, hands trembling on my chest.
Fresh tears roll down her cheeks.
"Forgive me… Please forgive me… Don't tell Mizuki anything… I don't want to hurt her… I don't want to lose her… But… but I love you too… And I feel so dirty… Please… Clean me… Clean away everything he left on me…"
I'm paralyzed.
Heart pounding wildly.
Hands on her waist, unsure whether to hold tighter or let go.
Eyes locked on hers, full of love and fear.
And I don't know what to say.
I can only look at her.
And feel like the world, for the first time, is both too big and too small at once.
I think about Hoshino.
About her shy smile, her honey-colored eyes full of trust when she looked at me yesterday, about how she curled up against me like I was her entire world. I don't want to betray her. I don't want to be like them. Like Aiko, Mizuki, Yumi—all the ones who destroyed me. Their faces appear in my mind like ghosts, smiling cruelly, reminding me of the pain, the emptiness, the humiliation.
But then Reika speaks again, voice broken, pleading:
"Reiji… please… clean me… clean me of him… of everything he did to me… make me yours… only yours…"
And I look at her face.
Her violet eyes full of tears, lips trembling, cheeks red with shame and desire.
And the faces of my exes vanish.
As if they never existed.
My body reacts before my mind does.
I feel my erection growing, hard, hot, pressing against the fabric of my pants, pushing against her ass.
Reika moans—a small, surprised sound, but full of desire.
She bites her lip, smiles shyly.
She slides down slowly until she's on her knees between my legs.
Her hands, trembling but determined, go to the waistband of my sweatpants.
She pulls them down slowly, along with my boxers.
My cock springs free, erect, thick, the tip already glistening with anticipation.
She moans again, louder.
"God… Reiji…! It's… it's huge…!"
She doesn't finish the sentence.
She just stares, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
Her hands wrap around me.
Her soft, delicate fingers can barely close around my girth.
She starts moving them up and down, slow, exploring every vein, every inch, with a mix of shyness and hunger that drives me insane.
"Ah…!" I groan, head falling back.
She speeds up a little, hand more confident.
"It's… it's so hot…! And hard…! I've… I've never felt anything like this…!"
Her cheeks burn, but she doesn't look away.
Her fingers slide up to the tip, collect the drop already leaking, spread it, making everything slicker, smoother.
"Look at how… how it throbs…! It's… it's because of me…! Because of me…!"
Her voice trembles with emotion, desire, relief.
All I can do is groan, hips moving on their own, seeking more of her touch.
She leans in closer.
Her lips brush the tip, barely a kiss.
"Reiji…! I want… I want to taste you…! I want you to be the… the only one… who fills my mouth…!"
And before I can say anything…
she does it.
Her lips part, her tongue comes out—hot, wet—and she takes me in.
Slow.
Deep.
As far as she can.
And I lose myself.
Completely.
She looks up at me, violet eyes shining, full of pleading and desire, as her pink lips part and take me in again. Slowly, with an almost painful tenderness, her warm, wet mouth envelops me halfway, her flat tongue pressing against the underside of my shaft as she sucks gently, as if wanting to savor every inch. Her hands—one at the base, the other caressing my thighs—tremble slightly, but not from fear, from focus, from wanting to make it perfect. Her cheeks hollow every time she sucks harder, her long lashes brushing her flushed cheeks, and every time she looks up (straight into my eyes, never breaking contact) I feel like I'm going to lose my mind.
I try to steady my breathing, but it's impossible. The pleasure is too intense, too pure. Every movement of her tongue is a slow, deliberate caress: first tracing the throbbing vein on the underside, then circling the tip, then sinking down again until I feel her throat squeezing me, hot and tight. Her muffled moans vibrate against me, a constant hum that makes me clench my teeth and arch my back involuntarily.
"Reika…!" I groan, voice hoarse, barely controlled.
She pulls my cock from her mouth with a wet sound, a strand of saliva glistening between her lips and my tip. She looks at me, eyes suddenly filled with insecurity.
"Am I… am I doing it right…? Do you… like it…?"
Her voice is small, trembling, almost scared.
I nod, unable to speak properly, breathing ragged.
"Fuck… yes… You're… you're doing it perfectly…"
She smiles—a shy but radiant smile—and lowers her head again.
This time with more confidence.
Her lips part wider, taking me deeper, until I feel her throat gripping me once more. Her tongue never stops: licking, swirling, pressing, sucking. Her hands move up and down in sync with her mouth, squeezing just where I need it most. Her muffled moans grow louder, more desperate, as if she's enjoying it as much as I am, as if my pleasure is hers.
"Mmm…! Mmm…!" she vibrates against me every time I sink into her mouth.
Her eyes never leave mine for a second.
And all I can do is moan her name, over and over, lost in her warmth, in her surrender, in her love.
Because this isn't just sex.
This is redemption.
This is healing.
This is her telling me, without words:
"I'm not dirty anymore. Now I'm yours."
I feel the orgasm building like an unstoppable wave. My body tenses, muscles clenching, breath catching. I groan her name, hoarse and desperate.
"Reika…! I'm… I'm coming…!"
And I explode inside her mouth.
She squeezes her eyes shut, hands gripping my thighs, and swallows. She swallows everything, with small, muffled moans, her throat working around my cock as my hot cum fills her. A few white threads escape the corners of her lips, glistening in the dim light.
When I finish, she pulls me from her mouth with a wet sound and coughs a little, breathing hard, face flushed, eyes watery from the effort.
But she smiles.
A shy, happy, proud smile.
She straddles me again, the T-shirt pulled up to her waist, black panties pushed aside, her pussy exposed—pink, glistening, pulsing.
She lowers her head, hair falling over her face.
"Reiji…" she whispers, voice trembling. "I'm… I'm a virgin. I've never… never let anyone touch me there. Not even… him. I only want it to be you. The first. The only one."
Her eyes search mine, full of fear and hope.
I smile. Soft. Tender.
"Don't be nervous," I whisper, my hands rising to her hips, stroking her. "We'll go slow. All the time in the world. Just you and me."
She smiles—shy, relieved.
And she begins to lower herself.
The tip of my cock, still hard, still sensitive, brushes her entrance.
She moans.
I moan.
And then she pushes down.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
I feel her virginity opening for me, her body taking me inch by inch—tight, hot, wet, perfect.
She bites her lip, eyes closed, hands on my chest.
"Ah…! Reiji…! It's… it's so big…! You're… you're stretching me…!"
"Shh… easy…" I whisper, caressing her hips. "Breathe… I'm here… I won't hurt you…"
She sinks lower.
Deeper.
Her walls squeeze me with a force that almost hurts, but it's a sweet, delicious pain.
Her juices soak me, running down my shaft, down my thighs.
When I'm fully inside, buried to the hilt, she stills for a moment, breathing hard, trembling.
Then she starts to move.
Slowly.
Rising and falling just a few centimeters, getting used to it, feeling me.
Her moans are soft, sweet, full of wonder.
"Reiji…! I… I feel you everywhere…! It's… it's incredible…!"
My hands slide up her waist, her stomach, her breasts, caressing her, calming her.
She moves with more confidence.
Her hips begin to circle in small motions, grinding against me, seeking more pleasure.
And I let her.
I let her set the pace.
I let her take what she needs.
Because tonight…
tonight is hers.
And I am hers.
Completely.
The rhythm is slow, almost reverent, as if we're both afraid of breaking something fragile and beautiful we've just discovered. Reika moves gently, rising only a few centimeters before sinking back down, letting my cock fill her completely each time, letting her walls adjust to me, letting every glide be a caress rather than urgency. Her hands rest on my chest, fingers splayed, trembling slightly, seeking support. Her eyes are closed, head tilted back a little, black hair cascading in waves over her shoulders. Every time she sinks down, she lets out a long, shaky sigh, as if discovering a pleasure she never believed could exist.
I keep my hands on her hips, not gripping, just guiding, accompanying her. My thumbs trace small, soothing circles on the soft skin just above the bone. There's no rush. No violence. Only the warmth of her body, the warmth of mine, and the feeling of being, for the first time, exactly where we're meant to be.
"Reiji…" she whispers, voice breaking with pleasure. "I feel you… I feel you so deep… It's… it's like you're part of me…"
She's beautiful.
Cheeks flushed, lips parted, chest rising and falling with every breath. Her nipples, hard beneath the T-shirt, brush the fabric with each movement.
I smile, soft.
"I'm here," I answer, voice low and rough. "All of me for you. Only for you."
She moans—a small, sweet sound—and leans forward, pressing her forehead to mine.
Her hips keep moving, slow, circular, deep.
Every time she sinks down, I feel her inside gripping me, embracing me, needing me.
My hands slide up her back, under the T-shirt, caressing every vertebra, every inch of skin.
She trembles.
Her moans come more often, softer, more intimate.
"I never… never thought I could… feel like this… so… so full… so… clean…"
Tears fall again, but this time they're from happiness.
I kiss her cheeks, her lips.
Slowly.
Gently.
Without hurry.
And we continue like that.
Minutes.
Or maybe hours.
Just us.
Just this calm, deep rhythm that binds us closer with every movement.
Until she whispers my name one last time, trembling, and stills, completely filled, completely mine.
And I hold her.
And I don't let go.
Because tonight…
tonight she is my world.
And I am her refuge.
And nothing and no one will ever change that.
The rhythm changes almost without me noticing. Reika is no longer satisfied with that torturous, sweet slowness; her hips begin to move with more urgency, more hunger. She rises higher, almost pulling me out completely, then sinks back down with a wet, deep slap that makes my fingers dig into her flesh unintentionally. Her walls grip me tightly every time she impales herself, sucking me in, milking me, as if her body wants to swallow me whole. Her juices flow uncontrollably, soaking my thighs, the T-shirt, the sheets; each thrust produces an obscene, wet sound that fills the room and drives me insane.
Her breasts bounce under the T-shirt, hard nipples pressing against the fabric, and she pulls it up to her neck herself, exposing them—large, pink, trembling with every movement. Her hands brace on my chest, nails digging in, scratching my skin as she drives herself faster, harder. Her moans are no longer soft; they're raw, desperate, loud, uncontrolled. Head thrown back, black hair plastered to her sweat-slick face, mouth open, tongue peeking between her lips as she gasps my name over and over like a mantra.
Her hips circle now, grinding against me when I'm buried fully inside, seeking that spot that makes her whole body shudder. Her thighs tremble around mine, muscles tense and sweaty. Her walls spasm every few seconds, squeezing me so hard it almost hurts, and each time she lets out a choked cry that mixes with the constant wet slap of our bodies colliding.
She's lost.
Completely lost in the pleasure.
Her eyes open for a second, glassy, full of tears and desire, and she looks at me like I'm the only thing in the world.
And she keeps moving.
Faster.
Deeper.
More obscene.
Until her body starts shaking uncontrollably, until her moans turn to screams, until I feel she's about to shatter again.
I feel Reika tense suddenly on top of me, her thighs clamping down hard, her inner walls contracting in violent spasms around my cock. A long, broken, muffled scream escapes her throat as her entire body shakes, trembling uncontrollably. Her hips grind against mine, her pussy squeezing me so tight it almost pushes me out, and a hot gush of her juices soaks me completely, running down my thighs, my balls, the sheets. She stills for a second, panting, head thrown back, hair plastered to her sweat-slick face, breasts heaving with every ragged breath.
I smile, soft and teasing.
"Wow… you're really sensitive."
She looks at me, eyes glassy, face red to the ears.
"Shut up!" she protests, voice trembling, but with a small smile. "It's… it's the first time I've… ever felt anything like this…!"
She leans forward, resting her forehead on my shoulder, still shaking.
And whispers, almost voiceless:
"I'm… I'm sorry… I… I didn't make you feel good… I just… just came myself…"
I shake my head, smile wider.
My hands slide up her waist, cup her breasts again, squeezing them firmly, massaging them slowly, feeling her hard nipples press into my palms.
"Don't say stupid things," I whisper against her ear. "Tonight is for you. For your pleasure. For you to feel what they never let you feel. I'm already good just seeing you like this."
She moans—a long, wet sound—when I squeeze harder, twisting her nipples between my fingers.
Without another word, I carefully lift her by the waist and turn her around.
Now her back is to me, sitting on my thighs, my cock still inside her—hard, throbbing.
I brush her hair away from her neck, kiss her nape, her shoulder, while my hands return to her breasts from behind, squeezing them, massaging them harder.
"Lean on me," I whisper. "Let go."
She obeys, leaning back, her back against my chest, head resting on my shoulder.
Her legs spread wider, her hips start moving again—slow, circular—while I thrust up from below, deep, gentle, steady.
Her moans return, louder, more broken.
My hands don't stop: squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples, sliding down her stomach, thumbs brushing her swollen clit.
She screams my name.
She writhes.
She comes again.
And again.
And I keep going.
Slow.
Gentle.
Obscene.
Until she can't take any more.
Until all she can do is moan my name.
And all I can do is feel her.
Completely mine. Completely clean.
Completely loved.
I increase the rhythm, but not with violence—only with an intensity I can no longer hold back. My hips thrust upward harder, faster, each stroke burying me to the hilt in her soaked pussy, which grips me as if trying to keep me forever. Her walls are swollen, sensitive; every movement draws a wet, obscene sound that fills the room, her juices sliding down my thighs, her thighs, the sofa. Her breasts bounce with each impact, nipples red and swollen, and I capture them with my hands, squeezing hard, twisting until she screams my name and arches her back like she's about to break.
"Reiji…! Ah…! More…! Don't stop…! I'm… I'm going crazy…!"
Her moans are completely uncontrolled now—loud, desperate, shattered. Her body trembles nonstop, thighs clamping around my waist. Her pussy sucks me, squeezes me, milks me with every orgasm I pull from her, and she comes again with a long, ragged scream that almost sounds like a sob. Her walls contract so hard they nearly push me out; a hot gush spills from her, soaking me completely, her hips jerking wildly, her swollen clit rubbing against my pubic bone with every motion and driving her insane.
I still haven't reached mine.
And I don't care.
This isn't about me.
This is about her.
I carefully lift her by the waist and turn her again.
Now she's on her back beneath me, legs spread, trembling, eyes full of tears and pleasure.
Missionary.
The most intimate position.
The one that lets us look into each other's eyes.
I settle between her legs, hands on either side of her head.
She looks at me, panting, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, hair plastered to her sweat-slick face.
And I enter her again.
Slow at first.
Gently.
Inch by inch.
I feel her body take me once more, opening for me, enveloping me.
She moans my name.
Her hands rise to my neck, pulling me down.
Her legs wrap around my waist.
And I begin to move.
Deep.
Hard.
But without hurry.
Each thrust is long, complete, to the hilt, until my hips slam against hers and she screams.
Her breasts press against my chest.
Her nails dig into my back.
Her walls grip me, suck me, beg for more.
And I give it to her.
Again and again.
Slow.
Deep.
Obscene.
Until she comes once more, screaming my name, shaking beneath me, her juices soaking me, her body completely surrendered.
And I continue.
I feel myself at the edge. The heat in my lower abdomen becomes unbearable, the pressure in my balls a bomb about to explode. Reika is already lost: eyes rolled back, mouth open in a continuous scream, nails digging into my back. Her inner walls contract again, a brutal orgasm ripping through her like lightning; her pussy squeezes me so hard it almost hurts, and a hot, copious gush spills from her, soaking me completely, running down my thighs, my balls. Her hips jerk uncontrollably, her legs trembling around my waist, her breasts bouncing against my chest with every thrust.
"Reiji…! Ahhh…! Again…! I… I can't…! I'm coming again…!"
Her scream is pure, raw, animal.
And I don't stop.
On the contrary.
I speed up.
My hips slam against hers with force, the wet, obscene sound of our bodies mixing with her moans and my growls. Each thrust is deep, savage, to the hilt, until I feel the head of my cock hit her cervix and she screams louder, arching her back like she's about to snap in two.
"Yes…! Yes…! Harder…! Give me more, Reiji…! Fill me…!"
Her walls suck me, grip me, milk me.
My hands drop to her hips, gripping hard, lifting her a little to go deeper, harder.
A couple more thrusts.
One.
Two.
Three.
And I explode.
With a long, guttural growl, I bury myself to the hilt one last time and come inside her.
Hard.
Copiously.
Hot.
I feel every spurt leaving me, filling her, overflowing, mixing with her juices, leaking out around me with every throb.
She screams my name again, body shaking beneath mine, walls clamping down as if trying to keep every drop.
"Yes…! Yes…! Inside…! I feel you…! I feel all of you…! Reiji…! I love you…!"
And we stay like that.
Me still inside, pulsing.
Her trembling beneath me, panting.
Both sweaty, sticky, exhausted.
Both complete.
For the first time.
Both of us.
Slowly, carefully so as not to hurt her, I begin to pull out of her. My cock slides out inch by inch, still hard, glistening with her juices and my cum, leaving a thick white trail that overflows from her pussy the moment I'm free. The hot liquid runs down her thighs, onto the sheet, forming a shiny puddle beneath her. Reika moans softly, an exhausted but satisfied sound, her legs trembling uncontrollably, her swollen, red pussy visibly pulsing, open, still contracting from the orgasms.
I smile, teasing but gentle.
"Three orgasms… Didn't you say you were cold?"
She looks at me with narrowed eyes, face flushed, hair plastered to her forehead.
"Shut up…!" she protests, voice hoarse and weak. "I'm… I'm dead…! I… I can't take any more…!"
"Sure?" I whisper, leaning close to her ear. "Because I could still go for round two…"
"Shut up, idiot!" she moans, but there's a small smile on her lips.
I kiss her lips, soft and slow, savoring the exhaustion and happiness still lingering in her.
Snap.
A soft, warm white cloth appears in my right hand.
I smile to myself.
Thank you, goddess.
Carefully, I spread her legs a little wider.
She moans, sensitive, when the cloth brushes her pussy.
"Shh… easy… I'm just cleaning you… There… Breathe…"
I run the cloth slowly, collecting every drop, every trace of us.
Her hips tremble with each touch.
Her moans are small, exhausted, almost whimpers.
"It hurts… a little…"
"You're perfect," I whisper. "There. Now you're clean. Completely mine."
When I'm done, I toss the cloth aside.
It vanishes before hitting the floor.
I stand, bend down, and scoop her into my arms like she weighs nothing.
She mumbles something, half-asleep, and lets herself be carried.
I take her to the bed, lay her down gently.
I lie beside her.
Pull her close.
She instinctively curls against my chest, head under my chin, one arm around my waist, one leg tangled with mine.
Her breathing slows, deepens.
She's asleep.
I smile in the darkness.
Kiss her forehead.
And hold her tighter.