No one knew how much time had passed.
Just as Kaoru Hoshitani felt he was about to suffocate and pass out, Rika Kawasaki finally loosened her grip on his lips and tongue, allowing him to greedily gulp in a breath of air tinged with mustiness.
But the punishment was far from over.
Her lips trailed down his forcedly upturned, beautifully curved jawline, her scorching breath cascading over the sensitive skin of his neck.
Then, she stopped at the fairest, most delicate patch of skin on the side of his neck, where the veins were faintly visible.
Kaoru Hoshitani seemed to sense what was coming. His body went rigid in an instant, and he struggled more fiercely.
“No… don’t…!”
But protest was futile.
Rika Kawasaki lowered her head, opened her mouth, and bit down on that small patch of skin—not too hard, not too light—and then, like a vampire marking her prey, she sucked down with extreme force, deep and fierce!
“Hiss!”
Kaoru Hoshitani gasped sharply in pain, his body convulsing violently from the sudden sting.
The feeling was not just pain. There was also a burning sense of being violated, being marked—an overwhelming humiliation.
A few seconds later, Rika Kawasaki finally, though still unsatisfied, lifted her head. Her tongue even traced her own lips, savoring the taste as if enjoying a delicacy.
Her “masterpiece” on Kaoru Hoshitani’s neck was now vividly visible—a coin-sized love bite that was rapidly changing from a bright crimson to a deep purple-blue, glaringly stamped upon his flawless, swan-like neck for all to see.
“Ah! What are you doing?! You lunatic!”
Only after the initial sharp pain and shock did Kaoru Hoshitani react.
He scrambled free from Rika Kawasaki’s slightly loosened grip, frantically fished his phone out of his pocket, and with trembling fingers that hit the wrong buttons several times, finally switched it to selfie mode.
He used the screen as a mirror and brought it close to his neck.
When he saw the glaringly vivid “strawberry” on the screen, a chill shot from the soles of his feet straight up to his scalp. His mind buzzed, going utterly blank in an instant.
His face turned deathly pale, lips quivering uncontrollably.
A love bite this severe wouldn’t fade completely for three or four days—maybe even longer!
Even with mascara, in such a visible spot, there was no guarantee he could fully hide it…
If he went home tonight and Aina saw it…
How could he possibly explain?!
Should he say he accidentally bumped into something? Or claim he was bitten by a mosquito? Aina wasn’t a fool!
With such distinct tooth marks and suction marks…
A wave of panic and despair engulfed him, drowning out his anger, leaving only boundless fear and confusion.
Rika Kawasaki, on the other hand, looked at the clear “mark” she’d left, and at Kaoru Hoshitani’s panic-stricken, ashen face as if the world were ending. She couldn’t stop the corners of her lips from lifting, revealing a malicious, possessive, almost cruelly satisfied smile.
She delighted in this.
She delighted in leaving such indelible, personal marks on what she considered hers.
It was the most primal, direct way of declaring her sovereignty.
And this love bite, like a beast’s scent-mark at the edge of its territory, wordlessly warned off any would-be coveters: This beautiful man belongs to her.
If possible, she would have loved to tattoo her name right onto this little man.
Once again, she reached out and, with an even tighter, more possessive grip, hugged Kaoru Hoshitani’s slender waist—shaking ever so slightly with fear—half carrying, half dragging him out of the dark alley, back into the bright and bustling afternoon streets of Ginza.
“Let’s go. Time to find a place to eat.”
Her voice had returned to calm, even with a touch of post-event languor, as if the rough “marking” just now had been nothing but a minor interlude.
Kaoru Hoshitani, like a lost soul, let himself be led along, his steps mechanical.
One hand unconsciously, futilely tried to cover the love bite on his neck, but the moment his fingers touched the swollen skin, a jolt of pain made him flinch.
Worse yet, he could feel it—clearly—as they merged back into the crowd, the number of gazes on him multiplied, spotlights casting down.
Those gazes would first be drawn to his striking looks, linger for a moment, then, almost without exception, slide downward and lock onto the glaring, purplish-red “strawberry” on the side of his neck.
The pedestrians’ expressions became particularly interesting—
Starting from initial admiration, shifting to surprise, amusement, realization, and finally, unabashed ambiguity and curiosity.
Women exchanged glances, whispering quietly; men gave him complicated, appraising looks.
These stares felt like countless fine needles pricking at Kaoru Hoshitani’s sensitive nerves.
His cheeks burned with heat, the shame and anger so intense he wished he could vanish into the ground.
He tried to lower his head, bury his face into his chest, or cover up with his free arm, but Rika Kawasaki’s grip kept him from curling up completely, and the love bite’s position—right where he turned his head—made it impossible to hide.
He could only endure this public, silent humiliation and exhibition, like a rare bird stripped of all its feathers, exposed under everyone’s eyes, confined by Rika Kawasaki’s embrace.
Rika Kawasaki, however, seemed to enjoy it greatly.
She even deliberately slowed her pace, head held high, like a queen inspecting her domain, openly receiving the complicated gazes cast upon Kaoru Hoshitani—and thus, indirectly, onto herself.
Those looks included envy that she had such a stunning male companion, jealousy at her ability to leave such an obvious mark, and surprise at her bold dominance…
All of it deeply satisfied her possessiveness and sense of control.
Look, this was her man, marked with her symbol, walking by her side.
Unfortunately, this parade-like satisfaction did not last long.
Rika Kawasaki quickly searched for well-reviewed upscale restaurants nearby and soon settled on one famous for its top-grade wagyu, located on an upper floor of a nearby modern skyscraper.
It wasn’t far, just a few minutes’ walk.
Still holding onto Kaoru Hoshitani—who kept trying to shrink away, his cheeks so red they might bleed—she led him into the gleaming glass-walled modern skyscraper.
Inside, it was calm and frigidly cool, a stark contrast to the noisy street outside. The air conditioning was set very low, and the marble floor gleamed like a mirror, reflecting the images of hurried, sharply dressed office workers.
They boarded a high-speed showcase elevator. The car ascended smoothly and silently, and through the glass walls, the bustling streets of Ginza unfolded below like a miniature model.
“Ding”—the elevator reached their floor.
The door slid open noiselessly, and a wave of that unique upscale restaurant aroma—faint fragrance, fine wood, and the primal scent of food—rushed out, utterly distinct from the air below or out on the street.
Led by a neatly uniformed server, they entered the restaurant.
The interior was minimalist and modern, with extensive use of dark wood, metal, and glass elements. The lighting was carefully designed, soft and artistic.
Most striking of all was the massive, unobstructed floor-to-ceiling window.
Beyond the glass lay an unparalleled panoramic view of the heart of Tokyo Metropolis.
It was afternoon—sunlight was brilliant, the sky a deep blue, and all the hustle and bustle of central Ginza was on display—
Intersecting streets, rows of skyscrapers, cars and pedestrians weaving about like ants.
All of it laid out before them, a dynamic, modern urban painting.
The commanding vantage point brought a powerful sense of detachment and control.
Kaoru Hoshitani was momentarily captivated, forgetting his shame for a brief second, a flicker of involuntary awe lighting up his delicate, deer-like eyes.
He had never been to a place like this before, and even less from such a perspective to look down on the city he lived in.
The contrast between the grand view and his own smallness struck him with an odd sense of awe.
The server led them to a four-person table right up against the floor-to-ceiling window.
This time, Rika Kawasaki didn’t let Kaoru Hoshitani sit opposite her.
Maybe it was the irritation from Chinatsu Ayase “interrupting” them at the ramen shop, or maybe it was an even deeper desire to keep him within her reach.
She gestured for Kaoru Hoshitani to take the inner seat by the window, while she sat on the outside, cutting him off from the rest of the restaurant and creating a relatively private, easily controlled small space.
Once seated, Rika Kawasaki handed Kaoru Hoshitani a simply designed, heavy leather menu, signaling him to order.
Kaoru Hoshitani took the menu, nervously opened it, and just a glance made him feel even more uncomfortable.
Most of the items were awkward English or French transliterations.
Even with Japanese descriptions beside them, they were mostly things like “Special Black Wagyu Sirloin,” “French Foie Gras with Truffle Sauce,” “Seasonal Caviar”—dishes he was totally unfamiliar with and had no concept of.
What made his heart sink even more were the jaw-dropping numbers next to each dish.
Even a random appetizer cost as much as his and Aina’s weekly grocery budget.
He sneaked a look at Rika Kawasaki beside him—she was leaning back in her chair, eyes turned to the scenery outside the window, her profile softened by the restaurant’s gentle light, not seeming to care at all about the ordering process.
Kaoru Hoshitani bit his lip, overcome by a deep sense of inferiority and helplessness.
He had never experienced this level of consumption, nor had any idea what to pick.
After hesitating for a long time, he finally closed the menu like it was a burning potato, stiffly pushed it back across the table to Rika Kawasaki, then lowered his head, staring at his tightly knotted fingers on his lap as if there was something worth studying there.
Rika Kawasaki didn’t seem surprised by his reaction, nor did she show any displeasure.
She simply picked up the menu again, quickly and expertly scanning through it, barely pausing or hesitating.
She pointed out a few items and quietly told the waiting server. The server respectfully nodded, took note, and bowed before leaving.
After ordering, Rika Kawasaki didn’t immediately turn her attention back to the view, nor did she pull out her phone.
She angled her body slightly, turning toward Kaoru Hoshitani.
The restaurant’s gentle light fell on her face, making her gray eyes seem less sharp than usual, and deeper, more inscrutable.
She was silent for a few seconds, as if searching for words, then spoke—her voice low, cutting clearly through the soft background music of the elegant restaurant:
“That woman earlier,”
She paused, her gaze falling on Kaoru Hoshitani’s downcast face, eyelashes trembling.
“Chinatsu Ayase, she is indeed my younger sister.”
She didn’t seem used to explanations or introductions; her tone was somewhat stiff, but she continued anyway.
“But… we don’t share the same father.”
Her voice carried a barely perceptible trace of coldness and distance, as if she were merely stating a fact that had nothing to do with herself.
“She is… my mother had her later, with another man.”
The last few words were spoken lightly, but the complex meaning carried by the term “illegitimate daughter” silently lingered between them in the quiet air.
Rika Kawasaki actually had no need to explain this much, or to use the words “illegitimate daughter.”
Yet it was as if she wanted to belittle Chinatsu Ayase in front of Kaoru Hoshitani, and deliberately chose to say it.
After finishing, she fell silent, simply watching Kaoru Hoshitani, waiting for his response.
In the depths of her gray eyes, there seemed to be a trace of something—almost an investigative intent—that not even she herself was aware of.