“It’s just a photo, isn’t it? No need to make such a fuss.”
Rika Kawasaki’s voice carried a hint of lazy mockery. Watching Kaoru Hoshitani flustered and panicking, reaching out in a desperate attempt to snatch the phone, she remained perfectly calm. Instead, she raised the hand holding her phone even higher, easily avoiding his futile grasping.
She was already much taller than him, with long arms to match.
Even as Kaoru Hoshitani rose onto his tiptoes, he could barely reach her forearm with his fingertips, unable to even touch the phone in her palm—a device now akin to damning evidence.
She tilted her head slightly, looking down at Kaoru Hoshitani, who was a little breathless from his anxious movements, his cheeks flushed. In her gray eyes shimmered a wicked and delighted gleam.
Deliberately lowering her voice to a near-whisper, yet each word clear, she continued, the curve at her lips deepening:
“Besides, the ones on my phone aren’t just… ordinary photos with clothes on, you know.”
She purposely paused, satisfied to see Kaoru Hoshitani’s body freeze at her words, those beautiful eyes now even more alarmed.
“I’ve also saved plenty of mementos of you without any clothes… all sorts of angles, you see. Tell me, which one do you think is more worth your panic? This group photo, or those… hmm?”
“You…”
Kaoru Hoshitani’s face turned beet red in an instant, then just as quickly drained of color, leaving only a sickly pallor.
He trembled violently, as if lashed by an invisible whip, his outstretched hand stiffening in midair, then falling limply to his side.
Those usually misty, deer-like eyes were now filled with humiliation, anger, and a deeper despair.
He bit his lower lip so hard he nearly drew blood, barely suppressing the scream or curse—thick with tears—that was about to burst from his throat.
Those shameful, forcibly-taken photos and videos were always hanging above him like the Damocles Sword, his Achilles’ heel against any thought of resistance.
Rika Kawasaki’s offhand reminder was the most precise blow, instantly shattering his courage to reclaim the photo.
“Alright, enough now.”
Rika Kawasaki, having enjoyed his look of mortified helplessness, slowly stuffed her phone into the pocket of her jeans.
She noticed a few patrons at surrounding tables looking over—curious or mildly disapproving—drawn by the minor commotion and the too-loud exclamation from Kaoru Hoshitani.
She didn’t care about those stares, but couldn’t be bothered to keep staging this “struggle” in public.
She straightened in her seat and rapped her knuckles against the polished tabletop, her tone returning to its usual commanding manner, but with an undercurrent of coaxing that was almost imperceptible:
“Eat up, before it gets cold. I ordered all of this just for you.”
Kaoru Hoshitani collapsed onto his chair like a lifeless porcelain doll.
His back stiffened upright, his gaze unfocused as he stared at the exquisite plate before him. The enticing food, to him, had lost all color and meaning.
The urge to delete those photos still burned anxiously inside, but the helplessness of reality was like a cold shackle, locking him tightly.
He knew that in front of Rika Kawasaki, all his resistance seemed so pale and laughable.
He could only press his lips together, forcing back the sting of tears, and unwillingly, with stiff movements, picked up the knife and fork he’d just thrown aside. His fingertips whitened from the force of his grip.
As the meal continued, Rika Kawasaki’s behavior surprised Kaoru Hoshitani and made him feel even more uncomfortable and out of place.
She seemed to switch modes in an instant, from a vicious blackmailer to… a caring, even “gentle,” guide.
First, in a completely natural motion, she reached out to straighten the snow-white napkin on Kaoru Hoshitani’s lap—a bit askew from his earlier panic—spreading it smoothly across his knees with a practiced ease, as if she’d done it countless times.
Next, she noticed that his grip on the knife and fork was awkward and hesitant—after all, he rarely had the chance to dine at such upscale Western restaurants, and the array of utensils and unfamiliar etiquette left him feeling instinctively lost.
“Hold them like this.”
Rika Kawasaki didn’t mock or rush him. Instead, she slowed her voice, even demonstrating herself.
She extended her long, slender, cold-pale hand, gripping the knife and fork in a perfectly proper, elegant manner, and made a slicing motion in the air.
“Fork in the left, knife in the right. Hold the fork this way, upside-down—it helps pin the food in place.”
Her explanation was concise and clear, with a patience that was rare.
Kaoru Hoshitani, like a clumsy student, adjusted his grip under her watchful gaze, flustered.
He kept his head low, thick lashes shadowing his eyes, but the tips of his ears were burning.
Rika Kawasaki’s sudden “patience” and “attentiveness” felt like a tiny thorn, pricking his already disordered heart with a feeling that was hard to describe—awkward and… nauseating.
After all, this was the same demon woman who had, not long ago, violated him with harsh words, left marks of shame on his neck, threatened him with photos, and forced him into this absurd “date.”
Yet now she played the part of a gentlewoman, seemingly caring about his feelings. The stark contrast and hypocrisy made him sick and disgusted to his core.
It was even worse than direct violence—like a higher-level, mocking form of torment.
Yet, deep inside, a faint but undeniable voice whispered:
Even if he refused to admit it, when Rika Kawasaki, in public, before strangers, showed him this “respect” and “consideration,” when she smoothed over a moment of awkwardness because he didn’t know the proper etiquette…
He felt, shamefully, an odd little flicker of—being cared for.
“Kaoru Hoshitani, you really are… hopeless.”
He cursed himself ruthlessly in his heart, nails digging deep into his palms, trying to use pain to drive out this disgraceful thought.
“After everything she’s done to you—unforgivable things, trampling you into the dirt—and now, just for a little fake kindness, a lesson in table manners, you… you actually waver? You think she’s being nice? Are you insane?”
He drew in a sharp breath, as if to force down all the chaos and filth in his chest.
He made himself abandon all those weak thoughts, letting his eyes go cold and distant again.
Then, like a man completing a task, he began to mechanically cut and eat the food on his plate, each mouthful tasting like sawdust.
During the meal, Rika Kawasaki occasionally spoke to him, mostly about the food, or mentioned some trivial, inconsequential topics.
Kaoru Hoshitani just listened in silence, giving single-syllable replies at most, always on guard and keeping his distance. Yet, an unresolved suspicion gnawed at him:
Rika Kawasaki’s behavior today was far too strange.
She could have forced him to submit by harsher, more domineering means—just as she always had. Instead, she chose this disguised, roundabout approach.
Was it because she was concerned about being in public? Or was she scheming some even nastier trick?
Kaoru Hoshitani couldn’t figure it out, nor did he dare to think too deeply. All he could do was bury every emotion deep inside, keeping a cold calm on the surface.
Rika Kawasaki, for her part, didn’t seem to mind his coldness, continuing to speak at her own pace.
Every so often, she would pick up a neatly cut piece of food and offer it to his lips, her tone brooking no refusal:
“Try this. It tastes pretty good.”
Kaoru Hoshitani’s body tensed at her movement, instinctively turning his head away in rejection.
But Rika Kawasaki was faster, gently gripping his chin between her fingers, forcing him to look up, then slipping the piece of food into his mouth.
The moment the warm food touched his tongue, Kaoru Hoshitani’s eyes reddened with humiliation and anger once again.
He kept his lips tightly shut, refusing to chew or swallow, letting the food melt into a cloying, sickening mess in his mouth.
“Swallow.”
Rika Kawasaki’s voice dropped low again, laced with a dangerous warning. Her fingertips stroked his chin, lightly but with an undeniable force.
Kaoru Hoshitani was forced to swallow the food, his throat so tight it felt stuffed with cotton, nearly choking him.
He tore himself away from her hand, turning aside to cough violently, eyes tearing up from the fit.
Rika Kawasaki watched him, her eyes flickering with a complicated emotion—so quick it was gone before it could be caught.
She didn’t push him any further, simply picked up the glass of water at hand and held it out:
“Drink some water.”
Kaoru Hoshitani hesitated, then finally accepted the glass, taking several large gulps before his throat felt any better.
When he put the glass down, his fingers still trembled, his heart a storm of confusion and fear.
He didn’t understand what Rika Kawasaki truly wanted.
Her hot and cold treatment—her gentleness and cruelty interwoven—formed an inescapable net that left him suffocating, with no way out.
After the meal, Rika Kawasaki paid the bill, then stood and took the coat draped over her chair. She looked at Kaoru Hoshitani, still seated:
“Come on, we should get going.”
Kaoru Hoshitani looked up at her backlit figure. The sunlight outside outlined her tall form, but he couldn’t see her expression.
He rose in silence and followed her out of the restaurant.
Outside, the sunlight was harsh. Kaoru Hoshitani instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes.
Just then, Rika Kawasaki stopped, turned, and reached out to tuck the wind-tousled hair from his forehead behind his ear—a gentle gesture, absurdly so.
“Don’t keep frowning. It doesn’t suit you.”
She said quietly, her fingertips tracing over his brow, leaving a chill in their wake.
Kaoru Hoshitani froze again, every hair on his body standing on end.
He stepped sharply back, putting distance between them, eyes full of vigilance and fear:
“What are you trying to do?”
Rika Kawasaki, looking at his defensive posture, gave a half-smile, half-smirk:
“I just think you look a bit more pleasing this way, that’s all.”
With that, she turned and strode off toward the parking lot without a care for his reaction.
“Keep up. Don’t even think about running.”
Kaoru Hoshitani stood rooted in place, staring at her retreating figure, the confusion and unease in his heart growing ever heavier.
He knew that, in the end, there was no escaping her grasp.
He could only resign himself, trailing after her once more, letting himself be swallowed again by the dark mire that was Rika Kawasaki.
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