Yuki Haruto felt his heart hammering frantically behind his ribs, almost as if it were trying to break free from the confines of his chest.
He was surrounded by a group of delinquent girls with unkind eyes and malicious smiles.
The cramped space was filled with the unpleasant mixture of cheap perfume, the smell of smoke, and a certain damp desire.
A hand with chipped black nail polish had already landed on his shoulder. The grip was heavy, carrying a controlling intent that allowed no refusal.
His ex-girlfriend, the woman who had once pretended to be gentle and considerate in front of him, was now looking him up and down with a gaze that mixed mockery and greed, as if assessing a lost-and-found toy that she could dispose of at will.
Fear wrapped around his limbs like cold vines, but he could not fall here, and he certainly could not be dragged back into the abyss he had once luckily escaped by this group of people.
He had to find her. Only that tall woman, powerful as a mountain, who had once peeled him away from his ex-girlfriend’s hands with a single sentence, could possibly become his sanctuary again.
This thought flickered like a will-o’-the-wisp amidst his despair.
“I’m not here for you!”
Yuki Haruto used all his strength to violently swing his arm, rudely pushing away his ex-girlfriend’s hand as it reached out again.
His voice sounded somewhat shrill due to tension and agitation, ringing out abruptly in the noisy foyer.
“I’m here to find… I’m here to find your Leader!”
This sentence seemed to carry a peculiar magic.
The moment the words fell, the restless delinquent girls who were preparing to swarm him all paused their movements.
The hand on his shoulder loosened, and the teasing smile on his ex-girlfriend’s face froze for a second.
Everyone’s gaze, filled with surprise, scrutiny, and a trace of complex amusement, focused in unison on Yuki Haruto’s face, which was flushed with humiliation and fear.
Yuki Haruto secretly breathed a sigh of relief in his heart, his tense shoulders slumping slightly.
It worked! That name indeed carried weight.
He seized the opportunity to quickly dart his eyes around, driven by an urgent longing he couldn’t quite explain himself, searching desperately through the dimly lit, smoke-filled living room.
His gaze swept over the young men slumped on the sofas with glazed or fawning eyes, over the messy coffee table scattered with empty wine bottles and snack wrappers, over the exaggerated and grotesque graffiti on the walls…
Nothing.
He did not see that golden figure from his memories—tall, athletic, occupying the master’s seat on the sofa like a languid lioness, her mere presence enough to dominate the entire room.
A mix of loss and inexplicable relief welled up in his heart.
If she were truly here, given her tough style and absolute control, how could she allow such chaotic disorder in her “territory”?
What permeated this place was a low-class, undisguised lust and chaos, completely at odds with her aura of majesty and oppression.
Perhaps she wasn’t here tonight.
This realization relaxed his tight nerves a fraction more. Perhaps he could come back another day, find a more suitable, safer time…
Just as Yuki Haruto planned to use the moment of everyone’s daze to find an excuse to quickly escape this nauseating place—
“Pfft… Ha… Hahaha!!!”
A burst of uncontrollable laughter suddenly exploded beside him.
It was his ex-girlfriend.
She first clutched her stomach, her shoulders shaking violently, and then, as if she could no longer hold it back, she threw her head back and laughed aloud.
The laughter was sharp and piercing, full of undisguised sarcasm and delight.
The laughter was like a signal.
The other delinquent girls were stunned at first, but then, as if realizing something incredibly funny, they all joined in the roaring laughter.
For a moment, the foyer and living room were filled with the laughter of women in various tones—some hoarse, some shrill—but without exception, they were all wrapped in thick mockery, ridicule, and a sense of superiority toward an overconfident fool.
Yuki Haruto’s cheeks flushed red again, this time purely from shame and anger.
He felt as if he had been stripped naked and thrown under a spotlight, yet he completely failed to understand where the punchline was.
He came to find their Leader; what was so funny?
“Oh my… my god…”
His ex-girlfriend finally managed to stop laughing a little, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes.
She slanted a glance at Yuki Haruto with eyes heavily lined with eyeliner, her tone frivolous and blunt:
“I didn’t expect this, Haruto… You want to climb into the Leader’s bed too? Hahaha…”
These words were like an invisible slap, hitting Yuki Haruto hard across the face.
He wanted to climb into the Leader’s bed?
This naked accusation, carrying a strong implication, made him feel both ashamed and angry. Blood rushed to his head, and his ears buzzed.
He wanted to retort, wanted to loudly denounce this as nonsense, but his lips trembled, and he found he couldn’t find the right words to clarify the complex thoughts that even he couldn’t sort out.
Admiration? Fear? Seeking sanctuary? Or… a trace of secret yearning he dared not explore deep down?
Various emotions clogged his throat, leaving him speechless, only able to stare with wide eyes as his chest heaved violently.
However, his ex-girlfriend’s next words were like a dull knife tempered in ice, slowly and cruelly dissecting his last bit of fantasy and self-esteem.
“But, well, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
The ex-girlfriend shrugged, her gaze sweeping over the few other handsome but numb-looking young men in the living room, her tone carrying a commonplace indifference.
“Look, which man here doesn’t want to climb into the Leader’s bed? To be chosen by the Leader, that is a massive ‘blessing’.”
She deliberately dragged out the word “blessing,” dripping with sarcasm.
Then, she changed the subject, the corners of her mouth hooking up into a vicious arc.
She leaned in close to Yuki Haruto, whispering almost into his ear, yet her voice was loud enough for those around to hear clearly:
“But… Haruto, with goods like you, you can’t even enter the Leader’s eyes. What are you supposed to be?”
At the same time, the green-haired delinquent who had opened the door for him at the start—Murata—had stuck to him again.
She carried a heavy stench of smoke and body odor that was nauseating.
While emitting a “cluck-cluck” strange laugh like an old hen, she stretched out that withered hand with large knuckles.
Unceremoniously and with obscene intent, she reached directly under the hem of Yuki Haruto’s shirt, her cold fingertips sliding across the sensitive skin of his waist.
“Exactly, exactly,”
Murata licked her lips, which appeared dry, cracked, and purple from excessive smoking. Her yellow-brown teeth were revolting.
“Little beauty, your looks… are not bad, quite to my appetite. But compared to the man the Leader likes? Tsk tsk…”
She narrowed those turbid, sunken eyes, revealing a look interwoven with memory and some kind of lewd yearning.
“Last time the Leader asked me to help ‘handle’ some matters, I had the fortune to see him from afar once… Oh my mother, in my whole life, on TV or in magazines, I’ve never seen such a beautiful man. That face, that skin, that figure… simply didn’t look real. No wonder the Leader is so attentive, hiding him away so tightly.”
Another delinquent sneered from the side:
“Alright Murata, wipe your drool. Do you dare to mentally fantasize about the Leader’s man? Be careful the Leader finds out and rips out that dirty heart and rotten lungs of yours to feed the dogs.”
Murata sheepishly withdrew a bit of her daydreaming, but the movements of her hands didn’t stop.
Instead, she intensified her rubbing against Yuki Haruto’s waist, clucking with laughter:
“Sigh… can’t I even think about it? That kind of top-tier quality is only for the Leader to enjoy. As for us, we’re just responsible for handling these… leftovers that the Leader doesn’t want.”
She specifically emphasized the word “leftovers,” her lewd gaze circling Yuki Haruto’s pale, terrified face.
“Hey, Murata!”
His ex-girlfriend slapped away Murata’s other hand which was attempting to go further, clearly dissatisfied.
“This is my prize, anyway. No matter what, I should go first, right?”
“What does it matter, Megumi? Good things are happier when shared… How about I trade something with you…”
Murata smiled playfully but didn’t dare to force it.
However, the man in front of her clearly suited her appetite, so she rolled her green, wretched eyes, seemingly thinking of something.
She leaned into the ear of Yuki Haruto’s ex-girlfriend, Megumi, and whispered something.
His ex-girlfriend hesitated for a moment, but finally nodded.
She gently stroked Yuki Haruto’s face, as tenderly as when they had first started dating, and said with some regret:
“Sorry, Haruto, your first time has been sold to another woman by me.”
The other few delinquent girls were obviously attracted by this newcomer, a “little beauty” carrying a flavor of green defiance.
They abandoned the “old toys” on the sofa who were already numb and easily manipulated, gathering around with malicious smiles.
‘Where am I…? What are these women doing…?’
Yuki Haruto’s mind went blank.
His ex-girlfriend’s line about him “not entering the Leader’s eyes” and the green-haired delinquent’s description of that “stunningly beautiful man” were like two heavy hammers.
They utterly shattered the fragile tower he had painstakingly rebuilt in his heart out of hazy longing, leaving only flying debris filled with sharp spikes.
‘It turns out… she already had someone she favored, and it was a man he didn’t even qualify to be compared with…’
His little secret thought appeared so laughable, so insignificant in this moment.
His heart, which had shattered once when betrayed and deceived by his ex-girlfriend, now shattered even more thoroughly.
The powder fell rustling down, unable to be pieced back into any shape.
Despair, like cold seawater, drowned him.
He lost the will to resist, and even the ability to think.
His body was shoved and pulled by several pairs of hands, some strong, some slimy.
He stumbled backward, and then his back hit a soft but filthy object—it was the giant sofa in the center of the living room, its leather already cracking.
The sofa still bore the remains of unidentified water stains, snack crumbs, and unspeakable filthy traces; the mixed odor was nauseating.
Like a doll with its strings cut, he collapsed face-up onto the sofa, staring straight up with eyes that had lost all their luster, as hollow as glass beads.
In his field of vision was the crystal chandelier hanging in the villa’s living room, accumulated with dust, with several crystals already missing.
The pale light refracted through the dirty crystals, casting distorted spots of light that made him dizzy.
The teasing, the quarreling, the friction of clothes sounded distant and blurred in his ears, as if separated by a thick layer of frosted glass.
It wasn’t until the cold air suddenly touched his exposed skin that he jolted, realizing his jacket and the shirt had been rudely torn open and stripped off.
Several pairs of hands belonging to different women, smelling of sweat, smoke, or cheap cosmetics, firmly pinned down his wrists and ankles, fixing him in a humiliating posture on the surface of the dirty sofa.
“Save… save me…”
He moved his lips unconsciously, emitting a weak, gasping sound like a mosquito.
His unfocused gaze instinctively, blindly cast toward the other side of the living room, to that wider, cleaner single sofa covered with a dark velvet blanket.
That was the seat where she had sat the first time he saw her here.
That day, she sat there like a monarch, saving him from his ex-girlfriend’s entanglement with just one sentence, giving him a fleeting illusion of safety.
But today, that sofa was empty.
The gorgeous velvet blanket was smooth, without a single wrinkle.
Today, there would be no salvation.
“Little beauty, are you ready to become a real man?”
The woman’s voice, raspy like broken bellows, pulled him back to the cruel reality. She leaned in very close, her yellow teeth glaringly offensive.
“Megumi gave your first time to me, so remember my face forever.”
She deliberately made “first time” sound ambiguous, drawing a burst of laughter from the surroundings.
In his ignorant adolescent fantasies, Yuki Haruto had sketched the partner of his first night countless times.
Perhaps a pure and cute classmate, perhaps a mature and gentle Senpai…
But absolutely, absolutely never could it be this ugly and greedy creature climbing onto his body right now.
This green-haired delinquent named Murata was abnormally thin, her mouth full of teeth yellowed from too much smoking, her eye sockets sunken, her spirit withering—one look and you could tell her body was ruined by booze, lust, and illicit substances.
“No… Don’t… Get away!!!”
Huge fear and disgust finally broke through the numbness. Yuki Haruto shook his head desperately as if having a breakdown, his legs kicking blindly, trying to break free from the restraints.
Tears surged uncontrollably from his eyes, mixing with the sweat of humiliation.
But his struggle appeared so futile under the combined suppression of several delinquent girls.
Murata’s face, with its wretched smile and yellowing teeth, constantly approached, closer and closer, in his terrified, dilated pupils…
Until, a certain warm, slimy, disgusting sensation carrying the stench of smoke and bad breath firmly covered his trembling lips.
“Mmph…!!!”
The sensation of forced violation exploded from his lips and spread throughout his body, triggering a wave of violent physiological nausea and deeper despair.
“Ahhhhhhh—!!!”
The boy’s scream, shrill enough to change tone, like a young beast with its throat pierced by a sharp blade, suddenly erupted, filled with endless pain, fear, and breakdown.
“Ooooooh—!!!”
Almost simultaneously, the women’s triumphant, excited, nearly savage cheers rang out, interspersed with obscene teasing and urging.
The wailing of despair and the reckless revelry—these two extreme sounds twisted and wove together, repeatedly colliding and echoing in the living room of this villa filled with desire and depravity, composing the night’s cruelest and most lewd symphony.
The pale light of the crystal chandelier coldly shone upon the atrocity occurring on the sofa, recording every single unbearable detail…
[Author’s Note: To some extent, this counts as the male lead’s ‘IF’ route 😔.]