So when Aina Saiten first opened the front door, the first thing she did wasn’t to change her shoes or call out “I’m home.”
Instead, she lowered her head, her gaze falling on the floor of the foyer, sweeping over it carefully, inch by inch.
Next to the shoe cabinet, there were only two pairs of shoes—her slippers and Kazune’s little leather shoes.
No third pair.
She crouched down, glancing at the bottom layer of the shoe cabinet where the other shoes were kept, neatly lined up with no signs of having been touched.
Aina Saiten’s eyes roamed over every corner of the foyer, like a vigilant cat confirming whether its territory had been invaded.
Fortunately, what she feared hadn’t happened. At least, based on these surface signs, it hadn’t.
“Welcome back. You must be tired, Aina.”
A voice came from the direction of the living room, soft, with a hint of hoarseness as if just waking up.
Aina Saiten looked up and saw Kazune getting up from the sofa.
He was wearing a light gray cotton pajama set with a slightly large collar, revealing a section of pale collarbone.
His hair was still a bit damp, a few stray strands stuck to his temples and cheeks, as if he had just taken a shower and hadn’t completely dried off yet.
He was holding his phone, the screen lit up, seemingly looking at something.
But the moment she entered, he quickly pressed the power button, the screen went dark, and then he placed the phone on the coffee table and walked towards her.
His steps were light and quick, like a cat hearing its owner return, eager to rub against them.
He walked up to her, reached out to take the briefcase she was carrying.
The bag was heavy, filled with contracts and a laptop.
His wrist dipped slightly under the weight, then he held it steadily, turned, and placed it on the small table beside the foyer.
After setting it down, he turned back, walked behind her, and helped her take off her coat.
When his fingers touched her shoulders, she could feel they were slightly cool, carrying a hint of moisture, as if they had been soaked in water.
Aina Saiten felt her boyfriend’s thoughtfulness. The stiffness that had built up in her shoulders all day slowly relaxed under his ministrations.
The physical and mental fatigue eased a little because of it.
She stood still, letting him slip the coat off her and hang it on the rack. Only then did she bend down to change her shoes.
Just as she bent over, her gaze landed on Kazune’s face, scrutinizing him carefully.
…
‘Did Kazune just take a shower?’
She thought to herself,
‘His hair is still wet, and he smells nice, like body wash… but…’
Then her gaze stopped on his face.
‘Why do I feel like… Kazune seems to be wearing makeup?’
His skin looked paler than usual, unnaturally white, as if covered evenly by something.
The color of his lips was also pinker and glossier than normal, not like the texture of someone who just woke up.
Aina Saiten’s feeling wasn’t wrong.
After Kaoru Hoshitani returned home, the first thing he did was rush into the bathroom, turn on the hot water, and wash himself from head to toe three times.
He used body wash twice, shampoo twice, scrubbing every inch of his skin hard with a loofah until it turned red and hurt.
He wanted to wash away all the scents belonging to that other woman—the smell of tobacco, perfume, and those more private, more shameful scents—completely, leaving not a trace.
He even gargled five times, brushed his teeth until his gums bled, but a vague, indescribable taste still lingered in his mouth.
But while scents could be washed away, the marks could not.
On his neck, collarbone, chest, waist, inner thighs—everywhere were the red marks left by Rika Kawasaki.
Those marks varied in depth, overlapping layers—some were love bites, some were fingerprints, some were fine red scratches from nails.
They stood out starkly against his pale skin, like a clean, tidy canvas that had been scribbled on chaotically.
To be absolutely sure, after his shower, Kaoru Hoshitani sat at the vanity, looked in the mirror, and applied light makeup to his face.
He patted on a thin layer of foundation, covering the redness around his eyes from fatigue and crying, the dark circles under his eyes, and the unnatural pallor.
Then, using the same bottle of foundation, he applied it to his neck, collarbone, chest—all the densely marked areas, carefully covering them up.
He even checked in the mirror several times, confirming that from any angle, no traces could be seen, before finally letting out a sigh of relief.
“Aina, you should go take a shower quickly,”
He pushed his girlfriend’s back, urging her into the room. His tone carried a hint of what he thought was a natural, coquettish rush.
“I’ll go make you a midnight snack.”
His movements were faster than usual. His palm against her back could feel the vertebrae of her spine protruding one by one, pressing against his palm.
He seemed to sense his girlfriend’s somewhat scrutinizing gaze. His heart tightened, as if someone had grabbed his throat, making even his breathing careful.
He didn’t dare let her look any longer, didn’t dare let her gaze linger on his face for another second—he was afraid she would notice something, afraid she would ask something, afraid the thin layer of disguise he had painstakingly maintained would shatter under her gaze.
Aina Saiten let herself be pushed forward without resistance.
She walked into the bedroom. He took her pajamas from the wardrobe, folded neatly, and handed them to her.
She took the pajamas, looked at him. His gaze dodged for a moment, then quickly returned to her face as he forced a smile.
“Go shower quickly. I’ve already run the water for you.”
She nodded and walked into the bathroom.
The moment the door closed, she heard him let out a soft sigh outside the door. It was a long, light sigh, as if he had finally released a breath he’d been holding.
Kaoru Hoshitani stood outside the bathroom door, only relaxing when he heard the sound of running water from inside.
He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes for a moment, then turned and walked towards the kitchen.
He opened the fridge, took a sea fish from the freezer compartment—it had been bought a couple of days ago, frozen, and not yet eaten.
He also took a box of oysters from the fresh compartment. These were all good for Aina’s health.
He placed the sea fish under the tap to thaw. Cold water ran over the fish, the ice crystals slowly melting.
The fish’s eyes looked particularly hollow under the light, as if looking at something, yet at nothing.
Actually, before being with Aina Saiten, Kaoru Hoshitani hadn’t been very good at cooking.
He had been pampered since childhood, having everything handed to him, even struggling to cook instant noodles.
It was after they got together that he started learning bit by bit, watching tutorial videos on his phone—starting from the simplest boiled eggs, to frying fish, making stews, stir-frying vegetables.
Step by step, stumbling along, it took several years to develop the passable cooking skills he had now.
After the sea fish thawed, he patted it dry with kitchen paper, made a few cuts on both sides, rubbed it with salt and pepper, and let it marinate for a few minutes.
He heated a frying pan, poured in oil, and when the oil was hot, he placed the fish in. With a sizzle, oil smoke rose, and the edges of the fish quickly curled, turning golden brown.
He fried it patiently, flipping it when one side was golden, and when both sides were done, he sprinkled some barbecue seasoning and transferred it to a plate.
The skin was crispy, the flesh white and tender. The aroma of the barbecue seasoning mixed with the freshness of the fish filled the kitchen.
As for the oysters, he simply steamed them in a steamer. After the water boiled, he placed the cleaned oysters one by one on the steaming rack, covered it, and set a timer for eight minutes.
When the time was up, he turned off the heat, lifted the lid, and white steam billowed out, blurring his face.
He used chopsticks to pick out the oysters one by one, placing them on a plate. Once they cooled slightly, he squeezed a bit of minced garlic sauce on top of each oyster.
The minced garlic sauce was homemade—minced garlic poured with hot oil, mixed with soy sauce, oyster sauce, and a little sugar. It was rich and fragrant with a hint of sweetness.
A small, exquisite midnight snack was thus prepared.
The fish and oysters were arranged together, accompanied by a small plate of pickled radish and a bowl of miso soup. The colors were well-matched, and the plating was thoughtful.
Kaoru Hoshitani brought the dishes to the dining table, set out the bowls and chopsticks, then sat on a chair, propping his head in his hands, waiting for Aina to come out of the bathroom.
Soon, the bathroom door opened.
Aina Saiten walked out in her pajamas, her hair wrapped in a towel, her face still flushed from the hot steam.
She walked to the dining table, looking at the food laid out, steaming and fragrant, and at Kazune sitting at the table, looking at her with full of anticipation.
Her heart, in that instant, was deeply moved by something.
‘Kazune loves me so much…’
She thought to herself, her eyes feeling a bit sore.
‘Something must have suddenly happened, leading to that future…’
She remembered the scenes from those videos—Kazune’s hollow eyes on the plane, his helplessness being pressed against the office desk, his humiliation kneeling by the bed.
Those images overlapped with the gentle, considerate Kazune before her whose eyes were full of her.
It was like two transparent sheets stacked together, impossible to align, impossible to distinguish which one was real and which was illusory.
‘I must protect Kazune. I won’t let those things really happen!!!’
She thought this firmly in her heart, then sat down on the chair. Kazune had pulled it out for her. He waited until she was seated before walking around to sit opposite her.
“Eat quickly.”
Kaoru Hoshitani propped his head in his hands, his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his interlaced fingers. Those little deer eyes looked straight at her, filled with guilt and heartache.
“Aina, you really worked hard today. I was at home alone and couldn’t help you with anything. I wanted to take a short nap in the afternoon but ended up sleeping for two or three hours…”
His voice trailed off, so low it was almost inaudible.
“While Aina was working so hard…”
As he spoke, his gaze dropped to the table, to his own interlaced fingers.
His fingers were very white, his nails trimmed neatly and cleanly, as if they had never done anything unspeakable.
But he knew—these hands had today clutched the hem of another woman’s clothes, these hands had pushed another woman’s shoulders, these hands had gripped another woman’s arms, and had touched countless filth.
His guilt was real.
Looking at Aina’s tired face, at the dark circles under her eyes, at her slightly sunken eye sockets, his heart felt as if pricked by a needle, aching terribly.
He knew she was fighting desperately for this home, knew she left early and returned late every day, worked overtime on weekends, knew she was reluctant to buy new clothes, reluctant to eat out, saving every penny to deposit into the account labeled “Kazune and Aina’s Future.”
But what he said was false.
While his girlfriend was working hard, he had not been sleeping.
He had taken a flight, gone to Osaka, met that yellow-haired woman, and been tossed and turned all day long.
From morning to afternoon, from the office to the hotel, from the bed to the bathroom, he had been like a piece of dough repeatedly kneaded, shaped into various forms, pounded, crushed, finally lying there limp, unable to even stand steadily.
He had worked hard.
Really hard.
Hard enough to almost fall apart.
Aina Saiten looked at Kazune across from her, at his lowered brows and eyes, at his slightly pursed lips, at that face filled with sincere guilt.
She picked up her chopsticks, picked up a piece of fish, and put it in her mouth.
The fish was tender, fresh. The aroma of the barbecue seasoning spread on her tongue with a hint of mild spice. She chewed a couple of times and swallowed.
“Is it good?”
Kazune looked up at her, his eyes full of anticipation.
“It’s good.”
She said.