[Save me…Aina…save me…please…]
In the narrow Bedroom, every corner bore the traces of two people’s careful arrangement.
The air was warm and heavy, saturated with the sweet, cloying scent that lingered after intimacy.
On the nightstand, the simply designed, cream-colored lamp— chosen by Kaoru Hoshitani— cast a circle of dim, gentle light.
It was like a fragile cocoon of light, barely enclosing the two on the bed.
That warm glow projected two indistinct black silhouettes onto the beige wall opposite, entangled in silence like figures in a shadow play.
Kaoru Hoshitani felt like a dying traveler, lost in an endless, burning desert, his throat so parched it was about to crack, and his vision filled only with the mirage-like illusions.
He kept his eyes tightly shut. His thick eyelashes, soaked with sweat and tears, clumped together and cast trembling shadows beneath his lids.
Silently, again and again, he screamed out in his heart—nearly in despair—sending out a call for help to his girlfriend, Aina, who was right beside him.
He longed to draw from her warm body, from her loving touch, from this familiar intimacy, enough strength and courage to survive until tomorrow—to face that demon-like, blonde-haired woman one more time.
He needed this real comfort, belonging to “Aina,” to cover over the forced, nauseating memories and sensations he’d endured in the daytime, to fill the hollowness and fear left inside him.
At this moment, her embrace and warmth were the only Lifeline he could cling to against the unknown torment awaiting him tomorrow.
Yet reality was cruel and stingy.
For Aina, who worked hard all day and was exhausted after her shift—barely finding time to exercise—Kaoru Hoshitani’s constant, nightly longing over the past several weeks had become an ever heavier burden, almost draining her limited reserves of energy dry.
Tonight was no exception. Driven by Kaoru Hoshitani’s urgency—tinged with desperation—Aina lasted barely ten minutes before a wave of utter exhaustion washed over her.
She lifted her hand, palm cool and damp with sweat, and patted the tense, slender waist above her.
Her voice was weak, laced with apology and breathlessness, as she softly pleaded, “Kaoru…I—I really can’t go on. I’m so tired, it feels like my whole body is falling apart…”
She caught her breath, trying to lighten the mood, “How about we take a few days off? Let me, let me start working out—once I get some results, I’ll definitely make it up to you, okay?”
Hearing her words, all of Kaoru Hoshitani’s movements froze instantly, like a delicate Doll whose strings had suddenly been cut.
He hung his head, soft black hair falling like a sorrowful curtain, completely hiding his face—and his every expression—from Aina below.
She couldn’t see those eyes, which had suddenly dimmed and lost the last trace of light, nor those tightly bitten lips, so hard they nearly bled, nor the searing tears brimming in his eyes, held back with desperate effort.
A single syllable was squeezed from his throat, hoarse and trembling, barely audible in the stifling Bedroom air.
Then, as if he had spent the last of his strength, Kaoru Hoshitani slowly and silently moved away from Aina, every motion suffused with a sense of loneliness and brokenness that words could not describe.
He didn’t, as usual, nestle into his girlfriend’s arms for comfort. Instead, he turned his back to her, curling himself into a small ball against the cold wall—almost as if it was the only safe place left.
Then, he yanked the quilt over himself, wrapping up from head to toe, not letting even a strand of hair peek out, forming a lonely, defensive Chrysalis.
If the Bedroom weren’t so dimly lit, if the lamp’s glow reached that corner, Aina would surely have seen the figure beneath the blanket trembling ever so slightly from silent sobs.
It was the wail of hope dashed, of support collapsing—despair and fear seeking an outlet, yet finding none.
Aina, too, felt helpless and defeated by her recent “failures” in bed.
Her pride as a woman clashed with her desire to satisfy her beloved, leaving her torn inside.
But her inherently optimistic nature quickly found her a reason for forgiveness and hope for the future.
She thought, once she joined the New Company, with less financial pressure and more time and energy for herself, things would surely improve.
So she shifted her weary body, reached out, and gently pulled the Chrysalis curled in the corner—blanket and all—into her embrace.
Her cheek rested against his cool hair outside the quilt, her voice soft and soothing as she quietly promised, “Kaoru, I’m sorry. It’s my fault—I’m too useless. Please wait a little longer. Once I start at the New Company, I’ll keep up with my workouts, get in shape…then this will never happen again.”
Her embrace was warm, her words sincere, but they could not pierce the thick shell of despair and self-loathing—could not touch the heart slowly freezing inside.
When Aina, spent from exhaustion, finally reached out and clicked off the lamp on the nightstand, a faint “click” echoed out, plunging the Bedroom into utter darkness and silence.
Only the distant, muffled sounds of traffic outside the window marked the passage of time.
In the darkness, after a wave of breakdown and forced restraint, Kaoru Hoshitani still could not resist the yearning deep within for warmth and confirmation.
Like a wounded little animal cautiously emerging from its burrow, he slowly, hesitantly turned over.
He stretched out his arm, reaching through the cool air to wrap around his girlfriend’s warm body, burying his face deep into the familiar scent of her neck and chest.
“Aina…”
His voice was muffled and thick with tears, as if a drowning man whispering to the lifeline he finally grasped,
“I love you…”
This phrase, at this moment, sounded less like a sweet confession and more like an anguished affirmation—a fragile prayer.
Half-asleep and on the brink of dreaming, Aina heard this sudden confession. Unconsciously, a gentle and contented smile bloomed on her weary face.
Fumbling in the darkness, she found his lips and pressed a sleepy, cherished Sleep Kiss on them, mumbling but clear,
“I love you too, Kaoru…always.”
……
When the clock’s hands silently overlapped at “12,” marking with cold precision the end of one day and the start of the next,
In the deepest part of the Bedroom wardrobe, the Old Mobile Phone— long forgotten by Aina and covered in a fine layer of dust— suddenly lit up in the absolute darkness, like a terrifying alarm set in advance, or a puppet controlled by an unseen hand, its screen glowed a ghastly white.
Then, without anyone touching it, a strange Software icon launched itself, the interface loaded, and finally froze.
On the screen, blood-red letters silently floated against the pale backdrop, like the gaze of the abyss:
——
The Countdown until your boyfriend Kaoru Hoshitani is NTR’d
—
75 days
———
In the morning, after sending his girlfriend Aina—full of anticipation for her new job—out the door, Kaoru Hoshitani did not, as usual, begin tidying up the house or preparing lunch ingredients.
He stood alone in the now suddenly silent and unusually empty living room.
After a moment, as if pulled by invisible strings, he walked slowly to the Vanity Mirror in the Bedroom.
He sat down on the small Dressing Stool, back ramrod straight, yet filled with a stiff weariness.
He looked up, eyes vacant, staring fixedly into the mirror.
The face reflected there, in the cold morning light, was still breathtakingly beautiful.
Porcelain skin, delicate features—each line the masterpiece of a master craftsman—combined into a fragile, genderless beauty.
On the street, that face was enough to stun any passerby, as if a flawless gift from the Creator.
Yet, to Kaoru Hoshitani, the daily familiarity let him spot the tiniest changes—subtle shifts even the most precise instruments might not detect.
He knew that for the past year, feeling the weight of his girlfriend shouldering all their living expenses, and knowing every penny had to be stretched, he hadn’t bought himself a decent bottle of conditioner, a full set of skincare, or even a lip balm.
Though he was still in the prime of his youth—brimming with collagen and a vibrant metabolism—so his skin had not yet grown rough or dull, and his hair had not split and dried to an unsightly degree,
Still, compared to the self of a year ago—nurtured carefully by Aina with countless bottles and jars, glowing from within—the face in the mirror had lost that inner radiance.
Faint dark circles, the tiniest fine lines from dryness, a little frizz at the hair’s end…
Such subtle differences were like cracks in fine porcelain that only the owner would notice, revealing the joint marks of time and hardship.
Almost every man, in the dreamy days of boyhood, has briefly imagined himself as the cherished, treasured “Prince”—living in a splendid castle, dressed in jeweled finery, his beauty flawless and eternal.
Of course, real Princes are rare. Fairy tales remain just that.
Because of love, because he’d chosen to spend his life with Aina, Kaoru Hoshitani never thought that life couldn’t go on without fancy clothes or luxury skincare.
There was genuine warmth in their humble days together.
But loving beauty was human nature, especially for a man blessed with such looks and aware of it.
In the deepest corner of his heart, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of regret and dissatisfaction—
Was his golden youth destined to fade away in this cramped little home, watching helplessly as this heavenly gift wore down, faded, and inevitably aged?
But that regret was always quickly swallowed by his trust and love for Aina.
He believed in Aina’s ability, believed every promise she made about the future.
He believed their hardships were only temporary—that before long, thanks to Aina’s efforts, the dreams she’d whispered into his ear—a bigger house, a more stable life, even a cute baby—would come true.
And as her chosen partner, he told himself he had to keep quietly supporting her, to be her harbor when she came home exhausted…
——
At exactly nine in the morning, to the second,
Kaoru Hoshitani arrived alone—like one offering himself to an inevitable sacrifice—at the private garden in front of the Villa where he’d been forcibly taken the day before.
He’d come by taxi, following the location sent by Rika Kawasaki, into this isolated, high-class neighborhood.
On his phone, a recent, curt message from the woman told him the Villa’s electronic door code, ordering him to enter on his own.
He wore the same off-white Linen Shirt and Kaki Pants as yesterday, standing in the chilly early autumn breeze, his figure so thin it seemed as if the wind might scatter him.
He tilted his head back a little, eyes sweeping slowly over the imposing, sunlit modern building before him—
Meticulously trimmed greenery, sharp-edged walls, massive windows reflecting blinding sunlight, and the thick, closed metal door, seeming to sever inside from outside completely.
The garden’s scenery was undeniably exquisite, every stone and flower arrangement showcasing expensive craftsmanship.
But to Kaoru Hoshitani, all this reflected only endless sorrow and emptiness.
His usually misty, now dry and aching deer-like eyes mirrored the Villa’s silhouette—and his own paper-white face.
A cold, clear premonition, like a venomous snake, coiled slowly around his heart.
He seemed dimly aware that if he stepped through that door today, by the time he walked out again, his life—the pure, if humble, world he’d built with Aina, the last bit of self he’d so carefully guarded—
Would all be shattered, rebuilt into something unrecognizable, never able to return.
Fear, like icy water, crept up from his ankles, threatening to freeze his limbs.
His fingertips were cold and trembling.
But even foreseeing an inescapable, disastrous end, even as resistance and despair filled his heart—
He had no choice.
Rika Kawasaki’s threats—the shameful photos and videos, and the vast power she wielded, enough to crush his and Aina’s fragile life—had ensnared him in a giant, invisible net.
Turning away? Fleeing home?
That would only bring immediate, harsher retribution—maybe falling on the clueless Aina.
He stood in the morning light for what felt like a century—or perhaps just a few seconds.
Finally, Kaoru Hoshitani, in slow motion, raised his arm, heavy as if made of lead.
His fingers hovered over the Villa’s cold code panel. After a pause, as if entering the code for his final judgment, he pressed in the sequence Rika Kawasaki had given him, one digit at a time.
“Beep— beep— beep— click.”
The lock chimed crisply, and the heavy metal door slid inward, revealing the dimmer entryway beyond, like a great beast opening its jaws to swallow him.
Kaoru Hoshitani took one last look at the garden’s fake peace and sunlight behind him. Then, taking a deep breath that left his lungs still aching for air,
He stepped over the threshold dividing safety and danger, purity and corruption, past and future.
“Bang.”
Behind him, the stately, heavy door slowly, inexorably swung shut with a dull, final thud, sealing off the world outside, and severing all ties with the past.
A man who had once been pure, full of hope for love and an ordinary life, was now swallowed, wordlessly, by the cold and splendid Villa.
The shadows inside quickly engulfed his figure.