When Kaoru Hoshitani’s consciousness finally pieced itself back together like drifting debris after a shipwreck, the first thing he felt was the familiar, soft touch beneath him — it was the mattress of the double bed in the bedroom he shared with Aina, a bed that had carried them through countless nights of sleeping in each other’s arms.
In the air, the reassuring scent unique to this little home lingered faintly: the light fragrance of laundry detergent and the slight smell of bedding that had been dried in the sun.
The lights in the bedroom were off.
The thick, light-blocking dark curtains were drawn tight, completely shutting out the light that should have been bright in the afternoon.
Only a few extremely weak, greyish rays leaked through the gaps at the edges, barely outlining the vague silhouettes of the furniture.
The entire room was shrouded in a darkness as deep and heavy as the hour before dawn, yet possessed the oppressive gloom of the moment before a storm.
Everything within sight was a hazy, unreal shade of grey.
‘Is it… a dream?’
Kaoru Hoshitani’s mind was a chaotic mess, as if stuffed with sodden cotton; his thoughts were sluggish and labored.
He stared blankly with wide eyes at the familiar shadows on the ceiling above, a feeling of prostrating exhaustion and a fluke of hope welling up in his heart at the same time.
‘Thank goodness… everything… was just a nightmare… That woman, those terrifying sensations, they were all just a dream…’
He instinctively wanted to roll over, as he had on countless mornings or after naps, to find the warm, reliable figure beside him and bury his face in the crook of her neck to find peace.
However, just as his body attempted to move, a heavy and undeniable pressure came from above, pinning him firmly and leaving him unable to move even an inch.
It wasn’t the weight of a blanket, but rather… the living, burning, powerful suppression of a creature.
At the same time, he realized clearly that it was no hallucination — a hot, damp breath was regularly blowing against his skin at close range.
It was accompanied by a slippery, soft sensation, like some large feline marking its territory, slowly and persistently “climbing” upward along the curves of his body.
Everywhere that sensation touched, it triggered waves of instinctive trembling and a deep, terrifying itch.
He suddenly held his breath.
A few seconds later, or perhaps what felt like a century later, a woman’s face, bearing unmistakable features and contours, pierced through the dim light of the bedroom.
It appeared abruptly and with an overwhelming sense of pressure directly in his line of sight.
Her healthy, wheat-colored skin took on a honey-like glow in the gloom.
A few strands of her long, pale-blonde hair, striking even in the weak light, fell down to scratch at his cheeks and neck.
And then there were those eyes… those grey eyes that were now locked onto him, shining with a startling brightness even in the darkness, like a wolf hunting in the night.
Kaoru Hoshitani’s pupils constricted violently in an instant.
Those eyes, usually as moist and clear as a fawn’s, were now completely filled with immense fear and bone-deep despair, reflecting the blurred image of the face above him.
The last bubble of hope was ruthlessly popped.
He realized that all those lingering, slimy sensations were not horror stories fabricated by his brain, but a cruel reality that had just happened — and might even still be continuing.
And right now, he was being pinned down by that intruder on the very bed where he and Aina had spent every night for the past two years, sharing all their secrets and tenderness!
This bed, this room, was the most sacred, inviolable fortress in his heart; it was the most concrete symbol of their love.
But now, the iron hooves of a conqueror were trampling over it, and he was about to face an irrevocable violation once again in this final sanctuary.
‘No! Don’t! At least not here… This absolutely cannot happen here…!’
A silent scream roared frantically in his heart, carrying a plea on the verge of collapse.
However, whether it was a weak entreaty or the struggle of a body already exhausted, it was all too late.
While he was still dazed and sinking into a whirlpool of shock and despair, the blonde woman pinning him down seemed to have already finished all her “preparations.”
He could even feel that boiling, aggressive presence, poised and ready, pressing dangerously close.
Kaoru Hoshitani tried in vain to curl up and hide, but his body was completely suppressed. All his efforts were like an ant trying to shake a giant tree.
Rika Kawasaki raised her hands. She did not further bind his body but instead cupped his face with a force that was almost tender.
The rough texture of her palms rubbed against his delicate skin, forcing him to stop turning his head away.
His gaze was fixed, forced to meet those grey eyes above him — eyes that made him feel nauseous and terrified, yet flickered with a strange, complex light in the darkness.
In those eyes, there was unsated desire, an unquestionable sense of possession, and perhaps… a hint of almost focused infatuation that even she had not noticed.
“No… mmph!!!”
His broken protest had barely escaped his throat before it was completely blocked by a more violent impact, turning into a short, pained groan.
As that world-destroying force struck without mercy, the muscles in his entire body tightened to their limit, only to tremble violently from the unbearable shock.
Finally, a hot, crystalline tear could no longer bear the weight; it slid quietly from the corner of his wide-open, unfocused eye, disappearing silently into the hair at his temple and the pillow beneath him that belonged to him and Aina, leaving behind a small, dark, shameful wet mark.
—
Inside Tokyo Metropolis, in a three-star Michelin French restaurant famous for its ultimate service.
In a private room, the environment was elegant and quiet.
There were dark walnut walls, soft recessed lighting, and the air was filled with soothing classical piano music and the faint scent of fresh white roses from the center of the dining table.
Silver utensils sparkled with a cold, exquisite light under the crystal chandelier.
Chinatsu Ayase sat alone in a large, comfortable velvet armchair.
On the long dining table covered with a snowy white tablecloth before her, red wine and appetizers had long since been set out, but she had hardly touched them.
As the minutes passed one by one, her expression grew increasingly dark and unpleasant.
Her meticulously groomed eyebrows were tightly furrowed, and her lips were pressed into a displeased line.
She had lost count of how many times she had raised her left wrist to look at her watch.
The hands moved relentlessly; it had been nearly two hours since the time of their promise.
Cold impatience and a rising anger intertwined in her chest.
She had specifically dressed up today and arrived early for this scheduled dinner party, wanting to observe up close what kind of relationship actually existed between her half-sister, Rika Kawasaki, and that man named Kaoru Hoshitani.
But she hadn’t expected to sit like a fool in this luxurious yet disturbingly empty private room for nearly two hours without seeing a soul!
During that time, it wasn’t that she hadn’t tried to call, but the receiver always returned a busy signal. That rhythmic “beep-beep” sound felt like a malicious mockery.
It wasn’t until about thirty minutes ago that her mobile phone finally vibrated, receiving a message from Rika Kawasaki that was so brief it was practically dismissive:
“Got caught up in something, will be there in thirty minutes.”
This late notification, far from calming her anger, only made the feeling of being slighted and treated casually more vivid.
Just as she felt the irritation building up to the point where she could no longer resist the urge to get up and leave, the heavy solid wood door of the private room was finally pushed open gently by a waiter in a black uniform with a respectful attitude.
The waiter stepped aside, and a tall, athletic figure walked in — it was Rika Kawasaki.
She seemed to have rushed here from somewhere, still carrying a hint of the cool outdoor air.
Her long, pale-blonde hair wasn’t tied up as usual, but instead draped over her shoulders in a slightly messy fashion.
Chinatsu Ayase’s gaze immediately swept toward the door. Seeing only the waiter and Rika Kawasaki, her heart sank.
She thought her sister hadn’t brought the man after all, meaning her plan had failed and she had wasted all this time and preparation.
However, just as the thought of disappointment surfaced and she looked closer, she was shocked to find that Rika Kawasaki had not come empty-handed.
In her arms, she was actually cradling a “creature” tightly wrapped in a dark, long overcoat.
The coat was wrapped so securely that the shape was almost indistinguishable; only a small tuft of soft, smooth, dark hair was visible from the top — hair that clearly belonged to a human.
“Sorry.”
Holding the “overcoat bundle” in her arms, Rika Kawasaki walked straight to the chair on the other side of the dining table and sat down with a movement that could not be called gentle.
She looked at the ill-tempered Chinatsu Ayase and apologized in a flat tone.
However, anyone could hear that there wasn’t much genuine apology in those words; it was more like a necessary statement for the sake of social etiquette.
“Something came up, so I’m late.”
Then, under Chinatsu Ayase’s complex and unreadable gaze, Rika Kawasaki lowered her head.
With unusually careful movements, she began to undo the buttons and the lapels of the long overcoat wrapped around that “creature,” layer by layer, as if she were unwrapping a precious and fragile gift…