On the other side, far away in Osaka, Rika Kawasaki sat in her office, her phone pressed to her ear, listening to the long, suffocating silence on the other end of the line.
She waited for a long time.
So long that she could almost picture the little man’s current state— his fingers trembling as they gripped the phone, his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes rimmed red, his whole body curled up in some corner like a terrified little animal with nowhere to run.
That appearance was pitiful in the extreme, and also alluring in the extreme.
The softest part of her heart felt like it had been gently plucked by something.
It was a feeling even she couldn’t quite put into words. Heartache? Pity? Or some deeper, more unspeakable sense of possessiveness?
Her tone couldn’t help but soften a little.
“Alright, go add me back as a friend.”
Her voice lowered, gentled, as if coaxing a petulant child.
“I’ll video call you.”
After saying that, she actively hung up the phone.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to hear him speak, but she knew that little man definitely couldn’t say anything pleasant right now.
Rather than listening to his pale, feeble refusals, it was better to hang up directly, giving him a chance to “submit.”
She put down her phone and stood up. Her high heels clicked against the polished hardwood floor, making crisp, rhythmic sounds.
She walked to the office door, her fingers gently twisting the lock—click—the door was locked from the inside.
Then she walked to the window and drew the heavy, dark curtains.
The curtains slid slowly along their track, gradually obscuring the bustling Osaka skyline outside the window, completely blocking out the afternoon sunlight.
The office darkened.
Only the desk lamp on the office desk remained lit, casting a warm yellow glow on the wall.
The air became quiet and private, like a secluded nest isolated from the world.
She sat back down in the boss chair in front of the desk. The dark leather seat sank slightly, enveloping her.
She picked up her phone, lit the screen, and opened the social app.
In the friend request list, that familiar profile picture lay quietly there.
She tapped “Accept.”
On the screen, that little man’s profile picture reappeared in her friend list.
The corner of Rika Kawasaki’s mouth lifted unconsciously, the curve shallow but carrying a sense of satisfaction she herself hadn’t even noticed.
Then, she opened the computer on her desk, her slender fingers tapping a few times on the keyboard, initiating a video call to Kaoru Hoshitani.
The screen loaded the image, and her heartbeat seemed to quicken slightly.
About ten seconds later, the video call connected.
Kaoru Hoshitani’s face, a beauty beyond this world, instantly appeared on the computer screen.
He was clearly in some corner of his home, the background being the light-colored tile walls of a bathroom. The lighting was somewhat dim.
His hair was slightly damp, a few stray strands sticking to his temples and cheeks, making his face appear even paler and more fragile.
His eyelashes were lowered, casting faint shadows under his eyelids. He looked like a flower beaten down by wind and rain, wilted and lifeless.
“Cried?”
Rika Kawasaki looked at the little man’s slightly swollen, deer-like eyes, the faint pink around the rims clearly the traces of recent tears.
Her voice carried a hint of a light laugh, the amusement not heavy but sharp enough to sting.
Kaoru Hoshitani turned his head away, not looking at her.
The action was stubborn and childish, like a child caught red-handed yet stubbornly refusing to admit it.
His voice was very small, so small it was almost inaudible, carrying a deliberate, dismissive lightness as if trying to prove something:
“Aina has been working out every day recently. Last night with Aina… we went at it too late, so I didn’t sleep well…”
“Hmph!”
Rika Kawasaki, of course, knew this little man was deliberately saying this to provoke her.
What “went at it too late,” what “didn’t sleep well”—it was all just to tell her: I have a woman, I have a girlfriend, I don’t need you.
But the thought of that useless girlfriend of his possibly getting her act together still sent a flash of displeasure through her heart.
That displeasure was light, yet like a tiny thorn stuck in a corner she was unwilling to acknowledge.
She suppressed that emotion and didn’t take the bait.
She stared at the face on the screen, her gaze sliding from his lowered brows and eyes, over his slightly pursed lips, over his pale neck, finally landing on that tender hollow of his collarbone.
That collarbone hollow was shallow, faintly visible at the edge of his collar, like a secret landscape belonging only to her.
She licked her lips, her voice lowering, carrying an undeniable hoarseness:
“Take your clothes off.”
The tone was as flat as if she were just saying “nice weather today,” but those gray eyes burned with undisguised, hungry light.
Originally, having held it in for a week, she had thought about flying back to Tokyo this weekend to properly vent her fire on that little man.
But unexpectedly, her cheap younger sister kept interfering, and she couldn’t find an opportunity.
Every time she was almost about to get him, that little bitch intercepted him—missing him in the morning, him coming back so late in the afternoon, not even getting a glimpse of him.
When had she ever been this frustrated?
And watching those previously recorded videos always made her feel like something was missing.
No matter how clear the image on the screen, it was just a remnant of the past.
No warmth, no response, none of those sounds that made her bones tingle when the little man trembled beneath her.
That’s why she thought of just making a video call; at least there could be some interaction.
Hearing the yellow-haired woman’s command, Kaoru Hoshitani’s lowered deer-like eyes instantly widened.
His pupils contracted, filled with disbelief and humiliated anger.
He quickly realized what she wanted to do—not just chatting across the screen, not just looking at his face, but… that kind of thing.
His cheeks instantly flushed bright red, the color spreading from his cheekbones to his ears, to his neck, even his earlobes tinged a faint pink.
His lips trembled, wanting to say something, but shame clogged his throat.
“Hurry up.”
Rika Kawasaki’s voice came from the computer, unhurried yet carrying a threat that chilled one to the bone.
“Don’t make me fly back to Tokyo to find you right now.”
That voice was like a bucket of ice water, dousing all of Kaoru Hoshitani’s hesitation and resistance.
He knew she meant what she said.
If he didn’t comply, she really would fly back, she really would appear downstairs at his home, she really would pin him down like countless times before, leaving him with no strength to resist.
Compared to that, being across a screen… was at least safe.
He raised his hand, his fingers touching the first button.
The button was small, slippery; he fumbled with it several times before undoing it.
One, two, three… each one felt like peeling off a layer of disguise.
His fingers trembled, the tremor spreading from his fingertips to his wrist, from his wrist to his arm. Even his breathing became ragged and rapid.
He didn’t know what he was doing.
He only knew he had no choice…
*
“Hah—”
Over half an hour later, Rika Kawasaki exhaled the fire that had been pent up deep in her abdomen, the breath long and satisfied, as if finally unloading some heavy burden.
She leaned back in her chair, squinting her eyes, a trace of sated flush still lingering on her cheeks.
She reached over, pulled a few tissues from the side, and wiped the speckled traces off the computer monitor on her desk.
On the screen, the little man’s face had already disappeared, leaving only a black void.
But in her mind, every expression on that face remained as clear as if carved there— the tightly bitten lower lip, the half-closed eyes, the eyelashes trembling slightly from restraint, and finally that suppressed, broken gasp.
The corner of her mouth curled into a sated arc.
But this was, after all, across a screen, across hundreds of kilometers.
Visible, untouchable.
The feeling was like scratching an itch through a boot. It temporarily relieved the urgent need, but was far from comparable to true union of body and soul.
Not comparable to the warmth of that soft body in her arms, not comparable to the touch of those moist lips against her skin, not comparable to those sounds that made her bones tingle when he trembled beneath her.
Rika Kawasaki leaned back in her chair, staring at the void on the screen, pondering for a moment.
Then she spoke, her voice carrying an unquestionable, matter-of-fact certainty:
“I’ll buy you a plane ticket for tomorrow morning to Osaka. Then you can fly back in the afternoon.”
On the other end of the phone, there was silence for a few seconds.
Then, an incredulous, almost cracking voice exploded:
“You… you want me to fly to Osaka, just to deliver a fuck?!?!”
The voice was sharp and hoarse, as if something was stuck in his throat, or as if he was too angry to speak.
Kaoru Hoshitani sat on the cold bathroom floor, his back against the tiled wall, his whole body sore and weak.
He had just caught his breath from the torment across the screen, hadn’t even had time to put his clothes back on, when he heard this news that almost made him spit blood.
“Oh, little Kazune, you even know about ‘delivering a fuck.'”
Rika Kawasaki raised an eyebrow, a flicker of mocking amusement in her gray eyes. “You haven’t done something like this before, have you?”
Her tone was flippant and triumphant, a smile she couldn’t hide lingering on her face.
Just thinking about being able to have that hot delivery tomorrow, no longer having to stare dryly across a screen, no longer being obstructed by that cheap younger sister, she couldn’t help but lift the corners of her mouth.
As for whether this little man was willing—that had never been something she needed to consider.
“You… shameless…”
Kaoru Hoshitani’s voice came through the receiver, carrying a deep, utterly exhausted weariness.
Those two words seemed squeezed out from between his teeth, every syllable soaked in humiliation and anger.
But that anger was so pale, so futile. Even he himself knew this was nothing but the last, useless roar of a trapped animal.
Then, the call ended.
Rika Kawasaki looked at the words “The other party has hung up” on the screen. She wasn’t angry, nor did she call back.
She put down her phone, stood up, took a mop from the cabinet in the corner, and began cleaning the traces on the floor that had accidentally splattered earlier.
Her movements were unhurried, carrying a lazy satisfaction.
After mopping, she picked up her phone again and sent a message to her secretary:
“Book a plane ticket from Tokyo to Osaka for tomorrow morning, and another one back in the afternoon. You arrange the timing, the earlier the better.”
After sending the message, she put down her phone, sat back in her chair, leaned back, the chair tilting slightly.
Her gaze fell on the sky outside the window, obscured by the curtains. The smile at the corner of her mouth never faded.
*
And in Tokyo, in that small, cramped bathroom.
Kaoru Hoshitani sat dazedly on the floor, his back against the cold tiles. The chill seeped through his thin clothing into his skin, making him shiver involuntarily.
His phone was still in his hand, the screen already dark, reflecting his own blurred, pale face.
His gaze fell on the screen, on that black, empty piece of glass, not moving away for a long time.
Just this morning, he had sworn in his heart to cut off contact with those women.
He thought that just by deleting those names, those profile pictures, those contact methods that terrified him, he could go back to how things were.
He thought that as long as he obediently stayed at home, didn’t go to work, didn’t see anyone, everything would get better.
But now?
Only half a day.
Just half a day.
The two people he deleted were both added back.
One accepted his friend request, the other he actively added back.
His so-called “cutting off contact” was as fragile as a piece of paper soaked in water in front of those women, punctured with a single poke.
He couldn’t even last half a day.
He stared at that cold screen, looking at his own wretched, pitiful face. His heart felt hollow, like an abandoned warehouse emptied of all its contents.
He wanted to cry, but his eyes were so dry, nothing would come out.
He just sat like that, for a long, long time…