“Bang—crash!”
A deafening crash exploded in the cramped restroom, the wooden door splintering on impact, chips of wood flying everywhere.
She flung the broken door behind her like tossing out garbage, the heavy slab landing on the damp floor with a dull, muffled thud.
The disgusting, filthy scene inside the stall was instantly laid bare, reflected with no filter in her pupils, narrowed sharply with rage.
The cramped space reeked of harsh disinfectant and filth; what lay before her was utterly revolting.
In the dim light, she saw that nearly half-naked, fat woman whose skin was flushed an abnormal crimson from drunkenness, her greasy, heavy body about to press down on the slender man forced against the cold toilet tank.
The man’s dark blue yukata had been violently yanked open, the Companion Belt hanging loose, a wide expanse of skin as white and delicate as jade exposed to the foul air.
His clothing was in shambles, like pure white petals battered by a storm, heartbreakingly fragile.
The drunken woman—Yamada—was startled by the sudden crash from behind, her clouded eyes struggling to turn, snapping her head around.
Through her drunken haze, she saw, standing outside the stall like a wrathful demon from hell, Rika Kawasaki, radiating a terrifying, murderous aura.
The obscene, triumphant smile on Yamada’s face froze instantly, twisting into an utterly stupefied expression of shock, her gaping mouth not even able to close, as if her brain hadn’t processed this abrupt turn of events.
In that split-second flash, Rika Kawasaki’s gaze, sharp as a blade, sliced past the repulsive assailant and met the eyes below—beautiful eyes trembling like butterfly wings battered by storm, filled with near-desperate despair.
Kaoru Hoshitani’s tears, like broken pearls, slid silently and endlessly down his paper-pale cheeks, soaking the disheveled, sweat-damp hair at his temples.
From those miserable, grief-stricken, mist-shrouded eyes, Rika Kawasaki clearly read his voiceless yet soul-wrenching plea and cry—“Help me… please…”
An uncontrollable, raging fire—enough to incinerate all reason—erupted like a volcano in Rika Kawasaki’s mind, burning away every trace of hesitation and restraint.
She didn’t hesitate for an instant, didn’t need to think at all—her body reacted on instinct, before her mind could catch up.
Her right hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white from the pressure, her arm muscles taut like steel cables, drawn back at the elbow, pouring all her strength and seething anger into this one blow!
Her fist, tearing through the air with a vicious, whistling wind, shot out like a cannonball, slicing through the suffocating air and slamming mercilessly at Yamada’s greasy, hideous face!
“Thud—!”
A dull, powerful impact echoed out—the dreadful sound of knuckles smashing against the cartilage of the nose and facial bones, accompanied by a faint, tooth-grinding crack of breaking bones.
“Thunk…!”
Next came the heavy, muffled thud of a body hitting the ground.
Yamada didn’t even have time to squeeze out a single scream; Kawasaki’s fearsome punch landed squarely on her face, and she toppled like she’d been struck by a speeding truck, the brutal force slamming her head down on the cold, wet tile floor with a sickening crash, as if smashing a ripe watermelon.
Yamada’s nose visibly caved and bent from the blow, blood gushing instantly from her broken nostrils and split lips.
Half her face swelled up at once, bruised and crimson, grotesquely like a pig’s head, her original features utterly gone.
But it was far from over.
Rika Kawasaki, chest heaving with fury, her breath hot.
She lunged forward, left hand clamping around Yamada’s thick neck like an iron vise, slamming her struggling head back to the floor.
Raising her right fist high, muscles bulging as if charged with a thousand pounds of force, she brought it down with even greater rage on Yamada’s already ruined face!
Punch after punch—each one direct, relentless, merciless.
Every impact echoed with a chilling thud, blood splattering, staining Rika Kawasaki’s knuckles and cuff.
To the side, Kaoru Hoshitani slumped helplessly against the cold toilet tank, his hands tightly bound behind him with the yukata Companion Belt, his mouth stuffed with the white undergarment that had been torn from him—barely able to breathe.
He stared, wide-eyed, those beautiful eyes still glimmering with tearful dampness like a startled fawn, unable to look away from the violence unfolding before him.
This woman, who had descended like a deity, saving him from being defiled by this terrifying drunkard at the very edge of the abyss—she was so powerful, so… utterly awe-inspiring.
She subdued the demon he couldn’t even budge despite his desperate struggle, crushing her like nothing more than garbage.
Every one of those heavy, powerful punches seemed to land not just on Yamada’s face, but also on the tight, terrified strings in his own heart—scattering his fear and hatred of the drunkard who had nearly ruined his life, replacing it with a warped, post-catastrophe tremor and…
A trace of indescribable satisfaction.
Under Rika Kawasaki’s unrelenting barrage, Yamada’s face was a bloody, unrecognizable mess.
She lay motionless, collapsed in a heap, only the faint rise and fall of her chest proving she was still alive.
With her past experience on the streets, Rika Kawasaki of course knew this garbage was only knocked out—such a beating wouldn’t take her life, but it would give her a lesson she’d never forget.
After venting her overwhelming fury through those hard fists on Yamada’s ugly face, Rika Kawasaki’s breathing slowly calmed, her chest no longer heaving, regaining a nearly icy composure.
She loosened her bloodstained fist and slowly stood up, her tall, upright figure casting a suffocating shadow in the cramped stall.
She looked back to the man still slumped helplessly on the toilet, shaken and dazed, his eyes—though still tear-stained and pitiful—flickering with something beyond terror and gratitude: a strange, complex light.
“Mmmf…”
Only now, with the soft cloth still stuffed in his mouth, did Kaoru Hoshitani let out a faint, broken whimper from deep in his throat—a sound as weak as a lost cub, instantly drawing back Rika Kawasaki’s attention.
She snapped out of it, hurriedly striding over, crouching down, her movements—unbeknownst even to herself—gentle and careful.
She reached out and softly, bit by bit, pulled out the saliva-soaked undergarment from his mouth.
“Uh… thank… thank you… Kawasaki-san… I… I was really… really scared…”
Regaining his voice at last, Kaoru Hoshitani seemed to finally find an outlet for the overwhelming emotions of surviving disaster.
He looked on the verge of breaking down into tears, choking and stammering, trembling lips barely able to form words of gratitude and lingering fear, as crystalline tears once again fell uncontrollably.
“It’s alright, it’s all over now. That trash can’t hurt you anymore.”
Rika Kawasaki lowered her voice, her tone gentle, completely different from her earlier violence, a clumsy sort of comfort.
As she spoke, she focused on untying the yukata Companion Belt binding the man’s slender wrists, her fingertips occasionally brushing against his cold, slippery skin, sending a subtle shiver up her spine.
At this moment, Kaoru Hoshitani’s yukata was only precariously draped over him, offering almost no coverage.
The undergarment that had been used as a gag was still in Rika Kawasaki’s hand, so wide stretches of his fair skin, supple waist, and even more intimate sights were exposed before her lowered gaze.
Under the light, his skin seemed to glow with a luminous sheen, forming a striking, almost irresistible contrast to the filthy surroundings.
Thus, while Kaoru Hoshitani, finally escaped from the claws of the drunken monster and still caught between fragility and gratitude, had no idea—the woman who had just saved him with overwhelming force was now desperately using every ounce of strength and steel will she had to hold up a crumbling dam of reason, struggling against a new, primal wave brought on by instinct and the shock of what she saw.
Her jaw clenched tight, her throat bobbed, and every breath grew more difficult, more restrained.
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