Aina Saiten almost immediately caught a few subtle, nearly imperceptible anomalies.
First, those lips she had kissed countless times—soft and pink—now appeared redder than usual, even slightly swollen, the edges unnaturally full, as if…
As if someone else had kissed them fiercely for a long while.
[Maybe I kissed him too hard before leaving this morning?]
Aina Saiten explained it to herself this way in her heart, but she’d left in such a rush that morning she hadn’t paid attention.
Next, she noticed that her boyfriend’s eyes—always as clear as water, moist and beautiful like a startled fawn—now had a faint ring of red around them.
It seemed there were traces of undried tears in his eyes, his gaze evasive, with a weariness and… was that grievance?
It was like he had just cried not long ago and was now forcefully suppressing his emotions.
“Sorry… Aina, I… I just went to the restroom. Sorry to keep you waiting…”
Kaoru Hoshitani saw his girlfriend’s concerned face and forced the corners of his mouth upward, trying to put on a reassuring smile.
But the smile looked rigid and strained, as if he were wearing an ill-fitting mask.
His voice was also lower and hoarser than usual.
“Did something happen?”
Aina Saiten asked with concern, leaning in closer.
Suddenly, her nose wrinkled lightly, as if she had caught a whiff of something unusual.
“Hmm? Kaoru, your hair… why does it look damp in some places? And…”
She paused, as if confirming that scent,
“It seems… kind of stinky…”
Worried, she reached out, gently stroking the top of her boyfriend’s head, feeling his soft black hair.
With that touch, her fingertips clearly sensed the bangs on his forehead and the hair at his temples were indeed abnormally damp, not fully dried, and felt cold to the touch.
And since the two were now so close, she finally smelled it clearly—a complex, indescribable sour and musty scent emanating from her boyfriend, especially his cheeks, neck, and hair.
It carried the unavoidable sourness of sweat after manual labor, but also a faint hint of…
Something even more ambiguous, hard to describe, like the acrid tang of dried bodily fluids.
“Maybe… maybe I was too busy tonight and sweated too much…”
When Kaoru Hoshitani heard his girlfriend say he “stank,” his already lowered eyes instantly darkened further, as if shrouded in gray haze.
He bit down hard on his slightly swollen lower lip, nearly breaking the skin, his voice as soft as a mosquito’s, laced with unconcealable shame and self-loathing.
“I’m dirty… don’t touch me…”
After speaking, he jerked back a small step, as if shocked, deliberately widening the distance between them, his hands unconsciously clutching the hem of his Yukata.
Aina Saiten immediately realized she’d said the wrong thing, her heart clenching tightly.
What man—especially someone like Kaoru, who was normally extremely clean, even a little fastidious—wouldn’t feel embarrassed and hurt if his loved one said he “stank”?
He must have felt uncomfortable because of all the grease and sweat from working in an Izakaya environment.
[Kaoru is only doing this dirty, exhausting job for our little family… He’s been wronged, and not only did I fail to empathize, but I even said something hurtful… I really…]
Aina Saiten berated herself inwardly, guilt winding around her heart like a vine, squeezing tighter and tighter.
She could no longer care about the strange scent on her boyfriend, nor about his withdrawal just now.
Without hesitation, she reached out and pulled Kaoru Hoshitani’s slightly trembling body tightly into her arms, as if using her own warmth to dispel his anxiety.
“I’m sorry, Kaoru, I didn’t mean it… Let’s go home, take a nice hot bath and we’ll feel better.”
She soothed him softly, remembering the Secret Weapon she’d brought.
She quickly turned, picked up the bouquet of brilliant Sunflowers from the bar counter, and held them up in front of her boyfriend like a treasure, trying to shift his attention, her tone light and cheerful:
“Look! I even bought your favorite Sunflowers just for you! Aren’t they beautiful?”
But to her surprise, when Kaoru Hoshitani saw those dazzling Sunflowers, blooming radiantly under the light—flowers he had expressed his fondness for countless times—he didn’t show the sun-bright, warm smile Aina Saiten had expected.
Instead, he stared fixedly at the bright golden petals for several seconds, and it was as if a hidden, painful switch had been flipped inside him. Tears quickly welled up in his reddened eyes.
Then, without warning, fat teardrops silently rolled from the corners of his eyes, down his pale cheeks, soaking into the collar of his Yukata and leaving dark, wet stains.
“Huh? Why… why are you crying all of a sudden?”
Aina Saiten was at a complete loss, flustered, freeing up a hand to clumsily yet tenderly wipe away his flood of tears, stammering comfort:
“Kaoru, don’t cry, don’t cry…”
[Could it be… he was so touched by the Sunflowers I gave him that he couldn’t help but cry?]
Feeling the subtle tremors in her boyfriend’s body, Aina Saiten couldn’t help but guess with a mix of pity and exasperated affection.
She hugged him even tighter, trying to calm his agitated emotions with her warmth, her fingers gently patting his slender back.
Yet no matter how hard Aina Saiten tried, she could never imagine the torment and turmoil raging inside the fragile, sobbing person in her arms.
The reason Kaoru Hoshitani completely broke down upon seeing the Sunflowers wasn’t out of gratitude, but because of an all-consuming, bottomless guilt and self-loathing.
Though, earlier in the dark storeroom, he had used up every ounce of dignity, tried every method of pleading and appeasing he could think of, and barely managed to protect his last line of defense—he hadn’t let that woman succeed to the final step.
But his body—the body he cherished, the one he’d meant to give only to Aina—had still been touched, soiled by that woman, Rika Kawasaki.
Those fingers that had touched him, that lingering scent on his skin, were like invisible brands, searing his nerves.
At this moment, Kaoru Hoshitani’s heart was filled with overwhelming grievance, fear, and humiliation, boiling like lava, battering his chest, desperately seeking comfort and refuge from the woman he loved most.
But he couldn’t.
Not a word could be said.
All because that hateful, yellow-haired woman had secretly taken a slew of photos from various damning angles with her phone—enough to destroy him.