When he finally came to his senses, the first thing he noticed was the dull ache pulsing through his skull. Warmth trickled down the side of his head—blood. He reached up and touched it, wincing.
It took a moment for the fog in his mind to clear, for fragmented memories to start piecing themselves together.
The blurred image of Sanae struggling beneath him.
Her horrified scream. The crack of something hard colliding with his head—maybe a lamp, maybe her schoolbag. Then… darkness.
A chill ran down his spine as the rest of it returned.
He had tried to force himself on her.
His breath grew shallow. Panic clawed at his throat. "What if she ran outside? What if she told someone?" His entire life could crumble in an instant.
But then he realized—no.
She hadn't run outside. She'd locked herself in her room.
A rush of relief surged through him, but it was quickly replaced by something else. Something far darker.
He remembered her eyes.
Tears streaming down her cheeks. Her body trembling with fear. That look—raw, helpless, terrified—it stirred something deep inside him. Not guilt. Not remorse.
Ecstasy.
It was unlike anything he had ever felt before.
He wanted to see that expression again.
Over and over.
But for now, he had to focus. He couldn't let it all fall apart just yet. He needed to keep her quiet.
So he knocked on her door, calm now, voice low and icy. "If you tell anyone about this…" he said, "…I'll kill your mother."
He knew Sanae—knew how much she adored her mother, how she would sooner die than let anything happen to her.
That love became his noose to tighten around her neck.
And from that day on, the monster in Kurosawa stopped pretending to be human.
But unfortunately for him, fate was not so kind to him.
After that night, no opportunity ever came close. He never found the moment to take things further—not like he'd planned.
But he didn't stop.
No, Kurosawa was patient. Calculated.
He used every fleeting moment to harass her—subtle, insidious acts. A hand brushing too close. A stare that lingered far too long. Words whispered under his breath that no one else could hear.
It was enough to keep her on edge. To remind her of what he could do. What he wanted to do. And what she could never speak of.
Time passed. A year crawled by. And then, at long last, another chance.
His wife, once again, wouldn't be coming home. Work emergency. She'd be out overnight.
Kurosawa's heart pounded with anticipation.
He left work early, unable to contain the twisted excitement bubbling inside him.
He rehearsed it in his head—how it would go, what he'd say, how he'd break her this time.
But when he opened the door and stepped into the quiet house…
She was gone.
Sanae wasn't there.
Not in the living room. Not in her room. Not even a hint of her presence.
His pulse quickened. Confusion turned to irritation.
'Where is she? Had she sensed it? Had she planned this?'
But Kurosawa wasn't worried—not at first.
He believed he still held the leash, that invisible chain wrapped tightly around her heart: her mother. As long as he dangled that threat, he was invincible in her eyes.
"She can't defy me," he told himself. "She won't risk her mother's life."
So he waited. Smiled even, thinking it was only a matter of time before she came back home, head down, trembling like always.
But what he hadn't expected—what shattered his delusion completely—was what actually came through that door.
It wasn't just Sanae. She walked in flanked by her mother. And behind them… two officers.
Police.
His blood ran cold.
"What…?" The word slipped from his lips, barely audible.
The world tilted slightly. He didn't understand. 'Why? How?'
She was supposed to be too scared.
Too obedient. Too broken.
But she wasn't. Not anymore.
There was something in her eyes—fury, disgust, and above all… resolve.
The officers didn't give him time to process it. Cold metal clamped around his wrists.
He didn't fight it. He couldn't.
And as they dragged him away, the last thing he saw was Sanae—standing beside her mother, chin lifted.
He was divorced and in handcuffs before the night was over.
But even as the cell door closed behind him, one question screamed inside his head:
'Why? Where did she find the courage to disobey me?'
Fortunately for him, the justice system favored the careful and the cruel. With no solid evidence—no scars he'd left visible, no proof beyond Sanae's trembling voice and tearful eyes—he was released.
Just like that. Free.
But the moment he returned to their home, the reality sank in. The house was locked. Cold. Abandoned.
They were gone.
They had vanished, leaving nothing behind but the echo of their defiance.
But Kurosawa didn't despair. He smiled. Because to him, it wasn't over. Not even close.
Love, he believed, required persistence. And sometimes… a little force.
So he did what any man "in love" would do—he hired a private investigator. Money was no object. His obsession had no price.
*Back to the present.
"Auntie, I found it. I'll be taking my leave then—tell Sanae bye for me."
Kurosawa's eyes lit up the moment he heard Hayato's voice echo just outside the bathroom door.
'Finally,' he thought, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. 'The pest is leaving.'
Relief washed over him like a warm wave. One less variable. One less witness.
Meanwhile, Sanae's chest tightened painfully.
Her fingers trembled, curled into weak fists.
She wanted to scream. To call out his name. To beg him—'Don't go. Please, save me.'
But she didn't. She couldn't.
Because if he stayed… If he realized something was wrong… If he tried to act… He would die.
They heard the distinct sound of the front door creaking open… then closing.
Silence settled like a heavy fog.
Then came a trembling voice from the hallway: "H-He left..."
Kurosawa's lips curled into a satisfied grin.
"Good," he muttered, tightening his grip on Sanae. Her body flinched, but she made no sound.
Still holding her hostage, he turned the knob and swung the bathroom door open, stepping out with a victorious air, the grin on his face stretching wider.
"Well then, now that we're alone—let's star—"
*CRACK!*
Before he could finish the sentence—before the smug words could fully leave his mouth— a heavy fist collided with the side of his head.
The force sent his vision spinning. His body staggered sideways, nearly toppling as his grip on the gun faltered.
------
A few minutes earlier
After weighing my options, I made my way to Sanae's room with quiet urgency. I didn't actually forget anything, but I needed the pretext. Once inside, I quickly grabbed three things: a notebook, a pen, and a bedsheet.
With everything in hand, I returned to the stairway. Auntie was still standing in front of the bathroom door, unmoving. That alone was suspicious, but it only confirmed what I already suspected.
Her face was etched with worry, her body stiff with fear. When she noticed me descending the stairs, her eyes flicked toward the sheet I was carrying. A flicker of confusion crossed her expression. She was probably wondering why I had a bedsheet in my arms.
"Auntie, I found it. I'll be taking my leave then—tell Sanae bye for me," I said with a casual tone, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
At the same time, I subtly held the notebook in front of me, angled just enough for her to read the message scrawled in bold letters:
"Don't worry, Auntie. I already know what's going on—I heard everything from outside. I have a plan. Just trust me and follow my lead. I promise I'll save Sanae from that man."
Her eyes scanned the words, and for a brief moment, I saw a flicker of hope rise beneath her anxiety. No words were exchanged, but I could tell she understood.
There were things she likely wanted to say—questions, fears, maybe even pleas—but she couldn't voice any of them. Not with that man lurking so close, hanging on to every word and sound. We couldn't risk him getting even the slightest hint that something was off.
I flipped the page of the notebook.
"From now, I'll pretend to leave. When I give the signal, tell that man I've gone. I'll be waiting nearby to ambush him the moment he steps out. When he does, create some distance between you and him. If you get the chance, pull Sanae away from him."
It was a simple plan—nothing too elaborate—but sometimes simplicity is what works best, especially under pressure. She read the page in silence, her hands trembling just slightly as she clutched the edges. Then, slowly, she nodded. There was doubt in her eyes, hesitation too, but above all that... there was trust.
She was willing to bet everything on this chance. And I had no intention of letting her—or Sanae—down.
I made my way to the entrance, opening and closing the door with just enough noise to sell the illusion that I had left. Then, with silent steps, I circled back and positioned myself just beside the bathroom—fortunately, in this house, it's located near the front door.
I gave Auntie the signal.
She took a deep breath, her voice trembling as she called out, "H-He left."
Footsteps followed. Heavy. Confident. The kind that belonged to a man who thought he had already won.
A faint *click* echoed as the bathroom door creaked open.
"Well then, now that we're alone—let's get star—"
That smug grin on his face was the last thing I needed to see. I tightened my fist, pouring every ounce of strength into the strike. The moment his head peeked out, I launched a full-force punch straight into the side of his skull—aimed with precision to rattle his brain and black it out for a moment.
Had it been someone my age, that blow would've dropped them instantly. But against a grown man like him, i guess I am still lacking.
However, the punch did exactly what I needed it to—it knocked the balance out of him. Kurosawa staggered, disoriented, and most importantly, his grip around Sanae loosened.
Sanae, still frozen in shock, couldn't immediately process what just happened. But her mother didn't hesitate. Just like I'd instructed, the moment she saw the chance, she lunged forward and yanked Sanae away from him, dragging her into a nearby room and slamming the door shut behind them.
Good, because things were about to get dicey.
At the same moment auntie pulled Sanae into the safety of another room, Kurosawa managed to recover his senses, just barely stopping himself from hitting the floor. Rage twisted his face as he gritted his teeth, his eyes locking onto me with murderous intent. From his unstable position, he raised the gun and aimed it straight at me.
But I was already prepared.
With a swift motion, I flung the bedsheet into the air, letting it bloom open like a curtain between us. It billowed out, obscuring his line of sight for just a second.
Bang! Bang!
Two deafening shots rang out as Kurosawa fired blindly through the sheet, hoping to hit me by chance.
But I was no longer there.
The instant I let the bedsheet fly, I darted to the side—silent and fast, like a shadow slipping out of sight. The sheet was still drifting down lazily when my figure reemerged from its edge. The distance between us was short, and I had the advantage of surprise.
By the time he registered my movement and tried to realign the barrel of his gun, I was already within striking range.
I swing my foot upward, kicking his wrist with everything I had. His grip faltered. The gun flew from his hand, clattering across the floor and skidding out of reach.