[Hirose Apartment — Kitchen | April 5th, 2:47 PM]
---
Riku's hands drifted downward, fingernails grazing silk until they found the hem of Madam Hirose Kaguya's blouse tucked into her waistband. No hesitation—just one fluid pull upward.
The fabric lifted. Two pale, soft mounds bounced free, nipples already stiffened from anticipation, the cool apartment air kissing them immediately. Her bra had been unclasped minutes ago, discarded somewhere near the sink.
Riku's palms cupped her from behind, his chest pressing flush against her spine. She wore a fitted black women's dress shirt—now bunched uselessly beneath her collarbones—and dark denim jeans that hugged her hips. The scent of sesame oil and her own floral perfume mingled with something sharper: the musk of arousal already slicking her inner thighs.
His fingers worked the brass button of her jeans with practiced ease. Zipper down. Denim tugged past her hips.
Then—without preamble—the searing heat of him pushed inside.
Madam Hirose's hands slammed flat against the granite countertop. Her knees buckled. Her whole body trembled, back arching involuntarily as she adjusted to the sudden fullness.
This is insane—Yoru could come back any moment—but god, I can't stop—
"Nnngh... Riku-kun... g-gentler..."
"Madam." His lips brushed the shell of her ear, breath hot and slow. "Don't you know me by now?"
One savage thrust.
"AAAHH—!!"
Her voice cracked. Her fingers curled against the stone. Behind her, his hips established a merciless rhythm—each stroke bottoming out, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing off the kitchen tiles.
---
[Street Outside Hirose Apartment — Simultaneously]
Across the road, Sato Shiro spotted a familiar figure descending the apartment steps.
"Yoru!"
He waved enthusiastically, his sister Sato Kiyo standing beside him. Kiyo's silver-blonde hair—straight and precise as a ruler—caught the afternoon light. Her expression remained unreadable, porcelain features arranged in careful neutrality.
Hirose Yoru lifted her head, blinking slowly. Her mind still felt fogged—had felt fogged for days now, ever since that strange drowsiness overtook her during dinner.
The Sato siblings approached. Shiro carried a boxed birthday cake from the local patisserie, white cardboard stamped with golden script. Kiyo held a small shopping bag containing wrapped gifts. In Shiro's other hand dangled a plush bear no larger than two fists pressed together, a glittery ribbon tied around its neck—something you'd win at a summer festival crane game.
"Yoru! Happy birthday!" Shiro beamed, presenting the bear. "This is for you! And the cake, obviously."
"Where are you headed?"
"Oh." Yoru glanced at the convenience store bag in her hand. "We ran out of oyster sauce and soy sauce. I'm just grabbing some."
"Want me to come with you?"
"No need. I'll be quick. My mother's home—just knock and she'll let you in."
"Alright. Be careful."
She seems out of it, Shiro noted privately. Has she been sleeping enough?
He watched Yoru shuffle toward the corner store before turning back toward the apartment building, Kiyo falling into step beside him.
Halfway up the exterior stairwell, they encountered a third figure: Hazuki Uta.
Uta's chestnut hair was pulled into a loose side-tail today, a few strands escaping to frame her sharp cheekbones. She wore an oversized knit sweater the color of oatmeal, sleeves pushed to her elbows, and carried a small gift bag printed with cartoon cats.
Her gaze flickered when she saw Shiro—a brief softening—before her expression reset to polite distance.
He brought his sister, Uta observed. Of course he did.
"Hazuki-san." Shiro nodded. "You're here for Yoru's birthday too?"
"Obviously."
The three of them climbed the remaining steps together.
---
[Hirose Apartment — Front Door ]
Shiro raised his knuckles and rapped against the door.
Knock-knock-knock.
"Hirose-san? It's Yoru's classmates—could you let us in, please?"
Silence.
He tried again.
"Hirose-san? We're friends of Yoru—may we come in?"
Nothing.
"Is she not home?" Kiyo murmured.
"Yoru said she was."
"Strange."
---
[Inside — Kitchen]
The knocking reached Madam Hirose's ears through the haze of sensation.
Her palm clamped over her own mouth, muffling the helpless whimpers spilling out. Riku had her bent fully over the counter now, one hand gripping her hip, the other braced beside her head. Each thrust drove her forward, her breasts dragging against the cold granite.
"Mmmph—Riku—those children—they're back—ahhhn—!"
"Then, Madam..." His voice remained infuriatingly calm. "Just beg me to finish quickly."
He pinned her harder against the counter's edge. His pace didn't slow—if anything, it intensified, the obscene slick sounds growing louder.
"Riku-kun—hahh—please—faster—finish—nnngh—!"
"Hmmm... since you asked so nicely."
His hips snapped forward in rapid, punishing strokes. Madam Hirose bit down on her own wrist to stifle the scream building in her throat.
Knock-knock-knock.
The sound came again from the entryway.
---
[Front Door — 2:58 PM]
Shiro raised his hand to knock a third time—
Click.
The door swung inward.
Madam Hirose Kaguya stood in the gap, one shoulder leaning against the doorframe for support. Her cheeks were flushed deep pink, a sheen of perspiration visible at her temples. Her blouse had been re-tucked but sat slightly askew, the top button missed.
She smiled. It didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Ah—you must be Yoru's friends. Please, come in."
Shiro bowed politely. "Thank you for having us, Hirose-san. I'm Sato Shiro, this is my older sister Sato Kiyo, and this is Hazuki Uta."
Did she hear us knocking? he wondered. She looks... feverish.
But Madam Hirose wasn't listening. Her mind was still spinning, legs trembling beneath her. The moment she turned to walk, her knees nearly gave out; she caught herself against the genkan wall, disguising the stumble as adjusting her house slippers.
That was too intense, she thought, heat still pulsing between her thighs. I can barely stand.
She gestured vaguely toward the living room. "Make yourselves comfortable. Yoru should be back soon."
The three guests filed inside, removing their shoes and stepping up onto the hardwood.
And then—
"Why are you here?!"
Kiyo's voice rang out, sharp with surprise.
Shiro followed her gaze toward the open kitchen.
There, wearing a plain apron over his clothes, stood Riku. A chef's knife rested on the cutting board before him; julienned vegetables lay in neat piles. Steam rose from a pot on the stove behind him.
He looked up at the sound of Kiyo's voice, expression neutral.
Ah, he thought. The sister.
"You two know each other?" Shiro glanced between them.
"We don't." Kiyo's reply came too fast. "We've just... crossed paths once."
Something's off, Shiro noted. Why does she look so rattled?
Kiyo tugged her brother aside, lowering her voice to a hiss.
"What's his name?"
"Hm? Oh—Hayanui Riku. He goes to our school."
"Hayanui... Riku..."
She repeated it under her breath, the syllables rolling across her tongue like a spell. Her chest felt tight. Ever since that night—the night she couldn't fully remember, only fragments of heat and pressure and a voice telling her things she couldn't unhear—something inside her had shifted.
Why do I care what he thinks of me? she wondered, hating herself for the question. Why does his indifference sting so much?
The hypnotic seed Riku had planted pulsed quietly in her subconscious, feeding her obsession with each beat of her heart.
Throughout the next several minutes, Kiyo's gaze kept drifting back to the kitchen. To him.
Riku continued cooking, occasionally exchanging murmured words with Madam Hirose when she joined him at the stove. His hand "accidentally" grazed her hip while reaching for the soy sauce. His fingers lingered on her wrist when passing a utensil.
Each touch earned him a half-hearted glare from the older woman.
Incorrigible, Madam Hirose thought, fighting a traitorous shiver. Absolutely incorrigible.
---
[Living Room — 3:15 PM]
The front door clicked open.
Yoru stepped inside, convenience store bag dangling from one hand. The smell of simmering broth and garlic reached her immediately.
"Yoru!" Shiro called out, rising from the couch.
But Yoru's gaze didn't land on him.
It went straight to the kitchen. Straight to Riku.
He's still here, she registered. Something cold settled in her stomach.
Shiro noticed. His smile faltered.
She looked at him first, he realized. Not me. Him.
"Yoru, come on—let's get the party started! We brought cake and everything—"
But Yoru was already moving, walking past Shiro without acknowledgment. She stopped in front of Riku.
"You. Come with me."
She grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the hallway.
"Wha—Yoru?!"
Shiro watched, helpless, as the birthday girl dragged Riku into her bedroom and shut the door behind them.
Maybe they have something important to discuss, he told himself weakly.
Across the room, Kiyo's manicured nails dug crescents into her palm.
Why does she get to take him into her room? The jealousy seared through her, irrational and overwhelming. Why not me?
---
[Yoru's Bedroom | 3:17 PM]
The door clicked shut.
Yoru spun around, phone in hand, screen thrust toward Riku's face.
"What the hell is this?"
The message he'd sent her glowed on the display:
> 「When you get back, say you need to talk to me privately. Bring me to your room.」
Riku regarded the phone calmly. Then his hand shot out, catching her wrist.
"Oh, that?" His voice was light. Amused. "I just wanted to see something."
One sharp tug.
Yoru stumbled forward, colliding against his chest. His arm looped around her waist, holding her there. She could smell him—clean cotton and something darker underneath, something that made her pulse spike.
Her face flooded red.
"L-Let go—!"
She shoved at his shoulders, breaking free, retreating until her back hit the wall.
"What do you want?" she demanded, voice cracking. "It's my birthday!"
"I know." Riku stepped closer. Slowly. Predator-patient. "But you should also know I paid off your family's ten million yen debt."
The words landed like a slap.
Yoru's burgeoning hope—maybe he's not so bad, maybe I misjudged him—shattered into jagged pieces.
"What's your angle?" she whispered. "What do you actually want from us?"
He caught her wrist again, backing her fully into the corner. His body loomed over hers, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.
"I'll pay you back," she said quickly, desperately. "Every yen—I swear—"
Riku leaned in. His lips hovered beside her ear.
"Ten million yen isn't really that much money," he murmured. "But if you make me unhappy... your mother..."
"What about my mother?!"
"If I demanded repayment tomorrow—" His breath ghosted across her neck. "How far do you think she'd go to protect you?"
Yoru's blood ran cold.
"You bastard—don't you dare touch her—!"
Riku's tongue traced the curve of her earlobe.
Yoru flinched violently, a full-body shudder running through her—fury and shame and something else she refused to name tangling in her chest.
"I could make an exception," he continued, lips brushing her skin with each word. "Depending on how cooperative you decide to be."
Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
"You..." Her voice shook with barely contained rage. "You... absolute scum—!!"