Chapter 32

Mr. Hanekawa stops. The sound of his expensive shoes on the dusty floor cuts off instantly, and the room goes dead silent. For a long, terrifying moment, he just stands there with his back to Yuki, a dark shape in the doorway.

Then, he begins to turn.

The faint moonlight catches his glasses, hiding his eyes behind a cold, white flash. He doesn’t look shocked. He looks dangerous.

He takes one step back toward her. Then another.

His men stay frozen behind him, their long shadows stretching across the floor.

“What did you just say?” he finally asks.

He stops just a few feet away, looming over her. The sheer weight of his stare pins Yuki against the cracked wall.

“Say it again,” he commands as he leans down, his shadow swallowing her whole.

Yuki’s breath hitches. She stares up at him, but all she can really see is her own frightened reflection staring back at her in his lenses.

“Y-Yes, I.. I recorded it..” she whispers, her voice trembling but frantic. “But don’t get me wrong, please.. I only did it because she was hurting me. I-I just wanted her to stop.. and I thought I could use that to make her.” She swallows hard. “But I never used it. I swear, I didn’t..”

Mr. Hanekawa doesn’t move. Not a single inch. The stillness is worse than anger.

“Where is it?” he asks. The question lands like a weight. “Show me now.”

Yuki hesitates, just for a second too long.

“It’s.. it’s not on my phone anymore,” she stammers. “Someone deleted it. But there are ways to restore it. A data recovery specialist could―”

She cuts herself off, sucking in a shaky breath. Her eyes flick up to meet his, searching, pleading, and trying to measure whether he believes her.

He doesn’t.

Not for a second.

Something in his gaze hardens instantly, a quiet, decisive shift. The kind that says he’s already reached a conclusion.

“F*cking snake,” he breathes, his voice dripping with a new kind of venom. “Is this how you did it? Is this how you had my daughter under your thumb?”

He straightens slowly, one hand rising to adjust his tie, his expression tightening with contempt.

“You’re not even a good liar,” he continues, letting out a cold, humorless laugh. “God, it’s pathetic. Mei really let you get that far into her head?”

He gives a short, irritated exhale, shaking his head as though the very idea offends him.

“That f*cking stupid b*tch,” he mutters under his breath, already dismissing Yuki as he turns toward the exit. “Anyway, we’re done here.”

“No―wait!” Yuki’s voice cracks as she scrambles after him, panic breaking through. “Someone I know does have the video! And if you hurt Isamu, or me, he’ll leak it! He’ll put it out where everyone can see it!”

That makes him slow. Just slightly.

She seizes it.

“You’re not just some random man this can disappear on. You’re Hanekawa. You’re a public figure. It’ll be headlines. And they won’t just talk about her―they’ll talk about you.”

He stops.

Yuki swallows hard, forcing the words out.

“They’ll look at you and think you couldn’t even keep your own daughter in line. They’ll laugh at you. They’ll say you raised a girl like that.. or that you let it happen.. or that you had no idea what was going on right under your nose. And you know what people like that are like. They don’t let it go. They’ll bring it up every time your name comes up. At every event, every meeting, every room you walk into..”

Yuki realizes, somewhere in the middle of saying it, that she doesn’t sound like herself.

The words had come out too easily.

It was too sharp. Too deliberate. Every word placed exactly where it would hurt the most.

“You won’t be able to control it,” she continues, quieter now. “And once it’s out there.. it doesn’t go away. Is that a risk you’re really willing to take?”

Her stomach twists.

That sounded like him.

Like Dori.

The same cold way of cornering someone, of turning their own fears against them, of pressing until there’s nowhere left to go.

The realization flickers across her face―brief, but unmistakable. And for the first time since she started speaking, something else creeps in beneath the panic.

Unease.

It was probably from the roleplays. Somewhere along the way, she must’ve picked it up from him.

Then―

The silence snaps.

In an instant, he’s moving.

Yuki barely has time to react before his hand clamps around her arm and yanks her up to her feet so violently her breath catches mid-inhale.

“WHO IS HE?!” he roars, the last of his restraint snapping clean in two. His grip tightens, fingers biting into her arm as he shakes her. “WHERE IS HE?!”

Yuki gasps, her head snapping with the force of it.

“ANSWER ME, B*TCH!” he barks, giving her another violent shake. “WHAT’S HIS NAME?! WHERE IS HE?! SAY IT!”

Then, just as abruptly, he shoves her away.

Yuki stumbles backward and loses her footing, crashing down hard onto the floor. The impact rattles through her, but she barely feels it―her mind scrambling, adrenaline flooding every thought with raw survival instinct.

She scoots back instinctively, pressing herself away from him, hands trembling as she tries to breathe.

“Dori!” she blurts out, her voice breaking. “Kuroda Dori!”

The words spill faster as she realizes there’s no room left to hesitate. “H-He has white hair, left eye blind, right one red! He was at my place when y-your men took me, but I don’t think he’s there right now..”

She swallows hard, shaking.

“He’s probably looking for me.”

He stares at her for a fraction of a second. Then his face tightens.

“You little..” he starts, stepping forward again, like he’s about to drag her right back up off the floor.

But before he can finish, the door behind him swings open.

One of his men enters quickly, his breath slightly off. “Sir..” he pants. “Someone’s here.”

Mr. Hanekawa’s head snaps slightly, irritation already flaring. “What?” he spits.

The man hesitates. “He says he’s called the police.”

For a split second, everything goes still.

Then it breaks.

“Are you f*cking kidding me?!” Hanekawa’s voice erupts, whirling on his own men. “You had one job! ONE! How the hell did you let someone follow you back here?!”

The subordinate stiffens. “We really didn’t see anyone following us―”

“Clearly!” Hanekawa cuts in, “you didn’t see anything. You incompetent idiots!”

He turns away sharply, running a hand through his hair in frustration, pacing once like he’s trying not to explode completely.

Then he spins back.

“Who is it?” he barks. “Who the hell is outside?”

The man hesitates. “Blond guy. Curly hair. Mustache. Never seen him before, sir..”

For a brief second, Mr. Hanekawa just stares at him. Then his eyes flick sideways. To Yuki.

“You know him?” he asks.

Yuki shakes her head quickly.

He studies her face for a moment longer than comfortable, then turns back toward his men.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

He points to the hallway.

“Move the boy and the girl. Get them out. Quickly.”

But no one moves.

The room hangs in a strange, tense stillness.

His men just stand there.

Not a single one meeting his eyes.

Mr. Hanekawa’s expression darkens instantly. “What the f*ck are you doing? Did I stutter? Move!”

Still nothing.

His irritation spikes into full anger.

“Move you’re *sses I said! Before they arrive―”

“Sir..” one of them finally speaks.

Hanekawa whips toward him. “WHAT?!” he barks. “WHAT NOW?!”

The man doesn’t answer immediately. He just lifts a hand, pointing slowly toward the window.

“..There’s someone.”

That’s enough.

Hanekawa turns.

Yuki’s head follows instinctively, and her breath catches.

There, right outside the glass, someone is standing.

Too close.

Dressed in black, head to toe. A helmet obscures their face completely, the dark visor reflecting the faint moonlight.

They’re not moving―just standing there.

Watching.

Directly at them.

Yuki’s pulse spikes. “That’s him,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a breath. “That’s Dori.”

Mr. Hanekawa glances at her for a brief second. Just long enough to register her reaction.

When his eyes snap back to the window, the figure is no longer fully concealed.

The helmet is off.

Dori stands there bare-faced now, pale under the dim light, white hair stark against the dark. One eye dull and unfocused, the other sharp. Too sharp. And his expression isn’t just anger; it’s something jagged, unstable, like it’s being held together by force rather than control.

For a moment, he just stares in through the glass.

Not blinking.

Not moving.

Like he’s counting them.

His gaze drifts slowly across the room―measuring, mapping―until it lands on Yuki.

On the floor.

Small. Cornered.

Scraped up and shaking.

The sharpness in his gaze deepens, focusing entirely on her now, as if everything else in the room has been reduced to background noise.

His jaw tightens.

Then―

His arm snaps up.

Fast.

The helmet rises in his grip and comes down with violent force against the glass.
 
 
TO BE CONTINUED…