Hana Mochizuki pyfully pinched her niece’s cheek. "Haruka! If you say things like that, you’ll break your poor auntie’s heart!"

  In the midst of their pyful bickering, both Mochizuki women silently accepted a new reality: Jun Matsue was no longer just "a student." He had transitioned from a mere cssmate to "Haruka’s Jun," a fixture of their inner circle.

  The mountain rain was as brief as it was violent. Once the clouds had spent their fury, they drifted away, leaving behind a thick, suffocating mist that clung to the trees and refused to dissipate.

  ___

  "The rain only stopped two days ago—why is it a hundred degrees again?" a girl compined, fanning herself with a sheet of sheet music.

  The central AC system at Haneoka High was down for maintenance. The Band Club was forced to rely on an ancient, rattling floor unit in the corner of the practice room. It was losing the battle against the heat.

  "What happened to the Summer Intensive? When are we leaving?" a tuba pyer wailed. "It’s a furnace in here. I can’t breathe!"

  "Just bear with it for a few more days," Maki Yamami said, offering a weary but graceful smile. "We’ll be heading to the training camp soon. We won't have to rot in this room much longer."

  Natsumi Imukawa sat behind her tripod, her eyes fixed on the camera monitor. She was panting slightly, her tongue peeking out as she tried to catch a breeze. The humidity was brutal. Natsumi had to stand up and stretch every few minutes to keep her clothes from sticking to her skin, but every time she did, she caught the other girls looking at her with thinly veiled envy. Her silhouette was... distracting. She sat back down, her face glowing like a radiator.

  As for Jun? He was currently melting in the hallway.

  The girls’ summer attire was thin and breathable; the slightest bit of sweat made things "transparent" in ways that were highly inappropriate for a school setting. Since the entire competitive ensemble was female this year, Jun staying in the room meant being surrounded by a sea of sundress straps and damp fabric. Some girls were embarrassed; others shot him shy, suggestive gnces.

  He decided it was safer to steam like a vegetable in the hallway.

  When Yuka Tomatsu stepped out for a break, she saw Jun leaning against the wall in the shade, reading a copy of Geographic Journal.

  The unbearable heat had forced him to unbutton the top three buttons of his white shirt. Beads of sweat glistened on his colrbone and traced the subtle, firm lines of his chest. His shirt, tucked tightly into his bck scks, emphasized a lean waist and long, powerful legs.

  He looked like the protagonist of a mencholic indie film—the handsome, brooding uppercssman that every freshman girl dreamed of.

  Jun heard her footsteps and looked up. Seeing Yuka, he immediately buttoned his shirt and stepped out into the blinding sunlight, offering her the shaded spot.

  Yuka stepped into the shadow, savoring the cool air as if it were a gift of pure love. She was an expert at interpreting his basic politeness as a grand romantic gesture. It was a form of self-hypnosis; if she didn't believe he cared, she wouldn't be able to survive the silence of his rejection.

  "Do you need something, Tomatsu?" Jun asked. He was roasting in the sun and wanted to end the conversation quickly.

  "Maki-senpai asked me to tell you that the next event is the performance at the Summer Festival. If the Journalism Club wants to film the 'On-the-Road' segment, you need to coordinate the logistics."

  Jun crossed his arms over his chest, blocking Yuka’s lingering gaze from wandering further down his torso.

  "Isn't your repertoire still unfinished? Won't that affect the show?"

  "We’ve finalized the 'Required Piece.' We’re still debating the 'Free Choice' track," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Yuka’s hair-tuck was a mastercss in feminine grace. Her fingers slid through the dark silk, tracing the curve of her ear before resting on her shoulder. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes wide and vulnerable, looking up at him as if he were the only person in the world.

  Jun watched her and knew she was hiding something. Even from the hallway, he had heard the shouting matches inside.

  The club was deadlocked between two songs. The main difference? One featured a prominent saxophone solo; the other didn't.

  The saxophone was a "young" instrument in the world of cssical wind ensembles. Many traditionalists viewed it as an intruder. Two years ago, Haneoka had lost the National Gold because their arrangement was "too safe"—it cked a standout voice. Maki had recruited Yuka specifically to be that voice. She had even stepped down as section leader to give Yuka full command.

  But choosing a saxophone-heavy track was a gamble. It required the rest of the club to trust Yuka’s skill and her commitment. Right now, Yuka and Maki were fighting a war of attrition to win over the skeptics.

  "Will you be there to cheer for me at the festival, Jun?" Yuka asked, her hands csped in front of her heart.

  Jun knew she didn't mean "the band." She meant her.

  He gave her a standard, "Css Rep" smile. "It sounds like a great opportunity for the film. The team will definitely be there."

  Yuka didn't move. She stayed in the shade, watching him with a look of quiet, terrifying devotion. A few days ago, during the Great Storm, Haruka had sent her a photo—a shot of Jun staring out a window at the Mochizuki manor, looking lonely and beautiful.

  Once she confirmed he wasn't wearing any "new accessories"—no matching bracelets, no hair ties on his wrist—she finally turned back toward the practice room.

  After the session ended, Jun headed for the gate. Yuka looked for him, but the Journalism team had already vanished.

  A white van was parked at the school entrance. Jun was in the passenger seat. He didn't see the girl waiting by the gates, her dark hair and blue skirt fluttering in the humid breeze.

  He turned to the driver. "Auntie Tamaki, what’s the brief for today? You said this one was special."

  "The client is a man," Tamaki said, her expression uncharacteristically grim. "He cims he's being held prisoner by his lover."

  "That’s... rare," Jun noted. Fragments of his past life—memories of being locked in a basement—flickered in his mind like static.

  Natsumi sat silently in the back, her camera aimed at the side of Jun's face.

  As the van pulled away, she aimed the lens out the window. She captured the image of Yuka Tomatsu standing alone at the gate, her silhouette shrinking until it disappeared beneath the horizon.

  _______

  Jun looked at the two people across the room. A gaunt, handsome young man covered in bandages and bruises, and a cold, breathtakingly beautiful woman. They were separated by two police officers in a cramped station office. The woman was struggling, trying to lunge across the desk.

  "I TOLD YOU! Karan is not leaving me!" she screamed at a female officer.

  The other cops in the building were trying to look busy while eavesdropping. It wasn't just because the pair were strikingly attractive—it was because their faces had been on every tabloid cover for a week.

  "That’s really Uno Karen," a cop whispered. "I just watched her season finale yesterday."

  "And the guy is her 'brother'... or her lover, Karan?"

  Natsumi was standing next to Jun, her camera up and whirring with professional excitement. A senior officer finally stepped over and told her to put it away.

  Once the camera was down, Natsumi reverted instantly. She shivered and pressed herself against Jun’s arm, her sleeve brushing his.

  "Matsue-kun... what happens now?"

  "We wait for Auntie Tamaki to finish the statement."

  Jun felt a pang of regret. Stepping into that mansion in Denenchofu—the Beverly Hills of Tokyo—had been a mistake.

  The mission had started simply enough. The client, Karan Uno, had sent a distress signal to the Vanishment Service. The pn was to extract him while the house was empty. But when they arrived, the secret knock went unanswered. Tamaki and the locksmith had sensed something was wrong and called Jun and Natsumi out of the van.

  Jun had acted as point-man. Natsumi had filmed.

  They found the foyer empty. They cleared the first floor and moved to the second.

  The smell hit them first—a metallic, copper tang of blood and the sour scent of unwashed bodies. Jun pushed open the bedroom door.

  The floor was a nightmare of broken gss, shredded wood, and bloodstains. There were whips, bottles of lubricant, and various restraints scattered like trash. On the bed, a duvet was bunched up into a human-sized mound.

  Under the watchful eye of the camera, Jun pulled back the bnket. His skin crawled.

  A young man in a tattered hospital gown was chained to the bedframe. He was a map of scars—fresh cuts, old welts, and purple bruises. He opened his eyes, looking at Jun with a gaze that was entirely hollow.

  "Call... the police..."

  Karan Uno was the lover of the "Nation's Sweetheart," the top-tier idol and actress Uno Karen.

  Karen had entered the industry with a "Tragic Orphan" backstory that had won the hearts of millions. When the tabloids found out she had a secret brother, the public accused her of lying for sympathy. She had countered by ciming he wasn't her brother, but her secret lover, and that they had shared a name to protect his privacy.

  The scandal had been massive. But the reality was far worse.

  After being patched up by paramedics, Karan sat in a pstic chair at the station, his voice ft as he described the "love" of his life.

  "My body is sick," he said, holding up an arm where blue veins stood out against paper-thin skin. "She wasted me. She destroyed me."

  "She’s 'kind' sometimes. She takes me out. But the moment I make a mistake, she becomes a monster."

  "She beats me. She screams. It’s like she can't even hear me begging for her to stop."

  "She drugs me. She... uses me. Both ways. Over and over." He spoke about it with the same emotional weight as a man discussing the weather.

  "Since the scandal broke, she hasn't let me leave the house. Not once."

  "BECAUSE YOU MADE A MISTAKE!" Karen shrieked from the hallway. She had been barred from the room for her aggressive behavior.

  Karan didn't even look toward the door.

  "Karan is getting so brave now that he’s a big boy," the woman sneered, her voice dripping with venom. "Thinking he can stop listening to his Big Sister?"

  Karan began to tremble.

  "No threats allowed," an officer barked, stepping in Karen’s way.

  "It’s HIS fault!" Karen yelled. "I told you! No talking to others without my permission! No looking at other women!"

  "When you picked me up from the set, you looked at that lead actress, didn't you? One look, one sp. That was your lesson. I told you—your eyes are only for me!"

  Karan had looked at the actress for a split second, just trying to find Karen in the crowd. When they got home, she had split his lip and kicked him until he stopped moving.

  "You aren't even my sister," Karan whispered, his voice cracking. "Stop using that name. When you proposed to me, what did you tell my real sister? That you’d make me happy? That you’d protect me? Is this your protection?"

  He rolled up his sleeves and pant legs. Whip marks. Blunt-force bruising. Teeth marks where she had bitten him like a rabid animal. There were wood splinters still embedded in some of the smaller wounds.

  And there were deeper, more invasive injuries hidden beneath his clothes.

  The beautiful actress froze. For a second, she looked like she had woken up from a dream. "I’m sorry... I’m so sorry, Karan. I promised I wouldn't hit you again. I failed. I’m sorry..."

  "Forget it," Karan said. "We’ll see each other in court. My only regret in life is meeting you when we moved houses in grade school."

  "I hope I never see your face again. Not in this life, and not in the next."

  "DON'T YOU DARE SAY THAT!" Karen colpsed onto the floor, her tears falling in a frantic, ugly stream. "My heart is dying! I never regretted meeting you! Never!"

  "I just love you too much! I can't help it! I know I’m sick, but if you loved me the way I love you, I wouldn't have to do this!"

  Jun, listening from the side, felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He thought of the "First Love" story he had told Yuka. He thought of the girl jumping into the ke.

  "You say your heart is dying," Karan said with a ghostly smile. "But I’m the one who actually wants to die."

  "Tell it to a therapist, Karen. I’m done."

  Karen’s eyes changed. The remorse vanished, repced by a sharp, predatory glint. "I knew it. I saw it in your eyes these past few days. You don't love me anymore. You’re trying to escape me."

  "So I wasn't wrong. I had to punish you. We were fated to be together from the moment we met. You are the one who betrayed me!"

  She scrambled to her feet, charging toward Karan with a scream. The officers tackled her, but she fought with a manic, terrifying strength.

  "I won't give up, Karan! You can't leave me! What will you do without me? I domesticated you! I made you! Your only home is by my side!"

  Her voice was no longer human. Karan began to shake violently. Jun stepped forward and covered the young man’s ears, shielding him from the sound of her "love."

  Tamaki emerged from the back of the station and sat beside them. They sat together, three generations of broken people, staring out the door at a world that looked much less bright than it had that morning.