Chapter 13: Ayada Aina Falls into the Spider Web.

“Ayata? Ayata?! Are you in there?”

Curled in the icy tiled stall corner, back against the partition, Ayata Aina stared blankly into void. Lips moved silently, murmuring fractured syllables.

Knock-knock-knock.

The door tapped lightly. Her leader’s familiar, worried voice outside.

Lunch break ended ages ago. Colleagues returned to desks; Ayata Aina’s seat stayed empty.

The leader noticed, waited, then came searching—worried the usually punctual junior was ill or in trouble.

“I’m… in here…”

The voice yanked her from nightmare haze.

Limbs numb, she pushed against chilling tiles, wobbling upright on jelly legs.

Hearing her, the leader’s worry deepened—voice anything but fine.

“Ayata, what’s wrong? Are you—”

Click. Door unlocked from inside.

Ayata Aina shuffled out, head down, steps floating.

The leader gasped at the sight—shock and concern flooding her face.

Ayata Aina’s once-rosy cheeks now flour-pale, bloodless. Lips dull, bluish.

Worst: eyes—swollen like walnuts, bloodshot, brimming with shock, pain, near-breakdown despair.

An hour ago she was fine. How…

“Ayata, ambulance? You look awful.”

Leader stepped forward, steadying her swaying arm, voice urgent.

“No need, Leader. I’m… fine.”

Ayata Aina knew her body was okay. Her mind… shattering.

That woman dared treat her beloved like that—forcing Kaoru to touch filth she’d never demand.

Pinning her clean-freak, mildly OCD Kaoru on an uncleared table slick with food scraps and grease!

Staining his flawless back with nauseating grime!

[She… she… made Kaoru call… Kaoru… slave…]

Recalling the humiliating title and his broken reply tore her heart—clawed, shredded to bits.

Agony unmatched.

“Really okay?”

Leader watched her stagger out, worry unrelenting.

Ayata Aina returned to her desk like a puppet—mechanical.

Opened computer, files, hands on keyboard—perfect work pose.

But anyone glancing saw her distraction.

Reason screamed: like yesterday’s, flaws abound.

Yesterday: tattoo on inner thigh. Today: gone.

Izakaya empty—no patrons, no Kawasakis. Eerily silent, staged for the vile act.

She repeated: Fake! Synthetic! Never happened!

Yet her heart spasmed in real, stabbing pain—breath-stealing.

[Even AI… too real…]

A fearful whisper rose.

Every micro-expression, brow shift, forced flinch, aroused blush, gasp—identical to real Kaoru. Uncannily perfect.

Only deep, prolonged observation—close stalking—could craft this.

[Who… WHO?!]

Hatred boiled for the mastermind daring to defile her treasured boyfriend with such videos.

Yet she sat powerless—fuming in futile rage.

Trapped fly in web: threat visible, spider hidden, bonds unbreakable.

Defeat and despair crushed her.

Thicker fear surged—winter tide from depths, chilling limbs.

The shadow puppeteer…

Not just undeletable virus, but hyper-real “custom” videos.

Tech, intimacy with her life, malice—beyond pranks.

Did it mean…

When countdown hit zero, they could truly steal Kaoru—unseen, unimaginable way?

Ayata Aina shuddered, grasping the app’s purpose.

A declaration. Mocking prophecy.

The lurker announced: Watch—your boyfriend mine in 100 days.

I spell his “fate” now.

You, Ayata Aina—chained audience—watch numbers tick down.

Powerless against scripted end, withering in fear and doubt…