Chapter 23: Curse.
Ayata Aina gripped the “cursed” phone tightly and handed it to the repair technician behind the counter.
He connected it to diagnostic equipment; data scrolled rapidly on the screen.
After frowning and checking multiple times, the suggestion was brutally simple: factory reset and wipe.
Aina pondered silently, her mind flashing with auto-playing videos and that glaring yellow icon haunting her like a nightmare.
To escape this suffocating invisible control and reclaim normal life, she nodded firmly.
Borrowing the shop’s computer, she hastily backed up treasured data—photos and videos of sweet moments with Kaoru—to the cloud.
Then handed the phone over, watching it vanish into the back room.
Ten minutes later, the technician returned with the reset device.
Aina inhaled deeply, as if unveiling a major secret, fingers trembling as she pressed power.
Screen lit: brand logo, system interface.
The moment it cleared, she froze like lightning-struck—pupils contracting in disbelief.
Only factory apps remained; all her downloads gone.
But sending chills from soles to scalp, hairs standing: the bright yellow background with white clock icon—undead ghost—sat brazenly on the empty home screen, glaring.
“Huh? Weird… even formatting didn’t delete this app?”
The technician scratched his head, baffled.
Aina’s face drained paper-white, as if seeing a hell-crawled demon in daylight.
She stared at the silently mocking app—eyes brimming with fear, rage, deep helplessness.
Lips quivered; inner turmoil raged, pondering what this beyond-reason phenomenon meant.
“Um… you sell phones here, right…”
Barely suppressing the urge to smash it and grind underfoot, she inhaled, voice husky with dread, asking the clerk.
New phone in hand—despite reluctance to admit—heart pounded as she powered on, anxious.
Feared the curse-mark icon reappearing on this fresh device.
Logically impossible, but days of bizarre events bred supernatural doubts.
Fortunately, trembling fingers scoured every corner post-boot: no dreaded icon.
Nerves unclenched sharply.
Home, she stashed the old phone in bedroom wardrobe corner.
She wasn’t some net-horror “cuckquean” deriving twisted pleasure from boyfriend’s affairs.
The thought alone nauseated, heartbroken.
Hotel scenes with the blonde? Fake.
She clung to Kaoru nightly, feeling his warmth and breath—how could he split to overnight elsewhere?
Absurd!
Yet hyper-real details and ticking “100-day” death-sentence countdown ignited obsessive crisis.
No lapses; ironclad guard, crush threats in cradle.
Thus, post-grueling workdays, she insisted on picking him up.
Personally ensure safety.
Now at the izakaya, arms vise-tight around boyfriend, chin high in challenge—hostile scrutiny locked on the nearby blonde casting ambiguous glances.
【Inexplicable…】
Kawasaki Rika keenly felt the tangible, piercing enmity.
Brows furrowed in displeasure; mind replayed first visit: eyes overflowing hate, as if flaying her alive.
Still baffling, irksome.
She reassessed the girlfriend:
Plain suit, cheap; pretty but dark circles undeniable.
Just a wage-slave hustling for survival.