Chapter 7: Collapse (Part 1).

Mister Kawasaki glanced at the two women locked in a stare and smiled.

“Miss Ayata, this is my granddaughter. She helps out when the place gets too busy.”

He turned to her.

“Rika, this is Hoshiya-kun’s girlfriend, Miss Ayata.”

At the introduction, Kawasaki Rika’s upturned eyes narrowed slightly, sizing up Hoshiya Kaoru’s supposed girlfriend.

[Tch… that’s it?]

A near-invisible scorn flickered in her gaze.

[Just a plain office lady—stressed, out of shape… I thought someone worthy of that beauty would be impressive.]

Ayata Aina, meanwhile, looked like she’d seen a ghost. Blood drained from her face, pupils shrinking in raw shock and terror.

The blonde before her was the exact woman from that nauseating video—the one pinning her boyfriend down, ravaging him.

[No… no… wasn’t the video AI-generated? Why… why is she real…]

The vile scenes replayed on loop, frame by frame, sharper, more agonizing.

The sounds echoed in her ears.

Ayata Aina clenched her fists until nails dug into palms, pain sharp.

She was certain: this blonde made the fake AI video.

She somehow planted that cursed app on her phone.

How else could the “co-star” appear in the flesh?!

“Hoshiya,”

Kawasaki Rika broke the staring contest.

She shifted her gaze, voice natural yet commanding, a touch lower and huskier than most women.

“Take this fresh tempura platter to table four.”

“Right away!”

Hoshiya Kaoru dropped his cloth, face earnest and obedient, and hurried over.

At barely over one-sixty, his head reached only her chest.

As he reached for the plate,

Their closeness hit him—a wave of thick feminine pheromones mixed with faint sweat.

He inhaled instinctively.

Instantly—

A strange, thrilling jolt shot from his soles up his spine to the crown of his head.

Too sudden. His body froze.

The sensation vanished as fast as it came—a nervous glitch.

His slender frame trembled faintly. He ducked his head, hiding the sudden blush creeping from neck to ears like rouge on snow.

He spun away almost fleeing, plate of golden tempura in hand, steps unsteady toward table four, back screaming haste.

As time passed, the izakaya’s roar ebbed like a receding tide.

Hoshiya Kaoru finally caught his breath, wiped sweat with his sleeve, and remembered Ayata Aina waiting.

He smoothed his wrinkled uniform, smiled warmly with apology, and strode to the counter.

“Aina, sorry for the wait, I’m done—”

Words and steps halted.

Something was wrong with her.

Ayata Aina’s eyes bulged, rims red with burst vessels, stare fixed murderously.

Fists white-knuckled at her sides, veins bulging, body taut like a drawn bow, quivering.

As if she’d snap and lunge at her target any second.

Hoshiya Kaoru had never seen his girlfriend so feral. He froze, scared.

He rushed forward, warm palm covering her iron fist, trying to melt the rigidity; his other hand stroked her back soothingly.

“Aina, what’s wrong? Feeling sick?”

His comfort sank like a pebble in a dark abyss.

Her mind looped the video’s horrors—her Kaoru’s pale limbs folded, dominated by that blonde…

The details, the sounds—thousands of red-hot needles stabbing her nerves. How could she calm?

“Nothing much left in the back. Hoshiya-kun, clock out early. Miss Ayata looks unwell.”

Mister Kawasaki noticed and kindly let him leave.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be on time tomorrow as agreed.”

Hoshiya Kaoru nodded gratefully, worry consuming him. He gently looped her stiff arm, half-guiding, half-dragging her out.

Cool night air hit them at the door, but it did nothing to quench the blaze of rage and icy dread in Ayata Aina.

She yanked free, then seized his slim wrist in a vise-like grip—almost vicious.

Silent, she hauled him home, strides long and urgent, laced with unyielding, obsessive resolve.