Chapter Text
October 29
Hongo Campus
Bunkyo City, Tokyo
The auditorium was bathed in artificial light, too white, almost clinical. It cast soft shadows on the walls, which were covered with charts and graphs. I had settled in at the back, slightly slouched in my seat, arms crossed. The speaker’s words, an analysis of post-pandemic stock market fluctuations ,reached me as a distant murmur, muffled by a stream of thoughts unrelated to financial indexes.
“She”
Her image had eventually imposed itself, like a spiderweb stretching across my mind, unavoidable and irritating. She had been haunting my thoughts for several days. But since Yuji’s party, it had only gotten worse. I couldn’t forget her gaze, her measured gestures imbued with a natural grace, her shy laughter, her woodsy and powdery scent, or her audacious act, which I would never have suspected under her reserved demeanor. What she had let me glimpse that evening was enough to monopolize my attention further. I had stopped resisting. Every attempt to erase her memory had only rooted it deeper, like a wound one scratches, hoping it will heal. So, I had accepted her presence because there was nothing else I could do.
What irritated me, however, was her ability to surface precisely when I had no time for it, like now, in the middle of this seminar, where my thoughts should have been focused on the presenter’s projections. Not on her. Definitely not on her.
I let out a quiet sigh, swallowing my rising irritation. This wasn’t the moment, yet she seeped in anyway. Why did she have to appear now, when I was trying to analyze an incomprehensible chart?
My pen scratched meaningless words onto paper—phrases devoid of sense—just enough to give the illusion I was following along. In truth, I wasn’t there. My mind was elsewhere, swept away by memories that had no place here.
I clenched my teeth slightly, a dull irritation creeping through my nerves. It wasn’t that she haunted me that, I could tolerate. What drove me mad was how she intruded precisely when I needed clarity. An unpredictable distraction, surfacing at the worst times.
I glanced up at the stage, but the speaker’s words no longer made any sense. I knew that if I let her invade these moments, she would eventually contaminate everything else. And yet, right now, there was nothing I could do.
And then, she entered.
A tall woman, impossible to ignore. Her slender, almost sculptural figure exuded a calculated confidence. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders like a gleaming veil, catching the light in a way that was almost annoying. She walked with overly deliberate assurance, her smile too wide to be genuine, addressing everyone and no one in particular. She wore a slightly unbuttoned blouse and a pencil skirt that together formed a bold and deliberately provocative aesthetic, as if she had intentionally chosen to disrupt the room’s serious atmosphere.
I watched her settle near the stage, observing her interactions with others. She exchanged a few words with one of the presenters, her loud laugh resonating through the room, filling the space with her overflowing energy. Too talkative, too lively, she seemed to deliberately ignore the seriousness of the setting. She was undeniably beautiful, but there was nothing captivating about her. Not like “her”.
And that detail stopped me. This woman was beautiful, without a doubt, but she didn’t attract me. She wasn’t “her”. And yet, paradoxically, she had the power to momentarily pull me away from my incessant thoughts. A moment of respite. She was a distraction, yes, but one that allowed me to escape another.
“She” kept me from thinking, paralyzed me in my own mind. This woman, on the other hand, could help me forget Kohaku, if only for a moment. I clung to that idea like a lifeline, with an almost desperate intensity.
To escape the distraction that “She” was , I needed…something else. And this woman, precisely, was what I needed.
She settled near the stage, leaning lightly against the table to adjust a heel, then straightened, sweeping the auditorium with her gaze. I immediately noticed the confidence in her movements, the almost insolent assurance of someone accustomed to drawing attention.
When her eyes met mine, it was brief—a suspended moment—but enough for me to sense that she had noticed me.
I didn’t look away. Why would I? She smiled faintly, a sly grin unique to her, before turning her head to focus elsewhere. Yet, I knew. She would come over.
And she did.
A few minutes later, she left the stage, her steps slow but deliberate, gliding through the rows of seats. I watched her approach without moving, without betraying any reaction. When she finally sat to my left, her movements were measured, as if she wanted to extend the effect of her presence.
“Hi,” she said, her voice low, slightly husky, with a tone that left no room for chance. She crossed her legs, making sure to do so within my line of sight. “My name’s Yumi.”
I nodded in response, remaining silent a second longer than necessary. My gaze briefly skimmed over her, just enough to catch the amused glint in her eyes.
“And you?” she pressed, leaning her elbow on the armrest between us, drawing slightly closer.
“Sukuna,” I finally replied.
She smiled again, a smile devoid of warmth. “You don’t seem very interested in what’s happening up there,” she said, gesturing toward the stage with a nod.
“Neither do you,” I retorted.
She laughed, a clear, almost defiant sound.
“You right.”
Silence settled not an awkward one, but the kind charged with unspoken words, where conversation was unnecessary because everything had already been said, or almost. Then, she leaned slightly toward me, close enough for me to catch her perfume, sweet and overwhelming, irritatingly so. Too sugary, too dense for my sharpened senses.
“You know,” she said softly, “I didn’t come here for the charts or the economic analysis.”
I raised an eyebrow, prompting her to continue.
“I like simple things,” she went on, her lips curling into a smile that revealed perfect teeth. “You, me, somewhere else. How about it?”
Direct. No subtlety, no hesitation. I let the silence stretch, as though I were truly considering her proposition, though deep down, my decision had already been made.
And at that moment, a distraction was exactly what I needed.
I looked at her, expressionless. Her wide, almost predatory smile waited for an answer. But inside, chaos reigned. I hated how easily she had approached, with that smug air as if she knew I would say yes. I hated even more what it signified: I had no real reason to refuse.
She wasn’t “her”. That was all that mattered.
“So, what are you waiting for?” she teased, her tone light, almost mocking. “Want me to elaborate my pitch?”
I shrugged, feigning indifference. “I don’t need a presentation.”
Yumi burst into laughter, drawing a few furtive glances from the other students. Her laugh was loud, uninhibited, as though she wanted to impose her presence on the entire room. She leaned even closer, invading my space, her black hair brushing lightly against my arm.
“You know,” she murmured, lowering her voice a notch, “I like guys like you. The ones who think they’re above all this.”
I simply stared at her. A part of me wanted to tell her to leave, to stop distracting me further. But another part—a darker, weaker part—saw her as an escape. If “she” was a slow poison, Yumi could be the antidote, even temporarily.
“And you?” I asked finally. “What exactly are you looking for?”
Her smile thinned, became more enigmatic. She didn’t answer immediately, resting her chin on her hand with a thoughtful air. Then, she let out a dramatic sigh.
“Fun,” she said simply. “Nothing complicated, nothing serious. That should appeal to you, no?”
I didn’t respond, but she took my silence as agreement. She straightened, her expression subtly shifting, less flirtatious, more assertive.
“Tell me something, Sukuna.” She toyed with a strand of her hair, her dark eyes locked on mine.
“Why are you here, pretending to care about this seminar? I bet you’ve got something else on your mind.”
I clenched my jaw slightly.
She was right, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of admitting it.
“Maybe I’m looking for fun too,” I finally replied.
A triumphant smile spread across her lips. “Then we’re a perfect match.”
Her words were simple, direct, yet they echoed strangely within me. There was no ambiguity, no depth to her approach, just a raw proposition, as if she had already decided we’d spend the evening together.
“You should focus on the conference,” I said dryly, more to convince myself than to push her away.
She laughed again, crossing her legs slowly, almost theatrically. “Oh, come on. You’re not paying attention either. So, why waste our time?”
I turned my eyes toward the stage, where the speaker continued his monotonous lecture. The words washed over me without leaving a trace. I should’ve gotten up, walked away, ended this. But I remained frozen, incapable of doing anything except calculating the next steps.
I knew why. She represented a solution, however flawed, too easy.
When Yumi leaned in again, her hand lightly brushing against my arm this time, I didn’t move. “Let me know when you’re done thinking,” she murmured, almost teasingly.
I didn’t reply. But in that moment, I already knew I would give in.
The lecture dragged on, but I wasn’t listening. Not that I had been before, but now, it was worse.
Yumi straightened up, silent now, merely sitting by my side and absentmindedly playing with a ring on her finger.
When the speaker finally concluded, a collective sigh swept through the room as the students stood up with palpable eagerness. Yumi, however, took her time. She threw me a sideways glance, a smile still lingering on her lips.
“So, are you coming?” she murmured, low enough that no one else could hear.
I didn’t answer immediately. For a brief moment, I hesitated not out of virtue or scruples, but because a part of me knew exactly what I was doing. I was taking an easy escape, a distraction to steer me away from my own thoughts. Yet that awareness didn’t stop me.
“Let’s go,” I said finally, my voice neutral.
She stood up, casually adjusting the collar of her blouse. “Good. I hate indecisive men.”
I rose as well, following her as she headed for the exit. The hallways were almost empty at this hour, and her heels clicked against the tiled floor with a rhythmic precision. I let her lead the way, silent. She didn’t ask unnecessary questions, and I was almost grateful for that.
Once outside, the cold afternoon air hit me, but she seemed unfazed.
She ran a hand through her hair before turning to face me.
“Your place or mine?” she asked, still wearing that same smile, as though the answer didn’t matter.
“Yours.”
She raised an eyebrow, surprised, but didn’t object. “As you wish.”
The car ride was oddly quiet. She glanced at me a few times, but I kept my eyes fixed on the road, focusing only on getting to her place as quickly as possible. “She” surfaced again, like a ghost, but I clung to Yumi’s presence like a lifeline.
When we arrived, she gave me a knowing wink as she stepped out of the car. Her apartment was small but impeccably tidy, with dim lighting that gave the space an artificial warmth.
“Make yourself at home,” she said, slipping off her heels. She placed her bag on a chair before turning to me with a look of amusement and curiosity, as if waiting to see what I would do next.
“Want a drink? Or should we get straight to the point?”
I didn’t answer. I simply stepped closer, closing the distance between us, my gaze locked onto hers. She tilted her head slightly, surprised by my sudden urgency, but didn’t pull back.
“Straight to the point, huh?” she murmured.
I didn’t need words to respond. The tension between us was palpable, thick, ready to snap in the intimacy of her apartment, where everything seemed suspended, waiting for the next move.
Her smile didn’t falter, even when I pushed her against the wall of the entryway, my hands gripping her waist with calculated pressure, almost possessive. Yumi, far from recoiling, seemed delighted by my roughness, her dark eyes lighting up with amused intensity.
“Oh, so you want to play like that?” she murmured, her lips brushing against mine, mere millimeters away.
I didn’t respond. Words were unnecessary, superfluous. What I wanted wasn’t conversation. What I needed was action, a distraction, a void I could drown in, an escape from the chaos within me. My mouth claimed hers with a controlled violence, my fingers slipping beneath the thin fabric of her blouse, seeking to tear down the barrier without hesitation.
Her muffled laughter against my lips only spurred me on, igniting my nerves in a way that was almost provoking. Her nails trailed down the back of my neck, leaving burning streaks on my skin, but I remained in control, forcing myself to maintain dominance despite the rising intensity of my movements.
Her blouse gave way under my relentless hands, the buttons scattering with a faint clatter.
I spun her around without ceremony, her arms outstretched, a captive in my grasp.
She turned her head slightly, an impish smile plastered on her lips. “You don’t waste time, do you?”
I leaned in close to her ear, my voice low, rough. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Her breath hitched against my skin as my hands roamed over her curves, brushing her hips before moving lower. She arched under the pressure of my touch, her excitement evident, her long black hair spilling like liquid ink down her back. I tugged lightly at her strands, exposing the curve of her neck.
She arched under the pull of my fingers, her body trembling from the tension. Her soft groans mixed with her laughter, creating a dissonance that struck a nerve.
She moaned, her laughter mingling with a soft sigh. “Keep going…”
I guided her further, her steps unsteady, as I maintained a firm grip on her. the space between us reduced to nothing. We reached the bedroom, where the atmosphere shifted-denser, heavier. The room was dimly lit, cloaking the surroundings in a subdued glow that blurred the edges of everything but her.
There was nothing left to hide, no barriers, just the stark reality of the moment.The faint rustle of fabric filled the silence as her blouse slipped off her shoulders. Her skin gleamed faintly under the dim light, her curves accentuated by the shadows. My hands moved with purpose, exploring without hesitation, freely each touch deliberate and exacting. The warmth of her skin against my palms contrasting with the coldness of my touch.
I pushed her onto the bed without ceremony, my movements quick and precise, driven by a need for control. She laughed again, excitement in her eyes mingling with my growing impatience.
“Sukuna…” she murmured, my name falling from her lips like an overly obvious invitation.
I had no intention of answering. Not now, not here. Words would be meaningless. What we were doing wasn’t an expression of shared passion.
It was an outlet. An escape. My lips traveled across her skin, marking her neck and shoulders, my hands trapping her wrists above her head. She resisted, not to escape, but to test the limits of my hold. It was a silent challenge, and I accepted it without hesitation.
The sheets, already wrinkled, seemed to wrap around us, binding us in this frenzied dance. Every movement, every gesture radiated raw, uncontrollable energy that saturated the air with an almost suffocating heat. Her moans, husky and disordered, intertwined with mine, creating a disarming, desperate melody.
Her hands roamed my body with an almost painful urgency, gripping my shoulders, tangling in my hair, as though trying to anchor me to her, to keep me in this whirlwind where passion was anything but gentle. Her nails scraped against my skin, sometimes too hard, sometimes just enough to ignite a delicious burn.
She moved against me with a fluidity that seemed almost too perfect, every movement calculated, mastered, yet overflowing with intensity. She knew what she was doing. She knew how to bind me to this moment, how to command my full attention.
I responded to her actions, my body resonating with hers in a raw, frustrated dance of unspoken desire. My fingers dug into her hips, pulling her closer, keeping her firmly against me, while I maintained control, dictating every rhythm, every motion without faltering.
“You’re exactly how I imagined…” she whispered, her face close to mine, her breath warm and insistent against my skin.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
Words were useless here, not in this confined space. I focused solely on the sensations, on the intensity of the moment, on how she reacted to every movement, every breath.
I felt her body begin to give way before she made a sound. Her body tensed beneath mine, every muscle vibrating with uncontrollable tension, her nails sinking deeper into my skin, drawing a quiet sigh of satisfaction from her lips. It electrified me, not because it carried any deep meaning, but because, for an instant, it gave me the illusion of control.
My movements grew more forceful, every thrust consuming the space between us with unrelenting power. The bed creaked under the impact, the sheets slipping further with each motion. Every action left her breathless. My hips collided with hers with a fierce, almost painful precision, and yet that pain intertwined with a visceral, incandescent pleasure that rendered all thought impossible. I felt the pressure rising, every push resonating through my body like a shockwave unstoppable.
But even in the tumult, I felt the distance, the invisible barrier separating me from her, a gap nothing could bridge.
But “she” was absent. That was all that mattered, at least for now.
Her breathing quickened, her body responding to every movement. I dominated her entirely, and she seemed to revel in it, her breath growing shorter, her murmurs turning into muffled moans.
For me, this wasn’t a connection, not an act of union. It was raw release, mechanical, a way to channel my anger and desire, everything I didn’t want to feel. I was using her, and she seemed to accept it, perhaps even to welcome it.
“Fuck yes, don’t stop!”
She reached her climax, her body arching beneath mine, her nails digging into my skin, eliciting an almost inaudible growl from me. Her release quickly triggered my own. My entire body tensed in a sudden wave, every muscle vibrating under a pressure I could no longer contain. A searing heat surged through me, exploding in an uncontrollable wave that left me trembling. Everything became blurry, my breath breaking into a series of deep, guttural gasps as the pleasure intensified until I released it all into her.
My breathing was shallow, my jaw tight.
Yumi collapsed back onto the sheets, her body trembling slightly, her erratic breaths against my chest. A satisfied smile lingered on her lips, a smile that meant nothing. She turned her head toward me, her voice soft but teasing.
“You really have something special. We should do this again from time to time.”
I stayed there, lying still, staring at the ceiling, my body tense but my mind empty. Completely empty. No intrusive thoughts. Nothing.
It was exactly what I wanted.
And yet, as Yumi curled up against me, satisfied and almost asleep, a chilling thought crossed my mind: how long before “She” came back to haunt me?