The rain was falling in steady sheets; the neon glow of the kombini sign reflected in the puddles spreading across the parking lot. Miyuki stepped out from the back entrance, clutching her umbrella tightly. The night air was heavy with the scent of wet asphalt. Her legs still trembled faintly from the confrontation earlier, but she forced herself to walk as if nothing had happened. She disappeared into the darkness, the rhythm of her footsteps drowned out by the rain.
From across the street, under the cover of a black umbrella, a man leaned casually against a telephone pole. His face was half-hidden by the shadow of the umbrella brim, the ember of his cigar glowing faintly in the gloom. His eyes followed Miyuki as she walked away, his expression not one of sympathy but of calculation.
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number, speaking in a low, measured tone.
"It's me, Shun Kawahara. Sorry for calling this late… but I think I've found a potential candidate for you."
He paused to flick the ash off his cigar, the faint orange sparks dying against the wet pavement.
"She's tangled in debt. Owes money to the wrong people. I don't know much about her family situation yet—though she wears a ring, so she's probably married. Still… her circumstances make her easy to push. Perfect material."
There was a muffled voice on the other end of the call, questioning him. Kawahara smirked, exhaling a plume of smoke that curled out from beneath the umbrella like a ghost.
"Don't doubt my judgment. She's beautiful. The type your company likes—big bust, thick body, proper MILF appeal. The kind of woman who sells without effort. I'll keep digging into her background, but if you want her… this time I'm asking for two million yen."
Another pause. Rain pattered on the umbrella, each drop a sharp reminder of the silence between words. Kawahara's eyes never left the path Miyuki had taken.
"… Good. I'll update you when I have more. Consider this one already half-caught."
He ended the call, dropped the half-burned cigar into a puddle where it hissed out with a faint crackle, and slowly walked into the shadows of the night—like a hunter satisfied after marking his prey.
Sumi tilted the crystal bottle, amber liquid catching the soft glow of the lamp as she poured two glasses of scotch. The clink of ice was the only sound in the spacious study. Across from her, a fat, sturdy man with lush gray hair sat hunched over a thick file, glasses balanced on his nose. His pen hovered over the paper as if he were still buried in government work even here at home.
She slid a glass toward him, then sank into the sofa with her own. One sip burned down her throat, loosening her chest.
"Daichi was here a while ago," she said quietly.
The man—Hanzo Oda—closed the file at once, eyes narrowing with curiosity. "What did he say?"
"Nothing much," Sumi exhaled. "He came only because his father couldn't make it to tomorrow's parent–teacher meeting. I was… his last resort."
Hanzo reached for his glass, swirling the scotch as he leaned back. "Don't worry, honey. He's in his rebellious years. He'll forgive you once he matures."
Sumi gave a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "No, dear. It's been three and a half years since our marriage. If he were going to forgive me, he would have by now. I think… the real nail in the coffin was that day."
Her voice broke. She stared into the golden liquid, eyes glistening.
Hanzo's gaze softened. "That incident…" he muttered. "Oh god, yes. You thought he wasn't home. But he was in his room the whole time. He saw us. He heard everything."
Tears rolled down Sumi's cheeks. Her body trembled with the weight of it.
Hanzo reached across the space, grabbing her wrist firmly yet tenderly, pulling her toward him. She stumbled into his lap, and he wrapped one thick arm around her waist. His lips brushed against hers, slow and deliberate, as his other hand rose to cup and press against the curve of her breast.
"Let's go to bed, sweetheart," he whispered against her lips.
Sumi let her eyes flutter closed, a tear slipping free even as her body melted against him.
Miyuki stumbled into the apartment, clothes still damp from the rain, cheeks stained with dried tears. The silence of the small home wrapped around her like a suffocating blanket. She took off her shoes slowly, careful not to wake anyone, and tiptoed down the narrow hallway.
She paused at Haruto's door. With trembling fingers, she slid it open just enough to peek inside.
Her son was curled beneath the thin blanket, breathing softly, face relaxed in the deep peace of sleep. The sight brought a sting to her chest. A tear welled up again, spilling before she could stop it.
At least he's safe… at least for now.
She closed the door almost soundlessly and leaned her forehead against the frame. Her hands were still shaking as she pressed them to her chest.
Yes, she had managed to secure money for tomorrow—barely. The installment could be paid. That much was settled.
But what about next month? And the one after that? She had already sold her dignity to her manager for an advance, and next month's salary was gone before it had even arrived.
Her thoughts spun like a storm she couldn't escape.
If they come again, what will I do? How much longer can I keep them away from Haruto?
Her fingers clutched at the simple band on her ring finger. It felt heavier than ever.
Her body slumped, knees buckling slightly, but she caught herself against the wall, choking down her sobs so they wouldn't wake him. The weight of tomorrow pressed on her shoulders like an avalanche.
For tonight, all she could do was cry silently in the hallway while her son dreamed in peace, oblivious to the storm his mother was drowning in.