The office door slid shut with a dull clack. Toru stretched his arms out with a yawn, scratching the back of his neck, his finger lazily rubbing his ear as if the principal's voice had left a ringing there. He dragged his feet through the hall, shoulders slouched, eyes half-lidded.
Every head turned. Students leaned against the lockers, whispering in clusters.
"Did you hear? He shoved Ms. Endo."
"Stupid... he broke the window too."
"His family must be rich, he doesn't even care."
Toru's lips curled into the faintest smirk. Their glares slid off him like rain off glass. He tilted his head back, stretching his neck, pretending not to notice a single one.
Outside, the late afternoon sun washed the courtyard in a pale gold glow. Maki's black sedan sat at the curb, idling. The man leaned against the hood, shades hiding his eyes, cigarette unlit between his fingers. Even from a distance, Toru could see it - Maki's irritation, the tight jaw, the impatient shift of his shoulders.
Toru shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled forward with the kind of careless swagger only he could pull off.
Toru (smiling, teasing):
"Yooo, bestie. Chauffeur service today?"
Maki didn't answer. He flicked the cigarette away before sliding into the driver's seat. Toru popped the passenger door open and hopped in without hesitation, flashing a grin like nothing had happened.
The door slammed shut. Silence thickened.
Maki's hands tightened on the wheel, veins rising under his skin. Finally, his voice cut through, sharp but low.
Maki (frustrated, irritated):
"Do you even understand what you just did?"
Toru leaned his head back against the seat, stretching his legs out, eyes fixed on the cloudless sky outside the window. He sighed, long and heavy, like he'd already tuned out the lecture.
Toru (flat, lazy):
"Mm. Here we go."
Maki's fingers drummed once against the steering wheel before he shifted gears, the car jolting forward.
Maki (calmer but still irritated):
"You just added debt on me."
The engine hummed as they pulled onto the main road. The air was tense, only broken by the soft rattle of the dashboard. Toru sat up slowly, elbows resting on his knees, guilt flickering across his face for just a second before he forced a smirk back in place.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, his voice softer now.
Toru (finally cracking, gentle):
"Okay, I admit... that was pretty selfish. And immature of me."
Maki didn't even glance his way. He struck a lighter, the tiny flame flickering before the cigarette caught. Smoke curled lazily through the car as he spoke, the cigarette bouncing on his lip with every word.
Maki (casual, almost mocking):
"Now I have to scrape up money just to pay for your stupid damages. Again."
Toru side-eyed him, lips twitching. He leaned back, voice dipping into mock-seriousness.
Toru (sarcastic, mocking):
"Well then, guess that makes you my personal loan shark, huh?"
The corner of Maki's mouth tugged upward. He scoffed, exhaling smoke through his nose before reaching over.
Maki (smirking):
"Loan shark, huh?"
He flicked his fingers through Toru's messy black hair, shuffling it rough like a kid. Toru swatted at his hand instantly, scowling.
Toru (annoyed, muttering):
"Oy, stop treating me like some brat."
Maki chuckled, resting his arm casually against the wheel.
Maki (smirking, teasing):
"You act like one. Might as well look the part."
Toru clicked his tongue, shaking his head, but the faint grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. He slouched further down, tapping his fingers against his thigh in rhythm with the road's hum.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Just the sound of the engine, the low hum of tires on asphalt, and the faint crackle of Maki's cigarette.
Then Toru's voice broke the silence, quieter this time, almost thoughtful.
Toru (low, softer):
"...Thanks. For covering me."
Maki didn't answer right away. He just blew a stream of smoke out the cracked window, eyes hidden behind the dark shades.
Finally, he muttered, almost too soft to hear:
Maki (gruff, casual but heavy):
"Just don't make me regret it, idiot."
Toru smirked faintly, leaning his head against the cool glass, watching the city blur by. His reflection in the window looked like a stranger - bruised knuckles, tired eyes, and yet still smiling.
_________
The car slowed to a crawl, gravel crunching under the tires as they pulled into the narrow driveway. The Kanzaki home stood tall, a two-story house with faded white walls and a weathered wooden gate. The curtains on the second floor shifted slightly - someone was already watching.
Maki killed the engine, exhaling smoke one last time before flicking the cigarette butt into the gravel. He pushed his shades up onto his forehead, his jaw tight.
Maki (irritated, muttering):
"Better brace yourself. She's waiting."
Toru leaned his head against the seat a moment longer, eyes half-closed, smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth like armor. Then he pushed the door open, stretching lazily as if he hadn't just been suspended.
The front door slid open immediately.
Hitomi Kanzaki stood in the doorway, posture stiff, arms crossed. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun so tight it looked like it could cut glass, her fitted blouse spotless, not a wrinkle in sight. Her sharp eyes locked onto Toru with surgical precision.
Hitomi (cold, sharp):
"Toru."
The air seemed to chill instantly.
Toru tilted his head, his smile widening, casual as ever.
Toru (drawling, playful):
"Mommy! hiii~. Miss me?"
Her lips thinned into a hard line.
Hitomi (clipped):
"Inside. Now."
Toru obeyed only in the most technical sense. He toed off his sneakers at the genkan, one foot at a time, slow as molasses, before sliding past her into the hall. His hands stuffed deep into his pockets, his shoulders rolling loose like he owned the house.
Maki ducked his head, murmuring politely,
Maki (respectful, soft):
"Good afternoon, Kanzaki-san."
She barely flicked her eyes toward him.
The smell of tatami mats and faint disinfectant filled the entryway. Hitomi followed them in, untying her heels with the precision of a soldier removing boots after a march. Her voice came flat, tired, like the weight of years pressed down on every syllable.
Hitomi (cold, exhausted):
"I just came from the hospital. Your father's still fighting for breath. And you? You're supposed to be at school. Why aren't you?"
Maki's lips twitched upward. He couldn't help himself. He looked back at Toru like he was watching a kabuki actor stroll straight into his own death scene.
Toru rolled his eyes, and when they flicked right, he caught sight of movement.
Akari - little sister, school skirt wrinkled, crouched behind the thin curtain. Her wide eyes peeked out. She waved her hands frantically, mouthing, lips exaggerated:
Akari (lip-reading to him):
"Don't look at me! She'll see me!"
Toru snorted. It slipped out before he could smother it.
Hitomi's head snapped around.
Hitomi (sharp, impatient):
"What's so funny? I asked you - why are you here?!"
Toru cleared his throat, lips twitching again. Then the laugh broke free - low, rumbling, shameless. He doubled over, shoulders shaking.
Maki clapped his palm over his own mouth, but a snort still shot out. He turned his back to hide his grin.
Hitomi (snapping):
"ARE YOU SKIPPING SCHOOL?!"
Her hand cracked against Maki's arm, then Toru's shoulder.
Toru straightened, voice dropping into that dangerous low rumble. The kind that crawled up your spine because you couldn't tell if it was a joke or a threat.
Toru (quiet, steady, low):
"No. I'm here to record a piano session. For class credit."
He slid his hands deeper into his pockets, smirk curling again. His voice carried no explanation, just fact, like daring her to challenge him.
Maki, from behind, grinned and threw a quick thumbs-up like they'd just pulled off a stunt.
Maki (quick, teasing):
"So, shall we get that piano session started?"
Hitomi exhaled hard, pressing her fingers to her temple. She strode past them toward the couch, shoulders stiff.
The second she sank into the cushions, Akari gasped in horror. Wrong place, wrong time.
Hitomi turned, yanking the curtain aside.
Hitomi (yelling):
"Akari! You skipped too?!"
She swatted her daughter's shoulder.
Hitomi (furious, snapping):
"You can't just follow your brother's example. You're going back. Now."
Akari whined, dragging her feet, muttering under her breath.
The house held its breath. Toru's smirk stayed fixed, but his eyes flicked to the side - catching Akari's glance as she was dragged away.
⸻
The walls seemed to close in.
Shion's back pressed to the wooden panels, her eyes wide, searching Takami's face.
Shion (voice shaking, surprised):
"Why... didn't you tell her you liked her?"
Takami tilted his head, confusion flickering before it softened into a gentle chuckle. It was quiet, almost melodic. A laugh that warmed the air like spring wind.
Shion blinked at him, but her chest stayed still. Unmoved.
Toru's laugh was nothing like that.
Toru's laugh - deep, rumbling, slow - was the sound of thunder rolling under your feet. It wasn't soft; it was dangerous. Low, rich, seductive, the kind of laugh that didn't just touch your ears but seeped into your ribs and forced your pulse to stutter.
Takami could laugh like that all day in front of Hana, and she'd sit still, unflinching, eyes polite but indifferent.
But Toru?
Toru's laugh made Hana's knees weaken. Her lips would curl without her permission, her breath hitch like she'd just been praised. That sound dominated the room, made her feel smaller and safer at the same time, like a puppy proud to be noticed.
Shion knew it. She'd always known. Even if Takami had spoken, confessed, laid every word bare - Hana would've leaned toward Toru.
Because Toru was Hana's type, But Hana wasn't Toru's type.
Tokami's smile faded. His eyes turned serious, words slicing through the dim air.
Tokami (serious, sudden):
"Because I eventually lost feelings for her... when I saw how desperate she was for Toru. Who only ever saw her as a friend."
The words landed like stones. Shion's lips parted, a gasp tearing out before she shoved past him, trying to reach the door.
But Tokami's laugh snapped out, sharp, and his hand slammed against the frame, locking the door with a swift motion.
The bolt clicked.
They were sealed in.
Tokami (teasing, laughing low):
"Woah, where do you think you're going?"
Shion froze. Her heart stuttered. The walls seemed to close tighter. She stumbled back a step as Tokami advanced, his figure blotting out the thin slice of light under the door.
He tilted his head, gaze burning, hand catching her chin and tilting it upward.
Tokami (low, cruel):
"Are you another slut just begging for Toru's attention, huh?"
Shion's blood flared hot. Rage tore through her fear. She shoved him hard, his back thudding against the door.
Shion (snapping, shouting):
"HOW COULD YOU SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT ABOUT A DEAD GIRL?! HUH?!"
Her scream ricocheted off the closet walls. Tokami's jaw clenched; he rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, but when he turned back, there were tears shimmering, threatening at the corners.
For a beat, the world went still. Their eyes locked - his defiance cracking, her chest heaving.
Then his hands fumbled at the knob. The door didn't budge. He twisted, shoved, cursed, his voice rising with impatience.
Locked.
Shion (snapping, panicked, pointing):
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?!"
Her body lunged. Fists hit his chest, shoulders, anywhere she could reach, pounding over and over. Tokami raised his arms, guarding, taking it, lips pressed tight.
Finally his grip snapped forward. He caught both her wrists, slammed them up against the wall above her head. The air crackled with tension, no spark, just raw pressure.
Tokami (serious, stern):
"You're nothing like Hana. Don't even think about replacing her. Just because you act like her... you're nothing like her."
Her lips curled. The rage didn't falter - it shifted. She scoffed, smirk tugging like a blade.
Shion (devious, wide grin):
"Why is that, Tokami? Why am I nothing like Hana?"
His brows furrowed, confusion breaking through his anger. He stepped back half a pace - predator to prey, then prey to predator, like a dog suddenly submitting.
She jabbed a finger into his chest, laugh sharp, almost unhinged.
Shion (mocking, voice rising):
"Tell me! I want to know! What's so different about me from Hana? My face? My plastic surgery?"
Tokami (cutting in, accusing):
"So you did have plastic surg-"
Shion (cutting sharper, snapping):
"Or maybe... is my voice just a little different than Hana's? Or... what about my last name?"
Silence detonated. Tokami's eyes blew wide, the realization slicing through his anger.
Shion leaned back against the wall, looking away for one aching second before turning her gaze on him again.
Tokami (finally, broken, whispering):
"You're more confident. And violent. Hana was timid. Quiet. Naive. Pure."
Her lips tightened to a fine line. No words left. Just a bitter silence as she turned to the door, fists slamming against the thin window, rattling the frame.
⸻
Meanwhile across the city..
The underground club was alive with violence. Fists clashed like drumbeats, blood splattered the floor, and the crowd cheered with the kind of glee that came only from watching other people's pain. Neon lights strobed across faces twisted with excitement. No one flinched. Not once.
Through the chaos, a figure moved.
All black. Suit, gloves, mask, shades. His walk was calm, too calm, parting the crowd without a word.
At the far end of the room, in a velvet booth, Ootori reclined like she owned the city. Her wine glass swirled lazily between manicured fingers, crimson liquid catching the light. Her nails tapped against the crystal with an idle rhythm, but her eyes - sharp, painted with shadows - caught him the second he approached.
She smirked.
Ootori (small grin, leaning back, crossing her legs):
"And what was your name again?"
His voice came flat, deep, rumbling. Cold enough to drop the temperature of the room.
Unknown (flat, deep):
"I don't have a name."
Her brows lifted, lips curving wider. She leaned closer, teasing, mocking, her voice a blade of honey.
Ootori (mocking, teasing):
"Oouu ahh... okay. How about... I give you one?"
Silence.
The kind of silence that pressed down heavier than the bass in the speakers. For a heartbeat, the whole club might as well have been empty.
Unknown (flat, serious):
"Or not."
And then - movement. Too fast. Inhuman. One moment he was standing; the next, he was beside her in the booth. The distance vanished like it never existed.
Ootori's body jolted back instinctively, her breath catching, but her smirk didn't vanish. It sharpened. She leaned just far enough away to register the wrongness of him - but stayed. Watching. Hungry.
Her eyes widened, a mix of fear and delight.
Ootori (amused, whispering):
"My god... what are you?"
He turned his head, shades catching the neon light, voice like a thunderclap rolling through her bones.
Unknown (cocky, flat):
"Exactly what you just said. A God."
The crowd kept cheering, fists kept flying in the pit, but at that booth - time stopped.
____
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of dust in the air and the muted weight of silence pressing on Toru's back. His fingers rested on the piano keys like they belonged there, slipping into Beethoven without hesitation. The melody poured out smooth, confident, second nature - not practice, but instinct.
He leaned forward, eyes drifting closed, letting the notes swallow him. His shoulders loosened, his mind unraveling into sound.
You have pretty legs.
The voice wasn't real, but it was sharp enough to cut through his music.
Toru's eyes shot open. His hands stumbled on the keys before he broke into a sudden laugh - loud, abrupt, almost unhinged. The sound echoed in the room before snapping off mid-breath. His smirk lingered, twisted with disbelief.
Toru (smirk, scoff):
"Hana... are you haunting me?"
He dragged a hand through his hair, sighing deep, as if laughter was the only thing keeping him from breaking. The piano sat heavy, expectant, waiting for him to press again.
Click. Clack.
The sound of heels on the polished floor made his smile thin. He didn't even have to look. That rhythm, sharp and clipped, belonged only to one person.
He rolled his eyes skyward, already annoyed, before slowly swiveling around. His posture was deliberate - shoulders slouched, hands folding across his lap like he was on trial but had already decided to mock the judge.
Hitomi Kanzaki stood in the doorway. Her blouse was ironed to perfection, hair pinned back so tight it stretched her expression thinner than usual. But her eyes - sharp, cold, dissecting - landed on him with a weight that made the room ten degrees colder.
Hitomi (serious, flat):
"When will you go see your father? Akari goes. I go. Even your cousin visits him. Why do you never go, hm?"
Toru didn't answer. He licked his lips, gaze sliding away as if the question was beneath him, before turning his body back to the piano. His fingers fell onto the keys again, dragging a melody like a shield between them.
Hitomi's hand shot forward, catching his wrist and tugging him away from the instrument. Her grip was firm, not violent - but full of grief. When Toru looked up, her face wasn't only sharp. It was tired. Worn. Something fragile underneath.
Hitomi (shocked, soft, confused):
"Toru..."
His lips curved into a smile - not warm, but mocking.
Toru (mocking, flat):
"Why should I face him? It's my fault, right?"
Her mouth opened, then shut. Her throat tightened. Words failed her.
Toru's voice cut sharper now, dropping low and broken, heat spitting out like sparks from a fire finally catching.
Toru (snapping, raw):
"You loathed Hana so much it hurt you. You're the reason she's dead. If it weren't for you blaming me - if you hadn't made Dad work alone that day - THEN I WOULDN'T HAVE BROKEN UP WITH HER. She would still be alive!"
The silence cracked with his roar.
Hitomi (snapping back, shouting):
"DON'T BLAME ME FOR YOUR FAILED HIGH SCHOOL RELATIONSHIP!"
The words hung, brutal, ugly, and real.
Toru's jaw flexed. His hands slammed against the piano keys, the sound exploding in discord. He turned, eyes boring into hers with a look so venomous it made her blink, her shoulders stiffening like prey caught in headlights.
The stare carried hatred, resentment, and something worse - guilt.
For one long second, they stood there, the whole room holding its breath.
Then Toru scoffed, brushing past her shoulder as if her presence was no more than a wall he needed to push through. His footsteps echoed down the hallway, leaving her standing by the piano, chest heaving, face pale.
⸻
🚬 Scene 2: Toru outside
The night air burned colder than he expected. Toru sat on the steps outside the mansion, one elbow balanced on his knee, throat aching with the tears he refused to let fall.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Buzz. Buzz.
With a lazy movement, he pulled it out. The glow lit his tired face.
Tokami 😐:
"Stuck in the janitor closet. You're the only student in this school I can reach out to. I'm with the weird girl who slapped you 🥺 help me friend."
Toru scoffed, a puff of air that turned into a low laugh. He shook his head, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with a flick. Smoke curled upward, catching the moonlight.
He drew in deep, then exhaled slow, watching the smoke vanish. He stood, pocketing the phone without a reply. His sneakers crunched on gravel as he walked down the steps, mansion shrinking behind him, cigarette burning between his fingers.
⸻
🔒 Scene 3: The Janitor's Closet (Shion & Tokami)
The cramped closet was suffocating, the air thick with the smell of dust and detergent. A single weak bulb flickered overhead, painting their faces in uneven light.
Shion (snapping, scolding):
"HOW CAN HE HELP US IF HE'S POSSIBLY SUSPENDED?"
Tokami groaned, leaning back against the wall before kicking it hard with his heel. The wood rattled. His jaw clenched, his face twisted with anger.
Tokami (annoyed, exhausted):
"We'll be suspended next. For skipping class."
Shion whipped around, glaring, her hand smacking his shoulder.
Shion (shouting):
"Suspended next?! How can you say that so casually, eh?! My foster parents will kill me!"
The word stuck. Foster. Tokami's head tilted, curiosity flickering.
Tokami (nosy, low):
"...Foster parents?"
Shion clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes with attitude. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, refusing to explain.
Shion (mocking, impatient, sing-song):
"I'd be sooo happy if our savior Toru came as quick as he always does when I need rescuing."
Tokami scoffed, folding his arms.
Tokami (bitter):
"Tch. He does that for every girl. He was even like that with Hana."
Her pout faltered into something darker. She muttered low, almost to herself.
Shion (low, mutter):
"He also dumped her over text."
That silenced the room for a beat.
Tokami exhaled loudly, dramatically, before throwing himself at the door. His foot slammed against it once, twice, then he shoved at the window. Through the glass, a figure appeared - camera hanging from her neck.
Arata.
Tokami's eyes lit with hope. He slammed his palms against the window, desperate.
Tokami (shouting, urgent):
"HEY! Camera girl! Open the door, won't you?!"
Shion rushed beside him, banging the glass too. Their frantic faces pressed close to the small pane, muffled voices echoing.
Arata blinked, startled. Then - instead of moving to help - she lifted her camera.
Snap.
The shutter clicked, freezing their desperate faces in time.
Her cheeks flushed as she looked through the lens.
Arata (daydream-whisper):
"Isn't he just... adorable..."
Her steps carried her closer, hand rising toward the handle. But when her gaze slid to Shion beside him - equally frantic, equally trapped - something twisted in her chest. Her smile broke.
Her eyes hardened.
Arata froze, then stepped back. The window emptied.
Tokami's face drained of hope, his fists dropping against the door.
Tokami (giving in, exhausted):
"Guess... we're stuck."
Shion sighed, sliding down the wall until her back hit the cold floor, arms draped over her knees. Her eyes flicked to Tokami - both of them prisoners in silence.
⸻
✨ End of Chapter 15