Minamoto Senya had once watched a crime film.
The plot and cinematography had both been impressive, leaving a lasting impression on her.
Yet she could hardly believe that a scene from that movie, which involved action and a touch of blood, would now be perfectly mirrored in her own life.
In the film, a supporting character, returning home only to be ambushed by criminals, was left barely alive. He collapsed to the floor, unable to stand, using what little strength remained to crawl toward the entrance on his knees and hands, desperately trying to escape, clinging to a slim chance of survival.
But the merciless assailant, just as he was about to flee, grabbed his ankle.
The scene in the movie was shot from a bird's-eye view, contrasting the villain's dark environment with the faint light surrounding the victim, emphasizing a sense of utter despair.
The supporting character's fingers scraped against the floor as he was dragged backward, yet he had no power to resist, and was pulled into darkness, followed by a series of chilling sounds and fading cries for help.
Senya's mind now recalled this scene because she was experiencing something uncannily similar.
Except that her reality was not a crime story—it was far more adult, distinctly R-rated.
And the setting wasn't a dim, hopelessly isolated home; she was in a hotel room bathed in warm pink light, the atmosphere steeped in intimate, seductive tension.
Yet the crushing sense of "despair"—born from the knowledge of what she was about to endure and her own inability to bear it—was identical.
From a bird's-eye perspective, she had spent two hours trembling, trying to turn over and lie down, believing it was finally over. She had no strength to stand and could only use her knees and hands to crawl toward the bathroom, hoping for a quick shower before collapsing into bed, utterly spent, to rest after completing her "mission" for the day.
Though she teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, she told herself that at least it was over—for now.
Then, unexpectedly, she heard Minamoto Senya's puzzled voice:
"Senya, where are you going?"
At the same moment, her ankle was pressed down, and she was pulled backward.
Her fingers clawed at the bedsheet, but it was useless.
"Senya! Wait… just wait a little!" she trembled, panic rising in her voice.
He brushed his forehead against hers, intertwining their noses affectionately. "How could I wait, Senya? You look so good—I can't let go of you."
Every word of sweetness felt natural to him, perfectly justified in their private moment.
Senya liked it too—but only during the day.
At night… even if it sounded delightful, she knew exactly what was coming next.
A famous athlete once said in an interview: "Have you ever seen Los Angeles at 4 a.m.?"
It was meant to convey his dedication to training in the early hours, later becoming a symbol of tireless hard work.
Tonight, Minamoto Senya also looked through the gap in the curtains at 4 a.m., only it was the sky over Tokyo.
The sky was still dim, but with summer's early dawn, the faint light of sunrise was visible.
She wasn't disciplined like that athlete, nor had she slept before this moment. She had been fighting a continuous battle since stepping into the hotel room, hardly stopping, almost without closing her eyes.
Her body had been pressed to Senya's the entire time, in the literal sense.
She thought how foolish she had been.
She had known Senya's stamina was incredible, having experienced it before, yet she had secretly hoped she might get lucky.
What she had endured at home before was merely a condensed version, constrained by the fear of her parents returning.
Now, at the hotel, with no interruptions and no restrictions, he revealed his true power, showing no restraint.
Not to mention—she was wearing black stockings.
A seemingly small garment, yet its allure was undeniable, amplifying attraction, and increasing his intensity.
At such a prime age, encountering her like this—the soft, inviting Senya—any delay would feel catastrophic.
She now understood the despair that Senya's opponents had felt in his past competitions, cut down one after another.
This man—did he never tire?
Was he a tireless humanoid robot?!
Yet, not all moments were spent in closeness.
There were brief pauses.
Several plates of late-night snacks sat on the table, delivered after he called room service.
He had eaten well and praised the hotel chef.
Senya, however, had no appetite, too exhausted to eat, preferring to lie limp on the bed, savoring the rare respite.
Four empty water bottles lined the nightstand.
Senya drank two, but strangely, she didn't need to visit the restroom once that night—the water seemed to dissipate by other means.
Before the final bout, he had tenderly said she had worked hard tonight, helped her shower, then massaged her to ease fatigue.
But inevitably, the night's events returned to the same, adult scenario.
By night's end, she had lost count of how many times she had said "no."
Her refusal did nothing; it only heightened Senya's excitement, leaving her utterly spent.
She didn't dare insist, knowing it would only make her fate worse.
They had arrived at the hotel around 6 p.m.
It wasn't until over six hours later, past 6 a.m., that she finally could close her eyes.
She slept straight through until 5:40 p.m.—nearly twelve hours.
Her body had not stirred, nor had she changed positions, exhausted beyond measure.
Senya didn't want to disturb her; when he received the check-out reminder, he extended the stay without waking her.
It wasn't until her mother called that he woke her, and she had to feign normalcy, claiming she had been working on a novel's plot with her editor, so her parents wouldn't worry.
Though her head still spun, Senya's eager expression was visible beside her. She clutched her phone, promising her mother she'd be home soon.
She noticed his expression fall, but she couldn't help it—she was genuinely scared.
Being so desired by him made her happy—yet there were limits.
The first twenty minutes were bliss, completely surrendered to his guidance.
By forty minutes, her strength waned, her voice weakened, and beyond that, there was no limit to her exhaustion.
Her body couldn't keep up with his stamina.
Her mind flickered between clarity and disorientation, like a phone signal in the mountains.
No mirror could capture her expression—but she could imagine it: exhausted, broken, yet trapped in desire.
After the ordeal, they packed and left, and the black stockings she had spent 8,000 yen on were destroyed, stretched, ripped—mirroring her state.
They checked out, ate lightly, and by 9 p.m., Senya returned home with her.
Her mother noticed immediately.
"Senya, why do you look so pale? And your eyes are swollen!"
"…I stayed up all night discussing novel plots with my editor. It's normal."
She avoided the living room and went straight to her room.
"Have you eaten?" her mother asked.
"I have."
"Then I'll draw you a bath and you can do a face mask."
"No. I just want to sleep. Don't disturb me."
Her mother's concern didn't reach her ears. She fell into bed and slept again almost instantly.
The next day.
Monday.
The last week before summer break.
Her face still pale, her body frail, she couldn't recover quickly.
After the two previous misadventures, she finally realized Saeko's hidden intent.
At lunchtime, Senya rose with determination, fueled by the indignation of being manipulated, ready to confront Saeko—only for Saeko to arrive first.
And to make her blood boil further, she handed over two tickets.
This time, it was a theme park package, including a princess suite in the park's castle, buffet breakfast and dinner, and evening fireworks—perfectly romantic for couples.
Senya refused the tickets at first, brushing them away, aware of prying eyes, and led Saeko to the library—a quiet, air-conditioned sanctuary with few people around.
There, facing Saeko, she unfastened her collar slightly, revealing her collarbone marked with deep red impressions.
Just as Saeko had seen in the infirmary before.
Her pale face, slightly swollen eyes, and the visible marks were almost laughable—but Saeko, trained by years of kendo, suppressed any reaction, feigning comprehension.
"You had a good time with Senya last week," Saeko remarked.
Senya could detect no malice or shame in her expression, which only made her angrier.
"You knew this day would come, didn't you?" she demanded, teeth gritted.
Saeko paused, then nodded.
"Yes… but my apology back then was sincere. And really, it's nothing compared to what you experienced, right?"
Senya's cheeks flushed. "Nothing? Do you know I almost… almost passed out?"
"Yes, but you also enjoyed it, didn't you?"
…She couldn't deny it.
Though her body and mind were pushed to extremes, being adored and carried by the one she loved was the dream she had longed for.
The weight of happiness, however, had been overwhelming, requiring days to recover.
Even now, she realized… some things would never be quite the same.
Yet this was the happiness she had always wanted.
Now, her wish had been fulfilled—she just hadn't been able to fully endure it.
It was her own limitation.
Thus, what right did she have to question Saeko?
Senya fell silent, her mind tangled.
Saeko hadn't intended malice—at most, a slight, self-serving strategy.
This wouldn't change the outcome.
Eventually, Senya spoke.
"…I just want to win once."
Her tone was firm, despite its ambiguity.
She reached out: "The tickets you were going to give me?"
Saeko handed them over.
"How much?"
"Don't worry. Not expensive."
Senya checked online: 56,000 yen per ticket, including play, meals, and accommodation.
"You're going?"
"Yes. I want Senya's eyes on me alone. But this time… you're coming too."
She transferred 120,000 yen to Saeko, buying an extra ticket for the three of them to go together—emphasized sharply.
Saeko hadn't expected this, but Senya was insistent:
"If you can't come, we'll postpone. Summer break, next semester, winter break—whenever works."
"Why go to such lengths?" Saeko wondered.
"No particular reason… I just want to win once."
Senya wanted, just once, to see Saeko flustered and defeated before her, the way she had been in the past.
"Just answer—will you come?"
"If you insist, then of course I'll come."
"Good. Then it's settled."
"No time that day—I have kendo club activities."
"Fine, I can adjust the date. You just need to focus on Senya."
"I understand."
Though Saeko didn't fully grasp Senya's intent, she nodded, agreeing to her terms.