A chill permeated her very bones.
In a dilapidated apartment room on the outskirts of Tokyo, Miki Kobayashi coughed, almost choking. A dull, metallic taste spread in her mouth. She brought her trembling hand to her eyes, and in the dim light, her fingertips were stained a sinister red. Hemoptysis. It was undeniable proof that her illness was steadily, cruelly, progressing to its final stage.
The room was shrouded in a sooty gloom, the only light source an old, small television. A noisy variety show played on the screen, but it soon switched to a news program.
"Today, February 14th, Valentine's Day, many couples across the city are…" The announcer's cheerful voice grated unpleasantly in her ears. Then, the scene changed. "Also today, Mr. Koji Tanaka, president of the popular venture company 'Innovate Inc.,' held a lavish wedding ceremony with his fiancée, freelance announcer Ms. Rena Nishiyama. Everyone involved wishes the happy couple a bright future…"
The television screen was filled with the beaming face of her former husband, Koji Tanaka. Beside him, a beautiful bride leaned in elegantly, and somewhat proudly. Koji was no longer just a "section chief," but was now addressed as "president." And the woman standing by his side was, of course, not Miki Kobayashi.
"...kkh, hah…" Another fit of violent coughing tore at her lungs, rising to her throat. Tears had long since dried. All that remained was a viscous, dark, unbearable regret welling up from the depths of her throat.
That day, she had been deceived by that gentle yet deceitful smile, and had given him everything, foolishly. She had become estranged from relatives, her friends had drifted away, she had quit her job, living solely for Koji. And after being discarded, she was now fading away silently, wretchedly, in sickness and poverty, with no one to watch over her.
(Ah… what a fool I am…)
(Koji… you… with that woman… looking so happy…)
(I want to do it over… just one more time… back to that moment…!)
(Everything… I want to redo everything…!)
Her consciousness faded. The clamor of the television, the coldness of the room, the pain that gnawed at her body, all blurred into obscurity. Only a burning regret and a smoldering hatred flickered in her heart like a dying flame.
—And then, in the next instant.
A soft light tickled her eyelids. Classical music faintly drifted into her ears. The aroma of fine wine, mingled with the appetizing scent of perfectly grilled beef, teased her nostrils.
"…Miki? What's wrong? Why are you staring into space? It's a waste of a good dinner."
That familiar voice, a voice that should have been low and pleasant. She gasped and opened her eyes wide.
Her vision slowly focused. It was a spacious living-dining room. Polished hardwood floors, sophisticated decor, and outside the window, the Tokyo nightscape sparkled like countless diamonds. This was the high-rise apartment where she had begun her newlywed life with Koji. It was still the home from before everything shattered, when happiness wore a mask.
Before her, the dining table glowed with romantic candlelight. Across from it sat Koji, in a suit. In one hand, a wine glass. But his other hand was engrossed with the smartphone on the table. A deceptive, gentle, and warm smile played on his lips. **Once, in that time when I believed in him and gave him my all, there was certainly a fragment of this smile. But now, I know that gentleness is smeared with lies.**
"…Miki? Are you alright? You look a bit pale." Koji asked, feigning concern—though on closer inspection, a faint impatience flickered in the depths of his eyes, along with an unspoken thought of, "What's wrong, this is a nuisance"—such was his expression. His gaze barely left the smartphone screen.
"...Ah, yes. Just, a little…" Miki finally managed to squeeze out her voice. A shiver ran through her heart, hearing her own voice, young and strong, unravaged by that abominable illness.
"Just, a little dizzy…"
"Is that so. Don't push yourself. But it's a good steak. It'll get cold, so let's eat quickly." Koji tossed out the words, then immediately returned his gaze to his smartphone. His fingers, tapping the screen, seemed far more lively and even somewhat elated than when he spoke to her.
(That moment… exactly that moment…)
The memory resurfaced vividly. On this day, Koji had been fiddling with his smartphone, claiming it was for "work messages." At the time, Miki had merely sympathized with her busy husband, and though she felt a little lonely, she hadn't deeply suspected anything.
But now, it was different.
Granted a second life, his every action now appeared to be nothing but a mass of pretense and deceit.
Miki began to observe Koji calmly—with a calmness that surprised even herself.
First, his hand holding the wine glass. On the pristine white cuff, there was a faint, yet distinct, mark of bright pink lipstick. It was the favorite color of that woman, Rena Nishiyama.
Next, the smartphone on the table. For a fleeting moment, when the screen lit up, the wallpaper was displayed. It wasn't a wedding photo of Miki and him. It was a picture of Koji and a young, beautiful woman—Rena Nishiyama—laughing cheerfully together at some resort.
And then, the small box Koji had handed Miki just a moment ago, with a disingenuous smile. Opening it, she found a delicate pearl necklace inside.
"It's a Valentine's return gift. I think it'll suit you."
He had said that. In her previous life, she had received the same words, with the same joy.
(I see… this necklace, too, was a "hand-me-down" that that woman had chosen but didn't like…)
A cold knot of anger slowly expanded in the pit of her stomach. But it was no longer a passion or a scream. It had transformed into a cold, merciless inferno, silently yet surely incinerating everything.
The confusion and surprise rapidly subsided. Though unbelievable, this was reality. She, who had died, had returned to the past. And before her stood the man who had led her to ruin.
(Thank goodness… truly… thank goodness…)
(God… Buddha… thank you. For giving me this opportunity…)
Within her, something had certainly, dramatically, changed. Beneath the mask of a docile and obedient housewife, a cold, hard resolve, forged by the regret of death and deep hatred, began to sharpen its blade.
On the surface, Miki lowered her gaze, feigning a slightly unwell, amiable wife's expression.
"I'm sorry, Koji. It's such a wonderful meal, but I have a bit of a headache… May I lie down for a while?"
"Oh, sure. Go ahead. Are you okay? Should I get you some medicine?"
Koji's reply was laced with clear relief rather than concern. With the nuisance gone, he could focus on his conversation with the person on his smartphone.
"I'm fine. A little rest will fix it. Please enjoy your meal."
Miki said with an amiable smile, then slowly rose from her seat. Struggling to control her trembling legs, she walked through the living room and headed towards the hallway.
Instead of the closed bedroom, she made her way to the bathroom further down. Under the bright electric light, a large mirror reflected her image.
There stood Miki Kobayashi, twenty-eight years old, before her illness, youthful and healthy. Her hair was rich and lustrous, her skin translucent white, and her eyes—yet, in their depths, there was no longer the innocent sparkle of her former self. Instead, a serene abyss and a cold light lurked.
She stared intently at her reflection in the mirror, as if looking at a stranger.
(This is… me… the me I've regained…)
She took off the pearl necklace, Koji's "token of love," that had been on the table, and stared at it. Then, without hesitation, she dropped it into the sink drain. With a faint splash, it disappeared into the darkness.
Next, she took out a lipstick from her makeup pouch. A much deeper, darker, blood-red color than Nishiyama's.
She slowly approached the mirror and pressed the lipstick tip directly against the cold glass surface.
—Screeech—
With a smooth, yet ominous sound, two characters were carved into the mirror.
Revenge
The ominous yet beautiful crimson characters danced on the mirror. It was a declaration of war for her new life, and for their ruin.
Miki looked straight at her reflection in the mirror—the self that dragged the regrets of the past and harbored the inferno of the future—and whispered quietly, yet with firm resolve.
"In this life, I will redo everything. And I will drag you to hell."
Outside the window, the Tokyo night glittered, ignorant, cold, and splendid.