After Koji left, the apartment was utterly silent. She was alone in this spacious place. The quiet, which usually felt empty, had now transformed into a taut tension. Only Miki's heartbeat reverberated unnaturally loud in her ears.
(Alright… perfect.)
She murmured softly to herself. The plan was flawless. Koji had left, saying he had an important meeting. She had plenty of time.
First, to the study. She placed her hand on the doorknob; it was slightly cold. Miki took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. As if this wasn't merely her husband's study, but the command center deep within enemy territory.
(He's a man who pays attention to every detail… the position of objects, their angles, the presence of dust… I must memorize everything perfectly.)
She opened the door. A faint, Koji-like scent of leather and paper wafted. She first picked up the vacuum cleaner and a cleaning cloth. This was her "disguise." If Koji unexpectedly returned, she could simply say she was cleaning the study.
First, the desk. While wiping dust, she glanced through the piles of documents. Most were work-related papers, seemingly unproblematic on the surface. However, her objective wasn't paper documents. It was that smartphone.
(Where is it…? Where does he usually charge the phone itself…?)
In the corner of the desk, a spare smartphone charging cable dangled from an outlet. But the phone itself wasn't there. Did Koji take it with him? No, wait. Last night, he must have been charging it in the living room…
Miki desperately tried to retrace Koji's thought patterns. He would keep it within easy reach. He was lazy.
Hesitantly, she carefully opened the desk drawers one by one. Stationery, spare business cards, stock ties…
And when she opened the bottom drawer, she found it. The smartphone, and **a spare smartphone**. He probably used one for work and one for personal use. The personal one had no passcode. Carelessness, or perhaps he utterly underestimated Miki.
(…Stupid man.)
A cold, fleeting twist appeared on her lips. This overconfidence will dig your own grave.
She wasn't wearing gloves. With extreme caution, she operated the phone **while wrapping it in a handkerchief**. This was to avoid leaving fingerprints.
First, the photo app. Landscapes and work-related images were lined up. However, Miki knew about the "hidden album." In her previous life, during the divorce proceedings, her lawyer had hinted at its existence. She swiped the screen and entered a specific combination of numbers—Koji's birthday, and Rena's birthday.
The album opened.
She gasped. Inside were photos of Koji and Rena Nishiyama. Pictures of them leaning into each other, laughing in a luxurious hotel room. A photo of Rena kissing Koji's cheek. All of them were far more intimate and indulgent than those of a married couple.
(…!)
A scorching sensation in her stomach. Yet, she suppressed her emotions. Anger was fuel, not an obstacle. Now, she simply had to gather evidence.
Miki quickly pulled out her own smartphone. She had secretly set up a free email address last night, untraceable by anyone. From Koji's smartphone, she began sending the photos, one by one, to that email address.
The "Send Complete" notification continued stoically.
Next, she opened the LINE app. At the top of the chat list was a name: "Manami." The profile picture was Rena Nishiyama herself. It seemed she was using a pseudonym.
The chat content was all explicit. Dates, sweet nothings exchanged. And, regularly sent messages confirming large money transfers… The amounts were in the hundreds of thousands of yen per transfer. Even screenshots of the transaction details were saved, accompanied by messages from "Manami" like "Thanks, I bought a hair accessory ♪".
(From our shared assets… to that woman…)
It became increasingly difficult to maintain her composure. She bit her lip and, in the same way, sent these screenshots to her own email.
Finally, the email app. His work account was logged in. Just a quick glance at the titles revealed **several suspicious transactions**. "Non-public meeting regarding the ○○ project," "Regarding accounting processing (urgent)," "Thanks and future support"… There was no time to check the contents. For now, she sent a list of emails with suspicious titles to herself.
When almost all the evidence had been sent, she breathed a sigh of relief. However, when she sent the very last one—a particularly embarrassing photo of Koji and Rena side-by-side in bed—a "Send Error" notification flickered on the screen.
(!?)
Cold sweat trickled down her back. She tried resending. This time, it showed "Send Complete." Was it alright? Was it successfully sent after the error? Or… did it leave a trace on Koji's smartphone?
There was no time. She returned Koji's smartphone to its original state, put it back in the depths of the drawer, and meticulously restored the arrangement of objects around it. She vacuumed, wiped away dust, and left the study as if nothing had happened. Her legs trembled slightly.
All day, her heart continued to pound. She couldn't get the send error out of her mind. Had that photo reached her safely? Or… had a trace been left on Koji's smartphone?
And then, night fell. Koji returned home.
"I'm home."
"Welcome back, Koji. You must be tired. The bath is already drawn."
Koji looked a bit tired. He went straight to the living room, sat on the sofa, and immediately pulled out his personal smartphone. Miki, preparing dinner in the kitchen, quietly observed him.
Koji was operating his smartphone. His expression gradually darkened. His brows furrowed, and he tapped the screen repeatedly. He was clearly looking for something, or checking something.
(As expected… was it discovered? That send history? Or…?)
After a while, Koji headed to the study. His footsteps were hurried. The sound of a drawer opening. And after a short while, he emerged from the study. His face was twisted with perplexity and a hint of suspicion.
"Miki."
"Yes. What is it?"
Miki, feigning a slight startled surprise like a frightened small animal, turned around. She still held a knife in her hand, cutting vegetables.
Koji stared intently at her. A probing, cold gaze.
"Hey, Miki… did you touch my study again? I feel like the documents are in a different position. And there was a drawer left open, too."
Suppressing her heart that threatened to leap out, Miki tilted her head slightly, wearing an innocent, puzzled expression.
"Oh? Is that so? I cleaned thoroughly today, so I might have moved some things. I'm sorry, Koji. Did I disturb your important documents?"
Her demeanor was utterly natural, the very image of a concerned wife. Koji paused for a moment, trying to read her eyes, but he saw only (what appeared to be) genuine concern.
"…No, it's fine. Just, don't touch things carelessly. There are a lot of important documents."
"Yes, I'll be careful. By the way, tonight's dinner is your favorite nikujaga. You must be tired from work, so eat plenty."
She said it with a forced brightness and plenty of charm. She felt Koji's expression soften slightly. The simple equation of being appeased by food, especially his favorite, had worked within him.
"…Hmph, fine. Let's eat soon then."
"Yes! I'll get it ready right away!"
Koji returned to the living room sofa. Watching his back, Miki quietly exhaled. A mix of relief from having crossed a dangerous bridge, and tension from his suspicion not being completely dispelled.
(I can't let my guard down… he no longer completely trusts me.)
Standing in the kitchen, gripping the knife, Miki pondered.
(That send error photo… if a send history remained on Koji's smartphone? Did he already notice and delete it? Or is he just yet to check?)
Her eyes grew cold and sharp.
This was merely the first step. From now on, she had to more carefully, more cunningly, dismantle his fortress, laying a path to hell, step by step.
Outside the window, Tokyo's night had fallen again. Countless lights twinkled, gently yet coldly. Each one, perhaps, reflected the human endeavor of someone, like her, plotting something, enduring something.
Miki renewed her resolve. The battle had only just begun.