The voices from the bedroom were low and intimate — the private sounds you expect only from the person who holds your heart. Not the way they spilled into your own home, not on your bed.
Sasaki moved toward the door with steps that grew heavier with every inch. The door was cracked ajar. What he glimpsed through that slit would burn into him forever.
Rina. Her back arched, laughter escaping her in a sound he had only heard in tenderness before. And Aoi Tanaka — his boss —leaning over her with an ease reserved for lovers who had long since claimed one another.
He stumbled forward and pushed the door wide. For a moment they didn't react — or perhaps they did and did not care.
"Rina-chan…?" His voice was a small, broken thing.
She turned as if interrupted by a nuisance. Her eyes met his and there was no shock, no shame — only a blank, bored cruelty.
"Oh. You're home," she said, sharp and uninterested.
Aoi did not bother to cover himself. He stretched, slipping on his shirt with the languid indifference of a man closing a deal. No urgency. No apology.
Sasaki's knees folded. He dropped to the floor as if his legs had been cut out from under him. His hands shook; hot tears gathered before he could stop them.
"Why?" he asked. "Why would you do this to me… to us?"
Rina rose from the bed and wrapped a silk robe around her —not for modesty, but because it was convenient. She looked at him like you look at an old coat destined for the trash.
"Because you're pathetic, Sasaki," she said, voice cold. "A loser. Took you long enough to catch on. Embarrassing."
"But… I loved you," he whispered.
She scoffed. "Love? Don't be dramatic."
Laughter crashed from the doorway. Sakura, Naomi, and Mai — three of Rina's friends — swaggered in, flushed and gleeful, their makeup smudged, perfume cloying. One of them clapped like it was a performance.
"You owe me three hundred yen, Sakura!" Naomi crowed, thumbs already flying across her phone. "I said he'd find out after eight months. You swore six."
Sakura sipped from a champagne flute, eyes glittering. "Worth every yen. Look at him now — priceless."
Reality crashed through Sasaki like salt in an open wound. "You… you made a bet?" His voice broke. "You knew? All of you?"
"Of course," Rina said, as if explaining the weather. "I told them after it started. We had drinks, we laughed, why not make it interesting? You were never home anyway — always working. For him, no less." She jabbed her chin toward Aoi, who only smirked and adjusted his cuff.
"I gave you everything," Sasaki said, the words scraping out. "I worked those hours for you — to give us a life."
"You worked for yourself," Rina replied. "Obsessed with being useful. Aoi always said you were… eager. Too desperate." She shrugged; Aoi made no protest.
His vision blurred. His heart felt monstrously large and hollow at once. Each beat was a hammer.
Rina moved past him as if he were discarded clothing. She pulled out her phone, thumbed a message, then faced him again with a look that tasted of finality.
"I want a divorce," she announced. "Now that you know, there's no reason to keep pretending. I'll move out tonight."
Sakura cocked her head. "Oh, by the way, you might want to find a friend to stay with for a while. This house? Rina had it transferred to her name last month. It's hers now."
"What?" The single syllable cratered from him.
Rina's smile was feline. "Aoi handled the paperwork."
"You… planned this." The words came out thin.
She leaned down, cupped his chin like a parent scolding a child, and whispered, "Of course I did."
Sasaki could not move. He could not scream. Humiliation seeped into every pore; pain lodged in every breath. The women left still laughing; Rina didn't glance back.
Aoi lingered a moment, smoothing his shirt. "Just business, Sasaki," he said, cool as a closed window. "Also, don't come in tomorrow. Your position is terminated. There'll be a severance packet in your inbox."
Then he left — the door swinging wide as if to show that privacy had been revoked permanently.
He lay on the floor until the room dimmed and the echoes scrubbed themselves thin. The ring he had bought with his life's savings felt like a stone in his pocket.
Eventually he hauled himself upright and stumbled to the bathroom. Cold water crusted his skin when he splashed his face. He met his reflection and the man staring back was a stranger.
That man had trusted too easily. Loved too hard. Given until there was nothing left.
That man was gone.
What remained was empty — hollowness that felt like a cavern.
And in that cavern, something took root: a seed of hate, precise and black. It wasn't grief alone. It was fury sharpened into purpose.
They had taken everything from him for the price of a laugh. He would not disappear.
He would start again. Alone if he must. Broken, but not buried.
If retribution was the last breath he drew, he would make them pay.