Mamoru was getting a bit tired of stomping. Just as he was about to lift his foot, a burst of violent struggling and low growls came from beneath him.
Hiroshi's obese body, shaped like an oval watermelon, twisted incessantly as he put every ounce of strength into trying to break free from under Mamoru's foot. However, Mamoru's foot seemed rooted to the spot, remaining motionless no matter how hard he struggled.
Perhaps realizing escape was hopeless, Hiroshi simply threw caution to the wind and roared with a raspy voice, "Bastard! You brat! Let me go!"
Mamoru shook his head inwardly.
This man had probably gone mad, still so irritable even at death's door. It seemed years of repression had indeed driven him insane, and now it was all exploding at once.
He added a bit more pressure with his foot and sneered, "You son of a bitch, if I wasn't so bored sitting here waiting for people, would I have let you ramble on for so long?"
Unexpectedly, Hiroshi struggled even more fiercely, his mouth spewing foul threats. "Let me go! Otherwise, I won't let you off even as a ghost! I'll haunt you every day after I die, haunt you when you eat, haunt you when you sleep, and even haunt you when you're in the bathroom..."
Hearing these curses, the veins on Mamoru's temples throbbed slightly.
In a few years, when this body grew up, would he be watched even while doing that?
This was unacceptable!
He immediately kicked Hiroshi in the crotch without hesitation. "Dream on. You're not even dead yet, and you're already dreaming?"
"Hiss—"
With that kick, Hiroshi gasped sharply, all his words choking in his throat. His eyes bulged, his body went rigid, and cold sweat poured down as he became too pained to utter a single word.
Mamoru wouldn't let him off so easily. He straddled Hiroshi, his left hand falling like raindrops as he slapped him repeatedly, muttering, "Trapped by love, trapped by love... I'll show you trapped by love. Reminiscing, are we? Wanting to haunt me as a ghost, are we..."
...
The bright moon in the sky gradually sank in the west, and a touch of golden-red dawn stained the eastern horizon.
Clatter... Clatter...
Pulled by horses, two carriages passed through the wide and not-yet-fully-awake Nagakawa District, heading toward the end of the street.
The wheels rolled over the road, making a rhythmic and clear sound.
The carriages crossed the only stone bridge in the city, turned a corner, and soon entered one of the two wealthiest residential areas in Nagakawa City.
Before long, the two carriages stopped one after another in front of a sprawling mansion. A hand pulled back the curtain of the front carriage, and four figures of varying heights stepped down in sequence.
Kurenai was the first to land. Then came Hinata, who stepped down carefully, followed silently by Shino. Finally, there was Komatsu, who practically jumped down, his face a mask of anxiety and exhaustion.
From the luxuriously decorated carriage behind, Hiroki slowly stepped out, supported by a servant. As his feet touched the ground, he gazed at the familiar residence, a complex and deep expression flashing in his eyes.
As Okawara's close friend, he had wholeheartedly wanted to help his friend escape from danger, but his abilities were limited. Being able to protect himself in Nagakawa City was already difficult enough. Now, learning that his good friend had seen the light of day again, he felt happy for him yet also somewhat ashamed.
On both sides of the mansion's thick doorframe were wall lamps, but they were currently extinguished for some reason, failing to provide sufficient light for the group.
In the faint light of dawn, the two large doors could be seen—one open and one ajar. Clothes and scattered odds and ends were strewn on the ground. Clearly, a chaotic event had taken place here not long ago.
"Is my father... really still alive?" Komatsu clenched his hands into fists, his nails almost digging into his palms, his voice trembling slightly with tension.
"This is the tenth time you've asked that." Kurenai sighed softly, a hint of helplessness in her tone.
"And I've answered more than ten times. Your father is indeed still alive. You're already at your own front door now."
"That's great, that's great..."
Receiving confirmation once again, Komatsu could hardly hide his excitement. His eyes reddened slightly, and his lips trembled.
"Don't just stand here, let's go in." Kurenai reminded him, her voice gentle yet firm. "Mamoru is still inside, he knows where your father is."
"Let's go!"
Before she could finish, Komatsu was already impatiently crossing the threshold, practically sprinting into the house.
The group hurried through the slightly messy courtyard toward where Mamoru was.
As they entered the residence, they could faintly hear a youth's clear but impatient voice. As the distance closed, the voice became clearer until an absurd scene appeared before them, causing everyone to instinctively slow down, their faces filled with astonishment.
"Keep shouting. Why'd you stop? Reminiscing, storytelling, flying into a rage..."
They saw an exquisite-looking youth straddling a short, fat man, his left hand swinging down incessantly as he repeatedly muttered those words. With every sentence came a crisp slap.
"Mamoru, what are you doing? Stop it!" Kurenai was the first to react, hurriedly calling out to stop him as she stepped forward quickly.
"Hmm?"
Hearing the voice, Mamoru turned his head. He looked slightly surprised to see Kurenai and the others. He raised an eyebrow, but his hands didn't stop.
He grinned, showing a reckless expression. "Oh, you're all here. This guy has a foul mouth, so I'm helping him correct it."
Kurenai looked at Hiroshi, who had been beaten until he was almost unrecognizable, and sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Fine, I'm not asking for your reasons. Stop hitting him."
Smack!
Mamoru raised his left hand and delivered another loud slap to Hiroshi. The crisp sound of the slap made everyone present wince involuntarily.
Only then did Mamoru seem satisfied. He withdrew his hand, rolled off to sit on the floor nearby, and let out a long breath, a refreshed but slightly tired look on his face.