A few blocks away, the narrow, cracked street felt too small for the machine moving in the shadows.
It was a Black Mercedes. The paint was so polished that the bruised purple of the sky reflected off its hood like a dark mirror. In that neighborhood of rusted bicycles and peeling wallpaper, the car looked like a predator that didn't belong.
Inside, the air was different. It didn't smell like damp stone or old wood. It smelled of expensive leather, cold air-conditioner, and the sharp, heavy scent of red wine.
Seijurou Kanzaki sat behind the wheel.
His blonde hair, usually perfectly combed and styled like a crown, was a mess. Strands fell over his forehead, tangled and dull. He wore a charcoal-grey suit, tailored and expensive, but the jacket was wrinkled, and the silk tie hung loose around his neck.
But it was his eyes that told the real story. They weren't the sharp, pale green eyes of a CEO. They were bloodshot and swollen, the color of a man who hadn't slept in days—or perhaps, a man who had forgotten how to live. They were filled with a raw, quiet anger.
He gripped the steering wheel with his left hand, his knuckles white. His right hand held a bottle of wine, the dark liquid sloshing as he took a heavy swallow.
From the high-end speakers, a heartbeat-like rhythm began to pulse. A woman's voice, soft and haunting, filled the car:
"He said, 'Let's get out of this town... Drive out of the city, away from the crowds...'"
Seijurou took a long, desperate sip of the wine, the dark liquid staining his lip like a bruise. He hated this song. He hated how 'pretty' it sounded.
"Say you'll remember me... standing in a nice dress... staring at the sunset, babe..."
'Sunset?' Seijurou thought, his bloodshot, pale green eyes narrow and bitter. He looked at the bruised purple sky of 3:00 AM. There was no sunset, the mist.
"Red lips and rosy cheeks... say you'll see me again, even if it's just in your wildest dreams..."
"Shut up!" Seijurou shouted, his voice raw and uneven.
He reached out to twist the dial, but his hand was shaking too hard. The music swelled, the drums kicking in like a steady heart—a heart that was still beating while his felt like it was turning to stone. Something inside him snapped.
THUD.
He slammed his fist into the center. His knuckles hit the hard plastic screen with a sickening crack. Pain flared up his arm, sharp and hot, but the song didn't stop. Taylor Swift's voice just kept echoing, trapped in the expensive electronics.
"Wildest dreams, ah-ah-ha..."
"I said SHUT THE HELL UP!" he roared, his eyes wild and bloodshot. He threw his weight into a second, more violent punch, his heavy ring crunching against the display.
Finally, the screen flickered, faded into a line of static, and died. Silence rushed back into the car, heavy and suffocating.
Seijurou moved back against the leather seat, his chest heaving. He looked down at his right hand; the skin was broken across his knuckles, and a smear of red began to stain the charcoal-grey fabric of his expensive suit. He didn't care. He just grabbed the bottle again, his eyes staring blankly at the dark, misty road ahead.
'Love...' he thought, a bitter, broken smile touching his lips. 'What a disgusting lie.'
He slammed the car into gear, the engine roaring like a wounded animal as he sped deeper into the mist.
He didn't care about the speed. He drove recklessly, the tires splashing through the puddles of the narrow street. He wasn't looking for a destination; he was just driving away from a life that felt like a cage.
Seijurou gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles bleeding onto the expensive leather. He didn't care about the speed. He didn't care about the narrow streets or the puddles splashing against his windows.
His mind was stuck in a loop. A phone screen. A photo. Kaori. His wife. The 'Diamond of Hollywood.' The woman he had given everything to. Every diamond, every designer dress, every luxury apartment—it was all for her. He had worked until his eyes were red and his heart was dry, just to keep her smiling on the red carpet.
"A... a joke." he muttered, his voice thick with wine and bitterness. "A disgusting... pathetic joke."
He took another heavy swallow of the wine, the bottle clinking against his teeth. He thought of her face—that perfect, famous face—next to him. That other celebrity. A man with a bigger name and a brighter smile.
"She's... she's just a lie." he grumbled, his speech stumbling over the words. "A beautiful, hollow lie. I gave her... I gave her the world... and she used it to buy a ticket... to someone else's bed."
He let out a tough, broken laugh that sounded more like a sob. He began to badmouth her, his words turning ugly and sharp. He called her a 'leech,' a 'fake,' a 'snake in a silk dress.' To him, she wasn't a goddess anymore. She was just a woman who had traded his soul for a few more minutes of fame.
"They all... they all do it." he muttered, his pale green eyes blurring as he stared at the road. "Work... earn... build... only for them to take... take... take."
He slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The Mercedes roared, a black shadow flying through the 3:00 AM mist. He felt like he was driving through his own life—fast, expensive, and completely out of control.
"Kaori..." he whispered, his voice suddenly small and cracked. "You... you killed me tonight."
He turned around a corner, the tires screaming against the wet road. He didn't know where he was going. He just knew he couldn't stay in the silence of his own mind.
The Mercedes moved through the 'bruisedpurple' night, its engine a low, angry growl that echoed off the damp brick walls. Seijurou's vision was a blur of wine and tears. He wasn't looking at the road; he was looking at the ghost of Kaori in his mind.
Suddenly, a flash of movement appeared in the glow of his high beams.
SCREEEEEECH!
Seijurou slammed his foot on the brake. The heavy car jumped forward, the tires screaming as they fought for grip on the wet road. The smell of burning rubber filled the cabin, sharp and bitter. The car finally came to a halt, the bumper just inches away from a girl standing in the middle of the street.
The girl froze. The white LED headlights hit her, making her look like a ghost in the mist.
Seijurou leaned out the window, his messy blonde hair falling over his bloodshot eyes. He was panting, his chest heaving with a mix of adrenaline and alcohol.
"Move!" he roared, his voice cracking. "Get out of the way, you brat! Do you want to die?!"
The girl didn't move. She adjusted the strap of her bag and looked him right in the eye—not with fear, but with pure, sharp annoyance.
"Are you serious?" she snapped back, her voice echoing in the quiet street. "You're driving like a maniac in a neighborhood where people are sleeping. Look at you—you're a mess."
Seijurou's jaw tightened. 'What is wrong with this generation?' he thought bitterly. 'No respect. No fear.'
"I said MOVE!" He slammed his palm against the horn. BEEEEE-EEEP! The sound was unbearable, a violent sound that shattered the
3:00 AM silence. "I'll run you over, I swear it!"
The girl rolled her eyes and stepped onto the sidewalk, but she didn't stay quiet.
"Go home, Old Man." she yelled back over her shoulder. "Go sleep and stop mourning your breakup in the middle of the road. Some of us actually have places to be!"
Seijurou's face twisted in a snarl. "You... you little...!'
He didn't finish the insult. He just slammed the car back into gear and moved, the Mercedes disappearing slightly as he sped away, leaving the girl behind in a cloud of exhaust and mist.
Inside, his heart was hammering against his ribs. He took another swig of the wine, his hands shaking.
'Everyone...' he thought, his eyes narrowing as he stared into the dark. 'Everyone thinks they can talk to me like that. Kaori... that brat... the whole world.'
Meanwhile, back towards Asuka's side, the mist had turned into soft dew. Asuka walked along the edge of the bypass, her long coat fluttering around her knees. In her arms, she pressed the small pink box against her chest. The silk ribbon felt smooth against her cold fingers.
'Kurumi is so dramatic.' Asuka thought, a genuine, warm smile spreading across her face. 'Calling me at 3:00 AM just for this?'
She looked down at the gift. It represented a world outside her quiet, tired house. A world of friendship and birthdays and being
eighteen.
She felt a rare spark of hope. She couldn't wait to get home, crawl under her blankets, and see what was inside.
The road was silent, lined with thick, tall trees that seemed to watch her pass. The air smelled of wet earth and pine. She was only a few minutes from her neighbourhood.
'I'll be back before Mom even wakes up.' she whispered to herself. 'Everything is going to be okay.'
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