The afterglow of the setting sun stretched their shadows long, intertwining them as if they were inseparable. Miura Yumiko tightly held Kanjuro's arm, feeling the warmth radiating from his bicep and the intoxicating scent of his body. Her heart was filled with the joy of exclusive possession and a hint of triumph that dispersed the gloom caused by Yuigahama.
She looked up at Kanjuro's finely sculpted jawline, her eyes sparkling with bold anticipation.
"Mr. Kanjuro," her voice softened with a hint of coquetry, "How about... coming over to my house today?"
Kanjuro didn't stop walking. He turned his head to look at her, his face still bearing that unfathomably gentle smile, his tone carrying just the right amount of confusion: "Hm? Why the sudden desire to go to your house?"
Miura Yumiko pouted and playfully shook his arm, feigning dissatisfaction: "You were so close to Yui Yuigahama before, I was practically dying of jealousy! Now... now that I'm actively inviting you to my house, don't you understand what I mean?" Her cheeks were flushed, but she met Kanjuro's gaze boldly, the implication unmistakable. She wanted to take the next step, to tie him firmly to her side, and to let everyone know that this perfect man belonged to Miura Yumiko.
Hearing this, a flash of understanding and cold mockery flickered in the depths of Kanjuro's eyes.
(Jealousy? Taking the next step?)
(Foolish possessiveness, exactly like her mother back then.)
On his face, however, he displayed a look of sudden realization mixed with a playful smile, nodding gently. "I see. How could I refuse Yumiko's invitation?"
He had indeed developed a slight interest. Going to the Miura house... meant he would likely see Tomoko Miura, the woman who had also been involved with him during that dark ritual eighteen years ago. Too much time had passed; his memory of the woman's exact appearance and details was vague, only recalling a pair of eyes, somewhat similar to the girl beside him now, burning with fanaticism and fear. He wondered if, after so many years, that woman still remembered him? Remembered the night that changed her fate and gave her a daughter who carried his blood?
Thinking of the potential scene, Kanjuro felt no tension or guilt; instead, a sense of investigative amusement surged within him. Observing the reaction of prey when they reunite after many years always brought some pleasure.
"Really? That's great!" Seeing him agree, Miura Yumiko immediately beamed with joy, tightening her grip on his arm a bit more, as if she could already see the sweet scene of the two of them alone in her room.
She had no idea what kind of dangerous existence she was gleefully leading home, nor did she know that this romantic development, as she saw it, was about to uncover an eighteen-year-old family secret that would completely overturn her understanding of reality.
Kanjuro allowed her to lead him toward the Miura residence. The setting sun plated their figures with a golden edge, making them look like a perfect campus couple. However, hidden beneath the veneer of warmth was a turbulent past and a truth about to explode.
He was very curious what kind of spectacular expression Tomoko Miura would show when she opened the door and saw his handsome face—a face completely unchanged from eighteen years ago, appearing even more uncanny because time had failed to erode it.
Would it be terror? Resentment? Or... like Yuigahama Yui, that pathetic, indelible infatuation, twisted by the spear of longinus and the long passage of time?
He was looking forward to it. The sun sank below the horizon, leaving only the last magnificent trace of purple-red in the sky. Miura Yumiko, arm in arm with Kanjuro, stopped lightly in front of an elegant detached house. Her face held undisguised excitement and a hint of girlish shyness as she pressed the doorbell.
"Coming!" A gentle woman's voice came from inside the house.
The door was pulled open, and a graceful woman wearing an apron appeared at the entrance, her face bearing the gentle smile of a mother welcoming her daughter home. She was Tomoko Miura.
However, when her gaze passed over Miura Yumiko and landed on the unnaturally handsome young man beside her, the smile on her face instantly froze, as if rapidly flash-frozen.
Time seemed to halt at this moment.
Tomoko Miura's pupils suddenly contracted to pinpricks, and her breath hitched. The doorknob in her hand was unconsciously clenched tight, her knuckles turning white. In those eyes, quite similar to Miura Yumiko's, a tempest instantly surged—disbelief, bone-deep terror, the humiliation and pain sealed by time, and... a flicker of arousal, like ashes rekindled, that she herself hadn't anticipated.
Scenes from eighteen years ago rushed forth like an uncontrolled tide, fiercely breaking the dam of her memory. The dark, damp Basement, flickering candlelight, the frenzied and distorted crowd, and the handsome, cold young man at the center, like a dark deity—Kanjuro! It was him! That face, those eyes, the aura surrounding him, terrifying yet irresistible, were exactly the same as eighteen years ago! She could even clearly recall how she had been drawn by that dark atmosphere and by him personally, and how, in the chaos and frenzy, she had thrown herself forward like a moth to a flame... "You... How could you..." Tomoko Miura's voice was dry and hoarse, barely coherent, and clearly trembling. She stared intently at Kanjuro, as if seeing a ghost returned from hell.
Facing her violent reaction, Kanjuro's face remained composed with that gentle smile, as if he were just visiting a regular classmate's parent. He nodded slightly, his tone chillingly natural:
"Tomoko, long time no see. I came to see you."
This plain greeting sounded like a clap of thunder in Tomoko Miura's ears. Her body swayed; she almost lost her footing. He remembered her! He really remembered! This was not a nightmare, but a true past event etched into her soul!
"Mom? Do you... know each other?" Miura Yumiko stood between the two, looking at her pale, unsteady mother, then at Kanjuro, who remained calm and smiling, filled with confusion and unease. The atmosphere was too bizarre.
Tomoko Miura seemed to only just notice her daughter's presence. She looked at her daughter's young, beautiful face, then back at Kanjuro's eternally unchanging, handsome features. A cruel truth pierced her heart like an ice pick. She took a deep breath, as if making a final decision, and looked at Yumiko with complex eyes, her voice carrying the calmness of desperation:
"Yumiko," she paused, every word seemingly taking all her strength, "Kanjuro... he is your biological father."
"Wha—What?!" All the color instantly drained from Miura Yumiko's face. She abruptly widened her eyes, as if she had heard the most ridiculous joke in the world. "Impossible! Mom, what are you saying?! Mr. Kanjuro... how could he be..." She couldn't accept that the man she had fallen in love with at first sight, the man she was deeply infatuated with, the man whose arm she had just intimately held and invited home, was actually her... father?!
This was insane! This was disgusting!
"I'm not talking nonsense!" Tomoko Miura closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, they held nothing but exhaustion and an almost numb frankness. She turned, walking somewhat unsteadily toward the cabinet in the living room, and pulled out a worn notebook from the bottom shelf. With trembling hands, she carefully took out an old, yellowed photograph with curled edges and handed it to Miura Yumiko.
"See for yourself."
Miura Yumiko trembled as she took the photograph. The background of the photo was the Old School Building of Sacred Scripture Academy. A young girl in an old-style uniform was stealing a glance at a figure under a tree not far away. That girl, with her youthful features, was none other than a young Tomoko Miura. And the person she was looking at, the boy leaning against the tree with a side profile as perfect as a sculpture... was shockingly Kanjuro! A Kanjuro who looked almost exactly the same as he did now!
On the back of the photo, a line of small characters was written in elegant handwriting: [If only I could keep looking at him like this forever—To the Mr. Kanjuro I can never reach.]
The evidence was as solid as a mountain.
"Boom—!"
Miura Yumiko felt her head spin as the entire world collapsed before her eyes. The photo in her hand fluttered to the ground, and her body staggered back uncontrollably, bumping into the doorframe. She looked at the man before her—still handsome, yet appearing utterly hideous and terrifying at this moment—then at her mother, whose face was pale and eyes were filled with complex emotions. A massive sense of absurdity, nausea, and the fury of being completely fooled swept over her.
"No... this isn't real... it's not..." she muttered to herself, tears gushing out uncontrollably as her vision quickly blurred. All her previous adoration, sweetness, and possessiveness now turned into the sharpest irony, stabbing ruthlessly through her heart.
Kanjuro stood quietly at the door, like a detached spectator enjoying the family tragedy he had directed himself. He watched Yumiko's breakdown and Tomoko Miura's complex expression, a mix of pain and resignation. The faint, ambiguous smile at the corner of his mouth seemed exceptionally deep and cold in the gathering darkness.
The truth is often crueler than a lie. And he took pleasure in the collapse and reconstruction brought about by this cruelty. Miura Yumiko's broken cries and the sound of the bedroom door slamming shut echoed in the hallway, leaving behind a deathly silence. Standing at the door, the usual composed smile on Kanjuro's face vanished, replaced by a perfectly calibrated expression—a mix of shock, confusion, and a hint of grief. He frowned slightly, his gaze slowly shifting from Yumiko's closed door back to the pale-faced, complex-eyed Tomoko in front of him.
"Tomoko..." Kanjuro's voice was low, carrying a trace of imperceptible (feigned) hoarseness. "Is what Yumiko said... true? Am I... am I really her..." He seemed unable to say it, the word stuck in his throat.
Looking at his "incredulous" appearance, Tomoko Miura felt a mixture of emotions. There was a slight comfort in his reaction, but more so, there was the exhaustion and numbness of being hollowed out by long years and the cruel truth. She nodded, her voice soft yet exceptionally clear:
"Yes, Kanjuro. Yumiko is your daughter. Eighteen years ago... at the Sacred Scripture Academy's Old School Building... that..." She paused, omitting the unbearable details of the past, simply affirming, "...after that, I discovered I was pregnant."
She raised her eyes and looked directly into Kanjuro's seemingly bewitching eyes, her tone carrying a sort of resigned calm: "If you don't believe it, you can take Yumiko for a DNA test anytime. I've raised her alone all these years. Fortunately... my family's circumstances were decent enough to provide her with a good life and education, otherwise..." She didn't continue, but the unspoken words contained untold bitterness and hardship.
Kanjuro listened quietly, maintaining his "shocked" and "grieved" expression perfectly. He took a step forward, reached out, and gently pulled the slightly trembling Tomoko Miura into his arms.
This embrace was different from the playful and controlling one he had given Miura Yumiko earlier; it seemed to hold a trace of (performed) complex guilt and (fake) tenderness.
Tomoko Miura's body stiffened, and then she seemed to have all her strength drained away, leaning limply into his chest. After eighteen years, being held by this man again, feeling the warmth of his chest and his familiar yet strange scent, those deliberately forgotten memories—mixed with fear and secret longing—surged up once more. Tears fell silently from the corners of her eyes, soaking the fabric of Kanjuro's shoulder.
She had once hated him and resented him, but more than that, there was an attachment soaked in darkness that even she couldn't understand. The curse of the spear of longinus might be a factor, but deeper down, it was perhaps the dark ritual itself from back then, and Kanjuro as a person, who had already carved an indelible mark deep within her soul.
"I'm sorry, Tomoko..." Kanjuro whispered in her ear, his voice full of (feigned) apology and tenderness. "I... I didn't know. If I had known..." He paused at the right moment, leaving endless room for imagination.
Tomoko Miura shook her head in his arms, her voice choked with sobs: "What's the use of saying this now..." She raised her tear-blurred face and gazed affectionately at Kanjuro's handsome face so close at hand. Her eyes held a mix of pain, helplessness, and a distorted love that could not be completely extinguished even after enduring hardships. "To be able to see you again... to know that you... still remember me, I..." She couldn't go on, only burying her face deeper into the crook of his neck, as if to draw a trace of illusory warmth and solace from it.
Kanjuro gently patted her back as if comforting a frightened child, but at an angle Tomoko couldn't see, the corner of his mouth curled into an extremely faint, fleetingly cold arc.
(Truly... a deeply moving scene.)
(Guilt? Perhaps a sliver, for this boring coincidence played by fate.)
(But mostly... I find it interesting.)
He looked at the woman in his arms, immersed in past emotions and present shock, and sensed the "daughter" in the next room who had broken down because of the cruel truth—the girl who shared his blood. A dark pleasure from manipulating fate and playing with people's hearts quietly spread through him once more.
This family was falling apart because of his reappearance, yet he stood elegantly in the eye of the storm with the dual identity of "victim" and "redeemer."
Next, it was time to properly "comfort" his "old flame" reunited after many years, as well as the "daughter" on the brink of collapse who needed to receive "paternal love." This family drama, which he had accidentally started but found more interesting than expected, had only just begun.
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