In the living room, the lighting was ambiguous. Kanjuro's gentle whispers were like the mellowest wine, causing Tomoko Miura's already chaotic mental defenses to completely crumble.
Those emotions, grievances, and longings suppressed for eighteen years found an outlet for release at this moment. She leaned tightly against Kanjuro, feeling the warmth of his fingertips and his burning breath, as if trying to make up for all the time lost over the years.
The bedroom door, which didn't have very good soundproofing, couldn't completely block out the faint sounds coming from outside. Miura Yumiko curled up on the bed, pressing a pillow tightly over her ears, but those subtle sounds still drilled into her mind like a curse.
Nausea, absurdity, a sense of betrayal... various negative emotions gnawed at her heart like venomous snakes.
Yet, amidst this extreme pain and resistance, Kanjuro's handsome, smiling face, his gentle eyes, the warmth of his embrace, and everything about him... surfaced clearly like a brand, impossible to shake off.
She discovered in despair that even knowing the terrible truth of their blood relation, her obsession with Kanjuro and that bone-deep attraction did not disappear. Instead, under the stimulation of the forbidden, it became even more complex and inseparable. She had perfectly inherited her mother's bone-deep "love-brain"—once she fell in love, she couldn't extricate herself.
After an unknown amount of time, the commotion outside gradually subsided.
In the living room, Tomoko Miura, her breath still uneven, went limp in Kanjuro's arms, her eyes dazed. Kanjuro stroked her hair in an intimate posture, as if they were truly a pair of loving partners reunited after a long separation.
In an almost bewitching atmosphere, Kanjuro spoke in his magnetic voice, seemingly casually yet with a heart-pounding sincerity:
"Tomoko, there's something... I don't know if I should say it." He paused, feeling the slight stiffening of the body in his arms, and continued, "I... toward Yumiko, I seem to have developed some... extraordinary feelings."
She thought of her own recklessness when she was young, and remembered the look in Yumiko's eyes when she looked at Kanjuro—a look identical to her own... Silence spread through the air for a few seconds. Tomoko Miura finally seemed to have exhausted all her strength, or perhaps reached a bizarre compromise. She leaned her head back against Kanjuro's chest, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible:
"If... if Yumiko herself... doesn't mind..." She paused, as if overcoming the final hurdle, "I... I won't object."
Saying those words made even her feel a shiver, but what followed was a sense of distorted relief, as if she had simply given up on everything.
At an angle Tomoko couldn't see, the corner of Kanjuro's mouth curled into a successful, cold smile. He admired Tomoko's near-stupid "devotion," where she could sacrifice everything—including ethics and morality—for "love."
"Thank you, Tomoko." He tightened his arms, his tone full of (feigned) gratitude and tenderness. "For being able to understand me."
Tomoko Miura was so moved by these words that her mind became a muddle, as if she had made some great sacrifice. She looked up, eyes brimming with tears, and said affectionately: "Kanjuro, in the future... come over to the house more often, okay? I... I hope I can cook delicious meals for you every day, just like... just like a family."
Hearing this, Kanjuro showed a perfectly timed look of "difficulty."
"Tomoko, I'm very moved by your sentiment." He sighed softly, his tone carrying a hint of imperceptible distance, "But as you know, I... still have many things to handle. I might not be free that frequently."
He was deliberately keeping his distance to maintain his sense of mystery and control, avoiding being "bound" by this family's warmth.
However, Tomoko Miura didn't seem to hear the evasion in his words. Instead, she confessed even more urgently: "It doesn't matter! No matter how busy you are, no matter when you come, I'll wait for you! I'll always wait for you!"
Her posture was humble and earnest, completely trapped in a self-moving emotion of sacrifice, unaware that she was falling step by step into an even deeper abyss of desperate dependence.
Kanjuro looked at her like this and sneered inwardly, yet his face remained gentle. He lightly patted her back, neither promising nor refusing.
This twisted "family reunion" drew to a close in the night, and the seeds planted were destined to bloom into even more bizarre and dark flowers.
In the next room, Miura Yumiko heard her mother's words clearly. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, her heart in a state of inner conflict. Her obsession with Kanjuro was faintly gaining the upper hand.
Kanjuro gently pushed open Miura Yumiko's door. Only a dim bedside lamp was on in the room, outlining the girl's curled-up figure in the corner of the bed, making her look exceptionally thin and fragile. Hearing the door open, Yumiko whipped her head around. Those eyes, so similar to Kanjuro's, were now filled with tears, and even more so with a burning rage and humiliation.
"Get out!" She grabbed the pillow beside her and threw it, her voice sharp and trembling from crying and anger. "You shameless bastard! Demon! How could you... how could you do that to Mom, and how could you do that to me?! You're my father!!" She almost shrieked the last few words, like a blood-and-tear-filled accusation.
The pillow hit Kanjuro softly. He didn't care, didn't even raise a hand to block it.
He just stood there quietly with that inscrutable, gentle smile, as if admiring a thorny rose, patiently waiting for her storm to pass.
Seeing him not react, Yumiko grew even more furious. Every malicious word she could think of poured out—calling him cold-blooded, accusing him of playing with people's hearts, saying he ruined her life and family... She was incoherent, with tears and snot running down her face, as if trying to turn all her pain and resentment into sharp arrows to shoot at him.
Kanjuro remained silent, simply watching her with deep eyes that were either tolerant or perhaps indifferent, until she grew tired of her shouting. Her voice gradually faded, leaving only suppressed sobs and heavy panting.
At that moment, Kanjuro moved.
He walked slowly to the bedside. Under Yumiko's wary and dazed gaze, he leaned down and extended his arms, pulling her trembling body into his embrace with an irresistible yet exceptionally gentle touch.
"Are you done shouting?" His voice was low, sounding in her ear with a strange, soothing power. "If it makes you feel better, you can keep going."
Yumiko's body was stiff, and she instinctively wanted to break free, but Kanjuro's embrace was solid and warm, carrying a familiar yet lethal scent she couldn't resist. Her struggling strength gradually weakened.
"Love..." Kanjuro's voice was like a demon's whisper, threading its way into her heart, "sometimes transcends all worldly boundaries, Yumiko. Blood relations, ethics—in the face of this, perhaps they all seem pale and powerless."
"I believe you can feel my feelings for you, can't you?" He pulled back slightly, looking down at her tear-streaked face with a focused and'sincere' gaze. "From the first time we met, that inexplicable attraction and palpitation... that wasn't fake. We can't deny everything that happened between us, deny this... emotion that transcends common sense, just because of a sudden 'truth'."
His words were like the most exquisite key, prying open Yumiko's already chaotic mental defenses bit by bit. Yes, that attraction where she couldn't look away from the first time she saw him, that feeling of her heart racing under his gentle gaze, that longing she still couldn't suppress even after knowing the truth... was all of that fake?
"Don't you... like me? Yumiko?" Kanjuro's final rhetorical question, tinged with a perfect touch of vulnerability and expectation, completely shattered Yumiko's last shred of reason.
She looked up blankly at the handsome face so close to her. This face belonged to the 'Mr. Kanjuro' she had fallen in love with at first sight, the one she was deeply entangled with and couldn't extricate herself from. The bond of blood became blurred and distant at this moment, leaving only the person before her and the 'love' that 'transcended everything' from his lips.
Tears burst forth again, but this time, they weren't pure anger and pain. They were mixed with confusion, grievance, and a fallen, forbidden palpitation.
She suddenly reached out both arms, tightly circling Kanjuro's neck and burying her face deep in the crook of his shoulder, as if drawing the courage to face the entire world from him.
"Kanjuro... Ge..." she sobbed incoherently. "You bastard... you scum... you ruined me... but... but why do I... why do I just like you so much..." Her words were full of self-loathing yet carried the determination of a moth to a flame. "I don't want to call you father! You are my Kanjuro!! I don't care who you are... you are just my Kanjuro!! My most beloved Kanjuro!!"
She finally shouted out the truest and most immoral desire in her heart. In this moment, everything was thrown to the back of her mind. She chose to sink, chose to embrace this twisted and dark 'love'.
Feeling the young girl's burning confession and trembling dependence in his arms, the smile at the corner of Kanjuro's mouth was no longer hidden, filled with the pleasure of total control and a hint of mockery toward the fragility of human nature.
He gently held her back, like embracing an interesting toy that had been lost and found again.
"Fine, I am just your Kanjuro," he responded in a low voice, like making a sweet yet terrifying vow.
·· 0 Asking for flowers 0 --- The sound of a door opening rang out, and Tomoko entered the room as well.
"I shouldn't have come."
"No, you came at just the right time."
No one knew what happened that night.
The morning sun shone through the clean glass windows, spilling into the tidy dining room. Exquisite breakfast was laid out on the table—golden fried eggs and steaming miso soup. Everything seemed warm and ordinary, if one ignored the strange and surging undercurrents between the three people sitting around the table.
Tomoko Miura wore an apron, a nearly pious tenderness on her face as she constantly served dishes to Kanjuro. Her eyes could hardly leave him, as if she wanted to firmly engrave this lost-and-found 'reunion' time into her heart.
She would occasionally look at her daughter, Yumiko, with a complex gaze containing guilt and worry, but more than that, a resigned, twisted hope that her daughter could also be 'happy'.
Yumiko Miura kept her head down, taking small sips of soup. Her cheeks were still slightly swollen from crying the night before. Her eyes darted away, not daring to make eye contact with Kanjuro or her mother for long. Whenever Kanjuro's gaze swept over her, she would unconsciously tense her body, the tips of her ears turning red.
Kanjuro appeared the most composed. He ate his breakfast elegantly, occasionally expressing appreciation for Tomoko's cooking in a gentle and natural tone, as if he were just an ordinary master of the house.
His gaze would sometimes fall on Tomoko with a seemingly affectionate reassurance, and sometimes sweep over Yumiko with a deep look that carried an imperceptible playfulness and control. It made Yumiko's heart skip a beat while simultaneously giving her a strange sense of security from being watched... This breakfast ended in an atmosphere that was harmonious on the surface but full of tension underneath.
"I'm finished."
Kanjuro put down his chopsticks and wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
"I'm finished too." Yumiko stood up almost at the same time, her voice a bit rushed.
Tomoko quickly rose. "I'll go prepare your bentos!" She looked at Kanjuro, her eyes filled with pleading and reluctance. "Will you... be back for dinner tonight?"
Kanjuro smiled slightly and didn't answer directly. Instead, he reached out and naturally helped Yumiko straighten her slightly crooked ribbon tie, his movements as intimate as a considerate lover. Yumiko's body stiffened, but she didn't pull away; her cheeks only grew redder.
"We'll see, Tomoko." Kanjuro then turned to Tomoko, his tone gentle but carrying a hint of distant boundary. "No need to wait up for me specifically."
A flash of disappointment crossed Tomoko's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by 'understanding' and'submission.' She nodded vigorously. "Okay, that's fine. You do what you need to do."
When they went out, the sunlight was just right. Kanjuro and Yumiko walked side-by-side on the slope leading to the school. Yumiko deliberately lagged half a step behind, head down, staring at the tips of her shoes, not daring to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with Kanjuro.
Kanjuro slowed his pace to walk parallel with her, his voice sounding softly, "Still thinking about last night?"
Yumiko shook her head sharply, her voice as thin as a mosquito's hum, "N-No..."
"No need to be afraid, and no need to feel ashamed." Kanjuro's voice seemed to possess magic, soothing her uneasy soul bit by bit. "Just follow the truest feelings in your heart, Yumiko."
He stopped, turned around, and looked at her directly. The sunlight outlined a dazzling halo behind him, making his handsome face appear somewhat hazy and surreal. He reached out and gently lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Remember, you only need to look at me and believe in me." His gaze was focused and deep, as if he wanted to pull her entire being inside.
Yumiko gazed at him blankly. Amidst his bewitching words and gaze, her inner struggle and guilt were strangely smoothed over, replaced by a fallen sense of security from surrendering everything. She nodded gently.
"Let's go, it's time for school." Kanjuro let go and resumed his usual posture, as if that moment of intimacy and depth had never happened.
Yumiko followed behind him, looking at his tall and slender back with mixed emotions. Fear, shame, confusion, and that unquenchable, burning, and immoral infatuation were all intertwined.
She knew that from the moment she chose to embrace him last night, she had stepped onto a path of no return. Whether the end of the road was an abyss or the 'love' she craved, she no longer had the strength to think about it; she could only be led forward step by step by the man before her.
Two women: one behind him building a nest with submissiveness and devotion, and one beside him following closely with confusion and sinking. Kanjuro walked in the sunlight, feeling the two affectionate yet distinctly different gazes from behind, a deep arc on his lips that no one could understand.
This twisted and dark game directed by him was reaching its climax.
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