3rd Person POV
[Kuoh Town - Issei's House]
The glow from Issei's laptop screen cast jagged blue shadows across his cramped bedroom—the only light in the house still burning past midnight. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, frozen mid-scroll as pixels resolved into a face that punched the breath from his lungs.
Orange hair. Light brown eyes. That mole just below her collarbone.
Nami-senpai.
But not the Nami he knew—not the cheerful upperclassman who laughed too loudly in the hallways, who flipped her hair over her shoulder when she teased the boys in her class, who always smelled faintly of tangerines. This Nami had her wrists bound above her head, her eyes wide with something between fury and terror as unfamiliar hands groped her bare skin. The video title screamed in crude English: BRUNETTE BITCH GETS WHAT SHE DESERVES. The description beneath wasn't a synopsis—it was a bounty notice.
The cursor blinked mockingly on the paused video frame—Nami's contorted expression frozen mid-scream, her orange hair matted with sweat against flushed skin. Issei's fingers trembled so violently he had to clutch the edge of his desk. The timestamp read 3:47 AM, but time had dissolved into static the moment he recognized that mole beneath her collarbone—the one he'd stared at during swimming lessons when she adjusted her bikini strap.
"Senpai…?" His whisper cracked like dry kindling.
The webpage header glared in blood-red letters: MISSING: 200K USD REWARD. Beneath it, a slideshow of Nami in varying states of violation—wrists bound with zip-ties, a man's fist tangled in her hair forcing her face toward the camera. The metadata listed locations—Stockholm, Oslo—all dated before her sudden transfer to Kuoh Academy.
Issei slammed the laptop shut so hard the hinge groaned. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, syncing with the rhythmic thump of Issei's snoring through the paper-thin wall. Sweat dripped down his temple as he fumbled for his phone, thumb hovering over Issei's contact. Then Motohama's. Then nothing.
What do I even say? 'Hey, I found rape videos of Nami-senpai while jerking off'?
His stomach lurched. The crumpled tissues on his desk now seemed grotesque. He grabbed his school blazer—still reeking of ramen grease—and dug out the crumpled flyer from last month's cultural festival. There she was, smiling beside Rias Gremory in the photography club display, her orange hair catching afternoon sunlight. Nothing like the hollow-eyed woman in the videos.
Issei's fingers shook as he reopened the laptop—slowly, as if the screen might bite—and scanned the metadata again. Stockholm. Oslo. Dated months before her transfer. The reward notice pulsed at the bottom of the screen like a wound: 200K USD FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO RECOVERY.
He clicked play.
In the video is exactly what he expected, it's her, Nami, that same voice, but ragged and trampled as they raped her group by group, laughing loudly as she protests weakly in a language he doesn't understand, maybe it's Swedish, or Danish, or Norwegian, or Finnish, he doesn't know, he only knows English and Japanese
Her wrists bound above her head, tied to a bedpost, legs spread wide open as men took turns, her face twisted in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks as they laughed at her suffering, mocking her in languages she couldn't understand
One of them even slapped her face hard enough to make her head whip to the side, drawing blood from her split lip, and they laughed harder, calling her names in their native tongue
Issei couldn't look away, his stomach churning, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as he watched his senpai being violated over and over again, her cries growing weaker with each assault
He recognized the mole beneath her collarbone, the same one he'd stared at during swimming lessons when she adjusted her bikini strap, the same one he'd fantasized about kissing during late-night sessions with his right hand
Now it was covered in bruises and bite marks, and he felt sick to his stomach
The video ended abruptly, cutting to black with the words "TO BE CONTINUED" flashing in red letters, followed by a link to a dark web marketplace where more videos could be purchased
Issei slammed his laptop shut again, his hands shaking uncontrollably, sweat dripping down his forehead. He couldn't even masturbate like he usually does, he has seen it in some hentai anime he watched where the MC found videos of a beautiful senpai of his on porn webs.
But, now it's happening right in front of his eyes and he seriously doesn't know what to do now. His stomach twists violently—this isn't some animated fantasy. This is Nami-senpai, the girl who is too smart, beautiful and queen-like for the boys to even think about approaching.
Not only that, the bounty they are hanging to find her, 200,000 dollars, she is that valuable? Is this money real to begin with. And a flash of thought goes through his mind, he can contact and tell them she is here to get the money if they can give him that, or.....
Something darker gets into his mind, he can use this to get the better of her, the beautiful, high and mighty Nami, or Nakamura Akemi on papers. He has seen those hentais, those anime, he knows exactly what to do with this. He can blackmail her, force her to do his bidding, or else he leaks the tapes to Kuoh Academy, or worse, to the ones looking for her. She'll lose everything, and he'll gain everything.
The thought makes his pulse spike—not just from excitement, but the raw power of it. His fingers twitch over the keyboard, already drafting the message in his head. He could send it anonymously. A screenshot. A timestamp. Just enough to let her know he knows. That he holds her past in his hands like a knife.
But then—his fingers stop, the tug of guilt is pulling him, he can feel the excitement of taking advantage of Nami and have her do everything he wants, he can even get her to date him, or even have sex with him, but at the same time, he knows it's wrong. He knows Nami-senpai—the real one, the one who laughs too loud in the hallways, who flips her hair when she teases the boys—doesn't deserve this. She didn't deserve what happened to her in those videos.
Laying on his bed, Issei can't stop thinking about what he saw—Nami-senpai, broken and weeping, nothing like the confident queen of Kuoh Academy. His fingers twitch toward his phone again, thumb hovering over the keypad. Blackmail her. Own her. The fantasy coils hot in his gut—her tearful obedience, her trembling hands unbuttoning his shirt.....it's almost too intoxicating to think about.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by a camera starts rolling]
[Kuoh Academy]
The next morning, Issei walks to school groggily after a night lacking of sleep, he can't keep his mind away from what he found last night, from the porn videos of his senpai, to the bounty some people are willing to pay to find her whereabouts, to the idea of blackmailing her, forcing her to comply with his wishes, he doesn't know what to do, and he hates himself for not being able to decide.
Then he sees her, walking down the hallway with Rias Gremory, laughing as usual, flipping her orange hair over her shoulder—confident, untouchable. Nothing like the broken woman in those videos. His stomach twists violently. He ducks his head and scurries past, heart pounding.
At lunch, he sits with Matsuda and Motohama as usual, but he can't focus on their crude jokes about the girls' volleyball uniforms. His eyes keep darting toward Nami, who sits at her usual table with Rias, Akeno, and Koneko, peeling a tangerine with practiced fingers. That mole beneath her collarbone—now hidden beneath her uniform—haunts him.
[Kuoh Academy - Lunch Hour]
The tangerine peel spiraled between Nami's fingers like a coiled spring, the citrus scent cutting through the cafeteria's greasy haze. Issei's chopsticks hovered over his half-eaten ramen, his pulse thudding unevenly as her laughter carried across the room—bright, effortless, normal.
How does she act like nothing happened?Matsuda elbowed him. "Dude, you're staring like a creep again."
Issei jerked his gaze away, cheeks burning. "Shut up." His fingers tightened around his chopsticks, knuckles whitening. Across the cafeteria, Nami leaned into Rias' shoulder, laughing at something Akeno said—her throat exposed, her collarbone shifting beneath the fabric of her uniform. The mole was there. He knew it was there.
Matsuda snorted. "Seriously, what's your deal today? You've been twitchy since—"
"Nothing," Issei snapped, louder than intended. A few students glanced over. Nami didn't.
Motohama smirked, nudging Matsuda. "Probably jerked it too hard last night. Right hand finally quit on him."
The joke landed hollow. Issei's stomach churned. His phone weighed like a brick in his pocket—the screenshots saved, the dark web link bookmarked. He could text her right now. I know. Two words. That's all it would take.
"Seriously, bro, what happened? Did you find a fine shit and didn't tell us?" Matsuda pressed, grinning as he shoveled curry into his mouth. Issei's fingers twitched toward his phone again—the weight of it burning against his thigh—before he forced them back to his ramen.
"Nah. Just... didn't sleep well." His voice sounded alien to his own ears, too tight, too thin. Across the room, Nami popped a tangerine segment into her mouth, lips curling into a smile as Rias whispered something in her ear. The casual intimacy of it twisted something inside him. Did Rias know? Did any of them?
Motohama followed his gaze and whistled low. "Man, forget to sleep. If I dreamed about Gremory's group every night, I'd never wanna wake up." He elbowed Issei. "Right?"
He doesn't answer, he doesn't know how to say it out loud, not when his breath keeps catching every time Nami tilts her head—and she notices he is looking at her, her eyes change from playful to questioning when she meets his stare, and Issei looks away instantly, sweating. The cafeteria noise fades into static.
Nami's fingers pause mid-peel. "Something's wrong with Hyoudou," she murmurs to Rias. The red-haired princess glances over without turning her head. "Hmm?"
"He's staring like he's seen a ghost." Nami's voice drops lower, casual but sharp. "Or like he's holding a knife." Rias's fork pauses halfway to her mouth. The tines gleam. "It's probably nothing, boys usually stare at you like that, don't mind them"
Nami sighs and minds her own lunch again as she peels another tangerine she picked from Simulation Room's botanical sector "Have this, Rias, it's very tasty, it's a waste I couldn't bring the entire batch" she hands Rias half the tangerine.
Meanwhile, Issei's mind raced—the bounty notice, the videos, the way Nami's confident facade never cracked. Did she remember? Did she care? The chopsticks trembled in his grip. Across the room, she laughed again, tossing her hair—untouchable.
Motohama nudged him. "Dude, seriously, did you—"
"Shut up," Issei hissed. "It's nothing, okay?" Matsuda pats his back "Dude, the more you talk like that, the more not 'nothing' it sounds, you don't need to tell us here and now. Just know that we're your best friends, we're always ready to share....even if it's the spicy link you found and decided to hide from us"
A sudden drop in the sentimental words make Issei punch Matsuda "What's wrong with you?" he laughs, the weight is lightened slightly on his back as he hears the playful encouragement of Matsuda. "Thanks, I think I just need some time alone," he says, standing up and leaving the cafeteria, the laughter of Nami and Rias' group fading behind him.
[TImeskip: Brought to you by money stacking upon each other]
Issei goes home, without Motohama and Matsuda this time, he doesn't know where they went, but it gives him some time to think about what he found and what to do with it.
The thought of blackmailing Nami-senpai makes his stomach churn, but the thrill of power—of finally having leverage over someone who seemed untouchable—sets his pulse racing in a way he doesn't entirely hate. He kicks a pebble down the sidewalk, hands shoved deep in his pockets, replaying the video in his mind—the way she'd struggled, the way she'd cried.
Would she cry like that for me?
The thought sends a hot rush of shame through him, but it doesn't extinguish the ember of want simmering beneath. He pulls out his phone, only to know he doesn't have any contact number of Nami, it's quite obvious he doesn't have it, he has never talked to her, or be close enough for her to share her contact numbers.
At that moment, he notices Kiba, who just finished his cleaning duty for his class and is walking home, he is quite close to Nami-senpai, probably has her contact info. Maybe he can get it from Kiba.
As Issei approaches, Kiba glances up from his phone, blue eyes sharp despite the polite smile. "Hyoudou? Something wrong?"
Issei swallows, his fingers twitching at his sides. "Uh, yeah, actually. I was wondering if—if you have Nami-senpai's number?"
Kiba's gaze flickers—too quick, too knowing. "Why?" The question is light, but there's steel beneath it.
Issei's throat tightens. "Just... homework, I mean....Nami-senpai reigned supreme in score last semester, so I wanted to ask her to help me with some tough problems?" Kiba thinks for a moment before answering with a smile
"I appreciate your dedication to searching knowledge, Issei, but it's tough to contact Nami-senpai, she is really busy with her personal study, so if you have any problems that requires her specifically, you can just tell me and leave your number, I will tell her to call you when she is free, how does that sound?" Kiba hands Issei a piece of note paper for him to write his contact numbers, and Issei writes it down, but he knows this isn't working, Nami will never call him back, and he needs another approach.
"Thank you, Kiba" the blond Prince of Kuoh nods courtly too before heading down his way, leaving Issei behind.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by a laptop being opened]
Returning home, Issei sees there are 2 more pairs of shoes at home. Panick, he runs to his room without even saying hi to his mom and barges into his room to see Motohama and Matsuda are already at his desk, looking at his opened laptop "Dude...." Matsuda said it first, head slowly turns to Issei, eyes wide "What the fuck did you find?"
Motohama is silent, but his fingers are shaking over the keyboard—the same video Issei had watched last night plays on screen, Nami's tear-streaked face frozen mid-sob. The timestamp glows: 3:47 AM. The dark web marketplace link pulses at the bottom of the page.
Issei's stomach drops. "Close it," he hisses, slamming the door behind him. "Just—close it, okay?"
"Close it?" Motohama's voice is unnaturally calm. "Dude, this is Nami-senpai. From school. And someone's offering two hundred thousand dollars to find her." He taps the screen. "This isn't some random JAV. This is—"
"I know what it is!" Issei's shout is too loud. He lowers his voice, glancing at the door. "I know. I found it last night. I didn't—I didn't know what to do."
Matsuda exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Okay. Okay. So... what are we doing?" He gestures at the screen. "Because this is... fucked. But also..." A pause. "Two hundred grand, man."
Issei's pulse spikes. The unspoken hangs between them—the same dark fantasy he'd wrestled with alone. Blackmail. Control. The way Nami might look at him if she had to.
Motohama leans forward suddenly, clicking through metadata. "What is on your mind, man? What do you want to do? Because..." He hesitates, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "We could—"
"Could what?" Issei snaps, voice cracking. "Blackmail her? Sell her out?" His fists clench at his sides. "She's our senpai."
Matsuda scoffs. "Since when do you care about senpai-kouhai respect? You stare at her tits every swimming class." He gestures at the screen. "Besides, look at her. She's already been—"
"I know....I know...." Issei opens his door to the corridor, alerting for any presence other than their own, he is mostly worried about his mother, if she heard this, he would be dead. So he closes the door tightly and turns to his friends "Okay, keep it down, alright? I don't want my mom to hear it"
Matsuda leans back in the chair, arms crossed. The glow of the laptop screen casts shadows under his eyes. "So? What's the play, then?"
Motohama's fingers hover over the keyboard. "Option one: delete everything, pretend we never saw it." His voice drops. "Option two: leverage."
Issei's pulse thrums in his throat. The word hangs between them—ugly and electric.
Matsuda exhales sharply. "Dude. Two hundred grand could get us anything. Think about it—college tuition paid, a car, hell, even a house." He glances at the paused video. "And she's already..."
Issei's stomach twists. The image burns behind his eyelids—Nami's tear-streaked face, the way her wrists had strained against the restraints. Motohama leans in. "Or—third option. We use it." His voice is low, conspiratorial. "Not to sell her out. But to... negotiate."
Issei's breath hitches. Matsuda grins suddenly, nudging Motohama. "Ohhh. Like—personal compensation?" Motohama smirks. "Exactly. We don't need the bounty. We just need her."
Issei's fingers twitch. The fantasy coils hot in his gut—Nami's trembling hands unbuttoning his shirt, her whispered pleas, the way she might look at him if she had to.
Then— A knock at the door. All three freeze. "Issei?" His mother's voice, muffled through the wood. "I'm heading to the mall, dinner is ready, I called your friends's family, they can have dinner here tonight
Then— A knock at the door. All three freeze. "Issei?" His mother's voice, muffled through the wood. "I'm heading to the mall, dinner is ready, I called your friends's family, they can have dinner here tonight too."
Issei exhales shakily. "Y-yeah, thanks mom!" The footsteps retreat. The silence stretches.
Motohama clicks the laptop shut. "We need to think this through." His voice is steady, but his fingers tap nervously against the desk. "This isn't just—some random chick. This is Nami-senpai."
[Issei's house - Kitchen]
The 3 students are having dinner together in the kitchen, the atmosphere is tense, with none of them talking much—just chewing mechanically while stealing glances at one another. Issei's mother had left for her evening shift at the hospital, leaving them alone with their thoughts and the weight of what they'd uncovered.
Motohama broke the silence first, chopsticks clinking against his bowl. "So," he said, voice low. "We're really doing this?"
Matsuda swallowed his rice too fast, coughing before answering. "Doing what, exactly? Because if you mean blackmailing Nami-senpai into—"
Issei's fist slammed the table, rattling the dishes. "Shut up," he hissed, eyes darting to the darkened hallway. "We're not—" His voice cracked. The image of Nami's tear-streaked face flickered behind his eyelids again.
Motohama leaned in, chopsticks tracing idle patterns in his rice. "Then what are we doing? Because that video's timestamp was two years ago." He tapped his temple. "Which means whatever happened to her—she's fine now. Walking around like nothing's wrong."
Matsuda exhaled through his nose. "Okay. Hypothetically. If we... approached her. Politely. Just to ask—"
Motohama snorted, flicking a grain of rice at him. "Yeah, right. 'Hey, Nami-senpai, we found your sex tape—wanna talk about it over tea?'" His grin faded as Issei's chopsticks snapped between white-knuckled fingers.
Issei stared at the broken wood, pulse hammering. "There's... another way." The words tasted like bile. "We just—show her we know. No demands. Let her come to us."
Silence. Matsuda exhaled slowly. "That's actually... not stupid."
Motohama's eyes gleamed. He pulled out his phone, tapping the screen. "One text. One attachment. Sent from a burner account."
The kitchen clock ticked loudly. Issei's thumb hovered over his own phone—he hasn't known her number yet, but Kiba said he would tell her, so maybe.....his phone rings with an unfamiliar number. "Who's calling?" Matsuda asks
"I don't know, but it might be....her" Issei's voice cracked as the unknown number flashed on his screen. Motohama and Matsuda froze mid-bite, chopsticks hovering like drawn weapons. The phone vibrated again—once, twice—before Issei swiped answer with trembling fingers.
"...Hello?"
Static hissed for three agonizing seconds before a voice—cool, amused, dangerous—cut through. "Issei Hyoudou." Not a question. Recognition punched him in the gut. Nami-senpai's tone carried the same playful lilt she used when teasing Rias, but underneath ran something darker. "Kiba mentioned you needed... academic assistance?"
Matsuda mouthed holy shit across the table. Issei's throat dried instantly. "Y-yeah! Math! The quadratic formula—"
A soft chuckle. "I see....I have some free time tonight, I can help you if you want, meet me at the public library by 8 p.m, cool?" The astonishment of how straight forward Nami behaved makes the boys couldn't process the her proposal properly, Issei went short-circuited "Uhh....hello....anyone there?" Nami asks again, her voice still playful, but there is something else lurking beneath.
Issei swallows hard, fingers gripping the phone too tight. "Y-yeah! Library. Eight. Got it." Matsuda kicks him under the table—hard—mouthing what the fuck with wild eyes.
"Great~ See you then." The line clicks dead. Silence. Then—"Dude." Motohama slams his hands on the table. "She called you. Directly. After hours." His grin stretches too wide. "This is the closest we've ever been to one of the 3 most beautiful girls of the school. You lucky ass bastard"
Issei stared at his phone like it had grown teeth. His pulse pounded in his ears—too fast, too loud. Matsuda whistled low. "Either she's really into tutoring... or she knows." The implication settled like ice in Issei's gut.
Motohama snatched the phone, scrolling through the call log. "No caller ID. Untraceable." His smirk faltered. "Smart." He tossed it back. "So. Are we going full recon? Earpieces? Hidden cam?"
Issei's fingers twitched. The fantasy flickered again—Nami leaning close over a textbook, her citrus perfume teasing his senses—before dissolving into the darker image from the video. "No," he muttered. "Just me."
Matsuda's eyebrows shot up. "Bro. You're not going alone with—"
"She called me." Issei stood abruptly, chair screeching. "If she wanted you two there, she'd have said so." The words tasted bitter. Part of him wanted backup. The rest knew this was a test.
The library's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting sterile white rectangles across the rows of study tables. Issei spotted her immediately—Nami perched on the edge of a desk in the non-fiction section, one leg swinging lazily as she flipped through an advanced calculus textbook. Her orange hair caught the light like polished copper. No tear-streaked face. No trembling hands. Just Nami-senpai, humming softly as she penciled notes in the margin.
Issei's sneakers squeaked against the linoleum. Nami glanced up, her smile widening when she saw him. "Ah, there you are!" She snapped the book shut with one hand, tapping the cover. "Quadratic formulas, right? You picked a tough one."
His throat tightened. She wore a cream-colored sweater today, the neckline loose enough to reveal the mole beneath her collarbone—the same one he'd stared at in the video while—
"Issei?" Nami tilted her head. "You okay? You're sweating."
He wiped his palms on his jeans. "Y-yeah! Just—ran here." The lie tasted like chalk. He sits down opposite to her as she looks at him in the eyes, clearly unaware of what is going on inside his head "Get your books out, Issei-kun, I'll help you with what you're struggling with"
Issei fumbled with his backpack, fingers slipping twice before he managed to unzip it. He pulled out a crumpled math worksheet—something he'd grabbed blindly on his way out—and smoothed it on the table between them. His pulse hammered in his wrists. Up close, Nami smelled faintly of tangerines and something sharper, like gunpowder under the citrus.
Nami plucked a pencil from behind her ear and leaned over the paper, her hair brushing his forearm. He stiffened.
"Okay, problem four," she murmured, circling an equation with practiced ease. "See how this part mirrors the standard form? You just need to..." Her voice trailed off as she glanced up, catching the way his gaze darted from the paper to her collarbone and back.
"Issei...Are you listening? I am chipping away at my own tight schedule to assist you here" Nami waves her hand in front of Issei's eyes. He blinks rapidly, her fingers snapping him back to reality. The textbook's pages blur slightly under his sweaty grip.
"Sorry, senpai. Just—" His voice cracks. Nami's eyebrow quirks up, her pencil tapping idly against the desk. The rhythmic click-click-click syncs with the library clock's second hand. "Never mind that, let us continue with what seems to be bugging you aside from me."
Issei swallows, his throat dry as parchment. Nami leans closer—not flirtatiously, but with the precision of a surgeon assessing a wound. She starts explaining the problem for him to hear....."Hey...hey! Are you listening?" Nami lightly slaps Issei's face with the textbook, startling him.
The textbook's impact stung—more from the shock than the pain—and Issei's hand flew to his cheek instinctively. Nami's expression didn't change, but her grip on the book tightened just enough for the spine to creak. "Focus," she said, voice still light, though her knuckles had gone pale. "Or else I am leaving. Now, back to the problem..."
Issei's pulse hammered against his ribs. The equation swam before his eyes—numbers and symbols blurring into the memory of Nami's restrained wrists in the video. His fingers twitched beneath the table. She was here. Unafraid. Untouched. As if the footage had been some grotesque hallucination.
"And that's how it's done, have you gotten all that?" Nami asks, her pencil hovering over the completed equation. Issei nods jerkily, though his eyes keep flicking to her wrist—where faint rope marks still linger beneath her sleeve.
Nami follows his gaze and pulls her cuff down sharply. The air between them shifts. She exhales through her nose and snaps the textbook shut. "Alright. Time's up."
Issei's stomach drops. "W-wait—" Nami is about to stand up "What now? I swear a toddler could understand what I explained just now" she sighs, rubbing her temple. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting her shadow long across the study table.
He licks his lips, pulse jackhammering. "Senpai, I—want to ask you something...personal." Nami is pushing the chair into the table as she stops "And now you're requesting therapy as well. I should have charged extra..." She rests her arms against the chair, clicking her tongue "..never mind, what do you want to ask?"
The words clot in his throat. Up close, her pupils aren't just brown—they're flecked with gold, like sunlight through whiskey. Issei's fingers dig into his thighs. "What will you do...when you know someone's secrets? I mean...dark and dirty ones." The question hangs between them, misshapen and quivering.
Nami's exhale is slow. Deliberate. She tilts her head, orange strands sliding over one shoulder. "Well, it depends on whose secrets you're having and your relationship with them. Like a person you don't know, or don't care about, or even hate, you can use those secrets against them for your own gain. You can use it to blackmail them into doing what you want, any way would keep them on the edge knowing that you hold their secret"
"But," she shrugs "when it comes to people you know or care about, you're putting your relationship with them on the scale with the secret you're holding. If you value that person enough, you won't use it against them—because you know the damage it would cause to the relationship you value."
Nami taps the textbook against her palm, gaze steady. "That's what I thought when it comes to secrets, are we clear? Because I really need to go home now? She adjusts her bag strap, the movement deliberate—almost rehearsed—as she steps back from the table.
Issei's chair scrapes loud against the floor when he stands too fast. "Wait—" His hand hovers near her wrist, not touching but close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin. Nami pauses mid-turn, her profile sharp under the library's harsh lighting.
"Oh, what now? Seriously, you should really learn to talk when you need to talk, I can't just go back and forth and entrance like this. Last chance, Issei, say what you want to say or else I'll charge you for wasting my time" She turns back to him, her fingers tightening on her bag strap. The fluorescent lights buzz louder, casting stark shadows under her eyes that make her look older—tired in a way he's never noticed before.
Issei swallows, his pulse hammering against his ribs. The words spill out before he can stop them: "Senpai, what is your relationship with me?" Nami raises an eyebrow, questions are definitely in her head right now about what's wrong with this boy, first he asked her to come to tutor him, then asked her about dealing secrets, now he is asking about their relationship, it's really annoying her.
She sighs "I don't know what you're getting at, but let this be the last question tonight. To me, you are a stranger, nothing more, nothing less, I know your name from your....undecent reputation from girls in school about how a pervert you and your pals are. I have no like, no hate, and no care for you whatsoever. "
A deep breath as she continues "I only came here because Kiba asked nicely and I had some free time. But you've proven to me that our time here was unproductive because you kept thinking about matters other than the one you told Kiba you needed help, which really frustrated me for spending my precious time assisting you."
Issei flinches as if struck. The fluorescent lights buzz louder—or maybe it's the blood rushing in his ears. Nami's words carve through him with surgical precision: stranger, nothing, pervert. His fingers twitch toward his phone—where the video still lives—but something in her stance stops him. The way her thumb taps a slow, deliberate rhythm against her bag strap. The way her pupils contract slightly when he shifts his weight.
"I've said what I could say, if you don't have anything else to say, I'll be taking my leave, goodbye, Issei-kun" Nami turned on her heel, her sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. Issei stands up "Senpai...."
The emergency exit light flickered above them as Nami paused mid-step, her shoulders tensing beneath the cream sweater. Without turning, she spoke—softly, dangerously: "That wasn't a question, Hyoudou."
Issei's phone burned in his pocket. His thumb brushed the power button through the fabric, the video thumbnail seared into his memory—Nami's tear-streaked face, the raw marks around her wrists. His pulse thundered. "Senpai, I...know."
"Know what, exactly? Have you really understood what I told you about your homework? That's....quick" she said sarcastically as she turned around, her expression clearly annoyed—but something flickered behind her eyes, a fractional tightening at the corners.
Issei's breath hitched. The words coiled in his throat like smoke—thick, choking. He fumbled for his phone, fingers brushing the cracked screen. "I—I saw—"
Nami's gaze dropped to his pocket. Her shoulders stiffened, just enough for the fabric of her sweater to pull taut across her collarbone. The library's hum of fluorescent lights and distant keyboard clatter faded into white noise.
Nami's fingers flexed—once, twice—before she reached out and plucked the phone from Issei's limp grip with the precision of a pickpocket. Her thumb swiped the screen before he could protest, illuminating the paused video frame with clinical indifference. The light cast eerie shadows across her face, sharpening the curve of her cheekbone into something knife-like.
"Oh?" Her voice was velvet over steel. She tilted the screen toward him, tapping the timestamp. "So they are still looking for me after 2 years, and they are using this to humiliate me...." She sighs and turns her attention back to Issei "I see you've found it, the darkest part of my agonic past. So what? What are you going to do about it, hmmm?"
The emergency exit sign flickered again, casting jagged red shadows across Nami's face. Issei's mouth went dry. He'd rehearsed this moment in his head—the power, the control—but now, with her standing there, thumb idly scrolling through the video as if it were a grocery list, his fantasies crumbled like wet paper. "I—"
Nami's finger paused the playback. The audio hissed faintly—a whimper, a laugh that wasn't hers. She didn't flinch. "Two hundred thousand dollars," she mused, tapping the bounty notice. "That's a lot, you know. Enough to buy a small island." Her gaze lifted, gold-flecked and unreadable. "Did you already sell it?"
Issei's stomach lurched. "N-no! I wouldn't—"
"The why showing it to me now? What do you expect to get out of me when showing me this? Sympathy? Blackmail material?" Nami's voice was a blade wrapped in silk. She tilted her head, studying him like a biologist might examine a particularly perplexing specimen. The phone screen reflected in her eyes, turning them into twin pools of fractured light.
Issei's hands trembled at his sides. His rehearsed speeches—the threats, the negotiations—dissolved into static. "I just...wanted you to know that I know," he managed weakly. The words sounded pathetic even to his own ears.
Nami's lips curved—not a smile, but something of...despise "You know? Fine, you know....then what are you going to do with the fact that I was gangraped by a bunch of laughing thugs while they filmed my miserable face to share between their wretched group chat?"
The library's air conditioning hummed louder, freezing the sweat on Issei's back. His throat closed around nothing. Nami's fingers tightened around his phone—not shaking, not trembling, just tight—before she tossed it back to him with deliberate slowness. The screen cracked further against his chest.
"Cat got your tongue?" Nami's voice dropped an octave, the playful lilt from earlier replaced by something jagged. She stepped closer, the way her pupils dilated just slightly. "Let me guess. You thought you'd have power over me. That I'd beg for you to not publish it for everyone to know, that I would even....Hell, date you? Have sex with you?...Is that what you want?"
Issei's knees locked. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed like a swarm of wasps, casting Nami's shadow long and sharp across the study table. His phone lay between them, the screen still glowing with that cursed thumbnail—her tear-streaked face frozen mid-sob. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Nami exhaled sharply through her nose. "Be honest with yourself, Issei, the cat is already out of the bag, there is nothing left to hide now that there is only you and me here. What is your deal now that you know the part of my past that I never wanted to tell anyone, even my new family? What do you want?"
The silence stretched—too long, too brittle. Issei's tongue felt like lead. He'd imagined this moment a dozen times, each fantasy more twisted than the last, but now, under the weight of her unflinching stare, his rehearsed lines crumbled like ash. His phone lay between them, the cracked screen still glowing with that damned thumbnail—her tear-streaked face, the raw marks around her wrists—a frozen moment of agony he'd rewound again and again in the dark.
Nami didn't flinch. She didn't look away. She just waited, one foot tapping an idle rhythm against the linoleum, as if this were nothing more than a mildly inconvenient detour on her way home. That calm unnerved him more than any scream would have.
Issei's fingers twitched toward the phone. "I—" His voice cracked. "I thought...maybe..." Nami nods, "...Come on, say it out.....Don't leave me waiting"
The fluorescent lights buzzed louder, amplifying the silence between them. Issei's pulse hammered against his ribs, his throat dry as parchment. He swallowed hard, the words clotting in his mouth like tar. "I thought...you'd be afraid." The confession spilled out, raw and jagged.
Nami's lips curved—not a smile, but something colder. "Afraid?" She tilted her head, orange strands sliding over her shoulder. "Of you?" Her chuckle was soft, venomous. "Oh, Issei. That's adorable."
The dismissal stung worse than a slap. His fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms. "I could ruin you," he blurted, voice trembling with a bravado he didn't feel.
Nami's gaze flicked to his white-knuckled hands, then back to his face. "You could....actually. So, what is the price? Silence for a kiss? A date? Or just straight to the point—you want me in your bed?" She leaned in, close enough for her breath to ghost over his cheek. "Be specific, Hyoudou. I don't do vague negotiations."
Issei's stomach twisted. The scent of tangerines and gunpowder filled his nostrils, cloying and dizzying. His rehearsed demands—touch me, beg me, let me own you—dissolved into a choked whisper. "I just...wanted you to look at me."
Nami blinked. Then she laughed—a sharp, brittle sound that echoed off the library shelves. "Oh, wow." She stepped back, arms crossing over her chest. "Even now you managed to say a lie at a woman's face, and a bad one at that. Do better, stop lying to yourself, I can see it from your eyes looking at my chest when you say that." Her foot tapped faster, the rhythm impatient now. "Try again. With honesty this time."
Issei's face burned. The fluorescent lights buzzed louder—or maybe it was the blood roaring in his ears. Nami's gaze didn't waver, her light brown eyes dissecting him with clinical precision. His pulse hammered against his ribs, erratic as a trapped bird.
"Fine," he spat, hands curling into fists. "I watched it. Twice." The confession tasted like bile. "And I—" His throat clicked. "I liked it."
Nami's expression didn't change. She studied him the way one might examine a particularly stubborn stain—not disgusted, just mildly inconvenienced. "Obviously," she said, tone flat. "Or you wouldn't be here." Her fingers drummed against her elbow, the rhythm methodical. "And? What's your next move?"
Issei's breath hitched. The fluorescent light flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across Nami's face. He'd imagined this moment—her trembling before him, begging—but reality was inverted. She stood poised like a chess player three moves ahead, waiting for his pathetic attempt at checkmate.
"I could—" His voice cracked. "Send it to everyone."
Nami tilted her head. "You could," she agreed. "Yes, that's right, you could, Issei, you could send it to everyone and ruin my new life here in Kuoh. Then what do I have to do to make you not do that? Tell me, everything is your to command"
Issei's breath hitched—he hadn't expected capitulation. His fantasies had always ended here, with her crumbling before him, but the way her fingers tapped the screen with idle precision unsettled him. This wasn't surrender. This was...calculation.
"Senpai, I—" His throat closed around the demand he'd rehearsed in the shower, in bed, in the dark with his phone pressed to his face. The words dissolved like sugar in tea, leaving only a sickly aftertaste.
"Yes?" Nami leans forwards slightly, waiting. Issei's pulse jackhammers. Sweat beads along his hairline. He opens his mouth—say it, say you want her to kneel before you like a docile slave.
"Just say it, Issei, I don't want my past surfaced, and you're holding the reign" Issei's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He'd dreamed of this moment a hundred times, but none of the fantasies had prepared him for the way her fingers continued tapping the table with bored precision, as if this were a grocery transaction rather than his grand moment of conquest.
"I want—" His voice cracked. The words tasted like rust. "You. To be mine."
Nami's exhale was almost imperceptible. "Define 'mine,'" she said, tone clinical. "Exclusive dating? Sexual access? Full ownership?" Each option rolled off her tongue like she was reciting a menu. "Be specific."
Issei's pulse stuttered. The library's air conditioning whirred, freezing the sweat along his spine. This wasn't how it was supposed to go—where were the tears? The pleading? His fantasies had never included dropdown menus.
Nami tapped her foot twice—impatient—before sighing. "Tick-tock, Hyoudou. I have places to be." Her fingers drummed against the textbook's cover, each tap punctuating the silence like a judge's gavel.
The fluorescent light above them flickered, casting jagged shadows across Nami's face. Up close, Issei noticed something he'd missed before—a thin scar curling from her earlobe to her jawline, nearly hidden by her hair. His breath hitched. "I...want you to—"
"Spit. It. Out." Nami's voice was a blade wrapped in silk. She leaned in, close enough for him to catch the scent of gunpowder beneath her citrus perfume. "Or I walk."
The ultimatum snapped something inside him. "Be my girlfriend!" The words burst out too loud, echoing off the library shelves. A distant librarian shushed them. Issei's face burned.
"That's it, that's the words I wanted to hear" She pulls out from behind her ear a recorder "Now I have enough evidence to file a sue against you, Hyoudou, for blackmailing"
The recorder clicked off with a soft, final sound. Issei's stomach dropped through the floor. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed louder, casting Nami's shadow long and sharp across the study table—a silhouette that seemed to grow taller as she pocketed the device with the casual precision of a card shark revealing a royal flush.
"W-wait—" Issei's hands flailed like a drowning man's. His phone lay between them, the cracked screen still glowing with that cursed thumbnail. "You—you set me up?"
Nami's lips curved—not a smile, but something colder. "Oh, Issei," she sighed, adjusting her bag strap with deliberate slowness. "You set yourself up the moment you thought you could play predator with me." Her fingers tapped the textbook's spine once, twice—a metronome counting down his humiliation.
The library's air conditioning hummed louder, freezing the sweat on Issei's back. His rehearsed fantasies—Nami begging, Nami yielding—crumpled like wet tissue paper. Reality was inverted: she'd been the hunter all along, and he'd walked into the trap with all the grace of a drunk stag.
"Prepare to receive the summons to appear in court, you shameless blackmailer. I wonder how your parents would react when they know their son is being sued?" She sings "But I can be sure that my eagering legal team would love to work on this case"
Issei's knees buckled. The library floor tilted beneath him as Nami's words registered—legal team, court, parents. His throat constricted around a whimper that never made it past his lips. The fluorescent lights flickered again, casting Nami's face in alternating stripes of shadow and garish white.
"Senpai—" His voice cracked like his phone screen. "You can't—"
"Prepare to receive the summons to appear in court, you shameless blackmailer. I wonder how your parents would react when they know their son is being sued for his perverted nature?" She sings "But I can be sure that my eagering legal team would love to work on this case"
The recorder clicked as Nami pocketed it, her fingers brushing against the hidden holster strapped to her thigh—a detail Issei only noticed now, with her leaning against the table. The realization hit him like a freight train: she'd never been unarmed. Not once.
"Wait—" Issei's voice cracked. His phone screen flickered, the video thumbnail warping under his trembling grip. "You...you planned this?"
Nami arched one eyebrow. "Planned? No." Her thumb traced the edge of the textbook absentmindedly. "Anticipated? Absolutely." She tilted her head, orange strands catching the fluorescent light. "You really think I wouldn't notice your true intention, Issei, I've been raped with perverts with less moral than you, I can see your intention like an open book"
Issei's mouth worked soundlessly. The library walls seemed to press closer, the air thick with the scent of old paper and Nami's gunmetal-citrus perfume. His phone screen dimmed—the thumbnail of her tear-streaked face fading to black—but the image burned behind his eyelids.
Nami straightened, adjusting her bag strap with deliberate precision. "Let me educate you," she said, voice low and measured. "Porn is not life, kouhai, think before you do, not everyone is helpless like the characters you and your friends jerk off to. Goodbye, see you in court" She turned on her heel, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum with finality.
Issei lunged—not thinking, just reacting—his hand closing around her wrist. The moment his fingers made contact, Nami's body moved with practiced efficiency. Her elbow snapped back into his solar plexus with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs, followed by a sharp twist that sent him sprawling onto the study table with a crash that echoed through the library.
"Don't," Nami hissed, pressing her forearm against his windpipe just enough to make him gag. Up close, her light brown eyes held no mercy—only the cold calculation of someone who'd mapped this scenario a dozen times before. "Touch me again and I add assault to the charges." She released him with a shove that sent his phone skittering across the table.
Issei gasped, clutching his throat. The librarian's hurried footsteps approached, but Nami was already gathering her textbook with one hand while the other smoothed her sweater into place. "We're done here," she said, not looking at him. "Enjoy explaining this to your parents."
She lightly dusts her attire"About the sex tapes about me you found, don't think you can publish it as the final nuclear option, I've made enough protest with words and actions in those videos to make it not look like I acted. And those who raped me, they are wanted criminals in Sweden."
She turns sideways with only one eye looking at him "I don't need to tell you which side the social opinions will be on, right? A woman who was sexually abused and harassed by criminals vs a boy who wanted to use those footages to force her into submission"
The fluorescent lights above flickered, casting jagged shadows across Nami's face—her expression unreadable, save for the slight tightening at the corner of her mouth. Issei's fingers twitched against the edge of the table, his throat still burning from the pressure of her forearm. His phone lay screen-up between them, the cracked display now black, as if the device itself had given up.
Nami straightened, adjusting the strap of her bag with deliberate precision. "I'll see you in court, kouhai, you've made a move you can't undo, you should have stayed silent when you found it on the dark web other than trying to use it against me." The words landed like a guillotine blade—clean, final. She didn't wait for his spluttering response, she leaves the library before the librarian arrives, leaving Issei slumped over the table, his fingers clawing at the edge like a man clinging to a cliff.
Back in the library, Issei stared at his reflection in the blackened phone screen—his own face distorted, grotesque. The librarian's scolding washed over him like white noise. His fingers trembled as they hovered over the keyboard. Delete it. The thought flickered, weak as a dying bulb. But he knows now deleting it would be meaningless because she has gotten the proof she needed.
Then his phone buzzes as his mother calls. Issei stares at the screen, his thumb hovering between "accept" and "decline"—both choices equally damning. His breath comes in shallow gasps, the fluorescent lights overhead pulsing like a migraine. He picks up just before the voice kicks in.
The phone pressed against Issei's ear felt like a branding iron. His mother's cheerful voice bubbled through the receiver—"So, this Nami-chan! Motohama-kun showed me her photo. Such pretty orange hair!"—each syllable driving the knife deeper. Somewhere in the background, shopping bags rustled; she must be unpacking groceries in their tiny kitchen, imagining her son's romantic conquest while he sat here with sweat cooling between his shoulder blades.
"Mom, it's not—" His throat clicked. The lie stuck like rotten fruit. Across the table, his phone's black screen reflected his ashen face, the cracks radiating outward like a spiderweb.
"Oh, don't be shy! Matsuda-kun said you two were in the library together for hours." Her laughter tinkled, oblivious. A ceramic clinked—probably setting the table for dinner, maybe arranging extra portions in case he brought this mysterious girlfriend home. The domestic normalcy of it made him nauseous. "Is she coming over this weekend? I'll make curry—"
"No!" The word burst out too loud. The librarian glared from her desk. Issei hunched lower, fingers tightening around the phone until the plastic creaked. "I mean...she's busy. With...family stuff."
A pause. Then his mother's voice softened, tinged with knowing amusement. "Ah, of course. You boys need your privacy." Issei's stomach lurched. His gaze flickered to the library exit where Nami had disappeared.
"Anyway, come home, soon, I want to hear about my boy's little outing" The call ended with a cheerful beep, leaving Issei staring at the darkened screen of his phone. Heading out of the library, he looks at the night sky, the cold breezes of wind wash over him, making his body shiver as much as his own hands.
He fucked up today, so hard that this might even affect his parents, he knew that Nami was not joking, she was serious, she was going to sue him for blackmailing and harassment. Even though he had the thought of apologizing, he knew that it was meaningless, she would not accept it, not after what he did, not after what he said. He had crossed the line, and there was no going back.
The walk home felt like a funeral march. Every step carried the weight of impending doom—the lawsuit, the shame, his mother's inevitable disappointment when she found out her son was nothing more than a pathetic blackmailer.
He could already hear the sigh of his father, the looks of people around him, especially the female students, they used to call him a pervert as a way to mock, now, they would call it with pure disgust and look at him like a criminal who used the pain of a girl to force her into submission.
The sweet voice of his mother now sounds like the last mercy of his life because he knows once she hears the lawsuit, that love-filled voice will disappear into disappointment and shame.
Issei walks slowly, dragging his feet against the pavement. His fingers twitch, tapping his thigh as if trying to find a solution—any solution—but his mind keeps circling back to Nami's cold, calculating eyes. She hadn't just outplayed him; she had dismantled him with surgical precision, leaving him exposed, pathetic.
A notification buzzes in his pocket. His heart leaps—maybe it's Nami, maybe she changed her mind—but when he pulls out his phone, it's just Matsuda texting about some stupid game. He nearly throws it against the sidewalk.
Instead, he stops under a flickering streetlamp, staring at his darkened reflection in the screen. His own face stares back—wide-eyed, sweating, guilty. The cracks from where he'd gripped it too hard spider across his cheek in the warped reflection.
What the hell was he thinking?
[Elsewhere]
Nami is on her phone, calling someone. She is standing at the entrance of Arto's mansion, where she lives, tears flowing down her cheeks as she waits for the other side to answer. And it came, his voice "Nami, my love, how are you doing today?"
The dam broke. Sobs wracked her frame so violently she had to brace against the marble entryway, fingers leaving faint orange streaks from where her nails dug into the stone. "I—" The word shattered into a wet gasp.
"Breath, darling," he murmured, the background noise of Vigrid's train station fading as if he'd stepped into some private pocket of silence just for her. "In for four. Hold for seven. You remember."
She did. The counting game he'd taught her after nightmares left her gasping—back when fresh scars still ached under her clothes. Nami choked in air, holding until her ribs burned. The exhale carried the first coherent words: "Boss, how is your Europe trip so far?"
Arto's chuckle was warm velvet through the receiver, the way it always was when he pretended not to notice her deflections. "Productive. After I finished dealing with Balder, Bayonetta, Jeanne and I are travelling Europe together" A pause. Then softer: "Now tell me who made you cry."
Nami pressed her forehead against the cool marble, the scent of gunpowder still clinging to her wrists where she'd gripped Issei. The words tangled in her throat—how could she explain the video, the way his eyes had lingered on her scars, the sickening realization that Kuoh wasn't as far from her past as she'd hoped?
"Some... kid," she managed, voice cracking. "Found—" Her breath hitched. The admission felt like pulling glass from a wound. "Footage. From before."
Silence. Then the rustle of fabric—Arto shifting positions, the quiet click of a train compartment door sliding shut. When he spoke again, his voice had changed to that of utter confusion, because it's the first time she ever told him this "Okay? Why are some tapes messing with my CFO?"
Nami exhaled sharply through her nose, blinking away tears that blurred the mansion's ornate door handles into golden smears. "It's some videos that...." She couldn't say it out, she has said it enough with Issei, she couldn't mutter out another word about what they did to her
"...you don't need to say it anymore if you don't feel like it, love. Just....tell me what I can do to help you?" Nami pressed her forehead against the mansion's cool marble entryway, the scent of tangerines and gunpowder clinging to her skin. "I want them gone, boss, those who...tainted me...."
"I see, give me a name, I'll handle them" He waits for an answer, then "Arlong, a criminal empire in Sweden in the form of a fishing company in Sweden. I want them gone, especially the leaders, they...did it directly"
The line crackled with static for three excruciating heartbeats before Arto's voice returned—not colder, but distilled into something lethally precise. "Done, now....go get some rest, my love, I'll deliver you their fall as soon as possible. Now, wipe your tears, get inside, everyone will tend to you, and be sure to go back to my smart, beautiful and cheerful CFO tomorrow. I'll handle things over here."
Nami inhaled sharply through her nose, knuckles whitening around the phone. "You're—you're not even going to ask—"
"Later," he interrupted gently, the sound of train wheels accelerating underscoring the word. "When I'm holding you. When you can see my face while you decide how much to share." A pause filled with the whisper of fabric—perhaps him pressing the phone closer. "This isn't interrogation. This is the end of an arc that lasted too long."
The call ends as Nami wipes away her tears, she was not powerful enough to pull them down, but now, she is, and she will pull them all down for using her body as entertainment "Arlong....your end is coming...."
She heads into the mansion where her family is waiting.
On Arto's side, he ends the call and asks Bayonetta, who is driving their car at the front with Jeanne sitting next to her "Hey, can we have a little shift in destination? I have some business to deal with in Sweden"
Bayonetta's crimson lips curved as she adjusted her grip on the wheel, the Umbran Witch's gaze flickering to him through the rearview mirror. "Darling, if you wanted a detour, you only had to ask nicely."
Jeanne twisted in the passenger seat, her platinum braid slipping over one shoulder. "Sweden?" Her eyebrow arched—not in protest, but curiosity. "That's north of our current route. Business or pleasure?"
Arto's fingers tightened around his phone, still warm from the call. The pendant at his left eye pulsed faintly, casting shadows across his cheekbone. "Neither." His voice carried an edge that made the car's interior hum with restrained energy. "Extermination."