Asada Shino's eyes widened, a flicker of something warm and unfamiliar stirring in her chest. "You... you really think I'm brave?"
"Brave?" Hozuki Nozomi repeated the word as if it were obvious. "You were just a child, facing an armed robber threatening your mother's life. In that moment, you found the courage to act—to grab that gun and stop him. If that's not bravery, I don't know what is."
Asada Shino's head dropped, her shoulders trembling slightly. When she spoke, her voice was thick with unshed tears.
"No... I'm not brave. I'm a coward." Her hands clenched in her lap. "Since that day, I've had nightmares constantly. The moment I see a gun, my limbs go weak—I can't move, can't think, can't do anything. I've spent my whole life running from that memory." A single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek. "Even my mother... she started looking at me differently after that. Like everyone else, like I was some kind of monster."
The words tumbled out, years of pent-up anguish finally finding voice. Everyone said she shouldn't have pulled the trigger. Everyone said a normal child couldn't have done what she did. Everyone said she was broken, damaged, wrong.
"They all say I'm just a murderer with psychological problems. That I didn't need to shoot. That no normal kid could have that kind of ruthlessness—taking a life at such a young age."
Hozuki Nozomi's expression softened, but his eyes held no pity—only gentle determination. He reached out and poked her forehead lightly.
"Idiot. Don't listen to those people spouting nonsense."
Asada Shino blinked up at him.
"Think about it logically, Asada. That robber died, which means the gun was real, right?" He held up a finger. "Can you guarantee, with absolute certainty, that in that moment of chaos, he wouldn't have panicked and pulled the trigger? That your mother wouldn't have become another victim?"
She opened her mouth, but no words came.
"Can you honestly place your hope of survival on the mercy of a criminal who walked into a bank with a loaded weapon?"
"I... I can't."
"Exactly. You can't." Hozuki Nozomi's voice was firm but kind. "You did the only thing you could. You saved yourself. You saved your mother. And you saved every other person that robber might have hurt if he'd gotten away." He leaned forward slightly. "That doesn't make you a murderer, Asada. That makes you a hero."
Her breath caught.
"At least, that's my opinion. But I can see you care deeply about what others think. And that's okay—it's human. But let me tell you something important." His gaze held hers. "Everything will get better. You just have to start accepting yourself. Your story isn't something to be ashamed of. It's something to be proud of."
Light flickered in Asada Shino's eyes—tentative, fragile, but present. Yet almost immediately, shadows crept back in. He believed in her so strongly, and here she was, still drowning in self-doubt. How pathetic was that?
Hozuki Nozomi seemed to read her thoughts. "Let me summarize what I'm hearing. Your mother couldn't handle the pressure of public gossip, and instead of supporting you, she turned her fear and shame onto you. And you, in turn, internalized all of it until you started denying yourself the right to your own truth."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"Here's something you need to understand, Asada. Life rarely gives us perfect choices. Sometimes, we only get one option—and that one option is survival. You chose to live. You chose to save your mother. There's no shame in that."
Asada Shino wiped at her eyes, trying to compose herself. After a moment, Hozuki Nozomi spoke again, his tone shifting.
"By the way, that Shinkawa Kyouji—he's the boy I saw you with at the convenience store yesterday, isn't he?"
She nodded sadly. "Yes. That's him."
"If Endo's testimony is accurate—and I believe it is—then Shinkawa has been manipulating you from the beginning. Anything he's given you could be compromised. Do you have something he gave you recently?"
Asada Shino didn't fully understand what "compromised" meant, but she trusted him. She retrieved the game helmet and handed it over.
"This is from Shinokawa. It's an SAO game helmet."
Hozuki Nozomi examined it briefly, then produced a knife and carefully pried open the casing. In an inconspicuous corner, nestled among the circuitry, sat a small black sphere.
Asada Shino's eyes widened. "What... what is that?"
"Latest model listening device, I'd guess. Possibly with additional tracking functions." He held it up for her to see. "Your so-called friend planted a bug in your helmet."
Asada Shino's hand flew to her mouth, her face draining of color. Shinkawa Kyouji had given her this. He must have installed it. Her only friend—the one person she'd trusted—had been spying on her.
Hozuki Nozomi sighed, pocketing the device. "Don't use this helmet. I have extras at home—I'll bring you one tomorrow. And Asada..." He met her eyes seriously. "I strongly advise you to cut all contact with Shinkawa Kyouji."
She nodded vigorously, still processing the betrayal. "I understand."
She wasn't stupid. Though part of her still struggled to accept that the gently smiling boy could be so calculating, so dangerous—the evidence was undeniable. Cutting ties was the only rational choice.
After Hozuki Nozomi left, Asada Shino's phone rang.
Shinkawa Kyouji.
She stared at the name on the screen, her stomach churning. After a moment, she answered.
"Asada? Where are you? I've been waiting—I didn't see you." His voice was perfectly warm, perfectly concerned. A masterful performance.
She marveled at how easily he lied. "Shinokawa, I'm at home. I suddenly feel unwell. Let's reschedule the helmet debugging for another time."
"Oh, I see. That's too bad. Get some rest, okay? Hope you feel better soon."
"Thank you."
She hung up, disgust curling through her.
On the other end, Shinkawa Kyouji's pleasant expression curdled into something ugly.
She was lying. He knew she was lying. He'd seen everything—seen that pretty boy walk her home, seen him enter her apartment, seen him stay for what felt like hours.
"Feeling unwell," he muttered, his voice dripping with venom. "Feeling unwell my ass."
His mind conjured images he couldn't bear: that handsome stranger's hands on Asada Shino, touching her, defiling her. The very thought sent white-hot jealousy screaming through his veins.
"Asada... you can't get dirty." His voice dropped to a whisper, crazed and possessive. "If you get dirty, I'll just have to clean you myself. With my tongue. Every inch. Every single inch."
His gentle features contorted into something monstrous, twisted by obsession and entitlement. That pretty boy's sudden appearance threatened everything he'd built, everything he'd planned. Years of scheming, of slowly isolating her, of positioning himself as her only friend—all of it could be stolen in an afternoon.
If he couldn't have her clean, he'd have her dirty. If he couldn't have her pure, he'd have her broken. Either way, she would be his.
He stalked to the bathroom, his thoughts consumed by Asada Shino's face, her voice, her—
A black flame erupted around him.
There was no warning. No sound. No chance to scream.
Shinkawa Kyouji simply... ceased. In an instant, he was ash, then nothing at all. The flame consumed him utterly—along with every vile thought, every twisted plan, every intention to harm.
The magic Hozuki Nozomi had planted activated exactly as intended.
It burned through the bathroom, through the evidence of Shinkawa Kyouji's existence, through every trace of the evil that had been about to unfold. When it finished, there was nothing left—no body, no clues, no loose ends.
Shinkawa Kyouji's ambitions ended before they could take another step.
Hozuki Nozomi, walking home through the evening streets, felt the magical thread snap and smiled slightly. People like Shinkawa Kyouji—the same breed as Sugō Nobuyuki—didn't deserve mercy. They didn't deserve second chances. They deserved to be removed, cleanly and completely, before they could poison another life.
Asada Shino had already decided to cut ties. Better to eliminate the threat entirely than to leave it festering in the shadows, waiting for another opportunity to strike.