Sakiko's tight, warm passage was clenching like a vice under the extreme tension and shame, giving him an incomparable experience.
"Let's give them a surprise then."
Seiji didn't pull out. Didn't stop.
Instead, at the final moment, he gripped Sakiko's hips hard.
"AAAHHHH—!!!"
Sakiko let out a piercing scream.
Her body arched violently, toes curling, her whole form convulsing.
And at that exact instant—
CRACK!
The lock gave way.
The door, caught between two forces, burst open.
...
Time seemed to freeze in that moment.
The setting sun, red as blood, poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the entire music room in a suffocating crimson.
Tomori and Anon stumbled into the room, taking several staggering steps before regaining their balance.
They frantically raised their heads.
But the scene before them seared itself into their retinas like a red-hot brand.
No beating.
No restraints.
In the backlit glow of the setting sun, upon the piano.
Sakiko Toyokawa lay sprawled across the instrument like a dying white swan.
Her hair was scattered in disarray, her face flushed and tear-streaked, a thin trail of drool at the corner of her mouth.
Her body still trembled slightly, eyes unfocused and hazy, the look of someone who hadn't yet returned to herself.
And where their bodies joined.
Tomori and Anon could see clearly, as Seiji gave one final deep thrust, streams of white fluid overflowed as if there was no room left to contain it, dripping onto the floor.
"..."
Silence.
Deathly silence.
Tomori's mouth hung open, a dry "huh..." escaping her throat, unable to form a complete sentence.
Her brain crashed in that instant.
What is this?
This wasn't the "torture" she'd imagined at all.
The expression on Sakiko's face... was that pain?
No. That was pleasure.
And the utter exhaustion that came after pleasure reached its peak.
"Ah... ah..."
Anon covered her mouth, overwhelming nausea nearly making her vomit on the spot.
Disgusting.
So disgusting.
While they'd been throwing themselves against the door, desperate to save her, she had... she had climaxed under that man?
...
Seiji slowly withdrew.
A soft, wet pop echoed obscenely in the silent room.
More fluid dripped to the floor.
"Barging in like that, what exactly did you plan to do?"
Seiji unhurriedly adjusted his slightly rumpled shirt and turned to face the two petrified girls at the doorway.
Not a trace of panic at being caught. Instead, his expression was one of composed calm as he looked at them quizzically.
"Two students I've never met?"
"You... you..." Tomori was trembling, pointing at Seiji, then at Sakiko who was still collapsed on the piano. "What did you do to Sakiko..."
"What did I do?"
Seiji raised an eyebrow. "As you can see, we were doing something... very pleasurable. After all, this is a music room. Getting caught up in the romance seems reasonable, don't you think?"
"Lies! She was crying!" Tomori refused to believe it, shouting, "You forced her!"
"Forced?"
Seiji looked as if he'd heard an amusing joke.
He turned and lightly patted Sakiko's cheek.
"Sakiko, snap out of it. Your friends are here. Aren't you going to say hello?"
Sakiko jolted, her unfocused pupils finally sharpening.
When she recognized the two figures standing in the doorway, the flush on her face drained to a deathly white.
Tomori... and that girl from Tomori's class...
They saw everything.
Saw her like this, filthy and degraded.
In that instant, Sakiko's mind went blank.
Shame crashed over her like a tsunami. She wanted to find a hole to crawl into.
But she couldn't.
Her body was still limp as mud, completely unable to move.
And Seiji's hand rested on her shoulder. Though he wasn't pressing hard, it felt like a mountain, pinning her in place.
"Sakiko."
That demon's voice came again, carrying an unmistakable command. "Tell them. Did I force you?"
Sakiko trembled all over.
If she didn't admit it was consensual... if she didn't admit it...
The five million... and those videos...
Besides, what difference did it make now?
They'd already seen everything.
In their eyes, she must be nothing but a slut.
If that's how it is... then let it all burn.
Sakiko slowly slid off the piano.
The moment her feet touched the floor, her legs gave out and she dropped to her knees.
But she didn't stand up.
She simply knelt there, crawling toward Seiji in complete self-destruction.
"Sakiko?!"
Tomori watched in horror, instinctively wanting to rush over and help her up. "What are you doing? Get up!"
But the next second, Tomori froze mid-step.
Because she saw Sakiko crawl to Seiji's feet.
And then reach up with both hands, cradling what had just been inside her.
"No..." Anon shrieked, covering her eyes. "This can't be happening!"
But Sakiko didn't stop.
She lifted her face, those eyes that had once been as clear and blue as the sky now reduced to pools of stagnant water, empty of any emotion.
Right there, in front of Tomori and Anon, she opened her mouth.
"Mmph..."
Meticulously cleaning every trace of filth.
The practiced, familiar way she moved was even more devastating than the scene before.
"See?"
Seiji rested one hand on top of Sakiko's head, enjoying this public "cleaning," his gaze piercing straight at the two girls in the doorway.
"Sakiko enjoys this. She's very eager."
He smiled faintly. "I believe there's been a misunderstanding."
"Urgh..."
Anon couldn't take it anymore. She spun around, rushed into the corridor, and vomited violently against the wall.
But Tomori.
She remained standing there, eyes fixed on that kneeling figure.
That silhouette slowly overlaid with the gentle, sweet-smiling girl of her memories, those beautiful bright eyes, her white moonlight, and then...
Snap.
Something shattered.
After a long moment.
Sakiko finished cleaning.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then slowly turned her head.
Her face showed no tears, no expression. Only calm.
She looked at Tomori as if looking at a stranger.
"Have you seen enough?"
Sakiko's voice was hoarse and cold. "If so... please leave."
"Don't stay here... ruining our mood."
Those words were the final straw that broke Tomori.
Tomori stumbled back one step, two steps, three.
Her lips trembled, wanting to say something, but no sound came out.
Finally, she whipped around and fled with all her strength from this hell.
...
Seiji sat before the expensive Steinway piano, fingers idly tapping out a few tuneless notes on the keys.
Do, mi, sol...
On the carpet beneath the piano, Sakiko curled in a humiliating position at Seiji's feet.
Her school uniform was still in disarray.
The white blouse had lost two buttons, revealing clear kiss marks on her collarbone. Beneath her pleated skirt, her long legs still bore traces that hadn't yet dried.
But she made no move to fix herself.
Like a doll that had lost its soul, she stared blankly at the floor.
"What? Still haven't recovered?"
Seiji stopped playing and looked down at the girl at his feet, his lips curving with amusement.
"That was a great performance just now."
Sakiko didn't speak. Didn't even blink.
Just moments ago, she had buried "Sakiko Toyokawa" with her own hands.
That proud, pure young lady who would sacrifice everything for her dignity, the moment she knelt down, had died.
What remained was just a walking corpse, surviving.
"Speak."
Seiji didn't like this deathly silence.
He reached out, lifting Sakiko's chin, forcing her to look at him.
Sakiko's eyes finally moved.
"...Do you want to continue?"
Her voice was hoarse, devoid of any emotional fluctuation.
No anger, no shame, not even fear.
Only a "since I'm already rotten, being a little more rotten doesn't matter" kind of self-abandonment.
Seiji's eyes narrowed.
He keenly recognized the psychological mechanism behind Sakiko's state.
This defensive response was the human psyche's instinctive reaction to protect itself from collapsing when facing unbearable trauma.
"Was being seen by your former bandmates too much?"
Seiji smiled.
Because only by completely shattering the shell called "dignity" could he reshape what was inside however he pleased.
"That's enough for today."
Seiji stood and straightened his collar. "The door's broken. If someone else barges in, I'm not interested in putting on another show. Though... I did rather enjoy being watched."
He glanced at Sakiko, still kneeling on the floor.
"Get dressed and come with me. Tonight... is just beginning. After all, you have no burdens left now, do you?"
Sakiko's body trembled slightly, but she quickly regained her composure.
"Yes."
She rose mechanically, smoothed her skirt, buttoned her blouse.
Shame was something that had died completely moments ago.
...
Meanwhile, at the gates of Haneoka Girls' Academy.
Anon leaned against a roadside tree, retching violently.
"Urgh... cough cough..."
Her stomach was actually empty, but the intense physiological revulsion made her feel like even the air she breathed was filthy.
Disgusting.
So disgusting.
Every time she closed her eyes, that image floated into her mind. Sakiko kneeling on the ground, cradling that man's thing, the devoted expression on her face.
"Anon..."
A voice so weak it seemed ready to dissipate came from behind.
Anon spun around and saw Tomori standing a few steps away.
Tomori looked even worse than her.
Her face was white as paper, eyes unfocused, her whole being like a lost soul, swaying on the verge of collapse.
"Sakiko... she..." Tomori's mouth moved, as if wanting to ask something, or confirm something.
"Don't say that name!"
Anon suddenly shrieked, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
"Please, Tomori! Don't mention it anymore!" Anon covered her ears, face full of disgust and breakdown. "I can't believe... I actually used to think she was just cold! Used to think she was being forced! We were such idiots!"
"But..." Tears welled in Tomori's eyes. "Sakiko wasn't like that before..."
"Before was before! Now is now!"
Anon cut her off roughly.
For an ordinary high school girl like her, depravity was depravity. No matter the reason, that kind of behavior was unforgivable.
"She's not that Sakiko Toyokawa anymore!" Anon bit out.
Though she didn't say more, her eyes said everything.
"Tomori, listen to me. Stay away from her from now on. Cross the street if you see her! Someone like that... if we get tangled up with her, we'll get dirty too!"
With that, Anon fled toward the train station as if escaping a plague.
She needed to calm down, to scrub everything she'd seen today from her brain.
Tomori stood alone at the empty school gates.
The dim yellow glow of the streetlamp fell on her, stretching her shadow long and thin, looking unbearably lonely.
"Dirty..."
Tomori looked down at her hands.
Earlier, she'd wanted to help Sakiko up.
But she hadn't been able to.
She'd been scared. Scared by that kneeling figure.
"Was Sakiko... willing?"
The man had said: "She was willing. We're in love."
Sakiko had said: "If you've seen enough, please leave."
Those ice-cold eyes, those practiced movements, every detail told her: this wasn't coercion. This was Sakiko's choice.
So even "light" becomes like that when she meets a man?
Tomori felt as if someone had carved out a piece of her chest.
The wind blew past, hollow, leaving only echoes.
...
That was the last time Tomori went to school.
For the next week, she called in sick.
Her room had thick curtains drawn, no lights on, only the faint glow seeping through the door crack barely outlining the room's shape.
Scattered on the floor were countless pieces of paper.
All the lyrics she'd written, and that notebook she'd treasured like a precious gem.
"I want to become human."
"I want to be in a band forever."
"I was a lost child, and you found me."
These sentences that once warmed her now seemed like sharp mockery with every word.
In the corner sat her parents' memorial photos.
They were the last family she had in this world, her final emotional anchor.
After her parents' sudden death, she'd always felt like a small animal abandoned in the wilderness. Sakiko had found her, given her a home called CRYCHIC.
She'd made Sakiko her new faith, the light that illuminated the darkness.
But now, the light had gone out.
No, worse than going out.
The light had turned to mud. Filthy, reeking mud.
"Mom, Dad..."
Tomori reached out, fingertips brushing the cold glass of the photo frame.
"So... nothing in this world lasts forever."
"Not even light..."
Tomori's eyes gradually lost focus.
Those once-clear, bright pupils now looked as if they'd been stained with ink, bottomless and dark.
If even the most beautiful things are lies, what meaning does this world have?
If even Sakiko can fall, what can someone as worthless as me possibly hold onto?
A powerful urge, to destroy everything, or rather, to be destroyed, took root deep in Tomori's heart.
Since this world is so filthy, let me become filthy too.
Since "light" can become like that, then nothing matters anymore.
Tomori slowly lowered her head, pressing her forehead against her knees.
Her body curled into a ball, like garbage waiting to be thrown away.
The room was silent as death, only the clock on the wall ticking away, tick, tick, like some kind of countdown.
In that corner swallowed by darkness, a heart died completely.
What remained was only an empty shell, longing to be filled, to be controlled.
...
One day later.
Tokyo, Toshima Ward, beneath an old apartment building.
It was late autumn evening, the sky a oppressive gray-blue. Cold wind swept up yellowed fallen leaves, swirling through this somewhat desolate street.
Ding-dong—ding-dong—
The harsh doorbell pierced the quiet evening.
Anon stood before the rusted security door, her reddened fingers pressing the bell. This was the thirty-fifth time she'd pressed it.
Still no response.