First," Kokujin continues, taking charge of the room as if he's always been the one in it, "we need to hang up the phone. Then, we wait. The police will call here if they find a body. They'll trace the last number he called. Running there won't help. It'll just make you look guilty." His logic is chilling, pragmatic, and completely devoid of empathy. It's exactly what a group of panicked, broken people needs: a cold, hard direction.
Kanako's head snaps up, her eyes blazing with a feral light. The grief, the guilt, the self-loathing for what she let happen to her brother—it all coalesces into a white-hot rage, and it's all directed at the man standing in her way.
"Don't you DARE tell me what to do!" she screams, her voice cracking. "This is YOUR fault! All of this! You came into our lives and you ruined everything! Get out of my way!"
With a guttural cry, Kanako shoves him with all her might. Her hands connect with his solid chest, and for a moment, it's like pushing against a brick wall. But her fury is a potent fuel, and Kokujin, caught off guard by the sheer ferocity of her attack, stumbles back a step.
That's all the opening she needs. She tries to dart past him, her fingers scrabbling for the doorknob.
This bitch... she's actually fighting me? She thinks she can touch me? Kokujin's eyes flash with genuine anger. His arrogance won't allow this defiance. He's not used to his toys fighting back, not physically. "I said no," he growls, his voice losing its false calm and turning menacing. He reaches out, his hand shooting out like a viper, and grabs her upper arm in a grip of steel.
Kanako yelps in pain and surprise, but she doesn't stop. She twists, her other hand swinging around in a wild, desperate slap aimed at his face. It's not a trained fighter's punch; it's a furious, grieving sister's lashing out.
Kokujin sees it coming. He could easily block it, but his cowardice kicks in—the instinct to avoid being hit, to avoid the confrontation turning against him. He flinches back, pulling her arm off-balance and using his superior weight to slam her against the door she was trying to reach. The wood frame rattles with the force of the impact.
"Ugh!" The air is driven from Kanako's lungs. She slumps against the door, dazed, her struggles ceasing for a moment.
He leans in, his face inches from hers, his breath hot and angry. "Don't. Ever. Try that again," he hisses, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Your brother was weak. He chose his path. Don't make me choose one for you."
In the living room, Ayumu lets out a choked cry at the violence. Nao shrinks back into the couch, pulling a cushion over her face as if to block out the world, her earlier selfish thoughts completely forgotten in the face of raw brutality. Kaede just continues to rock, a silent, broken witness to the new horror unfolding in her home.
Kokujin holds Kanako pinned for a long moment, letting her feel his strength, his dominance. He can feel her body trembling, not just with the exertion but with the crushing weight of her grief and helplessness. Her defiant fire is smothered, replaced by sobs of utter despair. She slides down the door to the floor, a weeping, broken heap. With his new authority violently re-established, Kokujin releases his grip on her arm.
The sound of Kanako's body hitting the door, followed by her choked sob, cuts through Kaede's haze of despair like a shard of ice. Something inside her, something buried deep beneath layers of loneliness, twisted lust, and submission, shatters. The image of her son falling flashes in her mind, and now, the image of her daughter being brutalized by the same man superimposes itself over it. A primal, maternal rage, cold and absolute, surges through her.
Her sobbing stops. Abruptly.
Kaede gets to her feet. Her movements are no longer those of a broken woman; they are slow, deliberate, and filled with a chilling purpose. The warmth in her green eyes is gone, replaced by a glacial fire that seems to suck all the warmth out of the room. She straightens her beige sweater, her gaze locking onto Kokujin with an intensity that makes even him pause.
"Get. Out." Her voice is quiet, but it carries the weight of an avalanche. It's not a request. It's a command. It's the voice of the woman who runs this house, the mother of the children he has just destroyed.
Kokujin lets go of Kanako's arm, turning to face Kaede with a sneer. He's expecting tears, more pleading, more weakness. He doesn't expect this.
"What did you say to me, old woman?" he scoffs, trying to regain his footing. "You forget your place. You're lucky I even stay here and give you what you need."
Kaede takes a step forward, her bare feet silent on the floor. She doesn't flinch at his words. She just keeps staring, her expression unchanging. It's a look that promises retribution, a look that says he has just made a fatal miscalculation.
I said get out of my house," she repeats, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a venomous whisper. "You will not touch my daughter. You will not stand in my home. You will leave, now, and you will never come back. You have taken enough from me."
A tremor of uncertainty runs through Kokujin. This isn't the submissive, sex-addicted mother he'd been mind-breaking for months. This is a mother lion protecting her last remaining cub. He sees in her eyes that she would not hesitate to die to make her point, and more terrifyingly, that she would not hesitate to kill. The coward in him, the part that only preys on the weak, senses a genuine threat for the first time.
Kanako, sobbing on the floor, looks up in stunned disbelief. Nao peeks over her cushion, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and awe. Even Ayumu's hysterical crying quietens as she watches the terrifying transformation of the quiet, gentle mother into a figure of pure, cold fury. The entire balance of power in the room has shifted in an instant, hanging on the edge of a knife.