#117: XYZ / ep.1
“Yes. Please, wait for me. Chesha.”
Sending that sickly-sweet voice out over the airwaves, she walked through Roppongi. The address she’d been given was a tower condominium within sight of Antiqua itself.
Never in her wildest thoughts had she imagined Chesha lived this close, practically under her own nose. It threatened to spoil the very streets of Roppongi she’d finally grown fond of.
Her own reflection in a brand boutique’s shop window showed coral-toned cheeks, heavy-glittered eyeshadow. Deliberately steering away from current trends, to wind the clock back to the days she’d spent with Chesha.
When meeting Chesha, the old self would do fine.
She had no wish to meet her as the current Charlotte.
“Honestly, why on earth did I ever think this looked cute.”
Even for a woman with mixed Franco-Japanese heritage, her pale skin carried a faint blue undertone that turned coral blush into something closer to a child’s wind-chapped cheeks in winter. Chesha, apparently, had found that irresistible. Understanding the meaning behind that particular kink now, in hindsight — a lolicon, plain and simple.
She stuck her tongue out, needing to reject that hated past version of herself, however briefly. Whatever Mikoto said about accepting her, that was a separate matter entirely. If accepting the past was truly the price of adulthood, she’d rather stay a child forever.
What mattered more than any of that was simple: never making the same mistake twice.
Securing an unshakeable “self,” one that would never again become anyone’s puppet.
And with that self, building a relationship of mutual respect with Mikoto.
She scrolled back through her camera roll. Where once, until the year before last, it had held nothing but pictures of Mimosa and scenery, it now overflowed with memories of the person she loved.
Delighted faces, crying faces, embarrassed and angry faces. Sleeping faces, groggy half-awake faces, offhand candid smiles caught in passing. Not just photos of her, either — even the plainest, most ordinary scenery had been captured with the thought, I want to show her this. Simple views of Yokohama or the Kinugawa River still called to mind the person standing beside her when they were taken. Photos together with her sister and cousin, a rival, a close fūfu couple, a senior colleague and his wife, her parents, countless others. A handful of pre-existing acquaintances mixed in too.
Her camera roll had become something like a patchwork quilt, radiating outward from the person she loved.
She herself had woven every stitch of that fabric, and nowhere in it was there a single lie or falsehood. The one place, for a woman who lied constantly, where no lies existed at all. Which was exactly why she’d never show it to Mikoto. Too shy for that.
“…Yes. I do, without a doubt, love Mikoto.”
Murmuring it to herself, as if confirming the fact, she pressed her lips to the silver ring. Heat coursed through her body, sweeping away the lingering gloom.
“The power of love” — a cheap, ridiculous cliché of a phrase, and yet, just for this moment, she wanted to borrow even that. It really did feel that strong, pushing at her back with a force she could feel through her whole body. No matter how thoroughly she dressed herself in the past, the truth lay in the present. And she wanted to carry that present forward, straight into the future.
She wouldn’t lose to Chesha anymore.
If anything, she’d already won.
Because she loved Mikoto far too much for this to even count as a Game.
“Well then, let’s go smash the past to pieces.”
She stepped through the tower condominium’s entrance and rang the bell.
An evening in Kyodo without Shandy was, in a sense, no different from any ordinary night alone. Naturally enough, given Shandy was never home while Antiqua was open. But tonight was different. She wasn’t off at the shop — she was in an apartment unit at a tower condominium standing right there in the same neighbourhood of Roppongi.
“Thanks for the meal.”
Knowing she’d be eating alone, Mikoto had settled for a convenience-store bento. Normally she’d have packed home-cooked side dishes into a container and stuck a note on the fridge, but tonight there was no need for that.
She’d absentmindedly written “forgot to make dinner, sorry” on a sticky note addressed to no one, then crumpled it up and threw it toward the bin. It missed, rolling instead across the floor, where the household’s sole other resident — the queen herself, Mimosa — batted it playfully with a paw.
Must be nice, being able to just do your own thing. The moment that little flicker of jealousy crossed her mind, she nearly let her real feelings slip out loud.
“Ah, right. Bath time.”
Pushing the thought down with another idle mutter to herself, she caught her own reflection in the bathroom mirror and forced a smile, the way Shandy always did. That alone wasn’t enough. She found herself wanting to do things she never normally did.
Bringing her phone into the bath to sing along loudly to music. Reaching for Shandy’s shampoo bottle instead of her own. Layering on that orange scent extra thick — the one that always gave her away and got her teased whenever she used it quietly. Sneaking Shandy’s conditioner and in-bath treatment, her slightly-more-expensive post-bath skincare too. And pulling an unwashed pair of pyjamas of Shandy’s out of the laundry basket.
“Am I really going this far? Hmm…”
Half-dressed, she hesitated a moment — but ended up pulling her arms through the sleeves regardless.
Right now, dressed and scented just like her, Mikoto had transformed herself entirely. And yet the person reflected in the mirror wasn’t the face she most wanted to see. Just her own, a little more listless than usual.
She swallowed the sigh before it could escape. “Alright,” she said, mustering resolve, and returned to the living room — where Shandy would normally be, relaxed on the sofa—
“I know she’s not here, but…”
—she forced back the swell of feeling threatening to rise up.
Shandy was fighting her own battle right now, which meant Mikoto had to fight her own too. However lonelier a night this was than any she’d known before, it was nothing compared to whatever past Shandy was confronting on her end.
Just as she’d steeled herself with that thought, the glass door to the balcony slid open. Someone slipped in past the curtain. On guard—
“Eh!?”
“Geez, Miko-nee. Can’t just leave laundry hangin’ when it’s raining out.”
—an armful of laundry burst in, and behind it, Aoi.
For a moment she blinked, wondering if she was hallucinating, but Aoi kept folding the laundry with the easy, comfortable air of someone who’d lived here for years. Glancing over at the table, she noticed the leftover bento container had already been tidied away spotlessly. Was this girl someone’s mother, or what.
“Why are you even here, Aoi-chan…?”
“Eh? I’ve got a spare key, y’know.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Puffing her chest out with a proud little snort, Aoi grinned.
“Shandy-san asked me to!”
“Wh— why!?”
“Didn’t she tell you? Said she’s away on a business trip and can’t come home, so she asked me to stay close to Miko-nee!”
Looking around, Mikoto spotted Aoi’s favourite suitcase parked in the corner of the room. Everything else belonging to her had presumably stayed in her own place. She must have let herself in with the spare key while Mikoto was busy belting out songs in the bath.
And, apparently, at Shandy’s own instigation.
“Did she tell you anything else besides that?”
“Fufufu. I know your embarrassing secret, Miko-nee~”
Aoi’s lips curled into a smirk, giggling to herself. She’d clearly been fed some kind of dubious information.
“Wh-what could you possibly mean?”
“No point acting like an adult, it won’t work! Miko-nee still can’t go to the toilet alone in the middle of the night! So cute~!”
Mikoto’s shoulders sank in defeat. If she was going to be fed lies, she’d rather at least get a slightly better joke out of it.
“I can go by myself just fine…”
“Really? She told me being alone at night makes you lonely, so I should take you to the toilet and sleep together with you or whatever.”
Even so, this too was surely another of Shandy’s small kindnesses. She hadn’t reached out at all these past few days, presumably because she didn’t want Chesha’s presence weighing on Mikoto’s mind. Sending Aoi over was pure calculation, exactly her style — “since I’ve looked after you for a while, do something useful for once.”
“Thanks for coming. Really, this helps.”
Aoi couldn’t actually replace her — no one could, truthfully. But on a night this unsettling, having anyone at all nearby was better than nothing. Shandy’s thoughtfulness, having sensed exactly that feeling, left Mikoto simply, deeply grateful.
“Damn right. I’m a busy woman too, y’know.”
Finishing up the laundry, Aoi reached instead for a game console.
She hardly looked like a busy woman, but Mikoto found herself, unguarded, tearing up a little. Just the age for kindness to hit hard, apparently. Wiping her eyes discreetly, she wrapped Aoi in a hug from behind.
“Alright, let’s sleep together tonight, just like when we were kids! Aoi-chan!”
“Nah, no thanks. Sleep by yourself.”
Without so much as glancing over, Aoi stayed completely absorbed in her racing game.
What exactly had she even come here to do.
The Special Missions Office in General Affairs had taken on all the atmosphere of a warzone. With the confrontation against Chesha looming, Sanae had assembled a dedicated task force.
The members she’d hand-picked, a select few:
General Affairs’ rabid dog, Yanase Sanae.
The Secretary Division’s demon, Akazawa Kuto.
IT Systems’ witch, Kusumoto Kaori.
Human Resources’ grim reaper, Harada Mondo.
Accounting’s fierce warrior, Hasegawa Sakura.
The rabid dog’s familiar, Iida Tarō.
The healer-slash-nightmare, Hiroo Michelle.
And into this joined Mikoto.
The intimidating nicknames were, in fact, genuinely whispered around the company, unbeknownst to those they described. Apparently Hibiya harboured a certain type of eccentric fond of assigning nicknames to their most capable employees, and having one, apparently, marked you as recognised talent.
Thanks to those nicknames, though, the room looked like a gathering of outright villains. Impossible to tell who was actually the antagonist here.
“Everyone’s assembled. Let me introduce our outside collaborators. First, Yanase Touko. She’ll be joining this operation as our scriptwriter.”
“Nice to meet you all~♪”
Touko, joining remotely from home, waved from inside the tablet screen.
“And,” Sanae continued, and a second face appeared on the tablet.
“This is Miyashita Kanade-san. She’s on Chesha’s side, but she’s agreed to lend us her assistance.”
Those unfamiliar with the full context couldn’t hide their surprise. Unsurprising, given one of Chesha’s own people was now openly sitting in on the strategy meeting for the very battle against her.
On screen, Kanade gave a small bow, her large earrings swaying. Her obvious discomfort needed no explanation. Both Mikoto and Kanade were allies, at least on this one point — ending the relationship between Shandy and Chesha.
To lay out the current situation, Sanae continued, writing on the whiteboard.
“Chesha’s current target is our own Kurosu Mikoto-san. She’s fabricated a charge of workplace embezzlement, claiming Mikoto privately diverted unaccounted-for funds that surfaced in the Planning Division.”
The scoop article Kanade had written hadn’t been published yet. By her own account, the original had stopped before ever reaching editorial review — stopped, in fact, by Kanade herself. Small mercy.
Interrupting Sanae, a female employee raised her hand. Accounting’s fierce warrior, Hasegawa Sakura. Behind thin-rimmed glasses, her narrowed eyes fixed sharply on Mikoto.
“Could you tell us the basis for calling this fabricated? There’s no confirmed proof Kurosu-san is innocent.”
“She’s simply not bold enough for something like this. She’s timid.”
“That’s just your subjective impression, isn’t it, Yanase-san?”
“Yes, a personal impression. She’s fundamentally a good person and a coward besides, and not especially quick-witted either. She wouldn’t have the first idea how to pocket unaccounted-for funds even if she tried.”
“Understood.”
Whether satisfied or not, Sakura turned back and gave a small bow. The reason for her suspicion being lifted was somewhat pathetic, admittedly, but Mikoto let it go.
Afterward, Sakura confirmed that several million yen in unaccounted-for funds genuinely existed within the Planning Division. Every month since Mikoto’s own hire date, money had been flowing to a shell company under the heading “Research and Development Expenses.” Helpfully enough, the name listed as responsible party was Kurosu Mikoto.
The complete lack of any memory of it left her dizzy. Why did she keep getting dragged into trouble like this. Given her already-fragile emotional state, it made her heart clench painfully tighter still.
Organising the information, Sanae let out a sigh and muttered.
“The method here is far too sloppy for real embezzlement. It’s reasonable to assume someone deliberately wants to pin the crime on her.”
“Could also be Yanase and Kurosu are in on it together.”
This time, HR’s grim reaper, Harada Mondo, spoke up cheerfully, arms crossed. Behind that wholesome, athletic smile lay the reaper’s own scythe — a sharp instinct for finding weaknesses and cutting heads clean off.
Suspected yet again, Mikoto’s nerves spiked. There was nothing to actually worry about, given her innocence — she just needed to carry herself with confidence — but the moment she became self-conscious about it, her facial muscles seized up regardless.
Honestly, every single person here radiated open hostility. Were these genuinely the collaborators Sanae had chosen?
“That’s not possible. Miyashita Kanade-san sitting in with us is proof enough of that. She’s a weekly magazine reporter who was about to break this story. Please, explain.”
Prompted, Kanade began explaining, laying out the truth without hesitation. That the leak originated from Ashiya Chie. That someone had genuinely taken the money themselves. That Mikoto was innocent. Both Sakura and Mondo, listening in silence, seemed satisfied enough.
But now the two of them turned their questions elsewhere, together.
“If we may ask — could you explain why you betrayed Ashiya Chie?”
“No offence, but going by your tone, this doesn’t sound like a guilty conscience talking.”
Sakura, mechanical to a degree beyond even Sanae, and Mondo, terrifyingly observant. Both of them, hand-picked by Sanae, reached the heart of the matter far too quickly.
But revealing the reason would be far too cruel. Mikoto didn’t want to make her go through that experience twice.
She had no idea what to say, but she spoke up anyway.
“Well, isn’t it enough that she’s helping us? Right?”
There was no need to check either of their expressions. Sakura glared, Mondo smiled, both looking at her with eyes that seemed to see straight through. Terrifying.
Just as she was starting to flounder, Sanae cleared her throat once.
“Miyashita-san’s reasons for turning on Ashiya Chie are a private matter.”
“There’s insufficient grounds to trust that. Explain—”
“I’m good, more or less get it. Just need to flush out the mole, right?”
Mondo, apparently, had pieced together the rest from the fragments already given. Seeming to grasp his own next task, he pulled up HR records on his tablet. Sakura, having posed the question, still looked unconvinced — but seemed to accept that hunting down whoever was actually responsible for the unaccounted-for funds took priority.
As Mikoto let out a relieved breath, Michelle patted her head reassuringly.
“Next, Miyashita-san. Please tell us what you know about the mole inside Hibiya.”
Kanade hesitated a moment before speaking slowly.
“I don’t know the exact number, but at most six. One of them is named Nishimura Sawa.”
“Ahh, I see, I see…”
Kuto, who’d seemed only half-listening until now, finally spoke up. That name rang a bell for Mikoto too.
“Mī-chan, you remember, right? During that whole play thing, the girl doing OJT for the blonde woman.”
“Yeah, I remember. Really can’t tell anything from appearances, huh.”
Nishimura Sawa. An entirely unremarkable, forgettable-looking office worker. Nothing about her appearance suggested being part of Chesha’s harem in the slightest. Then again, Chesha’s taste in women was all over the place to begin with. Not just sharp, aggressive types like Miyashita Kanade — plain General Affairs staffer Nishimura Sawa too, and a blonde bartender on top of it.
Just what exactly was going on with that woman.
“Anyway, we’ve narrowed down at least one. Akazawa, please make contact with her. Hasegawa-san, confirm the ringleader. Harada-san, investigate Nishimura and anyone close to her.”
“Ooh, ooh! What about me? Me?”
“Michelle, tea duty.”
Michelle snapped off a crisp salute and headed out to fetch bottled drinks for everyone.
As each person began their assigned task, Touko, on the tablet, called out Mikoto’s name.
“Mikoto-san, new script for you! Ahh, rewriting it was such a pain~!”
“We’re doing that mortifying play thing again!?”
“Correct,” Sanae confirmed flatly.
“Mikoto-san’s mission is spreading false information to sow confusion among Chesha’s agents. Because none of them, presumably, wants Chesha taken from them.”
She recalled Kanade’s tears from that night. She understood, all too well, the desire to be your beloved’s one and only, the desire not to lose them to anyone — least of all a blonde bartender who’d suddenly appeared in the middle of the harem.
Skimming lightly through the script, Mikoto grasped her role well enough.
The gist was simple. To anyone believed to be one of Chesha’s spies, say this:
—Let’s work together to win back the person we each love.
“Won’t I end up stabbed doing this…?”
“Don’t worry. The one who ends up stabbed will be Chesha or the blonde woman.”
“Please, just let this one end peacefully, Touko-san…”
“It’ll be fine! Touko productions are basically always happy endings!”
Nothing about that felt remotely fine, but she’d do what needed doing regardless.
For Shandy’s sake, fighting her own battle. And for her own sake too. The curtain rose on Mikoto’s own fight.
“Ah, you finally came. I’ve been longing for this.”
“Indeed. A good woman is worth the wait, after all.”
The same shallow lines as ever. She genuinely couldn’t recall, at this point, what had ever appealed to her about a woman this unchanged despite the years apart. Relief settled in, realising just how thoroughly her dense, rich days with Mikoto had overwritten her own heart. Even the faint worry that old embers might reignite turned out to be needless, and she settled comfortably onto the sofa in the living room she was shown into.
Her home was sparse, nearly empty of belongings. Not out of any trendy minimalism — she simply had no interest in owning things. Buy it, use it, discard it once bored. A hollow woman. Mikoto, endlessly buying books and knick-knacks in cluttered abundance, was, in that sense, a far more fulfilled human being — someone endlessly interesting to watch, endlessly fun to prank.
“Is all this cleanliness for my sake?”
“What other reason could there be?”
“Not to hide traces of some other woman?”
The moment she said it, Chesha gave an exaggerated shrug. Whenever she lied, she leaned into an obviously theatrical reaction, blurring the line of what was true. Though, admittedly, this was a method she herself made use of too.
Only one thing in this house reflected any real sense of Chesha’s own personality — sitting in the dining kitchen. Chesha pointed toward it, wearing a triumphant smile.
“I’m exactly the kind of woman who’d have a bar counter like this built in her own home. Should tell you plainly enough I’ve eyes for no one but you.”
Filling not just a corner but nearly the entire kitchen was a vast collection of liquor bottles and glassware, gathered from East and West alike. Spirits aged a minimum of fifteen years, bottles running well into six figures each, sat alongside impossibly delicate crystal glasses that looked ready to shatter at the lightest touch. As if the whole display existed purely to greet whoever stood before it.
“My, how lovely.”
“This is the shape my love takes. Understand now?”
“Yes, all too well.”
All too well, in fact, understanding exactly how warped it was.
Naturally, the fine liquor and glassware bore no fault themselves. Rich, delicious, endlessly enjoyable — so long as money was no object. But collecting things purely because they cost a fortune was the mark of new money who understood nothing at all. Leaving vintage wine sitting at room temperature, for one thing, was simply unthinkable. Anyone who actually knew spirits like gin or vodka would keep them in the freezer. Even the bottled beer in the fridge was exclusively imported, when plenty of excellent options existed domestically too.
Fundamentally, alcohol — cocktails, especially — exist to make cheap liquor taste good.
They stand on a history of ingenuity, built by predecessors trying to salvage otherwise undrinkable spirits into something enjoyable. The master of this particular bar understood nothing about alcohol at all. Didn’t love it in the slightest. It existed purely to showcase her own means, through nothing more than the sheer force of having money.
Ah, I’m sick of my own past stupidity.
The old me had let herself get reeled in by exactly this money.
“As a mark of our reunion, shall I mix us a drink?”
“That would be lovely. Watching your face while I—”
Chesha’s phone buzzed. Glancing once at the display, she rejected the call.
“My, is that alright to ignore?”
“Just tedious work.”
What a tedious lie to tell. That call had been arranged in advance, timed to a specific moment. Cruel of her, perhaps, but she’d wanted confirmation of exactly which one Chesha would prioritise.
At the very least, Chesha did seem willing to discard every woman besides her.
Her way of loving was ridiculous, pathetic. The kind of single-minded devotion an ordinary person might find touching — but unfortunately for her, some people were entirely immune to it.
“Shall I make the same cocktail as back then?”
“Yes. The very first one you ever made, freshly starting out as a bartender. Let’s see how much you’ve grown.”
“Gladly.”
The XYZ. Antiqua’s signature drink for showing an unwelcome customer the door. She couldn’t recall anymore exactly why she’d first started serving it to customers she disliked, but she’d made it enough times that the recipe lived in muscle memory. Light rum, 40ml. Cointreau, 10ml. Lemon juice, 10ml. Method: shake.
Ah, but before that.
“Since we’re here, why don’t we talk over old times?”
“That’s exactly my intention, Shal.”
Chesha gazed at her with sparkling eyes. Pushy to the very end, never once doubting her own righteousness. Come to think of it, this same arrogance had probably been part of the appeal, back when she was younger.
“Did you throw away my things too? I left a phone behind, didn’t I?”
“Of course I kept it. The battery’s surely dead by now, but I’ll fetch it.”
Chesha left her seat, disappearing into what was presumably being used as storage. No one left to watch the bartender’s hands now.
She pulled a small vial from her pocket. Inside what any bartender would recognise as a standard bitters bottle wasn’t alcohol at all. A genuine poison, given to her by Touko. She had no idea why Touko even possessed such a thing, and she’d felt some resistance to tampering with a drink like this. But this wasn’t a bar, and this wasn’t a customer. Which meant she’d simply serve up an authentic, no-holds-barred XYZ.
Mixing in the poison, she shook the shaker. The faintly cloudy cocktail that resulted carried the nickname of being, without exception, the single most effective drink in existence for this purpose. Just as she finished pouring it into a glass worth easily three times any glass used at Antiqua, Chesha returned. Beaming, delighted, wearing the same childlike innocence as back then.
Chesha was someone who’d grown into adulthood while somehow still remaining a child.
That was, at once, her most endearing quality and her most detestable one. That unsettling, can’t-look-away quality was surely the natural gap-moe of it all. No doubt her countless victims had all fallen prey to some combination of that gap and her sheer technique, sinking into dependency without realising it.
“You’re a fortunate woman, Chesha.”
“Indeed I am, drinking while gazing at your face.”
Raising the glass, Chesha drained the poisoned XYZ in one go.
No sign of collapsing followed. She licked her lips, declaring it “delicious,” praising her for “showing real growth.”
“Oh…?”
Touko-san? What’s going on here?
“Something the matter, Shal? You’re looking at me like you’ve spotted something unusual.”
“Yes, well. It has been what, four years? Five?”
“Shall I guess for you? You slipped something into it, didn’t you?”
Sharp. For a moment she wondered when exactly she’d been caught, but this was surely just a bluff.
“Calling the love I poured in so generously a poison, how rude.”
“Indeed it is. Your love is poison. It’s utterly captivated me.”
Just as relief settled in that she was too foolish to notice, both of Chesha’s hands seized her by the ears. Muffled, through the covered ears, Chesha’s voice came through.
“Shal. Do you know how long I’ve been longing for you?”
“Won’t you tell me? I’d love to drink in your words.”
“I kept expanding the business, striving to become someone worthy of you.”
“My, how magnificent. Won’t you tell me about your grand adventures?”
“You’re awfully eager to keep me talking, aren’t you? Trying to draw this out, are you?”
Drawing it out was the last thing on her mind — the poison simply wasn’t working, and if anything, she was the one growing impatient. At point-blank range, caught in Chesha’s gaze, she couldn’t move. Perhaps this poison was the exact same one she’d once been given at the Kinugawa River. If so, this had backfired far beyond simple ineffectiveness.
I want to return to Mikoto still pure.
“Shouldn’t pleasure be saved for last? I’m the type who eats her favourite fried chicken last, personally.”
“I eat mine first. Honestly, I don’t need anything besides fried chicken.”
“T-that’s terrible for your health, isn’t it?”
“You don’t eat vegetables either, do you?”
“Those aren’t fit for human consumption.”
“Then does that mean you only eat meat?”
“Y-yes.”
The instant she said it, she realised her mistake.
However you read it, the conversation had steered straight into an invitation. Chesha’s fully-formed, adult-woman face drew closer. The kind of self-sufficient, successful woman most of the world’s women idolise — the kind of sharp, striking figure that would draw excited cheers if ever dressed as a man.
Breath and warmth pressed close. Through the hands still covering her ears, Chesha’s racing pulse came through.
“Chesha…?”
“I love meat too, Charlotte. I’d love a taste.”
“P-perhaps I should convert to vegetarianism? Or veganism, even.”
“You could never become an herbivore. You love meat even more than I do.”
The hands that had covered her ears now moved to grip both shoulders instead. Fingers dug into the thin flesh there, hard.
Right, this was how Chesha always held her. Unlike Mikoto’s considerate, still slightly bashful and hesitant touch, this was overflowing with possessiveness, purely, simply painful.
“Ah, this is it. You’re what I’ve been searching for, Charlotte.”
“How lovely for you—”
“You wanted me too, didn’t you? Not that Kurosu Mikoto woman — just me, and only me.”
“Now, who’s to say?”
“Then let’s ask the body instead.”
“Wait.”
“No!”
Trying to pull away only tightened the hold into a full restraint. Her face closed in fast. She wanted distance, but couldn’t get any. It wasn’t resistance to kissing itself — the person was simply the worst possible choice. Anyone besides Chesha, she’d do it without a second thought — plenty of preference involved, of course — but this one person, absolutely not.
She didn’t want to make the person she loved sad. Didn’t want to add even one more ounce of guilt onto her.
Mikoto was too kind, always trying to shoulder burdens that weren’t hers to carry. That was about as far from the equal footing Mikoto herself actually wanted as anything could be.
“Shal…”
“Mn…!”
She shut her eyes, pressing her lips firmly closed. Their lips touched — no. They never did.
The hands holding her went suddenly slack, sliding away, and Chesha’s face dropped straight onto her chest. From there, she slumped forward completely. Heavy.
Somehow forcing her weakened body to move, she managed to toss Chesha onto something large enough to be either a sofa or a bed.
“Chesha, can you hear me~?”
No answer. Proof, finally, that the poison had taken effect.
“Phew… Genuinely panicked there for a second when it wasn’t working at all, Touko…”
Sliding down onto the flooring, she finally let out a breath of relief.
The poison Touko had given her wasn’t meant to kill anyone. According to her, a sleeping medication, meant to protect “Miko-Sha.” Powerful enough to take effect within minutes, and once asleep, apparently guaranteed a full eight hours of deep unconsciousness. Though those handful of minutes had genuinely felt like a matter of life and death.
“…Right, time to do my job.”
She switched gears mentally.
Coming here had, obviously, never been about actually becoming Chesha’s woman. Settling old scores was just a bonus goal, too. The real priority was Chesha’s treasure trove of private information — the contents of her phone.
Waking the device revealed a four-digit password lock. Numbers only. After a moment’s thought, she tried her own birthday. November 24th.
—Incorrect password.
“So she doesn’t even care about me that much! How infuriating…”
Giving up on guessing the password, she used Chesha’s own fingertip, still soundly asleep, to unlock it instead. First on her list to check: LINE, the platform Chesha surely used to keep in contact with all her women. The instant it opened, a sigh escaped her.
“You absolute fool.”
At minimum, eleven people in clearly established relationships, and counting probable candidates, at least thirty. Screenshotting every last name and their most recent exchanges, she sent them all from her own phone to Sanae. With information this substantial, it would surely prove useful to Sanae — meaning, in turn, it could save Mikoto.
Just as she finished sending everything, Sanae’s read receipt appeared.
The reply came back as a single line.
“Are you on the bed right now, by any chance?”
Impressed, honestly, at how much wit this once-stiff woman had developed.
People grow. Mikoto did, and Sanae did, and so had she herself. Which meant sometimes, past relationships simply stopped meshing properly. There was no need to try forcing herself to discard the past entirely. Live days more enjoyable than the past, and it discards itself naturally, without any effort required.
She decided to play along with Sanae a little.
“Naughty.”
“That’s a lie.”
“No it isn’t.”
“I’ll rush the identification so you can come home sooner.”
My home isn’t here. Realising that thought, she finally understood — she had somewhere to call home now. The first place, in her whole life, she’d ever truly had to return to. Just a little longer to endure, until she could get back to that soft, slightly hopeless, kind and strong woman.
“Please do.”
“Thank you for the names.”
Sanae’s message arrived alongside a sticker she’d surely never use again in her life — words she’d probably never say aloud either.
Rare, indeed. And seeing this rare side of her made teasing entirely unavoidable. Her own personal flaw.
“My, my. Turns out you have a cute side too. Feeling a little embarrassed, doing something so out of character, Sanae-san?”
The message, dripping with provocation, was met with a perfect, unanswered read receipt.