Momonogi Nana sat perched precariously on the edge of the utility sink in the cramped storage room. Her legs were splayed wide in an awkward, vulnerable M-shape, braced against the metal shelving unit beside her for leverage. Her hands were planted firmly on the shoulders or head of the figure kneeling before her, pushing with desperate, trembling force against the weight pressing insistently between her thighs.
"I… I don't want this…" Her voice was a choked whisper, thick with shame and exertion.
"Sto… stop it…"
Looking down, she met the upturned face of Higashino Keisuke. His features were flushed, eyes glazed with a greedy, impatient hunger. A lecherous grin split his face, revealing slightly yellowed teeth. The sheer porcine satisfaction in his expression, the utter lack of regard for her distress, sent waves of hot humiliation crashing over her.
Schlllp… Schlllp…
The wet, rhythmic sounds were obscenely loud in the confined space. Despite her revulsion, a treacherous, unwelcome heat was coiling deep within her core, a physical betrayal she couldn't control. Her body felt like it was burning from the inside out, a flush spreading from her chest up her neck, staining her cheeks a deep crimson.
"Please… please… I'm begging you… stop…" The plea was ragged, torn from her throat.
"Stop squirming," Higashino grunted, his voice muffled but thick with condescension."You're enjoying this too, aren't you?"
Me…?
The thought was a dagger. No! She couldn't let this continue. Not like this. She had to stop him while she still had a shred of willpower left. Summoning every ounce of strength, Momonogi brought her hands down, not to push his shoulders this time, but to shield herself directly, to create a physical barrier against the violation.
"Hey…!" Higashino's head jerked up, his expression transforming instantly. The lecherous grin vanished, replaced by a mask of dark, petulant displeasure. His eyes narrowed, turning cold and dangerous."Get those hands out of the way! Now!"
Momonogi's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Fear, cold and paralyzing, washed over her. But she held firm, her hands remaining clamped protectively in place. The late hour meant the streets were deserted. The store was locked tight from the inside. There was no escape. She was utterly trapped. Yet, some stubborn, defiant part of her refused to yield.
I only… I only saw the bento boxes… The thought flashed through her panic. He hadn't come to take them tonight. They were expired… just sitting there… I thought… I thought taking one wouldn't matter… just this once… I needed…
She hadn't anticipated this.
"Move them!" This time, the command was a snarl. The veneer of false geniality was completely stripped away, revealing raw, ugly malice beneath. The threat in his voice was palpable, undisguised.
Helplessness threatened to drown Momonogi. Tears welled, blurring her vision. The utter futility of her resistance pressed down on her. Still, her hands remained locked in place, a final, trembling bastion of her crumbling dignity.
Higashino paused, his eyes fixed not on her face, but on the frantic tremor in her shielding hands. A slow, knowing smirk twisted his lips. He tilted his head back slightly, his gaze locking onto hers, filled with cruel comprehension and mocking amusement.
"Looks like you're pretty hard up for cash, huh?" His voice was oily, insinuating."Tell you what… how about 100,000 yen?"
Xiao Wen stood frozen, his hand still resting on the cold metal door handle. The scene unfolding behind the glass was not just explicit; it was a brutal dismantling of his entire world. He'd seen things like this before– flickering pixels on a computer screen, distant, unreal fantasies. But witnessing it here, now, happening to her… it short-circuited his brain. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at his throat.
Call the police? The thought surfaced, frantic. But how would he explain being inside the locked store? Illegal employment. Would they deport him? Send him back in disgrace?
No… that's not right… Sis saved me. I can't let her be hurt.
But then, the image of his mother's face, weary yet hopeful, surfaced. The family savings, exhausted to send him here. Her quiet expectation for his success, for a better life… for her future comfort.
Xiao Wen… you worthless piece of shit! The self-loathing was venomous. Without her, where would you be? Even now?
A grim resolve hardened within him, crystallizing like ice.
Even if it means deportation. Even if it means throwing away my studies, my future, everything… even if it means going back to nothing… I have to save her.
His mind raced, grasping for a solution in the suffocating darkness. The deserted street outside, the locked store… it offered an idea, brutal and simple. Dead of night, perfect for robbery. He would disguise himself as a thief. Sneak in, knock Higashino unconscious, tie up Sis (to make it look convincing), steal the money from the register, erase the security footage… then slip away home. A clean escape. Two birds with one stone: rescue Sis and solve his own desperate financial woes.
Moving with a terrifying, newfound calm, Xiao Wen retreated silently. He found a discarded vest crumpled near some empty boxes. He pulled it roughly over his head, hood up, masking his features. Nearby, a worn wooden mop handle leaned against the wall. He snapped it free with a sharp, decisive twist. The wood felt heavy and solid in his grip, a crude instrument of deliverance.
He crept back towards the storage room door. Higashino was a big man, thick-necked and heavy-set. Xiao Wen knew he wouldn't win a prolonged fight, even with the stick. He needed a single, decisive blow. Perfect aim. Perfect timing. He focused on the back of Higashino's head, exposed as the man knelt before Momonogi. Xiao Wen's breathing slowed. His mind became unnervingly clear, focused solely on the mechanics of the act. He began a silent countdown, waiting for the optimal moment when Higashino would be most vulnerable, least aware.
10… 9… 8… 7…
The back of the head… This is assault. This is a crime.
6… 5… 4…
3… 2…
1…
Higashino's oily voice slithered through the door again, loud and clear:"Looks like you're pretty hard up for cash, huh? Tell you what… how about 100,000 yen?"
Xiao Wen's hand clenched convulsively on the door handle. His entire body locked rigid. Every muscle turned to stone.
Sis… needs money? The revelation struck like a physical blow. How? Why? She never said a word…
He pressed his eye back to the grimy glass. Inside, he saw Momonogi Nana's face contort. Her eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenched so hard the muscles in her jaw stood out like cords. A shuddering breath escaped her. Then, a single, silent tear tracked down her cheek, followed by another. A soundless sob wracked her shoulders. The flush of shame on her face deepened to a mortified crimson. The expression she wore was pure, unadulterated degradation.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, her trembling hands… began to move away.
"That's more like it!" Higashino's triumphant chuckle was vile.
Schlllp… Schlllp…
Xiao Wen watched the scene unfold– the grotesque pantomime of desire, the violation masked as transaction. He saw the faint, almost ethereal light reflecting off pale skin– the absurd, mocking"Holy Light" censorship of his darkest fantasies made manifest in this hellish reality. Combined with the wet, sucking sounds emanating from Higashino, it was too much. The fragile scaffolding of Xiao Wen's mind buckled and collapsed in on itself.
Fantasy…!!!
The word screamed in the void left behind.
Dreams require sleep. The benefit of fantasy is that you can dream exactly what you want, how you want it.
But the brutal reality unfolding before him warped the very axioms Xiao Wen had lived by.
When fantasy mutates into an unforeseen reality… sometimes it becomes a nightmare!
And this particular nightmare… this singular, shattering experience… was the catalyst that finally, irrevocably, pushed Xiao Wen through the other revolving door– the one marked with shadows he had only ever observed from afar.
"Ungh!"
"Mmmph!!"
"Ah…!"
From within the storage room, the sounds shifted– gasps, grunts, the rhythmic thudding of bodies against the flimsy shelving. They moved through varied positions, unseen but loudly implied: the missionary press against stacked boxes, the sharp slap of skin from behind, the strained balancing of upright coupling, the yielding softness of a kneeling figure…
Unnoticed in the corner of the reinforced window, pressed flat against the grimy glass, a phone lens captured it all. A tiny, steady red light pulsed silently in the gloom, bearing witness.
The Next Day
Xiao Wen called in sick to his preparatory classes.
He awoke late in the afternoon in his small, perpetually dim rental room. The single window offered little light, shrouded by a thin, grimy curtain. He sat at his cheap, wobbly desk, the glow of his computer monitor the only illumination. His face was a blank mask, devoid of expression. On the screen, transferred from his phone, a grid of thumbnails displayed. He scrolled through them methodically, dispassionately, clicking to enlarge each one.
There she was. Momonogi Nana. In the harsh, unforgiving light of the storage room's bare bulb. Missionary position on the sink edge. Doggy style amidst the brooms and buckets. Standing, braced against the shelves. Kneeling on the cold linoleum… Each frame captured a moment of exposure, of vulnerability, of raw, transactional intimacy. The angles were invasive, clinical.
The monitor's cold, blue-white light reflected in Xiao Wen's unnaturally wide, unblinking eyes. They seemed devoid of focus, staring through the screen rather than at it.
It's strange…
The thought drifted through the numb void in his mind.
This is the reality I refused to believe…
Right now… I should feel shattered. Devastated. Drowning in grief.
But… there's nothing. Just… emptiness. Is human adaptability really this terrifyingly powerful?
He recalled something he'd read. In biology, when a mammal's brain is subjected to repeated, intense stimuli– especially traumatic ones– it develops tolerance. The neural pathways responsible for processing that specific pain or shock become less responsive. The signals grow duller. The feeling fades. It's called desensitization. Numbness. A survival mechanism, perhaps.
Like a bat's eyes adapting to the painful glare of dawn, he thought distantly. Even the most excruciating agony becomes, eventually, just a faint electrical flicker across a synapse. A minor biochemical event.
In simple terms, Xiao Wen was adapting. His mind, reeling from the trauma, was scrambling to make sense of it, to normalize it. To understand, and perhaps even accept, Momonogi Nana's choice. The choice driven by a desperation he hadn't known about.
Different lands breed different customs, the rationalizing voice whispered in his head. Most malice and conflict stem from misunderstanding.
He thought about Japan, the culture he was still navigating. Here, he'd observed, shame (haji) was the bedrock of social judgment, far more potent than the moral absolutes of the East or the concept of sin prevalent in the West. This reliance on external perception, this deep-seated terror of exposure (sekentei), shaped a unique cultural framework. Actions weren't inherently"evil" based on internal guilt, but"shameful" based on public discovery. Hence the legal requirement for pixelation– as long as it wasn't seen in its raw form, it could exist in a grey zone. Acceptable. Normalized.
Many things don't cease to exist just because you refuse to think about them, the internal monologue continued, adopting a detached, almost academic tone. Understanding the mechanisms behind cultural formation… that's crucial for studying human diversity.
Environment shapes the person. Immersed in this specific, brutal environment, Xiao Wen was changing. First, his thoughts. The carefully constructed fantasy was gone, replaced by a cold analysis of shame economics and neural adaptation. Second… his body was changing.
His gaze remained fixed on the screen. On Momonogi Nana's face contorted in humiliation. The flash of defiance replaced by crushing resignation. The tracks of tears glistening on her cheeks under the harsh light…
Xiao Wen's vision blurred slightly. His mind drifted, unmoored. The numbness fractured, not with grief, but with a resurgence of fantasy. A different kind. He imagined her, not in the storage room, but kneeling before him, right here in his room. The expression on her face… submissive. His body, which should have recoiled in disgust, instead responded with a traitorous heat. A familiar, aching tension began to build low in his abdomen.
Yes, he realized with a jolt of cold clarity. I'm… enjoying this.
The evidence was undeniable: the distinct tent-like bulge straining against the front of his trousers. Almost without conscious thought, his hand, still resting on the mouse, drifted away. Slowly, hesitantly, it moved towards his lap, drawn by the undeniable physical reaction to the images on the screen and the twisted fantasy taking root in his mind. The path his life was on had veered violently, irrevocably, onto a dark and unknown track.
Fsssshhhht…(The sound of fabric sliding)
Hahhh…(A sharp intake of breath)
Ah…!(A soft, involuntary gasp)
And then…
CLICK!
The harsh, sudden snap of the light switch being flipped echoed in the small room. The oppressive gloom vanished, replaced by the blinding, unforgiving glare of the overhead fluorescent bulb.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Xiao Wen froze mid-motion. His hand jerked away from his lap as if burned. His head snapped up, eyes wide with shock and terror, pupils dilated like a deer caught in headlights. He fumbled desperately with the waistband of his trousers, his face draining of all color.
"Uh… uh…!" The strangled sounds were all he could manage.
Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the bright hallway light, was Yukinari Yugensha. The blond delinquent leaned against the frame, arms crossed, a look of intense, predatory curiosity mixed with utter disdain on his handsome face.