The kitchen. Typically, it was a space of warmth, of sustenance. Laughter might echo off its tiled walls, the clatter of pans a familiar symphony. Sometimes it was a place of comforting chaos, other times a sanctuary of quiet culinary creation, culminating in the simple joy of a shared meal. For Kasumi, however, as she stepped hesitantly across the threshold into Ayato's family kitchen, it felt like an executioner's antechamber. The air was thick not with the aroma of food, but with a chilling, unspoken dread.
Peter stood at the counter, already wearing the same dark grey apron from the previous night. The sleeves of his dark shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle and traced with the faint, silvery lines of old scars. He moved with an unsettling grace, chopping vegetables with a rhythmic, almost hypnotic precision. Yet, despite the domesticity of the scene, an undeniable aura of menace clung to him, a silent promise of the violence he was capable of.
Kasumi's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. A strange, unwelcome heat bloomed in her chest as she watched him, a perverse flicker of attraction warring with the icy grip of terror. God, he's so handsome… so hot, a traitorous part of her mind whispered, even as another screamed in protest. Wait, what the hell is wrong with me? Last night, he slapped me, threatened me, nearly watched me try to kill Ayato! The cognitive dissonance was dizzying, a testament to the terrifying charisma Peter wielded.
"Kasumi!"
Peter's voice, sharp and sudden, shattered her internal turmoil. She flinched, her head snapping up. "Y-yes, sir…" she stammered, her voice barely a squeak, fear instantly overriding any other fleeting sensation.
"Cut those green onions," Peter ordered, his tone cold, devoid of any warmth. He gestured with his chin towards a grocery bag on the counter. "Thin pieces."
Kasumi scurried forward, her legs feeling like lead. She fumbled in the bag, her hands trembling as she pulled out the bunch of green onions. She placed a worn wooden cutting board on the counter, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. As she reached for a knife from the block, Peter moved with startling speed. He plucked a large chef's knife from the set, his fingers wrapping around the handle with familiar ease. And then—
THWACK!
The heavy blade slammed down, biting deep into the wooden cutting board, mere millimeters from where Kasumi's fingers had been moments before. She snatched her hand back with a choked gasp, her heart leaping into her throat. Terror, stark and absolute, flooded her senses. Her parents, oblivious in the living room, their hearing perhaps dulled by the television's drone, hadn't registered the violent sound.
"Hey! Why did you—" Kasumi began, her voice a mixture of outrage and fear, before Peter cut her off.
"Oh," he said, his voice deceptively calm, a faint, almost pleasant smile touching his lips as he met her terrified gaze. "I was just trying to give you a knife to cut them."
"You… you tried to cut my hand!" she accused, her voice trembling despite her attempt at defiance.
The air in the kitchen shifted, growing heavy, colder. The smile on Peter's face didn't just fade; it was erased, replaced by an expression of chilling indifference, his eyes turning flat and emotionless. "So, what if I did?"
Kasumi stumbled back a step, then another, as he leaned slightly towards her. The predatory stillness in his posture, the absolute lack of empathy in his cold eyes – it was a thousand times more terrifying than his overt anger in the hospital. This was the face of a man who could extinguish a life without a flicker of remorse.
"You were lucky," Peter continued, his voice a low, menacing whisper that seemed to crawl under her skin. "Lucky that accident happened last night. If it wasn't for that… if Ayato hadn't needed to be brought here… I would have sent you and that blonde motherfucker straight to hell. Right there. In that hospital room."
His words, cold and precise, were a direct threat, a chilling reminder of the fate she had so narrowly escaped. Kasumi was speechless, her throat tight, unable to form a single word. The phantom sting of his slap from the previous night throbbed on her cheek, a sensation she had tried to conceal with layers of makeup, desperate to hide the evidence from her parents.
"Enjoy your last meal with your parents," Peter said, his voice dropping even lower, each syllable a death knell.
Kasumi's eyes widened in shock. Last meal? She tried to feign ignorance, to pretend she didn't understand the horrifying implication, but a cold dread seeped into her bones. She knew. Today was her last day.
"And I'll say one more thing," Peter added, his eyes now blazing with a terrifying, controlled rage as he stared directly into hers, pinning her with his gaze. "Tell this to that blonde piece of shit, Takaya. If either of you ever try to harm Ayato again, if you even dare to get near me again, I won't hesitate to rip both your fucking heads off." His lips curled into a slow, predatory smile, a grotesque parody of warmth that sent icy tendrils of fear coiling around Kasumi's heart. "I don't give a fuck that you're female. Just like I beat up a male, I'll do the same to a female. I believe in that kind of equality."
Kasumi froze, her legs numb, her mouth agape, unable to utter a sound. The world seemed to tilt, the kitchen walls closing in on her. Karma, she realized with a sickening lurch, sometimes didn't send an object. Sometimes, it sent a person. A monster cloaked in terrifying calm.
"Sweetie, is there something wrong?" Kauri's concerned voice called from the living room, her head peeking around the doorframe. She'd noticed her daughter standing stock-still, like a statue, in front of Peter.
Before Kasumi could even attempt to form a coherent, non-terrified response, Peter answered, his voice instantly reverting to a pleasant, conversational tone. "Yeah, she's fine. I was just giving her some advice about cooking."
"Y-yeah, Mom," Kasumi managed, her voice thin and shaky, forcing a weak smile. "He was just… giving me advice." Her mother, seemingly satisfied, nodded and turned back to the television.
Kasumi's hands trembled as she reached for the knife still embedded in the cutting board. She pulled it free with a jerky movement and began to chop the green onions, her movements clumsy, her mind reeling. She was terrified, acutely aware of Peter's cold, watchful eyes on her, every slice of the knife a reminder of her precarious situation. She tried to act normal, to appear calm, but it was a futile effort. The fear he exuded was a suffocating blanket.
Accept it or not, she knew with chilling certainty: this would be her last day.
Upstairs, in Ayato's room, the low hum of a hairdryer filled the quiet space. Hiroki, having dried his own hair first, now carefully aimed the warm air at Ayato's damp, dark locks. Ayato's left arm, still bandaged and sore from his ordeal in the hospital, hung limply at his side, making the simple task difficult for him. Hiroki handled the dryer with a gentle competence, his movements surprisingly careful. The shared trauma of the previous night, the raw grief Ayato was navigating, had forged an unspoken understanding between them.
Ayato sat patiently on the edge of his bed, his gaze distant. After a few moments of silence, he spoke, his voice quiet. "Um, Hiroki, right?"
"Yeah?" Hiroki replied, keeping his attention on the task, ensuring the heat wasn't too intense.
"Why… why did you use a different name with my aunt? Hikaru?" Ayato's question was soft, tinged with a hesitant curiosity.
Hiroki switched off the hairdryer, the sudden silence amplifying the weight of the question. He set the dryer down on the bedside table and let out a slow, weary sigh, running a hand through his own still slightly damp hair. He turned to face Ayato, his expression somber.
"It's… a complicated story, Ayato," Hiroki began, his voice low. "And honestly, I don't know if you're in any state to handle more bad news right now."
Ayato slowly pushed himself to his feet, his good eye fixing on Hiroki with an intensity that belied his fragile state. Despite the grief that clung to him like a shroud, a flicker of resolve, of needing to understand, burned in his gaze. "Well," he said, his voice gaining a fraction more strength, "I'm listening."
Hiroki looked at him, at the raw pain still evident in his posture, the haunted look in his eyes. But there was something else too – a nascent strength, a refusal to completely shatter. He nodded slowly. "Okay. Here goes nothing."
And so, Hiroki began to unravel the twisted tapestry of his own recent past. He spoke of Kukajin, the black transfer student who had systematically dismantled his life, the architect of his initial despair. He described the sickening betrayal by those he had loved most – his mother, his sister, Nao – their involvement in the humiliating adult videos, the mockery, the casual cruelty. He recounted how his own mother had spoken ill of his deceased father, twisting the knife of betrayal even deeper. He confessed his darkest moment, standing on the edge of that bridge, the cold wind a siren song luring him towards oblivion, and how Peter had appeared like an unlikely savior, pulling him back from the precipice. He explained the change of name, the relentless training, the burning desire for revenge – not just for himself, but to make them understand the weight of what they had done, to make them pay.
Ayato listened in stunned silence, his eyes widening with each horrific revelation. His own pain was immense, a gaping wound, but hearing Hiroki's story… it was like looking into a different, yet equally dark, abyss. The sheer scale of the betrayal, the calculated cruelty, the profound loneliness Hiroki must have endured – it resonated with Ayato's own experiences in a deeply unsettling way. He saw the strength it must have taken for Hiroki to survive, to fight back, and he saw the quiet, unwavering support Peter had provided. A flicker of anger, hot and sharp, pierced through Ayato's grief – anger on Hiroki's behalf.
When Hiroki finally finished, the room was thick with unspoken emotions. Ayato stared at him, his mind reeling, trying to process the sheer weight of what he'd just heard. He saw not just a fellow survivor, but a warrior forged in the fires of unimaginable pain.
Then, Ayato stood up straighter, a new light dawning in his eyes, a spark of defiance igniting within the depths of his sorrow. He stepped forward, facing Hiroki directly.
"You know what," Ayato said, his voice no longer hesitant, but filled with a sudden, fierce conviction. "I've had enough. Enough of being a leftover, enough of being seen as nothing but a tool, a plaything." He clenched his good fist, his knuckles white. "Once I'm fully recovered, we train together. I ain't staying in this weak-ass body any longer. And I ain't letting anyone – and I mean no FUCKING person – stop us. And I won't let you hit your back on the ground, either. Not again."
A slow, genuine smile spread across Hiroki's face. It was the first real smile Ayato had seen from him, and it was surprisingly warm. He saw the fire in Ayato's eyes, the raw determination, the promise not just to Hiroki, but to himself. This wasn't just talk; this was a vow.
Hiroki reached out, and Ayato met his hand, their palms slapping together in a firm, resounding dap. "We are now, officially, brothers," Hiroki declared, his voice filled with a newfound warmth.
"To the end," Ayato replied, his own voice stronger now, echoing Hiroki's conviction. "Till our last breath, brother."
Hiroki pulled Ayato into a rough, brotherly hug, clapping him on the back. It wasn't a hug of pity, but of solidarity, of shared purpose. In that moment, surrounded by the ghosts of their pasts, they forged a new bond, a brotherhood born from pain and tempered by the promise of a shared fight. Hiroki knew, with absolute certainty, that he would protect Ayato, stand by him, just as Peter had stood by him.
Just then, Kauri's voice drifted up from downstairs, warm and inviting. "Boys! Lunch is ready!"
Hiroki pulled back, grinning. "Let's go, brother."
Ayato nodded, a genuine, though still fragile, smile gracing his lips. Together, they walked out of the room and headed downstairs, two broken souls beginning to piece themselves back together, side by side.
The aroma drifting up from the kitchen was rich and complex, a stark contrast to the somber mood that had clung to the house. As Hiroki and Ayato descended the stairs, they found Kauri and Takasumi already seated at the dining table, Peter placing the last of several platters before them. The spread was astonishing.
Kasumi sat rigidly at the table, her chopsticks held tightly in her lap, her eyes darting nervously towards Peter whenever he moved. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs, each beat a reminder of his chilling words, his terrifying proximity. The image of the knife slamming into the cutting board, inches from her fingers, replayed endlessly in her mind. He knew. He knew everything Ayato had told him. She was trapped, a fly in a spider's web, and the spider was calmly arranging a feast. Her parents would find out. Ayato or Peter would tell them. It was a lose-lose situation, a countdown to her own social, familial annihilation.
The food, however, was a masterpiece. A large, steaming bowl of ramen took center stage, its rich broth fragrant with pork and chicken, laden with perfectly cooked noodles, glistening soft-boiled eggs, vibrant narutomaki, earthy mushrooms, and crisp, thinly sliced green onions. Delicate slivers of avocado and thin slices of lemon floated on the surface, adding a surprising brightness. Alongside it, four heaping plates of expertly fried beef, crispy on the outside and impossibly juicy within, were arranged next to an assortment of sushi – glistening tuna, pearlescent salmon, creamy uni – each piece a miniature work of art. Small bowls of a dark, special soy sauce, subtly infused with unknown spices, completed the culinary landscape. The sheer abundance, the artistry of the presentation, was overwhelming. Kasumi found herself caught in a bizarre internal conflict – ravenously hungry at the sight and smell of such exquisite food, yet simultaneously paralyzed by a terror so profound it threatened to steal her breath.
Peter took his seat, placing his hands together in a gesture of grace. Hiroki, Ayato, and then Kauri and Takasumi followed his lead.
"Dear God," Peter began, his voice low and resonant, filling the quiet room. "Thanks for giving me strength to keep up and never let my back hit the ground. And even if I do, I have learned to never let anyone stop me from standing up and fighting for my wills and wishes." He paused, taking a slow, deliberate breath before continuing, his tone shifting subtly, imbued with a deeper sorrow. "May all who died reach heaven, and those who did a sin, may You show them the right way, or do Your judgment on them. Amen."
"Amen," the others echoed softly.
"Enjoy, everyone," Peter said, his voice returning to its calm, almost gentle register.
They picked up their chopsticks. The first bite was a revelation. Kauri gasped softly, her eyes widening in amazement. Takasumi let out an appreciative hum. Even Ayato, lost in his grief, paused as the complex flavors of the ramen broth touched his tongue, a fleeting moment of sensory pleasure in a world that had turned to ash. The sushi melted in their mouths, the fried beef was an explosion of savory delight. Kasumi, despite her terror, found herself eating with an almost desperate hunger, the deliciousness of the food a temporary, fragile shield against the impending doom she felt closing in on her. For a few precious moments, she almost forgot her predicament, lost in the sheer artistry of Peter's cooking.
"Wow, Mr. Rasel, I'm speechless," Kauri exclaimed, her face alight with genuine delight. "This food… it tastes like heaven! Your wife is a very lucky woman."
Peter offered a calm smile. "Oh no, I'm actually single," he replied easily. "But I'm glad you loved it."
Kauri's eyes twinkled. "Oh dear, then I imagine there must be a long line of girls waiting in front of your house, then?"
"Honey!?" Takasumi interjected, a hint of playful exasperation in his voice as he shot his wife a look. Kauri giggled softly. "Oh, my bad." She turned to Peter. "Sorry, my wife somehow asks weird stuffs," Takasumi said, his tone apologetic but warm. He then looked directly at Peter, his expression turning more serious. "But I do have a question, Mr. Rasel, if you don't mind."
Peter, who had just taken a delicate bite of sushi, paused and nodded slowly, inviting him to continue.
"What about your parents?" Takasumi asked, his voice gentle. "Are they… are they fine?"
The question, innocently asked, landed in the room with the weight of a dropped stone. Peter froze. The chopsticks in his hand stilled. The faint smile on his lips didn't vanish, but it seemed to… solidify, becoming a mask. A flicker of something unreadable, something deeply emotional, passed through his eyes before he quickly shuttered it away. There was a subtle tightening around his jaw, a fractional hesitation that spoke volumes.
Takasumi, realizing his misstep, immediately looked flustered. "Oh, I'm… I'm really sorry for asking such a personal—"
"No," Peter interrupted, his voice quiet but steady, though a new layer of melancholy had settled into it. "Actually, it's fine." He let out a slow, almost imperceptible sigh, his gaze dropping to the ramen bowl before him, as if seeking solace in its swirling depths. "I… I was born an orphan," he began, his voice soft, distant. "I never saw my parents, never knew who they were. I was pretty young when… when a woman adopted me. She took care of me. She already had two kids of her own." A faint, sad smile touched his lips. "One of them was… arrogant, a bit of a handful. But the other… the other was kind, selfless. We became best friends. Eventually, I felt like… like I finally had a big brother."
Peter stopped, his throat working for a moment. The atmosphere in the room had shifted entirely, heavy with an unspoken sorrow. His face, usually so controlled, now held a raw vulnerability that was almost painful to witness. "And then…" he continued, his voice growing thicker, "a house fire happened. We were all inside. We rushed to get out, as quick as possible. But then… he heard a child scream. He ran back in. He saved the kid, pushed them out towards me. But the second he tried to follow… the building collapsed."
Peter's eyes, when he lifted them, were visibly wet, though he blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the moisture. He cleared his throat, his voice raspy. "He… he pushed the kid further towards me, out of the way of the falling debris. And he… he went under the structures. I tried. I tried to lift it, to dig him out, but… he just pushed me away again." Peter's voice cracked, the memory clearly still vivid, still agonizing. "He told me: 'Take care of Mom… and don't even look back. Go, brother! GO!!!'"
He quickly wiped at his eyes, a brusque, almost angry gesture, and cleared his throat again, struggling to regain his composure.
Hiroki and Ayato sat frozen, their own meals forgotten. Hiroki, who had lost his own father young and then endured the betrayal of everyone he held dear, felt a profound, aching empathy. Ayato, remembering his own harsh words to Peter in the hospital – "What do you know about my pain?!" – was flooded with a wave of guilt so intense it made his stomach churn. This man, this stranger who had saved him, had endured a loss that mirrored his own fresh, gaping wound.
"I'm… I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. Rasel," Ayato managed, his voice thick with genuine sorrow, finally understanding the depth of Peter's earlier empathy.
Kauri and Takasumi, their faces etched with compassion, clasped their hands together on the table. "May his soul reach heaven," they murmured in unison, a quiet prayer for Peter's lost friend.
"Thanks," Peter said, his voice regaining some of its usual steadiness, though the sadness still lingered in his eyes. He offered a small, grateful nod, then picked up his chopsticks again, a silent signal that the painful revelation was over. They continued eating, but the mood had irrevocably shifted, the earlier lightness replaced by a shared understanding of loss and the quiet strength it took to endure.
Meanwhile, Kasumi had heard none of it. Her mind was a whirlwind of terror, replaying Peter's chilling threats, imagining the moment her parents would inevitably discover the truth about her secret life, the adult videos, the betrayal of Ayato. The delicious food before her had turned to ash in her mouth, each bite a reminder of the life she was about to lose. She was trapped, utterly and completely, in a nightmare of her own making, with a terrifying, unpredictable man holding the strings.
Kauri smiled, her face alight with genuine delight, having devoured a significant portion of her ramen. She licked her lips contentedly and rubbed her stomach. "Once again, thanks for your hardworking and this… this heavenly meal you made! I've never tasted such amazing food in my entire life." Her praise was effusive, genuine. Peter offered a polite smile in return. Kauri then clasped her hands together, her eyes twinkling with a mischievous, almost matchmaking glint as she looked at Peter. "But even though, I must say, I'm quite jealous of your future wife. She'll be getting a wonderfully skillful husband like you!"
Peter looked momentarily surprised by the directness, a faint blush rising on his own cheeks, finding it both amusing and slightly awkward. Before he could formulate a response, Takasumi let out an exasperated sigh and reached across the table, gently but firmly pinching his wife's cheek. "Ow! Ow-ow-ow! Okay, okay, my bad, honey!" Kauri yelped, batting at his hand. "I didn't mean it like that!" Takasumi released her, a stern but fond look on his face, though a hint of playful jealousy lingered in his eyes. Peter quickly looked down at his bowl, pressing his lips together to suppress a laugh. Even in their grief, this couple, clearly still very much in love after many years, had a charming, almost cute dynamic. Hiroki, too, hid a smile behind a sip of water. Ayato managed a small, wistful smile of his own, the scene a bittersweet reminder of the playful affection his own parents had often shared.
Only Kasumi felt no amusement. The lighthearted banter was a grating counterpoint to the cold dread coiling in her stomach. Every smile, every shared glance between her parents, felt like another nail in her coffin. The inevitable reveal of her actions loomed, a storm cloud ready to burst.
"Kasumi?" Takasumi's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. She jumped. "Kasumi, dear, I called you several times. Are you alright? You've barely touched your food."
She hesitated, her mind racing. "Y-yeah, Dad," she stammered, forcing a weak smile. "I'm fine. Just… thinking." Her nervousness was a palpable thing in the room.
"So, dear," her father continued, his tone kind but his eyes searching, "how's high school been treating you?"
The question hit Kasumi like a physical blow. Her mind went blank, then overheated. Her heart hammered against her ribs, sending a frantic pulse of pure panic through her veins. Her hands, resting in her lap, began to tremble uncontrollably. "It's… it's good, Dad," she managed, her voice thin and reedy. "I went to all my classes, and—"
"Why won't you tell them the truth?"
The voice, cold and sharp, sliced through Kasumi's stammered lies. All eyes snapped towards its source. Not Peter. Ayato.
He stood abruptly, his chair scraping harshly against the wooden floor. His face, though still pale and etched with grief, was now contorted with a furious, righteous anger. Kasumi stared at him, her blood turning to ice. "Wh-what are you talking about, Ayato?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Either tell them the truth, Kasumi," Ayato spat, his voice trembling with rage, "or I will." Kasumi froze, her mind a maelstrom of terror. No words came. She couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. "Ayato?!" Kauri exclaimed, her face a mask of confusion. "Kasumi, what is he talking about?" "I… I have no idea, Mom," Kasumi began, her voice cracking. "He's just—" "2019!" Ayato's voice boomed, cutting her off. "A month after you started high school! Does that date ring any bells, Kasumi Haruno?!" He practically spat her full name, a venomous accusation that made everyone except Hiroki and Peter recoil in shock. Ayato had never called her by her full name like that. Kasumi's face drained of all color. That date. Oh god, that date. It rang more than a bell; it was a funeral dirge for her entire life.
Peter rose slowly from his seat, placing a calming hand on Ayato's trembling shoulder. "Hey, Ayato," he said, his voice low and steady. "Calm down. Soon or later, they'll know the truth."
"I want to see how her family reacts when they find out that THEIR DAUGHTER TRIED TO KILL HER OWN COUSIN! TWICE!!!" Ayato roared, his grief and rage exploding outwards, his accusing finger stabbing towards Kasumi. The words echoed through the room, heavy and horrifying. Takasumi shot to his feet, his face a mask of disbelief and dawning fury as he turned towards his daughter. "Kasumi! What is he talking about?!"
"Dad, I swear, I don't know what he's talking about! They're lying! He's—" "Take this, imma keep fucking you without pulling out!... ahh~ Ahh~ amazing~ fucking Aijiro-san raw~ Now this is real sex~" The lewd, unmistakable voice, Kasumi's voice, filled the room, emanating from Peter's phone which he now held up, playing the audio from one of her videos. Kasumi froze, her face contorting in horror. She lunged towards Peter, desperate to silence the damning evidence, but a single, deathly glare from him stopped her dead in her tracks. She recoiled as if struck, her eyes wide with terror. Peter then turned to Ayato and gave a subtle nod, a silent message: I'll handle this.
Peter pocketed the phone. He calmly picked up a napkin from the table, then walked over to Kauri, who sat stunned, her face pale with shock and disbelief. His expression was serious, almost somber, but not unkind. He offered the napkin to her. "Clean her makeup," Peter said, his voice quiet but firm, a respectful order. Kauri, moving as if in a trance, took the napkin and rose, walking slowly towards her daughter. Kasumi instinctively tried to step back, but Hiroki, who had risen from his seat, now stood silently behind her, blocking any escape. Kauri reached her daughter and, with a trembling hand, began to gently wipe at the thick makeup on Kasumi's left cheek.
As the makeup came away, the angry red imprint of a hand, the fading purple of a bruise, became starkly visible against Kasumi's pale skin. Kauri gasped, her hand flying to her own mouth. She looked from the mark on her daughter's face to Peter, her eyes wide with horrified questions.
"I slapped her," Peter stated calmly, before either parent could speak. The admission hung in the air, heavy and shocking. "And before you ask why," he continued, his voice hardening, "let's go back to the time Ayato got jumped. By the same person your daughter here," he gestured towards Kasumi with a cold, dismissive flick of his wrist, "was trying to 'save' Ayato from. Except, it turns out, she was the one who ordered Takaya to get rid of him." Peter's eyes, now chips of ice, bored into Kasumi. He then turned his gaze to Takasumi. "This morning, you asked why Ayato was in such a state. Why don't you ask your daughter why he is like that?"
Takasumi's face, already pale, turned ashen, then flushed with a terrible, rising anger. He spun towards Kasumi. "Kasumi! Is this true?!" he thundered. Kasumi began to sweat profusely, her eyes darting around like a trapped animal. "Father, I swear, they're lying—" "I am lying?" Peter interjected, his voice dangerously soft. "Then ask Ayato. He can tell you about the first time. And the second." Takasumi, his face a mask of fury, lunged towards his daughter, his hand outstretched to grab her arm forcefully. But Peter moved with lightning speed, his own hand shooting out to intercept Takasumi's wrist, his grip like steel. "Before you make a wrong move," Peter said, his voice still calm but carrying an undeniable warning, "I think you should refuse." Takasumi, frustrated and enraged, tried to pull his arm free. "Why?! WHY, HUH?! She's my daughter! I have every right—" "Because," Peter cut him off, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper, his eyes flicking meaningfully towards Kasumi's stomach, "she might be pregnant."
The words hit the room like a bomb. Ayato gasped. Kauri's hand flew to her mouth again, a choked sob escaping her. Takasumi froze, his rage momentarily forgotten, replaced by utter, dumbfounded shock. Kasumi herself looked as if she'd been struck by lightning, her face paling to a deathly white. "Mr. Takasumi," Peter continued, his voice regaining its composure, "can you perhaps bring a pregnancy test?" Takasumi, still reeling, his mind struggling to process the layers of horrific revelations, simply stared. He was furious, confused, heartbroken. But Peter's calm, authoritative tone cut through his turmoil. He nodded mutely, then turned and rushed out of the house, presumably to the nearest pharmacy.
After he left, Peter turned to Kauri, who looked as if her entire world had just crumbled. "Mrs. Kauri," he said gently, "the second time Kasumi tried to harm Ayato was last night, in the hospital. She tried to suffocate him with a pillow. That red mark on her cheek? That was me stopping her." Kauri's wide, horrified eyes shifted from Peter to her daughter, then to Ayato. Ayato, his own face a mask of grief and fury, finally spoke, his voice trembling with rage. "SHE TRIED TO CHOKE ME! IF IT WASN'T FOR MR. RASEL, I WOULD HAVE DIED THERE!!!!" The confirmation, raw and desperate, was the final straw for Kauri. The dam of her composure broke. With a cry of anguish and rage, she lunged at Kasumi, her hand cracking across her daughter's other cheek in a resounding slap. Kasumi had never been hit by her mother before. The shock of the blow, combined with everything else, sent her stumbling back, tears finally streaming down her face.
The sharp crack of Kauri's hand against Kasumi's cheek echoed through the suddenly silent room. Outside, as if on cue, the heavens opened once more, the earlier drizzle transforming into a heavy, driving rain that lashed against the windows, mirroring the storm of emotions erupting within the house. The atmosphere, already thick with tension and grief, became suffocating.
Kasumi crumpled slightly from the force of the slap, her eyes wide with disbelief and a fresh wave of tears. "M-Mom? Why?" she stammered, her voice breaking. "WHY YOU DID THIS, HUH?! YOU BELIEVE THEM OVER YOUR OWN DAUGHTER?!!!" Her words were a desperate, wounded cry.
Kauri's face, moments before contorted with shock and sorrow, now hardened into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. Her teeth were gritted, her knuckles white as she clenched her fists. "You," she hissed, her voice trembling with fury, "ain't my daughter. Not anymore. I have no daughter of mine." Each word was a hammer blow. "You've disappointed me, Kasumi. You've made me realize…" Kauri's expression twisted further, her eyes blazing with a terrifying light as she raised her hand again, slapping Kasumi with even greater force. "I SHOULD HAVE NEVER GIVEN BIRTH TO YOU!!!"
The brutal finality of those words struck Kasumi with the force of a physical blow. She collapsed to her knees, all strength draining from her, her sobs now raw, animalistic sounds of utter desolation. The foundation of her world had just been obliterated by the one person she thought would always stand by her.
Hiroki, watching the scene unfold, felt a cold, familiar ache in his own chest. He lowered his head, the image of his own mother, her face twisted with scorn, her voice dripping with similar venomous words, flashing vividly in his mind. "You're a disappointment, just like your father!" The memory was a fresh wound, a stark reminder of the betrayals that had set him on this dark path. He was here now, with Peter, a man who trained him to be strong, to fight back, but the echoes of that maternal rejection still resonated, a painful kinship with the broken girl now sobbing on the floor.
"Please, Mom," Kasumi choked out through her tears, reaching a trembling hand towards Kauri. "Please, don't do this with—"
"SHUT UP!!!!" Kauri's shriek ripped through the house, sharp and ragged, silencing Kasumi instantly. The sheer force of her mother's rage was a terrifying thing to behold.
Peter moved then, his earlier stillness breaking. He approached Kauri slowly, his expression somber but his movements gentle. He placed a hand on her trembling shoulder, guiding her carefully towards a nearby chair. "Mrs. Kauri," he said softly, "sit down. Breathe." He gave a subtle nod towards Ayato, who, despite his own grief, understood the silent command and quickly moved to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water.
Kauri sank into the chair, her body wracked with sobs, the anger momentarily giving way to overwhelming grief and betrayal. Ayato returned, handing her the glass of water with a trembling hand. She took it, her chin shaking so violently that water sloshed over the rim as she tried to drink, the simple act a monumental effort against the heavy weight of sorrow constricting her throat.
Peter watched Kauri for a moment, then his gaze, cold and hard as flint, shifted back to Kasumi, who was still kneeling on the floor, a broken, weeping mess. "I just don't understand one thing," Peter said, his voice low, devoid of any warmth, cutting through Kasumi's sobs. He turned to face her fully, his eyes like chips of ice. "How, THE HELL, did you end up in his bed, huh?!" He paused, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Okay, skip that part for now." He stalked towards her, crouching down until he was at her eye level. He reached out, his fingers clamping onto her jaw with bruising force, yanking her face up to meet his terrifying gaze. "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THIS TO AYATO?!!!!"
His voice, though not a shout, was filled with a chilling, controlled fury that was far more terrifying. The question hung in the air, heavy and damning, a demand for an answer that Kasumi, in her terror and despair, was utterly incapable of giving.
To Be Continued...