Chapter 34: The Control He Never Had
The morning sunlight slashed through the half-closed blinds of Takumi's luxury apartment. It cut sharp lines across the wreckage of the night before—splintered picture frames, shattered glass, a toppled bookshelf still bleeding paper across the floor.
Takumi lay motionless on the couch, still in yesterday's clothes. One hand hung off the edge, fingers twitching. His knuckles were swollen, raw—an imprint of his own fury. Beside the couch sat an empty whiskey bottle, its contents now soaked into the pale carpet.
He blinked slowly, the inside of his mouth dry as ash. His head pounded.
It took him several seconds to remember.
Rina.
The sudden flare of rage brought him upright. His shoulder throbbed as he swung his legs off the couch. He scanned the room again, hoping to find something he'd missed.
But she was still gone.
He stumbled to the kitchen, grabbed his phone from the counter. Ten missed calls to her. None returned.
He called again.
Voicemail.
He gritted his teeth, pressing the phone tighter to his ear like that would will her into answering.
"Rina," he said, voice sharp, breath still thick with alcohol. "Call me back. Don't make this worse than it has to be. You know I don't like being ignored, Rina. You think you can just vanish and nothing will happen? You think people won't believe me over you?"
He hung up.
Waited.
Nothing.
The silence itched under his skin.
He dialed again—this time, her parents.
It rang three times before her mother picked up.
"Hello?"
"Ah, Mrs. Nakamoto. It's Takumi."
There was a pause on the other end. Then her mother's voice came through, slightly flustered but almost eager—like she was relieved to hear from him. "Oh! Takumi, good morning."
"Is Rina there by any chance?"
Another pause. "No, she's not. Is everything alright?"
Takumi forced a laugh, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "Oh, yes. Nothing serious. We just had a bit of a disagreement last night. She probably needed some space, that's all."
"Disagreement?" her mother echoed. There was tension in her voice now. "She's not answering her phone."
"Yes, yes—I know. I've been trying to reach her too. But it's nothing serious, I promise. You know how couples can be. Tempers flare, then they settle."
Her mother hesitated, then gave a dismissive hum. "Well... she can be emotional sometimes. If she calls us, we'll let you know."
Takumi nodded slowly to himself, forcing warmth into his voice. "Thank you. I appreciate it."
He ended the call and immediately tossed the phone onto the kitchen counter, where it bounced once and clattered onto the floor.
Takumi pressed both hands against the cold marble surface of the counter, his eyes fixed on his reflection in the oven door.
He looked haggard. Bruised.
Weak.
And worst of all—
Alone.
He stormed into the bedroom, yanking open drawers so hard they splintered. The closet doors slammed back against the wall. Under the bed—empty. Her perfumes gone from the dresser. Her books missing from the shelf. Not even a note. No farewell. Just a ghost where his wife had been.
He roared, grabbing the nearest lamp and smashing it against the wall. It shattered into a dozen jagged pieces, scattering across the floor like shrapnel.
Back in the living room, he paced in circles, then seized the remote with shaking hands and flicked on the security monitor connected to the building's hallway cams. He punched in the date and time from the day before, muttering curses under his breath.
Blank.
Footage looped seamlessly—but there were no files of Rina leaving. No shadows in the stairwell. No flicker of movement. Just clean, empty halls that mocked him.
He clicked to the garage feed.
Same.
A hollow, disbelieving breath escaped his lungs.
"No..." he whispered, voice trembling with something darker than confusion—frustration. Why wasn't there anything? Why was the data missing?
He jabbed at the keyboard again, rewinding, switching cameras.
Nothing.
He didn't understand. Rina wasn't smart enough to erase security footage. Hell, most people wouldn't even think to check.
He called the building's front desk.
"Hi, Mr. Sakamoto," the security guard greeted, too chipper for Takumi's mood.
"I need the footage from the east stairwell and garage from yesterday morning. Personal matter. Can you pull it for me?" Takumi's tone was clipped, brittle with impatience.
A pause. "I'm sorry, sir. There's no footage from that window. It looks like... the feed reset itself after a short outage."
"A reset?" Takumi's voice snapped, disbelief laced with venom. "You expect me to believe that?"
The guard hesitated. "It's just what the logs say, sir."
Takumi's knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the desk. "I can't find my wife, and the cameras just happen to blink out? Either you're incompetent, or someone's lying."
Silence.
Takumi's voice dropped to a chilling calm. "If you're covering for someone, I'll find out. And when I do, they won't just lose their job."
He ended the call with a sharp jab of his finger and slammed the monitor off, breathing hard as the walls of his control began to crack.
He didn't know it yet—but he was being watched.
In a dimly lit room across the city, Kenzo exhaled slowly, fingers still hovering over the keyboard. On the screen in front of him, the looping footage played perfectly—a ghost simulation Kenzo had crafted from hundreds of frame segments. Hana's voice crackled quietly through the comms, confirming the audio distortions were holding.
"No trace. Just like we planned," she murmured.
Kenzo allowed himself the smallest nod.
Back in the apartment, Takumi turned and faced the empty space by the door where her shoes used to sit.
His reflection caught his eye again—this time in the hallway mirror. He looked at himself like he didn't recognize the man staring back. Sweat clung to his temple. The vein on his jaw twitched.
He began to mutter under his breath, pacing like a caged animal.
"She wouldn't leave. Not like this. Someone's helping her. She's not smart enough to pull this off on her own."
He grabbed his phone again. Called her number. Voicemail.
"Answer the damn phone, Rina."
Then another number—his lawyer. No response. He frowned, tried again. Still nothing.
He dialed a trusted police contact. The line rang endlessly before being rerouted to voicemail.
What he didn't know is that Hana had already gotten to them.
Two nights earlier, using a combination of her memory manipulation and quiet infiltration, Hana had visited both men. Their memories were adjusted just enough—Takumi's name didn't trigger urgency, only avoidance. Slight unease. Forgetfulness. Distrust.
And so the calls went unanswered.
Frustrated, he slammed his phone onto the counter so hard it bounced.
"This isn't over," he growled, breath ragged. "You think you can vanish without consequence? Without permission?"
His world—the one he controlled with fear and appearances—was crumbling. And the more it cracked, the more dangerous he became.
He stared at the door, wild-eyed, as if willing her to return by force of rage alone. The silence was suffocating, the emptiness in the apartment echoing louder than any scream.
He staggered a step forward, then sank against the wall, fingers clawing at his hair. His breathing was ragged. Chest heaving. He looked at the place where her shoes once sat—his grip on reality slipping.
And then, quieter—deadly calm:
"You can't just disappear, Rina."
A pause. His lips curled.
"I'll find you. Even if I have to burn the world to do it."
Still burning with fury, Takumi stormed out of the apartment and into his car. His first stop: Rina's workplace.
The receptionist looked up, startled but polite. "Oh, Mr. Sakamoto. I wasn't expecting—"
"Is Rina in?" he interrupted.
The receptionist blinked. "She took a personal holiday today. Said it was pre-approved."
Takumi narrowed his eyes. "Did she say where she was going?"
"No, sir. Just that she wouldn't be in."
What Takumi couldn't see was the faint haze in the receptionist's eyes—evidence of Hana's quiet, deliberate power. Two nights earlier, Hana had infiltrated the office posing as a routine courier, carrying a fabricated file and warm smile. A brief handshake was all she needed.
A gentle nudge. A soft imprint.
And just like that, the receptionist's mind carried a new truth: Rina had requested personal leave, signed the forms, logged it in the system. There was no room for doubt, no space for suspicion.
Takumi turned away slowly, the receptionist's innocent smile still burning in his mind. His jaw tightened. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
They were everywhere. Whoever "they" were—these shadows behind Rina's escape—they were watching. Manipulating. Erasing him, piece by piece.
Before he could spin into another rage, his phone rang.
His boss.
He picked up, trying to contain his breath.
"Yes?"
"Emergency board meeting. I need you here within the hour. No delays."
Takumi closed his eyes, jaw flexing. He wanted to scream. To drive until he found her. But he couldn't risk his job—not now.
"Understood. I'll be there."
He hung up, every inch of him vibrating with rage.
But for now, he had to play the part. For now, She had won this round.
And yet, behind his mask of control, Takumi whispered:
"This isn't over. Not even close."