The rain didn't stop. It only got heavier, turning streets into rivers. The umbrella swayed in the wind, struggling to stay upright, and Mitsuru Takada stayed close to Aragaki Jun's side as they reached the place she once called home.
"Hold my phone. Don't shut the door no matter what," Jun said quietly.
"Um."
The girl nodded, her body trembling. She left the umbrella behind and darted up the short steps. Her uniform clung to her skin, drenched through. She looked exactly like a drenched kitten, small and miserable.
A moment after the doorbell rang, the entrance creaked open, revealing a man with bloodshot eyes and the reek of alcohol on his breath. His smile was crooked and gleeful.
"Oh? So you came back. Regretted it already?"
Mitsuru said nothing. She stepped inside quietly, her slippers slipping across the wooden floor, and used them to subtly wedge the door open.
The interior was dim, curtains still drawn despite the storm outside. No lights. It smelled like mold and unwashed laundry. Her hands were shaking as she quietly tapped her phone's recording button and slipped it into her pocket.
This was it. If she got the evidence... she'd be free. And if not—she didn't want to think about that.
The wild cat girl walked cautiously into the living room, limbs stiff from fear and cold. Her heart pounded in her ears, but she forced herself to sit down on the couch.
"Uncle… Please. Just let me go."
Her voice cracked, small and desperate.
"Hah? You come back soaked and shivering like a stray, and this is the first thing out of your mouth? Don't be stupid."
He leaned against the doorway, eyeing her with something predatory. "You came back because you realized you've got nowhere else to go. So stop playing the good little girl."
His steps were slow, casual—but to her, every one felt like a thunderclap. She froze when he approached. The stench of alcohol filled her nose.
"Uncle, please don't—"
He reached forward, grinning.
"No!" Mitsuru panicked. She tried to bolt from the couch, but her foot hit the corner of the low table and she tumbled hard to the floor, skin scraping against the wooden surface.
Thunder cracked across the sky.
Lightning lit the living room for a split second—and in that flash, she saw her uncle's looming face twist into something monstrous.
She curled up instinctively, ready for the worst, trembling—
But nothing came.
Slowly, she opened one eye.
A figure stood between her and her uncle—tall, still, calm.
"Aragaki… kun?"
Jun didn't look at her. He kept his gaze locked on the man ahead. "I told you, didn't I? If anything goes wrong, shout for me."
"I—" Her voice died. She hadn't been able to even scream.
He sighed. "Looks like we're past the talking phase."
"What the hell is this? Who the hell are you!?" her uncle growled, trying to puff himself up. "You think you can just barge in?!"
"Just a stranger," passing by Jun said flatly.
Then he dodged the man's swing with a single step to the side—and buried a fist in his stomach.
Takada Keiji stumbled back, wheezing and clutching his ribs.
"You little punk…!"
"Come on, then."
Jun didn't move. He simply waited.
The older man scrambled, grabbing a fruit knife from the coffee table. His face twisted in anger, lips pulled back like a wild dog.
"Uncle, stop!" Mitsuru shouted, starting to rise—but Jun pushed her gently down again.
"It's fine. You already tried your way. Let me handle it now."
Takada Keiji rushed forward with a scream.
Jun didn't dodge this time. He pulled a chair aside and flung it low, tripping the man and sending him crashing to the ground.
By the time Keiji groaned and tried to sit up, Jun's foot was pressing into his chest, hard.
"Mr. Takada," Jun said, his tone still eerily calm. "You should brace yourself."
The next moment, Jun's fist came down like a hammer.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each punch was brutal, methodical, like a punishment long overdue. Blood spattered onto the floor. Mitsuru covered her mouth and turned her face away.
Keiji's arrogance vanished. He writhed beneath Jun like a worm, groaning, then pleading.
"Stop… please… no more…"
"Now," Jun finally said, voice cold, "I ask. You answer."
He held the phone close to Keiji's swollen lips. "What did you do to Takada Mitsuru? Say it."
"...I... I just wanted... to teach her... she can't live without me... I didn't mean…"
Another blow.
"Be clear."
And so he was. In sickening detail. His desires. His manipulations. His past perversions—even incidents he had committed elsewhere, without shame. All of it, confessed and recorded.
Mitsuru sat frozen. Every word was like a needle in her skin. Whatever small thread of hope or family attachment had survived inside her... vanished.
After the final word was spoken, Jun stood up and turned off the recording.
"You've outlived your use."
He didn't look at the man again.
"Mitsuru," he called gently.
The girl stood, pale and shaken, and walked wordlessly to her room. Ten minutes later, she emerged, wearing a dry uniform and carrying a simple school bag. No extra belongings.
Jun was wiping his hands with a paper towel. His knuckles were red, skin raw.
"I'll help you patch up—"
"No need. Let's go."
Outside, the storm still screamed, drowning out the city. Not a single soul in sight. Only rain and shadows.
"Want to say goodbye?" Jun asked.
Mitsuru didn't even glance back.
"No. I've already said it, in my heart, too many times."
She stepped closer and gently clutched the hem of his jacket, just like a kitten trying to feel safe.
So she left behind the nightmare, the pain, the shadows—and stepped into something uncertain, but hers.
She said goodbye to the past.