"Rescue" Chapter 5: Infestation - Executive/Lila (27)

▶Read from the beginning

| Nanakamado

Did I follow someone like this?

That was the first thought that crossed my mind.

I turned off the engine.
The sound of the heater fan stopped, and the car fell suddenly silent.

The cream from the hot cafe latte I'd picked up on the way back settled softly on my lips. Even though I was sure I'd added syrup, I couldn't taste any sweetness.
I was glued to my social media feed.

When I saw that icon, I didn't know who it was.

A beautiful woman, probably a little older than me.

A beautiful, mature woman who looked great in a crisp white shirt.
Her features were sharp, but they were set slightly toward the center of her face, giving her a mysterious look that was both beautiful and cute. The fact that she wasn't pale-skinned only added to her exotic allure.

──I feel like I've seen this person somewhere before.

I was confused when I saw the name. It didn't match anything in my memory, and my eyes just slid right over it.

Is this... Tomo-chan...?

My breathing naturally becomes shallow. I forcefully turn the smartphone screen pitch black. I pull out the key. But I couldn't stand up. I couldn't even press the heart icon. I hate... my own narrow-mindedness like that.

The icon that changed along with that post was beautiful.
In the illustrations up until now, the wrinkles and nostrils were emphasized for a comical atmosphere, but the vibe is 180 degrees different.

I opened the previous post once more.

My fingertips are growing cold. I feel like I've lost all sensation, and my strength is draining away. I slumped over the steering wheel.

The back of my throat feels hot.
I repeat shallow breaths, looking upward and letting out a quiet sigh. No. I have to go to the office now.

I don't have time to cry.
I glared at myself in the rearview mirror and applied red lipstick to my thin lips.

I opened the door and repositioned myself, swinging my legs, clad in a pantsuit, out of the car. I swapped my sneakers for stiletto heels, placed my feet on the side step, and slowly climbed down.

The Wrangler's seat is high, and I always feel like I'm going to slide right off.

I feel like I might tumble down along with my tears. In Tomo-chan's hands, there is something I have lost.

──Don't cry. Straighten your back.

When I took a deep breath, I noticed the red color at my feet.

A cluster of rowan berries had fallen, still on the branch.

The small red beads were bunched together, huddled like grapes.
When I was a child, finding these berries felt like hitting the jackpot. In the colorless autumn fields, these berries, beautiful as jewels, seemed special. I hate my pure, white self from back then, who knew nothing of hardship or dirty hearts, and it dazzles me.

I lifted my foot, clad in a stiletto heel. But I couldn't do it. Avoiding the rowan berries, I started walking.

"Good work today, Rira-san."

My subordinate, Narumi, comes running over.

There are white hairs mixed into his head. He is a man more than two generations older than me.

"Good work to you too."

"How did your outside meetings go?"

"Yeah. I think the response was good."

When I answered, Narumi's face lit up.

"About today, I'd like to create a sample page for the Menkoi Apple Pie..."

Narumi starts speaking quickly. "Menkoi Apple Pie" is our company's flagship product. Following its recent renewal, there was talk of revamping the online shop page as well.

Even though I was just an amateur who had only dabbled a little in photography and writing, I had settled into the role of public relations representative at this company—Menkoi Confectionery Co., Ltd. Sotogahama Headquarters.

It's a completely different field from what I've done before. If I want to do it properly, there is so much to learn that the days pass by in a dizzying blur.

Before entering the entrance, I suddenly turned back, as if drawn by the wind.

The company, located halfway up a mountain, is situated in a landscape where rice paddies stretch out far below, and the mountain slope juts out right behind the office building.

On the flat land, houses stand at intervals, dotted here and there as if stitching together the gaps between the rice paddies. Beyond that, the sea stretches out.

Usually, it's so beautiful that you can almost see the light reflecting off the water's surface, but because of the cloudy sky, the water looked somewhat faded.

It's cold. I pull the front of my trench coat together.

──I had returned to my parents' home about a year ago.

My family runs Menkoi Confectionery, a company that makes souvenir apple products, a local specialty. There are about 50 employees.

I had settled into an executive position there.

My father had the personality of a Showa-era autocratic president, and he would boast about it at every opportunity. I disliked how he acted so superior in this small castle, looking down on everyone else. And yet, in the end, I was relying on him.

The person protecting me had simply changed from Shusuke to my father.

Perhaps I used up a lifetime's worth of happiness in my early twenties. Events that made me think that way happened one after another. I could do nothing but watch it all from the outside, helpless.

The book I poured my heart into with Eri, and the book I made after I started getting along with Natsume—neither of them sold. The prospects for sequels became hopeless.

Rira no longer has any commercial value.

As for the one I made with Eri, perhaps the supply was simply too high for the demand. That wasn't her opinion; it was the opinion of "the higher-ups." It seems they printed a large quantity from the start, anticipating that "Rira's Optimized Life" would sell 50,000 copies.

I have 10,000 followers on social media.

It goes without saying that not all of them will buy it. That number includes accounts soliciting side jobs, as well as people who are watching me with malicious intent.

Most people are just watching quietly to see if there is any useful information, and there are surely only a handful of people who are genuinely rooting for "Lila."

Although my exposure was increasing through autograph sessions and television appearances, I did not have enough name recognition to be heavily promoted from the first edition.

The "sales activities" were left entirely to me.

I tried my best to promote it on social media. I tried various things, like including helpful tips one by one or changing my approach, just to get people even slightly interested. --But I wasn't strong enough.

I don't know how much stock was left.
I didn't even have the courage to ask.

Although the book I made with Natsume had a modest print run, its initial sales were poor regardless. Whether or not a book can be reprinted often depends on the number of pre-orders before release and the first week after release.

There were few pre-orders. I felt anxious at that point.
It might have been because the release date overlapped with Chiharu Shiraishi's new book. The themes were also similar.

Above all, the timing was bad.
In fact, I had moved my residence to Aomori just before the book I made with Natsume was released.

Therefore, no matter how hard Natsume worked for me, appearing in public and getting interviewed--it just wasn't possible.

When I got up to go to the restroom, I suddenly opened my smartphone. There was a LINE notification.

It was from Shusuke. He wrote that after work today, he would be waiting with "Jappa-jiru" (fish scrap soup) made.

I smiled, my face crinkling.

Holding onto forbidden feelings that were a mixture of affection and regret, I tapped a stamp of a jumping cat.

My weak self emerged.
I flicked away the tears that had welled up in the corners of my eyes and returned to work. I put the mask of "Executive Rira" back on.

Error

--About a year ago now.
It was an unforgettable, gray afternoon.

Outside the window, rain mixed with sleet was whipped by the wind, beating against the branches. Even though the heater was on, my hands and feet were deathly cold. The sky peeking through the gap in the curtains was so heavy it didn't feel like the afternoon.

Today is the day I must tell Natsume.

My husband had stayed in bed with his back turned, barely moving all day. I was getting used to a life where I walked carefully to avoid making any noise.

"What!? Aomori...? Rira-san, are you serious?"

When I explained the situation, Natsume's voice over the phone was trembling. I couldn't tell if it was anger or agitation. Or rather, by that time, I no longer even knew how to react to anything.
There were too many things to think about, and I was exhausted.

This was three months before the scheduled publication date.
It was also a time when the book I had created with Eri was selling surprisingly poorly, and things were unsettled.

"...There's no other way."

"No, but even so..."

Natsume's voice trailed off. I thought I heard the sound of him scratching his head through the phone, and then his voice rang out, irritated: "Ugh, damn it!"

"Listen, Rira. You can't deal with this kind of thing without seeing someone face-to-face. I'm heading over right now. Where can we meet?"

"My husband is sleeping at home, so... How about the coffee shop in front of the station?"

"I'll be there right away. You'll definitely come, right?"

Natsume said, as if to make sure.

"I'm just going out for a bit."

I spoke to Shusuke, who was lying on the bed.

"...I'm sorry."

He said without turning toward me. His voice was thick with emotion. I had never seen him cry, not during our married life, nor when we were children.

I took off the shoe I had started to put on, went back inside, and gently stroked his broad back.

It started with an error.

I was surprised to receive a notification from the web shop. It said my credit card payment couldn't be processed. I immediately checked my account status online. The balance was just a little short.

I don't recall living particularly luxuriously.

When I looked back and checked, I realized that Shusuke's salary hadn't been deposited for several months.

"Huh... why...?"

I asked Shusuke when he came home that night. He turned deathly pale, started to open his mouth, and then closed it. His gaze wandered everywhere. Eventually, as if resigning himself to his fate, he began, "I'm sorry."

"...Two months ago, I... quit my job. I'm sorry. I've been looking for work every day. But somehow... I can't even bring myself to get on the train. I've been walking there...!"

Shusuke covered his mouth and vomited.

"Shu-chan."

He was holding his stomach and breathing heavily. Cold sweat was beading on his forehead.

I took off his trench coat and removed his suit jacket. My heart was full. I hugged Shusuke.

"I just threw up."

"It's okay."

I wonder if I managed to sound cheerful.

Even as I held him and spoke gentle words, I was glad he couldn't see my face.

Because in my head, thoughts of what we should do from now on were racing frantically. I didn't want him to see the tears welling up in the corners of my eyes, either.

Why can't I be there for his heart first? What does our livelihood matter? He has protected me all this time, after all.

I am... I am such a heartless person.

I cannot forgive my own ugliness.

Once things had calmed down, Shusuke said he wanted a drink.
I tried to stop him since he had been vomiting and his stomach seemed to hurt, but he said he didn't feel like he could talk otherwise, so I had no choice but to prepare one.

I poured Kahlua concentrate into a pair of glass tumblers. A coffee-like scent began to drift through the air. I poured in the milk with a splash. My hand almost slipped, but I regained my grip.

Shusuke couldn't drink beer either. He liked sweet alcoholic drinks. For a while, he didn't touch his glass, just staring blankly at the liquor.

I downed mine in one go.
It tasted like coffee milk, and the back of my throat felt warm. When I stood up to make another, his voice, sounding like a plea, pierced my back: "I can't stay at the company anymore."

Then, as if a dam had broken, Shusuke began to talk about what had happened at his company over the last few years.
Every time he choked on his words, he took small sips of the Kahlua.

"There's a senior colleague five years older than me who's looked after me since I was a new graduate... Her name is Chie. Her attitude toward me started to change, little by little."

At first, it was just her ignoring his greetings.
Important messages wouldn't reach him, and he started making mistakes.
And the final straw was... the lies.

"Somehow, it ended up being that I sexually harassed Chie. None of the people at the company would believe me."

Shusuke let out a dry laugh.
With a vacant, hollow look I had never seen before, he was staring at something that wasn't me.

"It's a lie. I didn't do anything like that. That's why I thought they would understand. I tried so hard, but, I'm sorry... It was no use. And besides, because of the nature of the reason, I couldn't even tell you, Rira. Sexual harassment? Why would I ever... to someone like her..."

Shusuke choked back his voice.

There's no way he would do something like that, a voice barely audible leaked out. My chest tightened with pain. Before I knew it, I had stood up and was cradling Shusuke's head.

Even after he fell asleep, my heart wouldn't stop racing.
Until now, we had been paying for living expenses from Shusuke's account and using my account for sudden, unexpected costs.

There are millions of yen in savings. But how many months can we actually live on this?

My monthly income is sometimes in the millions, and sometimes it's only in the tens of thousands.
Reporting is freelance work, and royalties vary by publisher, so even if I could continue to publish sequels, there was no way to predict how much I would earn.

For the first time, I was confronted with the reality that my dreams had only been possible because of the steady income Shusuke provided.

Rent, groceries, household supplies... I was overcome by a creeping, unsettling sense of anxiety.

For now, I started canceling my subscriptions one by one.
Next, I thought about selling the things in my apartment.

But that wasn't it. I needed a more fundamental solution.
I opened a job search site.

That unpleasant, nervous feeling from when I was job hunting came rushing back. If I didn't care about the conditions, I was sure there were plenty of jobs out there. But, if I did that and started working full-time?

Would I even be able to continue my current work?

In the first place, my work had been decreasing lately.

I had just lost my column for "mame," which I had been writing since my first year of blogging. The reason was that I wasn't contributing to their page views.

I had researched and tried my best in my own way, but perhaps a big reason was that I couldn't write about these topics as if they were my own life.
The readership of "mame" consisted of working mothers in their late thirties. They had children ranging from toddlers to elementary school age and worked full-time.

My ideas didn't resonate with readers whose lifestyles didn't overlap with mine at all.

Once, when I peeked at the comment section, someone had written, "This is only possible because you're a housewife with nothing to do."

Having found 'permission' in a single comment, I felt like I was being swallowed by a chain reaction of growing anger. ──I had always been worried about the matter of children.

But to go this far. To have even this, such a private matter... must it be said by someone I don't even know?

Even though no more work comes to me, emails still arrive in my inbox from the mame editorial department.
Titled 'This Month's Top 3,' it lists the names of popular contributors.

Tomo-chan's name was shining brilliantly there.

Balance

"Lila."

Natsume burst through the cafe door, out of breath. He appeared to have nothing with him but his smartphone.

His hair, usually parted perfectly down the middle, was disheveled and stuck to his forehead with sweat.

When he saw my face, his expression softened in relief.

"Natsume..."

Seeing his expression, tears suddenly began to fall from my eyes.

Natsume looked startled. Then, he pulled a neatly ironed handkerchief from his suit pocket and held it out to me.

"Can you tell me what's going on, for starters?"

He sat down across from me and, while catching his breath, ordered an iced coffee.

About Shusuke's work, and my thought of returning to Aomori... I told him everything.

"I can introduce you to work, too. Things like transcription; there should be demand for that."

"But that's my job. I'll work, of course, but I feel like it's not good for him to be cooped up at home."

"So... you're really going back?"

I nodded slowly. I brought the now completely cold cafe au lait to my lips.

"If you go back to Aomori, you won't be able to continue your current job. Are you sure you want to say that?"

The hand that was about to set down the cup stopped.
Natsume did not look away, staring straight at me. On the table, she had her hands clasped together.

"To sell in the lifestyle genre, interviews are important. We needed to make the existence of Lila known. Online alone isn't enough for that. Television, magazines... By appearing in traditional media, the trust in the Lila brand accumulates."

Before I knew it, it had cleared up outside.
There was a bay window behind Natsume, and my gaze was drawn to the light streaming in from it.

“Rira-san, you had an advantage beyond just your youth. It was that you lived in Tokyo. Your home was within a distance where you could easily come to the publisher in about 30 minutes. Do you know why online wasn't good enough?”

Cold, cloudy water droplets slowly spread across the glass of iced coffee Natsume had ordered.
Quiet jazz was playing from the speakers behind him.

“Photographs...”

“Exactly. The option of having Rira-san take them might be possible. But even then, it would be difficult to have something that could prominently decorate the pages of the magazine. Because they would be photos taken by an amateur housewife. Television appearances are also impossible. When you consider the travel expenses from Aomori. We can't pay for that when you aren't even a celebrity. Rira-san... are you prepared to accept that?”

Natsume pierced my eyes with a straight gaze.
My heart wavered. Even though I had finally made it this far. Even though I had been getting closer to an environment where I could keep publishing books.

Realizing my own ugly true feelings, my cheeks flushed hot.

“But... even so, I am going back to Aomori. I might be able to find more work for myself in Tokyo. But I want to be in a place where my husband can find even a little bit of distraction, a place where he can feel at ease.”

Natsume let out a deep sigh.

"Is a partner more important than a dream?"

Natsume said quietly.
I couldn't answer. Even if I couldn't answer immediately, I still wanted to choose my partner. That feeling alone remained unshaken.

"Lira-san, I..."

Natsume reached out his hand.
With the setting sun shining from behind him, I couldn't quite make out his expression. Even the tips of Natsume's hair were dyed a beautiful orange.

"...No, it's nothing. For now, let's think about selling the book. It's going to get busy from here on out. I know there's moving and various other things, but I won't be easing up on the deadlines."

Our shadows swayed unsteadily on the polished table.

"But please, rely on me if anything happens. I'll take on the dirty work."

Natsume said that and smiled with a face that looked like he was about to cry.

I had a premonition that this would be the last time I would see him.

When I decided to take over the family business, my father was in a very good mood.

With a flushed face, he said, "I was against Lila going to the city anyway," and kept pouring drinks for Shusuke.

"I'm sorry for relying on you."

When I told him that, my father replied, "Actually, it's for the best."

"If you're in a place as far away as Tokyo, I can't tell how you're doing. It would be terrible if something like what happened before occurred again."

I glanced at my mother. Her eyes were narrowed in anger. My father continued without noticing.

"It's more reassuring when you're close by. You've been taken care of by Shusuke for so long. Now it's your turn to support him."

My father said that and patted me on the shoulder.

My parents' house has a detached building where my grandparents used to live.

We made that our home.

It was different from the apartment in Tokyo where we had lived until then. It wasn't a space we had spent over five years building up together, little by little.

It had likely been cleaned just enough to keep the house from falling into ruin, but it was old, falling apart in places, and above all, it still held the traces of my grandparents' lives exactly as they had left them.
There was an awkwardness to it, like peeking into someone else's life.

There were Japanese dolls with long hair and calligraphy displayed in the alcove. The glossy reddish-brown shelves were covered in dust, but inside, many glass dishes were stored as if on display. The hands of the wall clock hanging from the lintel were frozen. --None of it was to my taste.

I couldn't afford to be picky. We were being helped, after all.

Shusuke said he would help with farm work at his parents' house, which was within walking distance, during the day.
His father had passed away when he was in high school, and his mother-in-law had been keeping up a small, modest vegetable garden on her own.

In the afternoons, he would face the grandfather's shogi board he had found in the detached house.

I dressed myself in a newly bought pantsuit and high-heeled shoes and began working at my father's company.

That was how things stood about a year ago.

I hadn't experienced a public scandal, nor had I suffered anything so terrible that I couldn't recover. But I no longer had any prospects of making it as an author.

Editor in charge?

I come home exhausted again today.
There is a lot of pushback against my "younger boss." Things rarely go well, but I feel like I've become stronger.

A year was about to pass since I returned to Aomori.

Now that both of us were working, even though taking a trip once a year was still difficult, we were living a stable enough life that I could shop at the supermarket without looking at the price tags.

Last month, I used my royalties.
I had gotten completely used to driving, so I bought a car. A Jeep Wrangler. The color is black. It's a used car, but considering my lifestyle, it was by no means cheap.

I was drawn to this car because it didn't seem to suit me. It's very big and looks strong. It resembles the person I should become from now on, and I chose this car as if I were making a wish.

When I parked the Wrangler in front of the annex, a delicious smell was wafting out before I even opened the door.

"Welcome home."

Shusuke, wearing the pink apron my grandmother left behind, is stirring a pot.

"Curry?"
"Yeah."

Shusuke likes Japanese food.

A long time ago, I made Japanese-style curry, and he liked it so much that he started making it himself. The trick is to add plenty of Chinese cabbage. Once the moisture evaporates and it gets soft, it releases a sweetness that makes it delicious. The secret ingredients are miso and mentsuyu.

"I mean, I told you I'd come pick you up."

Shusuke had gradually started to settle down, and about six months ago, he began working at a bookstore in the city center.

As someone who had always loved books, he looked as happy as a fish in water.

There aren't many places to park a car in the city. That's why I wanted to go pick him up—

"I'm used to commuting by train, you know."

Shusuke always holds back immediately. Or perhaps he is practicing so he can ride the train. Enduring the pain.

The JR Tsugaru Line only runs once every two hours. I just hope that waiting time isn't a burden for him, but I have no way of knowing.

Once both of us started working, our daily life began to fall apart again.

The house is dusty. I had intended to tidy up and clean after my bath, but I fell into a deep sleep. I didn't even hang up the laundry I had washed.

I felt like I could finally understand why the working moms who read what I wrote were so frustrated. Ah, this is truly exhausting. It's hard enough even without children. If you add small children who act unpredictably to the mix—life might just stop functioning altogether.

Leaning back in the rattan rocking chair that had been in the house since I was a child, I pried open my eyelids, which felt like they were about to stick together, and opened my social media.

Even though I know it will hurt, this is my night routine.

Tomo-chan, who had changed her icon to a beautiful photo, had posted a picture of herself reading a book by candlelight in a stark white room.

The book title was a trendy essay.

The mug, the cushion, the rug. Everything looked beautiful, as if covered by a soft, hazy filter. It felt like she was living in a different world.

Reflected on my smartphone screen were the sofa with a pile of laundry still waiting to be folded and a half-finished can of chuhai.

Even after closing the screen, the whiteness of that room remained in the back of my eyes like an afterimage for a while.
The overwhelming sense of correctness was dazzling.

For the first time, I felt like I understood, just a little, how the people who had opposed me felt.

Mindful living—it's a phrase everyone uses, so I used it without thinking too deeply, and I don't dislike it at all.

The person who thought of it must have sent this expression out into the world with hope.
The beauty of cherishing each day. Wasn't that what they wanted to convey?

I like making things by hand.
What I especially love is the process of making plum syrup. The sense of it being special because it only happens during the rainy season once a year. The refreshing scent. The deliciousness of the finished product.

I also love the time spent comparing many different fabrics and thinking about what kind of small items to make. There is a sense of accomplishment in creating something new from the palms of my hands.

All of these things are categorized as "mindful living".

However, depending on one's stance on housework or their environment, this word might carry a sense of pressure. I only realized that after I started working myself and found that things at home weren't running smoothly.

The word "careful" is an absolute "good." It gives the impression of being "proper," "organized," or "beautiful." It is, in any case, positive.

This word is truly mysterious. Even though it is a soft and beautiful expression, it carries a sense of finality that absolutely draws a line in the sand.

That is perhaps why, when this word is defined as a value, there is a danger that everything "else" is automatically negated. It creates an overwhelming sense of superiority or inferiority between a "careful life" and a life that is not.

I suddenly search for the word "careful."

"An action...?"

"Careful" is an expression that describes a "movement." Thinking of it that way, it suddenly made sense.

"Carefully fold the laundry."
"Carefully wipe the water off the dishes."

If it were phrased like that, it wouldn't bother me at all. That is because it is merely one type of movement.

But when it is used to define "living"—the very time itself that I cannot control—or the realm of values, it is stated with such finality. I thought that perhaps that is the source of the pressure.

It is a lovely word, and even though I have used it countless times myself, now that my position has changed, it stings.

A "careful life," and even writing books to make a living when they aren't selling that well—these were only possible because Shusuke had built the foundation of our life and protected it.
How pathetic.

Something trickles down the corners of my eyes.

In a half-dream, I felt as if someone had stroked my hair and said, "I'm sorry."

The next day, feeling a bit under the weather, I went to the hospital in the morning. My mother drove me there and back, but afterward, I felt like going to see Shusuke, so I suddenly decided to take the train into town, just as he always does.

How many years has it been since I walked this road leading to the station? I cross Kanita Bridge. The wind blows in from the sea. It smelled of salt.

When I was in high school, I commuted by train every day.
The Tsugaru Line train only ran once every two hours, so I often spent time killing time in town.

There is no roof on the platform at Kanita Station. As I shivered in the wind blowing fiercely from all directions, the tip of my nose felt suddenly cold.

"Huh?"

It was the first snow of the season. From the milk-colored sky, snowflakes drifted down, one by one. For the first time in a while, I felt my heart begin to unravel.

The Tsugaru Line train with the pink stripe slid into the station. I pressed the button and boarded. The town where I was born and raised quietly drifted away.

When I was in high school, everything on the other side seemed bright. But I know now that it was never really like that.

I still have some time before Shusuke's lunch break. I bought a new pair of shoes at a shop in front of the station.
Without relying on the clerk, I used my own eyes and feet to try on several pairs before choosing these pale blue low-heeled pumps.

Then, for some reason, I returned to the station concourse and sat down on a bench.

Today's destination is the bookstore where Shusuke works.
I went there many times when I was in high school. You just go straight from the station. I remember the way.

I stood up, thinking it was time to go, and that was when it happened. A sharp pain shot through my left arm. I was pulled hard and forced to turn around.

"Haha! Rira-chan! ...It really is Rira-chan."

Standing before me was a man in his mid-fifties. He was so tall I had to look up at him, and when his narrow eyes crinkled into crescent moons, they seemed to melt away into a single thin line. I froze.

Something my mother said on the Shinkansen once came rushing back to me.

When I was in high school, I had a stalker.

I'm not even sure if you could call it stalking. I was just followed, ambushed, and had my home address tracked down. That was all. And it was this person.

"Lila-chan, you've become famous, haven't you?"

He was called D. He was a student at the same English conversation school.
Although I say student, everyone except me was a working adult. I feel like I heard D was a civil servant.

Why D? Because whenever he wrote his name on the reservation sheet for the empty classroom, he would always just write "D"—.

"Lila-chan, you were on TV, weren't you? I bought all your books, too. I still have them. Here, sign this."

In his hand was a book with the corners of the cover curled. My face on the cover had been slashed to pieces.

The moment he pulled the book from his bag, I shook off his arm and pulled away. But there was a wall behind me. It was the connecting walkway between the station and the station building. My shallow breathing wouldn't stop.

"Li-la-chan"

D laughed with a damp voice. It was a sticky, viscous laugh that seemed to roll deep in his throat.

"You haven't aged well since I last saw you. But that's okay. I'll forgive you."

He was smiling, but only his eyes weren't moving. They were murky like ice, ensnaring only me in his gaze.

When I was in high school, D once followed me all the way home.

He grabbed my arm in front of my house. Just like this. There were no other houses nearby. A car was parked a little ways off, and he started dragging me toward it.

I was too shocked to scream, but my father, who had just stepped out to practice his daily sword swings, noticed something was wrong. Seeing him fly toward us like an arrow while shouting "You bastard!" with his wooden sword in hand, D fell on his backside and ran away.

My father took me to the police, but they told us it didn't quite qualify as stalking.

Ever since then, I started receiving numerous letters in my mailbox with no postmarks. In the end, my parents stormed into D's workplace...

--I graduated and moved away for school right after that, so I didn't know what happened to him. Did it end there without becoming a bigger issue, or did they go to the police?

The reason my parents, who had always opposed me moving to Tokyo, suddenly changed their minds and supported it was because of this incident. At the same time, it was also the catalyst for them becoming abnormally overprotective.

"I lost my job because of you, Lira-chan. So, you're going to have to take responsibility for that, aren't you?"

D approached me with a leering grin. I couldn't even make a sound; I was frozen solid like ice.

His thick fingers reached out toward me. I squeezed my eyes shut.

"W-what do you want?"

When I opened my eyes timidly, a broad back appeared before me like a wall.

Why are you here...? It felt like a lie, and I blinked in disbelief.

D, being looked down upon by the tall man, suddenly began to panic, unlike when he was facing me.

"Hmm, ...the editor in charge?"

It was Natsume who tilted his head.

Continued in Chapter 6