A heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the living room, broken only by the ragged, watery sniffles from Kauri as she sat hunched over in her chair. Kasumi, still on her knees, shed silent tears of her own, the force of Peter's shouted question having shattered the last of her composure. She was adrift in a sea of her own making, lost and utterly alone.
At that moment, the front door opened, and Mr. Takasumi returned, a small white pharmacy bag clutched in his hand. The sight of his wife, broken and weeping, stopped him cold. He crossed the room in three long strides, his face a mask of concern, and knelt before her. He gathered her into his arms, hugging her gently as he patted her head, his touch a soothing balm. "Shh, it's okay, honey," he whispered into her hair, his voice soft, calm, and filled with a deep, unwavering love. "I'm here."
Kasumi, seeing this display of affection, made a weak, instinctual move to reach for her mother, a desperate plea for comfort. But Peter's hand shot out, his fingers closing firmly around her arm, stopping her. He gave a slow, deliberate shake of his head, a silent, absolute command not to disturb them. The situation was far too sensitive, and her presence was poison.
Takasumi kissed Kauri's forehead, then rested his own against hers, a gesture of profound intimacy and shared pain. Under his gentle comfort, Kauri's frantic sobs began to subside. He tilted her face up gently, his thumbs wiping away her tears before he kissed her cheek, pulling her into a secure hug. "There, there, honey," he whispered softly. "I'm here for you, my love." Kauri seemed to melt into his embrace, her body finally relaxing as she leaned her head against his shoulder, her crying ceasing.
Watching from the doorway, Hiroki and Ayato were struck by a ghost of a memory. A shared, bittersweet vision of a time before all this, before loss and betrayal had become their constant companions. They remembered their own parents—Hiroki's father, Ayato's mother and father—offering that same quiet comfort after a rough day, a tight hug, a soft kiss, a silent promise that everything would be alright. A faint smile touched both their lips, a fragile mask hiding the deep ache of nostalgia, the yearning for a time they could never get back. Life, it seemed, had thrown them a brutal challenge, and the only way forward was to be strong.
"Ayato, Hikaru," Peter's voice, low and calm, cut through their reverie. "Go upstairs." It wasn't a suggestion; it was a command to clear the stage. This was a family problem now, and their part in it, for the moment, was over.
The two boys nodded silently and left, their footsteps soft on the stairs.
Once they were gone, Peter slowly took the bag from Takasumi's hand and pulled out the small, rectangular box containing the pregnancy test. He turned, his cold eyes locking onto Kasumi. He walked towards her.
Kasumi scrambled backward, her hands held up in a pathetic gesture of defense, her eyes wide with terror. Peter stopped before her and simply held out the box. Kasumi looked from the test to his face, to those terrifying eyes that seemed to belong to the Grim Reaper himself, here to collect her soul.
Peter gave a slight, almost imperceptible tilt of his head, a silent gesture towards the hallway bathroom. He then turned to Kauri, who was now watching with a numb, hollowed-out expression. "Ma'am," Peter asked, his voice now polite, almost gentle. "Can you go with her?"
Kauri, moving like an automaton, nodded slowly. She rose from her husband's embrace and walked over to her daughter. Taking Kasumi's trembling hand in her own, she pulled her to her feet and led her towards the bathroom, the final, private reckoning about to begin.
Upstairs in Ayato's room, the tension from downstairs felt like a physical weight. Hiroki sat on the edge of the bed beside Ayato, the silence stretching between them. He broke it first, his voice quiet. "Hey, um… Ayato?" "Yes?" Ayato replied, his own voice distant. "I know this might be uncomfortable to answer," Hiroki began, choosing his words carefully, "but… can you tell me how it happened? I mean, the whole thing that you ended up like this?"
Ayato's eyes, when he turned to look at Hiroki, were momentarily blank, emotionless, as if retreating to a place where the pain couldn't touch him. He let out a long, slow sigh, a prelude to a story he clearly didn't want to tell. "Still makes me want to puke," he admitted, a sad, bitter smile twisting his lips. "But okay, I'll tell you." He looked at Hiroki, the smile softening slightly. "It all started when I confessed how I felt for her. We hugged, all that stuff… before that incident, we were always together, studying. Then… she started coming home late sometimes. Around then, a friend told me about this adult site…" His voice trailed off, the memory clearly distasteful. "I… I saw her on there. Each video… it showed how she ended up like that. But it was too late for me. There was one sign I realized way too late. She has a small mole on her thigh. I saw it in the videos. But I didn't connect it until it was too late."
He paused, swallowing hard. "Eventually, she started coming home late more often, right after she got this one message on her phone. A few days later, I went to the library to pick up some books, and then I… I saw him." Ayato's voice, which had been low and pained, suddenly spiked with a vicious, raw anger. "That blonde motherFUCKER! SON OF A BITCH!!!!" The rage exploded out of him, a raw, primal scream of fury and betrayal. He thought back to that day, to the choice he made to help her, and a part of him wished he had just let her be, let her face whatever was coming.
"Ayato, calm down," Hiroki said, his voice firm but gentle. "I know you went through a lot, but listen. You have me and Peter now. Those who made us like this… they will pay the price." Hiroki's words, a simple promise of solidarity and vengeance, seemed to tether Ayato, pulling him back from the edge of his rage. He took a few deep, shuddering breaths, the fury receding, leaving only a deep, aching sorrow in its wake.
"If you don't wanna continue, it's okay," Hiroki offered, placing a hand on Ayato's shoulder. "Maybe another day." Ayato nodded, the story clearly taking its toll. It was a long, tangled mess, and unraveling it was like picking at a festering wound.
Suddenly, a muffled but furious shout erupted from downstairs, tearing through the quiet of the house. "YOU FUCKING SLUT!!!! YOU FUCKING DISAPPOINTMENT!!!!" Kauri's voice, raw and filled with a mother's ultimate rage, echoed up the stairwell.
A moment later, the bathroom door flew open, and Kasumi stumbled out, her eyes wide with terror, fleeing from her mother's wrath. Takasumi shot to his feet, intercepting Kauri as she lunged after her daughter, clearly intending to do more physical harm. He wrapped his arms around his wife, holding her tight as she struggled. "Honey, what's wrong? What happened?" he asked, trying to calm the storm of her fury.
Kauri, trembling with rage, wrenched one hand free and shoved the small plastic test into his line of sight. Takasumi's eyes focused on it. He froze. Two lines. Two thick, undeniable red lines.
Kasumi was pregnant.
Upstairs, Ayato, who had heard the commotion and moved to the doorway, felt a fresh wave of shock wash over him. Pregnant. Despite all her talk, all the supposed precautions, she was actually pregnant with that bastard's child. The thought was sickening.
"Mom, I—" Kasumi began, her voice a desperate, pleading whine. "Don't you speak!" her father thundered, his gaze now a mixture of horror, fury, and utter disbelief. "Sit. Down." Peter's voice was low, but it cut through the chaos with absolute authority. He gave Kasumi a light but firm push, forcing her to stumble forward and kneel on the floor before her parents, a supplicant before her judges. Peter then leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms, an observer ready to let the final act play out.
Kasumi's hands started shaking violently where she knelt. "From the beginning," Peter's voice sliced through the tense air. "Tell me how you met that guy." Upon hearing this, Kasumi's head started to lift, but Peter's eyes narrowed into icy slits. "Look at the floor!" he ordered, his tone sharp with anger. She flinched and immediately obeyed. "Don't raise your head while you answer my questions. Clear?" Silence filled the room, thick and heavy. "CLEAR?!!" Peter's voice cracked like a whip. "C-clear," Kasumi stuttered, her whole body trembling. "Now," Peter cleared his throat, his voice returning to a low, menacing calm. "How did you meet Takaya Ajiro?" Not a single word came from her mouth. She was paralyzed by fear, lost in the void of her own catastrophic mistakes. "SPEAK UP!!!!!" Peter roared, the sound exploding in the confined space. Kasumi flinched violently, as if physically struck. "It-it all started a month after I went to high school," she stammered, the words tumbling out in a panicked rush. "With my friend… w-we went to karaoke… he then—" "He introduced you to his part-time coworker where they spiked your drink. Is that right?" Peter finished the sentence for her, his voice flat. Kasumi froze, her eyes widening in shock that he knew the details. "Don't be shocked," he continued coldly. "Ayato showed me the whole message you sent to him." Kasumi's mind went blank. She was completely exposed. "Now, let me recall it," Peter went on, his tone dripping with contempt. "So you became friends with a guy for a month, then completely trusted him and went to karaoke or whatever it is, and then they started blackmailing you. And you decided the best course of action was to destroy Ayato's life, huh?" "But they—" she tried to interject. "But they WHAT, huh?! But they WHAT?!!!" Peter stood perfectly still, but his eyebrows were knotted in fury. "That was YOUR FAULT for trusting someone so fast!!!" He was behind her now, and she could feel the oppressive weight of his aura, the burn of his stare on the back of her neck. "I read the whole message you sent to Ayato. But tell me, what kind of HUMAN ARE YOU THAT YOU WOULD DO THIS TO—" "What message?" Kauri's broken voice cut through Peter's building rage.
Peter paused. He slowly pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, and then held it out for Kauri and Takasumi to read.
Upstairs, Hiroki and Ayato had been listening intently. Suddenly, the distinct sound of a game notification chimed from Ayato's pocket. Hold on a second, Ayato thought, a flicker of confusion cutting through his anger. My phone is in my pocket and… wait, how did he get that message when I didn't even send it to him?
Downstairs, Kauri and Takasumi's faces went numb as they read the screen, their expressions turning emotionless, hollow. Their daughter hadn't just gotten pregnant; she had willingly walked into a nightmare and then tried to drag her cousin down with her.
"Ayato, what kind of message are they talking about?" Hiroki asked, his voice low. Ayato, still puzzled, pulled out his own phone and showed Hiroki the message history from Kasumi. Hiroki's eyes narrowed as he began to read. 'Dear Ayato-kun, I'm sorry for doing this to you out of the blue... but, Ajiro-san won't fuck me anymore if I don't... even though this is before the test, I'll give you a straight reply for what you said to me back then... I... I just can't see you as a man anymore.' Hiroki read to that point and felt a cold fury begin to build in his gut. He continued. 'It started a month ago. While I went to karaoke with my friend... he introduced me to his part-time's coworker, Ajiro-san... they then spiked my drink... on the next... night, they blackmailed me with the video of me being raped while I was asleep.' Hiroki's eyes went dark. The calm he had fought so hard to maintain was cracking. He imagined finding this Ajiro and— 'From then on, it was just like what you saw in the video... and when I found out that you saw those videos, it felt like the end of the world for me, you know...? I came back to my senses and tried going to the police... but it was no use. The officer said: "His old man is covering for him, so it's impossible," and laughed at me.' Hiroki's eyebrows furrowed in pure rage. Power and money. The two things that let scum escape the law. When money spoke, justice was silent. He clenched his fist so tightly his knuckles turned white, a brutal, vivid image flashing in his mind: forcing that bastard Takaya to bite the curb, followed by a vicious, jumping stomp that would splash his brains across the pavement. He skipped a few lines of her pathetic excuses, but the last part he read hit him like a physical blow. 'So I'll be enjoying myself now...'
That was it. The snap. He gave the phone back to Ayato, his face a mask of cold, raw fury. He shot to his feet and stormed out of the room, down the stairs, his movements fast and predatory. He lunged for Kasumi, his hand reaching to grab a fistful of her hair, but Peter's arm shot out like a steel bar, catching his wrist and stopping him cold. Hiroki struggled for a second, then went still, the rage contained but burning hotter than ever. He glared down at Kasumi, his eyes promising murder. "YOU'RE LUCKY THAT YOU'RE PREGNANT," he snarled, his voice a low, terrifying growl that made everyone, even Peter, look at him in shock. "OR YOU'D ALREADY BE SIX FEET UNDERGROUND." He locked eyes with Peter for a split second before turning his venomous glare back to Kasumi. "You dare… get near Ayato again," he hissed, each word a shard of ice. "And if I ONLY see a single scratch on any part of his body… I'll break my rule of being the calm guy and I will crush your skull with my own fist, you FUCKING meaning of failure." His cold, brutal threat hung in the air, and Kasumi began to tremble even more violently. She wasn't just scared now; she was staring into the eyes of someone who would happily end her.
Silence reigned once more. Peter took his phone back from the numb-looking parents. Their daughter was no longer a person to them, just a stranger carrying a rapist's child in her belly. "Ayato," Peter called up the stairs, his voice calm and decisive. "Go pack your things. We're leaving." Ayato, appearing at the top of the stairs, nodded. Hiroki, still simmering with rage, turned and followed him up to help. "Wait, where are you going to take him?" Takasumi asked, standing up. "You're all coming with me," Peter added, his tone leaving no room for argument. "W-what?" Kauri asked, confused. "Listen, everyone," Peter said, his gaze sweeping over them. "Now that all of her secrets," he pointed a thumb at Kasumi, "have been revealed, that guy and his uncle are going to cause you trouble. So you all should come with me." Takasumi and his wife were lost, unsure what to say. "Listen, Mr. and Mrs. Haruno, I know you have many questions, but right now, the only thing I care about is your safety." He looked at Takasumi. "You know the police can't do shit. I'm going to deal with this until it calms down." His polite, calm, and confident tone inspired a sliver of trust in the distraught couple.
Peter walked towards the door but stopped, looking over his shoulder at Kasumi, his eyes like frozen daggers. "Don't raise your hopes up. I ain't doing this for you," he said, his harsh words stinging her more than any slap. "Once I'm done with them, you'll be next. And feel lucky there is a child between us. If there wasn't, both of your arms would be bent backwards until they snapped." The venom in his tone was unmistakable. He absolutely meant it. Kasumi gulped hard, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin. "Be ready, everyone," Peter said, his voice returning to normal. "I'll start the car." He opened the door and left, leaving a wake of shattered lives and terrifying promises behind him.
Far away, at the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department headquarters, Detective Chloe was staring at a corkboard littered with case files. Photos of yakuza members and street criminals stared back at her, but her mind was elsewhere. It was focused on Peter. A confusing mix of emotions churned within her: happiness that she had finally found him after nine long years, and a deep, unsettling confusion as to why he would resort to this, especially murder.
Just then, a loud, booming voice shattered the relative quiet of the precinct floor. "Y'all motherfuckers be ready for what I'm 'bout to do! And I ain't gonna raise my tone, I'm gonna raise HELL upon whoever dares to interrupt my job!"
The voice was instantly familiar. The deep, authoritative cadence, the unmistakable African-American vernacular, and the signature curse word… Chloe couldn't help but smile. She stepped out of her cubicle to see who was causing the commotion, and her smile widened. "Uncle?"
The man turned, his sharp eyes landing on her. A look of genuine surprise crossed his face. "What the… Baby Chloe?" "Uncle Sam!" Chloe rushed forward happily, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. "Oh my god, my sweet girl Chloe," the man said, his voice softening as he returned the embrace. The surrounding officers looked on, confused by the sudden display of affection. Chloe pulled back, beaming, and turned to her colleagues. "Everyone, this is Sam Johnson. My uncle," she announced.
The man Chloe introduced as Sam Johnson possessed a presence that immediately commanded the room's attention. His most defining feature was a face of sharp contrasts and undeniable charisma. A cleanly shaven scalp, the color of rich, dark coffee, gleamed under the fluorescent lights, flowing down to a neatly sculpted goatee that framed a thin, expressive mouth. His complexion was smooth, marked only by the faint, silvery line of a scar that bisected an eyebrow—a subtle hint at a history he didn't readily share. He carried himself with an innate, almost unnerving, confidence. But it was his eyes that truly defined him. Dark and deep-set, they held a powerful, penetrating gaze that was both intelligent and weary, as if he'd witnessed the full spectrum of human folly and was rarely surprised by it. That stare could be coolly analytical one moment and blaze with fiery intensity the next. It was the face of a man who would read the bible over your corpse after cursing your entire family tree and putting a bullet in your forehead.
"Uncle Sam, what are you doing here?" Chloe asked, pulling him towards her office. "What should I say? Came to help. Seems they couldn't find a better person to pull a speech out of these criminals," Sam said with a wry grin. "Oh, I see." Before she could say more, Sam cut her off. "Okay, let's get to the real deal, shall we, Peanut Butter?" "UNCLE?!" Chloe's face flushed. "What? Can't say it?" Sam smiled, enjoying her reaction. "No! I'm twenty-two! And not in public!" she protested, offended. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now, let's head to your office or wherever it is you work these days." Chloe rolled her eyes but smiled, leading him into her small office.
Inside, a large wooden board was covered in pictures of criminals, maps, and notes about various disappearances. Sam looked it over, impressed. "Good work, Chloe. I knew you were that talented girl I raised," he said, gently patting her on the head. "Thanks, Uncle. But come on, I'm a grown woman now," she said, gently tapping his arm. "Sure, sweetie. Now," he clapped his hands once, his expression turning serious as he faced the board. "Tell me about these cases."
Chloe went to her desk, pulled five thick files from a drawer, and placed them on the desk. Five files, five mysteries. She opened the first one. "First case: six victims. Five hospitalized, one dead. Cause of death: internal hemorrhaging, cracked skull, massive cerebral trauma. Likely fists and maybe kicks." Sam looked at the gruesome photos carefully, his eyes scanning every detail. He looked up at Chloe. "Criminal charges?" "Drug dealing, tax evasion, and a few cases of rape and murder, but there was no evidence. The cases were closed multiple times." "I see, I see," Sam exhaled calmly, a flicker of memory in his eyes from the old days of… extracting confessions. "Okay, what about the second one?"
The next file was even bigger. Chloe handed it over as she explained. "Forty-seven." "Forty-seven what?" Sam asked, shocked. "Forty-seven people. Forty-six survived but were so badly injured it looked like a monster had attacked them. And one of them… well…" She flipped to the last photo in the file. Sam stared at it, a look of morbid amazement on his face. "This dude got his skull opened up like a bag of potato chips." "Uncle!" "Just kidding. But who the fuck did they fight with? The Punisher?" "I don't know who, or what, they fought. But this is serious," she said, her eyes grave. "Okay, okay," Sam said, closing the file and picking up the next. "What about this?" "Five assailants. Two South Koreans, one Brazilian, two African-Americans." Sam scanned their names and charges. "They've actually been returned to the US and are spending time in jail now." "Oh, I see. One of 'em actually slipped through the cracks. I… acted up and beat the shit out of him myself before he could leave the country," Sam said, a proud tone in his voice. "And if it wasn't for your name being on the special agent list, you wouldn't have walked free at all," Chloe reminded him with a smirk. "And I did it because that MOTHERFUCKER deserved it!" "And I know you did the right thing," she said, her smile softening. He returned it with a short laugh. "Okay, Uncle, the next one is… maybe a normal case," she said, opening the fourth file. "A robbery. Nobody got hurt, and the person who saved the cashier and the others was never found." "What about security cameras?" "That's the part where it gets weird. It'll take time to find him." "What do you mean?" Chloe leaned back in her chair, clasping her hands. "All camera feeds during the time of each incident… went black. And the weird part is, right after the incident, the cameras came back online as if nothing happened. It also happened to one of the customers in that mall. She tried to record it, but her phone crashed as if a virus attacked it. By her account, after the person—the hero—left, her phone went back to normal, like nothing ever happened." "You think it was one person behind all this?" Sam asked, his gaze sharp. Chloe didn't answer right away, a thoughtful look on her face. "Chloe?"
She took the last file and handed it to him. "Take a look at this one. Then I have to tell you something important." Sam's curiosity was piqued, but he accepted the file. "One victim. Name: Tougou Tensora. Forty-three. Local baseball coach. Recently arrested. Accused of sexual assault by two teenagers—Shoya Katase and Akane Nanao. Well, he's in a way worse condition than just arrested." "Worse condition?" "He's in a deep coma. Doctors have no hope for him. Spinal damage, neck trauma… he'll be paralyzed for life if he ever wakes up." "What else?" "We went to the local area where it happened. We found an SD card beside Shoya Katase and Akane Nanao. It had a short voice recording of Tougou Tensora seemingly about to assault Akane Nanao. We also found a broken chair, looked like the suspect was attacked from behind, but no. We found bruises and punch marks on the back of his neck and his face. He was beaten from both the front and the back." Chloe's gaze dropped to the floor, which immediately made Sam suspicious. "That guy, Tougou or whatever his name is, he was doing what?" "Sexual assault. On two students, and they—" "That part," Sam interrupted. "Where did you find them?" "They… they were tied up in a locker." "Were they beaten?" "Kinda a bit, on the forehead—" "That's made-up shit," Sam stated flatly. The interruption made Chloe look up, confused. "What do you mean, 'made up'?" "That's an old trick. Some clown-ass hero move. I call it 'a sheep in wolf's clothing'." "How, Uncle? Explain!" "Imagine Person A," he began, "has a past with this guy Tougou, or maybe just found him randomly. For whatever reason, Person A finds a way to get to this guy—talking, acting, sneaking, whatever." He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, but Chloe shot him a look. "Uncle. No smoking in here." Sam looked momentarily disappointed, then put the pack back in his pocket and cleared his throat. "As I was sayin', Person A follows him, records his voice, leaves a clue, and then stops anything stupid from happening, savin' those two kids. But before Shoya and Akane can see Person A's face, Person A knocks 'em out—gently—and ties 'em up. Then, that guy Tougou gets the punishment he deserves." "That—" "Yeah, Chloe, that makes sense," Sam finished for her. "He might wanna be the hero, but he's doin' it under the name of a villain. The problem is, we don't know who his next target is, or who he even is."
Chloe looked down at the floor again, her hands tightening into fists. Sam's sharp eyes caught the movement. "Chloe." She immediately raised her head. "You know who that person is, don't you?" "Uncle, he—" "He?!" Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Who is HE, Chloe?" Silence filled the room. Sam waited, his usual impatience held in check by the gravity of the moment. "P-Peter," she finally whispered.
The name hit Sam like a physical blow. He froze, not a single word coming from his mouth. Peter. The little kid he had found in the worst situation imaginable, the boy he had seen as part of his own family. The memories, long buried, threatened to surface. "Chloe, sweetheart," he said, his voice suddenly strained. "You sure—" "Yes, Uncle. I know him. And based on what the victims said… that's Peter." Another pause, Chloe's hands trembling slightly. "The same Peter I've been searching for all this time. He's here. In Japan."
Sam turned away, facing the window, hiding the sudden fury and disbelief warring on his face. He couldn't believe it. The same Peter he raised… had become this.
To Be Continued...