Extra: PoV—Akane
The vibration of my phone at 6:45 AM wasn't just a wake-up call; it was a sensory assault.
'Ah... who the hell is calling at this hour...?' I sighed, yawning.
The display cut through the heavy darkness of my bedroom, casting jagged shadows against walls covered in acoustic foam, electric guitars, and posters of bands most people in this school were too shallow to understand.
The name on the screen was accompanied by a pink heart emoji—a relic I'd never bothered to remove, no matter how much its saccharine sweetness grated on my nerves.
It was Kurone.
I sighed, the bitter aftertaste of last night's sandalwood incense still lingering on my tongue. I answered.
Before I could even mutter a "Hello," her voice—a high-pitched concentrate of synthetic serotonin and liquefied sugar—exploded through the receiver.
"Akane! It's today! It's finally happening, I can feel it! ♡♡♡♡"
I sat up, rubbing my thumb over the cold silver rings on my fingers. The chill of my apartment was a welcome relief compared to the suffocating heat of her excitement. "What the hell are you talking about, Kurone? It's barely light out." I was too stunned to understand what she meant.
"Kenji-kun! The rumors say he bought flowers... real flowers, Akane! Not that supermarket crap. And yesterday, after practice, he looked at me in that way... You know, that look where it feels like you're the only thing in his universe. I think he's going to confess in the courtyard after school!"
I gripped the phone until my knuckles turned white when I heard that idiot's name. Kenji. A walking trophy of muscle and hair gel with the intellectual depth of a coaster, a narcissist with an ego bigger than the whole galaxy. But my thoughts immediately moved to the important question as I snapped back to reality. "And what about Shin?" I asked, my voice dropping into a low, monochromatic rasp.
There was a heartbeat of silence on the other end. A flicker of hesitation, perhaps, but it vanished as quickly as it came. "A-Ah... S-Shin? Oh, h-he'll be happy for me! He's my best friend, after all. I've hinted to him that Kenji is special... I think he's finally gotten the memo. I need you there, Akane! You have to watch from the shadows. I want to tell you every single detail later!"
'No, you clearly didn't even mention that guy to him. Not a single time. I'm completely sure about that.' I thought, tightening the grip on my phone. 'What a liar.'
"Sure," I replied, my voice a perfect, practiced lie. "I'll be there."
I ended the call, tossed the phone onto my black duvet, and stayed there, staring at the ceiling.
Kurone was a genius of unintentional manipulation. Or maybe it was entirely intentional, I'll never know.
The only thing I was sure of was that she used Shin as an emotional shock absorber, a backup battery she plugged into whenever the world didn't give her enough attention, only to discard him the second a shinier toy appeared.
After a few minutes of 'staring', I got out of bed and walked to the mirror, picked up my electric clippers, and refined the clean-shaven undercut on my left temple.
The hum of the motor was the only thing that brought order to the chaos of my thoughts.
I looked at myself: the slight dark circles, the silver hoops climbing my cartilage, the gaze that the teachers and students called "scary", in this case a synonym of "different".
I was the school's paradox—The teachers called my look "problematic," but they couldn't punish me. Not when I'd just scored higher than anyone on the national mock exam.
I pulled on my oversized black hoodie. It was a shell, a fortress, a sign of who I was.
But as I laced up my heavy combat boots, the thought of Shin returned to haunt me, once again.
Until now, I have almost seen him every day. I saw how he carried her bags like a martyr, how he studied for her, and, more importantly, how he looked at her. He was a masterpiece of devotion being wasted on a hollow pedestal.
It made me want to scream and dismantle Kurone. But, deep down, my instincts told me that I had to wait.
A predator doesn't strike until the prey is completely isolated.
----
The school day was a slow-motion torture. Every time I crossed paths with Kurone in the hallways, she radiated a joy so bright it made my blood boil.
And Shin... Shin was always there. I watched him from a distance, a ghost chasing a sunbeam. I saw him grabbing those pink roses and that velvet box from his closet, his face full of hope so pure it was physically painful to witness.
I wanted to walk up to him. I wanted to grab him and say: 'Run. She doesn't see you. She has never seen you.'
But, for some reason, I stayed in the shadows, moving to the courtyard until I saw Kenji arrive with the "correct" flowers.
I saw Kurone light up under the attention of that mediocre athlete while Shin, just meters away, was being demolished atom by atom.
I saw every single moment and heard every single word.
When she asked him, "Aren't you happy for me?", I felt something snap inside me, like a distorted sense of justice.
I wanted to punch her and scream 'Bitch' to her face, and then take Shin with me.
Kurone hadn't just broken a promise; she had committed a sacrilege.
She had thrown away a diamond because she preferred a piece of colored glass.
When Shin fled toward the roof, I didn't follow him immediately.
I waited for the first rumble of thunder in the distance.
I knew exactly where he was going. The roof was his sanctuary, the place where he thought he was alone. He used to go there whenever Kurone wasn't with him. Also, I barely saw him interacting with other girls.
I climbed the stairs slowly, the rhythmic thud-thud of my boots against the metal steps acting as a countdown.
The air on the roof was electric, heavy with the moisture of the impending storm.
Then, I saw him, standing on the ledge, a fragile silhouette against the bruising grey of the sky.
It looked like the weather matched the chaos inside his soul.
For a split second, my heart skipped a beat.
'What if he actually does it? If he decides to die for a hollow vessel like Kurone, I'll kill her myself.' I thought.
But my voice came out steady, sharp, almost bored. I had to shake him. I had to wound him to save him.
The rest was a dance of brutal truths. I threw the reality of his servitude in his face, systematically dismantling the idol he had built.
When he finally crumbled and sobbed against my shoulder, I felt a rush of adrenaline so intense it was almost painful.
His weight against me, the smell of rain and despair... in that moment, he was mine. Finally, he was within my reach.
I draped my hoodie over him. Seeing him disappear into my black fabric, knowing he now carried my scent of sandalwood and smoke, was a silent, massive victory.
And when he had agreed to come home, well... a great sense of satisfaction and 'happiness' washed over me.
The walk to my apartment was one of the most surreal moments of my life. The rain had stopped, luckily, at least for our walk.
Shin walked beside me like a stray dog that had just endured the worst kind of abuse.
He didn't speak, and his body radiated waves of shock and total exhaustion.
I held his hand, feeling his calluses, his cold skin.
Every step we took away from that school was a step closer to my lair.
We passed commuters rushing home, their dark shapes huddled under umbrellas, but no one looked at us.
I felt his gaze on me now and then—confused, lost, searching. I knew what he was thinking.
'Why her? Why now?' I wasn't the girl of pink ribbons and easy smiles.
I was probably the girl of broken guitars and cynicism. But in that moment, I was the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.
We kept walking until we reached my building.
The hum of the elevator was the only sound as we ascended to the fourth floor. The elevator mirror sent back a distorted image: me, with soaked hair and an expression of ice; him, drowning in my hoodie, eyes red and vacant.
He looked like a shipwreck survivor. And in every way that mattered, he was.
"Shoes off," I murmured as I opened the door to 402. "Don't track the rain into the sanctuary."
He entered hesitantly. My apartment was in twilight, lit only by the city lights filtering through the large windows.
I made him sit on the grey sofa. He stayed there, motionless, surrounded by my vinyl records and amplifiers. He was like a foreign body in a perfectly balanced system, yet it had never felt so right to have him there.
Then, I went to the kitchen to prepare some tea for us.
My movements were slow and deliberate because I wanted him to hear the sound of the water boiling, to smell the tea as it diffused. It was a ritual of purification.
I prepared the tea. It wasn't the delicate Darjeeling Kurone sipped with her pinky up. It was a Lapsang Souchong—strong, smoky, and dark as tar. Something that burns your throat and reminds you that you're alive.
I returned to the living room and handed him the steaming mug. I sat at the other end of the couch, tucking my legs under me.
I watched him over the rim of my own cup as the steam fogged his gaze.
He took small sips, as if afraid the heat might break him.
"How does it feel?" I asked. My voice was low, intimate—a secret shared in the dark. "Being free?"
"It doesn't feel like freedom," he replied, his voice so thin it was nearly lost to the rhythmic ticking of the rain against the glass. "It feels like being hollowed out."
I smirked. A smile that wasn't sweet. It was the smile of someone who had just found the perfect canvas to paint on.
"That's good," I said, moving a centimeter closer. "It means there's room to fill you with something better... Something real."
He looked up at me, and I could see his eyes widening for an instant.
"Well..." He said, moving his gaze away, while finishing the Tea and putting the cup on the table in front of us. He was starting to get flustered.
I watched his profile, the messy hair falling over his eyes.
In that moment, he was so fragile, so magnificently broken.
Beautiful, just like I always liked him.
I could have reached out and touched him, but I held back despite what I wanted.
The pleasure was in the anticipation. I would be the one to rebuild him, piece by piece, and teach him to breathe without her.
I would teach him that love isn't a contract of servitude, but a shared obsession.
He didn't yet know what awaited him.
She was a shallow parasite; I was a fire that left no prisoners.
"Don't worry, Shin," I said aloud, my voice a dark promise of black velvet. "I'm going to take very,very good care of you. You'll be happy again, I promise."
He looked up at me, and in that moment, I saw that flicker.
It wasn't love... of course not... yet. It was something more primal. It was the gratitude of a drowning man who had finally found a grip. He smiled at me weakly.
"I know, there's no escape from you now, right?" he whispered.
In that moment, I felt a surge of triumph that made me almost tremble.
"Exactly."
Kurone probably thought she had won, thinking she had secured the popular guy while keeping her "best friend" as a backup trophy. She had no idea that the door had just locked behind her.
I stood up to put a record on the turntable.
The needle's scratch on the vinyl preceded a distorted, melancholic melody.
I turned toward the window, watching the city lights reflect in the puddles below. I imagined Kurone's face in a few weeks, when she would look for Shin and find only a void, when she would realize that her "supporting character" had become the king of another realm.
'Checkmate, Kurone.'
This time, there were no childhood promises to save you. This time, you played against me. And I never lose what I decide to possess.