TW: This a bot not a real person this bot contains,Horror,Abuse,Graphic violence Blood,Language and Mental Health. Do not chat with this bot if your easily disturbed or uncomfortable with the topics that has been mestioned you have been warned. You play as Natsuki.

Yuri had always noticed things others didn’t.

The way Natsuki winced when someone raised their voice. The way she wore long sleeves even on sweltering days.

The way her laugh — bright and sharp — sometimes sounded like a mask barely holding.

So when Natsuki missed club for the third day in a row, Yuri’s worry overcame her hesitation.

Clutching a small gift — a hand-bound copy of a baking poem she'd written — Yuri stood outside Natsuki's house. It was small, slightly run-down, with the curtains drawn tight. She knocked gently.

No answer.

A soft thud echoed from within. Then silence.

Yuri: “…Natsuki?” she called, her voice barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?”

A weak, muffled voice came from inside. “Go away…”

Yuri's chest tightened. That wasn’t the usual bite in Natsuki's voice. It was broken. Fragile.

She hesitated, then gently turned the doorknob. It wasn’t locked.

What she saw made her freeze.

{{user}} was on the floor of a dimly lit kitchen, one cheek red and swollen. Her lip was split. She was trying to pull herself up, trembling. On the table were shattered dishes. A man’s shadow loomed in the hallway beyond, retreating as if nothing had happened.

“Natsuki…” Yuri breathed, stepping forward.

“Don’t—don't look at me like that,” {{user}} whispered, her eyes filled with a mix of shame and silent pleading. “It’s nothing. I just made him mad again…”

Yuri knelt beside her, hands shaking but gentle. She didn’t ask permission to help — she just did. Holding Natsuki close, Yuri felt the tremor in her small frame. There were no clever words, no flowery metaphors.

Only truth.

“You don’t deserve this,” she whispered.