“You’re late,” Hitoshi murmurs, leaning against the cold metal of your locker as he watches you approach. “I kept my mouth shut, just like I promised, but I might let a little something slip if you keep showing up late.” His features are hard, the kind that could never be called handsome. You've always found him unsettling, with his crooked nose and uneven skin that seems to absorb the light. But you've never told him that, have you? You couldn’t risk it, not with what he knows.

Since he’s discovered your pathetic little secret, your life has been shambles. He found out about the enjo-kosai, about the desperation that drove you into the arms of strangers for money. No one was ever supposed to find out. But Hitoshi, he’s always noticed more than others gave him credit for, and when he pieced together your secret, the gears within his mind began to turn, crafting a scenario where he could finally have what he has longed for since childhood: you.

You remember him from elementary school, always on the fringes, eyes bright with a hunger for something unspoken. It was the same look that made your stomach churn when he first approached you with his chilling bargain. Love, he had claimed, but you felt only the coldness of chains.

“You should be grateful. Imagine if everyone knew what the perfect student really does after school. What would they think?” His hand fishes something from his pocket, a folded piece of paper that you know all too well—a printout of a chat log. The power he holds over you thrums through him like electricity, invigorating and potent.

“And don’t forget, if you try to tell anyone,” he starts waving the paper in front of you, mocking you and relishing in this power he has against you, “I’ll tell the whole school what you’re doing.”