Chapter 3

The dissolution of my parents' marriage swiftly became the subject of public fascination. On television screens, with journalists jostling for a comment, Mama's statement about their parting due to 'different paths' was as rehearsed as it was hollow. Papa echoed the same sentiment under the relentless scrutiny of the media while the tumultuous night that triggered their downfall remained their well-guarded secret as if it had never happened.

In this new reality, the gravity of my situation was still a distant concept to my young mind. Despite finding myself often alone at home, I looked forward to the clandestine meetings with Papa after school. This routine continued into my second year of elementary school. Almost every day, I'd detour to a secluded, almost forgotten park, where our rendezvous would begin. Our first stop was often a public restroom, a place where I experienced what I later understood to be an 'oral'. Then, it was off to a family restaurant, followed by a visit to Papa's place, our 'secret love nest', as we called it.

As time passed, the nature of our encounters deepened into something far more troubling. Papa would play various genres of pornography in the background as we did, his fascination with my naive reactions evident. He'd tie me up and introduce an array of toys, claiming it was necessary for my body to adapt. Gradually, he began filming our encounters, positioning me as a submissive participant in a disturbing imitation of the videos we watched.

Pain and confusion were my constant companions, occasionally overshadowed by a bewildering sense of pleasure, something I was yet to understand, clouded as the affection for Papa was misplaced.

This is love— Papa loves only me. Or so I thought, until Mio entered our lives.

With her unassuming grace, Mio took the seat next to me as spring unfurled its fresh beginnings. Our friendship blossomed almost effortlessly, and as we went further getting to know each other, I found out she was a star in Papa's agency.

"Isn't that great?" Mio beamed, her smile as radiant and untainted as a spring morning. "If you drop by the office, we can play there while waiting for Mama."

"Uhm... can I?"

"Why not? Miura-san is Dai-kun's father, right? I'm sure he'd let you come."

This girl, oblivious to the secret relationship I had with Papa, built a sin bridge that led me to dive deeper into the slump of lust. While her intention was purely to grow closer to me, my frequent visit to Papa's office was obviously to see him more openly.

Ever since the divorce, Mama seemed to lose all interest in my life, her maternal connection to me growing more distant with each passing day. On the rare occasions when our eyes met, hers held a flicker of disgust, a silent dismissal as she delegated my care to a rotating cast of hourly caretakers. It stung, but I found solace in the knowledge that at the end of each day, Papa would be there, his warm smile a beacon in my dimming world.

The park where I once waited for Papa became a forgotten relic of the past as I trailed behind Mio and her mother to Papa's office. If the two of them engaged in discussions with the management, I would see Papa in his office, a secret space just for us. There, with the blinds drawn and the door firmly locked, we would escape into a world of eustacy, a place that, in my innocent anticipation, I always eagerly awaited.

I had always imagined that the rhythm of my life with Papa would remain unchanged, a constant in a world of variables. Yet, one day, as we glided through the streets in his luxurious car, Papa's words unexpectedly jolted me from my comfort zone.

"You should stop coming to my office, Daichi."

"But why...?"

As if noticing the tremor of fear in my voice, with a tender touch, Papa caressed my cheek, his voice a familiar lullaby of reassurance. "You see..., Mama doesn't like me anymore, and she doesn't want me to see you."

"Am I no longer can see you?"

"Of course, we can. But let's tone down a little and meet only at my place, okay? Papa will fetch you from school."

His words, delivered with the usual gentleness, a soft stroke through my hair, elicited a faint nod from me. Yet, beneath that submissive gesture, a storm of protest brewed within me. I wanted to rebel, to demand that nothing change, to cling to the familiarity of our relationship. I longed for the power to rewind time, to hold Papa close and persuade him to retract his words.

But the harsh reality was that, from that day forward, the frequency of our meetings dwindled. What was once a regular part of my life became sporadic encounters, sometimes only a few times a month, and at times, an entire month would pass in his absence. The change left a void, a silent echo of the connection I feared was slipping away.