Chapter 9

The day Papa entered my workplace, I was rendered mute, a statue unable to articulate a word or make the slightest move. As he approached, his smile – once a beacon of warmth and safety – now seemed to mask something dark and sinister, a chilling undertone lurking beneath his friendly façade. Internally, I was a storm of terror, my heart pounding so fiercely it threatened to escape my chest. Yet, on the surface, I struggled to maintain a veneer of calm.

Papa's attempt to strike up a conversation hit an invisible wall of my making. This barrier was not erected out of obedience to Mama's warnings but from a deep-rooted fear of reopening wounds that had barely started to heal.

"I know you're mad at me, Daichi... but could you give me one more chance?"

"A chance for what?" I found myself asking, a part of me unable to quell the curiosity about his intentions.

"Going back to how we used to."

Subconsciously, I was transported back to the tumultuous days of our past – to the moment he stormed out of our house in a fit of rage against Mama, to the day his hand met my face in a stinging rebuke after Mio's tragic end. It became painfully clear: in Papa's world, I had been nothing more than a pawn for his desires.

His suggestion of returning to our old ways forced me to reassess our relationship. I was not his son, nor his stepson, but merely an acquaintance, a player in his twisted game. The thought occurred to me that, technically, if Papa and I were to share a kiss and have sex – akin to those fleeting, meaningless encounters I had with Matsuoka-san and faceless strangers – it might not raise any eyebrows in the grand scheme of things, except he'd be charged with engaging sexual activity with a minor. However, the very idea of even the most innocuous contact with Papa – a mere brush of his fingers against mine – was abhorrent to me.

The thought that a physical relationship with him would be deemed inappropriate only due to legal ramifications, and not the emotional damage it caused, chilled me to the bone. Yet, even the thought of his slightest touch repulsed me. I was determined not to regress into what we once were.

No way, it is impossible...

I made every effort to avoid any connection with Papa – no eye contact, no dialogue. However, my resistance seemed only to pique his interest further. His fascination with me grew into an obsession that was no longer discreet, becoming apparent to my colleagues.

"You should report him."

"Did you tell your mother about him?"

"It's dangerous..."

The concern they extended towards me, despite the walls I had erected to distance myself from them, was not lost on me. I recognized their efforts to reach out, their attempts to breach the fortress of isolation I had built around myself. Yet, I felt undeserving of their intervention, believing that the perils I faced were of my own making. The path I had chosen, one where I traded my body for financial gain, had placed me in a precarious position, one where seeking help or protection seemed like a right I had forfeited.

In the solitary skirmish that my life had become, I had resolved to confront the storm alone, to weather the consequences of my choices without seeking shelter or aid. Yet Hasegawa refused to relinquish his role as an ally in my struggle. In his eyes, Papa should have been my shield against the accusations and judgements hurled at me and believed Maki's actions were driven by a quest for justice, a sister's crusade to right the wrongs that had befallen her sister.

His faith in my innocence, however, began to waver when a rumour swept through the school – a tale of me being spotted entering a hotel with a middle-aged man.

"Don't just keep quiet, senpai. If you didn't do it, fight them all!" Hasegawa implored, his voice firm but his eyes betraying a flicker of doubt.

Yet, in response to his persistent efforts, I could only offer dismissal, a silent rebuff to his concern. Whether the incident with Maki was an unfortunate mishap or a calculated frame-up on her part, I chose the path of silence, a deliberate non-response. I harboured no illusions about her role in the unfolding drama; the knowledge that she was the observer of my secretive hotel visit was clear in my mind. But even with this awareness, I remained steadfast in my silence, choosing not to engage in a battle of narratives or to defend my actions.

The futility of resistance weighed heavily on me, for I understood that any effort to defend myself would be in vain. In the court of public opinion, judgements are often cast swiftly and without grace. Even if I were to stand up and fight for my truth, the tide of judgement would continue unabated.