Chapter 12: Theatrical Intimidation

  The sound of rushing water echoed faintly through the thin walls of the apartment. Steam was already beginning to seep from beneath the bathroom door, carrying the scent of lavender shampoo into the hallway.

  Yuta stood outside Hina’s bedroom. He checked his watch. The shower had just started. He had, at most, ten minutes.

  He turned the handle of her bedroom door. It was unlocked—a small mercy.

  The room was dim, illuminated only by the streetlights filtering through the sheer curtains. It smelled of old paper and the faint, stale odor of sadness that seems to accumulate in spaces where people cry alone. Her school bag was slumped against the desk leg, zipper open, looking like an exhausted beast.

  Yuta stepped inside, his socks silent on the floorboards. He felt like an intruder, a violation of her sanctuary, but the image of her bruised fingers from yesterday overrode his guilt.

  He spotted her smartphone lying on the bedspread, the screen dark.

  He picked it up. Hina didn't use a passcode; she had nothing to hide, or perhaps she simply didn't think anyone cared enough to look. He swiped the screen. The blue light illuminated his face, casting sharp shadows against his cheekbones.

  He navigated to the messaging app. Class 2-B [Official Group].

  It was a chat room populated by thirty students and two teachers. It was meant for homework announcements and schedule changes. Yuta scrolled through the member list, his thumb moving with clinical precision.

  He found her.

  Rika [Student Council].

  Profile Picture: A selfie taken at a cafe, heavily filtered, featuring a peace sign and a practiced, dazzling smile that didn't reach her eyes.

  Yuta tapped on the profile. The number was listed.

  He didn't save it to Hina’s contacts. He memorized it. Then, he placed the phone back exactly where he found it, the angle precise to the millimeter.

  He slipped out of the room just as the water in the bathroom turned off.

  Two hours later, Yuta’s own bedroom had been transformed into a backstage dressing room.

  Ren sat on Yuta’s desk chair, peering into a small handheld mirror. He was a good-looking guy with a naturally friendly face, the kind that usually put people at ease. But right now, he was methodically destroying that image.

  "Hold still," Yuta said, holding a fine-tip brush dipped in a mixture of red lip liner and liquid foundation.

  "I can't believe I'm doing this," Ren muttered, trying not to move his jaw. "I'm a pacifist, Yuta. I'm a lover, not a fighter. Scaring middle school girls? This is bad karma."

  "It's not karma if it's justice," Yuta replied, his hand steady. He drew a jagged, angry-looking line down Ren’s left cheekbone. He feathered the edges with a darker shade to give it depth, making it look like a healing knife wound.

  Ren tilted his head, catching the light. "Okay, that's actually terrifying. You have a future in special effects if the chemistry thing doesn't work out."

  Ren reached into his pocket and pulled out two magnetic silver hoops. He snapped them onto his earlobes. Then, he took a tub of hair wax and began to slick his usually messy brown hair back aggressively, leaving a few sharp strands hanging over his forehead. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing his collarbone, and rolled his sleeves up past his elbows.

  The transformation was disturbing. The friendly gamer was gone; in his place sat a high school delinquent who looked like he spent his weekends getting into street brawls.

  "You're the cousin," Yuta reminded him, pulling on a dark, oversized black hoodie. He pulled the hood up, casting his face in shadow. "From the bad part of the city. You don't talk much. You just look unstable."

  "The unstable cousin. Got it," Ren sighed, inspecting his reflection. "And you?"

  Yuta didn't need makeup. He simply stopped suppressing the cold, charcoal-gray intensity of his eyes. He adopted a posture that wasn't aggressive, but predatory—still, silent, and heavy. He looked like someone who didn't need to raise his voice to be heard.

  Yuta picked up his own phone. He had already created a spoof account using a temporary number generator. He set the display name to Kenji.

  He typed the message.

  > Kenji: Hey Rika. I’ve been thinking about you. I want to talk. Meet me at the old vending machines behind the West Station in 30 minutes. Bring your friends, I’m shy.

  He hit send.

  Three seconds later, the phone buzzed.

  > Rika: Kenji-kun?! ?? Oh my god! I knew you’d text! I’m literally so close. We’ll be there! ??????

  Ren leaned over, reading the screen. He winced, actually looking pained.

  "Oh, man," Ren groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look at those hearts. She's so excited. I feel guilty already. Love has completely blinded her. She didn't even check the number?"

  "Narcissists don't check for traps," Yuta said, pocketing the phone. "They assume the world revolves around them. She thinks she won."

  "We're going to hell for this," Ren muttered, standing up and cracking his knuckles. "But if they hurt your sister... let's go be the bad guys."

  The alleyway behind the West Station was a narrow throat of concrete and brick, illuminated by a single, flickering fluorescent light that buzzed like a dying insect. The air smelled of damp cardboard and ozone. It was a place where shadows stretched long and thin, swallowing the corners.

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  Three figures stood near the graffiti-covered vending machines.

  Rika was practically vibrating with energy. She had clearly rushed to fix her hair, the silver barrette gleaming under the harsh light. She was checking her reflection in her phone screen every ten seconds, adjusting her blazer to look perfect.

  Her two friends, however, looked less enthusiastic. They were huddled close together, glancing nervously at the dark entrances of the alley.

  "Rika, are you sure this is the place?" the girl who had stepped on Hina’s hand whispered. "It's really creepy here. Why would Kenji want to meet here?"

  "Because he's shy, idiot," Rika snapped, applying a fresh coat of lip gloss. "He probably wants privacy to ask me out again. He realized his mistake with that silent freak, Hina."

  "But it's dark," the other girl whined. "And it smells like pee."

  "Shut up," Rika hissed. "He's coming. Stand up straight."

  Footsteps echoed from the far end of the alley. Heavy, deliberate steps. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

  Rika’s face lit up. She stepped forward, a winning smile plastered on her face. "Kenji-kun! I'm here—"

  The smile froze. Then, it slowly slid off her face like melting wax.

  Emerging from the shadows weren't the boyish, gentle features of Kenji.

  Two towering figures stepped into the pool of flickering light.

  On the left was a boy in a black hoodie, his face half-hidden, his eyes cold and dead like charcoal. On the right was a thug with slicked-back hair, silver piercings catching the light, and a jagged, angry scar running down his cheek.

  They were High Schoolers. To a Middle Schooler, the age gap felt like a different species. They were taller, broader, and radiated a menacing, adult aura of danger.

  Ren (The Cousin) didn't speak. He just cracked his neck, the sound echoing loudly in the confined space. He looked at the girls with a bored, dangerous expression, like a shark deciding which fish to eat first.

  Rika took a step back, her heels clicking on the pavement. "W-Who are you? Where's Kenji?"

  Yuta stepped forward. He didn't shout. His voice was terrifyingly soft, a low rumble that vibrated in the air.

  "Kenji isn't coming," Yuta said. "We invited you."

  "You..." Rika’s voice trembled. "You tricked us? That's... I'm calling the police!"

  Ren laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound. He stepped between the girls and the exit, blocking their path. "Go ahead. Call them. Tell them you're hanging out in a back alley with guys like us. I wonder what your parents will think?"

  The two lackeys were already shaking. The girl with the heavy backpack looked like she was about to vomit.

  "We... we didn't do anything!" the second girl squeaked.

  "Didn't you?" Yuta asked. He pointed a finger at her—the same finger she had used to point and laugh yesterday. "Tuesday. 3:45 PM. The school gate. You stepped on a hand. You crushed fingers."

  The color drained from their faces. They realized who he was.

  "You're... you're Hina's brother," Rika whispered, her eyes wide.

  "And I," Ren growled, stepping closer and looming over them, "am her cousin. The one who just got out of juvie. And I really, really don't like it when people touch my family."

  Ren slammed his hand against the metal vending machine. BANG!

  The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet alley. The two lackeys screamed.

  "We're sorry!" the girl with the backpack shrieked, tears instantly springing to her eyes. "We didn't mean to! It was Rika's idea! She told us to!"

  "Traitors!" Rika gasped, looking at her friends.

  Yuta turned his cold gaze to the two friends. "Get lost. Run. If I see you near Hina again, I visit your houses next."

  He didn't have to say it twice. The social hierarchy disintegrated in a split second. The bond of friendship, built on bullying and popularity, shattered under the pressure of genuine fear. The two girls bolted, scrambling past Ren, their footsteps fading rapidly into the night.

  Rika was left alone.

  The Queen Bee, stripped of her hive.

  She stood trembling in the cold wind, clutching her expensive blazer. Without her audience, without her backup, she looked incredibly small. She looked like exactly what she was: a terrified child.

  Yuta and Ren didn't touch her. They simply stood there, existing as walls of insurmountable pressure.

  "Please," Rika whimpered, her arrogance completely evaporated. "I... I was just..."

  "You were jealous," Yuta said, cutting her off. "Because you're ugly."

  Rika blinked, stunned. "W-What?"

  "Not your face," Yuta said, tapping his own temple. "Here. Inside. You're ugly. And you think making Hina miserable will fix that? It won't."

  Rika’s knees gave out. She slumped to the dirty pavement, not caring about her skirt or her stockings. She covered her face with her hands, sobbing. It wasn't a fake cry for attention this time. It was the raw cry of someone whose reality had just been shattered.

  "I'm sorry," she sobbed into her palms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Please don't hurt me."

  Yuta looked down at her. He felt no satisfaction, only a weary resolve.

  "I don't hit girls," Yuta said coldly. "But he might." He gestured to Ren.

  Ren twitched his scarred cheek, looking every bit the psychopath.

  "Listen to me, Rika," Yuta said, crouching down so he was eye-level with her, invading her personal space. "Hina is invisible to you now. You don't look at her. You don't speak to her. You don't even breathe in her direction. If she comes home with a single scratch... if her gym clothes are wet... if her shoes are dirty..."

  He let the silence hang, heavy and suffocating.

  "I promise!" Rika wailed. "I promise! I'll leave her alone! I swear!"

  Yuta stood up. He looked at Ren and gave a barely perceptible nod.

  "Go," Ren barked.

  Rika scrambled to her feet, stumbling in her heels, and ran. She ran faster than she had ever run in her life, disappearing into the darkness of the city, leaving only the sound of her sobbing echoing off the brick walls.

  The alley fell silent again. The vending machine hummed.

  Ren let out a massive, long exhale. He slumped against the wall, reaching up to peel the fake scar off his face.

  "I feel sick," Ren said, his voice returning to its normal, friendly pitch. "That was awful. Did you see her face? She was terrified."

  "Good," Yuta said, though his own hands were shaking slightly from the adrenaline. "Fear lasts longer than a lecture."

  "You owe me big time for this, Yuta," Ren said, wiping the makeup from his cheek. "I'm going to have nightmares about making a middle schooler cry."

  "I'll buy you that limited edition skin you wanted," Yuta offered.

  "Deal," Ren said instantly, his relief palpable. He wiped the last traces of the red makeup from his cheek and looked at Yuta. "So... is it over?"

  Yuta looked at the empty alley where the 'Queen' had fallen, her reign of terror dismantled in less than ten minutes.

  "In the real world? Yes," Yuta said. He looked up at the night sky, his mind naturally shifting gears. The intense, predatory darkness in his charcoal-gray eyes faded, returning to their usual calm, analytical state. He let out a breath he felt like he had been holding since yesterday afternoon.

  "You logging in tonight?" Ren asked, tossing the crumpled makeup wipe into a nearby bin.

  "Yeah," Yuta replied, a small, genuine smile finally touching his lips. "I actually miss logging in. I want to get back to my mortar and pestle. I miss brewing potions."

  Ren groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes as they stepped out of the dark alley and into the warm, orange glow of the streetlights.

  "Man, brewing is so exhausting," Ren complained, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I tried the Alchemy path once to save some copper. Half the time, the vials just violently exploded in my face. The durability hit to my armor from the acid burns wasn't even worth the money I saved. Just buy them, dude. Buying potions from the NPCs or the guild merchants is so much better. It saves so much time."

  Yuta adjusted his bag over his shoulder, his smile widening slightly at his friend's gamer logic.

  "Where is the fun in buying ready-made elixirs?" Yuta asked.

  Ren laughed, a bright, easy sound that shattered the remaining tension of the night, and fell into step beside him. "You're a weird guy, Yuta. You know that, right? Most people play VR to hit giant monsters with glowing swords or shoot fireballs."

  "When you buy a potion, you just use it. When you make it... it feels like you actually earned it." Yuta replied smoothly, looking ahead down the quiet pavement.

  "Whatever you say, Professor," Ren chuckled.

  They walked together down the quiet city street, their casual banter fading into the ambient hum of the passing cars and distant trains, leaving the dark alley—and the problems it held—far behind them.