17th November 2049

  She was fucking dead. Dead.

  I saw her heart stop, her cursed energy flicker out.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  I’ve never felt fear like it.

  What the fuck does that say about me? I’m supposed to hate her, right?

  Yet all I want to do is hold her close, inhale her scent—that intoxicating shampoo she uses. Coconut and lychee.

  And now all the blood has rushed to my cock. Fuck.

  —Recovered journal entry of Satoshi Gojo