Chapter 0

Rain lashed Kaito Nakamura's dorm window in relentless sheets, a cold, gray smear blurring the world beyond into nothing. The storm's howl matched the restless churn in his chest—a dull ache he'd ignored for weeks, now sharpening into something jagged and alive.

His room, a cluttered cave of code and flickering screens, felt suffocating tonight, the air thick with damp and the faint tang of stale energy drinks. Shadows clung to the walls, broken only by the desk lamp's weak, stuttering glow, casting jagged edges over the mess: crumpled cans, a notebook with torn pages, his wire-rimmed glasses abandoned in a sticky puddle.

Kaito slouched in his creaking chair, wiry frame hunched, black hair falling in greasy strands across his bloodshot eyes. His fingers—nails chewed raw—twitched over his laptop, leaving faint streaks on the keys. He hadn't slept in days, hadn't eaten since yesterday, hadn't cared to flip on the overhead light. The screen's blue glare was his anchor, a lifeline he'd clung to through another sleepless night—until it dragged him somewhere he couldn't unsee.

It started innocently enough—a mindless scroll through the web's shadier corners, chasing noise to drown out the static in his skull. Then he found it: a link buried in a sketchy forum, no title, just a thumbnail that snagged his breath like a hook. His pulse kicked up, a warning he brushed aside. He clicked, and the screen flooded with images that hit like a punch to the gut.

Photos—gritty, unpolished, too real. Aiko—his Aiko—her face smudged into a hazy blur, but her body unmistakable. One shot: her thighs parted, hips rolling atop a stranger, her curves slick with sweat, dark hair spilling wild. Another: her on her knees, lips wrapped around someone else, head tilted with a rhythm that knew no shame. A third: bent over, skirt hiked up, hands gripping her hips as she arched into it—raw, reckless, lost in it.

Kaito's stomach twisted, a sour heat crawling up his throat. He scrolled—more shots, more angles, each one a blade sinking deeper. Her face stayed obscured, but the details screamed her name: the mole on her thigh he'd once kissed, the sway of her frame he'd memorized in stolen, trembling moments. It was her. No denying it.

His fists clenched, knuckles whitening, the rain's roar fading behind the thud of his own blood. He'd suspected for months—her late nights, her excuses, the lipstick stains she laughed off. Aiko, with her teasing smile and honeyed voice, had always been too bright, too perfect for a guy like him—awkward, quiet, the nerd who hid behind code and hunched shoulders. She'd picked him anyway, or so he'd thought, and he'd been too grateful to question it. Too pathetic.

He'd ignored the signs—the canceled plans, the rumors snaking through campus. "She's wild," a jock had smirked once, loud enough to carry. "Keeps that loser around for laughs." Kaito had buried his face in his hoodie, pretending not to hear, convincing himself she came back to him because he mattered.

Two weeks ago, she'd curled up in his bed, giggling at some dumb movie, her fingers tracing his, her warmth pressed against him. "You're the best, Kaito," she'd murmured, clipping that cheap cat keychain he'd bought her onto her bag—her lips brushing his cheek, her scent drowning him. He'd believed her.

Now these pics shredded that lie. She wasn't just cheating—she was reveling in it, a stranger's hands claiming what he'd thought was his. His chest burned, a hollow ache he couldn't shake. He didn't close the tab—just stared, breath shallow, hands trembling on the desk.

He wouldn't call her out. He never did. She'd smirk, dodge, and he'd swallow it like always. "Why?" he muttered, voice hoarse, lost in the storm's din. Why him? Why her? The questions stung, but answers wouldn't fix this.

Then—a sharp ping. The screen flared, a crimson popup slicing through the filth—bold, pulsing text on a black void: "Is she cheating on you?" Kaito froze, pulse spiking. His finger hovered, shaky, over the trackpad. He clicked "Yes," the motion automatic, inevitable.

"Do you feel betrayed?" it demanded next. Betrayed? He was gutted—humiliated, a fool who'd worshipped her scraps. Another "Yes," his breath hitching.

"Do you want her to suffer?" The question sank in, cold and heavy. Suffer? Aiko—his Aiko—her laugh echoing, now twisted with these images, her mocking him with every frame. Anger flared, sharp and unfamiliar. He wasn't this person—spiteful, dark—but he was done being her doormat.

He clicked "Yes." The screen crackled, static biting the air. Red text blazed: "Activate Revenge NTR System Beta?" Two buttons—red "Yes," gray "No"—stared back, daring him. Revenge? On her? It was wild, twisted—but it sparked something in him, a hunger he didn't recognize.

The rain thundered, his room a wreck of shadows and shattered trust. His finger trembled over "Yes." She'd never know he'd seen this. She'd keep playing him—unless he played back. He clicked. The screen went black, a low, distorted voice rasping:

"System initializing… Condition: You cannot break up with her." The words locked in, a chill threading through him. The air hummed, alive with something dark, something waiting.