Chapter 2
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Chapter 2: Listen Well To What Your Master Says
Something soft seemed to gently encircle her waist, staying perfectly still.
Wait—?!??!!!
Shimizu Sakuya suddenly opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was the ornate chandelier on the ceiling, its lacquered arms reflecting the cold, silvery moonlight streaming in from the balcony.
This was… Ayase Aoi’s home. The hand resting on her waist belonged to Aoi. Sakuya let out a quiet sigh of relief and carefully extricated herself from her embrace, sitting up on the bed as she began to piece together her memories.
What had happened before this? Oh, right—she had stumbled upon Saori and Yuki’s confession scene, then the plot skipped ahead. So now, this must be the “Canary’s Death – Aoi Route” ending, right?
The second year of their pillow business arrangement, the day after reuniting with Amami Saori in Tokyo.
Shimizu Sakuya picked up her phone from the bedside table and checked the date again—September 14, 2026, 12:13 AM. Just as she thought.
She rolled off the bed, picked up the slightly wrinkled shirt scattered on the floor, and put it on.
Not wearing anything still feels a little hard to get used to.
Just as she fastened the last button, her darkened phone screen suddenly lit up. Shimizu Sakuya picked it up—a message from Amami Saori:
[Are you asleep? Can we talk?]
Shimizu Sakuya froze for a brief moment, then glanced at Ayase Aoi, who was still peacefully asleep on the bed.
Her smooth, purple hair covered the side of her face, and her body was curled into a tight ball, as if she were a pitiful, abandoned stray puppy, desperately lacking a sense of security.
The neatly tucked blanket had somehow slipped down to her waist, barely covering her abdomen, exposing large patches of pale skin that blended with the moonlight, along with some obvious, pinkish marks of intimacy.
An indescribable feeling welled up in Sakuya’s chest—was it bitterness? No. Heartache? Not that either.
After hesitating for a moment, she finally pulled the blanket back over Aoi, then tiptoed out to the balcony.
The moon hung high in the sky, unusually round and bright tonight, unlike its usual self. Together with the never-extinguished city lights, it illuminated Tokyo’s steel forest as brightly as day.
This mood and scenery are perfect for a cigarette, Sakuya mused. But then, another message arrived:
[You really are asleep, huh? Sorry for bothering you. Good night.]
Sakuya: I’m awake. What is it, Amami-san?
Saori: Can I call you now?
Sakuya: Sure.
The moment her LINE reply was marked as “read,” Amami Saori’s call came through. Sakuya glanced at the still-sleeping Aoi, quietly closed the balcony’s glass door, and answered.
“Good evening, Sakuya,” Saori’s gentle, clear voice came through the phone.
“Good evening, Amami-san.”
There was a brief silence before Saori broached the forbidden topic. “Last time, we didn’t get to talk much… I wanted to ask—are you still angry with me?”
“No.”
“That’s a relief. After our fight back then, I looked for you everywhere at school but couldn’t find you. You didn’t answer my calls or messages either. Futaba-sensei said you went home sick.
Then, a whole week passed without any sign of you, and the next thing I knew, you’d transferred abroad.
What I wanted to say was… Sakuya, you’ve always been my best friend. That hasn’t changed.”
“I’m sorry. It was my fault. Back then, I couldn’t accept the idea of girls loving girls.”
“No, no, Sakuya, you don’t have to apologize. It was my problem—I didn’t consider how you felt being caught in the middle. I didn’t realize you hated that kind of thing.”
“No more apologies. The me right now respects everyone’s choices. Girls loving girls is normal too.”
Saori finally let out a relieved sigh, her tone lightening. “By the way, Sakuya, do you remember why we formed the light music club?”
Sakuya held her phone, recalling that warm spring day—Yuki standing confidently at the front of the clubroom, hands planted on the table as she boldly declared,
“We’re going to form the greatest band in the world.”
Sakuya repeated the answer from her memories.
“I can’t believe you still remember,” Saori said, sounding surprised. “Next weekend, we’re holding a concert. It’s… pretty amateur, but would you like to come?
Of course, I know you’re a popular idol now. If you’re too busy or don’t want the hassle, it’s fine if you don’t come.”
“It’s fine. I’ll be there. After all, we used to be best friends.”
After a few more perfunctory pleasantries, Shimizu Sakuya hung up. Leaning against the balcony railing, she listened to the distant car horns and let the night wind brush against her cheeks.
Suddenly, something soft and fragrant pressed against her back, and two arms wrapped firmly around her slender waist from behind. A chin rested gently on her shoulder.
Being held so intimately like this could easily make one feel protected, cherished.
“What are you looking at?” Ayase Aoi’s voice whispered in her ear, a warm breath tickling her earlobe.
“The moon. The moonlight is beautiful tonight.” Sakuya explained while pulling herself free from the embrace.
“I love—”
Aoi’s red pupils dilated in surprise for a split second before shrinking back in disappointment.
Ah… She was just talking about the moonlight.
Of course. How could it be anything else? The way Sakuya was pushing her away already gave her the answer.
“Liar…”
Shimizu Sakuya was a born liar. Her claim of hating girls loving girls was a lie—she didn’t hate Saori loving their friend. She hated that Saori didn’t love her.
Shimizu Sakuya was the coward who fell in love with her childhood friend but didn’t dare admit it to the world.
Look—who was the one who ran away with her tail between her legs back then?
“Hm? What?” Shimizu Sakuya leaned closer.
“The moonlight really is beautiful,” Aoi said, staring at her. Those deep blue eyes were cold, distant. Then she looked up at the starry night sky.
The moon was bright. The stars were dim. They were nothing alike.
She wondered—what kind of emotions had the first person to compare eyes to stars felt when they saw the starlight in someone’s gaze?
Aoi didn’t know. She stood close to Shimizu Sakuya, yet between them stretched an endless, insurmountable galaxy.
Resting her arms on the balcony railing, she silently watched the neon lights and car streams flow like an urban river beneath the towering skyscrapers.
The desolate night breeze gently played with her bangs. It was as if she had already shattered into fragments, dissolving into the heartbroken Milky Way.
Once, a fan had gifted her a pot of sunflowers. Due to work, she had no time to care for them, so she left them on the shaded side of her father’s balcony.
Occasionally, Aoi would remember them—those clumsy, foolish sunflowers, their leaves drooping weakly from lack of sunlight.
They lived their whole lives chasing the sun, yet even as their flowers withered, they never received a single glance of favor from it.
Was there even the slightest chance that one day, their god—their sun—might cast even a billionth of its gaze upon them?
Even if it was just out of pity.
So she broke the silence. “Father wants to see you next weekend.”
“I have plans. Next time.” Shimizu Sakuya’s brows furrowed slightly. Her gaze turned sharp, as if interrogating a criminal. “You said this business relationship wouldn’t spill into our personal lives. I won’t agree to whatever your father wants.”
With that, she turned to leave the balcony. After all, Aoi’s yakuza boss father was no good man. After failing to “fix” Aoi’s sexuality, he had decided to involve Sakuya in a same-sex surrogacy project—to bear Aoi’s daughter.
“This time, it’s not that. Father just wants me to—” Aoi grabbed Sakuya’s sleeve, flustered.
“Enough.” Sakuya forcefully shook her off and pushed open the glass door. “Whatever it is, I won’t agree. Outside this house, we have no relationship.”
Aoi’s hands clenched, her nails digging crescent marks into her palms, nearly piercing the skin.
She had overheard their conversation. Maybe she had gambled—hoping Sakuya would soften, even beg her a little. Just a little. She didn’t understand why the rejection had to be so absolute.
Why?
Why could someone who hadn’t seen her in nine years so easily steal her away?
Why did Saori always get to monopolize all her affection? Why wouldn’t she ever look at her? Why? Why?! What did she lack compared to Saori?!
At that moment, she remembered something her father once told her about the Bubble Era.
He had sat cross-legged on the tatami, meticulously cleaning his sword with a white cloth as he lectured her.
“Back then, I loved fooling around with my underlings—singing karaoke till dawn, driving to faraway places. But then one of them betrayed me. So I chopped off three of his fingers. After that, he never dared say ‘no’ to me again.”
“People are like dogs. If you don’t beat them until they’re in agony, they’ll never learn the meaning of loyalty.”
If she couldn’t be her lover, then she would brand her as her own. Become her master. The master of a dog. Someone who could never be betrayed.
Finally, she understood.
The gloom and despair on her face vanished, replaced by a meaningful smile. Her red eyes burned with desire—and control.
“You’re right. In this house, I am your master.”
Under Sakuya’s stunned gaze, Aoi grabbed her collar and yanked her close.
“Listen well to what your master says.”
Then, as if venting her anger, she kissed her. There was no tenderness in it.
Like an enraged cub, she bit down recklessly. The metallic tang of blood spread between their lips—she had bitten through Sakuya’s upper lip at some point.
With a wet sound, their lips parted, a silver thread snapping between them.
Finally releasing Sakuya, Aoi licked the remnants from her lips, then gripped her chin. Under the cold moonlight, she watched as Sakuya’s blue eyes darkened with muddled desire, as her beautiful face twisted in pain, as crimson blood slowly welled from her cherry-red lips.
“I said—you are not going to see her.”
She enunciated each word, her voice low and dripping with unspoken threat.
Shimizu Sakuya coughed in pain, but before she could speak, Aoi sealed her lips again.
“Kiss me.”
In the end, she chose to become just like her father.
…
“Hold me.”
…
“Love me.”
…
