章 27: This is not love
Shinji yelled at me.
His voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. The sting of his words lingered, but beneath the hurt was something deeper—frustration.
Was he angry? Annoyed? Why couldn't he understand? All I wanted was to make things easier for him and ease his burdens. Why didn't he see that? Why didn't he see me?
"Why? I'm just worried about you!" I blurted out, my voice trembling with all the emotions I had held back for so long. "Shinji, can't you see? Everyone cares about you! Why do you always push them away?"
The dam broke, and everything I'd been holding inside poured out. I had tried to help him, to show him he wasn't alone, but it felt like he was always a step away, retreating into his walls of isolation.
His expression faltered, a flicker of confusion passing through his eyes. He looked at me as though I had spoken a foreign language, as though he couldn't grasp the depth of my words. Maybe he really didn't understand.
"…"
He rubbed his temples, visibly trying to make sense of my emotions through logic. But that was just like him—Shinji, the stubborn, self-reliant man who fought against the world with nothing but sheer willpower. He didn't know how to let anyone in or how to feel truly.
It was maddening. And yet, I couldn't hate him for it.
"Shinji, I love you."
The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. My chest tightened as I said them, my heart racing with both fear and resolve. I had exposed everything and left myself utterly vulnerable.
But even then, he just stared at me, his brows furrowing in bewilderment. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice soft, almost disbelieving.
"Why? What is there about me for you to love, Hoshizora?" He paused, his tone tinged with self-doubt. "What have I ever done for you?"
"…"
He didn't understand. He truly didn't. It wasn't an act; he wasn't pretending to be dense—he genuinely couldn't fathom it. Something about his cluelessness made me laugh bitterly, a small, wry smile tugging at my lips. He was such an idiot.
"What have you ever done for me?" I echoed, my voice quiet but steady.
I reached up, my hand trembling as I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Slowly, deliberately, I let my bangs fall forward to obscure my eyes. My posture shifted—shoulders hunched, back slouched—as I allowed myself to slip into a version of me I had long buried.
The room seemed to grow smaller as I shrank into that old self: the insecure, weak, and insufferable girl I once was. The girl who had clung to others because she didn't believe she could stand on her own.
I hated her. I hated the fragility, the pathetic neediness. And yet, in this moment, I became her again. For him. To remind him.
His reaction was instant. His eyes widened, recognition dawning like a flash of lightning. He took a step back, his face etched with shock.
"You..." he whispered, his voice unsteady.
"That's right, Shinji," I said, my voice steady even as my heart ached. "This is the girl you saved when no one cared. You gave me a reason to live."
Tears welled in my eyes, but I didn't let them fall. Instead, I held his gaze, hoping—praying—that he would finally understand.
"This," I said, gesturing to myself, "is what you've done for me. So, don't ever say you've done nothing. Don't ever say you're not worth loving."
***
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***
"Shinji, I love you."
The confession hung in the air, heavy with emotion, spoken by the trembling voice of a young woman.
Her face, usually composed and serene, was flushed a deep, burning red, radiating an intensity I could scarcely bear to look at. Her eyes glistened, brimming with emotions so raw and unfiltered they seemed to pierce straight through me. Even her body betrayed her feelings, trembling as if caught in the throes of a maddening fever.
She confessed her love to me. Me.
It was a declaration so absurd, so far removed from anything I could have imagined, that for a moment, I wondered if it was some kind of dream—or worse, a cruel joke. Hoshizora loves me? Why?
I searched my mind, trying to find a shred of logic, some evidence to support the weight of her words. What had I done to earn this? The truth was, the time we had spent together wasn't long. We were barely more than acquaintances, forced together by circumstance rather than choice.
From my perspective—Shinji Tsugimoto's perspective—nothing in this world is ever given freely. Everything comes with a price, a transaction, and a balance to be settled.
Even something as pure as love must have a reason, a justification.
But here she was, standing before me, professing her feelings without hesitation, as if she were laying her very soul bare. It unsettled me in ways I couldn't describe.
Why would someone like her—a vibrant, compassionate person—fall for someone as cold, distant, and indifferent as me? What had I ever done to deserve even a fraction of her affection, let alone this overwhelming love she claimed to have for me?
I couldn't understand it. I couldn't deduce the logic, and couldn't find the missing pieces in this puzzle. It was like staring into a swirling abyss of emotions that defied every principle of reason I clung to.
So, I asked, my voice quiet but firm:
"Why? What is there about me for you to love, Hoshizora? What have I ever done for you?"
I needed an answer—needed to hear her explanation, to understand what she saw in me that I couldn't see in myself. Maybe if I asked outright, if I stripped it down to its barest question, she could give me clarity.
Because the truth was, no matter how much I searched, I couldn't see it. Not in her expression, not in her trembling hands, and certainly not in the person I believed I was.
"What have you ever done for me?" She asked, her voice quiet but unwavering, her gaze fixed on me with an intensity that left no room for retreat.
Her words stung, not because they were cruel but because they felt like a challenge—a demand for me to look deeper, to see what I had refused to acknowledge.
Then, she moved. Slowly, deliberately, she reached up, her hand trembling ever so slightly as she tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was intimate, almost tender, but there was something hauntingly somber about it.
Her bangs fell forward, obscuring her bright azure eyes—the eyes that always seemed to burn with determination and hope. Her posture shifted; her shoulders slumped, her back curved.
She shrank into herself, her presence dimming until she became almost unrecognizable.
Hoshizora had transformed into someone I didn't know. No, that wasn't right. I did know her.
She had become a shadow of a memory—a figure I thought I had forgotten.
She looked like a mob. A nobody. But the truth hit me like a blow to the chest: she wasn't just anyone.
She was the girl.
The one I had found locked in a sewer, surrounded by darkness and despair.
The girl I had pulled out from that wretched place. She had been trembling, terrified, as a monster loomed over her, ready to devour her whole. I had saved her then—not because I was a hero, but because I had been in the right place at the right time.
Yes, I'm no hero, only doing my job.
And now, as I looked at her, I saw her transform back into that fragile, terrified girl I had rescued. The strong, vibrant Hoshizora I knew had peeled away, revealing the vulnerable soul beneath.
"You…" The word escaped me before I could stop it—a breathless whisper of recognition.
"That's right," she said, her voice quivering but resolute. "This is the girl you saved when no one cared. You gave me a reason to live."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. My chest tightened as the memory flooded back with startling clarity—the fear in her eyes, the desperation in her voice, and the relief when I reached out to her.
"You saved my life," she said, her tone soft yet unyielding. "That's what you've done for me. So, don't ever say you've done nothing. Don't ever say you're not worth loving."
For a moment, I couldn't speak. I didn't know how to respond; I didn't know how to process the weight of what she was telling me. To her, I wasn't the distant, indifferent man I saw in the mirror.
I was something more—her hero.
This is bad.
I understand part of it now.
Yuki Hoshizora doesn't truly love me.
I couldn't ignore the thought, even as her trembling form stood before me, her face full of emotion and vulnerability. This wasn't love—not the kind I believed in, anyway. It was something else.
This was her way of coping with loneliness—a desperate grasp at something she could anchor herself to.
I know what she's been through—the bullying, the isolation, the suffocating feeling of being unwanted. Those scars don't fade easily.
I could see it clearly now: she was clinging to me like someone drowning, clutching at the first branch that appeared in their storm. And that branch, fragile and thorny as it was, just happened to be me.
But that's not right.
It's wrong—for her and for me. A love born out of dependency isn't true love. It's a fragile illusion, a temporary balm for wounds that need to heal from within. Hoshizora shouldn't mistake her longing for connection as love, and I can't accept a feeling built on such shaky ground.
"Hoshizora," I began, my voice steady but firm. "Are you sure that's love? Or is it because you don't have anyone else but me?"
The words cut through the air, harsher than I intended. I needed her to understand. To step back and see the truth of what she was feeling—not just for my sake, but for hers.
I looked at her seriously, holding her gaze, hoping my words would reach her. This wasn't easy to say, but it was the truth. I didn't want her to build her world around a misguided notion.
"What you're feeling," I continued, trying to soften my tone. "It's not love, Hoshizora. It's a reaction to pain, to fear. It's the same as..."
I hesitated, feeling the weight of the comparison I was about to make.
"It's the same as the way I sometimes feel. Those urges—they don't come from love. They come from emotion, from instinct. Not from Will. Not from intention."
I wanted her to understand that neither of us was in the right state of mind to call what we felt love. What she mistook for love was just as flawed as my own lustful desires—both born from fleeting feelings, not something deeper or more genuine.
But even as I spoke, even as I laid my thoughts bare, I saw no change in her expression. No flicker of realization or understanding.
Her eyes stayed locked on mine, unyielding, unwavering. Her emotions didn't waver, didn't falter.
She didn't flinch. She didn't run.
Instead, she stood there, firm in her resolve, as if every word I said had bounced off her. As if she were refusing to let go of what she believed.
The air between us grew heavier, thick with something I couldn't quite name.
Hoshizora's eyes didn't look away. Instead, they were locked directly on me, intense and predatory.
Her gaze seemed to pierce through me, pulling at something deep inside of me, something I couldn't control.
A twisted smile curled at her lips, a smile that felt unnatural, like something was wrong—something far darker than what I had imagined.
This isn't right.
My instincts flared with an immediate sense of danger, yet my body, frozen in place, refused to move.
There was something almost hypnotic about the way she looked at me, as if I were under the influence of some invisible force.
My body, standing upright with unnatural tension, betrayed me. I wanted to step back, wanted to escape this feeling clawing at me, but I couldn't.
Close your eyes and step back. Do it, Shinji, do it right now.
Every fiber of my being screamed for me to escape, to act before it was too late. But I couldn't.
I felt trapped—imprisoned by something I didn't fully understand. The weight of her gaze, the heat of the moment, paralyzed me.
"Shinji, look at me," she said, her voice wild, her tone laced with something desperate, something dangerous.
I tried to shake off the fog clouding my mind, trying to make sense of what was happening, but before I could, she moved closer.
And that was when I realized—everything had changed. I couldn't predict her next move. This girl—this woman—was no longer someone I knew.
I felt the shift, the cold pressure in my chest, as if something had broken, as if the world was suddenly unrecognizable. My heart hammered in my chest, but my body refused to follow the commands of my mind.
Then... she began undressing herself, showing me her soaking white lace panties and her huge breasts being smothered by the bra.
But worse, she undressed her underwear too.
I saw her bare breast and vagina.
The world seemed to slow, my breath caught in my throat. I couldn't tear my eyes away, but I hated myself for it.
This wasn't the connection I wanted, not the love I thought she had for me. It was something else. Something darker.
What is she doing?
I wanted to stop her. I wanted to shout, to demand that she snap out of it, but I couldn't speak. The confusion, the fear, the heat—it all tangled together, leaving me paralyzed.
My mind screamed for control, but my body—my traitorous body—couldn't stop reacting. Every step she took, every movement she made, drew me deeper into this mess I didn't know how to escape.
At that moment, my body no longer followed my will. My reptilian brain had overtaken my human instincts. My eyes, they kept staring at her, not moving even an inch.
She kept coming closer, closer, very close. Then, well, she placed her slender hand on my flushed face.
"Hoshizora...?" Paralyzed, I couldn't do anything but utter her name.
Seeing me in this pitiful state, she licked her lips and smiled. I began to understand what she wanted to do.
No, no, no, stop. Once you do this, there's no going back. We won't be able to pretend this never happened if you keep going like this.
I wanted to pretend this never happened, to keep our relationship as nothing more than siblings, but Hoshizora didn't. She wanted to go further.
"I told you to call me Yuki." She used force, pulling me closer and pressing her lewd and lusty body against mine.
It was so warm, so soft...
So fragrant...
So pleasurable...
Immediately, an intense sensation of pleasure surged into my mind. That power burned, destroying every moral boundary, every logical reasoning, every chain holding my body back, and turning my mind into a sea of white emotions.
And in that moment, I realized just how fragile my resolve truly was.
I gave up.
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