The days blurred together, each one heavier than the last. Aika tried to follow Inspector Nakamura's advice, changing her routine and avoiding familiar places, but it was exhausting. She felt like a ghost in her own life, constantly looking over her shoulder, jumping at every sound. The coffee shop, once her sanctuary, now felt like a prison. Even her coworkers noticed the change in her, though no one dared to ask.
Yumi, meanwhile, was relentless. She spent every spare moment digging deeper into Ryohta's life, determined to find something—anything—that could stop him. She uncovered more of his online activity, including cryptic posts about "claiming what's mine" and "eliminating obstacles." But without concrete evidence, it was all just words.
One evening, as Aika was closing up the shop, she noticed a man standing across the street. He was tall, with a hood pulled low over his face, but she recognized the way he stood—the way he watched her. It was Ryohta.
Her heart raced as she locked the door, her hands trembling so badly she could barely turn the key. She glanced over her shoulder, but he was gone. The street was empty, the only sound the distant hum of traffic.
Aika hurried toward the train station, her footsteps echoing in the quiet night. She felt exposed, vulnerable, as if the shadows themselves were closing in around her. She reached the station and boarded the train, her eyes scanning the other passengers for any sign of Ryohta. But he was nowhere to be seen.
When she arrived home, her apartment felt colder than usual. She double-checked the locks and drew the curtains, but the sense of unease lingered. As she sat down on the couch, her phone buzzed. It was another message from the unknown number: "You can't hide from me, Aika. I'm always watching."
She threw her phone across the room, the screen shattering against the wall. Tears streamed down her face as she buried her head in her hands. She couldn't take it anymore—the fear, the paranoia, the constant feeling of being watched. She was at her breaking point.
The next morning, Aika called Yumi. "I can't do this anymore," she said, her voice trembling. "I need to end this. I need to confront him."
Yumi hesitated. "Aika, that's exactly what he wants. He's trying to push you to the edge. Don't give him that power."
"But what else can I do?" Aika cried. "The police won't help, and I can't keep living like this. I feel like I'm losing my mind."
Yumi sighed. "Let me think about it. There has to be another way."
But Aika wasn't sure she could wait. The fear was consuming her, eating away at her sanity. She needed to do something—anything—to take back control.
That evening, as she walked home from work, she felt it again—the prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She turned slowly, her heart pounding, and there he was. Ryohta stood at the end of the street, his hood pulled low, his hands in his pockets. He didn't move, didn't speak, but his presence was enough to send a wave of terror through her.
Aika's breath came in short, panicked gasps as she turned and ran. She didn't look back, didn't stop until she reached her apartment. She slammed the door shut and locked it, her hands shaking so badly she could barely turn the key.
As she slid to the floor, tears streaming down her face, she realized she couldn't keep running. Ryohta wasn't going to stop. He was always going to be there, in the shadows, waiting.