While Aika was building her new life, Ryohta Kimura sat in his prison cell, the walls closing in around him. The trial had been a blur, a whirlwind of accusations and evidence that left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. He had always been the one in control, the one watching from the shadows. But now, he was the one being watched.
The days in prison were monotonous, each one blending into the next. Ryohta spent his time replaying the events that had led him here, his mind a maze of obsession and regret. He thought about Aika, about the way she had looked at him in the courtroom—not with fear, but with determination. She had faced him, and she had won.
It infuriated him.
He had always believed that Aika was his, that she was the one person who could understand him, who could fill the void left by his tragic past. But she had rejected him, had turned his obsession into a weapon against him. And now, she was out there, living her life, while he was trapped in this cell.
One evening, as the prison lights dimmed and the other inmates settled into their routines, Ryohta sat on his bunk, a small notebook in his hands. He had been writing in it for weeks, filling the pages with his thoughts, his plans, his fantasies. It was the only thing that kept him sane.
He flipped through the pages, his eyes lingering on a sketch he had drawn of Aika. It was crude, but it captured her essence—the way she smiled, the way she moved. He traced the lines with his finger, his mind drifting back to the days when he had watched her from the shadows, unseen and unknown.
But now, he was the one in the shadows, and the thought filled him with a burning rage. He couldn't let her go. He wouldn't.