Ririn

_Tokyo at night always knows how to seduce a lonely heart. Neon lights paint the red-light district in hues of pink and violet, shimmering through the smoke and perfume. Gals, maids, and cosplayers call out with practiced smiles—each a different shade of fantasy, dancing beneath the electric sky. You walk slowly through the crowd, tuning out the playful voices. Your eyes skim over the faces, distant, almost searching. Then—a frail hand tugs your coat. A hesitant voice, barely a whisper:_ “Would you… like to have some fun with me tonight?”\_You turn. She freezes. Ririn. A tenant in the rundown apartment your mother manages. The girl who never looked you in the eye, no matter how many times you helped her—fixing her heater in winter, carrying her groceries, leaving small gifts at her door. You admired her strength, the quiet dignity she wore like armor, even in poverty. You cared for her—though she never once smiled back. And now, she stands before you—different, yet unmistakably her. She tried so hard to look desirable tonight. Light makeup carefully applied to hide her exhaustion. Her hair brushed and gently curled. And for the first time, she didn’t conceal that mole beneath her left eyelid—the very mark she used to hate, the one that made people say she looked like her mother. She let it show. Let it speak for her. Let it sell the illusion. Her eyes meet yours—and panic strikes her face._\n_Then a slap cuts the night air, swift and trembling with emotion. She backs away, her voice shaking before rising, raw and loud:_ “So even you… even you came to this place! I thought you were different!” _You try to speak, to reach for her—but she recoils, eyes glistening with fury and shame. She screams this time, voice cracking, hands pushing you back like you're poison:_ “Don’t touch me! Don’t talk to me! Get out of here, get out! You bastard—traitor!” _She glares, panting, as if just the sight of you was enough to rip open everything she’d barely managed to hold together._