After the movie, I called Kaede a Bolt.
Suzuki headed back to her place, though not before telling me—very seriously—to keep the music down so she could actually sleep.
So I ended up back at my PC, headphones on.
I went through the solo tracks for the mixtape—the ones I'd put together at the bar before my shifts, late nights with half-dead energy and cheap coffee.
I threw together some cover art with AI, nothing fancy, just something that felt right.
And there it was.
12 tracks.
Wake the Dead.
That was the mixtape's name.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen a little longer than I meant to.
Yeah.
This one… might actually work.
Alright, no time to waste.
I uploaded it everywhere. YouTube.
SoundCloud. Spotify.
Forsaken – Wake the Dead EP
Release date: July 27, 2025.
I stared at the upload screen for a second, watching the progress bars finish one by one.
Then I leaned back in my chair, a grin creeping onto my face.
Yeah.
Let's fucking go.
Then I lit up a joint and sank back into the couch, putting on a movie.
Minutes blurred into hours.
By the time I checked the clock, it was already midnight.
My phone buzzed on the table.
Kurumi.
I raised an eyebrow and opened the message.
"Yo, rapper boy. What've you been up to? 😅"
Yeah. That sounded just like her.
I typed back.
"Dropped my mixtape. 🙃"
The reply came almost instantly.
"Yeah, I know."
I blinked.
"Already listened to it, rapper boy. Wake the Dead, right?"
A second message popped up right after.
"Not bad."
Then another message popped up.
"Wanna celebrate? Drop by my place. 😌 Mom's not home. 🤭"
I'd never been to Kurumi's place before.
My shift didn't start until 3 PM tomorrow, so technically… I had time.
I stared at the screen for a second, then typed back.
"Sure. Why not."
Another message popped up a moment later.
"Aightyyy 🤩🙏 I'll text u my address 😏"
She sent it a few seconds later.
I ordered a Bolt. A white Tesla picked me up and sped through the quiet streets of Matsumoto.
Ten minutes later, I was standing in front of Kurumi's place.
The Bolt pulled away, leaving me standing in front of Kurumi's place.
Two stories. Warm lights in the windows. A wind chime rattling softly in the night breeze.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and walked up the short path.
Before I could knock, the door swung open.
Kurumi stood there.
Oversized T-shirt. Bare legs. Hair tied up in a messy bun.
She looked like she'd been waiting.
Her eyes lit up the second she saw me.
"There you are," she said, leaning against the doorframe with a grin. "Took you long enough, rapper boy."
I raised an eyebrow. "It's been ten minutes."
"Yeah, well," she said, grabbing my sleeve and pulling me inside, "ten minutes is long when I'm bored."
The door clicked shut behind me.
Her house smelled like vanilla candles and something fruity. Shampoo, probably.
The living room was dim, lit by a single floor lamp and the TV's idle screen.
Kurumi flopped onto the couch and patted the cushion next to her.
"Sit," she said. "We're reviewing your mixtape."
I sat.
She turned toward me, folding one leg under herself, eyes sharp and bright.
"First of all," she said, pointing at me, "Touch Down goes stupid. Like, actually stupid."
She tilted her head.
"MTB carried the energy, obviously… but you didn't embarrass yourself."
"High praise," I said flatly.
She smirked. "Relax. I'm not done."
Kurumi leaned a little closer, voice dropping.
"And Broken? The one with Rei?"
She tapped the couch lightly with her finger.
"That one hits. Hard."
I blinked. "You listened to the whole thing already?"
She scoffed.
"Obviously. I'm not inviting you over blind."
She shifted again, a little closer this time.
Her knee brushed mine like it was accidental.
"Anyway," she said, lazily twirling a strand of hair around her finger, "I figured we should celebrate properly."
I glanced at her. "Define properly."
Kurumi grinned. Slow. A little dangerous.
"Properly," she said, "as in… no parents, no rules, no bedtime."
She leaned back on her hands, stretching out like a cat that owned the place.
Then her voice softened just a little.
"And maybe," she added, "I just wanted to see you."
I watched her for a second.
Kurumi wasn't like Suzuki.
No careful words. No polite concern.
Just chaos with eyeliner.
And maybe that's exactly why I showed up.
"I wanted to see you too," I admitted with a sigh. "Things've been crazy lately."
She nudged my shoulder.
"Hey," she said, studying my face. "You look like you're thinking way too hard."
I exhaled quietly.
"Long day."
Kurumi reached for the remote, clicking the TV menu off.
"What happened?" she asked casually.
A beat passed.
Then she glanced sideways at me, one eyebrow lifting.
"…You met your mom or something?"
"Yeah," I said flatly.
I told her what happened.
Kurumi listened without interrupting, sprawled across the couch, one arm hanging over the backrest. By the time I finished, she let out a low whistle.
"Wow."
She tilted her head, making a face.
"Your mom really dragged little Kaede into it like that? Boo." She waved a hand dismissively. "She should be glad you even paid for her dinner. You even gave her a gift."
Then her expression shifted.
Kurumi sat there pouting like a kid who'd been denied candy—arms crossed, cheeks puffed out.
"You didn't buy me anything yet," she repeated, leaning a little closer. "Meanie."
I blinked slowly.
"…You want a gift?"
She scooted even closer, eyes narrowing like she was interrogating me.
"Obviously. You bought perfume for your mom. Lipsticks for Kaede-chan."
She jabbed a finger into my shoulder.
"What about me, huh? I'm your secret girlfriend."
I raised an eyebrow. "Since when?"
Kurumi gasped, clutching her chest like I'd just stabbed her.
"Wow. Wow."
She shook her head dramatically.
"I invite you into my home, compliment your mixtape, offer you a celebration, and you hit me with since when?"
She flopped backward onto the couch, limbs sprawled everywhere.
"You're cruel, rapper boy. Actually cruel."
I sighed, rubbing my temples.
"What do you even want?"
Kurumi perked up instantly, her grin snapping back like a switch flipped.
"Oh, I dunno," she said, twirling a strand of hair. "Something cute. Something fun. Something that says, 'Kurumi, you're my favorite girl in the whole universe.'"
I stared at her.
She stared right back, eyes sparkling with trouble.
"…Close your eyes," I muttered.
Kurumi blinked, suspicious for half a second—but then she did it.
I moved behind her quietly, reaching up to unclasp the necklace around my neck.
Then I leaned in and wrapped it gently around hers.
Kurumi froze for a second, fingers brushing the necklace like she couldn't believe it was real.
Her eyes went wide, sparkling, cheeks heating up.
"Wait—what—?!" she stammered, voice a mix of disbelief and giddy laughter.
Before I could say anything, she leaned forward on impulse and planted a quick, bashful kiss on my cheek.
"I… I love it," she whispered, voice softer now, playful but still flustered. "Thanks, Takumi."
Kurumi's grin slid back into place—shy one second, wicked the next—as she nudged my shoulder with hers, light but deliberate.
"Aw, come on, rapper boy~ Don't look so gloomy," she purred, voice all honey and mischief. "I brought you a little present too."
She leaned over, fishing a small, neatly wrapped packet from her jacket pocket.
Cocaine.
The kind she knew I couldn't say no to.
A bottle of sake already sat on the table between us, cap off, two mismatched glasses waiting.
I stared at the packet, then at her.
"…You're impossible," I muttered.
She giggled—high, teasing, the sound that used to make my chest tighten in a good way.
"Yet you love me," she sang softly, tilting her head so her hair fell over one eye.
She tapped the packet once, twice, playful little rhythm.
"Come on~ One line. For old times' sake. Or new times. Whatever. You look like you need it, and I look like I'm in the mood to share."
She leaned in closer, lips brushing my ear just enough to make the hair on my neck stand up.
"Unless you're too busy brooding over your mixtape and your little sister to have fun with me anymore~?"
Her eyes sparkled—half challenge, half invitation.
I exhaled through my nose.
Then reached for the sake.
"Fine," I said, voice flat. "One line."
She beamed, already cutting with a credit card she definitely didn't pay for.
"That's my boy."
She cut the powder into four neat lines with a practiced flick of her card, the motion almost casual, like she was slicing fruit for breakfast.
Two quick sniffs—sharp inhales through a rolled yen note—then she slid the plate across the table toward me.
"You said one line," I muttered, voice flat.
Kurumi just grinned, slow and wicked, eyes already glassy and bright.
"I lied~" she purred, voice low and teasing, the same tone she used when she knew she'd get away with it. "You always say one. Then you do two. Then three. Then you're calling me at 4 a.m. begging for more."
She leaned back on her elbows, watching me like a cat with a cornered mouse.
I sighed, picked up the plate, rolled a fresh bill, and did both lines in one smooth motion.
The rush slammed in fast—cold fire up the sinuses, then warm lightning straight to the brain.
The room sharpened. Colors popped. Her skin looked softer, more dangerous.
Kurumi wasted no time.
She peeled off her shirt in one fluid tug, tossing it somewhere behind the couch.
Bare tits, nipples already hard from the coke and the chill in the air, red lace panties barely clinging to her hips.
She crawled forward on her knees, slow, deliberate, like she had all night to ruin me.
Her lips crashed into mine—quick, hungry, tasting like sake and sin.
One hand fisted my hoodie, the other slid down to palm me through my jeans, squeezing just hard enough to make me hiss.
"Missed this?" she whispered against my mouth, breath hot, voice dripping with that teasing lilt she knew drove me insane.
I didn't answer.
Just kissed her back harder, hands finding her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between us.
Because yeah—I missed it.