Mr. Lee's hands fumbled with his belt, his focus elsewhere, the car humming beneath them. In his mind, he was already steps ahead, oblivious to everything but his own twisted plan.
Unseen by him, Pondaru's eyes flickered—red, green, yellow—like some chaotic disco spinning behind his skull. The subtle shift went unnoticed, until…
"Heh… heh… heh… hahahaha…" A laugh slithered out of pondaru, low and drawn, curling at the edges. It was the laugh he'd used before—but twisted, wrong, grotesquely warped from his usual girlishly cute tone. This one was deep, as far down as his voice could go, dripping with cruel delight.
"Huh… how the hell are you awa—"
Pondaru's hand shot upward in a sharp, unnatural arc. Before Mr. Lee could react, a fist slammed into his face, a stinging uppercut.
"Shut your damn mouth! Did I ask you to speak, you goddamn peasant?"
"Ughk!… M-my nose… you little—" Mr. Lee choked, gasping for air, the unexpected force of Pondaru's small body sending him reeling. He stumbled backward, trying to regain his balance, but his mind was still half-caught in shock.
Before he could react further, Pondaru moved. In an instant, he ducked low, a blur of motion, sliding across the cabin floor with unnatural speed. Mr. Lee's eyes widened, realizing too late that his prey was no longer where he thought.
Pondaru's small hands shot out, fingers curling around the belt of Mr. Lee's fallen pants. The movement was fluid, almost sickeningly precise, each motion calculated. He tugged, and the belt became a leash, looping tight around Mr. Lee's neck and the back of his seat. The leather bit into him, forcing a strangled gasp from his throat.
"Ggkkguk—"
Pondaru didn't pause. With a terrifying grace, he pulled himself upward, crawling along the belt with a predator's ease.
Within heartbeats, he was in Mr. Lee's lap, his weight deceptively light but impossibly strong. He pinned Mr. Lee down effortlessly, pressing him back into the seat, the chaotic flash in his eyes promising that any attempt to fight would be met with immediate, brutal retaliation.
"You didn't pay us anything, you dirty old dick," Pondaru purred, his voice playful, almost flirtatious, as if he were both enjoying this and absurdly offended by Mr. Lee's insolence in withholding a final payment. "Don't even think for a second you can touch a Chi Corp product model without payment."
Mr. Lee's eyes went wide, his breath catching in his throat. "Wait—you're a Chi—"
Pondaru tightened the belt, cutting him off.
"The fuck did I say, shrimp dick!" His eyes danced again—blue with a green bar—then settled into a bizarre yellow glow, shifting like a living mood ring. They flicked rapidly across Mr. Lee's face and hands, taking in every twitch, every tell, as if measuring him, cataloging him.
"Holy shit," his body whispered, that same teasing tone lacing the words. "Your 'fuckin' crazy old man, ha! You actually told that little twerp your real name… James Charles Lee. Guess he's gotta start keeping track of people with three first names now, huh? Naughty, naughty…"
"C-come on… I-I was j-just—joking… I-I didn't mean… I-I really didn't want to—"
Pondarus' face hardened. "What a funny fuckin' prank," he said, his hands tightening around the belt.
"P-Pondaru… p-please…" he whispered desperately, eyes locked on Pondaru's.
"The name's not Pondaru… it's—" He paused, as if something caught in his throat. Then he smiled, a slow, cruel curve of his lips. "...Heh. No point." His eyes flickered, a living spectrum of color. "You won't be able to remember it anyway."
The belt tightened.
Mr. Lee's hands shot up instinctively, clawing at the leather pressing into his throat. A strangled sound escaped—"gghhh… uhhk…"—raw and desperate. His heels scraped uselessly against the floor, catching on the pants pooled around them—the ones he'd dropped, revealing what he had meant to do while Pondaru was unconscious.
Each shallow, uneven breath rattled through him, his body twisting and writhing against the impossible grip. Every futile movement only drew the belt tighter, the pressure unrelenting, precise, almost alive.
Pondaru didn't rush. He leaned in close, watching—almost curious—as the resistance faded.
The sounds of struggle slowed. The desperate flailing became half-hearted, the claws at the belt slackening. Mr. Lee's chest heaved, lungs straining, mind racing—but the fight was already draining out of him.
A gurgled, stammered voice broke through—"mmph… hhh… no… p-please…"—fragmented, choked, barely more than a rasp.
Then… stillness.
With a quiet sigh—like someone finally bored of a toy—Pondaru loosened his grip. The belt slackened, and Mr. Lee's body slumped forward, collapsing against him.
"Still trying to touch a body you can't possibly afford…" he muttered, voice laced with amused contempt.
He reached over and popped the door open, then nudged Mr. Lee off him with his foot. The body tumbled out, limp and unresponsive, one hand slipping under the tire like it didn't belong to him anymore. He didn't even twitch.
Leaning back, eyes sparkling with that wild, bratty energy, a sly grin tugged at Pondaru's lips. "All he had to do was throw some cash my way, and I'd have let him use a hole or two," he cooed, voice thick and honeyed with teasing danger.
"I always play nice… I'm not some cheap little skank." Then, leaning out the window, he yelled back, loud and proud, "I'm a classy one, you fuckin' dipshit!"
Pondaru climbed back in, sliding into the driver's seat and finally feeling in control for the first time in what felt like forever. He gripped the steering wheel, settling his weight as if reclaiming territory.
"Okay… finally outta that dumbass brat's head," he muttered, tugging at the part of his stocking that had been hiding the N4O-CHI branding on his skin. "God… he still actually believes in that fake-ass family of his. When the hell's he gonna learn?"
He flexed his fingers around the wheel, letting the car hum beneath him as he pushed forward, feeling the familiar pulse of control.
Then, suddenly, he clutched his own head with one hand, groaning. That damn Sakura… her voice rattled relentlessly in his mind. "Ugh… why'd she have to be so annoyin'? Pon-chan this, Pon-chan that… damnit, all of it…"
He ground his teeth and glared at the ceiling, as if he could glare her out of existence. "Shut up… just shut the fuck up!"
Then his eyes flicked to the window on his right. A familiar shape caught his attention—the mountain, unmistakable. Relief and disbelief collided, yanking him away from the voice that had been driving him insane.
"I'm back… actually back," he muttered, pressing a hand to his chest, as if feeling the reality of it might steady him.
His gaze drifted down to the pink hoodie in the seat next to him. "No point hiding this body—it's completely useless. Really, calling those—what—'woman's breasts'? Please. Anyone with a dick and balls could get off to literally anything with a hole in it. Hehe, pathetic."
Still, he shrugged the hoodie over himself, letting it drape across the body. Some habits stuck, even when everything else was chaos.
Even as he settled it, a low, buzzing irritation lingered in his head—the echo of Sakura's voice. It wasn't going away. Pondaru clenched his jaw. "Shit… ugh—THIS SHRILL BITCH'S-VOICE! SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP!"