A Weird Revenge NTR System (Beta)

Kaito's dorm room was a cluttered cave of shadows and stale air, the single window fogged with condensation from the drizzle outside, late February turning the campus into a damp, gray slog. The desk lamp flickered, its weak glow barely cutting through the gloom, spilling over a mess of empty soda cans, crumpled chip bags, and his laptop—screen dark, humming faintly like a sleeping beast.

He sprawled on his unmade bed, sheets tangled and sour with sweat, his hoodie bunched up around his skinny ribs, glasses perched crooked on his nose. His black hair hung in greasy strands, sticking to his forehead, and he scratched at it absently, nails leaving faint red lines on his scalp.

He'd been riding a high all week—Aiko's giggles, her hand in his, that damn keychain bell jingling every time she moved—a sugar rush that kept him buzzing, sleepless and dumb with hope. Tonight was supposed to be another hit: a movie date, her texting him yesterday with a winky face—"Something cheesy, 7pm, don't be late xo"—and he'd spent the day jittery, stomach growling from skipped meals, too wired to eat. He'd even showered—scrubbed the grime off, swapped his stale hoodie for a cleaner one, gray but less stained—wanting to smell halfway decent when she curled into him on that lumpy dorm couch.

His phone buzzed on the mattress, jolting him upright, heart leaping like a kicked dog. He snatched it, glasses slipping, and swiped it open—Aiko's name glowing, his pulse spiking. "Hey babe, so tired tonight, gonna crash early. Raincheck? xo" The words hit like a slap, short and breezy, no sorry, no call—just a shrug in text form. He stared, thumb hovering, a dull ache blooming in his chest. Tired? She'd been bouncing around campus all week, laughing in the quad, dragging him to snacks—where'd this come from?

"Okay, feel better," he typed back, fingers stiff, adding a dumb smiley face he instantly regretted. He hit send, tossed the phone down, and flopped back, the bed creaking under his bony frame. His gut twisted—a slow, sick churn—but he swallowed it, hard. She was tired. Fine. People got tired.

He wasn't some clingy creep to make a thing of it. She'd been all over him lately—kissing his cheek, holding his hand in front of everyone—why would tonight matter? He forced a grin, weak and wobbly, and grabbed his laptop, thinking he'd tweak that game mod, kill time, wait for her to text tomorrow.

But the twist wouldn't quit, nagging like a splinter under his skin. He'd seen her that morning—hair flipping as she laughed with some girls by the library, her energy bright, not a yawn in sight. His grin faded, jaw tightening, and he slammed the laptop shut, the thud loud in the quiet room. Maybe fresh air would shake it off. He yanked on his sneakers—worn soles, laces frayed—and shoved out the door, the hall's fluorescent buzz stinging his ears as he headed outside.

The campus courtyard was a soggy sprawl, puddles glinting under sodium lights, the drizzle a fine mist that soaked his hoodie and blurred his glasses. He trudged past the dorms, hands jammed in his pockets, the cold biting his knuckles, trying to unknot the mess in his head.

Aiko was fine—tired, sure, but fine. She'd hugged him yesterday, giggled at his dumb joke about binary love, her bell jingling as she'd skipped off to class. He was overthinking—always did, the nerd brain that couldn't shut up—and she'd laugh if he told her, tease him for being a spaz.

Then he saw her.

She was by the gym, maybe fifty yards off, under the overhang where the lights cast sharp shadows. Her laugh cut through the mist—high, flirty, unmistakable—and Kaito froze, sneakers skidding on wet concrete. She stood close—too close—to a guy, broad shoulders and buzzed hair, muscles bulging under a tight tee.

Riku Sato—campus jock, rugby star, the kind of prick who oozed charm and sweat in equal measure. Aiko's head tilted back, giggling, her hand resting on his arm—lingering there, fingers curling against his bicep like she was testing it, liking it.

Kaito's breath caught, a cold spike driving through his ribs. His glasses fogged worse, mist and heat, and he swiped at them, squinting to make sure—hoping he'd got it wrong. But no—her pink sweater glowed under the light, her skirt swishing as she leaned into Riku, her laugh ringing again, sharp and carefree. Riku grinned down at her—cocky, all teeth—and said something low, his hand brushing her hip, casual but not, and she didn't pull away.

The twist in Kaito's gut turned to a wrench, hot and sour, climbing up his throat. He took a step—then stopped, legs locked, fists balling in his pockets. What was this? She was tired—tired—crashing early, she'd said, but here she was, glowing, flirting, her hand on some meathead's arm like it was nothing.

His mind spun—she lied, she ditched me, she's with him—but he choked it down, hard, nails digging into his palms. No. She wouldn't. She was his—held his hand, kissed him, wore his gift. This was… something else. Friends. She had friends. He had no right to freak out.

He shuffled closer, half-hidden by a tree, the bark rough against his sleeve, and cleared his throat—loud, awkward, a croak in the damp air. Aiko's head snapped up, eyes locking on him, and for a split second, they widened—caught, startled—before her smile slid back, smooth as butter. "Kaito!" she chirped, stepping away from Riku, her hand dropping fast. "What're you doing out here?"

"Uh… just walking," he mumbled, voice thin, glasses slipping down his sweaty nose. He shoved them up, glancing at Riku—the guy smirked, arms crossing, all smug bulk—and back to her. "Thought you were… tired." It slipped out, sharper than he meant, and his stomach flipped, scared she'd hear the edge.

She blinked, then laughed—light, breezy, brushing it off. "Oh, yeah, I was, but Riku dragged me out to chat. Needed some air, you know?" She waved a hand, casual, stepping closer to Kaito, her perfume hitting him—vanilla, too sweet now, cloying. "He's just a friend, been whining about practice all day." She nudged Riku's arm—playful, familiar—and he chuckled, deep and easy, eyeing Kaito like he was a bug.

"Yeah, man, she's my cheerleader," Riku said, voice dripping with lazy confidence, and Aiko swatted him, giggling again, her hand lingering a beat too long before she turned back to Kaito.

"See? Total drama queen," she said, smiling at him now—soft, warm, the Aiko he knew—and his gut unclenched, just a little. Friends. Sure. She had tons of friends—guys, girls, whatever. He was her boyfriend—her nerd, her pick. This was nothing.

"Right," he said, forcing a smile—tight, wobbly, but there—nodding like it made sense. "Cool. Uh… glad you're feeling better." His voice shook, but he locked it down, scared to push, scared she'd pull away if he did. Riku snorted—quiet, under his breath—and Kaito's fists twitched, but he kept smiling, teeth grit behind his lips.

"Thanks, babe," she said, stepping in, her hand brushing his chest—light, quick, a tether—and she tilted her head, eyes glinting. "I'll text you tomorrow, okay? We'll do that movie." She winked, then spun back to Riku, waving as they drifted off—her laugh fading into the mist, his bulk a shadow beside her.

Kaito stood there, rain soaking his hoodie, glasses fogged to uselessness, the courtyard empty around him. His gut twisted again—slower now, a dull, nagging ache—but he shook it off, hard. She'd waved it off. Just friends. She'd said it, smiled it, touched him after. He was overreacting—always did, the paranoid nerd who couldn't trust good things. She was his—came back to him every time, didn't she? He forced another smile, weaker, and trudged back to his dorm, the lie settling heavy: It's fine, she's mine, nothing's wrong.

But the cracks were there—thin, sharp, glinting in the glass—and he couldn't unsee them, no matter how hard he tried.