NOVEL WEB Chapter 8: Chapter 7
Rain hammered Kaito Nakamura's dorm window in a savage, unending assault, each drop a fist against the glass, blurring the night into a gray, shapeless void. The clock on his desk blinked 1:47 AM, its red glare piercing the dark of his cramped room—a cage stinking of sweat, spilled soda, and the rancid rot of his own collapse. The desk lamp lay shattered—smashed in his earlier rage—leaving only the faint blue glow of his laptop, screen blacked out after that warped "System initializing…" voice hissed through the speakers, a sound still echoing in his skull.
Kaito slumped on the floor, back against the bed, his skinny frame swallowed by a soaked hoodie, the fabric heavy with rain and tears. His glasses were gone—cracked and flung somewhere in the chaos—his vision a wet blur, eyes burning from crying too long, too hard. His black hair clung to his scalp in greasy tangles, scratched raw by nails that left bloody streaks, a sting he didn't register. He hadn't eaten since whenever—days, maybe—his stomach a gnawing pit, his hands trembling, blood-crusted from clawing his thighs, his desk, himself.
The pics from that damn link—raw, filthy, unstoppable—had gutted him hours ago, and they looped now, relentless, behind his eyelids. Aiko—his Aiko—her face blurred but her body bare, carved into his brain: thighs splayed, cunt impaled on a thick cock, riding it shameless—hair whipping, hips grinding, cum and sweat dripping down her legs; on her knees, lips choking a stranger's shaft, spit slicking her chin, hands jerking two more, greedy and practiced; bent over, ass up, a guy slamming her raw—cum streaking her thighs, another dick gagging her mouth, her moans loud and wet. Her mole—his mole—gleamed in every shot, a taunt he'd kissed, thinking it was love.
Tears streamed—hot, messy, unstoppable—spilling down his cheeks, soaking his collar, pooling on the floor where he rocked, a broken heap. "Why?" he croaked, voice a shredded whisper, drowned by the rain but clawing free—why me, why her, why this? He'd known she cheated—hints, months of lies—but seeing it, those pics, her fucking half the world while he sat here, broke him. Then that popup—red, jagged, "Activate Revenge NTR System Beta?"—he'd clicked "Yes," rage and grief shoving his finger, and it ended with that voice: "One condition: You cannot break up with her." What the hell was that? A glitch? A curse? It sank into him, cold and heavy, pinning him here, shattered.
His phone buzzed—cracked screen flickering on the floor where he'd hurled it—and he flinched, a sob choking free, loud and jagged. He crawled, knees scraping, and grabbed it—Hiro again, that loudmouth asshole: "More for u, cuck lol"—another link, taunting him. His thumb shook—don't, don't, don't—but he clicked, the chat exploding with new pics, blurred but brutal, a fresh wave of Aiko's filth piling on the wreckage.
Her again—on her back, legs spread, a guy's head buried in her dripping cunt, her hands twisting his hair, hips bucking; ass high, cum smeared across her cheeks, a stranger's fingers shoving it back in as she grinned; bent over a desk, two cocks at once—one slamming her slit, the other her throat—her body quaking, soaked, shameless. Messages jeered—"Nerd's girl loves it," "Kaito's a joke, check this," "She's a pro"—a circus of cruelty, laughing at his guts splattered on the screen. Humiliated, his mind roared, heartbroken, enraged—a storm tearing him apart, but he scrolled, helpless, tears blurring the filth he couldn't unsee.
"She used me," he sobbed, voice a wet rasp, fists slamming the floor—knuckles splitting, blood smearing, pain a dull echo to the ache inside. Her friends' voices from months back—giggling at her "girls' night" lies—clicked now: she loved the thrill, loved cheating, loved him blind and dumb. Every hug—soft, warm—every "you're sweet," every coffee he'd bought with his last yen, a scam while she fucked around, grinning at his stupidity. Pathetic, he thought, visceral and dark, I'm pathetic—let her play me, worshipped her, gave her everything.
He scrolled—her choking on cum, cunt gaping, ass red and dripping—tears flooding, his breath a wheeze, his free hand clawing his face, nails raking bloody trails. "Bitch," he snarled, loud and broken, rain thundering, drowning his howl but not the shame. That system—"You cannot break up with her"—locked him in, a chain he didn't understand, trapping him with her, this slut who'd pissed on his heart. Powerless, he raged, humiliated, heartbroken, pissed—but what do I do? Revenge? How? He was nothing—a nerd, a cuck, a fool—while she fucked the world.
His phone buzzed—another pic, her bent double, three guys now, cum streaking her back, her mouth, her hair—and he screamed—"No!"—hurling it again, the crack louder this time, glass splintering across the room. He lurched up, chair already smashed, and kicked the desk—wood groaning, cans flying—then sank back, fists pounding his thighs, blood and tears mixing, a mess on the floor. "My fault," he sobbed, pathetic, stupid, weak—blaming himself, the nerd too dumb to see, too desperate to fight.
The pics burned—her moans, her grins, her body a playground—and he curled into himself, forehead to the tiles, rain roaring, a shattered shell in the dark. She broke me, he thought, rock bottom a black pit, used me, laughed at me, and I let her. The system's voice lingered—"Initializing…"—a sinister hum in the void, but he was too gone, too wrecked, drowning in humiliation, heartbreak, and a rage he couldn't touch. Alone, powerless, he hit the floor, the world dead around him.