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This content contains sensitive themes, including substance abuse, SA, and underage involvement in dangerous situations. It may be distressing for some viewers. If you or someone you know is affected by these topics, please consider your mental and emotional wellbeing before proceed
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Kiyoshi turned toward me, his smile wide, predatory, like he'd been waiting for this moment all along. His eyes gleamed with dark amusement as he leaned closer to Isamu, his hand resting casually on his shoulder. "You should join us, Taichi," Kiyoshi said, his voice smooth as silk, dripping with malice. "It's not too late to find a real... release."
I didn't answer him. I couldn't. My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I was frozen—staring at Isamu. My Isamu. Or at least the shell of him.
He was standing next to Kiyoshi, swaying slightly, his eyes dull and unfocused. His posture was limp, as though he had no control over his own body. His gaze, once sharp and full of life, was now vacant—empty. His skin looked pale, and his lips were slightly parted, as if he didn't even have the energy to close his mouth. I wanted to call his name, to reach out to him, but the words stuck in my throat. It felt like I was staring at a ghost, not my friend. The person standing there next to Kiyoshi was a stranger.
Kiyoshi must have noticed the shock on my face because his grin widened, his fingers curling just a bit more possessively over Isamu's shoulder.
"You see it now, don't you?" Kiyoshi's voice was low, like he was savoring every word. "He's already one of us. It's too late for him. He's found what he's been searching for. No rules. No pain. Just freedom." Kiyoshi's eyes flicked from me to Isamu, and I could see the satisfaction in his gaze, like he'd already won.
I couldn't move. I could hardly breathe.
Isamu didn't even acknowledge me. His head lolled to the side, and he took a long, slow drag from a cigarette that Kiyoshi had put between his lips, the smoke curling around his face, adding to the haze of the room. His expression was completely blank, like he was lost in a dream, or worse, in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.
I stepped forward, my feet unsteady as the urge to run, to scream, surged within me. "Isamu," I said, my voice cracking as I reached for him. "Isamu, what the hell are you doing? This isn't you. You have to—"
Kiyoshi cut me off, his laugh low and dangerous. "Don't bother, Taichi," he said, his voice dripping with venom. "He's not the same person anymore. You've been wasting your time. He's free now. He doesn't need you. Not anymore."
The words hit me like a slap. I felt the air leave my lungs, the weight of his words crushing me. This wasn't the Isamu I knew. This wasn't the guy who used to crack jokes in class, who dreamed of a future, who cared about more than just surviving.
