Nene's hands were shaking.
No—
that was wrong.
Her *entire body* was shaking.
She sat on the tatami floor, knees tucked to her chest, tears slipping down her face in silent, endless streams. Her breathing came too fast, too shallow, like her lungs were forgetting how to work.
In her hands—
A pair of chopsticks.
Sharpened.
The tips gleamed faintly in the dim light, crude and uneven, shaved down until they were thin and cruel.
Her fingers tightened.
*Just one push.*
*Just once.*
*Then it would be quiet.*
She lifted her hands toward her neck.
A sob tore out of her, broken and animal.
"No—no—no—no—" she whispered, not even sure who she was begging.
Something grabbed her wrists.
Hard.
Nene barely reacted.
She kept trying to raise her hands, arms straining upward, eyes wide and unfocused—like she hadn't even processed that someone was holding her down.
Like the world had stopped registering new information.
Jin knelt in front of her, expression blank, doll-like. His grip was iron.
"Mama," he said softly. "Stop that."
She didn't hear him.
Her mind wasn't *here*.
It was eighteen years ago.
—
The room smelled like blood and incense.
Osano's voice was calm.
*Always calm.*
"Don't cry," he had said, crouching in front of her. "You'll make it worse."
She remembered the way her hands had been bound behind her back. The way her shoulders burned from being held in place too long. The way her throat hurt from screaming until her voice broke.
She remembered begging.
Promising.
Swearing she'd be good.
Osano had smiled.
"You already are," he had said gently. "You're enduring."
Enduring.
That was what he called it.
Pain as education.
Fear as love.
—
Nene's hands trembled harder. She tried again to lift them.
Jin tightened his grip, unblinking.
"Mama," he repeated, a little firmer. "Chichi-ue is home."
That word—
Her pupils dilated.
Her breath hitched violently.
"No—" she gasped. "No no no no—please—please—I'll be quiet—I'll behave—"
She slammed her eyes shut.
In her mind, Osano stood over her again—bloodless, immaculate, sleeves rolled neatly as if this were ordinary work.
"You see," he had said, almost kindly, "this is why I prefer silence."
—
Her body went rigid.
Frozen.
Tears poured down her face, but she stopped struggling—not because she was calm, but because terror had locked her muscles in place.
Jin watched her carefully.
She was reliving it again.
Good.
That meant she wouldn't interfere.
The chopsticks slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.
Nene stared at them like they were still inside her hands.
"I can't," she whispered hoarsely. "I can't do it again. I can't survive it again."
Her lips trembled.
"I was so young…"
Footsteps echoed faintly in the hallway.
Measured.
Unhurried.
Nene's head snapped up.
Her eyes went impossibly wide.
The tears stopped falling.
Her mouth opened—but no sound came out.
Jin loosened his grip slightly, just enough to let her feel it.
"Don't worry, Mama," he said quietly, almost kindly.
"He's in a good mood today."
Her breath shattered into a silent scream.
Because Osano Akimatsu never needed to raise his voice.
And he never needed to touch you twice.