My Horny Stepmom Turns Me into Her Vampire Slave

Chapter 137: B - The hidden pain behind the perfect girl facade (2)

"P-Please, Aoshi... whatever cruel things Miori did to you, whatever she said to you, please... forgive her..." Jiro sobs, collapsed over the table in tears. "I-I’d be lying if I said Miori didn’t know what she was doing... it’s just that... she was never really able to control her anger. And all the abuse and insults those bastards we call parents piled onto her only made her more aggressive."

Jiro suddenly straightens up and slams his fist down on the table, trembling with rage and nerves.

"Damn it, I was only five years old... five fucking years old! You’re not supposed to remember anything from that age, and yet... I can still see it. I can still see my sister being dragged down the stairs by her hair by our mother. I was hiding behind the living room curtains, terrified by the screams of rage coming out of my mother’s mouth and my sister’s cries of pain... I... I’ll never forget it! Just like I’ll never forget hearing my sister beg her with tears in her eyes to stop hurting her. ’M-Mom, why are you hurting me, Mom? What did I do? You’re hurting me, please stop...’ And the more she begged, the harder my mother hit her. Then she would explain away the bruises as nothing more than the result of years spent practicing combat sports. But the truth is that only a small portion of them came from training. There are things far worse I could tell you, but... I can’t bring myself to go any further."

Jiro lowers his head again.

"The reason I’ve told you all this is because... p-please, Aoshi... don’t hold a grudge against her. I’m begging you with everything I have. At least now that she’s gone — now that nobody can ever hurt her again — let Miori finally find some peace. I want her to be free from all the hatred and resentment that never gave her a single moment of rest while she was alive. That’s all I’m asking of you..."

"After everything you’ve told me, I don’t think I’d be capable of hating her even if I tried... honestly, all I feel now is a deep sense of pity for her. It breaks my heart to think about the horrors you’ve been forced to witness since you were a child..."

And to think I believed my parents were terrible just because they cut my allowance after that gift I’d bought for Takuma... The truth is, I can only thank the God of Light that I wasn’t born into a broken family like...

"Jiro, there’s something I want to give you," Aoshi continues, pulling out a black handbag covered in rhinestones.

"T-That handbag... it belonged to my sister, didn’t it? How do you have it?"

"Yeah. She gave it to me last night after saving me and a very dear friend of mine from a couple of shady guys who wanted to beat me up. She said it was her way of making up for the fact that I’d lost my job because of that stupid fight you and I had. I’d like you to keep it."

Aoshi sets the handbag on the table and gently slides it toward Jiro.

"I figure you’ll want to hold on to as many memories of her as possible, and it would be selfish of me to keep her favorite handbag. Or at least, that’s what she once told me when we... uh... during that month when she was technically my girlfriend. So I don’t know if it really was her favorite or not, but if it was, then it belongs with you."

"A-Are you really sure...?" Jiro stammers, holding the handbag with extraordinary care and delicacy, as though it were a priceless and fragile relic.

Aoshi nods silently.

"T-Thank you... thank you so much!" Jiro exclaims, completely overwhelmed with gratitude as he hugs the handbag to his chest like a child clinging to a favorite stuffed animal.

"Y-You know, what she told you wasn’t a lie..." Jiro continues — a faint, sorrowful smile spreading across his face. "That really was her favorite handbag. Actually, it was the only nice one she ever owned. Our uncle gave it to her as a birthday present, and Miori treasured it ever since. Not because of how much it was worth, but because of what it meant to her. It was one of the very few gifts she ever received in her entire life..."

Jiro rises to his feet.

"I should really leave you alone now. My mom is already extremely upset, and I don’t want to make things worse by staying out for too long. I really enjoyed talking to you, Aoshi. Thank you again for the handbag and, more importantly, for listening to everything I had to say."

"T-Thank you for telling me about her," Aoshi murmurs, still seated at the table.

Then, after a small and respectful bow, Jiro leaves the karaoke room, clutching the handbag tightly against his chest and leaving Aoshi alone.

Just as he’s about to stand up as well, everything suddenly clicks into place.

A cascade of images and words flashes through his mind like rapid-fire snapshots — a chain reaction triggered by Jiro’s simple confirmation that yes, it really had been Miori’s favorite handbag.

Dozens of scattered pieces begin connecting together.

All those confessions Miori made during the nights when Eliss was at work and I was stuck in bed recovering from my injuries. The bruises on her legs, the complaints about being constantly watched, humiliated, and broken down... all the abuse Miori claimed was coming from Renji, which I dismissed as nothing more than lies meant to win my sympathy...

"It was all true..."

Now I understand why she seemed so sincere, why she looked so genuinely shattered, why her tears felt so real. During those nights, she really was opening up to me about the pain and suffering she endured every single day. The only difference was that it wasn’t Renji who was causing it... it was her mother...

At last, Aoshi lifts his gaze toward the ceiling, a single tear sliding down his cheek.

Maybe... maybe she wasn’t lying when she said she was happy to come to my house. Happy to finally feel free to be herself. Happy to spend even a little time away from her worries and the pain she lived with every day... and maybe...

A faint blush spreads across Aoshi’s face, and a small smile forms on his lips.

Who knows... maybe she wasn’t lying when she said she loved me, either. I guess I’ll never know now...