Chapter 68: Chapter 27

The sharp, deep sensation of the needles slowly receded, leaving behind a profound warmth and relaxation.

After a minute, Retsu removed the needles just as swiftly as she had placed them, swabbing the tiny insertion points with alcohol.

Seijirou swung his legs off the bed, now standing up.

He hopped lightly in place, then began doing shadow boxing, his movements fluid and quick.

He stared at his hands in genuine wonder, clenching and unclenching his fists.

The fatigue, the muscle strain, and the pervasive aches from the previous night were gone, replaced by a feeling of vibrant energy.

He felt completely healed. Nothing hurt anymore.

Retsu, still sitting cross-legged on the bed, watched him with a soft, pleased smile.

"The ki flow is restored, Seiji. You’re good as new," she said, her voice gentle.

She then immediately adopted a stern, medical tone. "However, I must warn you: you shouldn’t strain those muscles for a while. Refrain from fighting, sparring, or doing anything too heavy today. Your body needs a short period of low-impact recovery."

Seijirou nodded, acknowledging the warning. He turned towards her, a familiar, alluring charm entering his gaze. "Understood, doctor’s orders."

Retsu smiled at him, "Hmm. That’s good, always listen to your doctor."

"By the way, do you want to stay over for dinner?" He asked suddenly.

Retsu’s smile faltered, replaced by a look of hesitation and internal conflict that lasted only a moment.

She eventually shook her head, her red eyes avoiding his. "I can’t, Seiji. I’m very busy today. I have a long list of house calls and errands to run for my grandfather. I truly can’t accompany you tonight."

Seijirou simply shrugged, accepting the refusal with an easy grace that suggested he hadn’t taken it personally.

"It’s fine, Retsu. Another time, perhaps. Although," he added, a hopeful glint in his eye, "you should stay for lunch. It’s been awhile since we’ve actually have a chance to be alone."

A soft, almost longing expression crossed Retsu’s face. "Lunch. Yes. That, I can do."

With their plans set, Seijirou smiled. "Great. I’ll take a quick bath first. I’ll be back shortly."

He grabbed a fresh towel and, with a final smile, left the room, closing the door behind him.

The moment the lock clicked, Retsu’s composed demeanor shattered.

She let out a long, shuddering sigh, the tension she’d been holding dissolving into the silence.

She immediately slid down onto the mattress and stretched out, lying flat on her back.

Then, she reached for his pillow, pulled it close, and buried her face in it, taking a deep, long breath, inhaling the faint, masculine scent that clung to the fabric.

"I can’t believe it," she whispered into the pillow, her voice tight with a suppressed mix of ecstasy and turmoil. "I’m finally back in this room after so long."

The truth was that Retsu’s connection to Seijirou was less professional and more rooted in a profound, psychological obsession that began when he was a child.

Shirohara Retsu was not a simple, benevolent healer.

Beneath her calm, poised exterior lay a dark heart.

She derived a cold, perverse pleasure from observing the depths of human despair and destruction.

She enjoyed watching people lose themselves, suffer, and ultimately self-destruct.

Her grandfather, an astute and powerful man who recognized her dangerous sociopathic tendencies, had forcibly steered her onto the path of medicine, hoping that the rigorous demands of healing and the illusion of virtue would suppress her darkness.

Retsu was a genuine prodigy, earning her medical license at the extraordinarily young age of eighteen.

She excelled as a professional doctor, and for years, she managed to perfectly contain her darkness for her grandfather’s sake.

She performed her duties impeccably, doing her absolute best to treat her patients.

Yet, she secretly relished a chilling joy—a surge of superiority—when all her considerable efforts weren’t enough, and she had to watch family members slowly endure the inevitable death of their loved ones.

This monstrous aspect of her personality was hidden so deeply that absolutely no one knew of it except her grandfather.

Then, about a decade ago, Seijirou’s mother, Kageyama Hakari, had directly approached Retsu with a lucrative offer.

Hakari, who likely sensed Retsu’s profound intellect and intense focus, assigned her to be the personal health and well-being supervisor for the young, eight-year-old Seijirou.

Retsu saw the boy’s charming, cute, and utterly innocent face, and immediately agreed.

In that moment, her deepest, hidden desire resurfaced: she wanted to see this pure, innocent boy become as black-hearted and vile as she knew herself to be.

She craved to actively corrupt him, to shatter his moral compass, believing that by doing so, she could finally find a true companion in depravity.

It could be argued, with undeniable evidence, that the amoral, manipulative, and selfish scumbag that Seijirou had grown into was largely Retsu’s successful, long-term creation.

However, something unexpected—and terrifying to Retsu—had happened during the course of this calculated corruption.

Retsu had initially only sought to prove to herself that she wasn’t alone in her vileness, to create an equal.

Instead, she grew utterly, devastatingly obsessed with Seijirou.

Like a creator who falls in love with her own magnum opus, Retsu had developed a passionate, consuming love for the very Seijirou she had carefully groomed.

When she realized the depth of this romantic obsession, a new, dark threat emerged: she began to harbor intense, murderous thoughts—not just towards the numerous girls Seijirou had been with over the years, but chillingly, sometimes even towards Seijirou himself for the mere offense of seeking intimacy with other women.

Terrified by the uncontrollable, destructive nature of her feelings, and recognizing the risk she posed to the one person she truly cared for, Retsu had begun to actively distance herself, severely limiting their contact, afraid of what her dark heart might finally compel her to do.

"Hmm..."

Retsu remained lying on Seijirou’s bed, the scent of his pillow intoxicating and agonizing in equal measure.

She clutched the fabric over her chest, digging her nails into her own skin as if trying to grasp the pain inside.

His name escaped her lips, a soft, tormented "Seijirou..."

Her mind, usually so precise and controlled, was now a violent canvas of imagined infidelity.

She knew, with chilling certainty, that Seijirou hadn’t lived a monastic life.

She pictured the countless girls—the students, the older women, the anonymous conquests—he had undoubtedly brought into this very room since her self-imposed distance began.

She vividly imagined them in intimate moments, their bodies tangled, their moans echoing in the silence.

She saw them doing all the things she desperately wished he could only do to her.

The emotional impact was immediate and devastating.

Her heart didn’t just feel heavy; it felt like it was being physically crushed, about to shatter into fragments.

The pain was so acute it brought a sheen of sweat to her brow.

More dangerous still, the pain fueled her darkness.

Her head filled with a blinding, visceral killing intent. The urge to eliminate every single ghost and future prospect—to purify the room with violence—was almost overwhelming.

They are dirtying him. They are stealing what is rightfully hers.

But her highly developed self-preservation, tied intrinsically to her possession of Seijirou, instantly slammed the brakes on the urge.

She ruthlessly suppressed the murderous impulse, forcing the chilling rage deep inside.

He would be disgusted, she reasoned with cold logic.

Though Seijirou probably couldn’t care less about those casual conquests, those ’whores’ he has slept with, and wouldn’t even bat an eye if they were to die horribly, if he found out that it was her—his trusted, professional nurse, his former guardian—he would surely be disgusted.

Disgust was a feeling she could not risk as it would sever their connection instantly.

Just then, a deep, primal moan escaped her throat.

"If only I can keep Seijirou for myself..." she whispered into the pillow, tears finally blurring her vision. "I would be willing to give up anything. My career. My freedom. My sanity."

The recent acupuncture session resurfaced in her mind, illuminating a dark, seductive path.

She remembered the razor-thin needles and the precise knowledge of human anatomy she possessed.

Earlier, during the acupuncture... The thought was a chilling revelation of her capability.

If she had slightly altered the angle of one specific needle, changing its trajectory by a mere hair’s breadth and driving it deep into a vital pressure point along the spine, the result would have been instantaneous and irreversible.

Seijirou would surely have ended up paralyzed from the neck down.

A twisted, possessive smile stretched across her face. ’By then, he can only rely on me. He would only need me for everything—for food, for cleaning, for every single pleasure and pain.’

"I can have him all for myself," she concluded, the thought a dark, absolute comfort.

He would be completely dependent, completely hers, incapable of seeking out another woman.

It was a terrifying promise of total control, a twisted love realized through complete debilitation.

"I can’t take it anymore..." She moaned in frustration.

Her leggings bunched around her ankles as she kicked them off haphazardly, her bare legs spreading wide on the rumpled sheets that still carried Seijirou’s faint, musky scent.

She buried her face deeper into the pillow, inhaling sharply—the salty tang of his sweat mixed with the earthy hint of his skin, remnants from the nights he’d tossed and turned here before leaving for whatever kept him away.

A soft whimper escaped her lips as her hand slid between her thighs, fingers brushing over the damp fabric of her panties before pushing it aside to expose her slick pussy.

She rubbed her clit in slow circles, the pillow muffling her moans as she ground her nose against the fabric, chasing more of his aroma.

The bed covers tangled around her hips, and she grabbed a fistful, pressing it to her chest while her other hand dipped lower, two fingers plunging into her wet heat.

Her walls clenched around them immediately, slick sounds joining her ragged breaths as she fucked herself with increasing urgency.

Images of Seijirou’s strong body pinning her down flooded her mind—his cock thrusting deep, stretching her until she screamed—but right now, this was all she had, his lingering presence in the linens fueling her desperation.

Retsu’s hips bucked off the mattress, her fingers curling inside to hit that sensitive spot, thumb flicking her clit faster.

The scent enveloped her, intoxicating, making her pussy throb harder.

She imagined him walking in, catching her like this, his eyes darkening as he stripped and joined her, replacing her fingers with his thick shaft.

A fresh gush of wetness coated her hand, and she gasped, grinding against the pillow now, humping it shamelessly while her free hand kneaded her breast through her shirt, pinching her nipple until it ached.

The build-up coiled tight in her core, her moans growing louder, unrestrained in the empty room.

She sniffed the covers again, the fabric rough against her cheek, and that pushed her over—her body tensed, pussy spasming around her fingers as orgasm ripped through her, juices soaking the sheets beneath.

Retsu rode it out, panting, body limp and trembling, but the hunger didn’t fade.

She needed the real thing, Seijirou’s cock buried inside her, not just echoes of him in the bed.