Chapter One

Unless otherwise noted, the characters all speak in Japanese.

The lunch bell rang out across the hallways of Tanaka Academy in the small Japanese city of Miyoshi. Emily Tanaka pushed through the double doors into the canteen with a light step. She balanced her rucksack over one shoulder as her eyes scanned the room for her best friend. Emily was an 18-year-old Japanese-American student whose family had brought their vast wealth back to the motherland five years ago. She was somewhat of a celebrity at the Academy, given that her parents purchased the educational facility and turned it around in half a decade.

The attractive brunette woman, wearing the required school uniform—a navy blue jacket, a white blouse, and a blue tartan skirt—glanced at her usual spot near the window, where she found her friend waiting for her.

Natsumi Yamamoto waved enthusiastically from the table before digging back into her bowl of ramen. Emily wove through the clusters of students lining up at the counters and slid into the chair opposite her friend. “How did the school council meeting go?” Natsumi asked with a smile.

Emily bit her lower lip, leaning forward slightly as she considered her response. The brunette’s dark hair fell in well-maintained, neat waves just past her shoulders, framing a face with high cheekbones and wide, expressive hazel eyes that revealed her part-American ancestry. Her skin had a natural glow, and her posture carried a poise that conveyed her wealthy upbringing to all who saw her.

“It went well enough,” the brunette started. “There was pushback on commissioning Alex’s statue in the courtyard, but I think we have enough votes to pass it through.”

Natsumi nodded, her chopsticks pausing midway to her mouth as she swallowed another bite. “Your brother is an inspiration. It should be the least we can do for him after he drove out the last of the Yakuza in Miyoshi.”

Emily let out a quiet giggle, the sound light and genuine. “I know, right? He really does have a way with words, and it’s my responsibility as student council president to make sure we don’t go back to the dark ages.”

“I remember hearing stories from my cousins who went here before the buyout,” Natsumi replied. “It was rough, from what they said. It was like a battleground, and the administration was too scared to do anything about it.”

The Japanese-American nodded. “My father grew up in this city, and when he saw what was happening to the place he called home, he moved us all back here. Once he bought the Academy, he initially brought in private investigators to try to weed out the roots. But it was Alex who dove in headfirst once we enrolled. As a first-year, he set up an anonymous tip line for reporting issues without fear of backlash.”

Natsumi set her bowl aside and rested her elbows on the table. “I’m glad the stories about him were all true, Emily. This place has thrived since the criminals have been driven out. I wish he were here now to witness it all.”

The brunette lowered her head as she took a breath. “After the Miyoshi ringleader was arrested, they put a target on his back. The only way he could stay safe was to flee the country until the heat died down.” Emily softly bit her lower lip before smiling. “Don’t worry, he’s currently helping to build schools in Africa. He plans to return next year now that we’ve returned to normal.”

Her friend reached across the table and squeezed Emily’s hand briefly. “That’s great news. You’re doing him proud by following in his footsteps. The way you’ve kept the council on track with your influence has made a real difference,” Natsumi said reassuringly.

Emily squeezed back, gratitude swelling as she released the hold. She glanced toward a table a few rows ahead where three students lingered. Their postures were casual as they laughed amongst each other, but their eyes flicked in the woman’s direction more than once. She turned to face a separate table to her left, but she felt the same eerie sensation that she was being watched and judged. “Natsumi,” she parted her lips to speak. “Have you noticed anything strange today? Like, the way people keep looking over here.”

Natsumi turned her head and glanced around before letting out a light laugh. “You’re the student council president, and your family owns this building. Surely you must be used to other students giving you attention?”

Emily softly bit her lower lip again as she anxiously rubbed her hands on the table. “I know,” she said, not enjoying her best friend’s dismissive and jovial demeanor. “But this feels… different somehow.”

The lighter-haired girl continued to smile as she tried to calm her popular friend down. “Relax, Emily,” she said soothingly. “Finals are coming up, and people are just anxious. Maybe all the stress is getting to you.”

The 18-year-old wasn’t happy with the response, but she lowered her head and decided to change the subject; perhaps it was all in her head. “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” she reached over and picked up her friend’s chopsticks, helping herself to the woman’s food. “There’s just an uneasiness in the air at the moment, like something big is coming.”

Natsumi rolled her eyes at her friend’s cheeky actions and cautious tone. “With you in charge, I can’t see what can go wrong.” She winked at her friend before slipping her bags back into her rucksack. “Come on,” she told Emily. “We have Math class in five minutes.”

Emily nodded and rose from the chair, picking up the leftover bowl and dropping it off at a cleaning station. The pair walked out together as Emily tried to forget about the lingering stares that were more frequently heading her way.

❖

Emily settled into her solitary desk near the front row, her rucksack tucked beneath the seat as the class filtered in around her. She opened her textbook, an action that was followed by the thirty other students, and flipped to the chapter on advanced derivatives with a quiet thrill. Mathematics had always been Emily’s favorite subject. She loved searching for patterns and had a knack for solving complex equations; the teachers had always appreciated her eagerness to answer their questions. She had already started reading the chapter before Mr. Sato, the widely respected 48-year-old Math professor, had entered the room.

The respected teacher moved to the front with his usual measured stride and turned to face the group. His stern expression had a way of instantly quieting the jovial voices in the room, and the sound died down; each student was focused on the older man’s presence.

“Good afternoon, students,” Mr. Sato said formally. “Today, we will delve deeper into calculus derivatives. I trust you reviewed the material from last class. Participation remains key to mastering these concepts.”

Emily nodded to herself and smiled widely. She had memorized the entire chapter material from her textbook the previous night. She was eager to show the teacher what she had learned.

Mr. Sato turned toward the board and began outlining the day’s objectives in neat columns. He spoke steadily about the chain rule’s nuances, pausing occasionally to emphasize a point with a tap of the marker against the board. The high-performing female student absorbed every word, writing down notes as the man spoke eloquently.

Halfway through the explanation, the teacher paused and posed the first challenge. “Now, consider this derivative: find the rate of change for f(x) equals x squared times sine of three x. Who among you can walk us through the steps?”

Emily looked around the class of blank faces and chuckled to herself. It was apparent the others hadn’t read ahead. Without hesitation, she shot a hand in the air. Weirdly, the teacher hadn’t acknowledged her hand despite it being the only one raised. So she decided to answer it herself. “We start with the product rule for u v, where u is x squared and v is sine of three x. The derivative becomes u prime v plus u v prime. U prime is two x, multiplied by u, which is x squared. Altogether it’s two x sine of three x plus three x squared cosine of three x.”

The class shifted slightly, their gazes lingering on Emily’s as they sat impressed with her answer. They had no idea if she was right or not, but the answer seemed impressive enough. However, one man who didn’t share the group’s enthusiasm was Mr. Sato, who stood before her desk with a steely glance.

“Emily Tanaka,” the man said furiously. “Must you be such an intolerable know-it-all?” His words caused the bright student to gasp in surprise. “That may be correct, but you spoke out of turn. This is a structured lesson, and I alone decide who will respond to my questions. Any further unsolicited displays from you, young lady, and I will not go so easy on you.”

Emily blinked and gasped for breath as the rebuke settled in her mind. She wasn’t used to hearing the teachers speak to her like that, much less her favorite professor in her favorite lesson. She had answered dozens of questions like this over the years, and received nothing but praise for her intuition and attention to detail. What had gone wrong here?

The boy to her left, Hiroshi, leaned forward and grinned subtly, as if he knew something Emily didn’t. Did the student actually enjoy seeing the class president scolded like some misbehaving delinquent? Emily shook her head and tried to refocus on the lesson.

Mr. Sato resumed his lecture at the front as he wrote down Emily’s answer on the board without giving her any positive acknowledgement. After he explained the equation in his own words, the tall man erased his workings from the wall before moving on to the next segment of his lesson.

Emily stared down at her notes, the writing blurry from the lingering tear in her eye at being publicly torn down in front of her peers. The man’s words echoed in her ears. Mr. Sato had once pulled the student aside after a particularly grueling exam and commended her insight into logarithmic functions. Now, that same man regarded her as an interruption.

As the lesson progressed, the teacher turned back to the glass, the latest equation written on the whiteboard. “Let us apply the quotient rule now. For g(x) equals the square root of x divided by e to the power of two x, derive the expression fully. Who would like to attempt this?”

Silence blanketed the room once more, although this time, every eye darted to Emily’s frigid demeanor. The young woman felt the solution crystallize in her mind instantly, but she hesitated in putting her hand up. However, when it was clear that no one else had the answer, she couldn’t resist the thrill of answering a question no one else could solve.

As her hand raised, the words spilled out of her mouth. “The quotient rule gives numerator derivative times denominator minus denominator times numerator derivative, all over denominator squared. Numerator is x to the one-half, derivative one-half x to the negative one-half. Denominator e squared x, derivative two e squared x. So it simplifies to one-half x to the negative one-half e squared x minus two x to the one-half e squared x, over e to the fourth x. Or factored, e squared x times one-half x to the negative three-halves minus two x to the negative one-half, over e squared x.”

Mr. Sato turned to Emily’s table with his hands clasped behind his back and measuredly strolled over to the seated woman. His face darkened to a storm as he brought the ruler down on her desk with a resounding crack that made several students jump, including Emily herself.

“Detention, Emily Tanaka!” he thundered. “After the final bell, you will report here. Your arrogance disrupts this entire class, and I will not tolerate it further. Do you understand?”

Emily’s eyes widened as she gasped in horror. Detention? She had never received detention in her life. What had gotten into the normally supportive professor? She looked up at him, but he simply stared back in a steely gaze devoid of emotion. “Yes, sir,” she whispered meekly as she lowered her view to the table.

The remaining minutes dragged on as the tension in the class was palpable. Emily stayed quiet for the rest of the lesson, withholding the urge to raise her hand for fear of her punishment getting worse. Perhaps Mr. Sato had simply woken up on the wrong side of the bed that morning. Still, his callous attitude towards her was a significant shift, and added to her concerns at lunch, Emily felt like there was something she was missing.

The bell rang, and the class began to filter out, although the studious brunette was slow to rise from her seat due to the emotions overflowing in her mind. Natsumi rose from her desk and approached her best friend, placing a gentle hand on Emily’s arm, drawing the woman’s eyes upward.

“Are you okay?” Natsumi asked softly. “That wasn’t like Mr. Sato at all. You did nothing wrong.”

Emily met her friend’s gaze and nodded silently, the motion mechanical as she fought to steady her breathing. She had been humiliated for the first time at school, and she hated it.

Natsumi squeezed her arm once more before letting go. “Text me when you’re out of detention, alright? We can talk about it then.” The light-haired Japanese student walked out the door, leaving Emily alone to stew in her own emotions.

❖

Emily hesitated before she stepped through the open threshold of the mathematics classroom after school. Most of the students had left for the day, and the young woman took a deep breath before heading inside the familiar room. Mr. Sato’s desk sat unoccupied at the front, his papers left scattered along the top as if he had rushed away in a hurry. Emily stepped forward anyway and chose a seat in one of the middle rows. Lowering herself into the chair, she crossed her legs and pulled out her phone, cursing herself as she saw the 1% battery flashing red in the top right corner of the screen. It was going to be a long, boring walk home, she thought to herself. She idly tapped her short, manicured fingernails along the wooden desk impatiently as she glanced up at the large clock above the door. The teacher was late, which was definitely unlike him.

Five minutes later, the door swung inward with a deliberate push, admitting three boys who filled the frame before stepping inside. The one in front moved with a casual arrogance, his open leather jacket revealing a black best which showed off his chest hair. Emily sat up straighter, assuming the trio must share her punishment, as boys often landed themselves in detention more than the girls. She offered a tentative smile. “Hi. Are you here for Mr. Sato’s detention too? He seems to be running late.”

The leader paused, his brown eyes sweeping over her seated form with a leisure that made the woman feel uneasy. Ink peeked from the edge of his collar in intricate dark lines. Without breaking his gaze, the man reached back and turned the lock, the metallic click locking the door with anxious finality.

Emily’s smile faltered slightly, her body tensing as she rose halfway from her chair, one hand bracing the desk for balance. “Why did you do that?” she asked naively. “Unlock it. Mr. Sato will be here soon, and he needs to get in.”

The black-haired leader’s lips curved into a sharp smile, his eyes never leaving her as he moved away from the door and approached closer, while the two behind him lingered by the door, as though they were temporarily keeping watch.

“Mr. Sato won’t be joining us, princess,” the young man said with an amused tone, his voice deep and gruff. “He’s got other matters to attend to. But don’t worry, he sent us to keep you company.”

Emily stared in confusion. She knew she was in trouble, and the signs of trouble she had spotted throughout the day were coming to fruition. “What do you want?” she replied, forcing a steadiness in her tone despite her growing fear. “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working. I know people, you know?”

“Know people?” the man repeated, the words rolling off his tongue with mocking relish. “Like your golden boy brother? I wonder where he is now. Still on the run? He’ll get what he deserves one of these days.” The leader began circling Emily’s chair, prompting her to freeze in place. “Those ‘people’ won’t help you here, princess.” The pair by the door chuckled in unison as their ‘friend’ circled his prey.

The young woman’s fingers tightened on the edge of the desk, glancing around for a way out. This was planned. She had no idea who these thugs were, but they were here to send a message. “Do you know who I am? Let me be, or the cops will be on you before the night ends.” She tried to stay fierce, knowing the three men were looking for chinks in her armor.

The man stopped before her and perched on the woman’s desk. “Ohh, yes. I know who you are, Tanaka. I know about your entire family.” He rubbed his chin before leaning closer. “Your brother helped take my brother down two years ago. He’s rotting in a cell now because your family decided to interfere in our business. That’s why I’m here now. My name is Kenji, and we will be seeing a lot more of each other from now on, princess.”

Emily stood up, pulling the chair away from the desk in the process. Still, the two musclebound young goons spun into action, each placing a hand on her shoulders and pushing her back down. The brunette’s eyes widened in a panic. “You’re here for revenge?” she shouted out. “I had nothing to do with your brother. Leave me alone!”

The goons, Tatsuya and Riku, held the council president firm without much effort, keeping her under control despite her best efforts. Emily’s heart raced and pounded against her ribcage in a frantic rhythm as she twisted her body, trying to shake them off, but the motion only served to pull her blouse tighter across her chest.

“Revenge is exactly what this is. However, it’s so much more than that,” Kenji spoke proudly as he stood up and walked back toward the trapped woman, crouching down to meet her gaze. “Your brother took my sibling from me, and I am simply going to repay the favor.” The woman shuddered at his ominous threat. Was he going to kill her? Right here, in the building her father owned?

Kenji nodded to his friends, and Tatsuya released Emily’s arm just long enough to pull a roll of gray duct tape from his pocket. Riku used both hands to keep the brunette pinned to her seat as the other goon began to wrap the adhesive around her waist, pinning her arms by her side and holding her forced against the chair. After wrapping around a dozen times, he cut it off with his teeth before focusing on Emily’s chest, pressing her back up against the tall back of the school chair.

After she was pinned securely, Riku moved to her feet, pushing one against the leg of the chair as her free foot kicked out, slamming into the side of his face. “Ooph, that bitch kicked me!” he complained.

Kenji chuckled, showing him no sympathy. “Secure her, or can’t you handle a 100 lbs woman?” he teased.

The goon grunted before using his own leg to entrap hers, wrapping the duct tape to secure her, and moments later, she was unable to kick out at anyone, securely fastened to the chair.

As Riku forced her hands into fists and wrapped each one up, Kenji moved his face closer, inches away from her struggling rebellion. “Fight all you want, princess, but this is happening whether you allow it or not.” He stood up and rolled an old TV from the front of the class to where the honor student was sitting. “You’ve always been the model student, haven’t you, Emily?” He crouched down again, his cigarette-scented breath in her face. “But I wonder what happens when we peel those defenses back and show the world the real you.”

Emily struggled against the heavy-duty tape, straining her legs and arms, but found her efforts useless. In a burst of frustration, the young woman spat at the ringleader, shooting her saliva directly in his eye.

Kenji barely reacted, pulling a handkerchief from his jeans pocket and wiping his face down. He glared at the woman. “Tape that mouth. She’s not going to need it.” He commanded the pair, standing up and approaching the TV.

Emily heard a rip of the tape and wildly shook her head. “No, wait…” she cried out before the gray adhesive was placed over her lips, with two more layers added to ensure the sticky substance stayed in place. “Mmphhh!” she yelled in protest.

Tatsuya stepped back with a satisfied nod, admiring the way the tape sealed the honor student’s protests into muffled nothingness, while Riku lingered near her side, his fingers idly tracing along her arm as if to taunt her predicament. Kenji fiddled with the old TV’s dials, and the screen flickered to life with a static hiss that hurt Emily’s ears. The young man grinned and attached a VHS player to the TV’s input, and the irritating noise ceased.

The ringleader pushed a video inside the player, and a plain pink screen greeted them. He chuckled to himself. “Congratulations, Emily,” he taunted. “You’ve been chosen to participate in a science experiment, and you get to enjoy this nice video.” He told her as he plugged a pair of black headphones into the TV and perched them on the bound woman’s head, ensuring they covered her ears.

“Just relax, and enjoy the show,” Kenji said as he pressed play on the remote. Suddenly, the screen came to life, displaying fast-moving images with a pink hue at a pace that prevented Emily from processing them coherently. She winced as the grating static returned to her ears, although this time the sound was more rhythmic with whispers she couldn’t decipher.

“We’ll be back in a couple of hours,” the ringleader said, although Emily couldn’t hear him over the enforced noise covering her ears. “Let’s see how much of a fight you put up then.” The trio chuckled as they left the struggling brunette to her taped prison and enforced TV schedule.

Emily bucked against the tape restraints one final time, her body arching in desperate fury as the adhesive stretched across her waist, thighs, and chest. Muffled cries vibrated against the seal over her mouth as she tried to scream for help, but the bindings held firm. The screen’s frenzy assaulted her vision, flashes of unfamiliar faces and forms bleeding into spirals that tugged at her resolve, while the headphones pulsed with layered whispers she didn’t understand. The overwhelming assault on her senses left the young model student disoriented, creating a fog that she couldn’t shake off. Eventually, she succumbed to the dizziness and found her eyelids growing heavy, the world tilting into oblivion as she fell unconscious.

❖

Emily’s eyelids fluttered open to a dull ache throbbing behind them. Her head felt heavy, and her body was lethargic. She blinked slowly, the classroom coming into focus in fragmented pieces. She clenched and unclenched her fingers, immediately noticing they were no longer trapped in forced balls, as were the bindings attaching her to the chair. The tape over her mouth had vanished too, and she touched them with her fingertips, tracing the tender edges as confusion swirled through her mind.

The TV that she had been forced to stare into sat pushed back against the front wall where it usually resided, the VHS player detached and nowhere in sight. The headphones that had been clamped over her ears were also nowhere to be seen.

The woman sat up straighter, her body protesting with a deep, unfamiliar soreness that spread from her shoulders to her thighs. Part of her wondered if she had imagined it all, the stress of recent events directing a sick, twisted story inside her own mind. The room looked untouched. The desks were all aligned in uniform, and the scribbles of Mr. Sato’s latest class were still sprawled out on the whiteboard. Emily rubbed her wrists. She definitely felt as though they had been bound, but perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her.

Then, her hope came crashing down in an instant. The door at the front of the room clicked open, and Kenji stepped inside alone. The man closed the door behind him with a gentle push, the lock not engaging this time, and he leaned against it for a moment, his eyes finding her across the room.

Emily gasped, the fragile illusion of all of this being a dream shattering like glass, and she pushed back from the desk, her chair scraping against the floor as she rose to her feet. “You,” she yelled. “What did you do to me? What was on that TV?”

Kenji pushed off the door with a casual roll of his shoulders, and he stepped closer, closing the distance between the two in unhurried strides. He stopped a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets nonchalantly. “Woke up a bit fuzzy, huh?” he said coyly. “That’s completely normal. You’re good to walk out that door whenever you want, princess.”

The Japanese-American woman narrowed her eyes, glancing over at the open window to her left and the door to her right. “What- what’s the catch?” she asked, sensing a trap.

The young Yakuza member chuckled lightly, enjoying the game of cat-and-mouse. “There’s no catch,” he said suspiciously. “You’d better get out of here before I change my mind.”

Emily stared around the room once more, convinced that the untrustworthy man had laid a booby trap somewhere. Maybe his goons were waiting to pounce on her? Regardless, she needed to get home and tell her parents about what had happened today. If this were happening in their school, they would need to know about it.

She forced her legs to move, pivoting toward the door in a hurried rush, determined to get out of the man’s sight as quickly as she could. Her hand shot out for the handle, fingers curling around the cool metal with desperate intent, but Kenji’s voice stopped her in her tracks with a single word.

“Freeze.”

The command hung in the air, and Emily’s body betrayed her immediately. Her muscles seized rigid from the top of her head to her toes, locking her mid-reach with the door handle gripped in her frozen fingers. Her arm extended straight ahead while her legs rooted to the floor in a pose that arched her back slightly.

Panic exploded in the student’s chest, a wild storm of fury and fear that made her mind scream commands to her limbs, but they wouldn’t listen. Her entire form was held by an invisible force, leaving her standing like a statue for Kenji’s amused gaze. Humiliation burned through the brunette’s body as she desperately tried to will a finger to move. Still, nothing she did could overcome the man’s simple command.

Kenji casually stepped up behind the woman, before grabbing her hand and releasing her grip on the door handle, twisting her body around to face him, and lowering both arms to her side. The look of fear was etched all over Emily’s face. “Now this is what I call real power,” the man spoke triumphantly, taking the brunette’s right hand and pulling her forefinger up to the tip of her nose, toying with the immobile woman. “Look at you. All that fire inside, but your body belongs to me now. That video did its job, and now your body will immediately obey my instructions, whether your own mind agrees or not. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Emily’s thoughts raged in silent fury, a torrent of commands battering against the walls of her mind as she strained to break free, her inner voice howling for her legs to kick out or her hand to slap away his touch, but her body remained a traitorous vessel.

Kenji grinned and pulled her hand back down to her side before reaching up to her mouth and spreading her lips apart, leaving her expression in a vacant O shape. He chuckled to himself. “I could take you back to mine, leave you as an inanimate sex doll. That would surely show your brother who really runs this town, no?” His hand reached down as he undid two of her blouse buttons, revealing a hint of her C-cup cleavage.

“First rule, and this is a permanent rule,” Kenji said, looking deep into the frozen woman’s eyes. “You will be unable to speak a word of this to anyone. The events here today, my control over you, what you’ve done, what you’re going to do, your lips will be sealed. Whenever your mind tries to explain the truth to somebody other than me, you will immediately change the subject.”

Emily’s mind thrashed against the violation as a whirlwind of revulsion stirred inside of her. There was no way he could control her to that extent, and yet, standing before him with her lips parted, frozen like a mannequin, was a testament to his new power over her. Whatever that video did to her head, it was effective.

Kenji’s gaze darkened with satisfaction as he traced the edge of her bra with a feather-light stroke. “I’ll have plenty more rules for you to follow over the next few weeks, doll,” he teased, moving his head closer to the woman’s ear, his breath hot against her lobe, as he whispered teasingly. “For tonight, I want you to follow these instructions perfectly.”

Emily gasped internally as she listened to the commands, horror flooding her as she realized the extent of her trouble. This was going to be a long night.

❖

Emily burst through the grand foyer of the Tanaka family home as the door swung shut behind her with a resonant thud. She dumped her rucksack next to the coatrack beside the door, leaving it there as her legs carried her forward in a blind momentum toward the swirling staircase.

Emily’s mom, Hanna Tanaka, emerged from the adjoining dining room at the sound of the door, her glossy, loose brunette hair shimmering off the chandelier light as it cascaded over her shoulders. Hanna was American, having met Emily’s father, Haruki, over twenty years ago, as he was traveling through her hometown of Evansville, Indiana. Despite being in her early forties, her high cheekbones and plump lips kept her features youthful, and she was often mistaken for Emily’s sister rather than her parent.

“Emily, there you are,” Hanna said in English, her voice carrying the warm lilt of her Midwestern roots. “It’s nearly seven. Dinner’s on the table, and your father called from Tokyo asking about your day. Where have you been?”

Emily didn’t pause, her feet propelling her up the first few steps of the staircase without faltering, the compulsion of Kenji’s whispered command rooting deep in her muscles like an invisible tether pulling her toward her room. “Sorry, Mom,” she yelled back. “I won’t be home for dinner tonight.”

Hannah gasped in shock. Her daughter had never spoken to her with such teenage disrespect before. She stepped forward and shouted back at her daughter. “Emily, you get back down here this instant and explain yourself!”

However, her raised voice fell on deaf ears as the 18-year-old found herself reaching the top of the stairs and trudging off to her bedroom, internally fighting for control over the embedded commands, but ultimately failing.

Emily’s body obeyed the compulsion to enter her bedroom, and she pushed the door open. Inside, she found herself walking past her bed and stopping directly in front of her closet. “Stop, fight it,” Emily told herself quietly as her mind continued to fight the invisible strings. However, her hand flung the double doors wide, the hangers rattling as she scanned for any item that would obey her tormentor’s exact requirements.

The young woman’s fingers closed around the knee-length tartan skirt hanging in its spot, the fabric soft and the length long enough to keep her modesty intact. She pulled the skirt free with a mechanical tug despite her mental protests. Looking around, Emily picked up a pair of scissors from her top dresser drawer and snapped them back and forth as though her own body were taunting her. Emily’s mind rebelled, a frantic chorus of ‘no, drop it, run.’ Still, her body continued to betray her, positioning the skirt across the edge of her bed and snipping the first cut into the hem, the scissors shearing through the threads. Inch by inch, the length shortened, the scissors parting over half of the material away from the waistband, leaving a daring mid-thigh slash that would bare the full curve of her hips and tease the underside of her ass with every step. She watched in horrified detachment as the discarded scraps fell to the floor, leaving one of her prized skirts defaced and deformed.

Her ruinous compulsion didn’t end there. She moved back to the closet, and her hands moved towards a plain pink t-shirt, folded neatly in her top cubby hole, as she picked it up and held it out. “This’ll do,” she heard herself say, as if someone else was directing her speech. With widened eyes, the Japanese-American placed the garment on the edge of her bed and began slicing through it horizontally until the midsection portion was utterly ruined. What was once a sweet, feminine, modest piece of attire now looked like a slutty handmade crop top.

Emily’s thoughts screamed for her to stop, to fling the ruined clothes away and let her bed swallow her whole, but her arms began to move on to the next stage of her layered commands, and she slowly began removing her uniform. The blazer was the first item to drop to the floor, followed by her blouse as the young woman began unbuttoning herself from the front. Her white 32C bra was next as she reached behind and unclasped her bosom free, the air brushing against her hardened nipples. The skirt followed, pooling at her feet as she wiggled her way out of it, leaving her in plain white panties that felt like the only protection she had left against her traitorous hands.

After removing her shoes and socks, Emily slid the new cropped tee over her head, the pink material sliding over her skin, the jagged hem curling upward to frame her midriff and brush the underside of her bare breasts with every breath. The lack of a bra made her nipples faintly visible through the thin, pink material, and the entire garment was short enough to bear her breasts if she reached up high enough. The tiny skirt came after, sliding it up her legs and zipping it in place, allowing it to fall against her hips. The hem of the skirt flirted with indecency as it barely skimmed her thighs and revealed the very lower portion of her ass from behind.

Emily’s hand delved into the drawer for a pair of white thigh-high socks, unrolling them up her legs sensually, the skirt short enough to leave a slim sliver of skin between the two. The three-inch white heels waited in the back of the closet. Emily had never been one to enjoy heels and always opted for more practical footwear. She had worn these shoes to a costume party and wondered why she never threw them out after; they were the tallest heels she owned. Her body slipped the shoes onto her feet, the slight arch forcing her posture to curve slightly, her ass lifting, and her breasts thrusting forward just to keep her balance. She wasn’t sure if the shoes had forced that posture, or if it was Kenji’s disgusting commands.

The brunette stood frozen before the full-length mirror on her closet door, her reflection staring back at her unnervingly. The cropped pink t-shirt clung to her curved and lifted with each shallow breath to tease the lower swell of her bare C-cup breasts. The ripped tartan pleated skirt rode scandalously high, barely grazing the tops of her thighs and leaving the firm globes of her ass exposed from behind, the thigh-high socks hugging her legs in a manner that accentuated the smooth expanse of skin above them. The heels arched her calves into elegant lines, thrusting her hips forward in a pose that made the honor student’s cheeks burn with mortification. The once-proper student now dressed like a common slut she had never dared to imagine.

Emily found herself turning from the mirror and made her way back down the staircase, each step in the low heels forcing her hips to sway in a manner she wasn’t used to. Her mother was waiting for her in the grand foyer, and her mouth gaped open in wide-eyed confusion, taking in the scandalous transformation from her once-modest and respectable daughter.

The young student couldn’t meet her mother’s gaze, humiliation flushing her cheeks as she lowered her head and walked past Hanna without a word.

“Emily,” the older woman asked in English, her voice hoarse. “What are you wearing? What’s gotten into you?”

The scantily-clad woman ignored her mom, her feet forcing her out of the house as it led her down the street. Nothing Emily could do would stop her body from reacting exactly as Kenji had told it to, and now she was heading back for further humiliation.

❖

Kenji leaned against the shadowed brick wall of an alley with a cigarette dangling from his fingers as he exhaled a slow plume of smoke. His attention was fixed on the approaching figure, and he let out a low whistle as she stepped closer. That bitch brushed up nicer when she didn’t look so preppy, Kenji thought to himself. He stood up straight and closed the distance between them.

“Twirl for me, princess,” the young man commanded with unquestioning authority as he tapped a strand of ash onto the concrete floor.

Emily’s body responded before her mind could protest, her arms lifting gracefully as she spun in a slow circle, much like a dainty ballerina, the motion fluid and obedient despite the storm raging in her mind. The turn exposed every angle to the man’s scrutiny, and she felt like a doll on display. She completed the rotation before coming to a stop, facing the gang member once more.

Kenji’s eyes roamed over the young brunette with open appreciation, a smirk playing on his lips as he took another drag of his cigarette. “That’s the sight I wanted to see,” he said smugly. “Your body knows who’s in charge now. I wonder what your dear mommy thought when she saw you.” He laughed at his own joke.

Emily remained silent as she tried to keep her expression a mask of neutrality, not wanting to give the asshole the pleasure of knowing he’d gotten to her. Her mind rattled with fury and shame, but her lips remained closed.

Kenji’s laughter faded into a satisfied chuckle, and he reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a fresh cigarette. He held it out to her, offering the woman a smoke. “For you,” he said as he held it in his outstretched hand.

Emily stared down at the cigarette with disgust and shook her head. “Urgh, no thanks. I don’t smoke.”

Her response prompted the man to take another step closer, a wide grin forming on his face. “Oh, it wasn’t a suggestion, princess,” he teased. “I bet you haven’t even ever tried it. Now, take this cigarette into your mouth, light it up, and smoke it slow and sensually,” he ordered, his voice dropping to a commanding bellow that sent an unwilling shiver down the brunette’s spine.

Her fingers rose without permission, closing around the offered cigarette and placing it between her unpainted lips. She took his lighter with the other hand and sparked a flame as she ignited the tip. The first inhale scorched her throat, and she coughed harshly, keeling over as Kenji laughed at her response.

The gang member watched her double over with amusement in his eyes, and he waited patiently for the fit to subside before he spoke again.

“You will get used to it soon enough,” he explained with a casual wave of his hand. “You may hate it, but your body will learn to crave the obedience. Every drag of that cigarette reminds you of exactly how much control I have over you.”

Emily straightened up despite the burning in her chest, and her hand brought the cigarette back to her lips as if it had a will of its own. She inhaled deeply and held it there for several seconds before exhaling in a long, steady stream that curled around her face. The taste lingered on the student’s tongue, and she hated how her body seemed to relax into the act.

Kenji nodded approvingly as he finished his own cigarette and crushed the butt under his boot. “That is much better. You look good with smoke coming out of those pretty lips. Now, follow me. We have a party to get to, but we can’t have you looking like that.” He grinned as he started walking, grinning as Emily’s body followed obediently. “There’s a salon up ahead, Dollz, which can do you up nice and proper before we make your big debut.”

The flashing sign of Dollz buzzed overhead on the narrow street as Kenji pushed open the glass door and ushered his captive inside. “Nu uh. No smoking inside, doll. Put it out.”

Emily shuddered as her body obeyed, removing the cigarette from her lips and dropping it on the pavement outside, her low-heeled shoes crushing out the burning embers. She then headed inside the pink-walled salon at her tormentor’s direction.

A woman with vibrant pink hair and a tight black tube top emerged from behind the counter, her eyes lighting up as she took in the sight of the pair entering her domain. She had plump pink lips, and her arms and torso were covered in various lewd tattoos. She clapped her hands together with excitement and approached them quickly.

“Kenji, you brought a new project,” the stylist said with a bubbly voice. “She’s gonna take a lot of work. The usual treatment?”

Kenji grinned, placing a hand along Emily’s short-skirted backside. “It’s good to see you, sis,” he said to the shorter woman. “I’m looking for something a little more special today. Give her a bit of Treatment 4,” he said cryptically.

The stylist clapped her hands again. “Ohh, I love it,” she said before standing in front of Emily. “You must be really special to my big brother. I’m Mika, and I’ll be your style advisor this afternoon. Why don’t you follow me?”

Emily stayed rooted to the spot. As much as her body responded to commands by Kenji, that fortunately didn’t extend to other people. She turned her head to the man as he narrowed his eyes at her. “Follow Mika, doll, and do everything she tells you to do without complaint.”

The command was a knife through the heart, as her feet immediately began moving, allowing the pink-haired stylist to lead her to a leather pink salon chair, where she sat. “This is going to be so much fun,” Mika said enthusiastically. “I think we’re going to be best friends when this is done.”

Mika draped a protective cape around Emily’s shoulders and fastened it at the neck. She wheeled over a cart loaded with bottles and tools, and she began mixing a thick paste in a bowl. The stylist sectioned the woman’s hair with clips and started applying the mixture from root to tip, the cool cream spreading evenly as it saturated each strand. Emily groaned at the chemical scent attacking her nostrils as Mika worked in silence for several minutes, ensuring every section received thorough coverage. The honor student tried to resist, or at least tilt her head to look in the mirror, but her body wouldn’t let her spoil the surprise.

Kenji lounged in a nearby waiting chair and watched the process with casual interest, occasionally glancing at his phone. Mika rinsed the first application under a portable sink and repeated the steps with a different solution, this one lighter and frothy, which she massaged into the scalp in circular motions. The foam built up and clung to the strands, and Emily sat motionless as the stylist combed through it to distribute the product evenly.

After she had finished, the stylist clicked her fingers and commanded Emily. “Top, skirt, underwear. Off now.” Before the young woman could open her mouth to protest, her body obeyed the request. She stood up, removing her tattered, slutty clothing, folding them up, and placing them on a nearby stand. As Emily undressed herself, the stylist covered the chair in a protective wrap.

Once fully unclothed, Mika commanded Emily to sit back on the chair before wheeling out a tall machine with a hose attachment. She adjusted the settings and began spraying a fine mist over the student’s vulnerable body, the liquid warm and tingling as it settled in fine layers. Mika worked methodically from the neck downward, pausing to even up the layers with a soft sponge and adding more coats where needed. The process required Emily to turn over when needed, the mist coating her limbs and torso in steady passes until the stylist declared the body base complete.

“Now, for the face. Close your eyes,” she commanded the trapped woman, who obeyed immediately. Mika attached a small hose extension and began evenly distributing the mist over Emily’s face, ensuring it blended perfectly with the coloring of her neck. Taking a step back, Mika smiled widely. “Ohh, that looks perfect.” She said as she switched the machine off. “Right, that’ll take five minutes to dry,” the pink-haired woman told Emily. “Stay where you are until I return.” Her command kept Emily in place as Mika approached her brother for a catch-up while the process set.

After the five minutes had elapsed and Emily was allowed to redress herself, Mika returned with a tray of tools and products, her eyes sparkling with creative energy as she set everything down beside the chair. She began by attaching long sections of hair to Emily’s existing strands, weaving them in with hidden clips and adhesive that bonded seamlessly under a quick blast from a handheld dryer. The added length cascaded down in waves, and Mika combed through it repeatedly to ensure the integration looked natural before moving on to the next phase.

She picked up a palette of powders and creams, blending shades on the back of her hand before applying them to Emily’s face with soft brushes. The foundation was applied first, smoothing over the skin in light, even strokes to create a flawless base. Contouring was then applied, with darker tones sculpting the jawline and cheekbones, while lighter highlights accentuated the features in strategic places. Mika’s brush danced across the eyelids, layering colors in gradients that built with intensity.

The stylist outlined the eyes with a steady hand, drawing lines that extended outward in sharp wings, and she adhered strips of lashes that fanned out dramatically once secured. Blush swept high on the cheeks in bold circles, and Mika shaped the brow with tweezers and a pencil, arching them higher than before for added expression. She finished the face with a setting powder dusted lightly over everything to lock the layers in place.

Mika produced a small syringe filled with clear gel and held it up to the light. “This part stings a little, but it’s worth it,” she chirped, unaware of the rebellious internal screaming from her project on the chair. She steadied Emily’s chin and inserted the needle into the upper lip first, injecting the filler in slow, controlled amounts that caused an immediate swelling sensation. The process was repeated on the lower lip, the gel plumping the tissue until the pressure built to an uncomfortable peak. Mika massaged the area gently with gloved fingertips to distribute the product evenly, ensuring symmetry as the lips took on their new volume.

The pink-haired woman stepped back to assess her work, nodding with satisfaction before grabbing a tube of gloss. The applicator glided over the swollen lips in thick, shiny coats, the color deep and vibrant as it spread across the freshly-filled area. Mika capped the tube and brought out another trolley, this time to work on the woman’s bare fingernails. “Sit tight, and enjoy the pampering,” she told the woman before she began filing Emily’s nails. She carefully pressed on acrylic nails, fixed with a ceramic adhesive, before slowly dragging a paint brush over each one, creating even coloring on each lengthened nail. Finally, she took a step back, smiling at the view before wheeling over a full-length mirror on a stand, positioning it directly in front of the chair.

“Open your eyes, doll,” she instructed with a grin. “Time for the big reveal.”

Emily’s eyelids fluttered open, and her breath caught in her throat as the reflection stared back at her. The face in the mirror belonged to a stranger, tanned to a golden bronze that made her feel sick and uneasy, with platinum blonde waves tumbling down to her lower back in loose, voluminous curls. Her eyes were framed by dramatic wings and thick lashes that made them appear larger and more seductive; the lids were shaded in bold pinks and purples that shimmered with a glittery effect with every blink. Her cheeks carried a flushed, exaggerated contour, and her lips—swollen into a perfect, glossy pout—dominated the lower half of her face, the filler giving them an obscene fullness that screamed invitation. What had that bitch done to her lips? Emily thought.

Mika clapped her hands together in delight. “Treatment number four. The real gyaru slut experience, just like Kenji wanted. You’re my best work yet.”

Kenji rose from his chair and approached, his eyes narrowing in approval as he took in the transformation. “Wow, Mika. You outdid yourself. She’s perfect.” He grinned at the dumbfounded expression on the transformed woman’s heavily made-up face.

Emily’s mind reeled in horror; the image in the mirror was a grotesque representation of everything wrong with modern society. She hated those tramps who adopted Western culture and treated them like valued ideals. And yet, she now looked exactly like the kind of woman she hated. She wanted to cover her face, to scrub away the layers of makeup and fake tan, but her body remained still.

Kenji placed a hand on the new blonde’s shoulder and leaned in close. “Now you’re all set up for the party. Come along, we have people waiting.” He grinned.

He helped the woman to her feet, the cape falling away to show off her slutty outfit that somehow looked more obscene after her makeover. The gang member took Emily’s arm and led her toward the door, the stylist calling out a cheerful goodbye as they stepped back outside and headed to the party.

❖

Kenji pushed open the door of the rundown house on the edge of Miyoshi, the thumping base from within spilling out into the weathered streets like a living pulse. He guided Emily inside with a firm hand on her lower back as the heat and chaos of the party enveloped them immediately. Men in dark sunglasses stood at every exit, their jackets bulging at the hips where concealed guns pressed against the fabric, their stares cold and disjointed as they scanned the crowd.

Emily’s mind raced with dread as she took in the scene, realizing it was no ordinary student gathering. The Yakuza controlled the doors and provided security for the event. The very gang that her family had helped drive out of the town was running things around her. The transformed woman’s gaze darted to other women scattered throughout the building, each one heavily made up with exaggerated curves and dressed in outfits that left little to the imagination; their eyes were glassy, and their movements were wobbly, as if drugged. Hands groped the women freely, pulling them onto couches filled with men, where they were treated like objects.

A cluster of Tanaka Academy students stood near the entrance turned as Kenji and Emily entered. One young man, with tousled hair and holding a green beer bottle, stared at the pair before grinning.

“Who’s the slut you got there, Kenji?” he shouted over the music, his voice laced with drunken curiosity as his eyes traced her bare curves. “She looks like she’s here for more than just dancing.”

Kenji’s grip tightened on her ass, and he leaned in close enough for his breath to brush her ear. “Take a deeper look. You’ve met her before, Yuto.”

Yuto squinted, his grin faltering momentarily as recognition slowly crept across his face. He took a step closer, the beer bottle lowering in his hand while his eyes widened in disbelief. His smile returned as he spoke.

“No fucking way,” he muttered. “Emily Tanaka? How the fuck did you get the stuck-up council president to dress up like that? You blackmailing her?”

Emily’s tormentor squeezed her ass absently and chuckled at the man’s question. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?” he grinned knowingly before leaning in to whisper in the blonde’s ear, out of the man’s earshot. “Tell the group that you’re a slut who’s looking for a good time.”

The woman gasped, her eyes widened as she looked at Kenji pleadingly. However, her new plump mouth parted and began to speak without any input from her own mind. “I’m just a slut looking for a good time.”

Emily’s cheeks flushed in deep humiliation as the young men laughed and slapped hands with each other, clearly enjoying her answer.

Yuto stepped up close to the transformed blonde, cupping her chin. “I knew you had a wild streak in you. Maybe we can have a little fun later?” he asked suggestively, licking his lips lewdly at the woman.

Kenji chuckled, slapping his humiliated date on the ass before moving her on. “Maybe she’ll take you up on that later,” he called out before leading the woman further into the party.

The Yakuza member steered the blonde deeper into the throng, his fingers digging into her flesh possessively as they moved into the patio outside. He paused near a makeshift bar and grabbed a shot glass filled with clear liquid before pressing it into Emily’s hand.

“Drink this,” he ordered. “And accept all drinks offered to you until I tell you to stop.”

Her pink-painted fingernails closed around the glass without hesitation, and she tilted her head back to let the liquor slide down her throat in a single burning gulp. Emily’s family was against all forms of drinking and vices, believing they impaired moral judgment and led to a degenerate society. Emily followed in their footsteps, and the tequila burning her throat was her first exposure to the substance.

The burn spread through her chest like liquid fire, and she gasped as the aftertaste lingered on her tongue. Kenji watched her reaction with amusement before gesturing toward the crowded open-air dance area where bodies pressed up against one another in a jubilous display.

“Now go dance,” he commanded. “Move your body like you can’t get enough attention. You will flirt with any man who approaches you, and remember to accept every drink. Make your brother proud. I’ll check on you later, princess.”

Emily’s body moved forward into the press of dancers, her hips swaying with a forced, exaggerated roll that drew immediate attention from the men around her. A tall student with a shaved head sidled up beside her, his hands settling on her waist as he pulled her back against him. The honor student arched into the contact without thinking, her mind screaming in protest while her pouty lips curved into a flirtatious smile.

“You’re new here,” the man said into her ear, the smell of beer on his breath. “I like the way you look. What’s your name?”

She turned in his arms, pressing closer as the command forced her to respond. “Call me whatever you want,” she purred, the words tasting foreign on her tongue. “I’m just here to have fun with someone like you.”

He laughed and handed her another shot from a passing tray. “My kind of woman,” he said cheerily as Emily accepted the drink and downed it without pause, the alcohol hitting her hard again.

More men closed in, their hands exploring her bare skin freely as she danced between them, accepting every drink and flirting with every comment given to her. The tequila blurred into vodka, then something sweeter than burned less but spun her thoughts faster.

Her body ground against strangers with shameless abandon as she found herself back inside, sitting between two men with roaming hands on a sofa, giggling idly at their stupid jokes, accepting her tenth drink of the evening. Her mind still tried to retake control, but her dulled brain activity made it harder for her to concentrate on rebellion.

The man on Emily’s left leaned in, his fingers tracing the edge of her crop top as he offered another glass. The blonde accepted it with a playful giggle, the liquid sliding down her throat far more pleasantly than before. The alcohol had long numbed her panic, leaving only a hazy compliance that her body embraced without question.

The second man pulled her closer, his mouth brushing her neck in a trail of sloppy kisses as he lifted her slutty ripped pink top upward, showing off her C-cup breasts to anyone watching. Emily laughed in response, the sound high and empty, as her hand rested on his inner thigh, flirtatiously encouraging the Japanese man to push it further. Kenji’s commands held firm, forcing Emily to lean into every touch, every whispered suggestion that grew bolder with each passing minute.

The man on her right joined in, his lips capturing hers in a deep, insistent kiss that tasted of cheap whiskey. Emily’s body responded eagerly, her swollen pout pressing back as her hands tangled in his hair, the world narrowing to the heat of his mouth and the wandering fingers that teased her exposed skin.

Another drink appeared in her grasp, and she swallowed it down between kisses, the burn now a familiar friend that dulled the edges of her resistance further. The sofa became a tangle of limbs and laughter, the men’s hands growing more demanding and slowly stripping her of more attire as they pulled her across their laps.

The room spun in a kaleidoscope of lights and faces, the alcohol weaving a thick fog through her thoughts until even the internal screams faded to whispers. The last thing she felt was a mouth claiming hers again, the kiss swallowing her dulled protests as darkness rushed in like a tide.

Emily awoke to sunlight piercing through a pair of unfamiliar curtains, her head banging mercilessly, and her body aching in places she dared not acknowledge. There was a strange taste in her mouth, and her breasts felt tender. She lay entangled between three naked men on a stained mattress, their snores filling the quiet room as sticky warmth clung to her inner thighs.

The blonde’s heart pumped with a mix of terror and revulsion as fragments of the night teased at the edges of her memory, though nothing concrete surfaced to explain the soreness that radiated from her pussy. Had she let them fuck her? The mere idea made her feel sick. The woman shifted carefully, disentangling herself from the limp arms draped over her body. She quietly slid off the bed, careful not to wake the three unknown sleeping men.

Emily gathered her scattered clothes with trembling hands, redressing herself in the slutty pink croptop and tartan micro-skirt, before creeping toward the door. She needed to escape from this hellhole. She carefully opened the door, careful not to let it creak, before sliding out and closing the door behind her. Allowing herself to breathe, the transformed blonde slowly made her way out of the house without being seen. How was she going to explain all this to her parents? How was she going to reverse all of this before her reputation was destroyed forever?

End of Chapter One