Finale Chapter 66 : “Amusement Park "

The sun hung low, casting long golden streaks across the amusement park. Laughter and music swirled around the Nishima family, blending into the chaos of children running past and the scent of fried snacks. Yet, to Touko, everything felt quieter. Slower. Sharper.

Kei and Yui walked ahead, their hands brushing lightly. He leaned close to whisper something, and Yui’s lips curved in a smile. A small, hidden kiss—gone as quickly as it came. Touko saw it, and her chest tightened. She didn’t move. She didn’t need to. She only watched.

Rurika clung to Kei’s hand, her small fingers entwined around his with a desperation Touko recognized instantly. The way she followed him, mimicked his movements, sought reassurance—it was obvious, and it made Touko’s lips curl into a precise, controlled smile.

Every glance, every touch, every gesture was a pattern. Touko cataloged them silently, storing each in the shadows of her mind. She didn’t speak. She didn’t interfere. She only marked the moments, letting the world spin around her, knowing exactly who belonged where.

The rides roared past them, people screamed and laughed, and Kei lifted Rurika onto a carousel horse, steadying her as she shrieked in delight. Touko’s eyes lingered on the motion—the way Kei’s hands held her steady, the subtle tilt of his head as he smiled. She memorized it all, the warmth he radiated, the care he carried.

Lunch came, shared under a canopy, but Touko hardly ate. She watched. She noted the way Yui reached for Kei’s drink, the way Rurika’s hands hovered near his arm. Every micro-moment was a story, and Touko knew her place in it. She was always there. Always observing. Always calculating.

Back at the Ferris wheel, Kei and Yui rode alone for a brief moment, leaving Touko and Rurika waiting. Touko’s gaze followed them as if seeing through time. Rurika fidgeted beside her, whispering about the ride, about the thrill, but Touko’s mind wasn’t on words. It was on patterns. Ownership. Control. The way everything in this family orbited Kei—and who would be allowed to get too close.

By the end of the day, the sky had turned a bruised orange. The family walked back to the car, tired but smiling. Touko and Rurika fell into the rhythm of Kei’s steps, each careful not to fall behind. Rurika’s hand brushed his briefly—hesitant, seeking, needing. Touko noticed. She recorded it, stored it, and filed it away for later.

Once home, Touko retreated to her room. She closed the door slowly, the sound deliberate. Sitting on her bed, she didn’t speak. She remembered Kei’s hands, the warmth of his presence, the fleeting closeness between him and Yui, and even Rurika’s timid cling. She traced the memory of each touch, each gesture, and let herself dwell on it—obsessively, possessively, silently.

She opened her diary. One line, carefully written:

"Papa belongs here."

The rest of the night, she replayed everything. The amusement park, the small kisses, the way Rurika leaned too close. She didn’t need to act. She didn’t need to interfere yet. Observation was enough. Desire, control, and obsession simmered beneath her calm exterior.

From the doorway, the soft echo of Kei and Yui’s voices filtered down the hall. Touko leaned against her desk, eyes half-closed, a small, unreadable smile playing on her lips. Outside her room, Rurika slept fitfully, dreaming of Kei’s hand. Inside, Touko imagined, remembered, and cataloged.

The house was quiet. Safe. Controlled. Every movement, every heartbeat under her observation.

The room was dark, just a sliver of moonlight cutting through the blinds. Touko sat on the edge of her bed, her back straight, legs crossed. Her eyes were closed, but her mind was elsewhere.

She touched herself slowly, the first touch tentative, tracing the lips. Then her fingers dipped lower, applying a subtle warmth. Kei’s face flashed – not angry, but amused, tender sometimes. She remembered the feel of his fingers on her skin, the phantom touch of his grip.

A sharp gasp escaped her as a memory surfaced: the scent of his cologne, warm and close. Her movements quickened slightly. The ghost of his presence, the burning image of his eyes watching her… it fueled the heat building low in her belly.

She focused on the sensation now, her own fingers moving with purpose. The phantom touch lingered, a constant ache mixed with potent, forbidden desire. Each inward stroke recalled a different memory – his hand brushing her hair back, his quiet intensity. The air thickened with her need, fueled by ghosts and phantom touches, lost somewhere in the quiet dark.

And somewhere in the dark, Touko whispered softly to herself:

"No one touches what’s mine."