Netori: I Shall Steal All Of My Enemies' Women For Revenge!

They arrived after a fifteen-minute drive, pulling up in front of a shabby apartment building. The car came to a stop in an empty, desolate parking lot.

The area was eerily quiet, save for the occasional distant bark of a dog.

Haruto stepped out of the car, stretching briefly before his gaze swept over the building. Paint peeled off the walls, and a few windows were boarded up.

It was clear this place had seen better days.

The three of them made their way toward the entrance. Haruto wrinkled his nose as they climbed the creaky stairs, the metal handrail rough with rust and grime.

The structure groaned under their weight, each step echoing ominously. Haruto clapped his hands together after touching the railing, brushing off invisible dirt.

"Are you sure this is the place?" he asked, his tone skeptical as his nostrils flared in disgust.

"Old Futto still lives here?" Enji chimed in, his brow arched in curiosity.

"Yup, he never left," Arataki replied confidently, leading the way.

They reached one of the apartment doors, the paint chipped and the number barely visible. He knocked firmly while Haruto's thoughts raced.

*Who the hell is Old Futto?*

"It's Arataki. Open the door," he called out.

The sound of hurried footsteps and a loud crash from inside made all three of them pause.

The door creaked open, revealing a rotund man in his mid-forties. Sweat gleamed on his skin, soaking his too-small shirt, and his round glasses slid precariously down his nose.

"You brought Enji too? And this must be the new member you mentioned," the man said, his voice unexpectedly deep and smooth, at odds with his disheveled appearance.

Haruto forced a polite smile despite the pungent stench wafting out of the apartment—an overpowering mix of rot and dampness that made his stomach churn.

"Ah, yes. My name is Haruto," he said, bowing slightly, though he subtly held his breath.

'Maybe I'm becoming a snob from hanging around Asuka and Zenzai too much?' Haruto thought, suppressing a sigh.

'I need to cut that bad habit. This man is supposed to help us, after all.'

He glanced at Arataki, noting the uncharacteristic seriousness in his demeanor.

"I see," Old Futto said with a nod. "Come in. Sorry for the mess." He stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter.

The apartment was a simple 1LDK—one kitchen, one living room, and one bedroom.

The furnishings were old-fashioned but meticulously arranged, a surprising contrast to the man's appearance.

Yet, despite the cleanliness, the lingering stench of something rotten hung in the air.

Enji's eyes widened as he took in the room. "Huh, you cleaned up?" he asked, his tone laced with genuine surprise.

"This is way better than the last time I was here."

"Right? Are you finally treating your hoarder disorder?"

Arataki added, his gaze sweeping the room, his lips curling into a smirk as he noticed the absence of the usual clutter.

Old Futto puffed out his chest with pride, beaming at their reactions.

"Of course! My junior and the new member were coming. I had to at least make the place look proper, right?"

Arataki and Enji exchanged a knowing glance, their smirks widening. They shook their heads, remembering the man's usual chaos.

"Well," Haruto thought as he watched their exchange, "it seems like he's getting better."Nôv(el)B\\jnn

"Definitely," Arataki and Enji chimed in unison, their smirks teasing but good-natured.

Old Futto placed his hands on his hips, frowning at their synchronized response.

"Hey, cut that out! I might only be a lowly gang member, but I'm still the oldest. Stop ruining my image."

He sighed, shaking his head before muttering, "Anyway, just sit tight. I'll grab the laptop."

"Laptop?" Arataki asked as he plopped onto the mattress, making himself comfortable. "Don't you use your usual gear for this stuff?"

From inside his room, Old Futto's voice carried through the thin walls. "No need. That asshole doesn't even bother hiding it."

Moments later, he emerged carrying a small folding table with a laptop perched on top.

He set it down and squeezed himself into the limited space beside the three men, their broad shoulders making the cramped apartment look even smaller.

The scene was almost comical—three muscular men huddled around a child-sized table in a room barely large enough to hold them.

"Alright, check this out," Old Futto said, opening the laptop and navigating to an Astagram profile.

"Ito Sushi House?"

Haruto read aloud, his lips curling into a scoff. The name was enough to make his blood simmer.

"This is so Ren. Using his family name to slap together this fake 'restaurant.'"

"This isn't a normal sushi restaurant," Old Futto clarified as he clicked on a private message exchange with the account.

A string of links populated the screen. "In fact, there isn't even a restaurant."

He clicked one of the links, which redirected to a shady website.

The screen loaded a pornographic video, paired with a "menu" that listed downloadable content disguised as sushi orders.

The video began to play—a disturbing scene featuring a girl and a man in elaborate BDSM costumes.

Chains clinked, and muffled cries echoed through the room. It wasn't just porn; it was hardcore, featuring BDSM, gang rape, and acts that churned the stomach.

Haruto's expression darkened instantly, his lips tightening into a grim line. Arataki and Enji mirrored his reaction, their disgust palpable as they leaned away from the screen.

"This…" Enji muttered, his voice laced with revulsion.

"And the worst part?" Old Futto said, his glasses reflecting the agonized face of the girl in the video.

"She's underage." His voice dropped, low and gravelly, as if saying it out loud made it even more real.

Haruto's fists clenched on his lap, his jaw tightening so hard it ached.

He knew Ren was involved in the porn business, but this… this was far worse than he'd ever imagined.

His stomach churned as he froze the screen, unable to look away from the girl's tear-streaked face.

Every time he glanced at her, her face seemed to shift in his mind, morphing into Haruka's.

His chest tightened, nausea roiling inside him as the image refused to fade.

'Was this how Haruka suffered in our first life?'

The thought hit him like a punch, his rage swelling like an overinflated balloon ready to burst.

"This guy… Ren…" Haruto growled under his breath, the venom in his voice chilling.

"And you know the most twisted thing?" Old Futto added, his fingers interlacing as his gaze dropped to the table.

"You can order girls even younger than this one and with many genres worse than this one."

The room went silent, suffocatingly heavy with the weight of the revelation.

"This is worse than anything I've ever seen," Old Futto admitted, his tone grim.

"And I've seen Kikuchi kill a guy in cold blood. But this… this is on a whole other level."

Haruto didn't respond, his mind spiraling into a storm of anger and revulsion.

The hate he felt for Ren, Daiki, and every other member of their gang ballooned inside him, threatening to consume him whole.