The last line of the game’s epilogue text appeared on the screen, in Tiramisu’s signature small, sans-serif font:
One night, Natsuki came home to find Marin asleep on the couch, still in her work clothes. On the coffee table lay a USB drive. Inside: a video file. He clicked play. It was Marin and Renji in a love hotel. But the camera angle—it was from a hidden camera Renji had placed in their own bedroom weeks ago. Renji wasn’t just sleeping with Marin. He was filming Natsuki’s life. ntraholic [v4.2.2c] [tiramisu]
He retreated to his darkroom—the only space she never entered. There, he pinned his photos to the wall: Marin smiling at her phone, Marin getting into Renji’s car, Marin’s new dress discarded on the floor of their bedroom (he’d found it there after she claimed to be “at the gym”). The photos formed a storyboard of betrayal. He wasn’t a husband anymore. He was a documentarian of his own cuckolding. The last line of the game’s epilogue text
His name was Renji. To Natsuki, he was a ghost at first—just the sound of a door closing at odd hours, the faint smell of expensive cologne in the elevator. But to Marin, Renji became a problem that arrived in a tailored suit. He was a freelance “talent scout,” his business card as vague as his intentions. He first approached her at the building’s coin laundry, commenting on a novel she was reading. Natsuki was away on a business trip. That was the first crack. He clicked play