Restricted Death

Chapter 187 Trampling
Matsumoto Rangiku stared blankly at the office ceiling, her mind a complete void. The suffocating fear, the bone-deep humiliation, and the abrupt yet even more wicked toying at the last moment—like a chaotic and violent storm—had swept away and crushed all her thoughts and all her will to resist, leaving only a near-numbness of exhaustion. The air was thick with the smell of her sweat from her struggles, the lingering scent of alcohol, and an indescribable, cool yet oppressive aura emanating from Shin, all mixed together, nauseating and suffocating.

Xin was gently smoothing her clothes, his movements unusually tender, almost eerily focused, as if he were repairing a precious piece of porcelain that he had carelessly creased. His fingertips traced the disheveled fabric of her clothes, carefully gathering the torn pieces. He then reached out and gently brushed aside the strands of golden hair that clung to her cheeks and neck with sweat, tucking them behind her ears. His fingers were icy cold, and when they touched her burning skin, they caused her to tremble uncontrollably, as if she had been licked by a cold snake's tongue.

The sock that had been stuffed into her mouth was finally removed. Matsumoto Rangiku didn't immediately curse, didn't scream hysterically, and didn't even glare at him angrily as before. She simply instinctively and greedily opened her mouth, gulping in fresh air, her throat making hoarse gasps, as if she had just been dragged back to shore from the brink of drowning. The rough texture of the fabric and her own slightly salty sweat lingered in her mouth, making her feel nauseous.

The atmosphere inside the room fell into an eerily quiet silence.

The only sounds were Matsumoto Rangiku's heavy, disordered breathing and the faint rustling of fabric as Shin adjusted her clothes.

After finishing all this, Xin stood up straight and looked down at the person on the bed. His eyes were complex and unreadable. The previous intimacy, playfulness, and coldness were replaced by something deeper, as if he were examining an unexpected result he had caused.

She was like a toy that had been played with and broken.

Time flowed in the dead silence, each second feeling incredibly long.

Gradually, Matsumoto Rangiku suddenly realized that she could use her spiritual power again, and almost instinctively she tried to break free of the knots binding her wrists and ankles.

But her gaze fell on the letter beside her.

Xin remained relaxed, as if he hadn't done anything special. There was no apology in his eyes, nor any embers of desire.

Matsumoto Rangiku's limbs remained stiffly outstretched, maintaining that humiliating posture, as if her body no longer belonged to her, or perhaps she simply didn't know how to retract them.

Xin felt no remorse, just as he clearly understood: his power was expanding, and so were his desires. Every act of indulging in controlling and trampling on others' will was like taking another step closer to the abyss. He felt an increasingly uncontrollable urge within him to destroy, to completely possess, and to see the other person utterly collapse and fall.

Matsumoto Rangiku's fragile state of being both broken and stubbornly holding on is like the best catalyst, constantly stirring up the beast called "extremism" in his heart.

I want to... go even further.

The thought of tearing apart her fragile, cold exterior, crushing her last laughable pride, and making her truly cry, beg, and utterly surrender to his control... swirled in his mind with a destructive allure.

However, considering the consequences, Xin still exercised great restraint and "stopped at the right time".

Xin then untied the ropes binding her wrists and ankles, leaving clear marks on her fair skin, with glaring red marks and bruises.

How should this be resolved?

These were the thoughts in Matsumoto Rangiku's mind at that moment. After the extreme anger and hatred just now, a strange rationality suddenly took over her mind, forcing her to consider what would happen next and what she would have to face.

Her previous extreme emotions were more like a catharsis in the face of a sudden situation that left her powerless.

Therefore, Matsumoto Rangiku did not react at all.

Her relationship with Shin was quite close before. She brought Shin out of Rukongai and always had the mindset of "watching him grow up". Now that he is her captain and her boss, the two often bicker and quarrel, but these are just seasonings in their daily lives.

But his sudden transgression made her realize that she had never truly understood him.

The reason for this is that I made a mistake.

The idea was so absurd it made her want to laugh, yet she couldn't; all she felt was a profound, bone-chilling desolation. Unless the world had gone mad, it was absolutely impossible!

Matsumoto Rangiku slowly turned her eyes to look at Shin again. He calmly looked back at her, his eyes devoid of the triumph of a victor or the pleasure of a sadist, only a deep, probing blackness, as if observing how a dying prey in an experimental cage would react.

That gaze chilled Matsumoto Rangiku to the bone more than any anger; a coldness shot up her spine and spread instantly to her limbs, causing her to shiver involuntarily. Was it over?

Rangiku Matsumoto's fingers unconsciously curled and loosened on the sheets, leaving messy wrinkles in the fabric. She stared at Shin's face, trying to find a clue in those calm, deep eyes—teasing, guilt, or something even more nauseatingly satisfied. But there was nothing, as if the near-violent humiliation she had just experienced was merely a ridiculous dream from her drunken state.

"...Are you satisfied now?" Her voice was hoarse and unlike her own, with a barely perceptible tremor at the end.

The letter did not reply immediately. He turned and walked to the window, his long, slender fingers pausing as he touched the latch. Sunlight streamed through his pure white haori, casting a sharp silhouette on the floor.

Various white noises came from outside the window, as distant as another world.

"My dear sister."

Xin finally turned around, his expression blurred in the backlight.

"Haven't you realized your mistake yet?" he sighed softly, his tone carrying a familiar helplessness, as if what stood between them was not an offense, but just another harmless bickering.

Xin's voice was exceptionally clear in the quiet office, carrying an almost cruel tenderness. The word "good sister" sounded coldly sarcastic at that moment.

Rangiku Matsumoto's fingertips dug deep into the sheets. She abruptly closed her eyes, then opened them again, as if trying to shake off some nauseating hallucination. She didn't respond to the address, nor did she look at the letter's face again. All her strength seemed to be used to keep her body functioning, to prevent her from completely collapsing.

She ignored the burning pain from the glaring red marks on her wrists and ankles, and even more so, the almost instinctive urge to retaliate as her spiritual energy began to flow again.

The impulse, like a trapped beast, thrashed about in her chest, each impact bringing a tearing pain and a deeper sense of powerlessness. Retaliation? And then what? She vividly remembered the cold touch of that hand, the suffocating gaze, the utter suppression that crushed all her pride. If faith could silently seal her spiritual power once, it could do it again, a third time. Here, in this isolated office, the chasm of power was more despairing than she had imagined.

Humiliation, like cold vines, coiled around her heart, tightening ever more. But beneath these vines, something harder and colder was solidifying—a near-deadly alienation.

She moved.

Her movements were stiff and slow, like a puppet on strings. She propped herself up on the bed, slowly sitting up. Her blonde hair fell in disarray, obscuring most of her face, revealing only her taut jawline and bloodless lips. She didn't straighten her clothes, which, though "smoothed out" by the letter, still looked disheveled, nor did she rub the painful marks on them, as if that body no longer belonged to her, or perhaps, the marks on them were no longer worth caring about.

Her gaze fell blankly ahead, piercing through Xin's body, landing on the wall behind him, or perhaps, simply on nothingness. Those amber eyes, once brimming with languid smiles or cunning glints, were now nothing but bottomless pools of ice, all emotions frozen in their deepest recesses.

And so, ignoring the letter so close at hand, ignoring the office where everything had just happened, she moved her body with an almost mechanical gait, her feet landing on the cold floor. As she stood up, her body swayed almost imperceptibly, but she quickly regained her balance.

Then, she took a step.

One step, two steps.

Her gaze never focused on anything, nor did she glance at the letter, as if he were merely an insignificant decoration in the room. She walked straight toward the door, her steps unsteady yet unusually firm, each step treading on shattered pride, emitting a silent lament that only she could hear.

Xin stood there, watching her walk past him. Sunlight streamed through the window, outlining the contours of her profile, which was devoid of expression, a desolate wasteland frozen in ice. His earlier wicked amusement and sense of control paled in comparison to her utter, icy indifference, like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, swallowed up by boundless chill without even a ripple.

He watched her walk to the door, watched her raise her hand, which also bore red marks, and grasp the doorknob.

The sunlight suddenly became blinding. Matsumoto Rangiku stood at the door, closed her eyes briefly to adjust to the light, and then walked out of the office.

Inside, Shin's gaze shifted from Matsumoto Rangiku's retreating figure to the source of everything.

The bed that triggered everything now lies quietly in the captain's office next door, like an ugly, silent monument to the aftermath of this out-of-control conflict.

(End of this chapter)