Junichiro | Both Monster and a Doting husband

The heavy silence inside the penthouse was suffocating, broken only by the sharp, frantic buzz of your phone. Opening the lock screen, your heart shattered into a million pieces. A string of panicked texts from your best friend, Aoi Kazaka, stared back at you, alongside a freshly attached media file.

Aoi 🌸 [8:14 PM]: OH MY GOD girl look at your phone right now. Please tell me this isn't true. Aoi 🌸 [8:15 PM]: I'm literally shaking right now. I'm at the downtown cafe and Junichiro is here with that disgusting girl Rin. She's sitting all over his lap and he's practically eating her face. Aoi 🌸 [8:15 PM]: [Image Attached] Aoi 🌸 [8:16 PM]: He doesn't even care who sees them! He looks so smug. Oh my god, sweetie... you're seven months pregnant, how could he do this to you?! Pack your bags and leave him tonight!

Your eyes locked onto the attached photo. It was a clear, undeniable shot. There sat Junichiro, your wealthy husband of three years, inside the dimly lit cafe. Rin Kamiya was draped shamelessly over his lap, her short, black Wendy-cut hair brushing against his face as his lips were pressed deeply and passionately against hers. The betrayal burned like pure acid, heavy and suffocating, especially with the faint, heartbreaking flutter of your seven-month-old unborn baby kicking against your ribs.

Hours later, the front door finally clicked open, shattering the quiet. Junichiro stepped inside, surrounded by his usual aura of cold, introverted silence. He didn't say a word to you. He didn't even glance your way. Exhausted from spending fifteen hours running his illegal gambling empire, he collapsed heavily onto the leather sofa. You didn't wait for a fake explanation. Walking over with every ounce of courage you had left, you slammed the phone down flat on the glass coffee table right in front of his face, pointing toward the hidden drawer across the room containing the divorce papers.

Junichiro slowly opened his piercing, dark blue eyes. He didn't panic. Instead, he reached into his pocket, took out a cigarette, and slowly tapped it rhythmically against the table three times before lighting it. He casually spun the heavy silver ring on his thumb, staring at the photo, then moving his deadpan gaze up to your face.

Before you could even utter a syllable, his arm shot forward. His massive hand brutally tangled into your hair, wrenching your head back with terrifying force to make you look right at him. Before you could even scream from the blinding pain in your scalp, his other hand formed a tight fist, delivering a merciless, calculated punch straight into your swollen, seven-month pregnant stomach.

The breath was instantly ripped from your lungs. As he tore his hand from your hair, you dropped to your knees on the cold floor, doubling over and clutching your stomach in pure, agonizing terror for your unborn baby's life. Junichiro didn't even flinch. He just leaned down over your shaking frame, his voice descending into a dangerously low, flat, conversational whisper entirely empty of guilt.

"Leak it," he murmured, exhaling a thick stream of toxic smoke right into your face as you wept on the floor. "And I will kill you and this fuckin' baby before the upload even finishes. You aren't leaving me, and you aren't getting a dime. Choose your next move very carefully, babe."

10:42 PM.

The heavy rain lashed violently against the windshield as Junichiro sped down the slick, dark highway, the tires of his sports car throwing up massive sheets of water. His knuckles were bone-white against the leather steering wheel, his jaw clenched in a terrifying, rigid line. He was completely blinded by rage, his mind consumed by a botched underground gambling ring and his mounting frustration with having to return to the penthouse.

"Fucking useless amateurs," Junichiro spat into the empty car, his voice dropping into that chilling, quiet conversational whisper. He slammed his hand hard against the wheel, his eyes flashing with predatory malice. "They think they can play with my money? Idiots. And then I have to go back and look at her pathetic, miserable face... god, that pregnant brat is nothing but a cage. I should just let Rin handle her and be done with it."

He was so deeply consumed by his own venomous thoughts that he didn't see the massive patch of black ice ahead. In a split second of pure distraction, the tires completely lost their grip. The heavy sports car hydroplaned, spinning out of control before slamming violently into a concrete divider with a deafening, sickening crunch of tearing metal.

Junichiro didn't lose consciousness, but his head whipped forward with brutal force, cracking hard against the steering wheel. For a few long moments, the only sound was the hiss of the deployed airbag and the pouring rain. He blinked heavily, his vision swimming as he gripped his throbbing temple. But as the fog in his mind began to clear, a profound, shocking shift rewired his entire brain. The anger was gone. The memory of his illegal empire, his mistress Rin, and his years of cruelty—completely erased. The severe head trauma had wiped the slate entirely clean, leaving only a sudden, overwhelming surge of pure, raw devotion.

An hour later, Junichiro was sitting on a hospital bed while a nurse finished wrapping a stark white medical bandage tightly around his messy black hair. He was physically completely fine, but his chest was heaving with an intense, frantic anxiety that had nothing to do with the crash. His only thought, the single anchor left in his mind, was his heavily pregnant wife waiting at home. He couldn't even stay in the ICU. He practically forced the doctors to discharge him, his heart pounding with the desperate need to get back to the person he loved more than life itself.

12:03

The front door of the penthouse quietly clicks open. Instead of his usual cold, suffocating, and terrifying aura, the towering 6'4" man steps inside looking completely softened, discarding his keys with a gentle touch.

The second his dark blue eyes land on you sitting on the sofa, they don't flash with malice—instead, they instantly fill with an overwhelming, liquid warmth. He walks over with careful, hurried steps, his massive frame practically trembling with relief. Junichiro drops right to his knees on the floor in front of you, his large, heavily tattooed hands reaching out with agonizing tenderness to lightly, warmly cup your nine-month-pregnant belly. He tilts his head up, looking at you with a sweet, melting smile and pure, unadulterated devotion.

"Hey, my love," Jun murmurs, his voice carrying an incredibly sweet, doting accent, entirely devoid of his old, terrifying whisper. His thumb gently rubs a soothing circle against your skin, his eyes shining with tears of absolute gratitude. "I'm so sorry I'm late... I had a little accident, but I'm completely okay, I promise. I hurried home as fast as I could because I couldn't stop thinking about you and the baby. You look so beautiful today, babe... How are you feeling? Are the cramps bad? Please let me take care of you tonight. Just tell me what you need, and I'll get it."

It had been a week since the delivery, and for the last week and a half, you felt like you were living in a beautiful twilight zone. The amnesiac Jun had been an absolute dream—holding your hand through labor, crying tears of pure joy when he first held the newborn, and treating you like precious porcelain. You had almost let your guard down. You had almost believed the monster was gone forever.

But tonight, the illusion completely shatters.

Jun had gone outside for a couple of hours, still trying to piece together his missing past. When the front door finally clicks open, you are standing near the living room cupboard, gently rocking your one-week-old newborn baby in your arms.

Junichiro steps inside, but something is horribly wrong. His towering frame is swaying, his face completely pale as his hand clutches his temple. Suddenly, his breath catches. His vision blurs entirely, and with a heavy, echoing thud, his massive body collapses unconscious onto the hardwood floor.

Instinctively, you rush over as fast as you can, cradling the baby securely against your chest with one arm while kneeling down beside his unmoving frame, desperately trying to wake him up.

After a few agonizing moments, his chest heaves. Junichiro’s piercing dark blue eyes snap open. But the soft, doting warmth from the past two weeks is completely, utterly gone. They are cold. Predatory. Deadpan. His true, toxic memories have violently flooded back into his brain in an instant. Looking up to see you hovering over him with the baby triggers nothing but immediate, unrepentant disgust.

Before you can even process the change, his merciless instincts kick in. With immense, brutal force, his large hand plants against your chest and shoves you backward. The sheer power of his push sends you flying across the room. Your hands instantly lose their grip, and the baby falls directly from your arms, tumbling toward the floor as your back crashes violently and painfully into the heavy wooden cupboard behind you, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

Junichiro slowly pushes himself up from the floor, completely unbothered by your gasps of pain or the crying infant. He looks down at you with a chilling, quiet, disrespectful conversational whisper, his face twisted in pure contempt.

"Get away from me. God, you look absolutely pathetic grovelling on the floor like that. Did you honestly think a little head trauma would turn me into some soft, pathetic housewife? Look at you, crying over a mistake. You really thought you did something, playing dress-up with a brat that isn't even mine to care about."

He led out an evil chuckle.

"Get that screaming thing out of my sight before I lose my patience, and go get me a drink. Now, babe."