Rikuto Suzuki is a second-year high school student with a secret hobby. He secretly listens to audio recordings of a mother punishing her daughter for breaking curfew—the sound of spanking and crying makes his heart race. He thinks he's weird but can't stop.
One day on his way home, Rikuto finds an old button in an alley. When he presses it, his childhood friend Hinata Minazuki suddenly appears and starts spanking their classmate Aoi Kiryu. Smack! Aoi screams, and Rikuto's mind goes blank. The
Bad Girls Get Punished - The Girl of Getsukokudo: The Price of Shaving Away One's Soul
The classroom at lunch break was heavy with a stifling, humid air.
Outside the window, the October sunlight carried the shouts of sports clubs, yet inside the classroom it was quiet like a different creature altogether—and yet, something prickly and tense swirled in the air.
It was an argument over cleaning duty.
"You skipped last week too, didn't you?"
The voice belonged to a girl standing in the center of the classroom with her arms crossed. The gesture of tucking her short hair behind her ear betrayed her irritation.
"Hah? I did it properly last week."
The one who talked back was another girl, still sitting at her window-side desk. She had her chin propped on her hand, looking up at the other.
"I'm saying it because you didn't do it."
"Do you have proof? If you don't, can you just shut up?"
Suzuki Rikuto was shrinking into himself at his own desk.
His lunch box sat unopened on the desk. Still gripping his chopsticks, he listened to the exchange without really listening.
(Here we go again...)
For the past three days, the classroom atmosphere had been like this. Ever since he'd picked up the button—no, ever since that strange sound had echoed through the classroom that day, squabbles between girls seemed to have increased dramatically. No, not increased. Maybe things that had always been there had simply become suddenly noticeable.
"Anyway, your group is always slow with cleaning. Don't blame us."
"Hah? It's not that our group is slow—it's that your group just goes home on your own."
"What's that supposed to mean? I won't let that slide."
Their voices grew louder. The surrounding students pretended not to hear, fiddling with their phones or hurrying out of the classroom. No one tried to stop them.
Rikuto couldn't stop them either.
(Those two are going at it again, huh.)
The moment he thought that—
Something vibrated in his pocket.
A faint, slight heat.
(What—)
Bang!
A dry sound echoed through the classroom.
"Kya!?"
"Ow—!?"
The two girls' screams overlapped. The short-haired girl spun around, and the other leaped up from her chair—both clutching their backsides.
"W-what was that just now!?"
"Ow... why...!?"
The surrounding students stirred. Several boys stood up to see what was happening. Someone muttered, "Again."
Rikuto felt his heart shrivel.
(Again. That sound again.)
He thrust his hand into his pocket. The edge of the button was still faintly warm. When his fingertips touched it, the heat seemed to cling to his palm as it transferred.
(It's my fault.)
He was certain. Until last time, he could have thought it might have been a coincidence. But not anymore. When those two had started arguing, Rikuto had definitely felt "I want them to stop" in his mind. And at the same time, another feeling—one he didn't want to name—just a little.
(Will I hear that sound again?)
The moment that thought surfaced, the button trembled.
Bang—the sound rang out.
(No, I don't want this.)
Even as he denied it in his heart, his fingertips still couldn't let go of the button. Rather, his thumb was tracing the carving on its surface. The faintly etched words: Punishment Execution. As if confirming each ridge and groove, slowly.
"Hey, are you two okay?"
One of the boys called out to them. The two girls, faces bright red, answered quickly while still clutching their backsides: "I-I'm fine." "It's nothing."
A strange atmosphere enveloped the classroom. Everyone was thinking, "What was that just now?" but no one said it aloud.
Rikuto quietly stood from his seat.
(I want to breathe some outside air.)
He left the classroom. Once in the hallway, he wiped his sweaty palms on his uniform pants.
His heart was still pounding.
(I did that to those two...)
He couldn't finish the thought.
After school.
Rikuto had strayed from his usual route.
To get home, going through the station front and taking the bus was fastest. But today, his feet were somehow carrying him in the opposite direction. Toward the back of Mikage Shrine, in the direction of Daishou Slope. Ever since he'd picked up the button in that alley, Rikuto's way home had been gradually changing.
(Why did I come here?)
Even he didn't really understand. It was just that what had happened in the classroom wouldn't leave his head, and he couldn't bring himself to go straight home.
The old town's Tokoyo-juku Street, bathed in the evening light, had its stone pavement dyed orange. The street retained the traces of an Edo-period post town, with old wooden shops lining both sides. Mikagedou, the Japanese confectionery; Sarashina, the soba shop that had been passed down for generations. All of it was scenery unchanged since Rikuto's childhood.
But today, more than usual, this street looked like a distant world.
(Why am I here?)
He thought it over and over as he walked.
When he reached the end of the street, his feet stopped.
It was an antiquarian bookshop.
The sign read: Gekkyokudou. The characters painted in ink on a wooden board had faded over the long years. In front of the shop, as if being aired out, old scrolls and thread-bound books were carelessly displayed.
Rikuto's eyes were drawn to one of them.
(Compensation...?)
At the edge of a scroll, he could make out characters that read that way. The word "compensation." The word he'd looked up online yesterday. The Principle of Compensation. The Covenant of Tokoyo-juku. The concept of punishment and atonement said to have been passed down in this town since ancient times.
Something deep in his chest throbbed.
(Is this... related?)
His feet were carrying him into the shop on their own.
The wooden door opened with a jingle.
The interior was dim, mixing the smells of old paper, dust, and a faint trace of incense. Bookshelves that seemed to reach the ceiling stood in rows, and between them, antiques and old boxes were piled up.
There was someone behind the counter.
A girl.
Her black hair, reaching to her waist, was tied in a single bundle, with only the tips dyed a deep purple. Her narrow, purple eyes were cast down at an old book in her hands. Below her left eye was a small beauty mark.
It was Hiiragi Runa.
Rikuto knew her. A girl from the class next to his at the same school. He'd passed her in the hallways countless times. But he'd never spoken to her once.
(So she's from a shop like this.)
Runa stopped organizing the old books and looked up.
And the moment she saw Rikuto, her expression froze.
As if coated in ice.
"...Welcome."
Her voice was quiet. Flat, unreadable.
Rikuto felt as though he'd stumbled into a place where he didn't belong, and his eyes darted around.
"Um, well... I was curious about the scroll outside."
"You saw the word 'compensation,' didn't you."
Runa spoke as if cutting off Rikuto's words. She came out from behind the counter and stood directly in front of him. She was slightly shorter than Rikuto. And yet, there was a pressure about her as if she were looking down at him.
Her purple eyes stared straight at Rikuto.
"You picked something up at Daishou Slope, didn't you?"
His heart leaped.
(How does she know that?)
Rikuto was at a loss for words. In his pocket, the button suddenly felt heavier.
"...Why are you asking that?"
He barely managed to say that much. He desperately suppressed his voice from cracking.
Runa didn't look away.
"That's not an answer."
"...I don't think I picked anything up."
"Liar."
It was an instant reply.
Rikuto nearly stepped back.
Runa slowly approached him. The scent of old paper and something faintly sweet drifted toward him.
"Your pocket has a slight heat to it. I can tell."
"...What?"
"That belongs to my family."
Runa's voice dropped a notch.
"The Punishment Execution Button. It's been sleeping beneath the stone pavement of Daishou Slope for a long time. I heard about it from my grandmother. Every time you press it, the owner's soul is shaved away. It's a dangerous thing."
Rikuto's mind went blank.
(Why would she say that? How does this girl know?)
"...I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't play dumb. You've already used it several times, haven't you. You're the one who made that sound echo in the classroom."
Rikuto felt like he couldn't breathe.
(Was I being watched? No, that can't be. At that time, no one was paying attention to me.)
"...No. I didn't press it."
"Even if you don't press it, it activates. That button reflects its owner's heart. If you wish for it, it moves on its own."
"On its own...?"
"Yes. The wishes deep inside you. The desire to punish someone, to make someone cry—the button picks up on those feelings."
Rikuto shook his head.
"That's... I don't wish for anything like that."
"Really?"
Runa's eyes glinted sharply.
"Right now, you can't believe in yourself, can you. That's why you can't let go of the button. Am I wrong?"
She'd hit the mark.
Rikuto bit his lip.
(How does she know even that?)
"...It's none of your business."
"It is my business. Because recovering that is my role."
Runa held out her hand. Pale, slender fingers.
"Hand it over to me. If it's now, you can still avoid it being too late."
Rikuto stepped back.
"...No."
"Suzuki-kun."
"Why do you understand my feelings? Why do I have to hand over something I picked up? I haven't done anything wrong."
His voice was trembling.
Runa tried to say something, but closed her mouth.
That silence felt to Rikuto like being told "you don't understand anything," and it was unbearably painful.
"...Forget it."
Rikuto bolted out of the shop.
He ran down the twilight Tokoyo-juku Street. The sound of his feet kicking the stone pavement echoed unnaturally loud.
(What is with that girl?)
(Why does she act like she sees right through me?)
(I didn't press it. I didn't press it, and yet—)
He repeated it over and over in his mind.
But when he stopped running, he noticed.
He had been clutching the button in his pocket.
The entire time he was running.
That night.
Rikuto sat at his desk in his room.
The room light was off. Only the glow of his phone screen and computer monitor cast a pale blue light.
He placed the button on the desk.
The brass surface reflected the monitor's light dully. The spots of green patina spoke of old damage.
(My soul gets shaved away, huh.)
Runa's words spun around and around in his head.
(Every time I press it, my soul...)
There was no way he could believe that. It was unscientific. Antiquated superstition.
But what had happened in the classroom during the day had definitely occurred. The button had grown hot, that sound had echoed, and the two girls had clutched their backsides and screamed.
(Was that my fault?)
Rikuto picked up the button. He rolled it between his fingertips. Cold. It had been in his pocket until moments ago, yet he no longer felt any heat.
(That girl, making assumptions about me.)
Irritation bubbled up.
(I want to punish someone? I want to make someone cry?)
(That can't be. I just...)
His fingertips tensed.
(I just... like that sound, that's all.)
That was the moment.
The button suddenly grew hot.
"...!"
He instinctively let go. The button fell onto the desk with a clatter.
Hot. It had been cold until just now, but now it was hot enough to burn.
And then, the button began to tremble.
As if it were a living thing with a will of its own.
(What is this—)
Bang!
A sound.
From outside the window. From far away. But clearly.
That dry sound.
Rikuto's body froze.
(What was I just thinking?)
(I was angry at Runa.)
(That girl should be punished too—)
The blood drained from his face.
"...No way."
His voice was hoarse.
The button was still trembling faintly on the desk. The heat was gradually cooling.
That night, Rikuto didn't sleep a wink.
The next morning.
The sky was much lower than yesterday, with heavy gray clouds hanging overhead.
Rikuto walked unsteadily along the route to school.
Sleep-deprived, his head was foggy. His footing was unsteady.
(I wish it had been a dream.)
H
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