Netori: I Shall Steal All Of My Enemies' Women For Revenge! Chapter 267: The Tree House

Haruto had just woken up when he heard the commotion downstairs. He already knew who it was and grinned, getting out of bed without even bothering to wash his face.

He headed straight to the kitchen, where Ayaka was already busy preparing breakfast.

They had spent a wonderful night together, and she looked even more radiant this morning, especially in the green apron tied around her waist.

Haruto approached her from behind and wrapped his arms around her.

"You really will beco a good wife," he said, kissing her neck.

Ayaka jolted at the sudden touch, then laughed softly. "Yeah. It’s actually one of my dreams to be your wife."

Haruto laughed as well and leaned in for a gentle kiss. She returned it, but quickly frowned and pulled away.

"Your mouth stinks! At least brush your teeth first," she said, trying to escape his arms while chuckling.

"It can’t be that bad," he replied, deliberately breathing close to her face. She yelped in protest.

"HARUTO!"

Their morning was soon filled with laughter and playful teasing. After finishing breakfast, they went out for a morning stroll.

The forest was covered in a thin white blanket as they walked hand in hand, their footsteps crunching softly beneath them.

"This village is starting to look beautiful to now," Ayaka said suddenly. "It’s full of things I used to hate."

"That must have been painful for you," Haruto answered gently, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

"I’m glad you’re okay now."

"Yeah. It’s mostly because of you," she replied with a bright smile. "Though it’s still hard to face the villagers. They love to whisper. I really can’t stand that."

They slowed to a stop as the houses began to co into view.

"They always looked at like I was so kind of attraction," she continued quietly.

"I didn’t understand it back then, but now I know it was because of pity." She sighed. "They knew my mother was terrible, but they did nothing."

"That’s why I resented them," she added.

Her words lingered heavily between them. Haruto stayed silent, unsure how to respond, sensing that she only needed soone to listen.

Ayaka suddenly widened her eyes, realizing sothing. "I’m sorry. I ruined the mood."

"What?" Haruto said, pinching her cheek lightly.

"You don’t have to worry about that. We’re here because you wanted to heal from everything, right?"

"I’ll listen to anything you want to say," he continued. "Though maybe we should find a better place to talk."

"Why didn’t we go to your old basecamp before?" Ayaka asked. "It’s a little deeper in the forest. Or did you forget about that too?"

Haruto rubbed the back of his neck. "Well... kind of. But I t Kazuha yesterday, and he reminded about it. Should we drive there?"

"Nah," she replied with a smile. "I’m enjoying walking with you. Besides, I can show you all the places you used to co to and tell you more stories along the way."

Then it was decided. They walked deeper into the forest, passing a calm river that was half frozen.

As they went, Ayaka told him how he used to fish for freshwater prawns there. Afterward, they would grill the shrimp over a small fire made from gathered wood.

Most of the ti, the adults ended up scolding them for playing with fire and ended up almost burning the woods.

Other tis, it was because the trees they climbed to catch beetles were too high and dangerous, or the trouble they caused in countless other ways.

Listening to her stories, Haruto could not help but think about how bratty he had been. One thing was certain. He had always been the one who started it.

The fire had been his idea. He was the one who told the other kids to climb higher and higher until one of them fell badly enough to be taken to the hospital. Even the fights and the bullying usually traced back to him.

When they finally arrived at the basecamp, Haruto stopped short. His eyes widened as realization set in.

It was a treehouse.

"Look," Ayaka said, her voice bright. "Your father built this for you."

Haruto narrowed his eyes, disbelief flickering across his face. Was that even possible? His father’s love life had been ruined because of his mother. He had every reason to resent him. But building a treehouse just for him?

"Are you sure it was my father?" Haruto asked quietly. "I thought he hated ."

"You?" Ayaka humd softly. "I don’t think so. Your relationship was strange, yes, but not hateful."

She took his hand and gently pulled him along as they climbed up. Nearly half of the steps had rotted away, crumbling like fallen leaves beneath their feet.

Yet the treehouse itself still stood firm. As they stepped inside, the wood creaked under their weight, and the sll of earth and age filled the space.

The inside was just as abandoned as the outside. Moss crept along the corners, mushrooms grew in small clusters, and a layer of dust covered everything.

"Hm. Is this really a proper place to talk?" Haruto muttered.

"It’s better than the village," Ayaka replied.

"They listen too much." She settled on a patch of floor that looked cleaner than the rest.

"Co. Sit."

He joined her. In front of them was a large window overlooking the forest, open and unobstructed.

"Not bad," Haruto admitted. "Can you tell about my relationship with my father? Why was it strange?"

Ayaka reached for his hand, her fingers tracing slow lines across his palm. "You both spoke formally. You never called him ’father’ or ’dad’, only his family na. He never showed affection like a parent should." She paused.

"It felt more like colleagues than father and son."

Haruto fell silent. If his father had been distant even with him, then what had his parents’ relationship been like?

He tried to rember, but everything felt blurred and distorted like seeing from the unpolished mirror.

His mother had died not long after they moved to the city. At the ti, he had been too busy taking care of Haruka and keeping up with school.

Then his mother passed away from illness, and the world had grown hazy all over again.

The thought made him wonder. Where was his father now? When had he turned into a drunkard and a gambler? Had he truly loved his mother, or had resentnt stayed with him until the end?

None of those questions had answers.

His father had disappeared, as if he had been quietly swallowed by the world itself.