Netori: I Shall Steal All Of My Enemies' Women For Revenge!

"Is there… my sister there?"

Arataki's voice was low, barely above a whisper, but the sharpness in his eyes could cut steel.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his body trembling with restrained fury.

Old Futto glanced at the screen, scanning through the grotesque thumbnails. "Hm… the woman in the picture you showed me? No, she's not here. But…" His voice trailed off, heavy with hesitation.

"I haven't purchased all the videos yet."

Arataki's jaw tightened as he leaned forward, his knuckles whitening.

"Can you ask for her name? You remember her name, right?"

His voice cracked with impatience, barely containing the storm brewing inside him.

Haruto, despite his own turbulent emotions, placed a steadying hand on Arataki's shoulder.

"If you ask for her name outright, wouldn't that seem suspicious?"

Enji crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. "Haruto's right. Your sister might not even be using her real name. Stage names are common in this kind of operation."

"Besides, we already agreed—Ren wouldn't be stupid enough to leave anything with your sister's face on it lying around."

"Enji, don't be so naive," Old Futto interjected, adjusting his glasses.

His expression darkened, and his voice carried a weight that silenced the room.

"Whoever runs this operation isn't just careless—they're scum of the earth. Even if Ren promised to delete her videos, they could be hidden somewhere. These parasites don't let go of their leverage easily."

The air grew heavy as Arataki sank back into the mattress, his frustration palpable. Old Futto's voice broke the silence.

"I'll keep searching for her," he said, his tone resolute.

"But it's not just the videos. They host live streams too. To access those, you need something specific—something I haven't figured out yet."

"What do you mean?" Haruto asked, his brows knitting together. "Can't you just ask for access?"

"I tried once," Old Futto admitted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"They blocked me. They're careful about who gets into their live streams. Too careful."

"How do you even know about the streams if you don't have access?" Haruto pressed, suspicion edging his voice.

Arataki cut in before Old Futto could answer, waving dismissively. "You don't want to know. Trust me, the guy tracks everything that happens on that platform. Old Futto, can't you hack into it?"

"I can," Old Futto replied, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"But it's risky. Hacking would only give us temporary access. If I leave a trail, they'll shut the account down or tighten their security even further."

The group fell silent, tension thick in the small apartment. Haruto's mind raced, searching for a way to infiltrate the streams without tipping anyone off.

"There must be a code," Old Futto murmured, breaking the silence. "Something like the system they use for ordering porn videos."

"Maybe you need to be a member," Haruto suggested, his gaze fixed on the laptop.

"Some places offer VVIP access once you hit a certain spending threshold. That could be how they screen people for the streams."

"That's a solid guess," Enji agreed with a nod.

Arataki let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his already disheveled green hair.

"Why can't we just stop this bullshit and kill that guy already? Ren's broken every agreement we've had! He's violated everything, and he hasn't faced any consequences!" His voice rose, filled with raw frustration.

Enji took a deep breath, his expression grim. "Shohei got Kikuchi and Nakamura in his pocket. Do you really think they'd let our agreements fall apart over this? Ren still has Daiki's favor."

Old Futto nodded, his tone bitter. "Ren's making them too much money. This whole operation is a goldmine for the Red Fang. They won't throw Ren under the bus—not unless they have no other choice."

Arataki gritted his teeth, his fists trembling. Haruto could see the barely restrained fury in his friend's body, the urge to act bubbling just beneath the surface.

"For now," Old Futto continued, his voice steady, "I'll keep buying videos—slowly, so I don't raise any alarms. Arataki, I get it, but keep your cool. We'll find her."

He returned his focus to the laptop, the glow of the screen reflecting in his glasses as he clicked through the vile content.

The room remained tense, each man lost in his thoughts, the weight of their mission bearing down on them.

Old Futto stood abruptly, brushing off his pants as he made his way toward the kitchen. "I'll grab us something to drink," he said over his shoulder, leaving Haruto in control of the laptop.

Seizing the opportunity, Haruto's fingers flew across the keyboard. Though the interface resembled a standard website, most of the videos were locked.

Each one required a private link, ordered through Anstagram's private messages. Only then could they view or download the content.

As he scrolled through the account's posts, a particular image caught his eye—a gaudy advertisement for one of the so-called "bestseller sushi".

"Your video is one of the bestsellers, you know?" Old Futto said nonchalantly, returning with a tray of oolong tea and glasses. He set them down on the low table, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Haruto chuckled, though his tone carried a trace of bitterness. "Even with my face and the woman's face blurred out, huh?"

"Yup," Old Futto confirmed, pouring the tea. "They really hyped it up. The ad got a ton of likes. I even liked it myself," he added, his tone laced with dry humor.

Enji burst into laughter, almost spilling his tea. "Seriously? Man, I'd watch it just out of curiosity, but imagining it's Haruto? Nah, that's just gross."

Haruto grinned, nudging Enji with his elbow. "Don't knock it till you try it. I might surprise you—could even be your new favorite material."

"Ugh, disgusting," Enji groaned, pulling back with an exaggerated grimace.

As the room filled with their banter, Arataki remained silent, his arms crossed and gaze distant. His tension was palpable, a stark contrast to the levity of the others.

Old Futto leaned back against the wall, his expression turning serious. "By the way, Haruto, I still haven't found anything on that porn actress you mentioned."

"The one who had everything erased?" Haruto asked, his fingers pausing over the laptop.

"Yeah. Whoever wiped her tracks is a pro," Old Futto replied, adjusting his glasses. "Not even a single breadcrumb left behind."

Haruto leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "Don't sweat it. I'm still figuring out how to use all this against them. It's just a matter of time."

The tension in the room shifted when a notification dinged from the laptop. Haruto glanced at the screen, his brows furrowing as he read the message.

It was from the Itto Sushi House account:

"Because of your activeness in our community, the owner has decided to grant you access to our group. Welcome, Oni Pantsu."

Below the message was a link to a group chat.

The room fell silent as the gravity of the moment sank in. Haruto's gaze darkened, his grip tightening on the mouse. "Looks like we just got our ticket in."

Old Futto clicked the link, and the screen transitioned to a private chat group on LANE. The group's title was as vile as they expected, and the member count—over a hundred—made Haruto clench his fists.

Messages scrolled rapidly, filled with coded exchanges and the occasional grotesque "joke" that only deepened their disgust.

At the top of the chat, a welcome message popped up from the admin, King Ren:

[Welcome Oni Pantsu]

[I'm the chat group admin. Please review our rules before you start contributing.]

"Hah, this has to be Ren," Enji muttered, his lip curling in disgust.

"Typical narcissist move," Haruto said, folding his arms.

He glanced at Old Futto, frowning. "By the way, why 'Oni Pantsu'? You couldn't have picked something a little more… neutral?"

Old Futto smirked faintly. "It's bait. People in groups like this love a joker. It keeps them distracted and lowers their guard."

Enji raised a brow but said nothing. Haruto, however, noticed the immediate effect—the atmosphere in the chat shifted.

The admin responded quickly:

[Of course! I'm always happy to welcome dedicated members like you.]

[Enjoy your stay and make sure to contribute!]

Futto turned to the others. "See? Sometimes you have to play the fool to gain their trust."

Haruto crossed his arms, his gaze steely. "Whatever works. Let's focus on gathering intel."

Old Futto leaned back slightly, observing the group dynamics. Haruto, Enji, and Arataki leaned in closer to study the messages pouring in.

The gallery was full of explicit photos, the kind that made Haruto's fists clench and his jaw grind in fury. These weren't just criminals—they were predators operating without fear.

"This is vile," Arataki growled, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the feed. "Every single one of them deserves to rot."

"They're not just sharing; they're trading lives," Enji said through gritted teeth, downing his tea in one go. "Girls, children… It's beyond disgusting."

Haruto remained silent, his eyes cold as he analyzed the posts. The so-called "menu" was horrifying: explicit content categorized like dishes, and frequent demands for more "special orders."

There were even videos of actresses and idols in there, it was indeed a heaven for the perv.

Among the filth, Haruto noticed blurred faces in some videos, and bile rose in his throat when he recognized his porn videos.

"They're bidding on uncensored versions," Old Futto pointed out, his tone grim.

"Ren's holding back the full content until he can milk them for every yen."

The group chat suddenly pinged with a new announcement:

[The live stream will begin soon.]

[Access is reserved for Gold Members only.]