In the days that followed, Akira went on a full-blown killing spree, moving through the corners of the city like a ghost in the night. His methods grew increasingly brutal, giving the police no time to breathe. In just two days, he took five lives. Each victim's death was horrifying beyond words, leaving even the most seasoned officers speechless. A wave of invisible fear enveloped the entire city. People trembled in their homes, terrified they'd be the next target of this unknown serial killer.
As the murders mounted, the police were thrown into chaos, but they could never find any evidence pointing to Akira. His cunning and composure gave them no opening, and every investigation ended in failure. His old schoolmates were being picked off one after another, yet the police remained helpless. The string of student deaths triggered unprecedented panic and shock. A campus once filled with laughter now sat under a dark cloud. Tension filled the hallways. Students huddled together, whispering fearfully about the tragedies, their eyes full of unease and dread. The usual between-class chatter had vanished, replaced by an oppressive silence.
The school administration, overwhelmed with anxiety, held a series of emergency meetings and decided to heighten security. More guards were stationed at the gate, and additional surveillance cameras were installed in an attempt to ease the fears of parents and students. But the new precautions only made the atmosphere more stifling. Every afternoon, hordes of parents crowded the gates, desperate to pick up their children early. Teachers became especially tense, frequently reminding students to stay safe and avoid being alone. The principal and teachers held frequent parent meetings to soothe the rising panic, all while avoiding any mention of the grim details surrounding the deaths.
Outside pressure mounted. Media coverage was relentless, and the school's reputation took a devastating hit. To contain the fallout, administrators insisted these were "isolated incidents" and tried to distance themselves from the police investigation as much as possible.
Still, their efforts failed to quell the mounting doubts. Everyone at school was consumed by fear and suspicion. Rumors ran wild—some said it was a ghost, others believed a killer was hiding nearby. Fear and paranoia spread like an invisible net, casting its shadow over the entire campus. Everyone was bracing for the next tragedy.
Eventually, Misaki Suzuki couldn't sit still any longer. Ever since her parents divorced, many of her former followers had begun mocking her behind her back, even if they still wore friendly smiles to her face. Misaki was furious, but powerless. Her once-dominant aura had already faded. The recent killings had left only fear and insecurity in their place. Trembling, she finally approached Akira—no longer with arrogance, but desperation.
"Megumi… I—I'm sorry. We used to fight, but if you let me, I'll look after you from now on. I'll buy you pretty clothes, tasty food, anything you want, okay? Just… please don't hurt me." Her voice trembled, eyes darting nervously, her cheeks flushed. Her words were full of forced sincerity and obvious self-preservation.
Akira feigned confusion, a glint of amusement flashing in his eyes. "Suzuki-san, what do you mean? Are you… accusing me of being the killer?" He paused deliberately, then flashed a warm, friendly smile. "Don't worry. Kawashima Megumi would never hurt you."
But Kawashima Akira would.
Misaki went speechless, too scared to catch the hidden meaning in his words. She scrambled to appear friendly. "N-no! I would never suspect you! Haha, Megumi, I always knew you weren't the killer. You're so kind. Wanna get dinner tonight? There's a new steak place nearby—I'll treat you."
Akira stared at Misaki's fake smile, silently laughing inside. On the surface, he remained calm and declined politely. He took in her every move, savoring the fear twisting her face. She didn't know it yet—but she was already his prey. The hunter was merely waiting for the right moment to strike.
Misaki exhaled in relief at his refusal, still plastering on her fake smile. She didn't realize that the "girl" in front of her was no longer the same Kawashima Megumi she once bullied—but a beast, lurking in the shadows, preparing for the kill.
"No worries, Megumi. Maybe next time! Don't be shy. We're good friends, right? Haha…" Her voice wavered more and more, even she could hear her own fear.
Akira's gaze locked onto her face—his eyes like twin voids. Just when Misaki thought she was safe, he slowly stepped closer, as if studying an object about to be discarded. His footsteps were soft, steady, yet each one landed like a thunderclap in her chest, making her heart pound wildly.
"Suzuki-san," Akira said, voice low and icy like a gust of winter wind. "I've been thinking lately… some debts always have to be repaid. No matter where you run, you can't escape fate."
Misaki froze. Terror gripped her heart. She forced a smile. "M-Megumi, what are you saying? I… I don't understand…"
Akira's smile remained, but it never reached his eyes. The girl before him seemed so fragile under his gaze, like she'd shatter with a touch. He no longer bothered to hide his cruelty or resolve. Each word he spoke was a knife aimed at the deepest corners of her fear.
"It's okay if you don't understand, Suzuki-san," Akira's voice turned gentle—but it was the kind of gentleness that made one's skin crawl. "I'll make sure you understand… eventually."
After dealing with Misaki Suzuki, Akira seemed to be in a rather good mood. That evening, he took his time tidying up before slowly making his way to the restaurant. The atmosphere inside was as lively as ever. Takumi was busy greeting guests, but when he saw Akira walk in, he beamed and came over, giving him a hearty pat on the shoulder.
"Akira, you're late today! School keeping you busy? Don't worry—if you're swamped, just tell me. I'll give you a break. Here, grab a bite first to fill your stomach." As he spoke, Takumi called to the kitchen to prepare some dishes and brought out two bottles of sake. Akira quietly accepted the offered cup, taking a small sip, though his eyes remained alert the entire time.
"Business seems good lately. Why all the free meals these days?" Akira asked casually.
"Haha! Yeah, it's been booming recently—I'm in high spirits!" Takumi laughed, eyes squinting with joy. He eagerly poured himself a drink and took a sip, his expression full of contentment. Then he leaned in a little and lowered his voice. "Akira, today I finally saw my daughter again! You know what? I caught a glimpse of her from afar—she looks just like her mom. She's getting more and more beautiful."
His tone was full of irrepressible excitement and joy, like seeing his daughter had been a long-held wish finally fulfilled. Akira listened silently, his face calm as ever. He nodded slowly, letting Takumi know he was paying attention.
Takumi refilled Akira's cup and chuckled warmly. "Still, Akira, you should be careful lately. I've heard there's a serial killer targeting students from your school. How about you take a break for a few days? I'll still pay your wages. Just go home early and stay safe. Nothing's more important than your safety."
Akira nodded lightly. Inside, he felt no emotion—only the sense that this break would give him more time to plan his next kill. He quietly studied Takumi's face, red from drink, and for a brief moment, his heart felt strangely conflicted. Takumi had been treating him better and better lately—especially after that night of drunken honesty—as if Akira were someone he could truly trust. Without rejecting the kindness, Akira sat with him, drinking and eating in silence.
They chatted about everyday things. Takumi would bring up his daughter from time to time, his voice always filled with emotion and pride. Akira listened quietly, replying with a few short comments. His gaze toward Takumi gradually softened.
"Sigh… too bad she still won't really see me," Takumi said with a sigh. "I tried talking to my ex-wife—asked if our daughter could visit now and then—but she seems to resent me. Oh well. As long as she's happy, that's all that matters."
A tear rolled down Takumi's cheek, slipped along his chin, and fell onto the table.
Eventually, after several more drinks, Takumi passed out at the table, snoring heavily. Akira watched him for a moment, then shook his head and quietly gathered his things to leave.
Outside, the night air was cool. The streets were nearly empty, save for the occasional car rumbling by. Akira walked with silent, steady steps, his long shadow stretching behind him. The city was cloaked in darkness, and the streetlights cast broken patches of light across the pavement, adding an eerie atmosphere to the quiet streets.
A warm, slightly restless breeze stirred the night air. Akira's eyes narrowed—he sensed something.
Someone was watching him.
He didn't react. His pace remained unchanged, as if he hadn't noticed anything. Casually, he tilted his head slightly and scanned the surroundings from the corner of his eye. Sure enough, a dark figure flickered in the distance, following him while keeping a careful distance.
Akira's eyes flashed coldly as he quickly analyzed the situation. The person's footsteps were light—deliberately quiet. Clearly trying not to be noticed.
Akira turned into a narrow alley, one he walked through every night on his way home. The alley was deserted, flanked by old buildings and dim yellow lamps casting a gloomy glow.
And just as expected, the shadow followed.
Footsteps echoed sharply in the narrow space, drawing closer. Akira could tell—the person was quickly closing in.
Suddenly, Akira stopped, spun around, and in one fluid motion, drew a dagger from his pocket. The blade flashed under the faint light, gleaming coldly as it shot toward the stalker's throat.
"Who's there?" Akira asked coldly, his voice like steel.
"Carrying a knife, huh? Impressive awareness, Miss Kawashima," came a low, familiar voice just before the blade touched flesh.
Akira narrowed his eyes, recognizing the man in the moonlight. Calmly, he slid the knife back into his sleeve, face unreadable.
"Detective Watanabe. Following a high school girl this late at night? That's a little suspicious, isn't it?" Akira said dryly, as if remarking on a trivial inconvenience.
Watanabe smiled faintly, voice still light. "Don't misunderstand me, Miss Kawashima. I just couldn't sleep and went out for a walk. Happened to see you, and got curious where you were headed this late."
Akira chuckled coldly, eyes sharp. "That's quite the coincidence, Detective."
"Maybe it's fate," Watanabe replied, shamelessly smiling as if he'd anticipated every word.
Akira had no interest in prolonging the encounter. He turned to leave, but Watanabe quickly stepped in front of him, blocking the way.
"Why do you carry a knife, Miss Kawashima?" he asked, voice casual on the surface, but filled with scrutiny.
Akira met his gaze calmly, face expressionless. "There's a serial killer on the loose. Everyone's scared. Is it wrong to carry something for self-defense?"
Watanabe raised an eyebrow, clearly unsatisfied, but unable to refute the logic. After all, in a city drowning in fear, who wouldn't want some protection?
"Impressive awareness," he said with faint sarcasm. "Didn't expect you to be out for a midnight snack, though. Coming from the restaurant, weren't you?"
Akira didn't want to engage in this pointless back-and-forth. It was obvious Watanabe was testing him.
"If there's nothing else, please move."
The two stared at each other in tense silence before Watanabe finally stepped aside. "Be careful, Miss Kawashima. The nights haven't been safe lately."
Akira nodded curtly and walked past him without another word.
Watanabe's smile vanished. He stood there, watching Akira's figure disappear into the darkness. After a moment, he turned and headed back to his car.
"You're back, Chief?" a young officer asked, standing up quickly as Detective Watanabe pushed open the door to the precinct. His face was filled with a mix of hope and tension.
Watanabe rubbed his brow, clearly fatigued. He picked up the coffee on the desk and took a sip, his frown deepening as he stared off, lost in thought.
"Did you find anything new?" the officer asked, his voice tinged with urgency.
Watanabe shook his head slowly, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Still no hard evidence. That girl's incredibly cautious. I didn't get anything out of her… but I did notice something new. She carries a dagger. And the blade matches the wound pattern of the murder weapon, according to the forensic report."
The young officer's eyes widened in shock. "Wait—are you serious? She's really just a high schooler? Even you couldn't break through her disguise?"
Watanabe sighed deeply, his heart heavy. "She's not just calm—she's unnaturally composed. Nothing about her feels like a normal teenager. Every reaction, every word—highly guarded, meticulously calculated. Her mindset is more stable than most adult suspects. That kind of psychological steadiness usually means she's mentally prepared… and may even have counter-surveillance training."
"Counter-surveillance?" the young officer echoed. "You mean she's intentionally hiding her movements and destroying evidence?"
"Exactly." Watanabe nodded. "A typical killer, especially one that young, would show some cracks—nervousness, anxiety, anything. But she… she was completely unshaken. She knows how to avoid cameras, how to dispose of tools, and when questioned—she's watertight. Not a single slip."
The officer slowly nodded, his expression grave. "Then maybe we should dig into her social circle or habits. Look for any unusual behavior before or after each murder."
"Good idea," Watanabe said with a nod. "We'll look into her interactions, any contact with other suspects, and whether she changed her behavior during the times of the crimes. Also, we need to trace that knife—see if she bought it or how she might have acquired it."
The officer, visibly unnerved by Watanabe's detailed analysis, leaned in and whispered, "Should we just assign a team to monitor her around the clock? What if she kills again?"
Watanabe tapped his fingers slowly on the desk, eyes dark and voice low with intensity. "We can't risk scaring her off. No sudden moves. Even without solid proof, as long as she makes one mistake—just one—we'll seize the chance to bring her to justice."
He paused, as if running through every angle in his mind. Then, in the silence, a glint of ruthless determination lit his eyes.