Within a few days, their college closed for winter vacation, granting Manabu several weeks to sleep in peaceful solitude. Days passed like a cold breeze running through tree leaves and branches. At around 11 am, while Manabu was still asleep, clutching his pillow tightly beneath his favorite red-blanket like a caterpillar, the newspaper boy rang the bell, jolting him awake. "Newspaper!" Trudging out of bed, he hurried to retrieve the paper from the delivery boy at the doorstep. He fumbled with the lock and peered outside. The boy was still there. Manabu grabbed the paper and asked about the previous day's newspaper, but the delivery boy said he had delivered every paper on time and to the correct address. He also knew Manabu pretty well as a troublemaker, which is why he always remembered to deliver his first in the whole apartment.
'Strange!' Manabu thought. Perhaps neighbor's naughty kids had taken it. He apologized and let the boy go, heading straight back to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He set the coffee maker to brew and prepared a simple breakfast of half-boiled eggs and bread while brushing. He washed his face, cleaned his red eyes—which had turned red due to a mild allergy, though it wasn't a serious issue—and made his way to the dining room and poured his coffee cup with half a teaspoon of sugar. As he ate his meal, he unfolded and flipped through the pages and lines of the newspaper but found nothing interesting to read in the first few pages, just the usual chitchat, sports -news and other things, but on the third page, a headline caught his eye: [Another Murder by Mr. Santa Claus] Curious he read on, pointing at each words with his finger. "Merry Christmas!" "Mr. Santa?" "Three murders?!"
The page detailed a gruesome event from the today mid-night, sometime between 1 and 2 am. Three criminals, identified as locals, had been brutally murdered in the neighboring district of Doshiqi. Manabu's curiosity deepened, and the news quite matched his taste; he poured another cup of coffee while reading, then learned, "All three victims were criminals." Finishing the article while stuffing bread into his mouth, a thought sparked in his mind. He shoved his plate aside and rushed back to the bathroom, toothbrush still in hand. From a hidden compartment in the ceiling, he retrieved a secret notebook and began flipping through its pages. Manabu had made the space in the ceiling when he was a child, and his grandmother didn't bother at all. Now he used that space to hide some important things and past savings from his salary.
He looked at the criminals' faces and exclaimed, "Gotcha!" Among the names listed in his file, one stood out: Hatu Nauchi. Arrested in 1895 for a drug export case, Hatu had been released the same year due to insufficient evidence, though a rearrest warrant was issued in 1897. He was also suspected of fraud, money-laundering, and probably even dirtier things. Hatu had begun his criminal career at the age of 21, descending into substance abuse, trafficking, and far darker deeds. His most heinous crimes involved rape—drugging his victims, overdosing them, and killing them in agonizing deaths.
"Fucking bastard," Manabu muttered, his disgust palpable, his face twisted. "Well deserved! Monsters like him should die this way."
He continued reading the details (which weren't sufficient) before pulling out his phone to search online for more information about the case. In the previous night's Santa murder, Hatu hadn't been alone. His two younger accomplices, aged 19 and 20, had also been killed, though their names didn't appear. Returning to the dining table, he grabbed a pair of scissors and carefully cut out the newspaper pages detailing the Christmas murders. He taped them into his notebook, scrawling at the top: "Mr. Santa Claus—Christmas Killer." With that, he closed the notebook and returned it to its hiding place but wondered once whether he should keep this notebook he had made five years ago out of childish thrill, but then thought this childishness was the only way to remind him of those alive moments he could not live again. He kept the notebook.
That afternoon, at Taiju's apartment, Manabu lounged in Taiju's room, sprawled upside down on the bed, legs dangling over the edge. His head hung off the side, the world appearing inverted through his bleary eyes. His body ached, and his mind felt heavy with boredom. Taiju had stepped out to buy snacks, leaving Manabu alone in the quiet room in the thousand-door apartment. Mion, Naomi, and Mai were occupied elsewhere: Mion and Naomi were shopping with their dad (Futaba) for Christmas and New Year celebrations, while Mai was treating herself to a haircut at a beauty salon with other girlfriends. So there was absolutely no one to talk to, and Taiju was absolutely, cringingly worse at conversation. Manabu sighed again swung his legs upwards, kicking the wall. Just then, the door handle clicked, and Taiju entered with a bag of snacks in hand. Without a word, he tossed a packet of chips at Manabu's upside-down face. Too lethargic to react, Manabu didn't even bother catching it, and it patted his face.
"Feeling bored?" Taiju asked, plopping onto his study chair. Manabu didn't respond. He sat up slowly, his face a mask of indifference. He sighed again—a bad sign. Taiju kept staring at him quietly, opening the chip packet and cracking open a can of soda, munching loudly on each chip. Manabu stared back at him with an annoyed look on his face, as if Taiju was challenging him to a staring contest. For once, Manabu thought, what weird people I hang around with: one is red haired and hot-tempered, one is smart but shy, one is slightly stupid but kind, and then this Nigga, so-called best friend with an extremely healthy physique. Manabu couldn't bear anymore, he asked, "Why the fuck are you staring at me like that? You wanna fight?"
Taiju replied while maintaining eye contact, "Why did you call me nigga? I'm white." Manabu hiccupped twice. Taiju had a natural gift for understanding people quickly in a short period of time. He was like a psychic. But Manabu immediately changed the direction of the conversation, flailed his arms dramatically, and flopped back onto the bed again. The boredom was eating him, and the chewing sound felt as though Taiju wasn't chewing chips but his sanity. Well, Taiju won the contest and decided to lighten the mood. "Did you catch today's news? There's a serial killer in Doshiqi. Goes by 'Mr. Santa.' I hope you've heard about him."
Manabu's eyes flickered with interest. He sat up. "Yup, I've heard about him."
Taiju took a sip of his soda and leaned forward, pulling out a coin from his jeans pocket to scratch the gift coupon on the back of the chip packet while he continued the chat. "This guy's no joke. He's killed about twelve people in just over two weeks. And all of them were criminals!"
"Twelve?" Manabu's brows furrowed. He leaned closer to Taiju, trying to peek at the scratch prize, but it was just a cheap toy. Taiju sighed, slightly disappointed. He opened the drawer and grabbed a stack of newspapers from his desk. Flipping through them, he found the pages he wanted and threw them to Manabu. "Check these out—November 27th and December 5th news," and began opening another chip packet.
Manabu hadn't seen these articles before. He glanced at the dates and realized those were the days he couldn't find his newspapers—either the delivery boy had skipped them intentionally, or someone had stolen them. He scanned the articles from start to finish and asked, "When did this Santa guy start appearing?"
Taiju leaned back in the chair and replied while opening his third packet. "Early winter. Around November, when the first chills hit. In just two months, he's taken down eight criminals. Not ordinary people, mind you—serious offenders. FUCK!" Taiju groaned suddenly; another toy from the scratch gifts.
Manabu sat up straighter, grabbing a packet for himself while talking. "So, Mr. Santa only targets criminals and bad people?"
Taiju nodded. "Exactly. But whether he's a vigilante or just a psycho, I can't say. Do all bad people deserve to die? Well, not really, but in this case? Hell yes."
"If he only kills criminals, does that make him a hero?" Manabu mused.
Taiju rubbed his chin and said it depends on individual perspective. "To me, he's justice. All his victims were vile. One of them—I can't recall his name—killed and violated women and children. Santa took him out. That guy deserved it, didn't he?"
Quite an ambitious killer, Manabu thought. "He kills in different ways, like the punishment fits the crime. There's a saying: 'What you do is what you get.' Maybe this Santa wants to bring peace to society. Or maybe he just enjoys the thrill. A hunter that hunts the hunter."
Taiju began recounting Santa's victims from the start. "November 27th—remember? Mai and I were trying to hack that scammer. That night, two people were found dead: Karu Jouiki and Sora Jouiki, the Twin Assholes, I call them. Senior members of the Joo-hai gang, wanted for cyber fraud, blackmail, and gang murders. They hacked victims' private info, blackmailed them, and drove many to suicide. Their bodies were found in an apartment where they were hiding from rival gangs. At first, the police thought it was a gang hit and closed the case in two months. Then there was another case of 'The Mother,' Ashara Shoko, a single mother. Her husband left her, claiming she was narcissistic. They divorced, but their kid stayed with her due to a court ruling. A few months later, an arrest warrant was issued after her younger son called his father for help, saying, 'My brother died, and Mom left the house.' The father called the police immediately."
According to the news: Shoko had been abusing her children since the divorce. Her elder son died because she slammed his head against a wall, killing him instantly, while her younger son ended up hospitalized. Shoko fled, but the father pressed charges. She vanished in September and remained at large until November 30th, when her body was found in an apartment, with many suspects but no leads.
Then Manabu noticed and asked about the murders on December 3rd and 5th, which he'd also missed. Taiju took the newspaper to jog his memory, glanced at the pages once again, and said, "That's when things escalated. December 3rd to 5th was a mass murder—six people died in one district."
According to the articles, back in February 1896, the police had issued arrest warrants for those six, including Roshi Oto, Matsunaga, and Ogato. They were monsters, having tortured and killed seven to eight people, including a seven-year-old girl they raped and murdered. They were also suspected to have been killed by Mr. Santa recently, since the gifts were the only evidence and lead to any possible outcomes. Taiju's fists clenched, his voice dripping with venom. "Bastards. That's the motherfucker I mentioned earlier. I saw the news back then and wished those fuckers dead. They deserved this." Taiju clearly justified and sided with Mr. Santa and his murders, but Manabu had a question. "How did the police connect these killings to Santa? These murders happened across the country in different districts. Guessing would be foolish."
Taiju's eyes lit up; he totally forgot to mention the gifts. "The gifts! Santa leaves random signature gifts at every crime scene. For example, last night, they found a 'Merry Christmas' note, and at some scenes, a keyed Santa toy that plays Jingle Bells."
The Investigation team had revisited earlier cases and found similar gifts, previously overlooked but now a critical clue. Manabu was impressed by Taiju's knowledge. "I thought you weren't interested in this stuff."
"Don't be silly! Everyone's curious about this kind of thing," Taiju replied, collecting the empty chip packets and shoving them into the dustbin. But Manabu said, "What if we're Santa's next victims?" with a wide, creepy grin.
"Bruh, don't say creepy shit. He won't touch us—we're innocent."
Manabu laughed. "Just kidding. Anyway, how's your martial arts class?"
The question sparked something in Taiju. He bolted to his bedroom, rummaging through drawers. Moments later, he returned, proudly wearing a red belt, traditionally handmade, adorned with a dragon painted in gold and black. "My master gave me this," he boasted. "It's above a black belt. He said I'm the finest student he's ever had and made it for me with his own hands." It is remarkable and quite an achievement. Manabu expressed his genuine humility toward Taiju, showing his appreciation. Taiju, however, returned to the topic. "Anyway, people support Santa because he only kills criminals. But he's still a fearsome guy; he appears and disappears like the actual Santa Claus in the middle of the night."
Manabu nodded thoughtfully, piecing things together in his mind. Suddenly, Mai entered the room with a glad face, her short hair freshly styled.
"What's going on?" she asked cheerfully. She spun once, expecting them to comment on her appearance, as she appreciated it herself. "How does my new haircut look, Taiju?"
Taiju turned his face immediately, blushing. Adjusting his glasses, he stammered, "It looks great." Manabu noticed the slight embarrassment he had been expecting, to take revenge after losing the longest eye contest challenge against the psychic-ass. His lips curved into a sly, mischievous smile, fully aware of the situation and the dynamics between these two oddballs. He knew Taiju liked Mai, and what's more, he could tell Mai felt the same about Taiju. But the problem was, neither of them could muster the courage to confess. Watching them struggle was both amusing and frustrating. He stepped close to Taiju's ear and whispered mischievously, "You liked it, didn't you~?"
Taiju's face turned even redder, and his emotions grew unsteady. He pushed Manabu back with his right hand. Manabu laughed at both of them, clearly enjoying Taiju's discomfort, while Mai was just confused—as always. "What's going on?" she asked, her eyes shifting between the two boys. Nothing…It's just brotherhood.
Taiju, meanwhile, felt like he was melting inside. His mind raced as he stole glances at Mai once again. She looks pretty… Quite a wholesome sight. It was December 12th already, just a few days until Christmas, which they had promised to share together. They hoped the New Year would bring light into their lives. For all of them, the New Year symbolized more than just a fresh start—it was the threshold of their futures. The years had been chaotic, and the world was twisted and harsh, yet they still hoped for something brighter. Mion stood outside the mall on the footpath under the winter tears falling, looking up at the cloudy sky. "Beautiful," she said, her eyes reflecting quiet hope for tomorrow. Naomi, standing nearby, looked up as well and softly remarked, "It's snowing." The flakes drifted gently, painting the night in delicate white. The cold breeze carried a sense of serenity, making this winter the most beautiful one in recent years. Mion closed her eyes, pressing her hands together in a silent prayer. "I hope… I hope we all stay happy together forever," she whispered, her breath forming a faint mist in the frigid air. Her words were a quiet plea, echoing the season's joy. All around, people smiled and shared in the warmth of the moment. As the snow fell, a gentle reminder lingered: 'True joy lies not in possessing what we desire, but in cherishing the moments we wish to relive once more.'