Knock knock knock.
The sudden knocking on the door of the Kiryuu household made Souta's sister, Sora Kiryuu, pause mid-mop.
"It's me," a familiar voice called out.
Sora breathed a sigh of relief, set the mop aside, and quickly ran to the front door. As she opened it, she saw her brother, Souta Kiryuu, standing there.
"Welcome back!"
"You're doing...housework?"
Souta stepped inside after a trip to the Fanged Teeth Syndicate's headquarters. As he changed out of his shoes, he glanced at Sora's outfit: apron, gloves, a hat. On the coffee table were bottles of alcohol and disinfectant.
"Cleaning the scene," she answered matter-of-factly. "Bloodstains, hair, fingerprints... Every possible trace must be meticulously erased."
Whoa there. Saying terrifying things so seriously... Is that really okay?
Souta, who had just gone on a murderous rampage, thought to himself.
"You did well," he said at last, patting her head.
But that only made Sora frown.
"Don't treat me like a kid. What about your side? How did you handle it?"
If the 'body' was exposed, the police would surely launch a major investigation. A corpse could reveal countless details—time of death, cause, murder weapon, even traces of the attacker like hair or tissue samples.
"Did you burn it thoroughly? Or dump it in the Arakawa River?"
Burning was always the simplest and most effective way to destroy a body. One fire, and all evidence turns to ash. The Arakawa River, which separated Adachi Ward from Arakawa Ward, was also a decent dumping spot.
"I said I'll handle it. Stop worrying needlessly."
Souta rubbed his temples, frustrated by her questions. He couldn't very well say: One ninjutsu from your brother and even Detective Conan would be stumped.
"It's late. Go to sleep."
Half an hour later...
Souta sat up in bed and looked at his bedroom door. Rubbing his temples again, he muttered, "Sora, what are you doing in my room with your pillow?"
"I can't sleep alone. Move over."
Wearing a white nightgown, Sora casually moved Souta's pillow to the side, placed her own, and crawled under the covers.
"You… Ugh, fine."
Considering everything that had happened, Souta, a world-hopper with no taboos, thought: killing is killing. But Sora was just an ordinary, frail, introverted high school girl. The fact she wasn't paralyzed with fear spoke to her mental strength.
If she could still sleep like this, he might start suspecting she was a transmigrator too.
"Go to sleep," he said, patting her shoulder.
Drained of his spiritual energy, Souta closed his eyes.
While Souta slept soundly, someone else was wide awake.
"What the hell is this?"
Back in his rented apartment, Watari Tanimura washed his face and touched the stone embedded in his forehead. It seemed fused directly into his skull, completely unscientific.
"Well, nothing about what happened was scientific."
He recalled the corpses strewn across the Fanged Teeth Syndicate building during his escape, and the changes within himself. Looking at the mirror above the sink, he saw a reflection both familiar and foreign. Less scholarly, more wild. Especially the clearly defined, explosive muscles under his removed shirt.
No—he was overflowing with yokai power.
"Yokai Art: Four-Legged Form."
As he whispered the technique, his body expanded, spine arching, limbs shifting into clawed beast limbs. His jaws protruded, splitting to his ears, revealing rows of sharp fangs, and his body became covered in black bristles.
In the blink of an eye, a bipedal wolf demon stood before the mirror.
"This feeling of power..."
The wolf-mouth spoke.
Feeling the surge inside him, Watari looked at the mop nearby.
Snap.
With a gentle twist, the metal handle bent like a pretzel.
"Didn't even feel it."
Turning to the shower head, he crushed the pipe just as easily.
It was like playing with a new toy. Watari tested his strength with growing enthusiasm, finally stopping only after twisting his workout tension rod into a knot.
His apartment was now full of mangled objects. It looked like someone had bought a hydraulic press and gone wild.
"This power... is insane."
He could crush kitchen knives like they were made of clay. Steel? Nothing.
If he had this power before, he wouldn't have needed the police to take down the Fanged Teeth Syndicate.
"Useless cops!"
Thinking about them, his joy faded.
He had spent so long gathering evidence, making reports, but never once could they bring the syndicate down. He didn't believe for a second that no one in the force was colluding with the yakuza.
In the end, it was thanks to a 'demon god' that he got revenge.
Watari grew up during the era of demon-manga. Countless stories featured supernatural beings harvesting souls to resurrect ancient evils or dark lords. And the mysterious man had mentioned the term "Killing Stone," which practically confirmed who he was.
"This power... must come with a heavy price."
After all his tests, Watari prepared to face reality.
The mysterious figure had said he had to kill one wicked person per day to absorb their soul—or else he himself would die.
Based on all the manga he had read, Watari knew he was on a slippery slope to darkness. Eventually, he'd be no different from those he hunted.
But so what?
"Akemi, just wait a little longer."
Your big brother is coming. But before that...
"I'm heading out."
Leaving all his cash and apartment keys on the shoe rack, and wearing a baseball cap, Watari Tanimura stepped into the neon-lit night.
Ayase Town.
The site of the infamous Junko Furuta cement murder case.
Over 30 years had passed, and due to its proximity to Tokyo's core, Ayase had developed into a bustling area. But the shadows remained, just more deeply buried.
The streets were full of people: students, workers enjoying skewers at roadside stalls. 100 yen for two chicken skewers, 120 yen for a beer. Hygiene? Who cared, as long as it didn't kill them.
Longevity was for the rich. Most people just hoped to reach the national average lifespan. After all, who knew whether death or misfortune would arrive first?
Inside a supposedly closed-down restaurant in the Third District...
"Boss Fukuya."
A man in a black suit and sunglasses pushed the door open, lifting a bag with luxurious packaging.
"Top-grade sirloin. Let's eat!"
"Ah, it's you, Shibukawa," replied a scar-faced man drinking beer and chewing grilled skewers.
"Have a seat."
One of the underlings took the beef, carefully grilling it. That much meat could feed him for months.
"What brings you here? Something up?"
Fukuya, the scar-faced man, handled drug trafficking. Shibukawa managed the brothels. Both were powerful members of the Fanged Teeth Syndicate.
"Come on, Boss. Can't a brother drop by for dinner without a reason?"
Removing his sunglasses, Shibukawa sat opposite him.
"But seriously, aren't prices for the goods a bit too high lately?"
"My girls are working their butts off every day, and you guys are taking most of the cut. Isn't that unfair?"
"Bullshit. Like you care about them."
Fukuya laughed like he heard the world's funniest joke.
This man, Shibukawa, didn't just run the brothels. He scouted girls throughout Adachi Ward, ensnaring them through traps or seduction, then sent them to clubs or hostess bars. They barely got a cut.
Once they were in, willing or not, they became money-making machines. Even Japan's regular entertainment industry siphoned 90% of performers' earnings.
The Fanged Teeth Syndicate was worse. They got their girls addicted to drugs, reclaiming whatever little money they made. This drug-brothel cycle brought billions in profit—far more than raising wagyu cattle.
"We lost a batch—15 kilos—at sea recently!"
Fukuya scowled. Those idiots couldn't even manage that. Being dumped into Tokyo Bay was too good for them.
"Short supply means higher prices. Once the southern shipment arrives, costs will normalize."
"Sigh... Then I'll ask my girls to bear with it a little longer."
Shibukawa played along. There was no way he'd challenge someone as dangerous as Fukuya.
"The beef's ready. Dig in~~"
"Fukuya, Shibukawa?"
Just as they were about to enjoy their meal, a voice called from upstairs.
They turned and saw a young man descending the stairs.
"You are..."
Fukuya, known as "The Savage," reached for his waist.
"Watari Tanimura?"
The expressions of everyone present changed. This was the guy who'd been tearing through their operations lately.
"So you all know me."
Watari cracked his neck. His jaw stretched, fangs sharpened, and body hair thickened.
"Then you should know why I'm here."
Whoosh!
A blur of movement—
A hairy arm slashed through the air.
Splatter!
Four trails of blood arced through the air. Fukuya's gun was only half-drawn before he was flung aside, lifeless.
He was no longer "The Savage."
He was dead.
"Aaaaah!!"
Shibukawa tried to flee. But a clawed hand reached from behind, digging into his shoulder like grabbing a toy.
"I remember now," came a chilling voice.
"You were the one who lured Akemi."