Alan's mother stood in the corner of the room, a faint, eerie smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Her demeanor didn't match the horrific scene in front of them. The air was heavy with silence and dread.
Kaguro's eyes narrowed. He felt something was off—not just with the atmosphere, but with her. He glanced at Bachi, who already seemed to be drawing the same conclusion.
"He was tortured," Kaguro whispered under his breath, scanning Alan's body lying motionless on the floor. "This… isn't a simple injury."
Alan's breaths were shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly like a dying flame gasping for air. Kaguro leaned closer and watched his breath pattern—short, irregular, almost gasping.
Then it hit him.
Cardiac arrest.
"Bachi!" Kaguro shouted urgently, gripping his friend's shoulder. "This is serious—Alan's gone into cardiac arrest! You need to perform CPR right now, or we'll lose him!"
Bachi's eyes widened, his pulse spiking in alarm. "Okay! I'm on it!" He dropped to his knees, placing his hands over Alan's chest and beginning compressions without hesitation.
Kaguro's mind raced. He assessed the condition of their fallen friend with grim precision.
Kaguro's thoughts:
> Okay, focus. Alan has been stabbed approximately 24 times. Most of the wounds are in his feet, legs, and abdomen. But the latest and deepest stab—the one that hasn't stopped bleeding—is in his stomach.
The blade pierced deep, possibly puncturing vital organs. The wound's location and bleeding rate suggest that even if we save him now, recovery is uncertain. But that's not all—his skin shows signs of severe chemical burns.
His face is mostly intact, which rules out full-body immolation. These burns… they look like acid. Likely hydrochloric acid (HCl). The skin patterns match it.
And bruises—his face, ribs, arms. He was punched repeatedly. He was beaten with slippers… and a belt.
There's blood on the cracked screen of his laptop. His head was probably slammed into it with force. The screen was still glowing moments ago, flashing the message: "Are you ready for the torture?"
Who would do this? Who could do this to a child?
Kaguro turned quickly to Kamiko, who stood frozen near the doorway.
"Kamiko!" he barked, snapping him out of the trance. "Call the police. And the ambulance—now!"
Without a second thought, Kamiko grabbed his phone and sprinted into the hallway, urgently dialing emergency services.
Meanwhile, Kashimo stepped forward, clenching his fists. His eyes flared with anger as he turned to face Alan's mother.
"I know you were the one who did this!" he growled. "You're insane, aren't you? What kind of mother tortures her own son like this?"
Michelle, Alan's mother, was 47. A slender woman with a pale complexion and an unnerving calmness in her voice. Ten years ago, she had divorced her husband, Riko, citing domestic abuse. After a lengthy and bitter legal battle, she had won custody of Alan.
Soon after, she fled to Japan with her only child, trying to leave behind the horrors of her past. But the trauma hadn't disappeared—it had merely turned inwards, like a parasite feeding off her sanity.
To the outside world, Michelle pretended to be a cheerful, supportive single mother. But deep down, she was haunted by the ghost of Riko. She began associating Alan with his father—every failure, every mistake, every shortcoming. Alan became the embodiment of everything she hated about her past.
So whenever Alan didn't meet her expectations, she snapped.
Michelle looked at Kashimo with cold, lifeless eyes and replied in a voice that was both calm and chilling.
"It's not my fault," she said casually. "It's Alan's. Why couldn't he get better grades? Why couldn't he be exceptional like the rest of you? I hurt him, yes… but what can you really do about it?"
Kashimo's rage exploded. "You monster! You're killing your own son—destroying whatever future he could've had!"
But before anyone could respond further, Michelle picked up a glass of water from the table nearby and approached Kashimo with a twisted smile.
"Here, drink this. You must be tired… angry… frustrated. This will help," she said, extending the glass toward him.
Kashimo frowned and took a step back. "What are you doing? Why are you trying to make me drink water? What's wrong with you?"
Michelle's smile widened unnaturally, her lips parting as a dark laugh escaped her throat—a sound so unsettling that even Bachi, in the middle of giving CPR, paused for a heartbeat.
It wasn't a human laugh.
It was demonic.
She cackled with a terrifying pitch, her voice echoing through the room like a scream from the depths of a nightmare.
"No," she said with a cruel grin. "I'm not mad. I'm smarter than you think."
She raised the glass.
"That wasn't water," she whispered, her eyes gleaming with venom. "It was poison."
A deafening silence fell over the room. Everyone froze. Even the usually fearless Kamiko, who had just returned from making the emergency calls, stood dumbstruck.
"Poison?" Kashimo muttered, now beginning to feel a slight burning in his throat. His heart started to race.
Kaguro's eyes darted toward him in alarm.
"Kashimo—spit it out if you drank any of it!" he shouted. "We need to act fast!"
Michelle stood proudly in the center of the chaos she created, eyes gleaming with madness, as if relishing in the pain and confusion around her.
"You'll all see," she said softly. "You'll all learn what discipline means. Just like Alan did."
Just then, the sound of sirens echoed faintly in the distance.
Kamiko whispered, "They're coming…"
Kaguro placed a hand on Bachi's shoulder. "Keep going with the CPR. We're not losing him."
Bachi nodded, sweat dripping from his forehead as he continued the compressions with unwavering focus.
Kaguro stepped between Michelle and Kashimo, shielding his friend.
"You won't hurt anyone else," he said coldly.
Michelle tilted her head and smirked again.
"You think you've won?" she whispered. "You've only just entered the game."
The flashing blue and red lights of the police and ambulance began to flood the room from outside the window. For a moment, hope returned to their hearts.
But what lay ahead would test their minds, their friendships—and their very souls.
To be continued...