KAMIKAWA, 1997 — DAYBREAK
Fog creeps over the old rail station like memory made tangible.
The camera moves slowly down the abandoned tracks, littered with rusted cans, old flyers from 1987, and broken umbrellas.
A voice plays over cassette, warped with age:
"If you're coming back here, don't look for closure.
Kamikawa doesn't bury its ghosts.
It wears them like skin."
—
INT. TRAIN — MOVING — EARLY MORNING
Ryouma, dressed in a black turtleneck under a trench coat, watches Kamikawa's misted hills blur by.
Beside him, Souta wears all black, earbuds in, eyes closed.
The train shakes.
"I hate this place," she mutters, eyes still shut.
Ryouma doesn't respond.
But he grips the inside of his coat pocket.
Inside: Katarina's badge. Still scratched. Still his anchor.
INT. KAMIKAWA — POLICE SUBSTATION — REACTIVATED TEMPORARY HQ
A small task force is being reassembled.
Old officers. New recruits.
"This is no longer a missing persons case," says Officer Nam, now chief.
He slaps a photo onto the board:
A man's face — peeled open. Eyes sewn shut.
Beside it: another postcard.
It reads:
"The daughter dreams.
The son hunts.
The mother weeps."
— K
INT. RURAL SHRINE – SAME DAY
The masked woman kneels alone before an ancient stone lantern. Cherry blossoms drift in the wind, despite it being the wrong season.
She speaks aloud, softly, but it's unclear if to God, or herself:
"You think her rage is the storm.
But it's the silence before it that kills."
She gently places a blood-stained glove beside the shrine.
Then disappears through a sliding door—
Where a collection of Kairi's photos, tapes, and blood vials are preserved like art.
The woman stares at one photo.
A blurry image of Kairi… holding an infant Souta.
She touches the glass.
Whispers:
"Maybe she was right.
But wrong always wears prettier faces."
INT. DOWNTOWN SEOUL — UNKNOWN BASEMENT — Kairi's current base
A young woman is strapped to a chair.
Alive.
Shaking.
Kairi circles her slowly.
The girl's wrists are red from rope. Her mouth gagged with tape.
Kairi kneels beside her. Calm. Maternal.
"You were in Ryouma's records."
The girl cries. Nods.
"You wanted to be like him. You studied everything he did. But you made a mistake."
She gently removes the gag.
"W-what did I do?" the girl sobs.
"You admired a scar," Kairi says softly. "But forgot it came from a wound."
CUT TO BLACK.
We don't see what happens next.
Just the sound of bones.
And a child's lullaby on piano.
INT. KAMIKAWA ABANDONED ELEMENTARY SCHOOL — NIGHT
Ryouma and Souta walk the halls of their old school. Broken desks. Rain through the roof.
Flashlights illuminate the carvings on the walls.
One of them matches the latest killer's signature mark.
"It started here," Souta whispers.
Ryouma looks at an old desk.
The one he hid under as a kid.
Blood still stained into the wood.
"I think it never ended."
MASKED WOMAN — POV
She stares into a shattered mirror.
But we don't see her face.
Instead, in the reflection: fragments.
A hospital wristband.
A tattooed symbol.
A gun.
A photograph of Katarina—crossed out.
And a name carved into her side in scar tissue:
"JIN"
The voice in her head:
"You were just a project.
But even broken things can decide when to burn the lab down."
She walks to her closet.
Removes the mask.
We never see her face.
But we hear the quiet breath of someone becoming herself for the first time.
EDGE OF TOWN — NIGHT
Ryouma and Souta stand outside the Kurokawa cemetery.
There's a fresh grave.
A local boy. Another victim.
The M.O. is escalating.
"No more clues," Souta says.
Ryouma pulls a flask from his pocket.
But doesn't drink.
He pours it onto the soil.
"Kairi's not the only one playing God anymore," he says.
A voice echoes from the trees.
Soft. Feminine.
"Good.
Because God's not watching anymore."
They turn.
Nothing's there.
Just the mask—hung from a branch. A symbol now.
Not of the killer.
But of the woman hunting both of them.