Horitake had essentially ended the game with a single sentence. The moment those words left his mouth, the demoness Kyojutsu stopped laughing. She stared at him, her gaze turning glacial.
"Indeed... that is the one thing I cannot stop brooding over," she hissed. "I have always had absolute confidence in the illusions I construct. Since the day I became a demon, my phantasms have never failed; they have never been seen through, let alone shattered. How did you do it?"
Thinking back to the previous scene, Horitake pursed his lips, a flicker of melancholy crossing his face.
"To be honest, your illusion was exceptionally well-built. If it weren't for a few... very specific circumstances, it would have been flawless. If I'm not mistaken, your hypnotic process involves a degree of mind-reading, doesn't it?"
"By peering into a person's heart, you find their deepest desires and their most painful scars. By weaving a world out of their own subconscious thoughts, you create a trap that anyone would want to stay in forever. Just like the one I just faced."
"My feelings for my parents are real. Their feelings for me were real. The idea of the three of us living together in harmony forever... that is a genuine longing of mine. If I hadn't been careful, I truly might have let myself sink into that beautiful lie."
"Unfortunately for you, from the moment I stood before the front door—before I even stepped inside—I knew it was fake."
Up until that point, Horitake's words had been relatively calm, but that final sentence acted like a physical blow to Kyojutsu.
She flared with indignation, unable to restrain her curiosity. "How?! According to my logic, my illusion touched the very core of your soul! There should have been no mistake! How could you tell it was a lie from the very beginning?!"
Horitake's expression remained flat, his voice devoid of emotion.
"The reason is simple: a person cannot imagine something they have never seen. The world you built for me was riddled with 'props' that simply didn't belong. There were holes everywhere."
"First: My home was on the fifth floor of an old residential complex. It was a ninety-square-meter, two-bedroom apartment—not a traditional Japanese ichiken-ya house like the one you made."
"Second: When my mother cooks, she wears an apron over ordinary clothes. She would never wear a traditional kimono while working in the kitchen."
"Third: When my dad has free time, he likes to lounge on the sofa and play on his smartphone. He doesn't sit on a tatami mat reading a paper newspaper."
"Fourth: The 'feast' my mother prepares consists of traditional Chinese home-cooked dishes. Why on earth would she serve a table full of Japanese washoku cuisine?"
"Fifth: I am absolutely, one hundred percent certain that after my parents divorced, they wanted nothing to do with each other for the rest of their lives. The possibility of them remarrying is effectively zero."
"I could go on about the other discrepancies, but I won't bother. In short: the plot was right, but the stage dressing was all wrong!"
Kyojutsu listened to Horitake's explanation with a look of utter bewilderment. At first, she couldn't wrap her head around what he was saying, but as he continued, a realization began to dawn on her.
Her expression shifted through a spectacular range of colors before she finally managed to stammer out a question.
"You... you're Chinese?!"
Horitake nodded. "Precisely."
Upon hearing his confirmation, the demoness's face became a kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions. Within a few short seconds, she cycled through regret, shame, embarrassment, and finally, white-hot fury.
She understood now. She understood that her illusion had been doomed from the start.
As Horitake had said, one cannot imagine what they have never seen. Before she attempted to trap him, Kyojutsu had no idea that Horitake was Chinese to his very core. Consequently, the world she built was saturated with Japanese elements because that was all she knew.
Even if she had known his nationality, she wouldn't have been able to build a proper illusion. She didn't know what a Chinese household looked like, how they lived, or what their culture felt like. She lacked even the basic elements of his reality.
To put it in perspective: if Kyojutsu was a director, the illusion was a play she had staged specifically for Horitake. The script, the actors, and the emotional beats were all perfect—they matched his heart.
But the props were all wrong.
She couldn't find Chinese props; she couldn't build a Chinese set. And since she didn't know her "audience" was Chinese, she had arrogantly assumed she could use Japanese sets and Japanese backgrounds.
With such a glaring, fundamental flaw, Horitake would have had to be an idiot not to notice the "production" was a sham.
And now, the one looking like an idiot was Kyojutsu.
She knew she had made a massive blunder—a mistake so ridiculous it was almost comical. The entire foundation of her trap had been wrong from the first brick. The more she thought about it, the more embarrassed she felt, and the more embarrassed she felt, the angrier she became.
Shaking off the humiliation, she glared at Horitake with murderous intent.
"Fine! So the illusion was a bust! Big deal! I still have other methods!"
"What methods?" Horitake asked.
"If 'Boiling the Frog' doesn't work, then it's time for 'Deep-Fried Tempura'!"
"Hold on a second..." Horitake interrupted her. "What is 'Boiling the Frog' supposed to mean? And what on earth is 'Deep-Fried Tempura'?"
Kyojutsu let out a cruel, predatory smile.
"Those are the names I've given to my two different styles of illusions."
"The 'Boiling Frog' method uses heart-reading to discover a person's deepest desires. I then build a beautiful world where they get everything they ever wanted. They become so lost in their own happiness that they refuse to leave, staying until their spirit eventually withers away."
Horitake nodded as he listened. "I see. A dream come true. Most people wouldn't want to wake up from that. It certainly serves the purpose of 'boiling the frog' slowly. So, what about the 'Deep-Fried Tempura'?"
Kyojutsu's smile grew wider, turning into something truly hideous.
"The 'Deep-Fried Tempura' is simpler. It's an illusion designed to destroy a person's mind through raw, agonizing horror!"
The moment she finished speaking, Kyojutsu took action.
In the physical world, outside the realm of the mind, the demoness was sitting behind a desk in the office on the fifth floor of the library.
Her eyes were wide open, her mind sharp and focused. She had been speaking to Horitake's consciousness through her telepathic hypnotic link. Now, with a sadistic grin, she gripped her fountain pen and began to write feverishly in the blank notebook before her, weaving a tapestry of nightmares for Horitake's trapped soul.
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