The precinct was unusually quiet the next morning. Rain still drizzled outside, leaving slick streets reflecting the flashing red and blue lights of police cruisers. Arata sat at his desk, staring at a wall covered in photographs, reports, and maps. Every victim, every crime scene… and now, the latest Ribbon Reaper execution.
The patterns were undeniable.
All the victims had been flagged in previous reports.
All the criminals Arata had failed to catch—or hadn't had enough evidence for—were now dead.
Every ribbon… the same precision, the same methodical brutality.
Arata ran his fingers through his hair. "This… this can't be random," he muttered. "Someone knows exactly what they're doing. Someone is… controlling everything."
Inspector Rao approached cautiously, eyebrows furrowed. "Sir, I know it's disturbing—but we have to focus. The Reaper is leaving a trail now. The public… they're scared, yes, but some are calling him a hero."
Arata's stomach twisted. "Hero? He's a killer. A vigilante. This isn't justice—it's chaos."
Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Lucian leaned against the café counter, sipping a lukewarm coffee. His golden hair was disheveled, and his eyes, though lighter, carried a trace of shadows from Kane's control hours earlier.
Sera stood across from him, hands on her hips. "You disappeared last night. I saw the livestream…"
Lucian forced a smile, hiding the lingering guilt. "Ah… just… busy. You know how it is—bartender duties, juggling life."
But Sera's sharp eyes didn't waver. "Busy? You were watching… doing nothing. Or were you?"
Lucian laughed lightly, the sound too hollow even for him. "Doing nothing can be an art, my love. You wouldn't understand."
Her eyes narrowed. "Lucian… something's wrong with you. I can feel it."
He smiled again, but the cracks were showing. Every laugh, every joke, felt fragile. Kane's shadow lingered inside him, whispering, reminding him of what he had done, what he could do.
Back at the precinct, Arata studied the patterns, noticing something chilling: every Ribbon Reaper victim coincided with an open investigation he had personally handled—or at least knew about.
He frowned, leaning closer. "It's like… the Reaper knows my reports before I do. Like he's… inside the system. Or worse… inside me."
The words sounded insane, even as he spoke them aloud. Yet the unease gnawed at him. Every missed connection, every blackout in his own life, every time he had mysteriously been "absent" for days… could it all be connected?
Arata shook his head. "No… impossible. I'm not him."
But deep down, he felt a fracture, a shadow of doubt forming.
Outside, the city's pulse quickened. Some whispered of a ghostly judge. Others of divine vengeance. The Ribbon Reaper's legend grew—not just fear, but awe. People began changing behavior, hesitating before committing crimes, watching their own shadows as if he might appear at any moment.
And while the world reacted to Kane, Arata and Lucian spun unknowingly closer together, threads of one fractured man converging.
Lucian closed his eyes, exhausted, and murmured softly: "I just want to be me…"
But the city, the Reaper, and the invisible tethers of Arata's law, Kane's vengeance, and Lucian's illusion had other plans.