The morning light cut through Akira's half-open window, washing his room in dull gray.
He hadn't slept — not really.
Every time his eyes closed, he saw that red light blinking from the corner of the wall.
That camera. That whisper.
> "You're not alone, Akira."
He sat there for hours, staring at the shattered remains of the lens scattered across the floor.
The silence was suffocating, heavy with something he couldn't name — fear, maybe. Or memory.
When his phone buzzed, he flinched.
A text from the school.
He was late again.
---
The walk to school felt longer than usual. Every reflection on passing windows looked like someone following. Every step behind him made him turn.
But there was no one.
Only the weight of unseen eyes.
When he reached the gates, whispers began immediately.
This time, sharper. Crueler.
> "He was seen near the classroom that day."
"Someone posted a clip — look, that's him!"
"Killer pretending to be normal."
Akira's name had become poison again.
He walked straight through the noise, pretending not to hear — though every word cut like glass.
His desk waited, clean and empty. Except for a single folded note.
He opened it slowly. The paper trembled in his hand.
> "You can't protect her anymore."
For a heartbeat, his chest froze.
That word again — her.
He didn't need to ask who it meant.
He knew.
---
The rooftop was the only place he could still breathe.
Cold wind brushed against his face as he leaned against the fence, eyes fixed on the city beyond.
"Maybe you should stop pretending it's over."
Akira turned sharply.
Hayato stood by the door, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
He wasn't smiling this time.
"What do you mean?" Akira asked.
Hayato's eyes narrowed slightly. "You think no one remembers that night? Someone does. Someone who's been waiting."
Akira's pulse quickened. "Who told you about that?"
"Let's just say I've been hearing things." Hayato took a step closer. "And now... it looks like you've been hearing things too."
Before Akira could reply, Hayato's phone buzzed.
He checked it — and his face paled.
He turned the screen toward Akira.
A message glowed on it, from no saved contact.
> "He found the camera. Move faster."
The air between them froze.
Akira's throat went dry. "Where did you—"
But Hayato just slipped the phone back into his pocket and gave a low, uneasy laugh.
"Guess we're both being watched now."
He walked away before Akira could stop him, leaving only the echo of his footsteps and a hundred questions that wouldn't quiet.
---
That night, rain poured endlessly over the city.
Akira couldn't stay home.
He wandered the streets, hoodie pulled low, hands buried deep in his pockets.
Every sound — a footstep, a car passing — felt too close.
He ended up near an old vending machine alley, empty except for the hum of flickering lights.
He bought a can of coffee and sat on the curb, exhausted.
When he opened it, his phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
> "You shouldn't have talked to him."
"He'll die next."
The can slipped from his hand, spilling warm liquid across the concrete.
His eyes darted around.
The alley was empty — until he saw movement under the far streetlight.
Someone stood there, half-hidden by the rain.
An umbrella. A long coat. Perfectly still.
Akira's breath caught.
The figure raised a phone… and took a picture.
Click.
Then they turned and vanished down the corner.
Akira ran — heart pounding — but the street was already empty.
Only a folded paper lay where the figure had stood.
He picked it up with shaking hands.
Inside was a photograph.
His mother and sister.
Smiling outside their home earlier that day.
And beneath it, written in neat, black ink:
> "Next target."
The world tilted.
For the first time in years, Akira felt something stronger than guilt.
Terror.
He clutched the photograph, rain running down his face like tears, and whispered into the storm:
> "If you touch them… I'll find you."
---
End of Chapter 6