[Item Name: Snake Eye Orb]
[Category: Cursed Object]
[Quality: Blue]
[Ability: Upon use, inflicts fear on target subjects, trapping them in terrifying illusions. Duration, intensity, and number of affected targets depend on the user's mental power.]
[Usage Requirement: User must have mental power of at least 18.]
[Note 1: Can be used below the required mental power threshold, but will severely drain mental power and expose the user to greater cursed contamination.]
[Note 2: Wearing this item on the forehead will moderately reduce mental power consumption, lower mental power requirements, and enhance fear intimidation effects.]
[Special Warning: This is a cursed object. Each use carries the risk of contamination and corruption. Players, use with extreme caution.]
"A blue-tier cursed object..."
Hayato turned the pearl-like orb over in his hands, his fingers tracing the unnaturally smooth surface. It felt cold. Not just cool to the touch, but cold, like holding a piece of winter itself. The temperature didn't change no matter how long he held it. Unnatural. Definitely cursed.
But also potentially useful.
"So that guy with the black powder was a player after all." He thought back to that encounter, piecing things together. The way the man had worn it on his forehead, the desperate aggression in his movements. "His mental power wasn't high enough to use it properly, so he wore it to compensate. Smart. Risky as hell, but smart."
He stared at the orb for another long moment, watching how the dim light of his room seemed to slide off its surface rather than reflect. Tomorrow. He'd test this thing properly tomorrow and see what it could really do in a controlled situation.
For now, safety first.
Hayato opened his inventory interface and dropped the orb in. It vanished from his palm with a faint shimmer, tucked away in that impossible pocket dimension where nothing could touch it.
The inventory really is the safest place for anything dangerous. No risk of accidental activation, no one can steal it, and it doesn't take up physical space. One of the best perks of this whole system.
After tidying up his cluttered desk, pushing aside notes and documents into something resembling organization, Hayato stood and stretched. His shoulders popped satisfyingly and he rolled his neck, working out the stiffness from hunching over research for hours. The tension melted away slowly, his muscles protesting slightly before finally relaxing.
He stripped off his shirt, tossing it toward the laundry hamper. It landed half-in, half-out. Close enough. The lights went off with a click, plunging the room into darkness.
The mattress welcomed him like an old friend. He sank into it with a satisfied grunt, letting his body finally rest. The distant hum of traffic outside became white noise, lulling him toward sleep. His breathing evened out gradually, deeper and slower.
Tomorrow's going to be interesting.
Time crawled forward.
The alarm shrieked at 6 AM like a banshee with a grudge.
"Ugh... fuck off..." Hayato's hand shot out on pure instinct, slapping the screaming device into merciful silence. He groaned, every fiber of his being rejecting consciousness. Sleep still clung to him like a heavy, warm blanket he desperately wanted to stay under.
But discipline won out over comfort. It always did.
Hayato forced his eyes open despite their protests, squinting against even the dim morning light filtering through his curtains.
Hayato grabbed his workout clothes from where he'd laid them out the night before, changed with mechanical efficiency honed from months of routine. The fabric felt slightly cold against his skin. He'd warm up soon enough.
"Training continues," he muttered to himself, voice still rough with sleep. It was becoming a mantra of sorts.
A half-hour jog through the quiet morning streets left his legs burning pleasantly and his lungs working hard. The city was just waking up, a few early risers like him out and about. The air was crisp, almost sharp in his lungs. Each breath in felt clean, each breath out pushed away the lingering fog of sleep.
By the time he returned to his apartment, Hayato felt properly awake, his blood pumping and mind clear. The shower was heaven. Hot water cascaded over his tired muscles, steam filling the small bathroom, washing away sweat and tension. He stood under the spray longer than strictly necessary, just enjoying the sensation.
Breakfast was a quick affair. The convenience store egg sandwich he'd grabbed yesterday wasn't gourmet by any stretch, but it filled the hole in his stomach well enough. He'd learned not to be picky about food when he was busy. Fuel was fuel.
After getting properly dressed and ready, he checked his reflection one last time. Presentable. Good enough.
Time to get to work.
Today's agenda loomed in his mind: the fire department and police station. He needed more detailed intelligence on that Chiba Station fire incident. The stuff that wouldn't be in public records or news reports. The real information, the kind that got locked away in file rooms and marked confidential.
"If I had actual connections in this city, getting this info would be so much simpler." Hayato sighed as he headed down the apartment stairs, his footsteps echoing in the stairwell. "Just make a phone call, call in a favor, boom, done. But I don't have any connection, so... time stop it is."
Not that he was complaining. Time stop made breaking and entering laughably easy, almost unfairly so. The real challenges were locked rooms, secured file cabinets, and finding the right documents among thousands. That took time and patience, even when the world was frozen.
And there was always the possibility he'd find nothing. Records could be destroyed, classified above his access level, or simply not exist. He'd prepared himself for disappointment.
An hour and change of travel later, Hayato stood near the fire station, observing the building from a safe distance. It was a solid, utilitarian structure. People in uniform moved in and out through the main entrance, going about their business with practiced efficiency.
He found a quiet alley tucked between buildings, checked to make sure no one was watching, and changed into darker, more anonymous clothing. A black hoodie, dark jeans, a cap pulled low, and a face mask completed the look. Generic enough to blend in, dark enough to avoid standing out on security footage.
Here we go!
Time stop activate!
The world went silent and still. A pigeon mid-flight hung motionless in the air. A gust of wind stopped dead, leaves suspended like they'd been pinned in place. The sounds of traffic, voices, life itself... gone. Just eerie, absolute silence.
Hayato slipped into the fire station like a ghost passing through walls.
Inside, frozen firefighters stood in various poses. One mid-laugh at something a colleague had said, expression locked in mirth. Another carrying equipment, muscles tensed mid-step. A third typing on a computer, fingers hovering over keys.
It never stops being surreal.
He located a floor directory mounted on the wall near the entrance. His eyes scanned quickly: first floor, administrative offices. Second floor, living quarters and recreation. Third floor, storage and... there. Records room, third floor, east wing.
Perfect.
The stairs were easy enough. Navigating through frozen people was always weird, like moving through a museum of perfectly preserved statues. He had to squeeze past a few, careful not to touch them more than absolutely necessary. The system said interacting with people in stopped time wouldn't hurt them, but it still felt wrong somehow.
Third floor. East wing. The records room door came into view.
Locked. Of course it's locked.
"Keys," he muttered to the silent, frozen world. "Where would the keys be?"
The fire chief's office seemed like the logical place to start. Finding that took another ten minutes of searching, reading name plates on doors. When he finally located it, the chief wasn't inside. Good. Less awkward.
Hayato started opening drawers systematically, rifling through the contents with practiced efficiency. Pens, papers, personal items, random office supplies, a half-eaten bag of chips... come on, where...
Third drawer, back right corner. A small key ring with several keys attached.
Got you.
Back to the records room. He tried three different keys before one finally turned with a satisfying click. The door swung open silently.
Rows upon rows of file cabinets and shelves greeted him. Everything is organized by date and category, with labels marking different sections. Thank god for bureaucratic organization.
He made his way to the section marked with April dates, scanning labels until he found it: 'April 8th - Chiba Station Fire Incident.'
The file was thick, filled with reports and documentation. He pulled it out carefully.
Now for the tricky part.
Hayato took the files and headed straight for the nearest bathroom. Because his phone's camera only worked when time was flowing normally, and he couldn't risk someone walking past the records room at the exact moment he was taking photos. Murphy's Law said that's exactly when someone would notice the open door and investigate.
Better safe than sorry.
He locked himself in a stall, let time resume just enough for his phone to function, and started photographing every page.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Outside the bathroom, voices filtered through the door.
"Hey, has anyone seen the chief's keys? He's tearing his office apart looking for them."
"Keys? Aren't they always in his desk somewhere?"
"If they were in his desk, he wouldn't be asking us to search, would he? Help me check around. Ask the others, too."
"Sure, yeah. Oh, also... anyone seen anything suspicious today? Anyone who shouldn't be here?"
"Nah, nothing unusual. Why?"
"Just asking. The chief seemed worried about something."
Footsteps moved away, voices fading.
Hayato allowed himself a small smirk. Good thing I moved. If I'd stayed in the records room taking pictures, someone would've definitely noticed the door standing open. Then questions would be asked, security would be called, a whole mess I don't need.
This way was slower, more annoying, but infinitely safer.
A few minutes later, photos complete, he made his way back through the frozen station. The file went back on its shelf in the exact position he'd found it. The keys...
Hayato paused, thinking. Putting them back in the desk would be safest. But more amusing to drop them in the trash can in the chief's office. Let them puzzle over that one for a while.
He did exactly that, suppressing a laugh.
When time resumed its normal flow moments later, Hayato was already two hundred meters away, tucked into a narrow alley between buildings, pulling off his mask and cap. He stuffed them into his bag and emerged onto the street looking like any other pedestrian.
One down. Police station next.
The police station presented different challenges. Instead of physical locks, they used electronic keycard systems on their sensitive areas. That meant he couldn't just steal a key. He had to wait for an opportunity.
So he waited.
Patience in these situations was key. He found a position with a good sightline to the records room, settled in, and watched. Frozen people stood like statues all around him. Time didn't flow for them, but for Hayato, minutes ticked by slowly as he waited for the right moment.
Eventually, he spotted his chance. An officer was approaching the records room with a keycard in hand. The man reached the door, card hovering near the reader.
Hayato let time resume for just a fraction of a second.
Beep. The lock disengaged.
Time stopped again.
Perfect.
He slipped through the door before it could close, moving quickly. The records room here was more modern, more digital. Rows of computer terminals sat dark and silent. But there were still physical files for important cases, backups stored in traditional file cabinets.
Finding the Chiba Station fire records took longer here. More searching, more systematic checking. But eventually, success.
The documents told a story. He photographed everything relevant, making sure to capture every detail. Officer testimonies, investigation notes, evidence logs. All of it might be useful.
By the time he'd finished at the police station, exhaustion was creeping in. Time stop was powerful, but it wasn't free. The mental strain accumulated with each use, a dull pressure building behind his eyes.
All told, the entire operation had eaten up his morning. The sun was high in the sky when he finally found himself heading toward a nearby restaurant, stomach growling insistently.
The restaurant was small but clean, the kind of local place that served good food without pretense. Hayato slid into a booth, grateful to finally sit down properly. His legs ached pleasantly from the morning's exercise, his mind buzzing with everything he'd uncovered.
Time to see what I've got.
The Chiba Station fire incident report was detailed. He started reading, absorbing information methodically.
Initial point of ignition: a ramen shop inside the station. Cause: operator error leading to kitchen fire and gas explosion. One dead initially, three injured. One of the critically injured later died in the hospital from complications.
Standard accident report stuff so far. But then he got to the details about the people involved.
"Hasegawa Takayuki was the shop manager." Hayato's eyes scanned the testimony sections. Multiple witnesses, coworkers from the ramen shop, all saying the same thing. "They all noted he was in terrible shape that day. Feverish, coughing badly, looked like death warmed over. Why the hell was he even at work?"
"Honda Koichi was the cook. Worst burns of anyone involved. Died in the hospital after three days."
The burning specter from his previous encounter flashed through Hayato's memory. That had to be Honda's cursed remnant, still tied to the site of his death.
The other two injured were just customers, wrong place at the wrong time. Caught in the blast while eating lunch. One had second-degree burns, the other broken bones from being thrown by the explosion. Both survived, thankfully.
But something else in the witness statements caught his attention. He leaned forward, reading more carefully.
Multiple witnesses reported hearing an argument immediately before the explosion. Raised voices, anger. But they couldn't make out the words. And then...
"Strange sounds that witnesses couldn't properly describe." Hayato frowned, rereading that section. "Multiple people mentioned hearing something unnatural, wrong, in the moments before everything went to hell. But none of them could articulate exactly what it sounded like. They just knew it was... off."
That wasn't normal. That definitely wasn't part of a standard kitchen accident.
He sat back, thinking. The official report painted this as tragic but mundane. Human error, a gas explosion, and people died. Tragic but explainable. Except for those strange sounds. Those were the kind of details that got buried in paperwork, dismissed as trauma or imagination or misremembering.
But Hayato knew better. In a world with death games and supernatural threats, strange sounds before a disaster were never a coincidence.
Something else was involved here. Something that didn't make it into the official explanation.
"Customer, would you like more water?"
Hayato's head snapped up, pulled from his thoughts. A young waitress stood beside his table with a pleasant smile, holding a pitcher of lemon water. He hadn't even heard her approach.
"Ah, yeah. Thanks." He slid his glass toward her.
She refilled it with practiced ease, ice clinking softly. "Your food should be out shortly. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?"
"Will do, thanks."
She walked away, and Hayato returned to his phone, but his concentration was broken. He saved his place in the documents and put the device away.
The food arrived a few minutes later, steam rising from the golden-brown pork cutlet. It smelled amazing, and his stomach reminded him loudly that he'd been running on adrenaline and convenience store breakfast for hours.
He ate slowly, methodically, letting his mind process everything he'd learned.
The official accident report was clean, tidy, and explainable. But the devil was in the details. Those unexplained sounds. The argument. The fact that cursed entities were now haunting the station. None of that fit the neat narrative of "kitchen accident."
Something triggered this, or someone did this....
This needs more investigation. The reports were just the starting point.
After finishing his meal and paying, Hayato stepped back out onto the street. The afternoon sun was warm on his face, a pleasant contrast to the cool interior of the restaurant.
As he walked, lost in thought about his next moves, an aggressive barking sound cut through the ambient street noise.
"Woof woof woof!"
"WOOF WOOF WOOF!"
His head snapped toward the sound, instincts immediately on alert. About twenty meters ahead, he saw the situation clearly.
A massive dog, easily over a hundred pounds of muscle and aggression, had a small girl cornered against a storefront window. The kid had fallen backward, hands scraping against the pavement as she tried to scramble away. Her face was pale with terror, but she wasn't crying or screaming. Just frozen in fear, eyes huge.
Hayato's blood ran cold as recognition hit.
That's a Tosa fighting dog. What the fuck is it doing off-leash?