Yasuho Hirose had tailed the boy all the way onto the train, and naturally, the boy's father—at least, that was what Yasuho assumed he was—had been on board too. Midway through the ride, though, there'd been an incident.
The man had gotten into a dispute with a couple seated nearby, and Yasuho had watched the whole thing unfold. It was clearly the woman's fault—she'd been chatting with her boyfriend and carelessly let her shoulder bag drape across a stranger's lap. Anyone would've been annoyed enough to say something. Yet all the salaryman did was silently brush it aside, and the couple immediately jumped down his throat for it.
Even after enduring a stream of insults from the pair, the man never said a word.
—What a good man!
Yasuho quietly admired him. The difference in character was plain as day. A successful, put-together professional like him wouldn't dignify a pair of deadbeat punks with a response.
Paisley Park hadn't given any new instructions yet, so Yasuho stayed patient and kept following. She was genuinely curious now—what could she possibly uncover from this man and his strange little son?
Morioh Station.
The man stood to exit. Yasuho took a deep breath, planning to let them get a comfortable distance ahead before following—she couldn't risk arousing the pair's suspicion. But while she was still in her seat, something caught her eye through the window.
Out on the platform, the salaryman was deliberately shouldered by the same punk couple from earlier. His briefcase hit the ground, and several notebooks slid out alongside an ornate bowling-ball-shaped nail clipper.
"Ow! The hell are you doing? Quit dragging your feet getting off!"
The punk yelled in his face, loud enough that even Yasuho could hear it from her seat.
"..."
The man kept his head down, saying nothing, though his expression had gone terrifyingly dark. He had to be holding himself back with everything he had. Yasuho felt genuinely sorry for him—when she'd bumped into him earlier and apologized, he'd forgiven her without a fuss. This man really was a good person. She couldn't help but ache for him.
"A bowling-ball-shaped nail clipper? People still use those tacky old things? Hahaha."
The woman piled on with a snide remark of her own.
—God, that makes me so mad! What a pair of trash. They're dragging Morioh's reputation through the gutter!
Even though this wasn't the Morioh she loved, Yasuho still felt the indignation rise.
When the woman spoke, the salaryman's hands went still for just a moment. Maybe the jab had struck a nerve—the nail clipper looked finely made, probably something he treasured, and they'd just mocked it to his face.
But he still said nothing. He gathered the scattered notebooks and the nail clipper from the ground and walked away in silence.
...
...
The time was half past six in the evening.
Yasuho had followed them all the way to a newly built apartment complex, though she remained at the far end of the street, watching from around a corner. She didn't dare get any closer. She was tailing someone who was himself being tailed—keeping her distance was the top priority. Not that she was too worried; Paisley Park would sound an alert if she strayed into the danger zone.
"Where even is this...? Ugh, it's cold."
She rubbed her bare arms and couldn't suppress a sneeze.
She spotted the boy in the yellow cap hesitating too, video camera in hand, crouched behind a dumpster near the apartment entrance, waiting with deliberate patience.
—?
Yasuho's breathing spiked.
Wait. Those two people who'd just appeared upstairs—weren't they the trashy couple from the train?
What was the kind-hearted salaryman doing following them all the way here? He couldn't be... he wasn't planning to get revenge, was he? But he was alone. The punk boyfriend was a muscled-up thug who clearly worked out—a lean salaryman like him wouldn't stand a chance. And breaking into someone's home to assault them was... illegal, wasn't it?
No matter how she turned it over, Yasuho couldn't think of a single reason for the salaryman to have followed them here. Unless... he was a Stand user?
The girl forced down a hard swallow.
Paisley Park wouldn't have her chase an ordinary person for no reason. It could be him, it could be one of the couple—but somebody here definitely possessed some kind of Stand ability. And that ability was almost certainly connected to her own crossing over to this world.
She couldn't afford to let her guard down. Taking a deep breath, she sharpened her focus and kept watching.
But what happened next defied every one of her expectations.
The man had discovered his son tailing him, and was now approaching from behind.
...
...
Hayato Kawajiri was terrified.
He knew that what he was doing was incredibly dangerous. But to protect his mother, he had no choice but to steel himself and push forward.
It had started roughly two weeks ago. He'd noticed that his father, Kosaku Kawajiri, seemed to have become a completely different person. Their home, which had always been lifeless and stagnant, suddenly grew lively. His parents had never shared so much as a hint of romantic affection before, but ever since the day his father came home and cooked dinner on his own initiative, everything changed.
Hayato began paying attention to the details. A lot of his father's old habits had vanished, replaced by strange new ones—like clipping his nails every single day, or never letting his briefcase out of sight, not even while bathing. It always had to be somewhere he could see it. On top of that, the man had started being kind. Kind to his mother, kind to Hayato himself.
Hayato hadn't liked his father before. But this new "father" made him feel something far worse than dislike—danger.
This person... is not my dad!
He'd resolved to investigate. The more he thought about it, the more horrifying the implications became. He suspected his real father had already been killed, and whoever this was had taken his place.
So Hayato had painstakingly acquired an identical briefcase and, one day while the imposter was cooking, quietly swapped them out. He needed to know why this man guarded the briefcase so obsessively. And inside that notebook, he discovered a staggering secret. Most of it was beyond his comprehension, but one thing was crystal clear.
This person's name was Yoshikage Kira. He was a murderer. He'd assumed Hayato's father's identity to hide from his pursuers.
Hayato made up his mind: he would capture video evidence of the man's crimes and bring him to justice.
"Hayato~"
The voice from behind him turned his blood to ice.
"D-Dad?"
"Having fun? Why are you following me?"
Kosaku Kawajiri—Yoshikage Kira—asked with a pleasant smile.
"I... I was just..."
Hayato's mind raced, but the words wouldn't come. He had no idea where he'd slipped up, how this man had discovered him.
"You don't suspect your dad, do you? Or did your mother send you?"
"No—it wasn't Mom! I wanted to film on my own!"
"Why?"
Kira chuckled softly.
"I was just curious about what you do every day, Dad..."
Hayato was only eleven—an elementary schooler. Facing a crisis this sudden and this severe, he simply couldn't conjure up a convincing lie to explain why he'd been secretly filming. The best he could manage was this flimsy excuse.
"What exactly has Dad done wrong? Why are you following me? Tell me, Hayato."
Kira knew. The boy suspected him.
But he couldn't figure out why.
"Tell me!"
The man's voice turned sharp as a blade, and Hayato flinched.
But the fear and trembling lasted only a heartbeat. Hayato pulled himself together, pressed the record button on his camera, took two steps back, and shouted with righteous fury.
"I read what you wrote! You're not really my dad, are you?"
"Your real name is Yoshikage Kira! You're a murderer!"