Over the next few days, Akira unleashed a brutal killing spree, slaying people like a phantom in the night, moving through the city's shadows. His methods grew increasingly merciless, leaving the police with no time to catch their breath. In just two days, he claimed five lives, each victim's death more gruesome than the last, leaving the entire city in shock and horror. A palpable fear spread across the city, with everyone cowering in their homes, terrified of becoming the next target of the unknown serial killer.
As the string of murders continued, the police were overwhelmed, yet they could find no evidence leading to Akira. His cunning and calm demeanor left them at a loss, with every investigation ending in failure. Seeing her followers meet such gruesome ends one after another, and realizing the police were powerless against Kawashima Akira, Misaki Suzuki could no longer sit idly by. The arrogance she once displayed had vanished, replaced by fear and anxiety. She nervously approached Kawashima Akira, her former bravado now completely gone.
"K-Kawashima... I'm sorry for our past conflicts, but if you're willing, I can protect you from now on. I can buy you lots of pretty clothes, and you can eat all the delicious food you want. Whatever you desire, I'll get it for you, okay? Please, just spare me." Her voice trembled, her gaze avoided Akira's, and her face flushed red with fear. Her words were filled with insincerity and desperation, clearly an attempt to save her own skin.
Akira looked at her with feigned confusion, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Suzuki-san, what do you mean by that? Are you implying that you suspect me of being the killer?" He paused deliberately before pulling a very friendly smile. "Don't worry, Kawashima Megumi would never hurt you."
But Kawashima Akira might.
Misaki Suzuki was too frightened to respond, not even noticing the oddity in Akira's words. She just tried desperately to show her goodwill. "N-no, I never suspected you, haha. Megumi, I knew you couldn't be the killer; you're so kind. How about we go to that new steakhouse nearby tonight? My treat."
As Akira watched the fake smile on Misaki's face, a cold sneer formed within, though he kept his expression neutral as he declined her invitation. Misaki's every move was noted by him, and the fear twisting her face gave him an indescribable sense of satisfaction. The prey in front of him had no idea she was already marked, and the hunter was merely waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Akira's refusal allowed Misaki to secretly breathe a sigh of relief, though she maintained her forced smile, afraid that any slip would provoke the person in front of her. She had no idea that the "girl" before her was no longer the Kawashima Megumi she used to bully but a predator lurking in the shadows, patiently waiting for the next opportunity to pounce.
"It's fine, Megumi. Let's reschedule for another time. Don't be so formal with me; after all, we're good friends, right? Haha..." Misaki's words grew weaker, and even she could feel the tremble in her voice, barely masking her guilt.
Akira's gaze settled on her face, those eyes seemingly hiding an abyss of darkness. Just as Misaki thought she had escaped danger, Akira slowly stepped closer, as if examining a piece of merchandise about to be discarded. His steps were slow and deliberate, each one seeming to press down on Misaki's heart, causing it to beat faster.
"Suzuki-san," Akira's voice was low and icy, like a chilling wind on a winter night, "do you know? I've been thinking, some things need to be paid back eventually. No matter where you hide, you can't escape this fate."
Misaki froze, the fear in her heart threatening to overwhelm her. She forced a shaky smile. "Megumi, what are you talking about? I don't understand..."
Akira's smile remained, but it never reached his eyes. The girl in front of him appeared so fragile under his gaze, as if she would shatter at the slightest touch. He no longer concealed his coldness and resolve; every word was like a sharp blade, cutting into the deepest part of Misaki's fear.
"No need to understand, Suzuki-san." Akira's voice softened, but it was a chilling softness. "I'll help you understand, slowly."
After dealing with Misaki Suzuki, Akira seemed to be in a rather good mood. That evening, he leisurely made his way to the restaurant. The place was as lively as ever, with Takumi busy attending to customers. Upon seeing Akira, Takumi immediately smiled and warmly patted Akira on the shoulder.
"Akira, why are you so late today? Is school keeping you busy? Don't worry, if you're busy, just let me know, and I'll give you some time off. For now, have something to eat first." As Takumi spoke, he signaled the kitchen to prepare some food and brought out two bottles of sake. Akira accepted the cup Takumi handed him and took a small sip, his eyes remaining vigilant.
"Business seems to be good lately. Why all these dinners recently?" Akira asked casually.
"Haha, business has been great these days, so I'm just in a good mood!" Takumi laughed, his eyes narrowing into slits, clearly pleased. He eagerly poured himself a drink, took a sip, and let out a satisfied sigh. Then he leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "Akira, guess what? I finally got to see my daughter today! You know, I secretly went to see her. She looks so much like her mother, getting prettier by the day."
Takumi's tone was filled with uncontrollable excitement and joy, as if this chance to see his daughter had fulfilled a long-held wish. Akira listened quietly, his expression remaining calm, nodding slightly to show he was paying attention.
Takumi poured more sake for Akira, his smile broadening. "But Akira, you should be extra careful these days. I heard there's a serial killer targeting students from your school. So, how about you take a few days off from work? I'll still pay you, and you can just go home early and rest. Safety is more important than anything else."
Akira nodded slightly, his heart untroubled. This would give him more time to plan his next assassination. He silently watched Takumi's face, which had turned red from the sake, feeling a complex mix of emotions. Takumi had been treating him better and better, especially after the drunken confession; it seemed Takumi had come to see Akira as someone trustworthy, almost like family. Akira didn't refuse Takumi's kindness and continued to share drinks and food with him. They talked about mundane things, with Takumi frequently bringing up his daughter, his tone excited and proud. Akira listened quietly, occasionally responding, his gaze softening slightly as he looked at Takumi.
"Sigh, it's a shame she doesn't seem to care much for me. I discussed it with my ex-wife, hoping my daughter would spend some time with me, but it seems she finds me a bit... embarrassing. Well, it doesn't matter; as long as she's happy, that's all that counts." A tear slipped from the corner of Takumi's eye, dripping onto the table.
After another round of heavy drinking, Takumi passed out on the table, snoring loudly. Akira shook his head in mild exasperation, gathered his things, and left. The night air had a slight chill, and the streets were nearly empty, with only the occasional car passing by, its engine barely audible. Akira's steps were light and steady, his shadow stretching long behind him. The night enveloped the city, the streetlights casting a patchwork of light and shadow on the ground, creating an eerie atmosphere.
As a warm breeze brushed against his face, Akira's eyes narrowed, sensing something amiss. It felt as if a pair of eyes were watching him intently from behind. Akira continued walking calmly, keeping his pace as if nothing was wrong. He subtly glanced around, using his peripheral vision, and indeed, he noticed a shadowy figure lingering nearby, seemingly trying to maintain a discreet distance. A cold gleam flashed in Akira's eyes as he quickly assessed the situation. The figure's steps were light, clearly an attempt to go unnoticed. Akira turned into a narrow alley, a path he took every day on his way home. The alley was quiet, flanked by old buildings and dimly lit by a few streetlights, casting a weak, eerie glow.
Sure enough, the shadow followed him, the sound of footsteps becoming more distinct in the alley. Akira could tell the person was closing in. Just then, Akira abruptly stopped, spun around, and in a flash, pulled a knife from his pocket, the blade gleaming coldly in the faint light as it pressed against the person's throat.
"Who's there?" Akira asked in a low, menacing tone.
"Miss Kawashima, carrying a knife around? Your caution is impressive," a voice responded calmly just as blood was about to be spilled.
Akira narrowed his eyes slightly, recognizing the man in the dim light. He slowly withdrew the knife, his expression remaining composed.
"Detective Watanabe, what are you doing following a high school girl at this hour?" Akira asked nonchalantly, as if discussing something trivial.
Detective Watanabe smiled, his tone still casual but with a hint of probing. "Oh, no misunderstanding, Miss Kawashima. I was just out for a walk and happened to see you. I got curious about what you're up to so late."
Akira gave a cold smile, a flash of caution in her eyes. "Isn't this just a little too coincidental, Officer Watanabe?"
"Perhaps it's what they call fate," Watanabe Makoto replied, his shameless grin suggesting that he had anticipated Akira's reaction all along.
Akira had no intention of engaging further with him and turned to leave, but Watanabe quickly moved to block his path.
"Why does Miss Kawashima carry a dagger with her?" Watanabe's voice sounded casual, but it was laced with suspicion and probing intent.
Akira met his gaze calmly, her expression unruffled. "With that serial killer on the loose, everyone's on edge. Carrying something for self-defense—what's wrong with that?"
Watanabe raised an eyebrow, clearly unsatisfied with Akira's explanation, but he couldn't argue against it. After all, in a city gripped by fear, it wasn't unusual for people to carry something for protection.
"I must say, Miss Kawashima, your vigilance is quite impressive," Watanabe remarked with a hint of amusement. "But are you coming from a restaurant? I didn't expect you to be one for late-night snacks."
Akira had no desire to continue the meaningless conversation, and he could clearly sense Watanabe's attempt to probe deeper.
"If there's nothing else, please step aside."
After a brief standoff, Watanabe finally moved slightly to let her pass. "Miss Kawashima, please be careful. The nights haven't been safe lately."
Akira nodded faintly, said nothing more, and walked past him into the night. Watanabe's smile faded as he watched him disappear into the darkness, his gaze heavy with contemplation. He stood in the alley for a moment, deep in thought, before slowly walking away and driving to the police station.
"Chief, you're back?" A young officer jumped to his feet as Watanabe walked in, his face a mix of anticipation and anxiety.
Watanabe rubbed his temples wearily, taking a sip from the coffee on his desk, his brow furrowed in thought.
"Anything new?" The young officer couldn't hold back his curiosity, his tone eager.
Watanabe shook his head, a bitter smile on his face. "Still no concrete evidence. That girl is extremely cautious—nothing useful came out of the questioning. But there was an interesting discovery: she carries a dagger, and its shape matches the murder weapon identified in the autopsy reports."
The young officer's eyes widened in disbelief. "My god, is she really just a high school student? Even you couldn't see through her facade?"
Watanabe sighed, a sense of frustration weighing on him. "Indeed, her composure is extraordinary—far beyond what you'd expect from an ordinary high school student. Every reaction, every word, reveals an extreme level of alertness and defense. It's difficult to find a weak spot. Her meticulousness surpasses that of many adult suspects. Such mental stability usually indicates a high level of psychological preparation, and she may even possess some counter-surveillance skills."
"Counter-surveillance?" The young officer asked, his curiosity piqued. "Chief, are you saying she's deliberately concealing her tracks and evidence?"
"Exactly," Watanabe continued. "Typically, after committing a crime, a perpetrator will show signs of psychological stress—anxiety, nervousness, even unintentional slips. But her composed demeanor shows she's already accounted for those factors. She knows how to avoid surveillance, how to handle the weapon, and even when questioned, she leaves no room for error."
The young officer nodded thoughtfully. "So, maybe we could find a lead through her social circle or daily habits?"
"Those are good angles," Watanabe agreed. "We need to start with her daily behavior, analyze whether she's in contact with any other suspects, and see if she exhibited any unusual behavior before or after the incidents. Her dagger's origin is also a key point. We can investigate if she purchased or obtained such a weapon."
The young officer, clearly unnerved by Watanabe's analysis, muttered under his breath, "Maybe we should just put her under 24-hour surveillance—better safe than sorry, right?"
Watanabe's fingers tapped lightly on the desk, his gaze deep and his voice low and resolute. "We can't risk alerting her. Although we don't have direct evidence yet, the moment she makes a mistake, we'll be ready to bring her to justice."
He paused, considering the next steps in his plan, a glint of determination in his eyes.