Late at night, the rain falls like a curtain.
A vast manor lies nestled on the outskirts, its garden meticulously maintained. From the interior to the exterior, every brick, every landscape feature, every building is designed with precision and order, as if a razor-sharp sword sheathed in its scabbard, its edge hidden in the downpour.
If one were to gaze down from the sky, they would suddenly realize how every element is interconnected, a concealed danger lurking beneath the tranquil and angular beauty of this secluded estate. It is a place that could, at any moment, transform into a blood-soaked machine, harvesting the lives of any daring enough to trespass.
In the main house, the leader sits by the window, holding a photograph of his beloved. The soft rustle of rain tapping against the leaves fills the air, a sound that, after a time, begins to feel oddly silent.
He has taken several sleeping pills, but still, he cannot sleep, nor does he dare to.
He fears dreaming of his lover, afraid of the warmth that has long since passed, and even more terrified of waking to the cruel solitude of a world that has moved on without her.
"I've avenged you," the leader whispers, caressing the frame. "I shattered his skull with one shot. But no matter what I do, I can never bring you back... I truly wish I hadn't killed him. I wanted to offer his agonizing screams, as he slowly met his end, as a tribute to you."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Leader, but I'm afraid I must disappoint you," a familiar voice suddenly breaks the silence. "I suffer from CIP—congenital insensitivity to pain. I feel no pain, no matter where on my body."
At that moment, the leader freezes.
A thunderous roar echoes as lightning strikes. In the reflection on the window, a smiling face appears, amber eyes gleaming in the darkness.
The leader slowly turns his head, his gaze fixed in stunned disbelief. "How... is this possible...?"
Clad in a suit, Kino sits on the sofa, casually adjusting his tie, his tone as if chatting with an old friend. "I heard you never discuss matters with those dressed improperly, so I bought this suit especially. How do you like it?"
The leader's expression of astonishment seems frozen. "Impossible... you... you're dead..."
Kino gestures to the empty sofa opposite him, smiling. "Please, take a seat. This is your home; you don't need to be so formal."
To his credit, the leader's composure is beyond normal. Even seeing a "dead man," he remains calm except for his astonishment, slowly sitting down on the sofa. He asks in a low voice, "Who are you?"
Kino replies with a question of his own. "Who do you think I am?"
"Impossible..." The leader instinctively clenches his fists. "You're dead! I killed you with my own hands!"
"Actually, that's something I've been wanting to confirm," Kino says, picking up a phone from the coffee table and handing it over. "Please, check for yourself."
The leader glares at Kino and dials a number on the phone.
The call connects. "Good evening, Mr. Leader."
"Please confirm the condition of specimen 521."
"Specimen 521? Certainly, please hold."
After about half a minute of silence, the voice on the other end responds, "Specimen 521 is in perfect condition, as beautiful as a gemstone."
The leader silently ends the call, his shock palpable.
"Oh~ So you've kept my eyes?" Kino claps lightly in praise. "Excellent taste. Now my doubts are resolved. I really am dead."
"Who are you, really?!"
"I am who I am," Kino replies with a shrug. "The highest-rated processor in the organization, killed by your hand. You all called me the 'Smiling Demon.' But, strictly speaking, I'm not even me, because this isn't the same body."
"Cloning technology?"
"You could call it that, but I prefer to think of it as a power far greater than cloning."
"Are you here for revenge?"
"I'm just here to catch up with an old friend. In fact, I should thank you. I ended up in a much more interesting place—far more so than here."
"What place?"
"Sorry, I can't say. If I do, I'll truly be dead."
The leader stares at Kino with a chilling gaze and sneers. "God is blind, bringing back a demon like you, while my lover never returns."
"Well... I'm not sure whether she went to 'that place.' You'd better pray she didn't, because it's not a place for delicate beauties," Kino adds with a smile. "Of course, I agree with your sentiment—God is blind, always taking away those who shouldn't be taken."
The leader exhales deeply, calming himself. "What do you want?"
Kino surveys the room, his eyes falling on a vintage record player in the corner. "May I listen to some music?"
The leader coldly responds, "Do as you wish."
"Thank you." Kino walks over, expertly adjusting the record player.
The leader watches Kino's back, his gaze darkening.
Beneath the sofa, there is a loaded double-barrel shotgun.
With a simple lean and a hand, he could pull the gun out and fire a second time, shattering the demon's skull.
But he does not move.
Though he is an expert marksman, and at such close range, the shotgun would never miss, Kino's posture—his back to him—can only mean one thing: he doesn't care.
Don't bring your petty skills to challenge someone else's expertise.
After fiddling with the record player, Kino presses play, and the cheerful classical piece "The Goldberg Variations" fills the air.
Kino regards the leader with an appreciative glance. "You like Bach."
"Yes."
"Well... this isn't an argument, but I personally believe Bach's music is too simple emotionally. He focused more on technical counterpoint, without much of the dramatic contrast in dynamics. Of course! I must emphasize—this is just my personal opinion. I have no right to critique the masters, and I absolutely respect your personal tastes."
The leader hums briefly but says nothing.
Kino's amber eyes are filled with a smile. "Do you like Beethoven?"
The leader remains silent, rising to adjust the record player. Soon, the room fills with the melody of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony in D minor.
Kino's eyes light up in delight. "Ah~ The 1968 Karajan conducting version! I love Karajan, and I learned my habit of conducting with my eyes closed from him. But even this great master had his flaws—he would occasionally forget the score."
The leader sits back on the sofa, sneering. "You say you went to another place. Did you recreate these classical pieces there? If even one of those people had an ounce of musical talent, your genius could have made you immortal."
"Indeed, I could have done that," Kino muses. "I remember reading in a book once: attend a concert, use Beethoven's works to outshine those second-rate musicians, shock the crowd, win the favor of a princess, gain the king's favor, become the god of music, revered by all."
"But," Kino shakes his head, "I wouldn't do that. These pieces belong to the greats, not to me. To claim them as my own would be disrespectful to the original composers. I would recreate their music—under their names. As for me, I would simply be a humble transmitter, a vessel. That is the most basic form of respect."
The leader laughs coldly. "If you weren't a little mad, you might actually be likable."
Kino glances at the clock, his tone shifting. "Has it really passed 1 AM? Time flies. Our chat ends here. It's time to get down to business."
Ding. Kino flicks a silver object towards the leader.
The leader catches it, noticing it is a silver coin with a regal king on the front and a laurel flower on the back.
"What is this?"
"A currency. You can call it the Silver Moon."
The leader ponders for a moment, squinting. "I understand. You want to play the coin game with me?"
Kino pauses, then responds, "No, I just wanted to show you how beautiful it is."
Bang! The shotgun discharges, blasting the leader's skull apart, blood spilling across the floor.
Ding. The Silver Moon slips from the leader's grasp, falling to the ground.
Before the blood reaches the coin, Kino calmly picks it up, wipes it with a tissue, turns off the record player and the lights, and quietly says, "Goodnight," before silently leaving the room.