"Come out. Stop hiding," Akira said at last, his voice devoid of any emotion.
Suddenly, the lights in the villa flared on, blinding Misaki Suzuki. She gasped, wincing from the brightness, and instinctively closed her eyes. When she finally adjusted to the light, she saw a thin man slowly emerging from behind the sofa. He walked casually, stepping over mangled bodies as if strolling through a garden. Blood splattered onto his polished shoes, but it didn't affect the smirk playing on his lips. His features were unnervingly delicate, like a finely carved sculpture. His narrow eyes shimmered with a strange and haunting glow—and those eyes were locked firmly on Akira, like a predator spotting its prey. Misaki took one look at the hellish scene and fainted on the spot.
"I didn't expect the infamous serial killer who's rocked the nation to be... a schoolgirl," the man said playfully, his tone laced with excitement as he slowly advanced toward Akira, as if savoring a moment he'd long waited for.
Akira frowned. His face remained unreadable, but his fingers twitched slightly at his side before settling again. "Who are you?" he asked coldly, scanning the man while subtly reaching behind his back to rest a hand on the dagger at his waist.
The man's eyes gleamed even brighter, a twisted smile stretching across his face. He didn't answer directly. Instead, he raised his hand and pointed casually at the scattered corpses. "Don't you think these bodies... look beautiful?" he said softly, as if admiring a piece of art. Then, stepping closer, his eyes grew wild with obsession. "Or perhaps… don't they feel familiar to you?"
Akira's pupils narrowed. He instantly understood.
This man's technique—his kills—were eerily similar to Akira's. Nearly identical, even in the pacing and precision of each cut. As if he'd been studying from the shadows, waiting for the right moment to copy and showcase his bloody "performance." This wasn't just imitation. This was a challenge.
"You're mimicking me," Akira said coldly, his tone low and contemptuous.
The man didn't deny it. He beamed. "Mimicry? No. This is more than that. You're my muse, my mentor—my goal," he said, eyes burning. "Can you understand what it's like? To finally find someone worth following, and then... to surpass them. To break every rule and create something truly perfect." His words dripped with manic devotion.
Akira's expression darkened, disinterest evident. He hated being watched. Hated being copied. Killing, to him, was cold—silent rebellion. This man had turned it into a spectacle.
"What do you want?" Akira asked, voice steady and flat.
The man stopped a few steps away, still smiling. "What do I want? Shouldn't you first ask what you want? I've studied your victims—all of them scum. You're purging the world, aren't you? And I, Hinata Haru, am here to help you. To fight alongside you."
His tone was sick with devotion, as if Akira were a god and he, a worshipper.
Akira scoffed. "You're wrong. I don't kill for justice. I kill because I hate them."
Hinata blinked, then smirked and glanced at Misaki's crumpled form. "Oh? Then why'd you save her? She's worse than the rest you killed. She's treated you like garbage. Doesn't add up, does it?"
Akira shot him a frigid look and replied flatly, "Her life is mine to take. And it will be me who ends it. She doesn't get to die that easily."
Hinata's grin twitched, faltering for a second. Then he chuckled. "Ahh, so that's it. You want to torment her, until she begs for death. Until she breaks. Intriguing. I wonder how you'll finally finish her."
Akira didn't respond.
Hinata tilted his head, curious. "I wonder what she did to make you hate her so much. You're smart. Calculated. She's... well, she's an idiot. How'd she manage to piss you off that badly?"
"Not your business. Don't ask." Akira shot him a dangerous glare and crouched beside Misaki, examining her. This lunatic had just disrupted his entire plan. Now he had to decide: kill him now, or wait?
Just then, the front door burst open.
Akira tensed immediately, hand snapping to his dagger, eyes sharp and ready to strike the intruder.
But the figure that entered... was Satoru Sato.
Akira's expression shifted from alert to sheer contempt. He didn't lower the dagger. If anything, he tightened his grip.
Satoru stepped into the blood-soaked villa, his eyes scanning the corpses with no sign of fear—only pain. Deep, aching pain. He looked at Akira and said quietly, "So it really is you, Megumi."
Akira didn't answer. A slow smirk formed as if the scene had finally become interesting.
Satoru, watching him closely, continued, "Even when I saw you kill... I didn't want to believe it. But now I see, this is the path you've chosen."
Hinata chuckled in the background. "So the killer has a fanboy too. How touching."
Akira ignored him, laughing coldly. "You followed me? Seems I've gotten sloppy. So? Are you here to stop me? Avenge these idiots?"
Satoru shook his head with quiet sadness. "No, Megumi. I'm not here to stop you. I know you're not like them. I just… don't want you to lose yourself completely. Killing won't fill what's missing in your heart."
Akira's gaze darkened. "Then tell me—do you think I'll kill you?"
Satoru stepped forward, unwavering. "You can. But it won't stop me from trying to help you."
The tension crackled. Akira's dagger trembled in his grip.
"Pathetic," Akira hissed.
Satoru flinched, then smiled sadly. "Say what you want. But I still believe in you. There's more than just hate in this world. There's love, too. And I… I truly love you, Megumi. I don't know how we got here, but—"
A sudden gust of rage overtook Akira. He lunged, pinning Satoru to the wall with a hand around his throat, eyes blazing.
"You love me?! You went on dates with the people who bullied me. You watched them pour water on my bed and said nothing. You didn't even know which side of my face the mole's on!"
Akira's fury was volcanic, his grip tightening. Satoru choked, but still managed to croak, "Your mole… it's always been on the right. I… I know."
Akira froze. He threw Satoru to the floor, yanked him up by the collar, and spat, "Then look. Look closely. Which side is it really on?"
Satoru blinked, bewildered, and looked at Akira's face again. "Megumi, stop… it's really on the right."
Akira sneered, not believing him. He pulled out his dagger.
Hinata, still watching, laughed. "A mole? Really? That's your breaking point? You don't need a reason to kill, remember? Just kill whoever you want."
But Akira had already bolted.
He rushed into the bathroom, panting, staring into the mirror.
There it was.
The mole.
Under his right eye.
Akira stared in shock, heart pounding like thunder. He touched it—it was real. No smear, no smudge. It didn't disappear.
"This can't be…" he whispered.
He rubbed at it again and again, but it stayed.
"…Sister…"
His voice cracked, fragile.
He remembered everything. Her mole had always been on the right. His had been on the left. He knew that. He was sure.
But now, the reflection in the mirror—his reflection—was her.
He collapsed to the floor, clutching his head, shaking violently.
The boundary between himself and his sister—his identity—was gone.
The mole had unlocked the truth.
And it was terrifying.
"Why…? What's happening to me…?" he whispered in a crumbling voice.