"Smack! Smack!!"
Kakeru Ryuen slapped himself hard across the face twice.
Calm down! Calm down...
He felt a sudden, burning flash of shame over his inexplicable fear. A few bloody, erratic words on a page could scare him like this? If that were true, then there was no need to deal with the troubles of the old Cult Leader. He could just run away right now like a stray dog with its tail between its legs.
Even so, Ryuen didn't want to look at the notebook anymore.
With a gloomy face, he carefully packed away the notebook, the high school admission notice, and the stack of 10,000 yen bills.
"They"... They really dared to do it...
Just a bunch of lonely old bastards sticking together for warmth. And these people wouldn't even spare their old bones.
He suddenly felt that maybe he wasn't such a scumbag after all. He wasn't qualified. The ones who were truly qualified to be called scumbags were "They."
He couldn't help but repeat the word over and over in his mind, and finally, Ryuen calmed down completely. The fear was replaced by a cold, calculating anger.
So, who are "They"?
Are "They" the Fujiwara family's real target?
Good.
With a dark expression, he opened a secure channel on his encrypted phone. He connected the hidden surveillance camera—built into his coat button—directly to the Fujiwara family's intelligence network.
He wasn't reckless. He understood that "They" must be a massive organization, and a powerful one at that. Going to confront such a ruthless syndicate alone with nothing but a crowbar wouldn't end well. He needed the politicians to see what was happening.
Tokyo: The Political Sphere
Meanwhile, Daichi Fujiwara—the father of the three Fujiwara sisters, including Chika—looked at the encrypted video feed presented by his secretary with some surprise.
His brother, Daigo Fujiwara, was a Minister of State; naturally, a high-ranking Cabinet member wouldn't be the one directly monitoring a delinquent dropout like Ryuen. If Daichi hadn't been personally interested in the boy Ayanokoji recommended, Ryuen's feed would have ended up buried on the desk of some low-ranking intelligence officer.
After all, what the Fujiwara dynasty valued was never Ryuen, but the genius pulling his strings: Kiyotaka Ayanokoji.
However, after taking the tablet and glancing at the summarized notes Ryuen had uploaded from the diary, Daichi's expression changed drastically.
The words "Human Experimentation," "Dozens of Lives," and "Behind-the-scenes Organization" made Daichi frown deeply.
This kid really knows how to cause trouble.
This matter looked extremely problematic. Those who dared to conduct mass human experimentation in the heart of Tokyo were either top-tier Chaebol elites, foreign intelligence agencies, or multinational crime syndicates. And since they dared to do it so openly, they had likely bribed local officials at all levels.
Is Ryuen trying to drag us into a war to take away someone else's vested interests?
Daichi couldn't help but rub his temples, a severe headache forming.
Forget it. Let my brother handle the heavy lifting. He forwarded the feed directly to Daigo's private line.
At that exact moment, Minister Daigo Fujiwara was having his own headache. He was currently in a private meeting with Toshio Moroboshi, the Deputy Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police Department.
Moroboshi was practically the second-in-command of the entire Japanese police force.
The Japanese government operates under a strict system of separation between the military and secular government. Therefore, for Japanese politicians like the Fujiwaras, the Metropolitan Police Department was a vital organ of force that they absolutely needed to control.
But who didn't know about the bitter political rivalry between Professor Ayanokoji and the Fujiwara faction?
Because of this deadlock, the Metropolitan Police Department had never explicitly stated its stance on either side. They had only engaged in a few flirtatious, non-committal exchanges with the well-connected Fujiwaras.
However, today... things felt different.
Daigo personally poured a cup of tea for Moroboshi, observing the ever-smiling Deputy Commissioner without revealing his true feelings.
Before today, one could vaguely sense that the Metropolitan Police Department leaned slightly towards the Fujiwara faction. Now, however, Moroboshi was entirely calm and collected, looking at Daigo like a man watching a tiger fight from the safety of a high wall.
Has the MPD already sided with Professor Ayanokoji? Daigo wondered.
No. Probably not.
Daigo was about to say something to ease the tension when both of their personal phones rang simultaneously.
Their expressions changed. They exchanged a wary glance.
Daigo checked his phone and received some thorny news: The long-haired brat has stumbled into a massive human experimentation ring.
Moroboshi, however, heard some seemingly unrelated news from his detectives: Traces of the terrorist who blew up the suspension bridge in Hatsukaichi have been found.
"Where?" Moroboshi barked into his phone.
"The Visual God Cult, sir."
Daigo's eyes narrowed as he looked at the live feed from Ryuen's button camera, which was currently pointed at the exact same location.
Tokyo Outskirts: The Visual God Cult Headquarters
The heavy rain had reduced to a miserable drizzle.
Ryuen was bundled up tightly. Beneath his heavy coat, the cold steel of a heavy crowbar was vaguely visible, pressed against his side.
Looking at the gloomy sky, it perfectly mirrored Ryuen's mood: vexed, heavy, and violent.
A bunch of troublesome old men…
He didn't believe he alone could save the old Cult Leader and his group from whatever abyss they had fallen into. Looking at the mad notes made it clear: the old man and his congregation were probably already trapped or dead.
But it was impossible for Ryuen to sit peacefully at home waiting for the news.
He had taken a taxi back to the Cult's base. Outside the car window, the hurried pace of pedestrians trying to escape the rain made Ryuen reach inside his coat and grasp the crowbar. His palms were sweaty. He was clearly not as calm as he appeared.
In his mind, it wasn't the old man's kind voice he remembered… it was the chilling, bloody handwriting that felt like a monster grinding its teeth directly into his ear.
He couldn't shake the feeling. The strangeness involved here was far more than just simple human experimentation. It was probably something far more sinister, far more terrifying…
But even Ryuen couldn't articulate it. He was completely out of his depth.
Ryuen paid the driver and lingered slowly in the backseat, his eyes fixed on the Cult's headquarters.
The front doors were wide open.
There were no unusual passersby. Even the warm, inviting lights inside the Cult's main hall appeared to be on. It wasn't the eerie, pitch-black haunted house Ryuen had initially imagined.
He seemed to relax slightly. He gripped the door handle, about to push it open, when his expression suddenly froze.
> No! Don't come! Go! Child! Listen to me! Go now!!
>
"Click…"
Ryuen gripped the handle so tightly his knuckles turned white. His breathing became labored.
Who!?
The old man? It must be… the voice in my head sounds exactly like the old man's.
Am I hallucinating?
He tentatively asked the taxi driver a question, but the driver didn't notice anything unusual and hadn't heard a thing.
Hallucination? It must be a hallucination… induced by stress.
He forced the car door open and stepped out into the drizzle.
As soon as his boots hit the pavement, Ryuen noticed the strangeness immediately.
It was cold.
Very cold.
This season should be the transition between summer and autumn—mild and comfortable. But the air biting at his face was freezing. Especially since Ryuen was wearing a heavy winter coat.
The cold air seemed to be blowing directly outward from the open doors of the Cult.
It was unlike an ordinary cold wind. That chill was piercing, carrying a foul, inexplicable dampness that smelled like ancient, rotting earth.
And then, the whispers began again, overlapping and crawling into his ears like venomous centipedes.
> Grandson! My grandson! Grandma has come to find you! Come to Grandma! Come and become one with Grandma! Hahahaha…!
>
> God! God!! I have a younger body! I have a longer lifespan!
>
> Pain! I'm in so much pain! I can't die! I still want to see that child go to school! I still want to adopt that child as my godson! Let me go back!
>
> Let me go back!! It's not too late! Child, turn back now!!
>
The mad, overlapping whispers gnawed at his very bones. With each step closer to the Visual God Cult's gate, the madness and the volume intensified.
His pace slowed slightly.
Ryuen tucked his chin into his collar, his grip on the concealed crowbar tightening until his muscles ached.
This thing… it actually exists…
This world is so strange. So strange it's frightening. So strange it's chilling.
But… turn back?
A defiant, manic glint appeared in his eyes, curling his lips into a sharp smirk. A hot breath plumed in the freezing air. His adrenaline spiked, his heart pounding and his blood surging with a violent thrill.
Such a magnificent, bizarre, fucked-up realm.
How could I possibly turn back now?
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