Tokyo: The Kuroba Residence
This is impossible!!
Kaito Kuroba felt his entire worldview shattering into pieces. Unbelievable… when did this world become so alien and terrifying?
He stared blankly at his hidden surveillance screen.
As a wanted thief whose secret identity had apparently been compromised by the mysterious note left at his door, Kaito had been extremely cautious. He had no intention of blindly setting foot in Daikanyama. Instead, he had secretly set up hidden cameras to thoroughly monitor Daikanyama No. 72 before considering his next move.
For several days, the surveillance footage had shown absolutely nothing unusual in the abandoned laboratory. That was, until a blond, blue-eyed foreigner had stepped onto the property.
Kaito originally thought he would uncover a mundane political conspiracy. However, the bizarre and terrifying developments he witnessed through the camera sent paralyzing chills down his spine!
What the hell was that thing!?
He suddenly shuddered, snapping back to his senses. He couldn't stop his scalp from tingling with primal dread. It felt as if a freezing current ran from the soles of his feet all the way to his heart, giving him no chance to breathe.
The Seven-Day Ritual… No!
He trembled violently. Kaito began pounding his head on his desk like a madman, not stopping even as his forehead bruised and bled.
I can't think about it! I can't let its shape form in my mind!
Just holding a vague concept of the entity was dangerous enough. He couldn't dare to think about it any further. That monstrous puppet… Kaito felt a lingering, suffocating fear. The person who left the note at his door was utterly despicable. This was clearly a trap meant to kill him.
He forced himself to stop his subconscious speculation, his face grim as he wiped away the blood from his brow.
He had to admit it. Whether absurd or not, it was the reality playing out before his eyes. In other words, the ghost stories, demons, Gods, and Buddhas he had once scoffed at as mere illusions were very likely true.
And since that was the case, the sins he had unknowingly committed at Myouou-ji Temple… the real reason the person behind this wanted him dead…
He silently picked up the amber artifact from his desk.
"The Kirin Horn…"
This was the reason the Metropolitan Police Department couldn't find him. This artifact was actively blocking their supernatural detection methods. Without it, he would have been caught instantly. And whoever was trying to kill him hadn't ambushed him directly because they couldn't track him while he held the horn.
A bitter, broken smile gradually appeared on Kaito's lips.
What foolish things have I done?!
By stealing the treasure that warded off evil, he had broken the seal of the great demon of Myouou-ji Temple. He had indirectly… no, directly caused the brutal massacre of the entire Myouou-ji clan! Many innocent people had died agonizing deaths because of his arrogant stunt.
This intense guilt and unbearable resentment almost crushed his heart. At this moment, Kaito Kuroba was completely lost.
A strange, cursed world. A cruel truth. And the heavy responsibility of finding out the truth behind his father's death. He was already overwhelmed by these things.
So…
"Why not join us?"
Who!?
Kaito instantly snapped out of his depression, warily grabbing his Kirin Horn and backing away.
"Don't be so nervous, kid. We spent a lot of effort tracking you down without radar."
From the shadows in the corner of his bedroom, a towering man dressed in black casually greeted him.
Tequila. An executive member of the Black Organization assisting Vermouth.
Tequila was in a remarkably good mood. Because, despite the chaos, the Daikanyama experiment was technically successful. But the price was astronomical. An entire secret Organization base had been completely abandoned, effectively possessed by a terrifying, merged monster. Even a hardened killer like Tequila couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine just thinking about that puppet.
Tequila's heavy gaze fell intently on Kaito. "You want to escape? But we already know your true identity, Phantom Thief Kid."
Kaito had a dozen questions racing through his mind, the most pressing being: "Who exactly are you people?"
"Hmm, you'll find out later, boy."
Right behind him, a woman's voice whispered into his ear like a viper's hiss.
Vermouth.
The cold steel of a gun barrel pressing firmly against the back of his head made Kaito's lips twitch.
Oh dear… Now it truly is a matter of life and death…
Tokyo: The Streets
Escape! Escape for your life!
Spencer, having finally broken free from the paralyzing terror in the laboratory, slammed on the gas pedal of his car with a ferocious expression.
He couldn't go to the port or the airport. That was too conspicuous. Anyone with eyes in the Japanese government could see his intentions if he ran for the border.
So, he could only go to the Prime Minister's mansion!
Atsuomi Ayanokoji had no patriotism towards Japan. As long as there was enough profit and power, that old dog wouldn't hesitate to betray his country. Did Spencer have leverage that could sway Atsuomi?
Yes. He had the experimental laptop sitting on the passenger seat. And Atsuomi alone couldn't possibly handle the fallout of this bio-supernatural arms race! He could only survive by cooperating with Great Britain!
Spencer had already made his decision.
Seven days… He was determined to resolve everything, secure British protection, and find a cure within seven days!
The sky gradually darkened as dusk approached.
Spencer now dreaded the nighttime. It reminded him of the upside-down cross and the ghostly static he'd encountered in Daikanyama. He wasn't sure if the cursed entity had followed him. The probability was terrifyingly high. But the experimental log clearly stated that he was practically immortal for the next seven days! Based on that delusion alone, Spencer was determined to get the experimental data safely to Great Britain.
However, the immediate consequence of his reckless, panicked driving was that several unmarked police cars were now aggressively tailing him.
Spencer used to be completely indifferent to Japanese police cars. With his diplomatic immunity, they were basically glorified traffic cones to him. Now, however, he was extremely sensitive to them.
Looking in the rearview mirror, his pupils dilated instantly.
They aren't pulling back? Impossible… He had lived in Japan for years; the Metropolitan Police Department had his diplomatic license plates on file. Even if he had actually killed someone while speeding, the MPD would usually never dare to bother him without an international incident.
So… how could they be so "courageous" today?
Glancing at the foldable laptop tucked securely next to him, Spencer's eyes flickered with grim realization.
Sure enough. Just as the experiment log stated. The official Japanese authorities are also aware of the situation.
Moreover, the Japanese government's experimental progress clearly far surpassed that of the shadow organization he had just stumbled upon. They already had units deployed to clean up the mess!
The Japanese… Spencer's expression grew increasingly distorted and ferocious. Japan truly harbors wolfish ambitions. The West allowed them to rebuild. The West allowed them to develop. Now, they want to overtake the West with this unknown "Knowledge," unwilling to share even the slightest information with their allies.
What vicious dogs… No. Absolutely not! This miraculous "Knowledge" belongs to the British Empire!
"Faster! Even faster!" He pressed the accelerator to the floor.
Spencer was losing his mind. Feeling played and deceived by the Japanese—whom he had always looked down upon—he now had to flee like a rat in the street. The sudden drop in his perceived status and safety was enough to enrage his aristocratic pride.
While swerving through traffic, Spencer impatiently dialed Atsuomi Ayanokoji's highly secure private line.
Tokyo: The Prime Minister's Residence
Prime Minister Atsuomi Ayanokoji frowned deeply, quite surprised by the incoming call.
His relationship with Spencer was one of secret, mutually beneficial cooperation. However, the unequal power dynamic between their two countries usually meant Spencer acted with quiet superiority.
Atsuomi answered the secure phone. But the very first words spoken from the other end sent a violent shiver down the Prime Minister's spine, a primal sense of impending danger creeping into his cold heart.
"Help me!" Spencer screamed over the roar of a car engine.
"How?" Atsuomi asked, his voice deadpan but his mind racing.
"Buy me some time! The Metropolitan Police are trying to kill me!"
Thud...
Even a ruthless political genius like Atsuomi Ayanokoji couldn't hold his phone steady. It slipped from his fingers and hit the mahogany desk.
Logically, Spencer calling for emergency assistance should have been a cause for celebration—it meant Great Britain would owe the Ayanokoji faction a massive, unpayable debt.
But Atsuomi was, above all, a shrewd survivor. This panicked conversation made him instantly sense an approaching, unstoppable doom.
Doom?
In an instant, cold sweat poured down the Prime Minister's back, and his hands began to tremble.
Spencer had touched the Supernatural Taboo.
And by calling this line, the British fool was bringing the absolute, divine wrath of the Metropolitan Police Department directly to Atsuomi's front door.
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