Vey and Kairo walked through the pouring rain toward the nearest police station, their shared umbrella barely keeping the downpour at bay. The streets glistened under the gray afternoon light, puddles rippling with each passing car. Water streamed down building walls and overflowed from gutters, turning sidewalks into shallow streams. The station was a modest, two-story concrete building in a quiet residential area, its exterior marked by a blue sign with white Japanese characters reading "警察署" (Keisatsu-sho). Inside, the lobby felt institutional and slightly worn — scuffed linoleum floors marked by years of footsteps, wooden benches along one wall for waiting citizens, and a long counter behind reinforced glass where officers handled reports. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a harsh white glow that made the damp uniforms of the few people waiting look even more bedraggled. A faint smell of wet fabric, instant coffee, and cleaning solution lingered in the air.
A middle-aged officer with tired eyes and a rumpled uniform sat behind the counter. When Vey and Kairo approached, he glanced up with mild annoyance, clearly not thrilled to deal with two high school students on a rainy afternoon. His desk was cluttered with forms and a half-empty mug of tea.
Vey spoke first, voice steady despite the nerves. "We need to file a report. Our friend Sorine is missing. She disappeared at school today after going into the old science lab. We think our teacher, Ren Fushiwara, might be involved. He was seen with another friend who was murdered, and he's been giving strange warnings about killings."
The officer listened with a bored expression, jotting a few notes on a form without much enthusiasm. He explained the basic process in a flat, practiced tone: they would need to fill out a missing person report (yukue fumei todoke), provide Sorine's full name, age, description, last known location, and any relevant details. For school-related concerns involving minors, they might also need parental involvement or school records, but since the students were insistent and the case involved a possible disappearance, he allowed them to proceed. He didn't seem particularly convinced or motivated — to him, they were just kids with a dramatic story, and the station was already busy with real cases involving traffic accidents and domestic disputes. He stamped the form with a heavy thud, told them it would be "looked into," and handed them a copy with a dismissive nod. His tone suggested the report would likely sit in a pile until more concrete evidence appeared or an adult followed up.
Kairo stood silently beside Vey the entire time, still shaken from his recent experiences and the guilt weighing on him. The officer's casual dismissal only deepened the frustration, but they left the station with the report officially filed, rain still falling heavily as they stepped back outside into the wet streets.
---
Meanwhile, Ren Fushiwara descended the stairs into a dimly lit subway station. The underground platform felt claustrophobic, with tiled walls stained by years of humidity and the distant rumble of approaching trains echoing through the tunnels. He boarded a nearly empty train car, the doors closing with a mechanical hiss. The interior was dark and worn — faded blue seats with torn upholstery, flickering overhead lights, and graffiti scratched into the windows. The air smelled of metal, damp concrete, and faint cigarette smoke from someone who had ignored the rules.
As the train pulled away from the station, accelerating into the tunnel, Ren realized something was wrong. The lights dimmed further, the usual announcements faded into silence, and the car seemed to stretch slightly longer than it should. The atmosphere grew heavier, the air thicker, carrying a subtle metallic tang. This was no ordinary subway — it was a Kyo.
In the middle of the car, two figures sat as ordinary passengers. The tall man in the black suit and black gloves, white mask covering his entire head. On his lap, the small child with long black hair and boys' clothing, identical white mask in place. Rain from earlier still clung to their clothes in dark patches.
Ren walked over without hesitation and sat beside them. He pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, flicking the flame to life and taking a slow drag. Smoke curled upward in the dim light.
Crypt's light, sing-song voice broke the quiet. "I thought you quit smoking?"
Ren exhaled slowly, the smoke drifting toward the ceiling. "This is going to be a long ride."
The train continued into the darkness, the tunnel walls blurring past the windows in an endless, hypnotic pattern.
---
That same evening, the rain had finally eased into a light drizzle. Mimo sat on a bench near the kiddie slide in a small neighborhood park. The playground was quiet, the colorful plastic equipment glistening with residual moisture. A young mother and her daughter — the girl no older than six, holding her mother's hand and pointing excitedly at the slide — walked toward the park along the wet path.
Mimo stood up with her usual gentle smile. She approached them casually on the spot, her voice soft and friendly. "The slide looks fun after the rain, doesn't it? My little sister used to love coming here too."
The mother smiled politely. The daughter nodded eagerly. They were standing right there in the open area near the slide when Mimo's expression remained completely neutral — no anger, no excitement, just calm detachment. She picked up a rusted metal pipe lying discarded on the ground nearby.
Without warning or change in her gentle demeanor, Mimo swung the pipe hard, striking the mother across the side of the head with a dull, heavy thud. The woman crumpled instantly to the wet grass, blood trickling from a deep gash on her temple. The little girl screamed in terror, but Mimo moved quickly and methodically. She brought the pipe down again on the mother's back as the woman tried to crawl toward her daughter, the impact producing a sickening crack of bone. Blood sprayed across the damp ground and the mother's clothes.
The girl cried hysterically, trying to run, but Mimo caught her easily by the arm. She used the pipe to strike the child across the legs, knocking her down onto the muddy grass. The mother gasped in pain, weakly reaching for her daughter, but Mimo continued swinging the pipe with calm precision — hitting the mother's ribs, arms, and head repeatedly. Each blow landed with wet, cracking sounds, breaking bones and opening new wounds. Dark red blood spread across the grass and the woman's blouse, mixing with the light drizzle into faint pink rivulets.
Mimo then turned the jagged end of the pipe toward the mother's abdomen and stabbed downward repeatedly, the metal piercing flesh with sickening, wet sounds. The woman gurgled, hands feebly trying to push the pipe away as more blood poured out. Her eyes remained wide with shock and desperation as she watched her daughter.
The little girl's screams turned to weak whimpers as Mimo shifted her attention. She stabbed the pipe into the child's small chest and stomach with steady, repeated thrusts. The metal sank into soft flesh, producing horrible squelching noises. Blood welled up immediately, soaking the girl's clothes and the grass beneath her. The child twitched and gasped, tiny hands clutching at the wounds as her life faded quickly. Mimo's face stayed completely blank throughout the entire act — no emotion, no hesitation, no satisfaction — just calm, mechanical efficiency as she delivered the final blows until both bodies lay still, broken and bleeding into the damp earth.
She dropped the pipe beside them, wiped her hands on the grass, and walked away without looking back. The light drizzle continued, washing faint pink trails into the soil around the two bodies near the kiddie slide. The park remained quiet, the colorful equipment standing empty in the distance.