(③)
After parting with Inori, Rohan drove to the cemetery in Morioh. He found the Sugimoto family plot among the rows of headstones, and there, carved into the stone, was the name he'd been dreading—their daughter, Reimi Sugimoto. He stared at that name, his mind a battlefield, two voices shouting over each other and neither willing to concede.
Anyone who'd kept a secret killing spree going for fifteen years had to possess a Stand ability beyond anything ordinary. Rohan had always been confident in Heaven's Door—more than confident, really—but Inori's little lesson had knocked the blind arrogance right out of him. He understood now just how lethal a fight between Stand users could be.
If the killer wielded something on the level of Inori's abilities, Rohan wouldn't stand a chance. Heaven's Door was, in theory, an absolute power once activated—but that also meant if the enemy knew his Stand's intel and simply avoided a direct touch, or struck before Rohan could turn them into manuscript pages, he'd be defenseless.
And yet.
—"If that boy were still alive, he'd never have forgotten you."
Inori's words from earlier echoed in his mind as if she'd spoken them seconds ago. This thing called guilt spread through him like venom, infecting every rational calculation he tried to make.
—With my Heaven's Door, I should be able to help quite a lot with gathering intelligence on the killer... right?
...But a criminal with that much experience would know exactly how these games of pursuit and counter-pursuit worked. The intelligence operative was always the first target. He couldn't expect Inori to be his bodyguard indefinitely. If he entered this fight, death could come at any moment.
He was still young. He didn't want to die.
"My, my? You wouldn't happen to be... Rohan Kishibe, the manga artist?"
A voice from behind broke through his indecision. An old man's voice.
Rohan turned and nodded. The speaker was a kindly-looking elderly man in monk's robes. Rohan blinked, then spoke.
"You know me?"
"..."
The old monk stepped up to the Sugimoto family grave, pressed his palms together, and paid his respects to the departed. Then, slowly, he recounted the story of that night fifteen years ago. It matched everything Reimi had told them—only now, hearing it from the perspective of someone who'd known the family, the impact hit Rohan even harder.
"Your parents were close with the Sugimotos, so they left you in the family's care that night."
"When the police found you... all you did was cry, repeating the same thing over and over."
"'Reimi told me to escape through the window.' Before the killer could reach you—she was the one protecting you, the whole time."
"...Thank you. For telling me this."
Rohan's heart was like a piano left to gather dust for fifteen years, and today—Inori, Reimi Sugimoto, and this old monk—had all sat down to play it, letting its old melody echo once more within him.
—That girl may be a ghost, but she lived with more nobility than most of the living. For the sake of those still alive, she chose to stand guard here alone—for fifteen years.
—Hmph. I, Rohan Kishibe, have never needed anyone telling me how to live my life. I'll act on my own will.
—Call it... research for my manga.
He bid the old monk farewell and turned toward the exit. The kindly old monk watched his retreating figure, quietly marveling at how the crying little boy had grown into such a remarkable young man. How time flies... Reimi's spirit would surely be glad to see it.
The old monk shook his head with a gentle smile, musing on the impermanence of things—
And then he heard it.
Clank-clank-clank-clank.
It sounded like heavy factory gears grinding against each other. But this was a cemetery—a place of silence and rest for the departed. What was that noise doing here?
The monk turned, bewildered. Rows of headstones and the flower arrangements laid before them—everything was as quiet and serene as always. Nothing out of place.
—Am I going senile?
"Ngh!"
A sudden pressure staggered him. He nearly fell, feeling as though a hand had clamped down on his shoulder with brutal force. Half his body went rigid.
Clank-clank-clank-clank-clank!
There it was again. The monk realized the sound was coming from very close—from his right side. Could it be...? He swallowed his panic and craned his neck toward his shoulder. Two clear tread marks had appeared on the fabric of his robes.
"Wh-what in the world is going on?"
Something was crouching on his shoulder. Had some spirit latched onto him? What was this pressure—this terror?
"H-help! Someone, help!"
Survival instinct overrode everything else, and the old monk cried out. Rohan, who hadn't yet left, was the only person who could help him.
"What... is that thing?"
Rohan heard the scream and rushed back. The first thing he saw was the grotesque toy car perched on the old man's shoulder—a blue body riding on tank treads, with an oversized skull mounted at the front. As a Stand user, Rohan understood immediately: that thing was no object. It was alive. This was a Stand attack.
"Heaven's Door!"
That old man was in danger!
Rohan didn't have time to think it through and summoned his Stand on pure reflex. But at that exact moment, the toy car stopped moving. It raised its skull-head like a viper rearing to strike, and the two hollow eye sockets seemed to glow with a vicious red light.
With a crisp mechanical click, the toy car detonated. Flame and concussive force swept outward. Rohan bit his lip, throwing up an arm to shield himself. Something about the sound was strange—muted, almost subtle compared to what he'd imagined a bomb should sound like—but he didn't have the luxury of analyzing it.
The smoke cleared fast. The old monk's body was riddled with wounds, blood seeping from several gaping holes torn through him. Injuries that severe... there was no saving him.
What the hell happened... Why was he targeted...?
Before Rohan could recover from the shock, the toy car sprang back out of the blackened earth. Its movements defied all physics—it simply floated in midair, treads spinning furiously with that same grinding clank-clank-clank.
"Look over here!"
It was talking.
Heaven's Door stood guard in front of Rohan, but the car had apparently locked onto its new target. It was coming straight for him.
—What the hell is this thing? Did the suspect already find out Inori and I were planning to investigate him? Damn it... attacking someone in broad daylight like this, murdering people without a shred of restraint—does he think that little of me, Rohan Kishibe?!
"Heaven's Door—take it out!"
Even if you're a long-range remote-controlled Stand, the moment Heaven's Door touches you, I can activate my ability and render you powerless. All I have to do is write something useful on the pages this thing opens into, and I'll have a direct line back to its user!
"Look over here!!"
The toy car growled again, and Heaven's Door charged—
But things didn't go the way Rohan expected.
The white-clad boy in the hat made contact. Nothing happened. It was exactly like when Rohan tried to use Heaven's Door on inanimate objects—no response whatsoever. And in that frozen instant of disbelief, the car's treads locked up. Then came another crisp, unmistakable click.
BOOM!
There is no sound louder than an explosion—especially one that goes off right next to your ear. It felt like being punched by nothingness itself. The blast could shatter courage, split the skull, turn the whole world to rubble.
Rohan Kishibe collapsed in a pool of blood.
...Retired.
...
...