Hitokawa pulled a file on a specific Ghoul from the CCG archives.
Returning to his desk, he spread the documents out and scanned the organized intelligence.
The Corpse Collector.
That was the alias of a Ghoul that had suddenly emerged a few years ago. The name stemmed from its peculiar habit of collecting corpses indiscriminately, regardless of whether they were human or Ghoul.
On the surface, the idea of a Ghoul that merely "collected" bodies made it sound harmless—the kind of behavior typically associated with a weak, scavenger-type Ghoul.
The reality, however, was far different.
Hitokawa frowned as he looked at a list of unfamiliar names that filled an entire page.
It was a casualty list: every single one of them was an investigator murdered by the Corpse Collector.
Even through the sterile report, the Ghoul's blatant hostility toward the CCG was palpable.
The moment an investigator detected a trace of the creature and closed in to pinpoint its lair, the Corpse Collector would strike, kill them, and vanish without a trace.
Among the dead was a veteran who had only recently been promoted to Special Class.
If even a warrior of that caliber couldn't leave a body behind, this was no ordinary bastard.
"Estimated rating between S and SS... and since it takes the bodies of the investigators, it's nearly impossible to determine the Kagune type."
Normally, if a body remained after a Ghoul attack, investigators could analyze the residue in the wounds to identify the Kagune type.
But with the Corpse Collector, not a single victim ever returned.
It didn't seem like the Ghoul was doing this specifically to hide its identity from the CCG; rather, it appeared to be part of that bizarre, indiscriminate obsession with collecting corpses.
"What are you doing, Hitokawa?"
As Hitokawa muttered to himself over the files, his partner, Hoshino, approached him.
"Ah, perfect timing, Hoshino. I'm heading out on a business trip tomorrow, so please handle the administrative grunt work for a while."
"Huh? What for?"
"You know Junior Special Class Shinohara? His team requested manpower support. It looks like they're dead set on exterminating the Corpse Collector now that they've found a lead."
The Corpse Collector had a history of killing Special Class investigators.
Under normal circumstances, a Special Class would lead the hunt, but such high-level assets were too valuable to deploy recklessly.
Consequently, they were assembling a new strike team centered around Junior Special Class Shinohara, drafting investigators from First Class up to Junior Special Class.
Hitokawa, also a Junior Special Class, had been requested for the operation and had accepted immediately.
Though they shared the same rank, Shinohara was far superior in both experience and raw skill.
While the Corpse Collector was a priority, Hitokawa couldn't pass up the chance to learn from a man of Shinohara's caliber.
"The Corpse Collector? I've never heard of a Ghoul by that name."
Hoshino tilted her head, clearly unfamiliar with the alias.
Despite the damage it had inflicted on the CCG, the Ghoul kept a low profile. That was exactly why Hitokawa had gone to the archives to pull the detailed records himself.
"It's not surprising you haven't heard of it. It's not the type to flaunt itself. Someone like Oniyamada, who attacked investigators just to show off his strength, is actually the rarity."
For the record, that Oniyamada had reportedly been obliterated in a one-on-one fight with Investigator Shinohara.
"The Corpse Collector only reveals itself when an investigator is actively hunting it. According to a homeless man who witnessed one encounter, the Ghoul relentlessly pursued a fleeing investigator who had realized they were outmatched, just to slit their throat."
"So it's the type that stays quiet until its territory is invaded, then goes feral? I've heard those are the most troublesome. Do you think you'll be okay?"
"Ha! I've dealt with that type so often I'm practically—"
"Yes?"
"No, it's nothing."
Hitokawa quickly trailed off, having unconsciously thought of Eto.
Indeed, Eto was usually quiet and polite, leaving a positive impression on her neighbors.
But Hitokawa knew that if anyone dared to invade her territory—especially where her family was concerned—she would flip 180 degrees in an instant.
Family? Family, huh...
As Hitokawa flipped through the file, he stopped on a specific page.
It was a note left by a predecessor who had pursued the Corpse Collector but failed to find a trace before handing the case over.
『The Corpse Collector always takes a massive quantity of bodies. This is far more than a single Ghoul could ever consume. Does it have a habit of stockpiling food like a squirrel preparing for winter? Or perhaps it views the collection of corpses as a form of entertainment. If not... could there be someone else it shares these corpses with?』
"Hmm..."
Hitokawa stared at that final sentence for a long time.
Perhaps because Eto was on his mind, the words felt strangely ominous.
Morning arrived.
In a home striving for the ideal of a normal, harmonious family, what is the one essential morning ritual?
Breakfast.
Of course, the reality is rarely as harmonious as the image suggests.
Humans are creatures of adaptation; we often grow so accustomed to one another that the "harmony" vanishes, or conflicting schedules make coordinating a meal feel like a chore.
Regardless, it was my firm belief that a family must eat together.
"..."
"..."
And yet, today, I felt a powerful urge to flee from this "essential" breakfast table.
A heavy, awkward tension hung over us, broken only by the sound of chewing.
This morning's menu was a balanced spread: a traditional combination of white rice and miso soup, paired with Western-style bacon and eggs, and a tomato salad for a touch of greens.
The same meal sat before Eto across the table.
Only the "material" of the bacon differed. I decided not to dwell on that. I already couldn't tell if the food was going into my mouth or my nose; thinking about it further would only kill my appetite entirely.
Normally, Eto only needed meat to be satisfied and derived no taste or nutrition from other foods.
However, since she often had to eat with others at school, I had her practice eating normal side dishes. Over time, it had simply become part of her daily routine.
"..."
"..."
Still silence.
Strange. The food tasted like nothing today.
Maybe the salad needed more dressing?
I pointed toward the bottle on Eto's side.
"Eto, could you pass the sauce..."
"..."
Tap.
Without a word, Eto moved the bottle in front of me.
She completely ignored the hand I had extended to take it, placing the bottle firmly on the table instead.
I stared at the bottle awkwardly for a moment before drizzling it over my salad.
...Still tasteless.
The oppressive atmosphere was clearly numbing my taste buds. My stomach sent back a bloated, heavy signal, as if complaining that it was impossible to digest food in a mood like this.
The reason breakfast had become such a disaster was simple.
We had fought the previous day.
Running into a strange Ghoul had merely been the catalyst.
The real issue was what Eto was hiding.
Through Ukina's notebook, Eto had discovered something, but she refused to tell me.
I knew—or thought I knew—that she was keeping it from me for my own sake.
But that didn't mean she had to shoulder the burden alone.
I had been her parent until now, and I wanted to continue being that for her. I wanted us to face whatever she was hiding together.
But I had pushed too hard.
In my agitation, I had forgotten that these matters require a delicate touch.
My insistence and Eto's desire to draw a line had escalated into a quarrel, and the fallout had lasted until this morning.
"Hey, Eto. About yesterday..."
"I'm finished."
Just as I began my apology, Eto stood up.
I hadn't even finished half my plate, but Eto's dishes were spotless.
As she turned toward the sink, her back radiated a chilling coldness.
Ah, this is hard.
Teenage daughters are difficult.
When Eto was little, a few jokes would have cheered her up instantly. Lately, however, once she pouted, it lasted for ages.
While I watched her blankly, Eto grabbed her bag.
"I'm on duty today, so I have to leave early. Please do the dishes."
"Huh? Oh, uh, sure..."
As I nodded, Eto spun around and headed for the entryway.
Watching her, I realized I couldn't let her leave like this. I stood up abruptly.
A wall between parent and child is the root of all family dysfunction.
I didn't know if it would work, but it was time for some shock therapy.
"Eto!"
I ran to the door and called her name.
Eto, who had just stepped into her shoes and reached for the handle, glanced back. I threw my arms wide open and shouted.
"How about a 'have a great day' hug for old time's sake!"
The "have a great day" hug.
It was a ritual from when Eto was small, something we shared every time I left for work.
They say physical affection is crucial for a child's emotional development. To soothe the loneliness she felt while I was away, I always hugged her before leaving.
Of course, the frequency had dropped sharply once she hit elementary school, and by middle school, it had stopped entirely.
Why bring it up now?
To make up with her, obviously.
Physical touch is still a powerful way to communicate emotion, and I hoped that recalling those memories would soften her mood.
"..........."
It seemed I had failed.
There wasn't a shred of warmth in Eto's eyes.
Instead, her gaze grew colder, as if she were wondering why I was suddenly acting so strange.
Eto... since when were you able to look at me with those eyes? Where did that cute little girl go—the one who used to run to me shouting "Daddy!"?
Click.
Eto looked away and opened the door.
No hug. I had clearly underestimated the power of a teenage girl's stubbornness.
Dejected, I turned away. I might as well go finish the leftovers.
Thump!
Suddenly, I felt a heavy impact against my back.
The force nearly knocked me forward.
Looking down, I saw slender arms that had reached around from behind to wrap tightly around my chest.
The warmth spreading from those arms across my back, the soft touch, the familiar scent...
Startled, I whipped my head around over my shoulder.
Whoosh! Slam!
The moment I turned, the warmth vanished.
Something red and feather-like rippled through the air before disappearing, and the open front door slammed shut.
It happened in a heartbeat, but I knew exactly what had occurred.
Feeling the lingering warmth and the ghost of that touch, I looked at the closed door with a wry smile.
"You didn't have to use your Kagune just because you were embarrassed..."
I was just glad she had finally softened, even if only a little.