13 July 1958 — 11:11 PM
Tom, Robert, and Oliver sat in silence.
The story Oliver had just finished telling had devastated all three of them. The room felt heavy, as if the air itself had become difficult to breathe. Several bottles and glasses of liquor were placed on the table, but no one was drinking.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Then suddenly, Robert slammed his hand on the table and shouted,
"ENOUGH!"
Tom and Oliver both looked at him, slightly startled.
Robert stood up and began speaking with frustration.
"None of this is going to change now! All of that happened twelve years ago! You both came to my house to enjoy the night, not to get depressed. And what's with this awkward silence? Take the jugs and drink! Come on, enjoy the moment, man!"
After his speech, silence returned for a few seconds.
Then suddenly, Oliver and Tom burst out laughing.
"What was that speech?" Tom said while laughing.
"It sounded like you were motivating soldiers before sending them to war," Oliver added.
Robert couldn't hold it either and started laughing too.
A few moments later, the three friends picked up their glasses, and the heavy atmosphere slowly disappeared as they began drinking and talking again.
⸻
14 July 1958 — 12:36 AM
Tom was completely drunk. He couldn't stand properly, and his speech had become completely unclear. Robert was drunk too, but he still had some control over himself.
Oliver, however, had not drunk much, so he was mostly normal.
After a while, Oliver stood up.
"I think it's time for me to go back," he said.
Robert looked surprised.
"What? Already? I mean, I suggest both of you sleep here. I told you my family has gone to my in-laws for a few days, so there's plenty of space."
"Thanks, but I'll pass this time. But Tom will stay," Oliver said, looking at Tom and smiling.
"Well, it's not like he wants to, but he can't even walk."
Robert laughed.
"Yeah, don't worry. He'll be alright."
Robert stood up and walked Oliver to the main gate. He opened it and stepped aside so Oliver could leave.
As Oliver stepped outside, he put on the hat he had been holding in his hand all along.
"So then, be careful," Oliver said.
"Of course I will. And don't worry yourself too much. Everything's locked from the inside. Okay then… see you in another life," Robert said casually.
Oliver frowned slightly.
"W-what does that mean?" he asked in an annoyed tone.
Robert scratched his head awkwardly.
"Nothing. I heard it in a movie. I thought it sounded cool, so I wanted to say it."
Oliver smiled and shook his head.
"Come on, you're 35, not ten."
Robert smiled too, but then looked down for a moment.
Oliver then said quietly,
"Okay then… see you in another life, brother."
Robert nodded.
"Yeah… see you."
Oliver turned and began walking down the dark road.
Robert watched him until he disappeared into the night, then slowly closed the gate and locked it from the inside.
⸻
Robert went back inside and walked to the living room where Tom was half-asleep on the sofa. He helped Tom stand up, put Tom's arm over his shoulder, and slowly escorted him upstairs to the guest room.
He placed Tom carefully on the bed.
Just as he was about to leave, the lights suddenly went out.
"Damn it… not now," Robert muttered.
In the darkness, he carefully walked downstairs and searched for a candle. After a moment, he found one in a drawer, lit it, and the small flame illuminated the room with a dim orange glow.
He picked up a bottle of wine and a glass, then walked into the guest room downstairs.
Inside the room were three sofas — two small ones and one large one. Between them was a wooden table. On the table were three documents that looked like medical reports.
The names of the patients were written clearly on the files:
Oliver Shepherd
Tom Marley
James Ford
Robert looked at the files and suddenly slapped his forehead lightly.
"Oh shit… I forgot to give these to them," he said to himself.
"Ah, no worries. I'll give them to Tom in the morning when he wakes up."
He calmly sat on one of the small sofas, placed the candle on the table, poured wine into the glass, and started drinking.
After taking a few sips, he realized that he himself had not checked the reports.
So he picked up Tom's report first and started reading it. Everything looked normal. Nothing unusual.
Then he picked up Oliver's report.
He flipped through the pages. Everything seemed normal again. But when he turned to the brain scan report, he narrowed his eyes slightly, as if he had noticed something unusual.
Just then, he heard a sound behind him.
He froze.
Slowly, he turned around and looked into the darkness.
"Tom? Is that you?" he called out.
No reply.
He turned back toward the table.
But as soon as he faced forward again…
Someone was sitting on the sofa in front of him.
Robert froze in fear.
The man's body was visible in the candlelight, but his face was hidden in shadow because something blocked the light from reaching it properly.
Robert was so scared that he couldn't even stand up. He remained sitting, completely frozen, staring at the figure.
The man slowly sat back comfortably on the sofa.
Then he leaned slightly forward, and his face finally came into the candlelight.
The fear on Robert's face suddenly disappeared.
Instead, he looked shocked.
"What are you doing here…
James Ford?"
The moment Robert spoke James's name, the air in the room seemed to change.
James did not answer.
Silence fell—thick, unnatural silence. The kind of silence that presses against the ears until even the smallest sound becomes unbearable. Robert could hear his own heartbeat, loud and uneven, and the slow rhythm of his breathing.
James wasn't even looking at him.
His expression was cold—too cold, almost lifeless. His eyes looked empty, like a dark abyss with no bottom. He was staring at the table, at the files, at the medical reports… at his own report.
Robert swallowed and spoke again, this time louder.
"I asked why you are here at this hour. And how do you even know where I live? We met only once, when you were with Aisha… your foster mother. Tell me—what do you want?"
His voice carried frustration and anger, but beneath it there was something else—uneasiness.
James still did not respond.
He leaned back slowly into the sofa and began staring at the ceiling, his expression unchanged. The candle flame flickered between them, casting moving shadows across the walls, making the room feel smaller, tighter, more suffocating.
Then suddenly, James spoke.
"Wrong question."
His voice was heavy and ruthless.
Robert frowned. "What?"
James lowered his head and looked directly into Robert's eyes.
The sudden eye contact sent a sharp chill down Robert's spine. His heart began to pound faster. Neither of them spoke for a few seconds.
Then James said quietly,
"I am not James Ford. It's just a name I used to hide myself."
Robert stared at him in disbelief. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Again, silence.
Then, in a slightly cracking voice, James said,
"My name is Teufel Kruger. Or you can say… Yui Alexander's son."
The words hit Robert like a hammer.
His heartbeat exploded. His throat went dry. For a moment, he felt as if he might faint.
"Nonsense," Robert snapped angrily. "You've lost your mind, kid. Teufel Kruger died in prison two years ago. Everyone saw his body. It was completely burned."
James said nothing. He simply kept staring at Robert with the same emotionless expression.
Robert continued, his voice now filled with a strange sense of superiority.
"You don't even know what you're saying. You probably heard the news, started worshipping him, and now you're living in some fantasy where you think you are him. I'm a doctor—I know these kinds of delusions. You aren't Teufel, kid. You're mentally—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
James had not looked away even once. He had been staring into Robert's eyes the entire time, and that unwavering gaze made Robert deeply uncomfortable.
Then James spoke again.
"What was the news you got two years ago? Tell me."
Robert was confused at first, but he answered.
"It was… something like this. A prisoner went mad and killed Teufel and another boy, then killed himself. It wasn't shown on the news, but the prisoner burned them alive along with himself. That's why Teufel's body was completely burned. And the warden's son also became a victim in the incident."
James nodded slightly.
"Have you ever heard anything about the warden himself?"
"N-no… not at all," Robert replied hesitantly.
"The warden hanged himself in his office the same day," James said calmly.
Robert's eyes widened. "What?!"
"And tell me," James continued in the same calm, calculated tone, "have you ever seen the warden's son's corpse?"
"N-no…" Robert's voice now carried clear fear.
"As you said, Teufel's corpse was burned. He was ten back then. Tell me the age of the warden's son at that time."
Robert swallowed. "…Eleven."
"So they would probably have similar body features. Height, weight, build… more or less the same."
Robert's pupils widened slowly as the realization began to form in his mind.
James leaned slightly forward.
"I don't think I have to explain the rest. The whole incident… was in someone's favor, wasn't it?"
Robert suddenly understood what he was implying.
"Don't tell me… y-you manipulated the whole situation… and convinced everyone that you died."
James did not answer.
But a small smile appeared on his face.
That smile alone terrified Robert so much that the sofa he was sitting on shifted slightly as he tried to move back.
"Enough!" Robert shouted. "I don't believe a single word you said. I'm calling the police."
James spoke calmly, almost casually.
"I wouldn't do that. I advise you not to stand up at all."
Robert ignored him and placed his hands on both sides of the sofa to stand up.
But he couldn't.
A sudden chill ran through his body.
He tried again. Nothing happened.
He couldn't feel his legs.
"What the hell…?" he whispered, panic rising in his voice. "I… I can't feel my legs…"
James replied calmly,
"The wine you just drank was poisonous."
Robert felt as if lightning had struck through his entire body.
"Don't mess with me!" he shouted in panic. "Tell me what you've done to me!"
James spoke in the same calm voice.
"The wine contained a special poison. It enters the nervous system and reaches the brain. First, it slowly paralyzes the body up to the neck. After that, one by one, you will start losing your five senses. Then you will die. Probably in ten to fifteen minutes. Don't worry—the death will be painless."
Robert felt like he was about to vomit.
"You put the poison there, right? Then you must have the antidote too! Please—give it to me. I'll do anything. Please give me the antidote!"
His voice was now completely vulnerable.
James shook his head slightly.
"Sorry. There is no antidote. Or even if there is, I don't know anything about it."
Robert felt something he had never felt before—pure, helpless terror.
James continued calmly,
"Well, after your death, something very similar to the prison incident will occur. But for now… get yourself together. Take deep breaths. I don't think you want to spend the last ten minutes of your life in shock and vulnerability."
He paused.
"Because there is something I want to talk about."
Robert tried to control his breathing. Slowly, painfully, he forced himself to calm down. He didn't want his last moments to be filled with panic.
But as he tried to move his hands, he realized something else.
He couldn't feel them anymore either.
The candle had been placed in such a way that its flame stood between James and Robert like a thin, trembling wall of light. Whenever James leaned back into the sofa, his face disappeared into the shadow cast by the flame, leaving only a dark silhouette. But when he leaned forward, the light fell directly on his face, revealing his cold, expressionless eyes.
Until now, he had been leaning back.
But when he finally spoke again, he slowly leaned forward, and his face came fully into the light.
Robert could see him clearly now.
And the only feelings Robert had left for him were disgust, anger, and hatred.
James spoke quietly.
"Most of the tragedies I feared never came to pass, yet I suffered them all the same."
Robert frowned. He didn't understand a single word.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You don't need to understand," James replied calmly. "I just wanted to tell someone. It doesn't matter who."
Robert, now extremely irritated and furious, snapped back, "Have you ever thought about how mentally ill you look right now? Look at you. I don't know what you want or what you're trying to prove, but you're full of paranoia. You think you're some criminal mastermind, but you know what? You are nothing. And I swear, one day you will die a miserable death."
James did not react. Not even a flicker of emotion crossed his face.
He simply continued, as if Robert had said nothing.
"Humans are usually driven by two things," he said. "Either desire or an idea. But in my case… I am neither."
Robert scoffed angrily. "What nonsense. Don't tell me killing me gives you nothing. You must have some desire or some idea. Otherwise, you wouldn't act at all."
James looked at him and said quietly, "You are wrong."
Robert stared at him with pure disgust.
"You are wrong not because you lack intelligence," James continued, "but because you are thinking on the wrong horizon. I am not the cause, Robert. I am the result. I am what humanity eventually creates when it gets tired of chaos."
Robert suddenly burst out laughing.
James waited patiently until he stopped.
"I am not fighting the system," James continued. "And I am not destroying it like others. I am replacing it."
"Replacing it with what?" Robert asked, still smiling mockingly.
"Myself."
Robert started laughing again, louder this time.
James waited again, then said calmly,
"In very simple words… the world is my identity."
Robert's smile widened into something almost mad. "I swear, if I had a gun in my hand right now, I would shoot every bullet into your head, reload, and shoot again. I would do it all night."
James ignored the threat completely.
"Tell me something," he said. "What happens to a person who sees all the darkness of humanity? Everything. Every corner of that abyss. What happens to such a person?"
Robert said nothing.
"There are three paths for him," James continued. "First, he is completely consumed by the abyss. Second, he builds a throne in that land of despair and darkness. Third, he walks beside it and still does not fall into it. Even after understanding everything, he remains human."
Robert's smile slowly faded. "What are you trying to say?"
James looked at him quietly and said,
"I wanted to choose the third path. But I was forced to choose the second."
"I don't understand anything you're saying," Robert muttered weakly.
James picked up his medical report from the table and slowly flipped through the pages. Then he stopped at a certain page and slid the file across the table toward Robert.
"See," James said, pointing at the page.
Robert struggled to focus his eyes and began reading. As he reached the end of the page, a violent chill ran through his body. His pupils widened in terror.
His breathing became irregular.
"How… how is this possible?" he whispered. "Y-you… no… this can't be. This shouldn't exist."
James replied calmly,
"Certain genes. PTSD. Early exposure to violence. Trauma at a young age. A natural prodigy. Influence of certain people. And a little bit of luck. Combine all that… and this is what you get."
After that, neither of them spoke for several minutes.
The candle had almost burned down completely.
James could see Robert slowly losing control of his body and senses.
After a while, James spoke again.
"Robert, you have probably lost your sight by now. But you are still looking straight at me. Tell me… even in blindness, what are you seeing?"
Robert's breathing was uneven. His voice trembled with a fear so deep it was almost unbearable.
In a low, cracked whisper, he said,
"I am seeing… a humanoid figure… consumed by darkness… H-he has moose horns… He doesn't have a face… only eyes… B-but… blood is draining from his eyes…"
After that, Robert never spoke again.
James sat there in silence for a full minute.
Then he slowly stood up.
He picked up his own file from the table and burned it in the candle flame. The paper curled and blackened as the fire consumed it. Then he began doing something with Tom's and Oliver's files as well.
He was wearing the same gloves Mary had given him on his birthday. He did not touch Robert. He did not even look at him again.
When he finished with the files, he turned around and began walking toward the door.
As he took his first step, the candle flame finally died.
The room fell into complete darkness.
Chapter Ends.
To be continued