The moment they burst out of the store, the rain hit them like a wall.
It had turned into a full torrent — heavy, blinding sheets that hammered the pavement and turned the street into a shallow, rushing river. Kairo and Mimo ran without direction, feet splashing wildly through puddles. Kairo's lungs burned, his mind still reeling from the massacre inside: the store owner's torn-open body, the daughter's small frame crumpled among spilled snacks, blood mixing with spilled drinks on the tiles.
He slipped on the wet road first, knees slamming into the asphalt. Mud and dirty water soaked through his clothes instantly. Mimo grabbed his arm and yanked him up with surprising strength, pulling him forward.
They kept running for another block, breaths coming in harsh gasps, until they finally collapsed under the metal shelter of an old bus stop. The roof rattled violently under the downpour. Water poured off the edges in thick curtains, isolating them from the rest of the world.
Kairo doubled over, hands on his knees, vomiting again onto the wet concrete. The images wouldn't leave him — the Ren-faced figure stabbing wildly, the sound of iron on iron, the blank look on Mimo's face as she stared at the corpses without any disgust.
He wiped his mouth with a shaking hand, tears mixing with rain on his face. "That wasn't Ren… but it looked exactly like him… what the hell is happening?"
Mimo stood beside him, breathing steady. Her school uniform was soaked through, clinging to her body, but her expression remained eerily calm — almost serene. She didn't look horrified. She didn't look anything.
Kairo straightened slowly, still trembling. The guilt, the fear, and the weeks of nightmares finally broke something inside him.
"I'm sorry," he blurted out, voice cracking. "I'm so sorry for making things awkward between us. That night… after we heard about Tsubaki… I know it happened because we were both hurting. But I truly see you as… I'm in love with you, Mimo. I've been in love with you for a long time."
Mimo turned her head slightly, rain dripping from her hair. She said nothing.
Kairo kept going, words tumbling out in a desperate flood. "I feel disgusting. Tsubaki died and the next night and I… I was with you. And after the nightmares started — the ones with the masked people — I couldn't stop thinking about you. Every time I woke up terrified, I… I coped by looking at your picture. By touching myself while thinking about you. It became a habit. A disgusting habit. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
He expected disgust. He expected her to pull away.
Instead, Mimo stepped closer. Her gloved hand reached up and gently touched his wet cheek. Her voice was soft, almost tender.
"You don't have to feel guilty, Kairo. The hollow was hungry that night. We both fed it."
Her eyes held no judgment — only a strange, quiet understanding. For a moment, the rain seemed to fall quieter around them.
Then she looked out into the storm, her expression shifting back to that calm, distant mask. "That thing with Ren's face… it's not the only one. There are more."
Kairo followed her gaze. Through the heavy curtain of rain, in the mouth of a dark alley across the street, he thought he saw it — a faint white shape, smooth and featureless, watching them.
It vanished the moment he blinked.
Mimo's hand dropped from his face. "That's not something you should meddle with."
Kairo's voice was barely a whisper. "Why? What was that?"
She stared into the rain for a long second before answering.
"You're better off not knowing."
The rain kept falling, heavier now, as if trying to wash away the words that had just been spoken — and everything they left unsaid.
---
Vey's hand connected with a sharp, echoing crack.
The slap landed hard across Ren's cheek, snapping his head to the side. A thin line of blood appeared at the corner of his lip where the skin had split. For a moment, the hallway was deathly silent except for the distant drumming of rain against the windows.
Sorine stirred weakly on the bench where Ren had set her down, her eyes half-open and unfocused. "Vey…?" she whispered, voice hoarse.
Vey dropped to their knees beside her, hands hovering as if afraid she might break. Tears burned in their eyes, mixing with the rain still clinging to their face. "I'm here. I'm right here."
Ren slowly turned his face back toward them. There was no anger in his expression — only that same calm, unreadable composure he always wore in class. The red mark on his cheek was already darkening.
He spoke quietly. "She fought hard. Most people don't last that long in there."
Vey looked up at him, fury still blazing. "What did you do to her?"
Ren glanced down the empty hallway, then made a quick decision. "Not here. Follow me."
He gently helped Sorine to her feet. She leaned heavily against him, legs unsteady. Vey supported her from the other side. Together, they moved quickly down the corridor to the nearby janitor's room — a small, rarely used space tucked behind the old wing. Ren unlocked it with a key from his pocket and ushered them inside.
The room was cramped and dimly lit, shelves lined with cleaning supplies, mops, and buckets. The air smelled of bleach and damp concrete. Ren closed the door behind them, then took a bottle of water from one of the shelves. He unscrewed the cap and handed it to Sorine, helping her take small sips.
"Drink slowly," he said gently.
Once Sorine seemed a little steadier, Ren turned to Vey, his voice low and serious.
"You're up against Kyo. I'm certain your group has already met one before — the changing rooms, the false comforts, the way they offer exactly what you crave most. That's Kyo."
Vey's fists clenched. "Why are you responsible for Tsubaki's death? And for what happened to Sorine?"
Ren's expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened.
"A Kyo with my face is rampaging around town, killing people. It's the reason you started suspecting me. The same Kyo that warned you in the alley that day, the same one that went on a 'date' with Tsubaki, and the same one responsible for the recent killings. It wears my face like a mask."
Vey shook their head, voice rising. "That's not enough explanation!"
Ren exhaled slowly. "I'm wanted now, thanks to you. I have something I need to do in Tokyo. But listen to me carefully — someone you know very well is among the enemies you're about to face."
Vey reached out and grabbed the front of Ren's shirt, trying to drag him back. "You're not leaving until you explain everything!"
Ren gently but firmly removed Vey's hands. "You know I'm not lying. You experienced the phenomenon in the old science lab yourself. That love hotel you were trapped in — it's actually a place you yourself have been to."
Vey froze. Their face paled as the memory slammed into them — the warm lights, the mirrored walls, the comforting illusions that had tried to fill their emotional distance. They shook visibly, as if Ren had hit the exact jackpot of their deepest fear.
Ren looked at them for a long moment, then spoke softly. "Take care of the Sorine situation for me."
And then he was gone — slipping out the door and disappearing down the hallway before Vey could stop him.
Later that afternoon, the police had found the missing victim at the school with a friend. The news headlines flashed across every channel:
"Missing Student Sorine Found Safe at Seika High — Suspect Ren Fushiwara Reportedly Released Her Upon Learning He Was Wanted for Serial Killings, Police Say."
Footage showed Vey and Sorine being escorted out of the school compound by officers and paramedics. Sorine was wrapped in a blanket, still looking dazed, while Vey stayed close, protective and angry.
---
Meanwhile, at the mall where the latest murder had taken place, Detective Hikaru stood in the back storage area of the store. His female subordinate was beside him, notepad in hand.
"We found Sorine, at least that's been taken care of," she said. "The parents are relieved."
Hikaru nodded, but his eyes were scanning the gruesome scene — bodies of the store owner, his daughter, son, and several customers lying in pools of blood, stab wounds everywhere. He ordered the officers around him, "Seal the entire area. No one touches anything until forensics is done."
His intuition — that outstanding gift that had carried him through so many cases — was screaming at him. He moved toward the very back of the store, past the shelves of spilled snacks and broken glass.
There, on the floor, lay a figure in a dark suit and black gloves.
It had Ren Fushiwara's face.
But as Hikaru watched, the face distorted — melting into a smooth white mask, then snapping back to Ren's features, then distorting again. The suit was stained with blood, the blade of a knife on one side, the handle on the other. Stab marks covered the walls and shelves around it, as if the figure had been furiously attacking everything in sight before collapsing.
Hikaru stared at the grotesque sight for a long moment.
After all, they were three serial killers, he finally said under his breath.