I ran.
Maybe she's still alive.
Maybe there's still a chance to save her.
Driven by that thought, I ran searching for a way down the cliff.
Along the way, I fell several times, scraping my skin and getting injured, but I didn't care and got right back up and kept running.
"Don't die!"
I wanted to talk to her more.
I wanted to stay with her a little longer.
When I thought about it objectively, it was ridiculous.
She was someone I had intended to kill just moments ago, yet now I desperately hoped she wouldn't die.
But I remembered that rough yet unmistakably affectionate touch.
Even though she knew I had come to kill her, she treated me kindly and offered genuine counsel when we first met.
By itself, that made the nameless woman become someone, like Dad, who didn't want me to die.
"Don't die, don't die, don't die! Please! Please don't die!!"
I left the road and entered the woods.
There was no path, but I ran purposefully, keeping my direction true without any hesitation.
Because even now, I could still smell it.
That thick "scent of blood" I never wanted to smell again.
And I arrived right below the cliff where she had fallen.
Haa! Haa! Haa!
Suppressing the breath rising to my throat, I moved forward carefully.
She was there.
That woman.
But...
Hic...
Tears welled up violently. My legs gave out and I collapsed to the ground.
When she threw herself off the cliff, she had worn such a serene smile.
That benevolent smile that had reminded me of the Virgin Mary was gone now.
Like someone maliciously defacing a beautiful masterpiece, her face was stained by death.
Her face was shattered, and fragments of skull and brain lay scattered.
Her body, twisted beyond recognition, had evidently struck and bounced off rocks multiple times during the fall.
I couldn't believe she was the same woman who had been talking to me just moments ago. She looked more like a monster straight out of a cheap horror movie.
I never imagined a human body could be mangled so horrifically.
Ugh...!
Unable to endure such extreme stress for the first time in my life, I was overcome by intense nausea.
Ah, so this is it! This is the death that eats away at Dad!
Fear, dread, disgust, revulsion, dizziness, nausea… a jumble of emotions shook my mind like claws tearing at it.
Dad was enduring all this for me!
That's why he fell ill.
His mind was being seriously mangled, his wounds festering!
While I could now understand Dad's position, another wave of confusion washed over me.
"Wha... why...?"
I couldn't understand how I was regaining my composure so quickly.
Despite the intense nausea, I didn't vomit because the ghoul instinct within me was whispering that this was 'natural.'
The human part of me said that form was nothing but 'death,' but the ghoul part only saw it as 'food.'
I got chills at how I could only describe the death of the one who had shown me kindness as food.
It felt like proof that I was different from Dad.
And it felt like a reminder that, from their perspective, I was nothing more than a monster.
That terrified me, hurt me, and made me sad.
Waaaah... Waaaah...!
I cried.
At that age, I was usually too tough to cry at all, but I cried out like a scream, unleashing all my pent-up emotions.
It was exactly as the dead woman had said.
Her death left me with an indelible scar.
"Waaaaaah!! Waaahhh! Dad!! Dad!! Daaaaaaad!!!"
I called out to Dad like a broken machine.
I wanted to go back to Dad. I wanted to be held by him.
I wanted to hide my wounded heart in his arms.
I wanted to hear him say, "It's okay."
I staggered away from that spot as if possessed by something.
I don't remember exactly how I made it back home.
I vaguely remember boarding a bus. At a nearly empty stop, someone eyed me strangely and asked questions because I was alone without a guardian, but I don't remember answering. I probably sat down silently, paid the fare, and curled up.
It was fortunate for me that the bus driver, though he must have thought it strange, said nothing more and drove on.
When I got home, it was early evening and the sun had just set.
If it were Dad, he would have come home long ago and realized I was gone.
"I'll be in trouble..."
I staggered forward, worrying about facing Dad.
I would definitely get scolded. I left home without a word and didn't return until after sunset. Dad must have been worried sick, searching desperately for me. He has every right to scold me.
I didn't care about getting scolded.
Instead, I was worried about being asked where I had been.
I didn't want to lie to Dad. But if I told him the truth, it would surely make him even more distressed.
What should I do?
My steps toward home naturally grew heavier.
But eventually, time passed and I arrived in front of the house.
"...?"
I tilted my head as I looked up at the old villa.
The lights in the house were off. Could it be that Dad hadn't come back yet?
If so, this could be my chance.
If I hurried inside and waited for him as if nothing had happened, I could hide what had happened today.
I hurried into the elevator. I needed to act fast—to hide my torn clothes and take a bath.
Then, reaching the door, I grabbed the handle.
Creeeek...
The door opened. Then I realized I hadn't even locked up when I left.
Resolving to be more careful next time, I stepped inside.
I froze.
I couldn't take another step; I froze in place.
Looking into the dark house, not a single light on, my shoulders trembled.
It was the scent of blood.
The scent of blood was wafting through the house.
It reminded me of the corpse I had seen earlier, and my face turned pale.
"Huh? …Huh?"
I wondered if I'd come to the wrong place and glanced at the nameplate. It clearly said 'Takaki Koma'—my Dad's name.
But what was this?
The scene inside was completely different from what I'd seen before I left.
The windows were shattered, chairs smashed, and household items lay broken and scattered everywhere.
What is this? A robbery? But something felt off about calling it a simple break-in.
It looked like traces of a struggle….
And the lingering scent of blood in the house.
At first, in my confusion, I was slow to realize, but this scent was more enticing and fragrant than any other smell of blood, as if tempting me.
I knew this scent of blood. There was no mistaking it.
"Dad...?!?"
I nearly had a heart attack and ran into the house without even taking off my shoes.
"Dad!! Dad, where are you!? Dad!!"
Half panicked, I sobbed.
I tore through the house looking for Dad but saw no sign of him. All I found was his blood splattered on the walls and floor.
"Dad!! Daaaaaad!!!!"
I ran out of the house, calling for Dad like mad, and dashed into the night streets.
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