"How does it feel to be outside after so long?"
Inhaling the cold air, I tried to initiate conversation.
"It's become quite wintry since I last remember," said Kouta in a subdued tone. Indeed, regarding the night, autumn has started to fade.
"Hey,"
Anko tugged at my sleeve. When I responded, she looked up at me, her nose sniffing.
"Do we really have to go back?"
A fragile question.
A plea, an appeal.
Kouta also looked up at me, expecting something.
Honestly, I was troubled.
"Do you really not want to go back?"
Anko nodded.
"To a room like a prison cell?"
Anko nodded again.
This troubled me even more.
I knew why, so I couldn't find any more words to say.
So, I had no choice but to refuse.
...Once again, with heavy feelings.
"I'm sorry,"
I shook my head.
"You can't stay. That room isn't your home."
And it's not mine either.
With the two of them dejected, I led the way to the elevator.
We descended to the first floor, passed through the chilly hall, and stood on the nighttime street.
Whether the atmosphere was active or not, the clouds in the night sky I looked up at were moving rapidly. I shiver from the cold and rouse my consciousness.
Let's go.
Let this be the final murder.
End man "Karel Sajin."
I let them escape.
In this unprecedented situation, impatience and joy clash.
It seemed they had anticipated my actions, as the two attempted to flee without even checking on me.
I pursued them in shock.
A thrilling and delightful game of tag.
Their pale childish skin illuminated by a tiny light. They run without looking back, not leading me on.
I began to wonder if coming out tonight was a mistake or if it would provide me with the best experience. I felt like taking a gamble.
The two dashed into a shrine. The sound of footsteps on the gravel and my own breathing shattered the silence. I, who love games like hide-and-seek, wanted to capture them soon and surrender to the unknown. But running fast without letting your guard down is difficult. It would be more practical to stop the two of them.
I drew a knife from its sheath and aimed it at their waists, throwing it. The knife lunged at the boy's feet, grazing him slightly before being deflected by the gravel. But that was enough.
The slight pain made the boy falter. The girl, concerned, turned to look but tripped, crossing her right and left foot. The boy, holding her hand, was also pulled down, crashing onto the gravel.
Closing the distance was easy. I crouched, pinning the boy's ankle with my hand, drew another knife, raised it, and confronted the two children.
The boy, with shaking eyes, didn't avert his gaze. He neither groaned nor screamed. He didn't even beg for his life. Was it optimistic to think he was paralyzed with fear? Perhaps his body was shivering from the cold. I was slightly perplexed and shifted my gaze to the girl, who remained by the boy's side without being asked.
"Why aren't you running?" I asked, but the girl didn't open her mouth. Her tightly sealed lips rejected any communication with me. What were these children thinking?
I hesitated to bring the knife down. Ending this in uncertainty felt tasteless and creepy. I wanted to pinpoint the strangeness overflowing from the two.
"You're going to be killed," I blurted out such a foolish line. The two didn't react, just gazing deep into my eyes. Their gazes, similar to mine, were so emotionless that they seemed unlike eyes that should express something.
"Nice eyes," I genuinely admired, especially the girl's eyes. Steel-colored, unwavering eyes that evoked a strong desire in me to craft them into ornaments.
I intensely desired this girl.
It felt like a waste to hand her over to the undertaker.
I wanted to forcibly make her speak, to raise her voice.
Maybe I should just cut off her head and take it with me. Would there be communication until the iris clouds over? No, that won't do. I couldn't bear to see these eyes clouded.
My feelings began to lean more towards desire than curiosity, causing the strangeness I perceived to fade. They just became a silent boy and girl. This was a shift in consciousness. Another shift would fundamentally transform them into mere lumps of flesh. I liked both of their eyes, but I decided to utterly destroy the boy's. Thinning out is a basic gardening principle. If there are two pieces of art, it's effective to brutally scatter one to highlight the other. Suddenly, I was drawn to the side by an unexpected chill.
Immediately after, I heard a sound of something cutting through the air from behind. I swung my right arm, brandishing the knife as a deterrent while creating some distance.
In a split second, I aimed my flashlight to confirm what was in front. Holding a wooden stick about thirty centimeters in length, presumably picked up on the spot, there he was, right where I was just standing. He was a man with a faded color palette, wearing a pure white hoodie and faded blue jeans.
"Run, run!"
With a sour expression, he waved the stick like a traffic marshal and led the two children towards the bushes, letting them escape. Feeling a tinge of regret for letting the two go, I turned off my flashlight and confronted him.
His eyes were anything but clear. However, his aura and facial features concealed his oddity. Or maybe, everything about him was so strange that nothing in particular stood out.
"You really should moderate your taste for the younger ones, Mii-kun," he said, regaining a relaxed expression.
The extent of his composure was indistinguishable from carelessness.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"It's a shame you ask like that. I'm quite popular in this neighborhood, known as the 'Canal'."
That's a subtly mocking nickname.
"You underestimate the value of a canal. Do you even know what a canal is? Can you bear the blandness of a landscape without one? Do you know the richness of a canal?"
"...Fine, Canal."
"Hah, more like a gutter!"
He seemed triumphant. I felt like he's the kind of person who should just stay in a hospital for the betterment of society.
Though he readied his stick, he didn't attempt to close the distance. Was he measuring my actions, or did he lack experience?
"Don't panic yet, Mii-kun. Don't glare at me like that," he said, talking a lot. "Did you call me out here?"
"...I'm not a genie in a lamp. I don't summon murderers."
He negated with a puzzled look, waving his hand. So it wasn't him?
"But who would've thought I'd have to fight with a cypress stick?"
He lamented, dropping his shoulders, then muttered that he wished it had poison needles.
Clearly, he wasn't accustomed to fighting. He didn't know how to move or when to strike first. So I approached him. His face didn't change, but his body was visibly tense.
When he tried to keep me at bay by swinging his stick, I stepped forward at the moment he completed his swing. I thrust my knife into his undefended torso, aiming for a decisive blow to the solar plexus. However, he twisted his body so rapidly it seemed he might pull a muscle, causing my knife to merely graze his side. He then rolled away to create distance. Although no fear showed on his face, his shoulders heaved rapidly.
I closed the gap again, intending not to kill but to break his will to fight. He kept retreating, trying to dodge my attacks. His gaze was fixed on my right-hand knife. He lowered his stance, preparing to deflect with his stick. I swung my left arm from below, capturing his attention entirely. He took a short step back, looking up. As I stepped forward with my right foot, I drove the knife deep into the flesh connecting his left shoulder to his elbow, slicing as if carving meat from bone. He clenched his perfect teeth, refusing to scream. His eyes said he'd still attack if that was all.
He swung his stick horizontally with an unstable stance as I dodged by crouching and drove my knife deep into his right thigh, tearing through. The tide of the battle had been decided.
He clenched his teeth so hard that foam bubbled from his mouth like a crab. Trying to stifle a scream, his legs gave way as consciousness seemed to drift. I didn't play the gentleman and support him as he fell face-first; I quickly pulled out the weapon from the wound that revealed his insides and took a step back. Perhaps the pain of the knife being pulled out, combined with the shock of his face hitting the ground, shook him back to consciousness; tears welled in his eyes as he raised his head.