"…No need to rush now, Mii-kun."
When should I have rushed then?
Unfazed, he, or rather, he sighed while looking up at the sky.
"I give up... Even if I have a certain tolerance to pain, the human body's mechanism can't be bent. I'm not a wimp, just in a pinch," he said, sitting down like when listening to morning assembly in a gymnasium, scratching the back of his head. This seemingly forced casualness somehow suited him.
"Why does an arts guy like me have to fight a murderer? This rough stuff is supposed to be the role of a black-cloaked thread user..."
He began to grumble, mumbling to himself as if I wasn't there. "Don't you think?"
When he sought agreement, I just shrugged in response.
"Don't you know? This is why they say the younger generation is drifting away from printed words," he said, with an air of superiority.
Right now, if I were to look in a mirror, I might see a flustered version of myself. The conversation with him seemed to lessen the urgency to kill. The sense of danger in the situation seemed to diminish just by him being there.
Being mocked by someone trying to kill me was unexpected.
A mix of amusement and curiosity commanded me to talk with him.
"...So, why did you show up here and interfere?"
"Do you want to know?"
I nodded sincerely. After all, he might be someone like me.
He looked scornful, "So, you're saying one of us isn't human? Ah, that makes sense. You're rumored to be a murderer. So, am I a demon too? That's a joke. Two demons playing tag?"
His words, with a unique lightness, reached me. Unintentionally, I found myself agreeing.
But there are various kinds of humans, right?
"Of course, there are. But I don't think there's enough difference to classify them. Nowadays, there aren't humans who lay eggs from their mouths or have blue blood. On the contrary, everyone has red blood and constantly lies. So, instead of using fancy words like 'similar kinds', just say 'similar interests'," he remarked.
Your opinion is insightful, but... you're getting sidetracked.
"Ah, the reason I got involved. It's not for justice or for someone. It would sound lame if I said it. First and foremost, if I did say that, I'd have to add a pathetically lame excuse afterward," he chuckled, imagining the scenario and showing a hint of amusement before regaining his emotionless expression.
"I like going to convenience stores."
That was an abrupt statement. "Me too," I replied.
"I was planning to stop by one during my midnight stroll. Then, I saw you pushing down those innocent kids, so I thought I'd join in," he explained.
It sounded like a lie. Or rather, it probably was a lie.
"By the way, since I let those two go, they'll get caught."
He quickly added, "But it doesn't matter. I shouldn't worry about being killed here. I mean, I'm going to be killed here. So, I wanted to ask, did you dismember the bodies after killing them, or did you kill them after dismembering?"
If I had the luxury of dismembering living people, I'd have been caught a long time ago. "Even so, I just wanted to confirm. If you were going for the latter method, I'd have to prepare myself for suicide... Ah, sorry, forget that. No need to prepare."
All you need is a sense of resignation, he said carelessly.
"Could you die for someone else?"
I can't.
"What about for yourself?"
That too is impossible.
"I thought so. People can't choose death as a payment for something... But I'm different. I can die not for others, not for myself, not for world peace, but without any gain or loss. Like, if I were to catch someone cheating, instead of making excuses, I might just kill myself. Ah, this might be for the sake of others? No, it's escapism, so it's for me? Oh, well."
He continued, "You know, since childhood, there was something scarier than death."
I don't have anything like that. Telling him that, he laughed, "It's funny," and began to explain.
"The idea of living with a part of my body missing. That was what I feared the most. Like having my wrist severed. Or all of my toes cut off... The idea of being maimed and still having to live on, that was the scariest thing of all."
He looked straight into my eyes as he spoke, almost in a monologue.
"The idea of being severed was scary. I think a novel I read as a child traumatized me. It was about a criminal who severed hands, and the description of an infant's hand being severed was so vivid it gave me chills."
Remembering it, he made a bitter face and shook his head.
Before I could say anything, he continued, "So, don't cut off my wrist. I'll curse you." When warned like that, it makes one want to do it.
"You're a mean one, learn from me. I do exactly what the other doesn't ask and escalate it to even greater harassment, and then enjoy listening to their misplaced complaints."
"You really have no limit to your malice."
"Don't praise me, I'll get carried away," he said nonchalantly.
"When I die, I'd prefer to be in someone's arms. But not like this, smothered from the front; somehow that doesn't sit well with me."
You have so many traumas.
"People say traumas are proof of life."
No one says that.
"Have some," he offered.
I don't need your hand-me-downs.
He snorted at my mundane reply, then played with the blood oozing from his wound, stretching it between his fingers like melted chocolate.
Then, looking at me, his expression turned defiant.
"I'll be killed by you here. But that's the end. Your role as a murderer is over."
He was making a prophecy, but it felt as credible as a morning horoscope.
"When they find out I'm dead, a competent detective will identify you as the culprit."
"What are you talking about, a detective?"
"I know someone. Due to personal issues related to grudges, they'll put all their efforts into the investigation and, after finding you, might play with you in some autopsy-like game. They're a sadist, like a god of verbal abuse. Be prepared... Ah, I wanted to live longer."
His expression didn't change, so it was hard to tell if he was serious.
But even if he is, meeting that detective might be interesting. In fact, I'd like to face someone like that. Above all,
The thrill was the first thing.
Then, the fear.
His clear change of intent shook my vision.
Seeing my awkward and ridiculous opening, he launched a counterattack. And just before that,
In an instant, I saw his lips murmur,
"Horribly," he whispered with a twisted grin.
His eyes shone with unbearable ecstasy,
"It's a lie, though."
The terror made my body react at its utmost speed.
Still, I was too slow.
He lunged at my knees, trying to sweep my feet out from under me like in a mass brawl. As I fell, the knife I tried to swing only grazed his head, merely scattering a few strands of his hair.
I cursed my own stupidity and carelessness.
I fell onto a stone carpet, sharp stones seemingly piercing my back, making it hard to breathe.
But there was no time to relax. I tried to force him off, aiming to plunge the knife between his eyes, but he was faster. Pushing his injured left hand forward, he pressed something thin and long onto my right arm, and at that moment, sparks flew. A blinding light danced in my vision.
Then, an intense heat and shock ran through my right hand. In that moment, he, screaming, grabbed my hand, took the knife, and stabbed it into my right arm. It was my turn to scream, but he wouldn't even allow that. In my light-scorched vision, he shoved his hand into my open mouth. Then, presumably pressing the tip of a stun gun into my throat, he activated it. A pain, as if a needle was driven from there to the top of my head, assaulted me. A sudden nausea and loss of strength followed. The nerves in my face went numb, tears and mucus uncontrollable. Seeing that I couldn't resist, he removed his hand from my mouth.
"You must be joking. Only time and heart could kill me. Murderers who can't stop bleeding should stick a piece of meat in the fridge and go to sleep. In the first place, I don't hate being alive. Because we're a stupid couple. And I don't know any female detective, and if my lover found out I was cheating with such a person, I'd have to choose death. Am I a ninja?"