"Beast!"
Just as he got out of bed, Souta Kiryuu was greeted with a scolding from his sister.
"You crushed me with your arm all night."
Souta blinked in confusion. "Ah... Sorry."
As he stood up and started getting dressed, his sister shot back with a dramatic, "You're worse than a beast!"
She slammed the door behind her, leaving Souta baffled. What the hell?
Yesterday had been his first time killing someone, using ninjutsu, pretending to be some mysterious supernatural figure. Even though it hadn't consumed much spiritual energy, he had remained mentally tense throughout. Once home, he passed out cold.
Naturally, that left nothing to happen between them—and that made his sister, Sora Kiryuu, incredibly frustrated.
But just as quickly as her anger came, it vanished.
"Let's go abroad."
She said it casually over breakfast.
"I can apply for a refund of half the semester's tuition, citing family trauma."
"With our parents' compensation, we could afford to smuggle ourselves to America. My English is good enough for daily life."
"Four people went missing. The police will definitely investigate."
She took a bite of toast, analyzing the situation calmly.
"I don't know how you dealt with those guys, but if the cops find even a hint of evidence..."
A ten-year sentence wouldn't be surprising—even with their age taken into consideration.
"Don't worry," Souta raised his hand to interrupt her.
"The police don't have time for a few scumbags."
"Come on, let's get to school."
Souta spoke with confidence.
Yesterday, he had put on quite a performance at the Fangtooth Gang's hideout. If that didn't attract Tokyo's police force, then so be it.
Chikatsuka Town, 2nd District.
Wee-oo, wee-oo, wee-oo~~
Police cars blared their sirens as they stopped in front of the building bearing the sign "Fangtooth Finance." Officers in crisp uniforms guarded the perimeter. Even the street in front of the building was blocked off with yellow tape and put under temporary traffic control.
Pedestrians were instructed to take a detour. Reporters arriving at the scene were kept behind the lines, watching helplessly as more police cars arrived and uniformed and plainclothes officers jumped out one after another.
The sheer number of officers hinted at something truly horrific.
Most people left after being turned away, resuming their normal lives. Only the reporters lingered, desperate for firsthand footage.
Inside the building, officers came out looking pale, some appearing as if they were about to vomit.
Corpses were everywhere.
More than 50 members of the Fangtooth Gang were dead inside their own headquarters.
Their eyes were wide open, mouths agape in terror, expressions frozen in fear. Many had soiled themselves. It was as if they had seen the most terrifying thing imaginable.
Yet none of them had visible wounds. There were no signs of poisoning either. Their bodies were stiff, like frozen meat, indicating intense muscle contractions before death.
Many had weapons in hand: knives, bats, pistols.
Their stances showed they had been fighting something—but now, they were all dead.
"Ugh..."
At the entrance, a rookie officer dry-heaved, his face ghostly pale.
"You alright?"
A veteran cop patted him on the shoulder.
"I'm fine, senpai. I was just thinking—could this be food poisoning or a drug overdose?"
"Maybe. But there are a lot of suspicious details," the older officer muttered, staring back into the building.
The way the bodies were arranged made it seem like they had been retreating while under attack from a large force—ultimately overwhelmed and wiped out.
But the problem was... there was no trace of any intruder. It was as if they had been fighting thin air.
What the hell killed them?
"Huh?"
A sleek, unmarked car drifted to a halt nearby.
Before it even came to a full stop, the door flew open, and a group of men and women jumped out—all dressed in punk-style gear: studded leather jackets, black suits, flashy shirts.
They looked more like gangsters than cops.
"I heard all the trash here is dead?"
The one in front was a brash-looking woman in a biker jacket, her belt slung low, heavy military boots stomping onto the pavement. Her cocky smirk made several officers frown.
"Good riddance!"
"If I hadn't been demoted, I would've wiped out this scum myself."
"Senpai, are they... who I think they are?" the young officer asked quietly.
"Yeah. They're from the Violent Crime Response Division," the veteran replied.
Just from the name, it was obvious what they did.
These were cops who dealt with the worst of the underworld—and they didn't exactly play nice. In fact, their methods often danced on the edge of legality.
"Outta the way. If you're gonna puke, do it outside!"
"You get scared by a few corpses? I've seen worse!"
The plainclothes enforcers of the VCRD stormed into the building. A few minutes later...
"Okay, maybe I haven't seen worse."
The brash woman, wearing gloves, crouched beside a body and frowned.
"No wounds. No poisoning. Did they... scare themselves to death?"
Scared to death?
Her colleagues glanced at one another.
They had all seen horrific deaths. But scared to death?
"Is that your professional opinion, Ichika?"
A stern middle-aged man in a tailored suit, tie, and glasses entered the room. Several officers straightened up immediately.
"Chief Takeya?!"
This was the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Director himself. In Japan's law enforcement, there was no higher position.
"A-Ahaha... What brings you to the front lines, Director?"
Ichika, the cocky woman, forced a nervous laugh. Saying people had been scared to death wasn't exactly something you wanted your boss hearing.
"Come with me."
Surprisingly, Takeya didn't scold her. He waved for her to follow.
"They really were scared to death?!"
Ichika, Deputy Chief of the VCRD's 4th Division, stared at the security footage with disbelief.
They were in the building's security room. Technicians were dismantling the computers for analysis. What had been captured on tape was too bizarre to leave behind.
"What do the others think?" Takeya asked, ignoring Ichika's reaction.
The other division chiefs exchanged glances.
They were equally shocked.
If not for the terrified corpses.
If not for the confirmed unaltered surveillance footage.
If not for...
Well, several of them were now rubbing their temples, wondering if they were hallucinating.
"Why overthink it?" Ichika grinned again.
"There's a survivor, right?"
"Watari Tanimura!"
She pointed at the monitor.
"Bring him in, and we can clear this up."
"You have a lead?"
"Of course."
"Call the forensics team, Director. I think we're about to make a breakthrough."
She licked her lips, eyes gleaming as she stared at the footage of the transformed Tanimura writhing and then getting up like a beast.
She knew this guy well. After all, the only reason Tanimura had survived this long was because she'd been protecting him behind the scenes.
Unfortunately, her recent fallout with superiors had almost cost her everything.
Who knew the punk had such luck?
As the other division chiefs looked on in disdain, Ichika threw a thumb over her shoulder.
"Director, I'll take a team to go get Watari Tanimura."
And she strutted out with a predator's grin on her face.