As the three entered Seth's room, Rael's eyes scanned the space—walls filled with art, posters of bands and graffiti-style prints, skateboards propped in the corner. It was chaotic, yet it felt alive.
"You skateboard? And you draw too?" Rael asked, genuinely curious.
"Yeah," Seth replied casually, flopping down on the floor. "I do it when I've got free time."
They all sat cross-legged, a sense of calm before the storm settling over them. Ethan opened a thick folder and laid it between them. Inside were photographs—gruesome, haunting. Dead bodies. Sixteen of them.
"All male victims," Ethan explained grimly. "Bodies were found intact. No wounds. No poison. Not even a scratch."
Rael leaned closer, frowning.
"The autopsy reports show something... strange," Ethan continued. "Not a single drop of blood left in any of them. Completely drained. But there's no trace of how."
He flipped another page. "No other abnormalities. Just... empty of blood."
"As the body count rose, the case was handed over to the Harbringers," Ethan added. "It's now classified as Black Level."
Rael's eyes narrowed. "The remnant must've had a past... something that made it hate men."
"It's a woman," Seth spoke up, her tone flat but sharp.
Ethan nodded slowly. "Then this just became an entirely different kind of mission. The last remnant we faced wasn't full-fledged. It didn't carry this much hatred... or this much intent to kill."
Rael clenched his jaw. "So it's going to be harder."
"Yeah," Ethan replied. "This one's dangerous."
"So what's the plan?" Rael asked.
Ethan sighed, leaning back. "No plan. We go there and fight until it's dead."
"YEAHH!" Seth whooped, already fired up.
Rael blinked, stunned. Didn't we come here to talk strategy...? He looked at his two friends—both too eager, too ready—and let out a long sigh.
Then he smiled.
As Ethan muttered, "We go tomorrow morning. It says here a car will drive us there," he flicked his phone screen off.
"We'll wait upstairs," Seth added. "Hopefully it's not that old man again. I hate his face. And his light green car."
"Ugh, yeah," Ethan groaned, recalling the deafening cackle of the previous driver. "I still hear his laugh in my nightmares."
Rael shrugged. "He seemed nice though."
Both Ethan and Seth turned to Rael with expressions of betrayal and disgust.
Seth leaned forward. "He calls us kids. He painted his car light green. Huge red flag."
Ethan added, "And don't forget—he laughed and said, 'Hope you kids survive that surprise black-level mission!' with a straight face."
"Okay, okay," Rael raised both hands in surrender. "Yeah, I get it now."
They split off to their own rooms. And just like that, morning came.
Rael woke up groggily, pulling on an oversized black shirt and slipping his orange H-bracelet onto his wrist. He added some baggy brown pants and slung a light satchel over his shoulder.
Outside, Seth stood waiting under the cloudy sky, bomber jacket zipped up, a pair of red H-headphones around her neck pulsing faint beats.
Ethan arrived next, casually cool with messy white hair, a long dark blue polo, black pants, and black H-shaped earrings. His hands were in his pockets like he didn't even sleep—he probably didn't.
"Aight… letzz goo," Ethan said with a crooked smile.
The trio whispered the word "Kurorei," and with a shimmer, they surfaced to the top of the building. Stepping out from the underground and into the quiet of the city's abandoned edge, their eyes fell on the arriving vehicle.
A light-orange car.
Seth squinted. "Is that… light orange?"
Ethan sighed. "Another weird old man, I feel it."
They got closer—and their jaws dropped.
Inside sat a man who looked over 80. His back was hunched, and he gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He could barely sit straight, almost melted into the car seat.
Seth leaned toward the window. "Hey, old man. Can you even drive?"
The man's head slowly turned. Then, with terrifying speed and energy, he snapped, "WHO DO YOU THINK I AM, BRAT? OF COURSE I CAN DRIVE—I HAVE TWO HANDS!"
His voice echoed through the dead walls of the abandoned district.
"…Yup," Ethan whispered. "Another weird old man."
The trio silently climbed into the back seat.
Ethan barely shut the door when—VROOM!—the car blasted forward, throwing all three of them against the seats like missiles.
"WHAT THE—!" Rael screamed as the car weaved through traffic like a possessed bullet.
Seth gripped the side handles, eyes wide as the speed blurred the world outside. "He's driving like a madman!"
She peered forward and saw the old man's hands—blurring as he turned the wheel, shifted gears, flicked switches. Too fast. Too precise. Almost inhuman.
"…Okay," Seth muttered. "I hate the car's color but damn. He drives cool."
Ethan, unbothered, opened his phone. "Normal driver? Thirty minutes. This guy?" He glanced at the speed. "Twelve. Maybe ten."
Rael looked like he was about to throw up. "That's not cool! That's illegal!"
They swerved so hard to the right, their bodies tilted. A left turn flung them the opposite way. They barely avoided scraping a truck.
And then—slam!—the brakes hit hard.
They jerked forward, seatbelts digging into their chests. If they weren't buckled, they'd be roadkill in the sky.
The doors popped open.
The old man turned his head one last time. "Hope you kids don't DIE!"
The car screeched away, smoke trailing behind.
Silence.
"…I kind of respect him now," Rael mumbled.
Ethan and Seth didn't say anything. They were too busy still trying to process what just happened.