13

"Come out, stop hiding." After a long pause, Akira slowly spoke, his voice devoid of any emotional fluctuation.

In an instant, the lights in the villa suddenly brightened, the glaring light stinging Suzuki Misaki's eyes, causing her to involuntarily gasp and hurriedly shut them. When she adjusted to the light, a thin man slowly walked out from behind the sofa. With every step, he stepped on the scattered corpses, blood splattering onto his leather shoes, yet it did nothing to diminish the playful smile on his face. His features were unexpectedly exquisite, like a meticulously crafted artifact, especially his slender eyes, which held an oddly captivating gleam. At this moment, those eyes were fixed intently on Akira, as if he had found his prey. Seeing the hellish scene before her, Suzuki Misaki's vision blurred, and she fainted.

"I didn't expect the nationwide serial killer to be a female student," he said frivolously, his voice tinged with unmistakable excitement as he approached Akira, as if he had been plotting this for a long time.

Akira frowned slightly; his calm face showed no signs of emotional fluctuation. His fingers twitched slightly at his side but quickly returned to stillness. "Who are you?" he coldly asked, his gaze sweeping over the man, while his hand discreetly moved behind his back, lightly resting on the dagger at his waist.

Hearing Akira's question, the man's eyes sparkled with increasing fervor, and a strange smile crept onto his lips. He did not answer directly but raised his hand, extending his index finger to casually point at the corpses sprawled throughout the villa. "Don't you find these bodies quite beautiful?" he asked softly, as if discussing a work of art. Then, stepping closer, a hint of madness glimmered in his gaze, "Or do you find them… familiar?"

Akira's pupils contracted slightly, instantly understanding.

The man's methods were indeed strikingly similar to his own, almost reaching a 90% resemblance. He imitated him so precisely that even the rhythm of the killings and the angles of the cuts were identical, as if he had been lurking in the darkness for a long time, waiting for the opportunity to replicate these techniques one by one. This person wasn't merely mimicking; he was challenging Akira, completing a bloody "performance" in his own way.

"You're imitating me," Akira said coldly, his voice low and piercing, tinged with disdain.

The man did not deny it; instead, he smiled even more brightly. "Imitating? No, it's more than imitation. You are my inspiration, my mentor, my target." The fervor in his eyes intensified. "Can you understand this feeling? Finding someone worth following and then surpassing her, breaking all the rules, creating true perfection." His tone was filled with fanaticism, as if Akira were the only faith he possessed.

Akira's brows furrowed slightly, his gaze growing colder, as if dismissive of a debate with him. He disliked the feeling of being targeted and even more, someone imitating his methods. To him, killing was a cold, silent rebellion, while the man before him seemed to treat it as a game.

"What exactly do you want?" Akira's voice was low and calm, with no emotional tremor.

The man halted, the excitement in his eyes unabated, and a playful smile returned to his lips. "You ask what I want? Shouldn't you first ask yourself what you want? I've investigated the people you've killed before; they were all scoundrels. Your goal seems to be to eliminate all injustice in this world, right? And I, Hinata Haru, naturally want to follow you, become your assistant, and fight alongside you." His tone dripped with a pathological fervor, as if Akira's existence had become the faith and support in his life.

After hearing this, Akira scoffed lightly, a flicker of disdain flashing in his eyes. "You're overthinking it. I don't have such noble ideals. I kill these people simply because I find them unpleasant."

The man raised an eyebrow and laughed contemptuously. His gaze then turned to Suzuki Misaki, lying on the ground, his voice laced with provocation. "Oh? Then why did you save her from that male classmate just now? As far as I know, she isn't a good person, or rather, she's far worse than those you've killed before. Moreover, her attitude towards you is equally terrible, isn't it?" The man's tone held a hint of speculation, as if anticipating a change in Akira.

Akira coldly shot him a glance, a slight smile curving his lips, carrying a hint of chill as he replied casually, "I'll take this person's life myself, and it must be me who does it. I won't let her die so easily."

The man paused, his smile freezing for a moment, but it quickly returned to that fervent expression. "Ah, so you want to torment her yourself until she can neither live nor die, right?" he said, his tone carrying a kind of almost perverse delight, as if everything was unfolding as he had hoped. "I'm quite looking forward to it; I wonder how you'll conclude her life."

Akira merely gazed at him indifferently, remaining silent.

"I'm suddenly curious about what deep-seated hatred exists between you two that makes you want to kill her." The man propped his chin on his hand, glancing at Suzuki Misaki and then back at Akira. "With your character, always seeking vengeance and possessing such high intelligence, how could a typical airhead like her have offended you?"

"Not something you should ask, so don't." A hint of malice flickered in Akira's eyes as he crouched down, scrutinizing Suzuki Misaki closely. He had no fondness for the man claiming to be his fan; this person's appearance had disrupted his plans. Akira pondered whether to kill him right away or keep him around for now.

Just then, the door was suddenly kicked open. Akira's body instinctively tensed, and he swiftly drew his dagger, his gaze sharp, ready to deliver a fatal blow the moment the newcomer stepped in. However, as the footsteps drew closer, the figure appearing at the door was none other than Sato Satoru.

Akira's expression shifted from caution to disdain; the dagger remained tightly in his grip, his fingers slightly tightening, as if ready to stab at any moment. The moment Sato Satoru stepped into the villa, his gaze swept over the corpses scattered across the floor, but there was no surprise or fear on his face. Instead, a complex emotion surfaced in his eyes—an emotion laced with deep sorrow. His breathing grew heavier, his gaze locking onto Akira as he slowly spoke, "It's really you, Megumi."

Akira sheathed the dagger, a cold smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he regarded Sato Satoru with interest, as if the scene before him had suddenly become somewhat entertaining. He didn't respond immediately, as if observing every subtle reaction from Sato Satoru.

Sato Satoru continued to stare at Akira, his expression marked by unspoken anguish, yet lacking reproach, as if he had long anticipated this moment. He stepped closer, his tone heavy, "Even if I witnessed you kill someone with my own eyes, I still couldn't believe it was you. Only now do I realize that you've ultimately walked this path."

Hinata Haru, who had been silent until now, couldn't help but laugh. "Idol, I didn't expect you to have such a devoted fan. Looks like he cares for you quite deeply."

Akira ignored Hinata Haru, letting out a cold laugh. "You followed me? I guess I wasn't careful enough to let you see all this. So why are you here today? To stop me? Or to avenge these people?" His mocking tone carried a hint of indifference, as if Sato's arrival held no significance for him.

A flicker of helplessness crossed Sato Satoru's face as he took a deep breath, speaking calmly. "I'm not here to stop you, Megumi. I know you're not like them. I just… don't want you to sink too deep. I know you have your reasons, but killing will never fill the void inside you."

Akira's gaze sharpened, his cold eyes piercing into Sato, his voice low and laced with danger. "Do you think I would kill you?"

Sato Satoru didn't retreat; instead, he stepped forward, his tone still calm but filled with determination. "You can kill me, but that won't change my resolve to help you."

The atmosphere between them suddenly grew tense, Akira's dagger trembling slightly, his fingertips dancing on the hilt as if ready to strike a deadly blow at any moment. Meanwhile, Sato Satoru continued to approach, his eyes filled with unwavering determination.

"Sato Satoru, you're truly hypocritical," Akira coldly remarked, his tone as frigid as a blade.

Sato Satoru was taken aback, then let out a wry smile.

"Forget it, think what you want; it's no concern of mine. But you have to believe there's more than hate in this world—there's love too. Megumi, I really love you. I don't know how we ended up here."

A gust of cold wind swept through, and Akira swiftly seized Sato's throat, pressing him firmly against the wall. His usually calm eyes were now filled with rage. "You say you like me? You say you like me, yet you go out with those who bully me? You say you like me, but you watch others pour water on my bed without saying a word. You claim to like me, yet you don't even know if the mole at the corner of my eye is on the left or the right."

As Akira spoke, his agitation grew, the anger in his eyes surging uncontrollably. Sato, listening to his words, displayed a mix of confusion and a hint of pain.

"Megumi... the mole at the corner of your eye has always been on the right. I've... always known."

Akira suddenly threw him to the ground, grabbed his collar, and pulled him close, sneering, "Look closely! Is it on the left or the right?"

Sato widened his eyes, seemingly not understanding why Akira said this, but he complied and carefully examined his face again.

"Megumi, stop joking. It really is on the right." He reiterated his answer.

Akira didn't take it seriously, thinking he was just being stubborn. He pulled out a dagger, ready to end Sato's life. Meanwhile, Hinata, who had been watching the scene, suddenly moved closer and began scrutinizing Akira's face.

Hinata casually smiled, as if watching an amusing performance. He teased, "What a debate over the position of a mole. Idol, you really can't find a reason and just want to make an excuse to kill? But honestly, you don't need an excuse; if you want to kill, just do it. You don't need to care what others say." His tone dripped with disdain and mockery, but his eyes held a glimmer of provocation and curiosity.

Upon hearing this, Akira froze in place. He touched the corner of his right eye and then, in a frenzy, dashed into the bathroom, staring intensely at his reflection in the mirror.

A mole was clearly visible at the corner of his right eye.

Akira's heart felt as if it were gripped tightly by an invisible hand, a suffocating pressure enveloping his chest. He stood frozen in the bathroom, his gaze fixed on his reflection, the conspicuous mole beneath his right eye mocking him, revealing an undeniable truth.

"This can't be..." he murmured softly, his voice nearly breaking. His fingers trembled as they reached for the mole at the corner of his right eye, the cold, tangible sensation felt real, its existence impossible to ignore. He rubbed and scrubbed at it over and over, as if he could erase it with enough force. But no matter how hard he struggled, that little black dot remained firmly rooted in his skin, like a chain locking away his sanity.

"Sis..." Akira's throat felt as if it were clogged with sand, his words coming out hoarse and fragmented. He desperately recalled snippets from his childhood—his sister's mole was on the right corner of her eye, while his was on the left. He remembered it all so clearly; why now did he and she seem to overlap in the mirror?

He collapsed to the ground, covering his face with his hands, his body trembling uncontrollably. This disordered perception sent him plummeting into an abyss, unable to distinguish what was real from what was illusion. Countless memories intertwined in his mind: his sister's smile, the meals she cooked, her gentle touch on his hand...

In that moment, Akira's world completely shattered, his thoughts surging like an uncontrollable tide. He incessantly questioned himself, frantically searching for answers, but everything seemed to slip from his grasp. That mole had become the key to uncovering the truth, perhaps also his most terrifying secret.

"What is happening... Sis... what is happening...?"