The End of a Path  

1.

Contrary to expectations, Seika and Ferruccio's collaboration did not end with the complete examination of the members' information. Although the gang's innocence was largely proven, it turned out they were involved in the case at a minor point. The suspicion had been successfully diverted, but the matter did not remain without a shadow. 

Months passed without Seika and Ferruccio exchanging another word. No calls, no meetings—nothing. The silence between them was almost palpable. Seika needed the time to sort out her feelings, to better understand herself. But one question gnawed at her: Was this it? Was the case solved? Would she never see him again? 

Time and again, she felt that stabbing pain in her chest, a pain that felt so different from the scars of her past. It wasn't like the thoughts of her father. This stabbing threw her off balance, made her breath shallow and shaky. Her chest tightened as if the cold from outside had found its way inside. Cold air seemed heavier than before, flowing into her lungs, and every tear that unwillingly flowed from her eyes intensified the feeling. 

Seika lay on her bed, her face half-buried in the blanket. The tears wouldn't stop, her nose was clogged, and every breath felt heavy and labored. It was as if someone had grabbed her heart and squeezed it with cold hands. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, but the cold remained. 

"What is this?" She pressed her palm against her chest as if she could massage away the stabbing and emptiness inside. But it was no use. 

The thoughts in her head were chaotic, barely graspable, but one kept pushing to the forefront: Ferruccio. His dumb expression when he got embarrassed, his voice on the phone that kept challenging her, and that moment in the café when he looked at her as if he had understood something she herself didn't understand. 

"What were you thinking, Ferruccio?" She squeezed her eyes shut as if to banish his presence from her mind. "You threw me off, you idiot. How dare you just show up and... and..." Her voice broke off, and she hugged herself. "I don't even know what you did to me." 

The stabbing grew stronger, and she couldn't help but sob quietly. It was as if she had lost something without ever knowing she had it. But what was it? Why couldn't she let go of these thoughts? 

Wero entered the room without knocking, and Seika hastily turned away, but it was pointless. Her red, swollen nose and tear-streaked eyes betrayed everything. Wero crossed her arms and looked at her intently. 

"Sei, what's wrong with you?" she asked softly. "You look like you've seen a ghost." 

"I... I'm not sick if that's what you're thinking," Seika mumbled, pulling the blanket even tighter around herself. "I'm just cold. And I... I don't know, Wero." Her voice trembled, and again she felt that cold, which didn't come from the outside. 

"Cold? With the fire you've made here?" Wero pointed to the small flame in the corner, flickering but providing no warmth. "That doesn't sound like you." 

"I feel strange. As if... as if something is missing inside me." 

Wero crouched down and placed a hand on Seika's knee. "Are you missing someone?" 

Seika sniffled and shook her head, but then she paused. Her stomach tightened, and suddenly it was as if Wero had looked straight into her. "No! No, I'm not missing anyone!" Her voice was too loud, too hasty. "Certainly not that idiot." 

"Idiot?" Wero raised an eyebrow and grinned. "So it's a guy. Come on, tell me, who is it?" 

"It's nobody!" Seika gasped, but her chest felt as if weighed down by a stone. "I... I never asked him his name. I mean... I asked him once, but I forgot it. It doesn't matter anyway." 

Wero slowly shook her head. "Little Sei, you're a mess, you know that? If he didn't matter to you, why are you sitting here crying like a girl who's lost her first crush?" 

"Because... because..." Seika bit her lip. "It's not like that. He's just... he said things that I can't get out of my head. And I... I hate it!" 

"Oh, sweetie," Wero said, sitting next to her. "You know what I think? You're not fighting him; you're fighting yourself." 

Seika looked at her with red, blurry eyes. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean, maybe it's okay to miss him." Wero tilted her head and smiled gently. "Maybe you're scared because you don't know what it is. But that's okay. You don't have to understand it right away." 

Seika remained silent, but inside her, it boiled. Miss him? She shook her head. No. That couldn't be. And yet... the stabbing in her chest only grew stronger. 

2.

Seika stopped in front of the police station. The cool air of the late evening bit into her cheeks, but she ignored the urge to simply turn around and leave. What if he didn't want to see her at all? Or worse – what if he had already stopped thinking about her?

But before the doubts could overwhelm her completely, she pushed open the heavy glass door.

The station was as busy as expected. Police officers scurried from desk to desk, papers piled up on every free surface, and the ringing of a telephone cut through the noise. Seika paused briefly until she spotted him. Ferruccio was sitting in the back corner, hunched over a mountain of files. His pen clicked rhythmically against the desk as he made notes, focused.

"Hi," Seika said, her voice firmer than she felt.

Ferruccio looked up and took a moment to recognize her. When he did, his eyes widened in surprise. "Seika?" He stood up, almost knocking over his chair. "What are you doing here?"

She walked toward him but kept a certain distance. "I wanted to know how the case is going. Are we finally innocent?"

Ferruccio sank back into his chair and sighed.

"You could have just called me. I would have informed you as soon as I had news."

"Maybe I wanted to be sure." She avoided his gaze, nervous that her words might reveal too much.

A faint smile crossed his face. "Alright. Yes, your gang is officially no longer the focus of the investigation. In the narrowest sense, there was no evidence linking them to the incidents."

"Ah... So you don't need me anymore?" Her voice was firm, but something inside her trembled.

"...You've done everything you could. Without your help, it wouldn't have gone this fast." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "But… there are still loose ends. A former member of your gang might... well, be involved."

Seikas pupils suddenly widened at his words and she felt a chill of discomfort run down her spine.

3.

Seika furrowed her brow. "A former member? Who exactly?"

Ferruccio shrugged, reached for one of the reports on his desk, and flipped through it. "There are indications of someone who left your gang and apparently made their own rules. We don't have a name yet, but the way this person operates fits with the Warriors Women." He looked up. "Do you know anyone who could help us find out more?"

Seika crossed her arms. "The Warriors Women are... complicated. Most of them keep to themselves, and even if I know someone from them, they wouldn't tell me anything."

"I figured as much." He tossed the report back onto the pile. "But I wanted to try. It's not your problem, Seika. You've already done enough."

She shook her head. "If it involves someone from my gang, then it's my problem too. I'm not going to let their name be dragged through the mud."

Ferruccio studied her for a moment. His gaze was soft, but also scrutinizing, as if he were trying to see something beyond her determination. "You're pretty loyal, you know that?"

Seika felt her cheeks flush. She looked away and changed the subject. "What do you know about this... suspect? What's she doing?"

He seemed to notice her sudden shift but said nothing about it. "The person has committed several acts over the past few months that... were pretty brutal. There are reports of a masked woman who eliminates her victims in a cruel way. She leaves barely any traces, but we have indications that she's driven by an old feud between the gangs."

"Masked?" Seika's voice trembled slightly. "What kind of mask?"

"An improvised one. Made from the faces of her victims." Ferruccio spoke quietly, as if afraid the others in the room might overhear the conversation. "It's grotesque."

Seika shuddered. She wanted to look away, but Ferruccio's gaze held her in place. "How can you talk about it so calmly?"

"It's part of the job," he said dryly, before sighing. "But it's never easy. And honestly... I wouldn't be surprised if the Warriors Women know more about it than they're admitting."

Seika clenched her fists. "I'm going to talk to them."

"That's not a good idea." He stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder. "They're dangerous, Seika. And the last thing I want is for something to happen to you."

She looked at him, her eyes sparkling with determination. "I can take care of myself. And if I get answers, it'll be beneficial for both of us."

"Seika—" He stopped, seeing the expression on her face. There was no way to change her mind. He sighed heavily. "..."

"Alright, but promise me you'll let me know before you do anything. I don't want you getting into trouble on your own." 

A small, almost defiant smile crept onto her lips. "You really worry about me, don't you?" 

"Maybe a little," he murmured, turning his gaze away. 

4.

The investigation took Ferruccio and Seika to a disturbing depth that was unprecedented even for him, an experienced policeman. The results of the forensic examinations painted the picture of a perpetrator who acted with meticulous precision – a picture that was as terrifying as it was fascinating.

"The cuts... so clean, almost surgical," murmured one of the pathologists as Ferruccio pored over the reports. "It's as if she had rehearsed every movement beforehand. No hesitation, no mess. Just... methodical."

Ferruccio flipped through the photos that had been reluctantly handed to him. The masks were a central part of the case – macabre replicas of the faces of women who had once been members of the gang, now either dead or missing.

"Are these really masks?" he asked, pushing the photos back toward the pathologist.

"The structure of the skin was carefully treated, almost like it was tanned. There are no tears, no distortions, and the pores remain intact. If we didn't know better, we'd say they were industrially manufactured," the pathologist replied.

Seika sat silently next to Ferruccio. She had refused to look at the pictures and was unusually quiet. When the pathologist paused, she spoke softly: "Why? What drives someone to do something like this?"

Ferruccio set the reports aside. "This isn't an act of rage or desperation. She wanted to leave a message. But... what message?" He looked over at Seika. "The victims – they all had a connection to the gang. Or not?"

Seika nodded barely perceptibly. "Some of them... they had betrayed or deceived us. But that was all in the past. None of us ever wanted revenge." She paused briefly. "At least, I thought we didn't."

The perpetrator was not just a murderer. She was a planner, an artist of terror. The masks, as grotesque as they were, served a purpose. Ferruccio couldn't quite understand yet what that purpose was.

"And the victims?" he asked the pathologist. "What about the missing body parts in the male victims?" 

"Certain... gender-specific parts are missing," the pathologist said cautiously.

"But we don't believe it was random. It seems she used these... relics to further amplify her message. A sick statement, if you ask me."

Ferruccio felt a wave of discomfort. He had seen many brutal cases, but none had shaken him so deeply. Seika suddenly stood up and walked toward the door, stopping but not turning around.

"She scares us all," she said finally. "Not just because she's so cruel, but because she forces us to think about how far people can go."

Ferruccio looked at her. She seemed small and vulnerable in that moment, so different from the confident Seika he had gotten to know. "We'll find her," he said finally. "And we'll figure out what all of this means." 

Seika turned and nodded. "I hope so. Before she causes more harm." 

Ferruccio checked the latest locations where the murderer had been on the police computer, while Seika stood impatiently beside him. "She can't have any more victims," she said quietly, but her voice carried an urgency that made him look up briefly. 

"I agree," he nodded. "We have leads suggesting she might be hiding at one of the abandoned warehouses in the North Zone. It fits her pattern so far—isolated, abandoned places." 

"Then what are we waiting for?" Seika asked. She was already on her way to the door before Ferruccio could push his chair back. 

"Wait, Seika," he called, following her. "We're doing this properly. No solo missions." 

She snorted but stopped. "I don't care how. I just want her stopped."

5.

The North Zone was bleak and abandoned, the air smelled of rust and oil. Ferruccio had requested backup, but they were the first ones on site. The warehouses felt like a ghost town, empty and menacing.

"We go in, but carefully," Ferruccio said, checking his gear. Seika nodded curtly, her hands clenched into fists. They had tracked down the perpetrator through the statements of former members of the Warrior Women and targeted investigations. But the thought of what she had done made Seika's blood boil.

They moved through the dark corridors, each step echoing softly. Then they heard a noise – a faint humming, followed by a little song. Ferruccio signaled for Seika to stop and peeked around the corner.

There she was. The perpetrator was sitting on an old metal crate, a lamp lighting her workspace. In front of her lay something that looked like... leather. But Ferruccio knew it wasn't.

"That's her," he whispered. "Stay here, I..."

Seika pushed past him. "No, this is my business."

Before Ferruccio could stop her, she had already rushed into the room. The woman looked up, surprised but not scared. Instead, she smiled.

"Ah, the little warrior," she said, her voice calm. "Have you come to judge me? All by yourself?"

"I've come to stop you," Seika said. "You're nothing but a monster."

The woman chuckled softly. "A monster? Maybe. But I'm also an artist. And my works are... unforgettable." She gestured to what lay before her – a half-finished mask, clearly with human features.

Ferruccio entered the room, his weapon drawn. "Don't move! Hands up!"

The woman slowly raised her hands, her smile never fading. "So, you came in pairs. How romantic."

Seika glared at her. "Romance has nothing to do with it. You're not getting away again."

The perpetrator was led away in handcuffs, her face showing no remorse. Ferruccio watched as she was shoved into the police car.

"That was too easy," Seika murmured. "Why didn't she resist?"

"Maybe she was waiting, maybe she wanted to be caught," Ferruccio replied. "But that doesn't mean she's harmless."

Later, in the interrogation room, the woman sat quietly as Ferruccio asked the questions. Seika observed the whole thing through the one-way mirror. This time, she kept her distance, but her hands trembled slightly.

6.

Seika stood behind the one-way mirror, her arms crossed. She didn't want to be here, but she had agreed to accompany Ferruccio. He sat in the interrogation room directly across from the perpetrator. Her posture was calm, almost too relaxed for someone who had just been linked to a series of murders.

"You betrayed me," the woman began without any prompting. Her voice was calm, almost monotonous, as if she were recounting something entirely mundane. "The women I swore to protect each other with turned away when it happened to me. The men who hurt me got to go on. No one protected me."

Ferruccio leaned slightly forward. "So you decided to do it yourself. Your own brand of justice?"

"Not justice," she corrected him. "Purification. Every one of them deserved it. Every man was a monster who destroyed women. And those women..." She paused, her eyes fixed on the table in front of her. "They forfeited their protection. Their faces were the tools for the purification. They gave them to me."

Seika felt a chill run through her body. "Their faces?" she whispered, as if trying to comprehend the words.

Ferruccio remained calm. "So the women who betrayed you became part of your revenge? You used their faces to cover your tracks?"

The woman lifted her head and looked Ferruccio directly in the eye. "It's more than that. It's more significant. They carry the filth of their guilt. They looked away when it happened. They didn't protect me. Why shouldn't they be part of the purification?"

Seika pressed her lips together. She wanted to say something, anything, but her words stuck in her throat. What she was hearing was so grotesque that she could hardly grasp that someone could actually think like this.

"And the men?" Ferruccio asked, his voice still calm, though his hands were slightly tense on the table.

"Each one of them deserved it. Rapists. Monsters. I found them, studied them. And then I killed them. They should see the face of someone they destroyed before they die."

"That doesn't justify what you did," Ferruccio replied. "You crossed the line. That was no longer justice."

The woman slowly shook her head. "I never said it was justice. It's punishment."

Seika and Ferruccio stood side by side in front of the room as the woman was led away. Seika had her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes cast downward.

"She justified her actions with pain," Seika murmured, her voice barely audible. "But what she did... it was worse than anything those men could have ever done."

Ferruccio nodded slowly. "Sometimes, vengeance turns into something darker. She crossed the line and became a monster." 

Seika turned her head to him. "Do you think this could have been prevented?" 

"Maybe," he said quietly. "But sometimes... sometimes people are so broken that they can't save themselves anymore." 

Seika was silent, but inside, anger, compassion, and horror fought with each other.