Late into the night, the lights in the police station were still on.
Detective Makoto Watanabe frowned as he stared at a map and photos of Akira spread out on the desk, his mind replaying the latest surveillance reports. Several plainclothes officers assigned to monitor Kawashima Akira were standing before him, reporting their findings with a tense atmosphere hanging in the room.
"Detective Watanabe, we've been following your orders. We've kept a 24/7 watch on Kawashima Megumi's movements," one officer reported. "She hasn't done anything suspicious. Every day, she just goes to and from school, and once home, she barely steps outside. Last night, she only visited a restaurant—looks like she works there regularly—and returned home on time. Nothing unusual at all."
Watanabe rubbed his eyes, as if trying to fight off exhaustion. His voice was tired. "You're sure? Not a single unusual move?"
"Yes, sir," another officer nodded. "We've been tailing her closely. She's behaving totally normal. Maybe she really isn't the killer, or maybe… she's stopped for now."
Although Watanabe had once considered abandoning surveillance, he'd ultimately decided to resume it. Even if Akira noticed, it would at least make her cautious—and might reveal something in her behavior.
He scoffed coldly, his sharp eyes sweeping over his team. "You're all underestimating her. Kawashima Megumi is no ordinary student. Her composure and counter-surveillance skills are far beyond what you'd expect."
A young officer looked puzzled. "You think she's pretending to be innocent? But if she's that cautious, why not just stop killing altogether?"
Watanabe was silent for a moment before replying in a low voice, "Because she has a purpose. This isn't impulsive violence—she has a plan. She knows we're watching, yet still dares to act. She's provoking us, testing how far she can go."
The room fell into a heavy silence. Watanabe's words sent a chill down their spines.
"Intensify the surveillance," Watanabe finally ordered. "But don't let her notice you. The more flawless she acts, the more suspicious it is."
Meanwhile, Akira was walking home alone.
Night wrapped around him like a shroud. His steps appeared casual, but each one was carefully calculated. He knew he was being watched—no matter how well-disguised they were, his keen instincts picked up every move. The unfamiliar face lingering near the train station, the same black sedan that kept "coincidentally" showing up, even the "customers" loitering in the corners of convenience stores.
"Watanabe's men, huh… Didn't expect anything less," Akira smirked coldly. "But if they think this can stop me, they're too naive."
He mentally mapped every surveillance blind spot. He knew the patrol routes, where cameras turned, where shadows fell. These precautions wouldn't stop him—they only made the game more thrilling.
To divert suspicion, the best move… is to make a murder happen while under surveillance. Her eyes glinted with chilling resolve.
Akira left the restaurant and slipped into the darkness, choosing a side street rarely frequented by others. Cameras were sparse here. Her steps were slow, relaxed—deliberately misleading.
He stopped at a remote corner, pretending to adjust her sleeve, but really scanning the surroundings. In the black car parked ahead, two plainclothes officers were pretending to be pedestrians. Akira smiled. He slowed, as if hesitating at the alley's entrance. Just as the car prepared to follow, she darted into the alley's bend.
The officers reacted fast—but when they turned the corner, Akira had vanished.
"Shit! Where the hell did she go?" one cursed.
"Fan out! Don't let her escape!" the other barked into a walkie-talkie.
But it was too late. Akira had long memorized every blind spot and had already slipped through a hidden passageway into an abandoned warehouse. Smooth and unhurried, she moved like a ghost.
His target that night was Riko, a classmate who often hung around with Misaki Suzuki. Riko stumbled out of a bar, drunk and oblivious to danger. He staggered through the dim streets, never noticing the predator hidden in the shadows.
Akira silently drew his dagger, slowed his breath, then struck. He dragged Riko into the warehouse and drove the blade into her throat. The knife severed her windpipe and arteries, snuffing out any scream.
In the flickering light, the dagger gleamed. Riko writhed on the floor as the alcohol shock wore off. Akira leaned close, blade tracing along her skin, warm breath chilling her cheek.
Slowly, deliberately, he made shallow cuts on her neck, watching the blood drip. His eyes lit up as if admiring art. When Riko tried to fight back, he snapped her wrists and sliced her tendons. She collapsed, begging on her knees.
"Don't move," Akira said coldly. Each cut was precise, never fatal—only painful. Blood pooled at her feet. He dragged the blade across her arms, through nerves and muscle. Her body twisted, choked sobs leaking from her ruined throat.
He stabbed her abdomen, slowly twisting, relishing the sensation of tearing through her insides. Riko convulsed violently. Her face turned purple, tears mixing with blood and sweat. Her widened eyes gleamed with unbearable terror.
Finally, Akira plunged the blade into her heart. Her body jerked—then went still.
He stood in the spreading blood, coldly admiring his work.
Back at the station, the alarm was raised.
"She's struck again," Watanabe said through gritted teeth.
A young officer handed him a new report: "We found a body near her last known location—one of her classmates."
"She did it in a blind spot. No footage. No trace. This Kawashima Megumi is insane!" the tech officer said with frustration.
Watanabe slammed the desk. Rage and helplessness filled his eyes.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. "Expand surveillance. Prepare for an arrest. We can't let this drag on. Every minute we wait, another innocent life could be lost."
He stared at the map. Red marks littered the board—each one a murder scene. They seemed to mock him.
This was no longer just a case.
It was war.
The restaurant buzzed with the clamor of lunchtime crowds.
A thick scent of oil, soy sauce, and fried food filled the air. Though small and unassuming, the place was clean and organized. The handwritten menu on the wall gave it a warm, homey feel. Customers hunched over their bowls, the sounds of chewing and spatulas clashing creating the restaurant's unique rhythm.
Detective Makoto Watanabe stepped inside, scanning the room until his gaze landed on Takumi—the restaurant owner—busy in the kitchen. Dressed in a worn apron stained with oil, Takumi was focused on the sizzling pan in front of him.
Watanabe walked to the counter and tapped it lightly.
Takumi looked up, puzzled for a second, then noticed Watanabe. A flash of confusion passed over his face.
"Hello. I'm Makoto Watanabe, with the police," he said calmly, flashing his badge. "I'd like to ask you a few things about Kawashima Megumi."
At the mention of the name, Takumi froze for a moment. Then he put down his spatula and stepped out of the kitchen, motioning for Watanabe to sit.
He seemed nervous, wiping his hands on his apron as he sat across from the detective.
"Officer, I only know a girl named Kawashima Akira… never heard of Kawashima Megumi," he said, a bit uncertain.
Watanabe raised an eyebrow, pulled a photo from his wallet, and slid it across the table. "This girl—your Kawashima Akira—does she look like this?"
Takumi glanced at the photo, then nodded quickly. "Yes, that's her. No mistake about it. But she told me her name was Kawashima Aki. Officer, is something wrong?"
Watanabe leaned in slightly. "No need to worry. This is just a routine investigation. We heard Kawashima Akira—also known as Kawashima Megumi—works here, so I came to understand her background."
Takumi visibly relaxed a little and nodded. "Akira's a good kid. Works hard. Never slacks off. I've always been impressed."
Watanabe smiled gently. "Can you tell me more about her? What's her personality like? How does she interact with others?"
Takumi thought for a moment. "She doesn't talk much—quiet, introverted. But she's serious about her work. Customers like her too. She's polite, considerate. Never caused trouble. If anything, when I'm overwhelmed, she even goes out of her way to help."
Watanabe casually glanced around the restaurant, as if absorbing the atmosphere. "Sounds like she's reliable. But outside of work, has she ever acted strangely? Anything that stood out?"
Takumi hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "Not really. She's always been normal… I guess if I had to say something, she's a bit… isolated. Keeps to herself. Officer, is something going on?"
Watanabe didn't answer directly. "What about her routine? Does she go home late? Act unusually on any occasions?"
Takumi pondered this. "She always goes home on time. Brings schoolbooks sometimes—reads when things are slow. Never saw anything strange."
A pause. Then Watanabe leaned forward, voice a little softer. "So, she really is a diligent, responsible girl. But you say she's always used the name Kawashima Akira. Ever thought there was something odd about that?"
Takumi blinked. "No, sir. I only learned just now that her real name is Kawashima Megumi."
Watanabe narrowed his eyes slightly, watching Takumi's face. "Do you think she might be hiding something? Maybe a past… or something she doesn't want others to know?"
Takumi's expression turned conflicted. He shook his head slowly, as if recalling something difficult, but in the end he answered firmly: "No. I don't believe Akira is hiding anything dark. Maybe the name has some special meaning to her, but… she's a good person. I truly believe that."
Watanabe smiled faintly, then said in a probing tone, "Maybe you just don't know her that well. People can be hard to read. To be honest… she's a suspect in a string of murders."
Takumi's face shifted slightly. He looked shaken but not disbelieving. "Impossible! I trust Akira. She's not the kind to do something like that. She's always been kind—thoughtful. Even when I'm drunk, she sits with me, listens to my rants. She's quiet, but you can tell she's warm inside."
Watanabe leaned in, intrigued. "Oh? Could you tell me more about that?"
Takumi nodded, eyes distant with memory. "I get this bad habit—when I'm upset, I drink too much. One time, I got totally wasted. I thought she'd be annoyed, but she stayed with me. Quietly listened. Told me to drink less. I passed out, and when I woke up, I was at home. Everything was clean. She'd even taken off my shoes and lined them up neatly. She doesn't talk much… but she's got a good heart."
Watanabe studied Takumi's face, looking for any cracks in the sincerity—but saw only genuine affection and conviction.
Despite his attempts to probe, he found no new leads. Takumi's trust in "Akira" was real, and unwavering. No matter how many angles Watanabe tried, he got nothing.
And for the first time… he began to wonder.
Was I wrong about her after all?