"Don't bother looking. I made everyone ignore us." Tatsuki released his grip and dusted off his hands. "Good—no stains."
"Gaaah!" Vensuke collapsed, clutching his mangled right hand.
"Huh?" For a moment Shizuka Hiratsuka was completely stunned.
When Tatsuki glanced back at her, she saw eyes unlike his usual—stars flickering in their depths.
"Sigh." Taller by a head, Tatsuki set both hands on her shoulders and spoke with solemn weight. "Shizuka-sensei, stop going on blind dates. It's dangerous."
"What exactly is going on?"
She didn't understand, but she forced herself to calm down. She trusted this student of hers.
Tatsuki pointed at Vensuke. "He's not just a creep. He's a monster."
"A creep? A… monster?"
Shizuka's confusion only deepened. A creep she could understand. But monster?
Tatsuki's voice went cold. "Hey. Take me to your basement."
"Yes."
Vensuke's attitude flipped in an instant. It was as if the pain in his hand no longer existed. He stood and headed into the restaurant.
Tatsuki glanced at Shizuka; his earlier chill shifted to a gentler tone. "Shizuka-sensei, you can go home—or wait here."
Then he followed Vensuke inside.
"…"
Still lost in a fog, Shizuka rubbed her temple… and went after them. He was her student; she had to see this through.
Vensuke unlocked a heavy metal door deeper inside the restaurant, revealing a narrow stairway plunging into darkness.
"Ah!"
"Hee-hee!"
"Uuu—!"
Strange noises drifted up from below—howls, giggles, sobbing.
Shizuka's face drained. Nothing about this was normal. They were human voices—female voices.
Her common sense screamed to call the police. But Tatsuki was already heading down.
"Tch…"
She bit her lip, phone at the ready, and descended after them.
They passed through the pitch-black slope of steps toward a pale light flickering at the end. One last step, and—Shizuka froze where she stood. Her mind went blank.
I am Shizuka Hiratsuka.
Tonight was supposed to be another meaningless blind date.
Vensuke—my parents said he was a decent guy with his own restaurant.
When I saw him, I felt nothing—worse than nothing, a vague revulsion. Maybe I just hate the part of myself still searching for "the real thing."
I was about to go through the motions—sit down, order, eat—and then he appeared, my student, Tatsuki, crushing Vensuke's hand the moment he arrived.
I'd always known the kid was strong, but this…
He said things that baffled me: creep, monster, something about making people ignore us.
Then he had Vensuke lead him inside.
I followed. We found the basement door. I heard the voices. Every instinct screamed that this was bad.
And when I finally stepped inside—horror hit like a wave.
My heart hammered, ready to burst from my chest. My breath hitched and scraped in my throat.
The stench. Blood and rot.
Tables lined the room. Naked corpses lay splayed upon them.
Not just naked—their flesh was gouged away in pitted, uneven wounds.
Some bellies had been opened, organs spilling red and wet down to the floor.
Limbs severed. A skull cleaved to show the white within.
Eyes and ears torn free, mired in milky slurry, the sight so foul I nearly vomited.
Hooks hung from the ceiling—steel hooks.
Some only stained with old blood. Others… pierced through women's backs, their bodies dangling, limp and nude.
Around the walls—women with hair matted and wild, shackled by chains to smeared, bloody concrete.
Some laughed like lunatics. Some clutched their heads and sobbed.
Some saw us and screamed.
Blood pooled like tidewater beneath my shoes. My legs shook so hard I could barely stand. The room reeled, the world thinned.
My hands were ice. Sweat slid from my brow, dampening my cheeks.
My senses failed me.
Smell—only gore and stench.
Taste—only bile.
Hearing—only wails and shrieks.
Sight—Sight was a prison of red and ruin; torn limbs and gaping wounds etched into my brain.
I couldn't breathe. Something invisible clutched my throat.
I wanted to run—but my body might as well have been bolted to the floor.
Despair swallowed me whole.
And in that despair, I imagined being one of them—helpless, brutalized.
Grief and fury flooded my chest.
"You devil… are you a devil?!"
I don't know where the courage came from. I lunged with a shaking body and drove my fist into Vensuke's gut.
His eyes bulged; filth spewed from his mouth as his body shot backward, slammed the wall, and slid to the ground.
"…?"
Even Tatsuki started in surprise. Not because the punch was extraordinary, but because of who threw it—Shizuka Hiratsuka, an ordinary woman.
He was sure of it: she was just a normal human. Yet that single blow sent a grown man flying several meters.
That was how furious she was—Shizuka's Iron Fist, delivered exactly where it belonged.
He'd seen too many fanfics where her "iron fist" was used as a thoughtless gag on students. This—this was the real Shizuka.
He loved that punch.
And yet, for all her sudden strength—enough, perhaps, to kill a human—he was not human.
Vensuke pushed himself up, eyes dark with hate, and glared at Shizuka.
"Ah—!"
He threw his head back and roared.
At once, the chained women curled in on themselves, trembling.
Vensuke changed.
His irises bled into inhuman red.
Rip—
The fabric on his back split as a pair of tumor-like, fleshy wings unfolded.
"—!"
Shizuka's rage iced into horror. A man had become… a monster.
She snapped her gaze to Tatsuki. He had said it—Vensuke was a monster.
"Don't worry about him attacking. He's under my control."
Tatsuki's calm steadied her. Vensuke had transformed—and discovered he still couldn't move a muscle.
"What… is he?"
Tatsuki stepped closer, examining the red eyes and grotesque wings. "He isn't human. He's a ghoul."
Truth be told, he hadn't expected this. When he first saw the man, he'd sensed crushing sin clinging to him. A nudge at the man's memories confirmed it.
A ghoul.
Another new wrinkle in the world—one he despised.
"Ghoul…?" Shizuka echoed.
Tatsuki didn't answer. His gaze swept over the shivering women.
A rare anger stirred in him.
Vensuke wasn't merely a ghoul.
He was a perverse beast.
He preferred women—like Doma, in a way.
But worse, he savored the despair of those tortured to the brink before he fed.
Every corpse here had endured unspeakable cruelty.
Skin flayed, bones pried, horrors repeated without end.
The Wings of Sin unfurled behind Tatsuki.
They were stronger now—after he had converted eight Witches into Apostles of Sin, inheriting aspects of their power.
He could feel it: if he absorbed more sin and faith from other worlds, the Chaos Wings would ascend yet again.
With this new strength, Wrath could rewrite the very course of judgment.
Reduced to ash in an instant? Too merciful.
With Wrath, he could stretch the verdict across time—force the condemned to relive their crimes from the victim's view, an unending loop of retribution where neither body, soul, nor mind could die, not until Tatsuki permitted them the release of oblivion.
Black judgment mist seeped into Vensuke's form.
"AAAH—NO—NO—NO!"
Vensuke's screams turned warped and inhuman as the torment began.
He was forced to endure every atrocity he had inflicted—again and again and again—a Diavolo's purgatory, forever "nearly" reaching death, never touching it.
The black wings faded.
Gold flared.
Radiant feathers blossomed in the air—Wings of Salvation.
Bathed in that light, the imprisoned women's bodies mended swiftly.
It wasn't just healing.
It was redemption.
"Go," Tatsuki whispered.
Before his eyes—where only he could see—countless women, faces tear-streaked, bowed in gratitude.
Victims who had died here, their grudges pooled into this room, now finally released.
"…"
Shizuka stared at him, dazed—the silhouette of a god etched in gold.
…
They left that hellish restaurant.
Tatsuki brought her to the big bridge over the river, letting the wind off the water cool her down.
When she could finally breathe, Shizuka couldn't hold back the question. "Those women… what will happen to them?"
Hands on the railing, eyes closed to the rushing wind, Tatsuki answered, "They'll forget. And return to their lives."
It was all he could do.
Shizuka squeezed a fist and sighed. "To forget… maybe that's the best ending."
"Shizuka-sensei, I can erase your memory, too—if you want."
He left the choice to her.
"…"
She stood in the cold night breeze, unsure what to say.
Red dress rippling, hair streaming, eyes lost—there was a tragic beauty to the moment.
But the images wouldn't leave her.
Every time she remembered that room of blood, her head swam, her lungs locked.
Head bowed, she didn't answer him. Instead she asked, "Vensuke… he… what is a ghoul?"
Tatsuki turned, leaned back on the railing, and spoke evenly. "Ghouls—twisted demi-humans or creatures that can almost only eat… people."
"Only eat h-humans…" Her voice wavered. "Are there… many of these monsters?"
"I don't know." He paused. "You know my 'Paranormal Research Club,' right?"
She nodded. "Mm."
"Paranormal things are like cicadas. When it isn't their season, they're buried, almost impossible to find. But when their time comes, they all crawl out at once."
"This world isn't limited to ghouls. There's more that hasn't surfaced yet."
Because what never manifests—unknowns, anomalies, indeterminacies—can't be observed. Ghouls are the same.
That's what makes an apocalypse so eerily unpredictable.
...
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