The final message pulsed on the screen, a chilling, definitive statement. Part of the performance. The thought lodged itself in my mind like a shard of ice. I wasn't just an observer anymore. I was drawn in, a puppet on invisible strings. And the game, whatever twisted nightmare this was, had just begun.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I typed, a desperate, half-assed bluff. "I'm not interested in this bullshit nonsense."
A low chuckle, amplified through the mic, filled my headphones.
[Oh ho ho, you surely know what I'm talking about, Kyouya.]
I heard a soft thud from their end, like a heavy book or a stack of documents being set down.
[Kyouya Kanzaki.]
My name. Just my name. No need to worry about it.
[Twenty years old, not yet married. Renowned as the brightest talent at such a young age. He was sixteen when recruited by the police institution and forced to speedrun his studies through an acceleration program for special case students.]
"No, stop," I muttered, my fingers flying to the keyboard. Don't you dare—
[During his first duty as a junior detective, he already caused trouble by almost killing his partner. Receiving detention. Then he returned, was accused of a crime again despite brilliantly deducing the case while fighting against a group of bankers. His first murder was a woman who happened to be... guess what? Hahaha! Yes, her aunt.]
"No, you fucking idiot! Stop right there!" The words ripped from my throat, raw and uncontrolled. It was the first time I'd ever cussed at a stranger online, especially one who seemed to hold my entire life in their hands.
[Oh my... VelvetVice! Didn't you enjoy that despair when you're losing your mind?]
"No, not at all," I shot back, my voice trembling with suppressed fury. "So, is that all? Either kill yourself or I'm gonna kill you right away."
The silence that followed my outburst was heavier than any spoken threat. I could feel the weight of unseen eyes dissecting me, savoring my unraveling. The "VelvetVice" moniker, the intimate knowledge of my past—it was a calculated assault, designed to break me piece by agonizing piece.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
The silence that followed Kyouya's outburst was heavier than any threat. He could feel the weight of unseen eyes on him, dissecting him, enjoying his unraveling. The "VelvetVice" moniker, the intimate knowledge of his past – it was a calculated assault.
Then, the calm, unnervingly polite voice returned.
[Such language, Kyouya. We're merely having a conversation. A very important one. And as for your options... 'kill yourself' or 'I'm gonna kill you right away' – those are rather blunt, wouldn't you agree? Let's rephrase.]
Another sound, clearer this time: a distinct, metallic click. The safety of a gun being disengaged.
[Option A: You do exactly as I say, without question, without hesitation, starting now. Option B: Your name, your past, every dark secret you thought you buried, gets broadcast to the entire world. And then, Kyouya Kanzaki, you die. Slowly. Publicly. Your choice.]
A file opened on his screen without his input. It was a live feed from a camera. A dimly lit room. A figure, bound and gagged, slumped in a chair. The figure stirred, its eyes widening in terror as it focused on the lens. Kyouya's blood ran cold. He knew that face.
[Tick-tock, detective. The game's truly begun.]
The demand hung in the air, a cruel ultimatum. Kill himself? Or be killed? The sheer audacity of it, the cold, detached voice on the other end, it ignited a spark of something beyond fear in Kyouya – a simmering rage. They wanted him to break. They wanted him to despair.
[You think this is funny?]
Kyouya snarled, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white.
[You think you can just waltz in here and dictate my life? You don't know me.]
The voice chuckled again, a low, unsettling sound.
[Oh, but I do, Kyouya. Better than you know yourself. Every shattered ideal, every ghost you carry. The shame of that case, the one that ended your career before it even began. Your own aunt, Kyouya. The woman who raised you. Such a tragic twist, wouldn't you say? Almost poetic. I know it all. And that, my dear detective, is why you're perfect for what comes next.]"
The mention of his aunt, the casual, almost gleeful way they spoke of it, sent a fresh wave of nausea through him. He'd been cleared, yes, freed from duty with the official stamp of "self-defense" and "unavoidable circumstances," but the stain remained. The knowledge that he'd taken a life, especially hers, had been a constant companion, a silent judge in the back of his mind. And now, these… these people were using it, weaponizing his deepest pain.
[Don't you fucking dare to say anything about her.]
All of a sudden, a new message flashed on the screen, overlaying the chilling text. This one was different. A series of seemingly random numbers and letters: 7312025-JSK-0602.
[The choice is simple, Kyouya. Embrace your destiny, or be consumed by it. There's a package. It's already been delivered to your address. The code for the lock is on your screen. Open it. Your first instruction is inside. Failure to comply... well, you know the drill. You don't want to lose anyone anymore, right?]
A new message flashed on the screen, overlaying the chilling text. This one was different. A series of seemingly random numbers and letters. A code? Or just more taunting?
He stared at the screen, his mind racing.
A package? At my address?
This wasn't just a threat anymore. It was an invasion.
They were inside his life, had been for god knows how long.
The numbers, 7312025... today's date, July 31, 2035.
JSK? 0602? His time.
He had to react. He had to find a way out of this, even if it meant playing their twisted game, just for a little while.
The chilling realization hit him:
He wasn't just an observer anymore. He was the next piece on their board.