Hikaru had been right all along. He had unraveled Yamado's twisted plan down to its very core.
Three years ago, Yamado had handpicked seven ordinary people from various age groups across Tokyo. He kidnapped them one by one, subjecting each to unspeakable torture—not for money or revenge, but purely for his own amusement. He was a man of manipulation, a master of psychological warfare. With terrifying precision, he had conditioned those seven victims into believing that forging new friendships would condemn them to even worse horrors than they had already endured.
For three long years, the seven lived in isolation, severing ties with everyone they knew, crippled by fear. And then—Yamado returned.
This time, however, he played a far crueler game: he orchestrated events that would lead these victims to once again form bonds. Hikaru, one of the seven, had pieced it all together.
"I met Ayazawa because a girl from another class gave her a love letter to pass on to me," Hikaru explained, voice steady. "You were watching us the whole time. You studied Ayazawa's personality and knew she'd be the kind of person who would end up talking to me. Through her, I met the others. You set this all up, didn't you?"
Yamado smirked, clearly impressed. "Hahaha… I never thought you'd figure all that out. But then again, you did get a perfect score, didn't you? I saw your test paper in your bag. I was shocked, too. I guess you're smarter and more perceptive than I gave you credit for. But it doesn't matter now. You can't change anything."
"What will you do after killing me?" Hikaru asked. "I'm the last victim, right?"
Yamado's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with manic joy. "Exactly. I saved you for last. Once I'm done with you, I'll finally be satisfied. Then I'll kill myself. That's always been the plan—torture people for years, give them false hope, tear it all down again, and finish it with one final act: my own death. It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"You… You're a monster," Hikaru whispered.
Yet he remained calm—calmer than he'd been the day before. He knew no help was coming. There was no escape but through Yamado himself.
"Now," Yamado continued cheerfully, "let's play Russian Roulette. But not the classic version, that would be far too dull. No, I've made some changes."
He pulled out a revolver from his bag. "The bullets are fake. I don't want an easy death. If you lose, I'll cut out your tongue and sever every one of your fingers. If I lose… I'll set myself on fire and let you go. That's how I always wanted to die anyway. Isn't it poetic?"
Yamado held up the gun. "It's a six-chamber revolver. But there are five fake bullets inside—only one safe chamber. I'll fire once, and then again. You get to choose who goes first."
He pointed the revolver at Hikaru's forehead, his smile sinister and twisted.
Hikaru thought carefully. If he shoots himself first, there's a five-in-six chance he'll die… but I'm sure he's hiding something. He wouldn't leave this to chance.
"Can I shoot instead of you?" Hikaru asked.
Yamado grinned. "No. But I'll make it fair."
He opened the chamber, revealing the bullets, then spun it before locking it in place. There was no way he could tell where the blank was now—or so it seemed.
Still, Hikaru hesitated. Something was off.
"Shoot yourself first," he finally said.
Yamado raised the revolver to his temple, his smile never fading. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Hikaru replied.
With a gleam in his eye, Yamado pulled the trigger.
Click.
It was a blank.
Hikaru's heart dropped. How?
Yamado chuckled darkly. "It's simple—gravity. You're a nerd, aren't you? You should've figured it out."
Then it hit him. The fake bullets were heavy. When Yamado spun the cylinder and let it stop naturally, the weight caused all the loaded chambers to fall downward. The single blank chamber—the lightest—remained aligned with the barrel.
He had rigged the odds after all.
"You should've had me shoot you first," Yamado sneered. "Too late now."
With that, he picked up a knife and walked toward Hikaru, tied to the chair. "Let's begin… with the little finger on your left hand."
But this was exactly the moment Hikaru had been waiting for.
As Yamado stepped close, he dropped his guard. In an instant, Hikaru raised his leg and landed a brutal kick between Yamado's legs. The man screamed in agony and collapsed.
From his pocket, Hikaru pulled a hidden knife.
He stood above the now-terrified Yamado, eyes gleaming with fury. Without a word, he sliced off one of Yamado's fingers, then drove the blade into his stomach.
"You fucking loser," Hikaru growled. "You think I didn't see through your half-assed strategies?"
"What the fuck…!" Yamado gasped, not from the pain—but from what he saw in Hikaru's face.
It wasn't the face of a victim.
It was the face of something far worse.
A monster.
No—a devil.
"I lost all three games on purpose, you idiot," Hikaru whispered, voice venomous. "And you fell for it."
The color drained from Yamado's face. His perfect plan, unraveling before him.
Hikaru didn't stop. He hacked away without hesitation, slicing off each finger, one by one. Then he stabbed Yamado again—and again. Blood poured out across the floor. His hand didn't tremble. His eyes never blinked.
"You're a monster…" Yamado wheezed.
"No," Hikaru replied with a terrifying grin. "You're a monster. I… am the Devil."
Yamado wanted answers. He wanted to know how Hikaru could turn the tables like this. But Hikaru didn't offer any.
He simply stabbed him again.
And again.
Over fifty times.
By the end, Yamado was long dead. But Hikaru kept going.
Once it was done, he returned to the chair he had once been tied to. His body was drenched in blood. He sat with a calm, almost regal air. One leg crossed over the other.
In his left hand, he held Yamado's decapitated head by the hair.
And he smiled—no longer a victim, no longer human.
He was the Devil himself.