For a long moment, Hikaru remained still, surrounded by the silence of the basement. The metallic tang of blood still lingered in the air, but the rush of adrenaline had subsided. Now, only clarity remained.
He looked around.
The dim basement was exactly as Yamado had left it—except for the blood and the corpse. Hikaru stood up, ascended the creaky stairs, and moved through the house like a ghost. In a guest room, he found his school bag, untouched. From it, he retrieved a pair of gloves.
Returning to the basement, he began to clean.
Every trace had to vanish.
Hikaru had studied for this moment—long before the kidnapping. He had researched forensic science, studied how to eliminate evidence: how to clean up blood, remove strands of hair, wipe down surfaces, and leave nothing behind. No fingerprints. No DNA.
Every inch of the room was scrubbed meticulously.
When he was satisfied, he placed Yamado's mutilated body onto the very chair he himself had been tied to. Then, with calculated precision, he positioned Yamado's severed head in the corpse's own hands.
It was poetic justice.
Yamado had always been careful. He never kept trophies or souvenirs from his victims. No photographs. No documents. No digital records. The police would find nothing that linked Yamado to his crimes—or to Hikaru. The monster had made sure of it.
And now, Hikaru had ensured the same.
He checked every room: the basement, the bathroom, the kitchen, the door handles. Not a single trace of him remained. When night fell and the neighborhood was asleep, Hikaru slipped out silently into the darkness.
Yamado's house stood alone on the outskirts of Tokyo, far from the bustling city. A secluded bungalow surrounded by trees. A perfect place for horrors.
Hikaru walked through the darkness, taking winding paths until he was far from the scene. Then, he took the train back into the city. By the time he reached home, two days had passed.
The moment he opened the door, a voice cried out.
"Big brother!"
Yuki ran to him, her face streaked with dried tears. She clung to his shirt. "Where were you? You didn't come home for two days! You left your phone, too! I was so worried…"
She looked like she hadn't slept.
"I was going to go to the police tomorrow," she said, sniffling.
Hikaru smiled faintly and placed a hand on her head. "You didn't tell Mom and Dad, did you?"
She shook her head. "No… I just said you were probably staying over at a friend's place."
"I was at my girlfriend's house," he said smoothly.
Yuki blinked. "Wait, what?! You have a girlfriend?"
"Had," Hikaru corrected, feigning a sigh. "We broke up. I'm single again."
They talked for a little while longer, Yuki occasionally throwing suspicious glances, but her worry seemed to overpower her curiosity. Eventually, she went to her room and fell asleep quickly.
Hikaru lay in his bed, eyes open in the dark.
The lie about the girlfriend had been necessary. Yuki was sharp—if he'd said he was at a friend's house, she would've demanded to see texts or photos. But claiming he had broken up with someone created a wall she wouldn't try to climb. It was private. Untouchable.
And now, that part was over.
What mattered most had taken place in the basement.
Three years ago, Yamado had ruined his life. While the other six victims trembled in silence, terrified of disobeying the man who had tormented them, Hikaru had chosen a different path.
He wanted revenge. His thirst for revenge exceeded his wanting of friends. That is why he he was completely fine with cutting ties with all his friends and not making any new friends.
He didn't care about justice. He didn't care about saving others. If he had, he could have gone to the police and revealed everything. Lives might have been spared. But Hikaru didn't care.
He wanted to kill Yamado with his own hands.
He did as Yamado instructed—cutting off all ties, isolating himself. He played the role of a broken boy. He waited.
And then came the news.
Victims, all similar. All loners who suddenly formed friendships before being murdered. Hikaru recognized the pattern. He knew Yamado was behind it. And he knew his time was coming.
So he prepared.
He made contact with someone else lurking in the shadows—a phantom known only to the police through rumor and failed attempts to catch him. A master thief. Unseen. Uncaught.
Kaito Kazan.
Through deduction alone, Hikaru identified him. He watched the news, read reports, and pieced together what others could not. When he finally confronted Kazan, the thief was amused. Intrigued. And ultimately, convinced.
They formed a temporary alliance.
Kazan followed Hikaru silently, waiting for the inevitable.
The moment Yamado kidnapped Hikaru, Kazan tracked them to the house.
Hikaru had predicted Yamado wouldn't kill him immediately. The man enjoyed games, slow torment. That night—after Yamado went to sleep following the second round of his twisted game—Kazan slipped into the house. He freed Hikaru. Gave him a knife.
The next day, Hikaru sat in the chair as if nothing had happened.
The final act began.
In return for his assistance, Kazan was allowed to steal everything valuable from Yamado's home. Jewelry, cash, artifacts. Hikaru also paid him a sum of money. Their agreement was simple and absolute: no further contact. No betrayal.
Because if one fell, both would fall.
The plan was perfect.
Almost.
There was only one thing Hikaru hadn't predicted.
The friendships.
He knew from the start that the love letter had been planted. No girl would randomly fall for a boy like him—silent, withdrawn, isolated. It had been a ploy by Yamado to draw him into a group, just as he'd done with other victims. Yamada manipulated a girl of Class 2-C to pass the letter to Hikaru through Ayazawa.
He knew a secret about Ayazawa but that wasn't the main reason why he became friends with them. The main reason was to decieve Yamado.
Hikaru had planned to fake everything—to act like he cared.
But somewhere along the way… he did begin to care.
What began as an act became something real.
He enjoyed their company. He laughed. He trusted.
It wasn't part of the plan, but it had happened.
And now, when he thought of Amagiri, Ayazawa, and the others… he didn't see them as tools or decoys.
He saw them as friends.
It was his only misstep. The only variable he hadn't controlled.
But everything else?
Everything had gone exactly as planned.
He had avenged himself.
Yamado's kidnapping three years ago was the reason why Hikaru became a devil.
Yamado was dead.
The police would believe it was a robbery—or perhaps that Yamado had been the final victim in a chain of killings. No one would suspect the truth. No one would ever connect Hikaru to the basement.
And no one would know that Yamado's final game had been played not with a victim…
…but with the Devil himself.