Seeing the round-bellied man, Uche thought he had made a mistake. Maybe he had lost his target and followed the wrong person into the restroom. But remembering that he had seen a young man in a black suit enter the restroom, he was sure he hadn't made a mistake.
He had a feeling the man was pulling tricks on him. Who knew—maybe he had the power to shapeshift and morph into any appearance he wished? What else could have made him invincible all these years the cops had been after him? What else could have kept his identity a mystery if not the power to change his appearance?
But Uche didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to believe something like that could exist—not only would it make it impossible for him to retrieve his eye, but it would also mean the bastard could operate freely without ever being caught, just like in the years before his long hiatus.
He didn't want to believe it, and that was why he didn't attack the man outright or accuse him of being the culprit. Instead, he decided to apologize and explain the situation.
That was until the man assumed Uche had gone crazy and rushed out to fetch the cops. Uche wanted to run after him, but at that very moment, he saw what he had been looking for.
A pair of polished brown shoes and a black suit.
"Snowflake, is it? Or Corpse Art Killer—what should I call you?"
Uche smirked. The only mistake he had made was approaching the wrong door.
---
Inside the restroom, the strange man stood still, staring blankly into the air, unmoving since the commotion outside began. He had heard screaming and shouting. At first, he thought it was one of his victim's relatives moaning, but he hadn't realized this man had followed him all the way from the fiftieth floor.
'Who is this?'
Kante thought.
'He knew about me. He knew I am Snowflake. He saw me when I killed her. But how?'
He was confused—truly confused. He had always been careful. He was sure nobody had been on the rooftop with him, and no one had been stalking him. So how did that idiot find out?
'Judging by the man's character and how stupid he seemed, if he had been there on the rooftop with me, he wouldn't have let me kill her. He would have attacked me on the spot—unless he's afraid of death himself. But I don't think this idiot is afraid of death.'
'But how?'
Kante couldn't shake off the feeling of wariness.
"You know, Snowflake,"
Uche's cracked and stressed voice echoed through the restroom lobby,
"I don't mind you killing people here and there. After all, they're your kind—you can kill them as you like. But my eye… return my eye, and let me live peacefully."
Kante instinctively touched his own eye in confusion.
'Return his eye? What does that mean?'
---
Uche continued banging on the door, screaming and shouting in frustration, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.
"Aren't you going to come out? Or should I call the cops?"
And just at that moment, the restroom lobby door swung open, and several men rushed in—each dressed in black, pistols in hand, all pointed at Uche.
"Yes, he's the one,"
The round-bellied man declared.
"I don't know if he's gone crazy or if he's the killer, but you should arrest him."
Uche turned toward the door and saw the same annoying round-bellied man had returned—this time with seven cops.
Before he could say anything, they surrounded him, handcuffing and roughing him up in an instant.
"No, wait! I saw him!"
"I'm not the killer!"
"He has brown shoes and a black suit!"
"Please, hear me out!"
But Uche was not allowed to speak as he was forcefully dragged out.
---
Kante let out a sigh of relief as the annoying pest was finally taken away.
"So, he knew about me—but he didn't know my identity. Interesting.
"Well, I've done well all these years protecting my identity. It wouldn't be nice to get caught just like that.
"But it makes me wonder—how did he find out? How did he know about me? He called me Snowflake, and the Corpse Art Killer. How troublesome."
He thought about it for a while as he adjusted his clothes. He couldn't just let it slide—something felt wrong. For someone to know about him…
Then he remembered the man's words about his eye.
"Could it be related to the surgery? Were his eyes transplanted into me during that surgery? And somehow, he can see through them? This is… worrying."
Something clicked in his head as he adjusted the glasses perched on his nose.
"The song… that song by Lonely Guitar Man. My left eye always reacts whenever it plays. And that bitch just happened to use it as her ringtone. Damn!"