The night was as dark as ink, soaking the streets of Tokyo. Kaito Kuroba had never felt the journey home so long and arduous. Every breath tugged at the dull pain between his ribs — an injury from earlier when he dodged magic and slammed into the wall. The abrasion on his cheek burned, and the spot on his calf scorched by magic throbbed with sharp pain. Most critical was the gunshot wound on his arm; though he had tightly bound it with torn cloth strips, blood continued to seep out, staining the fabric dark red.
He practically dragged his body, relying on his instinctive familiarity with the alleys and counter-surveillance skills against his pursuers, stumbling back to the Kuroba Residence located in Ekoda.
It was a quaint Western-style Mansion, hidden among the dense trees of its courtyard, usually tranquil and secluded. Now, in Kaito's eyes, it seemed like the only possible harbor in the storm — though this thought itself, after everything that had happened at the Mansion, felt so laughable and unrealistic.
He staggered and pushed open the unlocked iron gate of the courtyard. The rusted hinges let out a faint 'creak,' particularly piercing in the silent night. Kaito's heart clenched, and he instinctively looked back the way he came — the dim street was empty, only streetlights casting pale halos of light.
Could it be... he shook them off?
The moment this thought arose, he ruthlessly crushed it himself. Impossible. Someone like Kanjuro, and his subordinates Akako and Aoko... they couldn't give up so easily. This was merely the false calm before the storm.
Kaito gritted his teeth and pushed open the main door of the Mansion with his uninjured left hand. Warm light spilled from the crack, accompanied by a surprised and concerned elderly cry:
"Young Master Kaito? What on earth... Good heavens!"
An old man with neatly groomed white hair and wearing a butler's uniform — Terui Kizo, the old butler of the Kuroba family and also the former assistant of Kuroba Toichi — hurried forward from the entranceway. When he saw Kaito's blood-stained, disheveled state, his wrinkled face was instantly etched with shock and heartache.
"Young Master! What happened? You're injured! I'll call a doctor immediately—" Terui anxiously moved forward to support Kaito.
"No... Grandpa Terui... Don't..." Kaito shook his head weakly, his body involuntarily leaning against the old butler's sturdy arm. At this moment, returning to a familiar environment and seeing someone close to him, his tightly wound nerves relaxed slightly, followed by an even stronger wave of dizziness and exhaustion. "Can't call a doctor... Can't let anyone know I'm back... There are... people chasing me..."
"Chasing you?" Terui's expression turned even more grave. He quickly helped Kaito sit on a chair by the entrance, expertly checking his injuries. A sharp gleam flashed in his eyes — no longer the gentle old butler, but the assistant who once aided the Phantom Thief under the cover of night. "Who is it? The police? Or... someone else?"
Kaito opened his mouth, his throat painfully dry. How could he explain? Say that the one chasing him was his childhood friend Aoko, who had now shot at him? And a mysterious girl who could use magic? And that the mastermind was a demon who controlled dark forces and viewed women as collectibles?
These words sounded absurd and insane even to him.
"They are... very dangerous people," Kaito finally managed to rasp out, gripping Terui's arm. "Grandpa Terui, listen to me. Leave this place immediately. Go somewhere safe, don't worry about me. They... they're after me."
"Young Master!" Terui frowned, his tone resolute. "How could I possibly abandon you? This is your home, and it is also my responsibility. No matter who comes, this old man will never let them harm you!"
The old man's loyalty warmed Kaito's heart, but it was overwhelmed by anxiety and fear. He knew the terror of Kanjuro, the eeriness of Akako's magic, and the coldness of the gun in Aoko's hand. Grandpa Terui was just an ordinary person; staying here would only... "No, you must go!" Kaito struggled to stand up but was gently held back by Terui.
"Young Master, don't move just yet. Your wound is still bleeding. I'll fetch the first aid kit, at least to treat it simply." Terui turned to head inside, his steps still steady, as if the potential danger approaching from outside did not exist.
At this very moment—
"Click."
A soft sound, not from the door, but from... the ceiling? Or the wall?
Immediately after, all the lights in the Mansion went out simultaneously.
It wasn't the abrupt darkness of a tripped circuit breaker, but rather as if an invisible force slowly drained away the light, the illumination dimming thread by thread until it was completely devoured by profound darkness. Only the pale moonlight from outside the window faintly outlined the blurry shapes of the furniture.
Kaito's heart skipped a beat. Icy despair crawled up his spine.
They were here.
Terui's footsteps halted. He swiftly turned and positioned himself protectively in front of Kaito. His aged body tensed in the darkness, like a guard dog ready to spring. "Young Master, get behind me," he whispered, his hand already moving toward his waist — where he habitually kept a classic, well-maintained baton for self-defense.
The darkness in the entranceway was thick and impenetrable. Then, a faint point of light abruptly appeared.
It wasn't lamplight, but a dim, dark red glow that seemed to pulse with its own rhythm, like a faint light seeping from a crack in hell. The glow illuminated three figures who, at some unknown moment, were already standing quietly at the boundary between the entrance hall and the living room, as if they had been there from the beginning.
In the center was Kanjuro, still dressed in his well-tailored dark clothes. His face was half-lit, half-shadowed in the eerie red light, a faint, bone-chilling smile perpetually playing on his lips. He didn't even have a rumpled hem, as if he hadn't come chasing, but was merely paying a casual nighttime visit.
To his left, Koizumi Akako stood silently. Her violet-red hair floated slightly in an intangible magical field, her crimson eyes burning like ghost fire in the darkness, coldly observing Kaito and Terui. In her palm, a vortex of dark red magical light slowly rotated, the source of the strange red glow.
To his right, Nakamori Aoko held her gun, her finger resting steadily on the trigger guard. The muzzle was pointed downward naturally, but its angle covered any potential path of evasion for Kaito. Most of her face was hidden in shadow, only her eyes reflecting that red light — hollow, cold, like polished obsidian.
How did they get in? There was no sound of broken doors or windows, and the alarm system hadn't reacted at all. It was as if the darkness itself had made way for them, space folding to their will.
"Good evening, Kaito Kuroba," Kanjuro spoke first, his voice as gentle as ever, yet unnervingly clear and terrifying in the deathly silent, dark Mansion. "The game of hide-and-seek should end now. You shouldn't have come home... This only drags unrelated people into matters they shouldn't be involved in."
His gaze swept over Terui Kizo, who shielded Kaito, as if looking at an insignificant piece of furniture.
Though inwardly shocked by their ghostly appearance and the supernatural red light, Terui's instinct to protect his master overwhelmed everything. He firmly shielded Kaito behind him, facing Kanjuro without a trace of fear, his voice low and steady: "Who are you? What do you want, trespassing into a private residence? Leave immediately, or I will call the police!"
"Call the police?" Kanjuro let out a soft chuckle, as if hearing a funny joke. He didn't even look at Terui, his gaze still fixed on Kaito's pale face. "It seems your old servant doesn't understand the situation."
His tone suddenly turned cold. Though his voice remained quiet, it carried a soul-freezing chill: "Step aside. Or, stay here with your young master."
"Impossible!" Terui growled, tightening his grip on the baton, his body sinking slightly into a fighting stance. He might be old, but his experience and courage had never faded. "As long as I'm here, no one will lay a finger on Young Master Kaito!"
Kaito, behind Terui, struggled to stand, to push the old man away, to yell at him to run. But blood loss and continuous flight had drained too much of his strength. A wave of intense dizziness washed over him; he could barely stand steady. He could only rasp anxiously, "Grandpa Terui... Go! Don't worry about me! They're not ordinary people! You can't fight them! Go!"
Kanjuro's patience seemed exhausted. He tilted his head slightly, looking at Aoko beside him, and issued a flat command, as if saying 'take out the trash': "Aoko."
Upon hearing this, Nakamori Aoko showed no hesitation, not even a flicker of emotion. She steadily raised her gun-holding right hand, her movements standard and mechanical. The dark muzzle of the gun aimed at the old butler, Terui Kizo, who stood protectively in front of Kaito, glaring defiantly.
Time, at that moment, seemed to stretch infinitely.
Kaito saw Aoko's finger on the trigger begin to tighten.
He saw the outline of Grandpa Terui's white hair in the dim red light.
He saw the almost pleasurable, detached expression on Kanjuro's face, as if savoring the choices and suffering of others.
He saw the utterly unperturbed, blood-red coldness in Akako's eyes.
"NO—!! Aoko! Stop!! Grandpa Terui! Dodge!!" Kaito roared with all his might, his voice cracking.
Terui also saw the gun muzzle, saw Aoko's icy face. For a split second, a look of extreme shock and confusion flashed in the old man's cloudy eyes — he seemed to recognize the girl holding the gun, recognized who she was. But loyalty and the determination to protect overwhelmed everything. He didn't even attempt to dodge; instead, he shielded Kaito even more firmly, as if trying to build a final barrier with his aged body.
Then—
"BANG!"
The gunshot exploded thunderously in the confined space of the Mansion's entrance, more deafening than in the open outside, echoing with a grating reverberation.
The muzzle flash briefly illuminated Aoko's expressionless face, Terui's suddenly widened eyes, Kaito's instantly twisted expression filled with despair and disbelief, and the deepening, cruel curve of Kanjuro's lips.
The bullet accurately embedded itself in Terui Kizo's chest, just slightly left of his heart. The immense impact sent the old man's frail body jerking backward, crashing into Kaito.
Time began to flow again.
Terui's baton clattered to the floor. He staggered a step, looked down as if to see the rapidly darkening stain blossoming on his chest. Then, he lifted his head, took one last look at the wide-eyed, frantic Kaito behind him. His lips moved slightly, as if trying to say something, but only a mouthful of blood welled up.
"Gra... Grandpa... Terui..." Kaito's voice trembled uncontrollably. He stretched out his uninjured hand, trying to catch the old man's slowly collapsing body.
Terui Kizo ultimately couldn't utter any words. His eyes, always gentle and wise, now frozen with shock and unspoken worry, rapidly lost all their light before Kaito's eyes. His heavy body, carrying a weight Kaito couldn't bear, pressed him down as they both fell onto the cold floor.
Blood — warm, sticky blood — gushed from beneath the old man, spreading rapidly, soaking Kaito's clothes, staining the antique wooden floorboards. The strong, metallic scent instantly filled Kaito's nostrils, poured into his lungs, seared his soul.
Kaito knelt in the pool of blood, blankly holding the old man's body, still warm and soft but utterly lifeless. The world buzzed, faded, and twisted in his ears. Grandpa Terui's final glance, the unspoken words, the rapidly cooling body temperature... and Aoko's cold, merciless profile as she fired the gun... All the sounds, all the images, all the sensations converged into a pain so sharp it could tear the soul apart, and... a hatred icy to the bone.
Slowly, extremely slowly, he raised his head, looking past Grandpa Terui's gradually stiffening shoulder toward the three figures at the doorway.
His gaze first fell on Aoko. She still held the gun, a wisp of smoke seemingly still curling from the muzzle. Her eyes were still as hollow as ever, as if she hadn't just killed an old man who watched her grow up, but merely flipped a switch.
Then, his gaze shifted to Kanjuro.
Kanjuro was also looking at him. Those deep eyes held no ripple of emotion after the killing, only a pure, almost scientific interest as if observing experimental results, and a trace of... satisfaction at having achieved his goal.
"Now," Kanjuro's voice rang out again, breaking the deathly silence, unbearably calm, "the nuisance has been cleared away."
He took a step forward, entering the room, stepping onto the floor, the edge of his shoe inevitably touching a bit of the spreading bloodstain. He looked down at Kaito kneeling in the blood, holding the old man's corpse, trembling all over, as if looking down at prey that had fallen into a trap, utterly devoid of strength to struggle.
"Game over, Kaito Kuroba," Kanjuro declared, his voice carrying a tone of finality. "Will you come over yourself, or... shall my lovely daughters 'invite' you again?"
Kaito didn't answer. He just stared, stared fixedly at Kanjuro, at Aoko, at Akako. Tears mixed with the blood on his face, but in his eyes now burned not despair or fear, but a hatred so intense it was nearly tangible, a flame as black as night.
That flame was so fierce, so pure, it seemed it would consume even him.
Home was no longer a sanctuary.
Kin had already raised guns against each other.
The last guardian had fallen in a pool of blood.
Kaito Kuroba stood at the edge of the darkest abyss of his life, with no path of retreat left behind him.
And the demon who had pushed him into this abyss was smiling, waiting for his final choice—to surrender in humiliation, or to make one last, perhaps final, suicidal charge in the flames of hatred.
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