The smell of gunpowder from the cold muzzle had not yet dissipated, mingling with the sickeningly thick stench of blood on the floor, weighing heavily on every one of Kaito Kuroba's senses. Terui Kizo's cooling body pressed against his leg, and the warm flow of blood was becoming viscous, losing its temperature. Kaito knelt in the pool of blood, as if he were sinking into the bottom of a cold pond along with the old man's life; only the heart in his chest, repeatedly scorched by hatred and agonizing pain, was still beating unwillingly and frantically.
Kanjuro's words, announcing the end, struck his eardrums like an ice pick.
Aoko's hollow voice followed immediately, like a pre-set program, without a ripple of emotion: "Surrender. Father might be merciful."
Koizumi Akako did not speak. A faint trace of dark red magic swirled imperceptibly around her fingertips as her gaze fell upon Kaito. There was no longer the old confrontation in her eyes, nor the pity of a fellow "victim"—only a bottomless gloom and obedience.
"Surrender?" Kaito's voice was as hoarse as sandpaper rubbing together. He slowly lifted his face, stained with blood and tears, his gaze locked onto Kanjuro. Those blue eyes that always sparkled with cunning and starlight were now burning with a near-destructive, mad flame. "To monsters like you... surrender?!"
He suddenly wrenched himself, a final burst of strength erupting from somewhere as his body rolled to the side. Simultaneously, his right hand swept across his waist—not for a gun, as there were no bullets left. His fingertips gripped three specially-made metal poker cards with razor-sharp edges, and his wrist flicked with a fluid and eerie motion characteristic of Kaitou Kid!
"Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!"
The three poker cards were not aimed at Kanjuro. Instead, they flew in a triangular formation toward the emergency light buttons and the fragile joints of the window frames in different directions of the hall! Kaito's goal was not to injure anyone, but to create chaos, destroy the light source, and find even the slightest, most remote chance of escape or resistance!
The poker cards sliced through the air with a sharp whistle. This sudden and ingenious move showcased the quick-wittedness of a Magician that he hadn't completely lost even in a desperate situation.
However, in the face of absolute power and control, such techniques appeared pale and laughable.
Kanjuro didn't even move his feet.
He simply lifted an eyelid.
Those three rapidly flying metal poker cards, while still several feet away from their targets, seemed to hit an invisible and resilient wall. They abruptly froze in mid-air, emitting a slight hum, and then clattered to the floor as if all their kinetic energy had been drained away.
In the next second, Kaito's vision blurred, and an irresistible force suddenly seized his neck! Kanjuro's figure appeared before him like a ghost, his fingers tightening like iron pincers as he lifted Kaito's entire body off the ground!
A sense of suffocation instantly overwhelmed Kaito, his vision darkening from lack of oxygen. He struggled in vain, using his uninjured hand to pry at Kanjuro's fingers and his feet to kick, but every movement against Kanjuro was like an ant trying to shake a giant tree.
"Played enough tricks?" Kanjuro's voice was close at hand, cold and devoid of any warmth. He admired Kaito's face, twisted in pain from suffocation, as if he were appreciating a dynamic painting of a struggle.
Then, he swung his arm violently!
"Bang—!!!"
Kaito's body was like a kite with a broken string, slammed hard onto the solid marble floor! The massive impact made his internal organs feel as if they had shifted out of place. The crisp sound of ribs snapping was clearly audible. Blood sprayed wildly from his mouth and nose, splashing onto the cold floor next to Grandpa Terui's undried blood, merging into a single pool.
"Argh—!!!" The indescribable agony caused Kaito to let out a shrill, inhuman scream. His body curled into a ball, convulsing uncontrollably.
But this was only the beginning.
Kanjuro stepped forward, his polished leather shoes stepping on the edge of the blood pool. Then, he raised his foot and stomped down hard on Kaito's injured arm!
"Crack!"
The sound of bones shattering was sickening. Kaito's scream cut off abruptly, turning into a more broken, rattling sound squeezed from deep within his throat. His eyeballs bulged from the extreme pain.
"Will you surrender?" Kanjuro looked down at him, his tone still flat, as if he had merely crushed an insignificant toy.
Kaito's vision was already blurred by blood and tears. The intense pain surged through his nerves like a tide, nearly swallowing him whole. He opened his mouth, blood foam constantly welling out, but deep within those blue eyes that were nearly unfocused from the torture, the flicker of hatred and defiance struggled on, stubbornly refusing to be extinguished.
"...No... sur... render..." Every word seemed squeezed out of his shattered lungs, accompanied by the sound of bloody froth.
Kanjuro raised an eyebrow, a deeper sense of interest—or rather, a pleasure in appreciating cruel beauty—flickering in his eyes. He moved his foot away, but as Kaito tried to curl up his other intact leg, he stomped down hard again, crushing the ankle.
"Ah—!!!" Kaito's body arched like a shrimp, then slumped down powerlessly, leaving only instinctive twitching and broken groans.
"Actually," Kanjuro's voice sounded leisurely as he crouched down, coming face-to-face with Kaito. He could even see his own demonic face, wearing a gentle smile, reflected in Kaito's pupils. "Whether you surrender or not really makes no difference to me. Your life, your will—in my eyes, they are as light as dust."
He reached out, touched a bit of blood on Kaito's cheek with his fingertip, and rubbed it gently.
"I'm just... a little curious." His tone carried the inquisitiveness of a researcher. "I want to see if a little bug like you, who seems to always have some ridiculous persistence, will show a bit of... a pleading expression when all your hope is crushed and all your bones are broken."
He leaned close to Kaito's ear, whispering like a lover yet saying the most cruel words: "I want to hear you cry, hear you beg, hear you promise everything like a dog just to gain a moment's respite."
Kaito's breathing was faint, each inhalation bringing blood foam and sharp pain. His unfocused gaze struggled to center on Kanjuro's face. The agony had nearly destroyed all his ability to think, but something at his core, like tempered steel, became clearer and harder in the midst of the extreme suffering.
"...In your... dreams..." He used the last of his strength to spit out those three words.
Kanjuro stared at him for a few seconds, then let out a low, delighted laugh.
"Excellent. Truly excellent." He stood up and brushed off non-existent dust from his hands. "Kaito Kuroba, I must admit, your stiff-necked courage, though foolish, has made me... admire you a little bit."
His gaze swept over the curled-up, dying Kaito, then over Aoko and Akako, who stood quietly by the door like two exquisite dolls, and finally landed on a dusty, half-person-high celadon ornamental jar in the corner of the hall. The jar had smooth lines and a deep glaze; it was originally an object of elegance.
"Since you refuse to beg and refuse to die quickly..." Kanjuro paced over, his fingertips brushing against the cold body of the jar, his voice taking on the focus of an artist examining materials. "Then let's find another way for you to 'live' on. After all, it would be a pity to simply destroy a toy with such 'resilience'."
He turned to Akako and instructed, "Akako, go to my study. Bring the bottle of 'Eternal Slumber' from the hidden compartment on the far right of the third shelf. Aoko, find some sturdy, clean rope and gauze."
His orders were concise and clear. Koizumi Akako nodded slightly, her figure silently vanishing into the shadows toward the stairs. Nakamori Aoko put down the gun she had been holding and turned toward other rooms in the Mansion, her steps steady as if she were merely going to fetch an ordinary item.
Kaito lay on the cold floor, listening to Kanjuro's words. A chill deeper than death, like countless cold vipers, surged through his spine and throughout his body. He wanted to move, to escape, but his body was like a dismantled rag doll; aside from the intense pain and uncontrollable spasms, it no longer obeyed any commands. Only his consciousness, in the abyss of despair, remained exceptionally clear, perceiving everything.
Soon, Akako returned, holding a sealed crystal bottle that emitted a faint blue-black glow. The liquid inside was viscous, flowing slowly as if it were alive. Aoko also returned, carrying rope and medical gauze.
Kanjuro took the crystal bottle and opened the seal. A strange scent, a mixture of herbs and a sweet, cloying decay, permeated the air. He walked to Kaito's side and crouched down. With a motion that could almost be called gentle, he brought the mouth of the bottle close to Kaito's mouth, which was wide open in agony.
"Drink it. This will make the upcoming 'journey' a little less painful." Kanjuro's voice carried a bizarrely soothing tone. "Don't worry, it's not poison. It's just to make you... sleep a little longer, and make your senses a little duller."
Kaito clamped his mouth shut, resisting with his last remaining shred of will. But Kanjuro simply pinched his jaw with two fingers and applied a slight amount of force, causing the bone to emit an overburdened sound. Kaito was forced to open his mouth, and the viscous ice-blue liquid was poured in. It slid down his throat with a nauseating sweetness and numbness, rapidly spreading to his four limbs and hundred bones.
The world began to spin and blur. The intense pain did indeed strangely recede, replaced by a heavy drowsiness and a sense of detachment, as if his soul were being dragged out of its shell. Kaito's eyelids grew heavier and heavier. In his field of vision, Kanjuro's face, Aoko's figure, Akako's red hair, and Grandpa Terui's blood... all distorted into blurred patches of color.
·· 0 Flowers 0 --- But he could still hear sounds and feel touch.
He felt his wrists being gripped by cold, powerful hands. Then, something hard pressed against the joints, followed by a crisp, hair-raising cracking sound—his wrists were snapped backward, completely ruined. Then came the other hand, the ankles... his already shattered ankles were subjected to force once more, crushed into powder.
Under the influence of the drug, his consciousness became dull and the pain felt distant. However, the realization that his limbs had been completely stripped of control and reduced to pure dead weight was clearly branded into the depths of his soul.
He felt his body being lifted, swaying unsteadily. In his blurred vision, he saw the open, dark mouth of that celadon jar.
Then, came the fall.
His body was stuffed into the narrow, cold, and hard container. His shoulders were forcibly pushed down, and his head slanted in a humiliating posture. The viscous liquid, emitting a strange sweet and fishy smell, rose up, soaking his chest, neck, and finally his chin... The ice-blue liquid poured into his mouth and nose, but under the effect of the drug, he surprisingly did not suffocate. He only felt the cold liquid envelop his head, and his field of vision turned completely into a blurred blue-black.
The lid was placed on the jar.
It wasn't completely sealed; air holes were left. But most of the light was blocked out, leaving only extremely faint light to filter through the air holes and the porcelain walls, barely outlining the narrow, distorted, and inhuman space inside the jar... Kaito curled up at the bottom of the jar, his limbs twisted at bizarre angles, having completely lost the ability to feel or move. Only his head remained above the cold liquid, gazing up at the small patch of dim ceiling cut out by the edge of the jar's opening.
Outside the jar, Kanjuro's satisfied sigh, like that of one who had completed a work of art, could be heard.
"This is fine. Leaving it here, or taking it back to be placed in a display room... both would be nice scenery." His voice came through the porcelain wall, muffled. "You can keep watching, watching time pass, watching everything happen, until eternity... or, until the day I get bored."
Footsteps sounded, gradually fading away. Aoko and Akako seemed to have left as well.
Deathly silence.
A complete, maddeningly deathly silence.
There was only the occasional viscous sound of the liquid swaying slightly, and his own breathing and heartbeat, which were so weak they were almost nonexistent.
Darkness, narrowness, cold, the mutilation of his limbs, eternal imprisonment... all perceptions, all cognitions, all emotions were compressed at this moment, distorted, and then exploded with a bang!
Hate!
A boundless, purely extreme hatred, like magma erupting from the deepest part of his soul, instantly drowned out the numbness brought by the drug and scorched every remaining shred of his consciousness!
He hated Kanjuro! He hated Aoko! He hated Akako! He hated this twisted world! He hated his own powerlessness! He hated this imposed fate that was a thousand times more terrifying than death!
In this inhuman imprisonment, in this eternal darkness, only this hatred was so vivid and so blazing, becoming his only remaining proof of existence.
He didn't know how much time had passed; perhaps it was just a moment, or perhaps it had already been an eternity. A slight movement came from outside the jar again; someone was approaching.
It was Kanjuro. Through the porcelain wall, his voice carried a hint of playfulness as it clearly entered the jar and into Kaito's mind, which was filled with hatred:
"By the way, I forgot to tell you. Stay 'alive' properly. Use your eyes and watch. Watch how everything you care about is little by little controlled and devoured by me."
"This is the final 'reward' for that 'courage' of yours."
Footsteps receded once more.
Inside the jar, deathly silence returned.
Kaito was soaked in the cold preservative liquid. His broken body had long since lost the sense of pain, but his soul was screaming, burning, and twisting madly in the flames of hatred.
He would not die.
At least, he would not die immediately.
Kanjuro wanted him to stay 'alive', to stay 'alive' in this most humiliating and painful way.
In this darkness of eternal imprisonment, in this Human-Swine Jar, Kaito Kuroba, the former Magician Under the Moonlight, was left with only a pair of eyes that could not reflect the slightest light, eyes completely devoured by infinite hatred.
And at the end of that hatred, there was only one name—
Kanjuro.
He lived only for hate.
Until hatred burned away the very last speck of dust of this shell and soul.
Or, until the gates of hell swung open, dragging the perpetrator and the victim together into the eternal karmic fire.
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