The hospital room buzzes with faint, sterile noises—monitors beeping, whispered conversations outside the door. Yuzuha's eyes flutter open, her vision blurred. The sharp scent of antiseptic stings her nose, and the flicker of fluorescent lights above feels like needles piercing her temples.
She turns her head slightly, wincing at the dull ache in her skull. A woman in a white coat leans over her, her voice urgent.
"Yuzuha-san? Can you hear me?"
Yuzuha's lips part, but the words catch in her throat. The fog in her mind lifts in jagged fragments, each shard more horrifying than the last. Blood. A shadow. Cold blue eyes.
"Where... am I?" she croaks, her voice hoarse.
Before the woman can respond, the door creaks open. Three police officers enter, their expressions grim, their eyes scanning her face as though searching for answers she doesn't have.
"Yuzuha-san,"one of them begins, his voice low and deliberate. "We need to ask you some questions."
At the station, time hangs heavy with tension. Yuzuha sits under glaring fluorescent lights, her hands trembling on the cold metal table.
Every sound—the scratch of a pen, the shuffle of papers—feels amplified, like the universe itself is holding its breath.
"Start from the beginning," the officer says, his tone deceptively calm.
"I... I got home around 7:30," she begins, her voice shaking. "When I walked in... there was someone there."
"Describe him."
"A man. Black hoodie. Gloves. A mask." Her breath hitches. "But his eyes—they were blue. Ice cold."
The officer leans forward, his pen poised."What was he holding?"
Yuzuha's hands ball into fists. "A hammer. Blood was dripping from it." Her voice breaks as she whispers, "Onami-san... her head..."
She stops, the memory too vivid to continue.
The officer's voice softens, but his words hit like stones. "There was another murder in your building last night. A man in the stairwell. His body was... dismembered. His head was placed at the top of the stairs like some kind of..."He hesitates, searching for the right word.
"Message," Yuzuha finishes, her voice hollow.
The officer nods grimly. "You're the only one who saw the killer."
They tell her to go home. To rest. To change her locks. But how can she rest when the image of those blue eyes is burned into her mind?
The streets are eerily silent as she walks back, each step echoing unnaturally loud. Shadows stretch and twist, like they're alive, reaching for her.
Then, the footsteps start.
Heavy. Deliberate.
Her pulse quickens. She turns, but the street behind her is empty.
"Stop imagining things,"she mutters, quickening her pace.
The footsteps quicken too.
By the time she reaches her apartment, she is running. She slams the door shut, locking it with shaking hands. The silence inside is deafening.
"Inui?" she calls out, her voice trembling.
Nothing.
"Izui!"
Her dogs always greets her, but tonight, there is only silence. And then she sees it—a thin trail of blood leading from the hallway to her bedroom door.
She moves toward the door, each step heavier than the last. Her breaths come in short, shallow gasps. She doesn't want to open it.
But she does.
Inui's and izui"s body lies lifeless on the floor, his fur matted with blood. The sight is like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from her lungs.
"No..." she whispers, dropping to her knees. Tears blur her vision, but something in the blood catches her eye.
A pattern.
The blood isn't just spilled—it's arranged. Words.
I'm watching you.
Her breath hitches. She scrambles back, her hands slipping in the blood. And then she feels it—a presence.
She turns toward the window, and her heart stops.
Those eyes. Blue. Unmistakable.
But this time, they aren't just watching. They are... smiling.
Yuzuha grabs her phone, her hands shaking as she dials the police. But as she raises it to her ear, a voice comes through the line—not the operator's.
"Hello, Yuzuha."
Her blood turns to ice.
"Who... who is this?" she whispers.
The voice chuckles softly. "You know who I am. You've always known."
Her mind races. The voice is distorted, but there's something familiar about it, something that makes her stomach churn.
"You think you're the victim," the voice continues. "But this? This is your masterpiece."
"What are you talking about?"she snaps, fear giving way to anger.
The voice laughs again, a low, chilling sound. "You'll see soon enough."
The line goes dead.
Yuzuha stares at the phone, her hands trembling. And then she sees it—a photo on the screen. A photo of her, standing over Onami-san's body, the hammer in her hand.
Her heart stops.
"No... no, that's not... I didn't..."
But the memory surfaces like a corpse in water—fragmented, horrifying, undeniable.
The blood on her hands. The weight of the hammer. The feeling of those cold, blue eyes staring back at her from the mirror.