"哦,對了——只有你想報仇的人才能看到你.普通人甚至不會注意到你的存在.
就在和也即將返回生者世界時,女孩對他微微一笑.這聽起來像是一句隨意的話,但其背後的重量卻深得令人不寒而慄.
還沒等他回答,一道耀眼的光芒就爆發出來,吞噬了他的整個人.
—
復讎者回來了.
隨著光線的消逝,佐藤和也再次站在生者中.
他慢慢地睜開眼睛,感受著自己身體的感覺.
"好輕...這就是靈魂完全釋放時的感覺嗎?從肉體的牢籠中解脫出來...難以置信.靈魂顯現這麼厲害嗎?」
他的身體感覺像羽毛般輕盈——完全不像他曾經在生活中拖著的那顆破爛不堪的外殼.現在每一個動作都很流暢,毫不費力——幾乎是非人的敏捷.
在他的手中,一把冰冷,閃閃發光的武器悄無聲息地成形.
隨著光芒完全消散,他終於看得清清楚楚.
"…一把槍?
和也眨了眨眼,低頭盯著他手掌中的武器.
圓滑.漆黑.精簡.沒有不必要的裝飾.但它散發著一種致命的光環——某種超越普通武器的東西.感覺...量身定製,專為他打造,完美貼合他的握把.
他幾乎不假思索地舉起手臂,扣動了扳機.
砰——!
子彈如閃電般射出,後坐力幾乎沒有震動.
"No kickback…? Seriously?"
He'd expected some heavy impact—thought he'd have to wrestle for control. But no. It was smooth. Natural. Like the weapon belonged to him.
—How many bullets are in the mag?
Frowning slightly, Kazuya ejected the magazine with a click.
Clack.
It dropped into his other hand. He flicked it gently with his finger. The metallic shells glinted coldly under the light.
One, two, three…
Ten rounds.
More than enough. In fact, it felt… extravagant.
If each bullet meant a death, then he'd have to choose carefully. Precisely.
But—
Where were they?
Arashiyama. Kudo. And the rest of those bastards who laughed while stepping on his broken pride… Where were they now?
Tokyo was vast—an endless maze. His revenge felt like wandering blind through darkness.
—Where are they?
—How do I even begin?
Kazuya's brow furrowed. His fingers tapped mindlessly on the gun's frame. After a moment, he gave a bitter, hollow laugh.
"…I have no damn clue."
Think. Think again. Keep thinking.
A day? A week? A year? A decade? Could he keep searching that long? Or would he simply vanish—just another ghost with unfinished business, lost to time?
"…What now…"
And then—
Click.
Something snapped into place—like a mental switch flicked on.
Suddenly, memories flooded in like shards of broken mirror being reassembled.
—Badminton.
…What?
Their laughter. The sound of rackets cutting through air. The echoes of a noisy gym.
Of course…
They play badminton.
Kazuya's eyes flew open.
They'll be there.
He turned and ran. Sprinting. Flying. Weaving through streets, traffic lights, crowds. Everything became a blur of lights and motion. His footsteps pounded against the ground, breath growing ragged.
He could barely feel the pavement—his body so weightless, it was like he wasn't bound to this world at all.
—Run.
—Keep running.
—Run to the other side of vengeance.
—
"…Here…"
He finally stood at the gym's entrance, hands on his knees, gasping.
"Haa… haa…"
Even if he was lighter now—freer—dozens of kilometers still took their toll. Not even the dead were immune to fatigue.
But none of that mattered.
He looked up and stepped inside.
Inside this building—was still their world.
Rackets swinging. White birdies arcing through the air. Laughter. Carefree voices. The sweat of youth thick in the air.
Arashiyama. Kudo. The ones who once circled him, laughed at him, used him like a toy—they were here. Relaxed. Unaware.
They had no idea—
That the ghost they thought long dead was watching from the shadows.
They had no idea—
That the true hunter had already arrived.
"It's showtime… boys."
Kazuya smiled. The curve of his lips was twisted, cold. His fingers brushed against the side of the gun, the barrel vanishing into the shadows like a serpent ready to strike.
Silently, he stepped into the unlit spectator stands.
Clap—Clap—Clap—
The sound of slow, deliberate clapping tore through the air—sharp as a scalpel, slicing the calm like it never existed.
"Bravo! Bravo! What a show!"
The voice stretched unnaturally, part chant, part taunt—a countdown to something horrifying.
Arashiyama and Kudo froze. Sweat dripped from their jaws. Their hearts clenched.
—That voice…?
"Who's there?!"
Kudo's voice cracked with panic. He spun around, fists clenched tight around his racket, knuckles ghost-white.
From the dark, a figure emerged.
Torn from shadow. Crawling back from the depths.
He walked slowly, deliberately. Each step sounded like it cracked their spines, forcing their bones to scream under invisible weight.
And then—his face caught the light.
"Sa… Sato…? You—how are you here?!"
Kudo's breath stopped. His blood froze. His legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground.
"Didn't he… already die?!"
His face twisted in disbelief. His eyes locked on the figure that shouldn't exist.
Arashiyama swallowed hard. He turned, shouting:
"Didn't you idiots check?!"
"We did! He was dead! Completely dead!"
Yamashita nodded frantically, lips trembling like a man on the edge, unable to form coherent words.
But then—why was he standing there?
He should've been dumped in a trash can, bleeding out, his corpse crawling with flies…
But here he was. Alive. And staring at them with those eyes—sick, twisted, amused.
Like a predator sizing up a pack of ridiculous, clueless clowns.
"Y-You… You're a ghost?!"
Finally, Arashiyama snarled, voice cracking with rage, a flimsy mask over his growing terror.
—But all he got in response was a soft, lilting laugh.
"Bingo—"
Kazuya tilted his head. The corners of his mouth curled into a razor-sharp grin, voice dripping with sugar-coated menace.
"Is correct."
He licked his chapped lips, slowly, with a twisted glimmer in his eyes.
"Didn't think you'd actually guess it."
His gaze drifted across the group like a scalpel—measuring, dissecting, deciding who would die first.
His smile widened.
More deranged.
More unhinged.
More monstrous.