I Created Urban Legends in Parallel World
[Original – YakuMan]
[TL – MiT7]
[PR – Spades]
Chapter 1: The Gaze from the Cracks
—————————
Tokyo, Metropolitan Police Department.
Uniformed officers moved in and out, some with relaxed expressions, others with grim faces.
Inside the police headquarters, a man and a woman approached an interrogation room.
"Mr. Nakano's mental state is somewhat unstable, so be careful. I'll be right outside the door—if anything happens, let me know immediately," the middle-aged man said, patting Saionji Asako on the shoulder with encouragement. "You've got this!"
"I will, Inspector Shinagawa," Saionji Asako replied, adjusting her earpiece and taking a deep breath. With a nod, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
This was no ordinary interrogation room.
The interior was entirely constructed of pristine white tiles, impeccably clean and seamless, as if it were a single, unbroken whole.
The room was pitch black, with no windows.
Upon entering, Saionji Asako gave a soft cough, using the sound to trigger the lights. Before she could speak, a panicked voice cut through the darkness. "Close the door… close it now! Are you trying to get me killed?!"
A disheveled man with unkempt hair, clearly in a state of distress, roared in fear as he saw Saionji Asako enter. His mental instability was unmistakable.
His bloodshot eyes, heavy with dark bags, darted uncontrollably, radiating panic and terror. He hadn't slept properly in days. The moment Saionji opened the door, he reacted like a startled bird, veins bulging in his hands as he frantically covered his eyes, as though shielding himself from something horrifying.
"I'm sorry," Saionji said quickly, shutting the door behind her. A closer look revealed how perfectly the door fit the frame—once closed, not a single crack or gap remained.
Saionji Asako turned her attention to Nakano Ichiro, studying him carefully. When he seemed to calm slightly, she ventured a tentative question. "Mr. Nakano, it's been five days. Are you feeling any better?"
After she closed the door, Nakano Ichiro appeared somewhat more stable. He crouched in a corner, eyes shut, head lowered, offering no response to her voice.
"Mr. Nakano, we know you've experienced something terrifying. But you're at the Metropolitan Police Department now. No one can harm you here. If you don't tell us what's going on, it'll be incredibly difficult for us to proceed with our work."
"You don't understand. None of you understand!"
There it was. A breakthrough.
Saionji Asako's eyes lit up as Nakano finally spoke.
Five days ago, Nakano Ichiro had been brought to this specially designed interrogation room after calling the police himself. But upon arriving at headquarters, they found him on the brink of mental collapse. Initial questioning yielded nothing, and it was only after consultations with several psychologists that his condition showed slight improvement.
"Mr. Nakano, we can only help you out of this nightmare if you tell us the truth. I have a few questions for you—can you answer them? With enough information, the police can crack this case, and you won't have to live in constant fear anymore."
Saionji Asako edged closer to Nakano Ichiro, though she kept a safe distance. She crouched slightly to meet his eye level, her tone gentle and reassuring.
After speaking, she waited for a response, but none came. She didn't press him—his condition had improved significantly compared to the past few days, and she couldn't risk agitating him further.
Minutes passed—how many, she wasn't sure. Saionji Asako showed no sign of impatience, simply watching him quietly.
Finally, Nakano Ichiro lifted his head. A spark of hope flashed in her eyes. "Mr. Na—"
But before she could finish, she saw his pupils dilate, staring at her as if he'd glimpsed something utterly horrifying.
"Ah… ah—" Nakano opened his mouth, pointing at Saionji Asako. The terror gripping him reduced his voice to a dry, meaningless rasp.
His fear was so palpable it seemed contagious, sending a chill through Saionji Asako's core.
And he was pointing at her.
Or rather… behind her?
Goosebumps prickled across her skin. She didn't dare turn around.
No… wait. Saionji steadied herself, realizing Nakano's gaze was fixed on her, not behind her, but on her face. Specifically… her mouth?
Instinctively, she touched her lips. Nothing felt unusual.
But that simple gesture triggered something in Nakano Ichiro. It was as if it were the final straw. His mind shattered completely, and he scrambled desperately on all fours, trying to flee from the woman before him.
He barely managed two steps before collapsing.
As he lifted his head, he caught sight of their reflections in the glossy tiles.
There was his shadow—and hers.
He watched as Saionji Asako slowly approached him. But what filled him with dread was the sight between the seam of her lips: an eyeball, veined with bloodshot streaks.
The eyeball stretched her mouth wider, though not fully. From the gaps around it emerged smaller eyes, their pupils darting wildly. Then, as if sensing something, they all turned to fixate on Nakano Ichiro.
"No… no…"
Their unblinking stares drove him over the edge.
He opened his mouth to scream, but the sound died in his throat. In the tiled reflection, he saw it—deep in his own throat, another eye stared back at him through the glossy surface.
That final thread of sanity snapped.
Nakano Ichiro went berserk. He clawed at his throat, digging frantically, desperate to gouge out the cursed eye. Only by destroying them could he reclaim a normal life.
Saionji Asako watched in horror.
She stumbled back, collapsing to the floor, too terrified to move. Her trembling voice barely managed to call out, "In… Inspector Shinagawa… hurry… come in…"
The moment her words fell, Inspector Shinagawa burst into the room.
"Mr. Nakano, calm down!"
Shinagawa's blood ran cold as he witnessed Nakano's frenzied state. He shouted, "Someone, get in here!"
In that moment, Nakano Ichiro glanced at his reflection again. Tilting his head slightly, his once-normal voice now rasped hoarsely, "There's one in my ear too."
---
Half an hour later, Nakano Ichiro's body was carried out.
Watching the scene unfold, Inspector Shinagawa's expression darkened.
Back in his office, he stared at a photograph on his desk—a massive eyeball.
His face grew stern. This was the ninth bizarre death this month.
"Hypnotic murder?" he muttered.