When Chie Kuroba pushed open the door to her home, the scent of blood, so thick it wouldn't dissipate, made her instantly alert.
As a legendary female thief who was once active in the night, she had an almost instinctive sense for danger. Her fingers silently slid into the small bag she carried, touching the edge of a cold, specially-made playing card—a self-defense weapon she had designed together with her husband, Toichi Kuroba.
"Terui?" she called out tentatively for the butler's name, her voice sounding exceptionally clear in the unusually quiet Mansion.
There was no response.
Only the faint sound of some viscous liquid dripping from the entrance hall—drip, drip, drip.
Chie's heart sank. She went around the partition of the entrance hall, and then, her entire body froze in place as if struck by lightning.
The first thing she saw was Terui Kizo.
The old man lay flat on his back in a pool of blood. The bullet hole in his chest was no longer bleeding, but the dark brown bloodstains around him had soaked into the expensive Persian carpet, spreading into a hideous abstract painting. His eyes were still open, pupils dilated, frozen in a final state of shock and worry.
"No..." Chie covered her mouth with her hand, her fingertips trembling.
But that wasn't the most terrifying part.
Her gaze slowly moved, landing on the waist-high celadon ornamental jar in the center of the living room—it was a collectible she and Toichi had acquired at an auction in China years ago. Its glaze was blue-green and its lines were smooth and elegant; it should have been a graceful piece of scenery in the home.
At this moment, the jar had been moved to the most prominent position in the living room.
And inside the jar... Chie's breathing stopped abruptly.
The mouth of the jar was open, and it was filled with some kind of ice-blue viscous liquid. Immersed in the liquid was a figure—a figure she knew all too well.
Kaito.
Her son.
He looked as if he had been forcibly stuffed into this overly narrow container, his body twisted and curled at inhuman angles. Only his head and a little bit of his shoulders were exposed above the liquid. His neck was slanted at an unnatural angle, and his cheek was pressed tightly against the cold porcelain wall.
Kaito's eyes were open.
But those were no longer the eyes from her memory—those blue eyes that always sparkled with cunning and vitality were now as hollow as two black holes, unable to reflect any light, containing only a bottomless, pure darkness. It wasn't a physical darkness, but a void left after his spirit had completely collapsed.
Dried bloodstains and tear tracks remained on his face, and his lips were slightly parted, yet there was no sign of breathing—or rather, that ice-blue liquid seemed to have replaced the function of breathing, maintaining a bizarre state of being neither alive nor dead.
Chie staggered forward, her high heels stepping on the edge of the pool of blood, leaving deep imprints. She reached out with a trembling hand, wanting to touch her son's face, but stopped a few centimeters away from the porcelain wall.
She saw more details.
The part of Kaito's wrist exposed above the liquid was twisted backward at an angle no normal person could achieve, the bone clearly having been completely snapped. His other hand was entirely submerged in the liquid, but through the translucent blue fluid, a similarly twisted outline could be faintly seen.
His clothes—the school uniform she had seen him wear out this morning—were soaked in blood and torn. There was an unnatural depression at his shoulder; clearly, his collarbone was also broken.
Chie's gaze slowly moved upward, finally settling on Kaito's eyes.
Those eyes didn't blink once, staring straight ahead, yet they seemed to see nothing. No pain, no fear, no cry for help—nothing at all, only a soul-chilling void that swallowed everything.
But Chie understood.
Deep within that void, beneath the completely destroyed mental ruins, something was still burning.
A spark of flame with no temperature, no light, composed purely of dark matter.
Hatred.
A hatred so intense, so pure, and so absolute that it transcended the scope of human emotion and became an existence in itself.
"Kaito..." Chie's voice was broken and tuneless. She knelt before the jar, her fingers finally touching the cold porcelain wall. "My child... how could... who..."
Her eyes frantically scanned the surroundings, searching for any clues, any traces left by the killer. Then, she saw it.
On the coffee table next to the jar, a white card was placed neatly.
Chie stood up abruptly and almost lunged to grab the card. The card was of exquisite quality, with dark gold patterns embossed on the edges, and a line of text written in elegant, flowing script:
"To Mrs. Kuroba:
Your son's 'resilience' impressed me so much that I couldn't bear to discard him, so I have preserved him here as a form of art.
If you wish to retrieve him, you are welcome to visit at any time.
— Respectfully, Kanjuro."
Kanjuro.
This name was like a poison-tipped ice pick, stabbing ruthlessly into Chie's heart.
She knew the name, of course. She had heard all the terrifying rumors circulating in Tokyo's underworld lately—rumors about a mysterious man who controlled dark forces, collected women, and orchestrated tragedies... But she never thought this demon would target her home, target her son.
"Ye... Xiao..." Chie squeezed the name through her teeth, every syllable soaked in murderous intent.
She looked again at Kaito in the jar, at her son's eyes which held nothing but hatred, at Terai's body lying in a pool of blood, and at this home that was once warm but had now been reduced to a slaughterhouse.
Something shattered inside her.
It wasn't a breakdown, nor was it despair—those emotions were too weak. Something harder, colder, and more lethal was being reforged in the depths of her soul.
Chie slowly stood up straight. The sadness, shock, and breakdown on her face receded like a tide, replaced by a near-inhuman calm. Only in her blue eyes, so similar to Kaito's, burned a flame from the same source as her son's in the jar—only colder, more restrained, and more deadly.
She walked to Terai's body, knelt down, and gently closed the old man's eyes, which had refused to shut.
"I'm sorry, Terai." Her voice was terrifyingly calm. "I came back too late."
Then, she stood up and walked to the celadon jar, cupping it with both hands—a gesture as gentle as embracing a baby. She rested her forehead against the cold porcelain wall, separated from her son's face pressed against the inside by only a layer of ceramic.
"Kaito, look at me." She whispered, her voice as soft as a murmur, yet carrying an unquestionable power. "Mom is here."
Kaito in the jar didn't react. His eyes remained hollow, still only reflecting that inner darkness of hatred.
But Chie didn't care. She continued:
"I know you can hear me. I know you're still in there." Her fingers brushed across the porcelain wall as if stroking her son's cheek. "I want you to remember this feeling—this hatred, this pain, this rage at being stripped of everything. Remember it, let it burn, but do not let it consume you."
Her voice gradually grew hard, like steel tempered a thousand times:
"Because I want you to live, Kaito. I want you to crawl out of this hell. I want you to see with your own eyes—"
Chie looked up, a cold light bursting from her eyes:
"—how that demon named Kanjuro is torn apart, destroyed, and crushed into a despair deeper than this, piece by piece."
She took a step back, gave her son in the jar one last deep look, and then turned away.
No more tears, no more breakdowns. Chie was like a blade slowly unsheathing, every step carrying a cold murderous intent. She crossed the bloody living room, went up the stairs, and arrived at the secret room on the top floor of the Mansion—the place she and Toichi had designed together to house their core secrets as "Phantom Thieves" and "Magicians."
The door to the secret room required a complex password and biometric identification. Chie operated it quickly, and the door slid open silently.
There were no windows inside, only several wall lamps that lit up automatically, illuminating various ingenious props, precision instruments on the display shelves, and the walls covered in dense drawings and notes. This was the culmination of years of effort by her and her husband, their armory against the world's injustices.
Chie walked to the innermost safe and entered another even more complex password. The door opened, revealing not jewelry or cash, but a thick stack of files, several encrypted hard drives, and—
A specially made handgun, entirely black, with lines as smooth as a work of art.
She picked up the gun, her fingertips brushing over the fine lines engraved on the body—the initials of her and Toichi's names, interwoven into the shape of wings. This gun had never truly been used; it was more like a symbol, a final resort to be activated only in desperate straits.
Chie checked the magazine; it was full. The bullets, made of a special alloy, each had miniature Explosive Runes engraved on them—Toichi's masterpiece combining magic principles with weapons engineering.
She tucked the gun into a special holster behind her waist and pulled a folder labeled "High-Risk Individuals/Abnormal Events" from the stack of files. Flipping through it quickly, she found sparse records on "Kanjuro"—not many, but dangerous enough: the Sacred Scripture Academy incident, the legend of the dark bible, connections to several missing women... and a blurry candid photo. The man in the photo wore dark clothing, his profile turned toward the camera. His full face wasn't visible, but that lazy yet dangerous aura could be felt even through the low-resolution photo.
Chie stared at the photo, her gaze as cold as a knife.
Then, she turned on the encrypted communication device in the secret room and dialed a number she hadn't proactively contacted for a long time but would never forget.
The dial tone echoed in the secret room—once, twice, three times... Just as Chie thought no one would answer, the call connected.
There was no sound from the other side, only steady breathing.
Chie took a deep breath and spoke, her voice as cold and hard as iron:
"Toichi, it's me."
A brief silence. Then, a deep, slightly raspy male voice came through, tinged with a hint of disbelief:
"Chie? What happened?"
That voice—her husband's voice—caused Chie's taut nerves to loosen for a moment, but the hollow eyes of Kaito in the jar immediately flashed in her mind, ruthlessly suppressing that trace of weakness.
"Come home." She said, each word like ice hitting the ground. "Now. Immediately."
"What's wrong?" Toichi's voice became serious. "Where are you? Where's Kaito?"
The moment she heard her son's name, Chie's fingers gripped the communicator tightly, her knuckles turning white. She used all her strength to keep her voice steady:
"Kaito is still alive." She paused, adding the word that made her heart wrench again, "Barely."
The sound of something being knocked over came from the other end. Toichi's voice suddenly became dangerous: "Explain clearly."
"Kanjuro." Chie spat out the name. "He came to our home. Terai is dead. Kaito..."
She closed her eyes, then opened them, forcing herself to state the fact:
"Kaito was turned into a Human Swine, soaked in preservative fluid, and placed in a jar. The card Kanjuro left behind called him an 'artistic collection'."
Dead silence.
There was a long, suffocating silence of ten seconds on the other end. Then, when Toichi's voice spoke again, he had completely changed—no longer the gentle and elegant genius Magician, but an entity that had crawled back from the depths of hell:
"I'm taking the fastest flight back. Before I arrive, don't do anything."
"No." Chie interrupted decisively, "I will do what I must. Investigation, tracking, preparation. By the time you return, I will have already found that demon's lair."
"Chie—"
"Toichi!" Her voice suddenly rose, carrying a sharp, almost out-of-control edge unseen for years, "Our son is in that jar! He's watching us! Watching us with those eyes that hold nothing but hatred!"
She took a breath, her voice dropping again, but becoming even more dangerous:
"I won't wait. Every second is agony. I want Kanjuro to know—he touched someone he shouldn't have. The price he'll pay will make him regret ever coming into this world."
Silence fell on the other end of the line again, and then, Toichi's voice came through, terrifyingly calm:
"Package and send me all the security records and signs of intrusion from the house. Contact our informants in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department to retrieve all surrounding surveillance. Post a bounty on the 'Night Crow' network; any information regarding Kanjuro's whereabouts will be purchased at ten times the market price."
"I'm already doing it," Chie said, her fingers tapping rapidly on the nearby console, pulling up the home security system logs—surely enough, all records had been forcibly erased by some power, leaving only a blank void.
"An expert," she said coldly, "Or rather, not by human means."
"It doesn't matter," Toichi's voice was laced with chill, "As long as he is still in this world, as long as he still breathes, moves, and leaves traces—we will find him. And when we find him..."
He didn't finish, but Chie knew what he was going to say.
It was exactly what was on her mind.
She hung up the communication and took one last look at the photo of her, Toichi, and Kaito in the secret room—it was taken years ago while on vacation in Hawaii. Kaito was still a child, riding on Toichi's neck and making a face at the camera, while she laughed brightly beside them.
The sunlight, waves, and smiles in the photo formed a contrast of extreme cruelty with the cold, bloodiness, and hatred in the secret room at this moment.
Chie reached out and turned the photo frame face down on the desk.
Then, she turned and left the secret room, returning to the living room and back to that celadon jar.
She knelt on one knee, level with Kaito in the jar, and pressed her hand against the porcelain wall once more.
"Wait for me, Kaito," she whispered, her voice so gentle it formed a bizarre contrast with the murderous intent in her eyes. "Mom and Dad will bring you out of this darkness. I promise."
"As for Kanjuro—"
She stood up, took one last look at her son's hollow eyes in the jar, and then turned resolutely toward the door. Her high heels stepped through Terai's blood, leaving a trail of bright red footprints on the floor, like a marker on the path to revenge.
Outside, the night was deep.
Kuroba Chie's figure merged into the darkness like a drop of water into the sea. But a cold flame burned in her eyes, a flame that would light her way until she found that demon, until she dragged him into a hell equal to her son's—no, an even deeper one.
The war has begun.
And this time, what Kanjuro faces will no longer be a struggling lone youth, nor a controlled puppet.
What he will face are the hearts of two parents who have been thoroughly enraged and are willing to pay any price.
It is the reckless revenge of two legendary Magicians, denizens of the night, who have accumulated a lifetime of wisdom and resources.
In the jar, Kaito's eyes remained hollow.
But in the depths of that nihilistic darkness, when his mother's figure disappeared outside the door, it seemed as if, for a fleeting moment, something else flashed extremely faintly.
Like a volcano at the bottom of the deep sea, after a long dead silence, it began to vibrate for the first time, very slowly.
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