He took one last look at Saguru Hakuba's corpse, as if confirming the completion of a work of art, then turned and continued walking deep into the corridor.
"Keep up, Momiji." His voice came, brook no argument. "Don't forget, our 'battle' is still ongoing. Ahead, there is a 'director' waiting for us. Carrying pointless pity and redundant sentimentality will only make you die faster than him."
Ooka Momiji stood in place, her body trembling slightly. Beneath her feet was Saguru Hakuba's gradually cooling corpse; ahead was the back of Kanjuro walking unhesitatingly into the deeper darkness. The air was thick with the smell of fresh blood mixed with the old dust of the mansion, making her feel nauseous.
She remembered the "determination" Kanjuro spoke of while in Disguise, his words about "survival being the only law," and his cold lecture about "pulling up weeds and removing roots" just now... All the warm masks had already been torn away, revealing the naked soul beneath that followed the dark rules of the jungle.
And she had already boarded this ship, witnessed this darkness, and even... to some extent, identified with it.
She slowly lifted her foot and stepped over Saguru Hakuba's outstretched, already stiff arm. She didn't look back at the once-familiar body.
Tears finally fell, sliding silently down her cheeks. But her gaze, through the tears, gradually settled into a kind of near-numb determination, or rather... a fatalistic obedience.
She quickened her pace, catching up to Kanjuro's back, walking beside him once more toward that unknown finale destined to be filled with blood and betrayal.
The corridor was deep, as if it had no end. The corpse behind them was soon swallowed by shadows. And that final, resentful cry of "Kanjuro..." dissipated like an insignificant footnote in the cold, heavy air of the Sunset Mansion, never to be remembered again.
In the game, only the final players and the "God" who was about to appear and who set all the rules remained.
Passing through the last magnificent archway inlaid with heavy gold and obsidian, the scene before them suddenly opened up.
It was a suffocatingly massive circular hall. The dome was extremely high, painted with distorted and obscure starlit murals, and from the center hung a crystal chandelier made of countless prisms that had never been lit. The four walls of the hall were not brick and stone but incredibly thick, specially polished dark gold metal plates etched with incomprehensible runes and biological totems, exuding an ancient and oppressive aura. The light source for the entire space came from the floor—the floor was transparent tempered glass, and in the deep darkness beneath it flowed a hot, viscous, dark gold liquid like lava, illuminating the entire hall in a golden-red glow. The light and shadows flickered as if they were inside the burning entrails of some giant beast.
At the end of the hall was a wall-sized array of precision machinery—gears, pipes, and flickering screens in an intricate mess. In front of this "mechanical wall," the high-backed chair inlaid with dark gems that had appeared above the main hall was placed on a slightly elevated platform. Renya Karasuma, still wrapped in heavy black clothes and wearing a pure white mask, sat there like a stiff ghost. His eyes, hidden behind the holes in the mask, seemed to be "watching" the two people walking in.
Gin and Vodka stood like two cold statues, one on each side of the platform. Vermouth leaned lazily against a mechanical console on one side of the platform, playing with an empty wine glass, the mysterious smile on her face appearing particularly meaningful under the lava-like light.
When he saw that only "Disguise" and Ooka Momiji had entered, Renya Karasuma's processed synthetic voice, with its obvious electronic delay, came from the high-backed chair, carrying a clear hint of surprise:
"Oh? The final survivors... are actually two ladies? This is quite unexpected." His gaze (which seemed able to penetrate the mask) lingered on the capable but injured and slightly disheveled figure of "Disguise," then swept over Ooka Momiji, who was close beside her, pale-faced but with complex eyes. "Especially a former prosecutor who doesn't seem to excel in physical ability... and the young lady of the Ooka family."
His tone carried a condescending scrutiny and a faint disappointment, as if he wasn't entirely satisfied with the "blade" that had finally been "tempered."
"Disguise" stopped about ten meters from the platform. Ooka Momiji stayed close to her, feeling her own palms cold and damp. The air was scorching, mixed with the smell of metal and some kind of engine oil, completely different from the chill of the basement, yet equally suffocating.
Renya Karasuma did not wait for an answer. His synthetic voice continued, turning to his true purpose: "However, since you were able to survive to the end, it proves you possess extraordinary resilience, wisdom, or... necessary coldness. That is good. Now, tell me—"
His voice suddenly turned cold, carrying a commanding tone:
"Where is Kanjuro? Did you find any trace of him in the mansion? What is his plan? Tell me everything you know about him. In return, I will fulfill my promise and let one of you... receive a new life."
He took it for granted that these two "lucky" women would, for that single chance at survival, be eager to offer up information about the greatest threat.
"Disguise" heard this and let out a soft laugh. That laugh was not the crisp sound of a woman, but a low, magnetic one, carrying undisguised mockery. In this empty, scorching hall, it sounded particularly abrupt.
Renya Karasuma's silence came through the mask, appearing somewhat puzzled.
At that moment, "Disguise" turned her head and glanced at Gin and Vodka, who stood like stone statues below the platform. Their expressions remained unchanged, still cold and solemn, as if they were merely loyal executors.
Leaning against the console, Vermouth's smile deepened. She even leisurely placed her empty wine glass on the surface, letting out a crisp "ding."
"Father, it seems the director hasn't woken up yet," Vermouth said to "Disguise" in her lazy, charming voice, her tone as intimate as if she were discussing the weather.
Renya Karasuma's body moved almost imperceptibly. The synthesized voice carried a hint of subtle fluctuation: "Vermouth? You..."
"Boss," "Disguise" finally spoke. It was no longer the voice of Disguise, but his own unique, magnetic voice that seemed to penetrate the soul. "You asked me where Kanjuro is?"
As he spoke, he raised his hand and reached behind his ears, his neck, his hairline... those extremely hidden seams. His movements were calm and unhurried, even possessing an artistic elegance.
Under Renya Karasuma's suddenly frozen "gaze," within Ooka Momiji's held breath, and under the watchful eyes of Gin and Vodka—who remained cold but slightly adjusted their stance—
"He is right here."
Chila...
A very faint but clearly audible sound of high-quality silicone peeling away from skin rang out. It wasn't rough; instead, it had a strange sense of fluid smoothness.
First, the subtle contours of the jawline began to change, followed by a slight adjustment in the height of the cheekbones, and the bridge of the nose became straighter and more defined... Those capable, neutral feminine features belonging to "Disguise" quickly vanished like a receding tide. The short hair was gently brushed back, revealing a full forehead and sideburns.
The entire process took only a few short seconds.
When that hand dropped, the person standing there was no longer the female Detective, Disguise.
It was a man with a tall and slender build. His black hair fell slightly messy over his forehead, yet it did not diminish his handsome, almost wickedly beautiful face. His complexion was somewhat pale due to previous blood loss and the Disguise, but it did not hide the sense of power beneath. His brows were like swords, and his eyes were as deep as the entire night sky. At this moment, they held an undisguised, predator-like mockery and coldness, staring directly at Renya Karasuma on the high platform. The faint, half-smiling curve of his lips was completely different from any expression used during his Disguise, filled with absolute control and danger.
Kanjuro.
He casually threw the thin, cicada-wing-like Disguise material—still stained with blood and body heat—onto the ground as if discarding useless trash. Then, he composedly straightened the collar of the khaki trench coat that originally belonged to Disguise, which now looked tight and damaged on him. The movement was casual, yet it carried a heart-palpitating sense of pressure.
Dead silence filled the hall. There was only the gurgling sound of underground lava flowing and the faint hum of mechanical devices operating.
Renya Karasuma sat stiffly in the high-backed chair, like a statue petrified in an instant. Even through the mask, one could feel the surging waves of extreme shock, bewilderment, and the fury of being played for a fool.
"You... you..." The synthesized voice fluctuated violently, even producing harsh static noise.
Vermouth let out a timely light laugh, breaking the suffocating silence. She walked with an elegant cat-like gait to a position slightly behind Kanjuro and stood still. Her posture was submissive yet intimate, and her ice-blue eyes looked toward Renya Karasuma, filled with undisguised pity and ridicule.
"I told you, Boss," her voice was sweet as poison, "the game is actually already over. From the moment Father stepped into the Annex—no, perhaps even earlier... the ending was already set in stone."
She tilted her head slightly, gesturing toward Gin and Vodka.
The two, who had been like statues, moved simultaneously. They did not attack Kanjuro; instead, they turned in perfect unison to face the high platform. The muzzles of their guns were steadily raised, aimed at the "king of crows" they had once sworn loyalty to—Renya Karasuma.
Cold killing intent, no longer hidden, spread out like a tangible substance.
Standing behind Kanjuro, Ooka Momiji watched this dramatic scene, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. Although she had known the truth long ago, seeing Kanjuro tear off his Disguise to reveal his handsome yet terrifying true face, seeing the sudden defection of Gin and Vodka, and seeing Renya Karasuma's stiffness as if his world had collapsed... the impact of this scene was far stronger than anything she could have imagined.
Kanjuro just stood there. Simply by restoring his original appearance and posture, he seemed to become the absolute center of the entire scorching hall. All light, all gazes, all conspiracies, and all killing intent converged upon him alone.
He slightly raised his chin, looking at the black-clad old man on the high platform who seemed not to have recovered from the massive shock. His voice was calm, yet it sounded like a final judgment:
"Now, Mr. Renya Karasuma, we can finally... talk face-to-face. About your Annex, your game, your delusions of 'immortality,' and..."
A cold light flashed in his eyes.
"Your end." Kanjuro's true face was like the coldest judgment, slamming hard against Renya Karasuma's long-decayed yet still arrogant nerves. The black-clad figure on the high-backed chair trembled violently—not from fear, but from the extreme fury of being completely fooled and having his authority trampled upon. The electronic synthesized voice behind the mask erupted into a piercing shriek mixed with electrical noise:
"Kanjuro—!!!"
That voice was no longer stable; it was full of disbelief and hysteria.
"You dare... you dare toy with me like this! Infiltrating my Annex, disguising yourself as an ant, and trampling on my game!" Renya Karasuma suddenly raised his withered, white-gloved hand and pointed at Kanjuro, who stood leisurely below. His voice was distorted with rage. "Gin! Vodka! Now! Kill him! Tear this blasphemer to pieces!!"
His command echoed in the scorching hall, carrying the unquestionable inertial power formed by his prestige over a century. In years past, the names of these two represented the organization's most efficient and coldest execution tools, who would only execute his every command unconditionally.
However, this time, the response he received was a deathly silence.
Gin and Vodka remained where they were, their guns held steady, but the direction of their muzzles... had not changed.
Renya Karasuma's "gaze" locked onto his two most trusted "blades." The synthesized voice suffered even more severe distortion due to extreme bewilderment: "Are you... deaf?! I command you, kill Kanjuro!!"
Finally, Gin made a move.
His ice-green eyes, like a thawing frozen pond, slowly moved away from Renya Karasuma and turned toward Kanjuro below the steps. In that gaze, there was no longer the pure killing intent he usually showed toward mission targets, nor the superficial loyalty and obedience he showed to 'That Person.' Instead... there was a near-indifferent calm and a hint of imperceptible, relief-like relaxation.
He first glanced at Vermouth, who was smiling charmingly beside Kanjuro; she winked at him. Then, Gin's gaze met Kanjuro's calm, waveless eyes in mid-air.
Then, under Renya Karasuma's nearly frozen "stare," amidst Vermouth's playful smile, and within Ooka Momiji's held breath—
Gin, the top killer in the organization who struck fear into everyone's hearts, slowly but unmistakably lowered the Beretta in his hand. He did not attack immediately, nor did he explain. Instead, he made a move that froze Renya Karasuma's very soul.
He took a step forward, faced Kanjuro, and then... knelt on one knee.
His long silver hair fell, covering part of his cold, stern face. His head lowered slightly, and his voice still had that cold, hard quality, yet it carried a completely different, almost formulaic respect:
"Greetings, Boss Kanjuro."
He paused, seemingly deliberating on his choice of words, then added:
"Previously... I failed to see through Boss's Disguise and failed to provide timely support. Please punish me, Boss."
Immediately following him was Vodka. This burly man, who always followed Gin's lead, did not hesitate for a second. His movements were even more direct than Gin's. With a thud, he also knelt on one knee. His massive frame leaned forward slightly, his eyes lowered behind his sunglasses, and his voice was muffled but firm:
"Greetings, Boss Kanjuro! I... didn't recognize you before, I'm sorry, Boss!"
Their voices were not loud, but in this dead-silent hall where only the lava flowed, they were as clear as thunderclaps!
"Boom—!!!"
Renya Karasuma felt as if his brain—no, the consciousness barely held together by madness, schemes, and technology that had maintained his century-long ambition—was completely blown to pieces by these two kneels and respectful addresses!
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