Touka stopped looking at him.
Without another word, she turned and walked toward the staircase leading to the living quarters.
"Go take a shower."
Her voice came from the stairwell.
Short.
Direct.
Yet faintly awkward.
"Clean yourself up so it doesn't affect work tomorrow."
Before she finished speaking, her footsteps had already disappeared upstairs.
Soon—
Silence returned.
Ren stood alone behind the bar.
Moonlight stretched across the café floor, casting a long shadow behind him.
He looked down at his hands.
Dust.
Blood.
Dark stains clinging to his skin.
Then he glanced toward the staircase where Touka had vanished.
A complicated expression flickered across his face.
The lingering scent of blood still hung in the air, clashing with the faint warmth of roasted coffee that always filled Anteiku.
He inhaled slowly.
Then exhaled.
The stairs creaked faintly beneath his feet as he climbed toward the living quarters.
The higher he went—
The weaker the coffee aroma became.
Replaced by cool night air.
And the faint metallic smell still clinging to him.
The bathroom door upstairs stood slightly open.
Warm light spilled through the gap.
Steam drifted lazily into the hallway.
He pushed the door open.
Inside, hot water was already running.
Steam fogged the tiled walls.
The bathtub slowly filled beneath the shower.
Beside it—
A clean white towel.
And a neatly folded set of clothes.
Someone had prepared everything silently.
Practical.
Simple.
Awkwardly considerate.
His fingers paused briefly over the clothes.
Then he sighed quietly.
"…Just like Touka."
He removed his blood-stained clothing and dropped them into the laundry basket.
When the hot water touched his skin—
It stung.
Then relief followed.
The scorching water washed across his shoulders and chest.
Dried blood dissolved instantly.
Dark water gathered near his feet.
Gray.
Then pale red.
Then finally clear.
He tilted his head back.
Closed his eyes.
Let the water pour across his face.
For a moment—
The sound of the shower drowned everything else out.
But his mind refused to quiet.
Images from the alley replayed endlessly.
Blinding searchlights.
Terrified faces.
Bones snapping.
Warm blood spraying across the concrete.
The desperate choking sounds of the investigator caught in Carnage's tendrils.
And the final wide-eyed terror before death.
The memories wrapped around his thoughts like cold snakes.
Deep inside his mind—
Carnage whispered lazily.
[What beautiful fear…]
[Their despair…]
[The perfect seasoning…]
The symbiote sounded satisfied.
Fed.
[You enjoyed it too…]
[Didn't you?]
Ren's fist clenched tightly.
His knuckles turned pale beneath the hot water.
"Shut up."
His voice trembled faintly inside his mind.
"I never enjoyed killing."
"Everything I did tonight was survival."
Carnage laughed quietly.
[What are you resisting?]
[That is your nature…]
[And mine…]
[Fear… blood…]
[They nourish us…]
[Admit it…]
[Enjoy it…]
"No."
His nails dug into his palm.
"That's your nature."
"Not mine."
Carnage's voice turned colder.
Sharper.
[Self-deception.]
A low chuckle echoed in his thoughts.
[Without me…]
[You would already be dead.]
The memory surfaced instantly.
That night.
When he first arrived in this world.
The alley.
The ghouls.
[You would have died like a stray dog…]
[Rotting in a filthy corner.]
Carnage's voice became quiet.
Almost gentle.
[I allowed you to live.]
[You need my power.]
[For that peaceful life you want so badly.]
The words pierced his thoughts like ice.
[We are one, Ren.]
[Accept it.]
He said nothing.
Steam filled the room.
Water continued to run across his exhausted body.
Perhaps he should have realized this earlier.
If symbiotes truly reflected their hosts—
Then where did Carnage's bloodlust come from?
Was it purely the creature's nature?
Or something hidden within himself?
Perhaps—
Both.
Maybe from the moment he merged with Carnage—
The path was already chosen.
A road soaked in blood.
With no return.
…
Eventually—
He turned off the shower.
The sudden silence filled the bathroom.
He leaned against the bathtub and slowly straightened up.
In the mirror—
A pale face stared back.
Water droplets slid down his jaw.
His eyes reflected the dim light.
And within them—
A faint crimson shadow.
That reflection—
Was none other than himself.
…
He grabbed the towel beside the sink.
The soft fabric still carried a trace of warmth.
He dried his hair and body roughly.
Almost mechanically.
As if he could wipe away the invisible weight pressing on him.
He changed into the clean clothes.
For a moment—
The comfortable fabric created the illusion of normal life.
But beneath the surface—
The symbiote's power still pulsed quietly inside him.
He stepped out of the bathroom.
The café below remained dark.
Silent.
He walked downstairs without turning on the lights.
Moonlight illuminated the empty shop.
He picked up a familiar glass from the counter.
Unscrewed the mineral water bottle.
The sound of pouring water echoed clearly in the quiet room.
He leaned against the bar.
Drinking slowly.
Outside the window—
The streets of the 20th Ward looked peaceful under the moonlight.
Yet in the darkness—
It felt as if countless unseen eyes were watching.