My brain is burning. It feels as though fire, not blood, is surging through my veins.
What did this bastard just say? Killed? Who? My father?
This son of a bitch killed my father?
I know I need to stay calm. There's a chance he's lying. But an emotion boiling from the depths of my chest answers that thought: Who cares? True or false, this bastard said something that should never have been uttered. Right in front of me.
Strength floods my neck. I want to tear out those repulsive eyes staring back at me. But no matter how much I strain, my head doesn't budge. This "President" or whatever he is has my head locked firmly in place with both hands.
Fine. That's enough.
𝘛𝘢𝘢𝘯𝘨!
Like a shrimp snapping its body, I thrust my legs upward from the toes. My body is bound, but I'm not bolted to the steel table. Utilizing that freedom and the fact that my head is being held stationary, I drive my knee directly into the man's face.
𝘊𝘙𝘈𝘊𝘒!!
"!"
Slamming a knee into a ghoul's body wasn't likely to cause significant damage, even if I broke my own kneecap doing it. But it was enough to startle him; those loathsome eyes vanished from my sight.
"Whoa! Now this is a surprise. To think you'd attack in this situation. Is this a case of 'like father, like son'?"
The owner of those eyes retreated into the shadows where the lamplight couldn't reach, letting out a breath of admiration. Ignoring the throbbing ache in my knee—which felt like I'd struck a sheet of iron—I glared at the silhouette hiding in the dark. I could feel his mocking gaze tracing over me from within the gloom.
"Harima Takaki. I've killed many investigators, but your father was particularly memorable. He was like a wounded beast. No matter how much I backed him into a corner, the light in his eyes never died. Just like you, right now. Eventually, he reached the end of his life due to excessive blood loss, though."
"Shut up…"
"I coveted those eyes so much I wanted to preserve them as a piece of art. But I had no choice; other investigators were swarming the area. I truly regret that day. I should have at least plucked the eyeballs out."
"I told you to shut up!!"
I could easily guess why he was rambling about my father. He was enjoying it. He was purely, simply savoring my rage. At his nauseating behavior, I managed to claw back a sliver of composure. Losing my mind here was exactly what this monster wanted.
"...Who the hell are you?" I asked, forcing the anger down.
Perhaps because I'd hidden my rage faster than he expected, a hint of disappointment wafted from the shadows.
"You heard me just now, didn't you? I'm the President of this place. I used to work alone, but one day, I realized: the world needs more 'works' to make it beautiful. However, if you focus only on rapid mass production, the quality of the art suffers. That is the nature of aesthetics. So, I gathered a few like-minded individuals. I leave the lower-quality, high-speed works to the others, while I focus my heart and soul on creating pieces of the highest caliber. That is this company."
'Creating works.' Deducing from those words, the policy of this insane company—dismantling and decorating humans—all originated from him. A conversation I'd had with Hitokawa suddenly flickered in my mind. A story about a ghoul who worked alone, but whose methods were identical to this company.
Could it be…?
"...Are you 'The Artist'?"
"Oh! You know my alias? Truly, the son of a ghoul investigator. The CCG's antics are quite bothersome, but they did give me a name that fits me perfectly."
It seemed he enjoyed being called an 'Artist.' Murdering, decorating, and then displaying the bodies in the street like an advertisement for his portfolio—he truly believed it was art. There was a sense of conviction in his madness. Everyone I'd met in this building today was abnormal, but this man was the standout psychopath.
The ghoul who killed my father. The President of this twisted company. The Artist.
Perhaps wanting to maintain a sense of mystery, he refused to step out of the shadows. I could only infer from his silhouette and voice that he was a tall man. He pulled over a chair, sat down, and continued.
"Koma Takaki…. Actually, I've been watching you for much longer than you think."
"…!"
I quietly swallowed my breath. He'd been watching me for much longer? What did that mean? That he'd wanted to dismantle me and make 'things' out of me for years? His silhouette pressed its ten fingertips together as if giving a lecture.
"What is the most beautiful thing about a human? Appearance? Body? Hair? Voice? Heart? No. None of those! The most beautiful thing about a human is 'emotion.' Pure, concentrated emotion is the true beauty of humanity. If so, when does that emotion shine the brightest?"
It might have been my imagination, but I felt the corners of his mouth curl upward in that moment.
"It is when they harbor a grudge. Not love, not friendship. It is when they purely resent, hate, rage, and harbor the intent to kill—that is when human emotion is expressed most vividly. That sight is so alluring it gives me goosebumps!"
I'm the one getting goosebumps. Listening to him spout such drivel in that excited voice made my skin crawl.
"To be honest, I had high expectations. I expected you to chase my trail in a rage over your father's death and come for revenge. I hoped that the son of that man would possess the same wild nature. The result? Utterly disappointing. You took no action for four whole years."
I'm glad I could disappoint you. My effort to endure the hatred boiling in my heart for the sake of raising Eto had been worth it.
"As a final test, I sent a handgun for ghoul suppression in your father's name. To remind you of his death and place a weapon in your hands so you could achieve your revenge."
"...You were the one who sent those Q-bullets?"
"To be precise, I was the one who ran the errand~!"
Minami, who had been standing a step back from our conversation, raised her hand and chimed in. It didn't feel like she was trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere; it felt like she was just bored.
"Do you know how hard it was~? The effort I put into breaking into the police station vault to steal those Q-bullets is a journey you couldn't listen to without crying. Want to hear it?"
"I don't want to hear a damn word from you, so get lost."
"...Tch."
Minami puffed out her cheeks in a pout and stepped back. Ignoring her, I glared back at the President hiding in the darkness.
"It's a shame, then. Since I didn't move according to your plan. I turned that gun over to the CCG the moment I got it. It's a citizen's duty to report weapons of unknown origin."
"Indeed. Because of that, I intended to give up on you. I decided to think of you as a mere commoner who lacked even the courage for revenge. But fate is a fickle thing. You, whom I was prepared to forget, caught Minami's eye and appeared before me like this. And I've discovered a new fact that could only be known by seeing you in person."
A hand reached out slightly from the shadows. It was a grotesque hand with untended nails and finger joints bent like old wood. His fingertip pointed toward me.
"Looking at you, I feel so many emotions. The hatred that clearly exists toward me, which you are barely controlling. The patience not to be swept away by that hatred. The fear you feel, realizing the overwhelmingly disadvantageous situation. And the courage to resist it nonetheless. Truly, it's been a long time since I've seen such vivid, clear emotions. It's like looking at a small gem. I feel like I want to polish you with my own hands and create a masterpiece the world will never forget…!"
𝘊𝘶𝘱. 𝘊𝘶𝘱.
A wet liquid dripped to the floor at his feet, forming a small puddle. This bastard… he's drooling while looking at me, isn't he?
The most intense gaze I'd ever felt pierced through me. His intent to map out my internal organs and even my bone marrow like an X-ray, to reinvent me into a new form, was so palpable it made me want to retch. This place is horrific. Hell would be more peaceful than this.
Believe it or not, the one who saved me from that gaze was Minami.
"No way, President!"
She spread her arms, blocking the gaze pouring toward me with her own body. I looked at her, the question 'Why?' hovering in my mind at this sudden assistance.
"We agreed that I'd be the one to use Koma-kun as material this time!"
"..."
Of course. You damn bitch. In short, she was telling him not to take this man's body because she was going to use it herself. The President spoke with a troubled voice.
"Can't we do something about that? This one is truly tempting."
"No. It was decided in the meeting. Besides, President, you already have another material picked out."
"True, I do have one. It was a waste to let the theme of a child seeking revenge for their parents go to waste. It's about time for the daughter of the woman I hunted recently to start moving. She's only seven, but she has incredible initiative. Hmm, should I be satisfied with that child?"
The President pondered, and while I wanted to pick my ears, I couldn't because of the restraints. What did this guy just say? A seven-year-old? The same age as Eto. He gave a gun to a kid like that and told her to come kill him?
"He's a real son of a bitch, that one."
"Ah, our President can be a bit of a son of a bitch."
"You think you're any different?"
I was busy mocking Minami, who didn't realize she was the same breed of monster, when a phone rang from the President's side.
[𝘛𝘳𝘪𝘪𝘪𝘪𝘪𝘪𝘯𝘨! 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬!]
"What is it? ...What?"
Who was on the phone, and what was the message? In an instant, the President's gaze shifted.
𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣! 𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣!
The scar on my right arm, which had been quiet for a while, began to throb again. Until now, despite how disgusting his gaze was, my scar hadn't reacted once. It made sense—until now, he had been acting as an "Artist."
But the throbbing meant his gaze had returned to that of a ghoul. His purpose now was likely combat.
"It seems we have an intruder. I'll send the Department Manager and return."
Leaving only those words, he opened the door and vanished. Minami tilted her head, wondering who an intruder could be, while I, having a good guess as to their identity, gritted my teeth.
The scar on my right arm throbbed.
"Now then..."
𝘉𝘦𝘦𝘱.
After ending the call with the President, the Department Manager looked forward.
The wide-open entrance of the abandoned building. Someone was standing there, silhouetted against the faint light of dawn. The Manager's eyes, which usually held a warm, grandfatherly disposition, sharpened with a lethal light. That piercing gaze swept over the feet of the uninvited guest.
"And what business do you have, coming with such 'gifts,' Owl Mask?"
Standing before him was a small ghoul, its entire body covered in a blanket. With the baggy blanket and the owl character mask, it looked like a human-sized owl standing there.
At the Owl's feet lay two objects. The Manager knew very well what they were. After all, they were colleagues from the same company.
The severed heads of the Junior Manager and the Section Manager were lined up at the Owl's feet. The Department Manager looked at the heads with an expression of total indifference. They were merely players in his game of playing "Company"; there was no actual affection.
Even so, it wasn't as if he felt nothing about someone severing the heads of two colleagues and displaying them like trophies. This was a blatant territorial intrusion. A challenge directed at them.
"What do you want? If you've come to claim territory, just know that everyone who tried that in the past ended up buried in the dirt."
"..."
Despite the dismissal, the Owl Mask did not retreat. Instead, it took a step forward.
𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘦!!
A crimson light, like a flame or a bird's wing, erupted from its right shoulder.
"I've heard your answer. Now, die."
The Department Manager manifested his own 𝘬𝘢𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘦 and lunged toward the Owl Mask.