The old Minazuki art studio stood cloaked in ivy and dust, half-swallowed by time. Ren and Yuji arrived at dusk, flashlights in hand. The building leaned like it remembered pain.
YUJI Nakamura(MC)
This place feels haunted, (Yuji muttered)
Ren cut through the rusted lock on the chained door. Inside, shadows stretched long. The air smelled of rot and linseed oil. Canvases still lined the walls—unfinished works, some beautiful, others twisted. The Lavender Room’s graveyard.
Ren ran his fingers over a table scarred by years of brushes, wine bottles, and arguments.
Ren ICHIKAWA(Ml)
We thought we were untouchable back then.
Yuji paused beside a piano, keys yellowed.
YUJI Nakamura(MC)
You miss it?
Ren ICHIKAWA(Ml)
No. I regret it.
In a drawer beneath a paint-streaked cabinet, Ren found it: a sketchbook. The cover, labeled in delicate cursive
𝓢𝓸𝓾𝓽𝓪 𝓜𝓲𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪
(Souta Mihara)
He opened it slowly. The pages were filled with portraits. Kazuki. Riku. Eiji. Masaki. Each face delicately drawn—then violently slashed with lavender ink.
All except one.
Ren
YUJI Nakamura(MC)
(Yuji stared over his shoulder) Why not you?
Ren ICHIKAWA(Ml)
(Quite voice) Because I’m the one he wants alive.
A shiver ran down his spine.
The killer wasn’t just following them.
He was sending a message.
And Souta, once invisible, now painted the path forward in lavender and blood.
Comments
Lửa
This story had me at the edge of my seat. Keep writing!
2025-07-29
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