Chapter 4

Sanemi sat hunched on the edge of his bed, the cold sweat still damp on his brow. His chest rose and fell in uneven beats, his mind a storm of what he had just witnessed. The computer’s glow throbbed faintly in the corner of the room, like a watchful eye, a patient predator waiting.

What did I sign into? What the hell crawled into my body?

Before he could begin to answer his own frantic questions, his phone buzzed. He flinched, his trembling hand reaching for it, dreading what he might see.

A new message stared back at him: $200 has been deposited to your account.

For a moment, he simply stared, the numbers blurring before his eyes. His lips parted, a dry, disbelieving whisper escaping. “Money…?” He scrolled again, pulling the screen closer to make sure it wasn't a dream. But it was there—a real, tangible amount, the kind he hadn’t seen in years.

I… I needed this. I could help Mom. I could finally breathe for once.

But then the thought struck him like a knife. The man from last night. The madness in his eyes. The fight. His fall. Sanemi's stomach twisted. I killed him. The words were poison, a cold, hard fact. The contradiction tore at him. On one side, there was relief,money, freedom, survival. On the other, a profound disgust, blood on his hands, a life snuffed out by his own hand.

He pressed his palms to his face, a raw, choked sound escaping his throat. “This can’t be real. I didn’t… I didn’t want this…”

The computer’s low hum grew louder, and then a sharp, piercing ping! rang out. Sanemi’s head snapped toward the screen, dread filling his bones. On the cracked glass, words etched themselves in a cruel, unyielding red.

NEW TASK AVAILABLE. DEADLINE: 24 HOURS. FAILURE \= TERMINATION.

Sanemi’s eyes widened, a wave of cold washing over him. “What?!” He stumbled closer, his legs heavy and weak. “Termination…? Do or die?”

The red letters burned into his vision, merciless and unyielding. For a moment, he almost laughed, the sound dry and broken, filled with a terrible irony. “This is madness… I’m going crazy.” He tore his gaze away, clutching his head. He couldn’t think anymore. His body begged for rest, for escape. He fell into bed, still trembling, and shut his eyes, forcing himself into a shallow, fitful sleep.

The sunlight was merciless when he woke, cutting through his curtains and painting the room in pale, brutal gold. Sanemi groaned, his body heavy, his mind still half in the nightmare of last night. Dragging himself out of bed, he slipped on a hoodie and went downstairs.

On the final step, his mother stood waiting, folding laundry with tired, practiced hands. She looked up, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face. “You came in late last night,” she said quietly.

Sanemi froze, but quickly forced a casual grin. “Ah… yeah, just… hung out with some guys from school.”

Her frown deepened. “Sanemi… you shouldn’t lie to me.”

His throat tightened, but he kept his voice flat. “I’m not lying, Mom. Don’t worry.”

She sighed, shaking her head, but let it go. "Are you going to school today?"

“No,” he muttered, slipping past her toward the kitchen. “I’m… I’m not feeling it.”

Her voice followed him, soft but laced with worry. “Sanemi… you can’t keep skipping. Your father would—”

“Don’t,” Sanemi cut her off, the word sharper than he meant it to be. Silence stretched for a tense breath. His mother looked down at the clothes in her hands, a flash of hurt flickering in her eyes. Guilt gnawed at him, a familiar, unwelcome guest, but he couldn't take the words back.

He switched on the television for a distraction. The screen lit up with a news anchor's grave, somber face.

“…a brutal killing last night in the city outskirts. The victim, identified as a local vagrant known to police, was found with multiple injuries. Authorities suspect foul play…”

A picture appeared on the screen, and Sanemi’s blood ran cold. It was him. The madman. The one who had tried to kill him. The news anchor continued, “…government forces warn civilians to remain vigilant as mysterious cases of violence are on the rise…”

Sanemi sank onto the couch, his chest tight, his breathing shallow. His mother glanced at him, her worry returning. “You okay?”

He forced a laugh, too sharp, too quick. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.”

But inside, the truth screamed: They know. They’ll find me. I’m part of this now. The walls of the house felt too small, too suffocating. He needed air. Without another word, Sanemi stood, grabbed his hoodie, and stepped outside, leaving his mother behind with her unspoken questions.

The afternoon sun glared down, making the pavement shimmer. Sanemi shoved his hands into his pockets, his mind still tangled in the chaos of last night. Each step was heavy, as though the world itself pressed down on his shoulders.

Then, a gentle hand slid into his from behind.

Sanemi stiffened, his heart lurching. He spun around, ready for danger, only to see a girl smiling up at him.

Her name was Rina. They attended the same college, though Sanemi rarely paid attention to anyone there. Today, though, she stood out like a vibrant painting. Her hair, white as fresh snow, caught the sunlight and shimmered with soft strands. Her eyes, wide and glistening, were a pale sky-blue that seemed almost unreal. Her voice, when she spoke, was melodic—the kind that could melt stone. She wore a light mini skirt, her movements graceful, almost playful.

“Sanemi,” she said with a little laugh, still holding his hand. “I thought it was you. What are you doing out here alone?”

He blinked, confused, caught off guard by her warmth. “Just walking,” he muttered.

Her smile widened as though that answer was enough. “You didn’t go to class either, huh? I skipped today too.” She leaned closer, her voice teasing. “So… are you free?”

Sanemi’s gaze drifted away. He wasn’t blind—he knew people thought he was handsome, and he could see the way Rina looked at him, with that glimmer of admiration, almost longing. But his heart was elsewhere, locked in battles no one around him could see. Her questions came like soft raindrops—where was he going, what was he doing, did he want to hang out later? He barely heard them. His mind stayed clouded with the system, the money, the blood.

When she squeezed his hand and asked again, “So… are you free today?” he stopped walking. Gently, he slipped his hand from hers.

“No,” he said flatly. “I’ve got things to do.”

The light in her eyes dimmed, just for a second, but she tried to cover it with a small smile. “I see… maybe another time.”

Sanemi gave no answer. He simply turned, shoving his hands back into his pockets, and walked away. Her figure faded behind him, still standing there in the sunlight, her hand half-raised as if to reach for him again.

Far across the city, in a sealed conference room at the Haloet City Police Headquarters, five figures sat around a long table. Files and photographs were scattered across its surface—images of broken bodies, crime scene tape, blurred CCTV stills. This was the Special Force Division, formed solely to investigate the surge of killings plaguing the city.

At the head sat Chief Officer McKay, a stern man in his early forties, his face carved by years of duty. His sharp eyes scanned the reports as the others spoke, their voices low and grave.

“The patterns don’t make sense,” one detective said. “Ordinary citizens, some criminals, some students… but all dying the same way. Unnatural wounds, no clear weapon. It’s like—”

“Like something inhuman,” another finished.

McKay’s phone vibrated. He checked it discreetly: a message. His eyes narrowed, but he set it aside, masking his reaction. “Keep digging,” he ordered firmly. “No detail is too small. Whoever’s behind this isn’t just a killer—it’s organized. And I want answers before another body drops.”

The team nodded. Papers were gathered, chairs scraped, and one by one, the officers left to chase leads.

When the room emptied, McKay remained alone, the weight of the silence pressing down on him. His phone buzzed again. He answered this time.

A soft voice came through. “You’re late. Are you coming home?”

McKay’s features softened. “Yeah. I’ve got the day off. We’ll talk when I get home.”

He hung up, rubbed his temples, and exhaled slowly. The chief of Haloet’s special force was not just an officer tonight. He was a husband. And a father.

At a quiet house on the edge of the city, a woman prepared food at the table. She heard the bell ring and called out toward the stairs: “Rina! Open the door, please. Must be your father.”

The girl’s soft footsteps descended, her white hair brushing her shoulders as she hurried down. She unlocked the door, and there stood McKay, weary but smiling faintly.

“Dad!” Rina beamed.

“Welcome home,” her mother called warmly from the kitchen, her voice filled with relief.

For a fleeting moment, the world outside, of killings, powers, and blood—seemed far away. But it was already closer than any of them could imagine.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***