The city of Kurohama had never been a peaceful place, but lately it felt as if a shadow was crawling over it. Tall glass buildings lined the main districts, neon signs flickered at night, and crowds filled every street. Yet beneath all that life, fear had started sinking quietly into the people.
Three influential figures had been killed in less than one month — a councilman, a major real-estate tycoon, and a well-known gang adviser. And every one of their deaths carried the same disturbing sign.
The police station in central Kurohama sat beside a busy road, but even the noise outside couldn't lift the tension inside. The building was old, built of grey stone and steel beams from decades ago.
It creaked during storms, smelled faintly of rain and paperwork, and carried the weight of a city always hiding something.
Down the main corridor, officers moved quickly, files in hand, faces tight with stress. A bulletin board near the entrance showed missing people, traffic updates, and now, a new section labeled SPECIAL CASES with large red stamps.
Inside the crime investigation room, the atmosphere felt heavier than ever. Rain slid across the windows in thin sheets, blurring the view of the city outside. There was a large table in the center, covered in crime scene photographs, black-and-white reports, and maps of Kurohama marked with red circles.
Inspector Kaito Ishida stood at the head of the table. His uniform was slightly wrinkled, his tie pulled loose.
He looked like a man who had not slept properly in weeks.
"Alright," he said, voice low but firm. "Let's discuss the Kurohama killings again. We need clarity."
Officer Hana placed a fresh photo on the table. It showed the latest victim lying on a marble floor, eyes empty. On his cheek, carved with painful precision, was a single name:
JANE
The officers shifted uncomfortably.
"In all three killings," Hana said softly, "the wounds were different. One throat cut. One stabbed in the chest. This one… a deep slash across the neck. Different techniques, same message."
Sergeant Mori frowned. "It doesn't feel like the work of one person. No assassin switches methods this much."
"But the signature doesn't change," Kaito muttered. "They want us to see the name. They want the city to see it."
The rain began to hit harder, tapping like fingers on the glass.
Officer Ren pointed at the map. "Look here — all three targets were connected to underground groups. Corrupt networks, money laundering, private security deals. Someone is removing them one by one."
"It's a cleanup," Mori said. "A purge."
Kaito closed his eyes for a moment. "Or a message. Someone wants Kurohama to know that they can reach anyone — rich, powerful, protected. No matter where."
Hana flipped open another report. "Locals are already talking. Rumors say there's an assassin group operating in the dark parts of the city. No real name. No symbol except this… 'Jane.'"
Ren swallowed hard. "If this really is an organization, we're dealing with professionals far above street-level killers."
........
Kurohama Station was louder than usual that morning. People rushed in every direction, dragging suitcases, sipping coffee, yawning, laughing — the usual chaos of a busy city morning. The sky above was clear, pale blue, the kind that made the tall station roof glow. Our office group had gathered near Platform 6 where the train to Mount Futu would arrive.
Everyone stood in small clusters, talking, stretching, checking their bags. Emi walked to the front, cheerful as always, clapping her hands to gather attention.
"Everyone, listen! Sit with your assigned group partners during the ride, okay?"
A few people nodded, some grinned. But then—
"What? Noooo! I want to sit with you, Emi!" Haruto whined, voice childish, high-pitched. He actually pouted. "I'll get bored with my group!"
Emi sighed and pinched his cheek like he was some cute kid. "No, Haruto. Sit with your partners. Be good, okay?"
"Okey-dokey," he replied instantly, cheeks puffed out.
And that was the moment something snapped inside me.
A twist.
A sting.
A hot wave of anger rising from my stomach to my head.
What the hell…
How did I forget?
How did I let myself forget what he was like in my previous life?
Obsessed.
Always around her.
Clinging, smiling, pretending innocence.
(KILL HIM.)
The voice hissed sharply, almost delighted.
Yeah… maybe I will. Maybe this time I won't pretend everything is okay.
I kept my face calm, but my hands had curled into fists without noticing. Emi didn't look at me — she was too busy helping others with their luggage. Daichi waved at me from ahead, telling me to hurry.
Our train slid into the station with a deep metallic roar. Wind rushed past us as the doors lined up. Everyone started moving. I stepped inside, forcing my thoughts back into place.
Inside the train, the seats were wide and clean, soft blue fabric with white headrest covers. Sunlight streamed through the windows, making everything look warm and quiet. Emi sat beside me — Group B — while Daichi sat across from us, tapping his foot excitedly.
People from other groups laughed and chatted. The smell of bentos and coffee filled the air. The speakers played a soft melody as the train began to move, pulling away from Kurohama's crowded towers.
Emi opened a window curtain slightly, letting the light fall on her face. "Ahh… it feels nice to get out of the office," she said.
"Yeah," Daichi added. "Mount Futu is supposed to be beautiful this season."
I nodded silently. My mind wasn't calm. The scenery passed outside — buildings shifting to suburbs, then to long open fields — but my head was busy replaying Haruto's stupid voice, his smile, his hands touching Emi's cheeks.
(KILL HIM.)
The voice repeated, softer this time, almost whispering.
(HE DOESN'T DESERVE TO BE NEAR HER. YOU KNOW THAT.)
I leaned my head against the window, letting the cold glass touch my forehead. The train moved smoothly, almost too peacefully for the storm building inside me.
Emi glanced at me. "Kenji? You look tired."
"Just thinking," I replied.
She didn't ask anything else. The view outside slowly shifted as the train headed deeper toward the mountains — toward the place where this trip would change more than just my mood.
Toward Mount Futu.
Toward whatever fate waited there.