Chapter 24 – in the Silence

Night settled over the city like a suffocating veil, the streets below bathed in a cocktail of neon light and shadow. Hiroshi sat alone in his apartment, the only sound the ticking of a broken clock that hadn’t moved in years. It ticked anyway.

A steaming cup of tea sat untouched on the table. The scent of bergamot clung to the air—an echo of a memory he couldn’t quite place.

He stared at the teacup.

“You know,” he said aloud, though no one was there, “sometimes I think the tea drinks me instead.”

A quiet laugh answered him.

He didn’t flinch.

The figure sitting on his couch wore a tattered school uniform. Her face was pale, drained of color, her eyes two hollow voids. Rina. Or what his mind wanted to be Rina. Again.

She tilted her head slowly, birdlike. “Why do you keep pretending you didn’t enjoy it?”

“I don’t pretend,” Hiroshi whispered, leaning back, folding his arms. “I refine.”

He stood, pacing in slow circles, the way a beast circles the walls of its cage. His hands moved in the air like he was tracing invisible threads, lines of connection only he could see.

“Every move has meaning. Every death—art. Poetry wrapped in silence. They don’t scream because I don’t allow them to.”

The ghost did not blink. She smiled.

“You’re scared. You’re losing control.”

“Scared?” His voice cracked, too loud in the tiny room. “No no no no, that’s not right. They should be scared. I’m the one playing the game.”

He stopped. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“…but I keep forgetting the rules.”

He turned suddenly, and the ghost was gone.

 No sound. Just the ticking clock.

He pressed both palms to his temples and let out a breathless giggle.

Meanwhile, in the station...

Emiko stared at the wall of evidence Hiroshi had built—photos, strings, pins—like a madman’s gallery. She ran her fingers across a note pinned near the center. One of the victim’s final words.

“Forgive me,” she read.

“Forgive who?” she murmured. “What are you hiding, Hiroshi?”

Behind her, footsteps approached. It was Nakamura, older, stern, his eyes scanning the mess.

“He’s brilliant,” he said softly, “but something’s wrong. You see it too, don’t you?”

Emiko nodded. “He’s unraveling.”

She thought of the way Hiroshi’s hands trembled when he thought no one was watching. The way he talked in circles, eyes darting like he was trying to follow invisible moths in the air.

“We need to help him.”

Nakamura gave her a long look. “Or stop him.”

Back at the apartment...

Hiroshi stood before the mirror once more.

It didn’t speak tonight.

Instead, his own reflection simply smiled.

Not the usual smile. A smile he didn’t remember making.

He tilted his head, and so did the reflection—but slightly out of sync. A second too late. Off-beat. Wrong.

He raised one hand.

The reflection raised the other.

Wrong again.

“…you’re not me,” Hiroshi whispered.

And the reflection finally responded.

“But I will be.”