Chapter 26 – Threads Beneath the Skin

The rain hadn't stopped.

Hiroshi walked through the city like a man wearing someone else's face, his steps erratic, almost dancing, as if hearing music no one else could.

"Tick... tick... tick..." he whispered, tapping his fingers against his leg in rhythm. "The clock’s hands don't move... they scratch. They claw."

He giggled, sudden and sharp, earning a few nervous glances from passersby. But none dared to approach him. In their eyes, he was just another madman lost in the storm.

Perfect.

Just the way he liked it.

Inside the Investigation HQ

Emiko leaned back in her chair, exhaustion pulling at her bones. Before her, maps of the city were scattered across the desk, marked with red circles, pins, and hastily scribbled notes.

"There's a pattern," she muttered. "A spiral... pulling inward."

Nakamura frowned. "You're seeing ghosts."

"No," Emiko said, her voice colder now. "I'm seeing a message."

She held up one of the old case files—Hiroshi's own handwriting—beside the latest crime scene photos.

The words matched.

Almost perfectly.

"He’s not just killing," she whispered. "He’s telling a story."

He ducked into a crumbling subway station, the lights flickering overhead, the air thick with mold and old electricity.

As he descended the stairs, the hallucinations thickened.

Faces stared at him from broken posters. Hands reached from the shadows.

"Hello, old friends," Hiroshi said, bowing theatrically. "Shall we dance?"

A hallucination of a boy missing his mouth stared at him, twitching.

Another—the woman with no eyes—began to hum.

It was beautiful. Haunting.

"I should thank you," Hiroshi said warmly, his voice dripping with sarcasm and something else. "Without you, I'd be so very... boring."

He skipped down the last few steps, landing lightly as if gravity had forgotten him.

Flashback – Years Ago

The image hit him without warning.

He was young, maybe sixteen. Standing before a mirror. His father’s belt heavy in his hand.

“Smile, Hiroshi,” the man behind him had said. “Smile wider. Always wider.”

And Hiroshi had smiled.

Wider. Wider.

Until it hurt.

Until it broke something inside him that never quite healed.

Back to the Subway

The flashback left a taste of metal in his mouth. He wiped it away absently with the back of his hand.

The plan was coming together.

A new "victim" had already been chosen—a man nobody would miss. The setup was flawless: an abandoned carriage deep in the station, CCTV cameras disabled days ago, a timing mechanism Hiroshi had spent weeks perfecting.

"Tonight," Hiroshi whispered, voice trembling with excitement. "Tonight, I become a rumor."

He pulled out a thin wire from his coat.

The beginning of the end.

The beginning of the greatest trick he would ever play.

Meanwhile

Emiko got into her car, heart pounding.

The last three clues had led her here: a forgotten subway entrance, long decommissioned.

She didn’t call for backup.

Something inside told her this was personal now.

As she gripped the steering wheel tighter, she whispered to herself:

"You're not chasing a killer. You're chasing a ghost."

And ghosts were never meant to be caught.