Chapter 2: Torturer

In the quiet halls of Minamigawa High School, Aria Mizuki was invisible.

She moved through the corridors like a shadow, silent, overlooked, her expression unreadable. Teachers called on her rarely. Students glanced at her and then away, as if something about her presence unsettled them without knowing why.

She liked it that way.

Her days were scripted: wake, school, extract mana, repeat. Routine was control. Control was survival. And survival was necessary—for her, for her power, for the eventual confrontation she still believed was waiting in the unseen reaches of the world.

In math class, she sat by the window, third row from the back. She never asked questions. Never missed answers. Her notes were impeccable, her eyes occasionally drifting beyond the glass toward the clouds. As if she were waiting for something that didn’t belong to this world.

At lunch, she remained at her desk. Her bento was plain—always the same. Rice, egg, pickled vegetables. She ate slowly, methodically, each bite measured.

No one sat with her. They didn’t need to be told not to.

By afternoon, she’d already chosen her next target.

The boy was older—perhaps a college student. A predator who stalked girls through alleyways near the train station. He was cautious, careful, practiced. But not enough.

She crossed his path that evening.

Not as a student. Not as Aria.

She wore a black coat, hood drawn up, face hidden behind a screen of summoned fog. The moment he looked at her, he froze. Not because he saw something frightening—he didn’t. He saw a girl alone.

He smiled. Stepped forward.

That was all she needed.

The air shimmered. The world cracked, split, and folded.

The Black Cage welcomed him.

He woke chained and screaming.

Aria was already there.

She didn’t speak. The time for that was long past. A curved hook of silver unfurled in her hand, manifesting with a slow metallic groan. Her eyes gleamed faintly violet in the dark.

She started with his legs. The hook worked cleanly—no blood. Her mana sealed the wounds even as it tore flesh. Pain built slowly, then all at once. Every nerve amplified. Every shriek echoed endlessly in the closed stone room.

He begged. Cursed. Promised anything.

Aria never blinked.

One by one, she summoned her instruments. A lattice of wires. A mask that seared memories into the victim’s eyes. Chains that tore at the soul directly, unraveling the person beneath the flesh.

And through it all, she absorbed it—the grief, terror, pain—distilled into pure, crackling mana that swirled at her feet like black mist. A ritual with no altar but suffering itself.

When it was done, when his voice had vanished and his eyes turned glassy with the knowledge of inevitable death, she knelt beside him.

“I remember everyone I’ve killed,” she whispered.

And then she ended it.

A sharp crack of displaced air. The mana vanished. The body collapsed in on itself, leaving behind no trace but the blackened chains that slowly retreated into the stone.

Aria stood in silence.

She did not feel guilt. Guilt was irrelevant.

But she did feel the weight of progress. A little closer. A little stronger. One more step toward that distant goal.

She stepped out of the Cage.

Back in her apartment, she shed her coat, her expression blank. The city lights outside blinked in neon silence. She sat on her bed, letting the night wrap around her.

Somewhere deep inside her mind, a whisper echoed—an image she couldn’t place. A feeling she didn’t recognize. Not yet.

She shook it off and lay down.

There was still more to be done.