Ryouta wandered the streets that night, not knowing where his feet were taking him. The city lights felt colder than usual. Emptier.
Something inside him was pulling—dragging him toward the place where Rei's life had ended.
Shinamura Alley.
The moment he stepped into that narrow, forgotten space, his breath caught in his throat.
He could feel it.
A lingering presence.
No... not just a presence. A pulse. Like the heartbeat of a monster hiding in the cracks of reality.
And then, from the shadows, a shape began to form.
The same man who had killed Rei.
He wore no face—just a blur of darkness where features should have been. But Ryouta didn't need to see him clearly. His soul remembered.
"You..." Ryouta said through clenched teeth. His voice was low. Broken. But inside, something sharp and cold was rising.
"You carry the scent of the girl," the figure said. "She resisted. You will not."
Black threads surged from Ryouta's fingertips, responding to the fury in his chest. They spiraled into the air like a storm, wrapping around buildings, signs, walls.
His eyes flashed violet.
"Let's make this fair," he said. "God of nothing."
In one breath, Ryouta closed his hand.
The threads obeyed.
The entire alley was wrapped in deadly, humming silence.
And then—snap.
The figure didn't even scream. His body was torn apart, bit by bit, sucked into the void between Ryouta's fingers. No blood. No sound.
Just... stillness.
And Ryouta stood there, staring into the place where the killer had vanished.
He felt no guilt.
No sorrow.
Only one thought repeated in his head:
"This power… was always mine."