The rooftop was bright under the afternoon sun, the concrete warm and dry. Wind moved lightly across the open space, carrying distant city noise from far below. Air-conditioning units and metal pipes sat near the edges, casting sharp shadows.
Kaito and Nagato stood still with their hands raised.
Then two police officers stepped out, guns already aimed. Their boots hit the ground with heavy, controlled steps as they moved closer.
"Don't move!" one officer ordered.
Both officers advanced carefully, watching their hands and waistlines. One of them spread to the side for a better angle while the other approached directly.
"Any weapons?" the second officer asked.
"No," Kaito answered quickly.
"No weapons," Nagato added, calm.
The first officer grabbed Kaito's wrist firmly and pulled his arms behind his back. At the same time, the second officer did the same to Nagato. Neither resisted.
Handcuffs came out, shining in the sunlight.
KLIK.
Kaito's wrists were locked.
KLIK.
Nagato's wrists were locked too.
The officers tugged the cuffs to check them, then kept a tight grip on their arms. The metal chains clinked softly in the quiet rooftop air.
"You're coming with us," one officer said.
The officers guided both of them toward the rooftop door .
The sound of rotor blades suddenly filled the rooftop.
A helicopter appeared above them, hovering low in the air. Strong wind blasted across the concrete, pushing dust and loose gravel around. The officers stepped back slightly to keep their balance, their uniforms shaking from the force.
Both officers quickly raised their guns toward the helicopter.
"Heads up! Eyes on the sky!" one officer shouted.
The other officer aimed carefully and yelled, "Air unit! Identify yourself!"
The helicopter door opened.
Four people jumped down onto the rooftop. The distance wasn't very high, but still enough that a normal person would get hurt landing. However, all four landed smoothly, bending their knees slightly like it was nothing.
The police officers instantly aimed their guns at them.
"Police! Identify yourselves!" one officer demanded.
None of the four raised their hands.
One of the strangers stepped forward.
He was tall, wearing dark clothing that looked expensive but simple. His hair was neat, and his face carried an easy confidence—almost bored.
He slipped both hands into his pockets.
Like he was taking a walk.
Not walking into gunfire.
He glanced at the police, then at the two handcuffed men.
A smile spread across his face, calm and lazy.
He tilted his head slightly toward his teammate and spoke casually, as if asking about the weather.
"Should I kill them?"
The police officer's grip tightened on his gun.
"Don't move!" he warned.
Another one of the strangers looked at the officers, his gaze was sharp, cold, scanning the officers like they were objects. his eyes turning faintly blue as he scanned them.
Then he replied in a calm voice, "No need. Just knock them out."
He glanced toward Kaito and added, "The handcuffed one is the host."
One of the strangers, a young woman, suddenly leaned forward slightly and made a cute, bored face.
"This isn't fun," she said in a light voice.
For a moment she looked harmless.
Then her expression changed.
Her smile disappeared, and her eyes became cold. Her fingernails stretched longer in seconds, sharp and unnatural, like thin black blades.
The police officers stiffened.
Their guns stayed pointed, but their hands started shaking. One of them swallowed hard, eyes locked on her nails.
The scanning man turned his head toward her, his face emotionless.
"Enough. Get off, Shiori," he said coldly.
Shiori blinked.
Her nails shrank back to normal instantly. Her scary expression vanished like it never happened. She returned to a cute face and pouted.
She said ,"Please don't talk to me like that," she also acted offended. "I'll cry, Zen."
Zen didn't react.
He didn't even look bothered.
The police officers looked terrified now. Their breathing became louder, uneven. Their fingers tightened on the triggers.
"O-Okay…" one officer said, voice shaking. "Who… who are you people?"
No one answered.
Zen glanced at the man who had earlier suggested killing them.
"Make it quick," Zen said calmly. "I'm going, Hayate."
Then Zen stepped back and jumped up toward the helicopter.
It was too high for a normal jump, but he grabbed the edge smoothly and pulled himself in like it was nothing.
Shiori watched him go, her lips forming a small annoyed smile.
"Huh. No fun," she muttered.
She made a small angry face, like a child who didn't get what she wanted.
Then she jumped back as well, landing inside the helicopter with ease.
The police officers stood frozen, guns still raised, eyes wide.
Kaito and Nagato stayed silent, handcuffed, staring at the helicopter as if their minds couldn't process what they were seeing.
Hayate stood with one hand in his pocket, shoulders relaxed, like this was just a normal day.
He looked around the rooftop slowly, counting the officers without rushing.
"One… two… three…" his eyes moved calmly. "…eleven."
He turned his head toward the other guy.
Then he spoke casually, almost like he was talking about a game.
"Hey, Tatsuya," Hayate said. "Let's see how many we can knock out. More knocks wins."
Tatsuya's lips curved into a small smile.
His eyes locked onto the police line.
"I'm on it," he replied.
The officers were already shaking. Their guns were aimed, but their breathing was messy, panicked. One of them stepped back, boots scraping hard against the rooftop.
Then someone shouted, voice cracking from fear.
"FIRE!"
The rooftop exploded with gunshots.
The sound was loud enough to echo between the buildings. Muzzle flashes blinked in the sunlight, and smoke burst out of the barrels. Shell casings flew and bounced across the concrete.
The officers fired again and again, not even aiming properly anymore.
But the bullets hit nothing.
Because Hayate was gone.
In the middle of the gunfire, he vanished like air.
Not a jump.
Not a dodge.
One second he was standing there—
the next second he wasn't.
The police stared in shock.
"What—?!" one officer gasped.
At the same time, Tatsuya moved his fingers towards the police.
Blue electricity flickered across his fingers like thin snakes of light. It didn't explode. It made a noise like when short circuit happens very small one .
It just glowed sharply, clean and unnatural.
His smile didn't fade.
Then he disappeared too.
The gunfire slowed.
Then stopped.
The rooftop fell into sudden silence except for the helicopter blades above and the sound of hot shell casings rolling.
The officers stood frozen, their guns still raised, eyes wide as they looked around wildly.
"Where did they go?!" someone shouted.
"Spread out!" another officer yelled, voice shaking.
They turned their heads left and right, trying to find even a shadow.
Nothing.
Only wind.
Then—
a loud THUD.
One officer collapsed forward without even screaming. His gun slipped from his hand and hit the ground.
Another officer turned, shocked.
And before he could speak—
THUD.
He dropped too.
The police didn't understand what was happening. They couldn't see the attacker, but they could feel movement—short bursts of air rushing past their faces, like someone sprinting right beside them.
Hayate was moving.
So fast he couldn't be seen.
Only the wind gave him away.
A sharp gust hit an officer's neck.
Hayate's hand struck the side of the man's throat with perfect precision.
Not a punch.
A clean hit.
The officer's eyes rolled back instantly.
He fell like his body had been switched off.
THUD.
Another officer spun around, gun shaking.
"STAY BACK!" he yelled.
But Hayate was already behind him.
A fast blur.
A small wind burst.
A quick chop to the neck.
The officer dropped.
THUD.
It kept happening.
One by one.
Every time they tried to aim, they lost their target.
Every time they tried to run, their legs gave out.
The rooftop filled with bodies falling, weapons clattering, and confused shouts that ended too quickly.
Meanwhile, Tatsuya moved differently.
He wasn't wind.
He was light.
A thin blue flash shot like a lightning matchstick strike in the air. For a split second, a line of electric glow appeared—then vanished.
Tatsuya didn't run like a human.
He became a streak.
A sharp blue lightning path that cut through the space between officers.
One officer blinked—
and the blue light passed his chest.
He didn't even feel pain.
He just collapsed.
THUD.
Another officer tried to raise his gun.
The blue flash passed him too.
His whole body froze for half a second, like his nerves stopped working.
Then he fell backward, unconscious.
THUD.
The police were terrified now.
Their eyes moved everywhere at once, desperate to catch something.
But they only saw sudden wind and short blue flickers.
They were being hunted by things they couldn't understand.
Their voices turned into pure panic.
"WHERE ARE THEY?!"
"DON'T LET THEM GET CLOSE!"
"I CAN'T SEE—!"
But it didn't matter.
Hayate struck fast, hitting necks with perfect control, dropping them like leaves.
Tatsuya flashed through them like a blue spark, leaving silent bodies behind him.
In less than a minute, the rooftop became quiet.
Eleven officers lay on the ground, unconscious, their guns scattered across the concrete.
Hayate slowed down, stopping near the center like nothing happened.
Tatsuya appeared beside him, electricity fading from his hand.
Hayate glanced around and smirked.
"Not bad," he said calmly, and added "anyway i knocked six so i won " .
He turned his head toward Hayate. His eyes narrowed, and his mouth twisted into an annoyed expression.
"You ran before I could even start," Tatsuya said. "Of course you'll win like that.""If you didn't move first… I might've won."
Hayate only smiled. His posture stayed relaxed, like nothing serious had happened. One hand remained in his pocket as he looked around the rooftop.
"As if," Hayate replied.
Then his eyes moved toward Kaito and Nagato.
Both of them were still standing there, handcuffed, breathing quietly. Their bodies were stiff. Their faces looked blank, but their eyes were tired and confused.
Hayate tilted his head slightly, still smiling.
"Anyway," he said, "what should I do with the other one?"
Tatsuya didn't answer. Both of them stared at Nagato.
Their eyes were calm, but heavy. The kind of look that didn't need shouting to feel threatening.
Nagato's chest tightened. His throat felt dry. His legs wanted to step back, but he forced himself to stay still. He tried to keep his expression normal, but his breathing became uneven.
He swallowed and spoke, his voice low and breathy.
"What… what do you want with him?"
Neither of them reacted.
Hayate looked away, toward the helicopter.
He spoke casually, like he was bored.
"Anyway," Hayate said, "we're late."
His body moved.
One step forward.
Then he was suddenly close.
Nagato barely had time to blink before Hayate's hand struck the side of his neck. The hit was clean and precise.
Nagato's eyes widened for a moment.
Then his body went limp.
He dropped to the ground without a sound.
Before Kaito could even turn his head—
Hayate's other hand struck Kaito's neck.
Kaito's shoulders shook once. His knees bent. His body collapsed forward, landing on the rooftop with a dull sound.
The handcuffs clinked softly as his wrists hit the ground.
The rooftop became quiet again, except for the helicopter blades above.
Hayate bent down and grabbed Kaito by the upper body. He lifted him easily, as if Kaito weighed nothing at all. Kaito's arms hung down, the cuffs still locked on his wrists.
Hayate swung him over his shoulder.
Then he stepped back, bent his knees slightly, and jumped.
The jump was high, smooth, controlled.
He grabbed the edge of the helicopter doorway and pulled himself up in one motion, landing inside without struggle.
Inside the helicopter, the sound was loud and constant. The floor vibrated under their feet. The air smelled like fuel and cold metal. The interior was dark, lined with seats along the sides, with straps hanging loosely.
Hayate walked to the corner and lowered Kaito's body down. He placed him against the side wall, letting him rest there.
Shiori was already sitting in the corner seat. Her arms were folded tightly, and her cheeks were puffed in a childish way. She looked annoyed, like she had been waiting too long.
She tilted her head and spoke in a cute, complaining voice.
"You dummies are slow."
Tatsuya climbed in after Hayate, stepping lightly. His face still looked irritated, but he didn't reply to Shiori.
Zen sat further inside, calm and quiet. He didn't react to her words either. His eyes stayed cold and focused as he looked toward the front.
He leaned forward slightly and spoke to the pilot.
"Let's go."
The pilot nodded.
The helicopter rose higher, the wind growing stronger. The rooftop dropped away beneath them, becoming smaller and smaller .
Kaito's body lay in the corner of the helicopter, unmoving. His head leaned slightly to the side, and his arms rested awkwardly behind him, the handcuffs still locked. The vibration of the helicopter shook the metal floor beneath him, but he didn't react.
He was unconscious.
But his mind wasn't fully quiet.
Deep inside his head, something kept searching.
Like a hand reaching into darkness, trying to grab one missing piece.
One memory.
The memory of that night.
The night he registered for the arm-wrestling match.
As far as Kaito remembered, everything had been normal. He had returned home, feeling tired. He had assumed it was simple exhaustion. The kind of tiredness that made you fall asleep without realizing it.
That was what he believed.
But even in his unconscious state, something felt wrong.
There was a gap.
A blank space in his mind that didn't feel natural.
And slowly… that blank space began to crack.
At first, there was only darkness.
Then a faint light appeared.
Dim and yellow.
A streetlamp.
The memory came back like a weak signal, blurry and unstable, like an old video trying to load.
Kaito saw a figure standing under the lamp post.
A boy.
The boy was holding a phone up in front of him, the screen glowing against his face. His fingers moved carefully, tapping the screen, scrolling, pausing—like he was focusing on something important.
The scene sharpened little by little.
The sound of the street returned too—quiet wind, distant traffic, the soft buzz of the lamp.
The boy lowered the phone slightly.
And Kaito's breath caught, even though his real body didn't move.
Because the boy's face became clear.
It was him.
The same hair.
The same eyes.
The same expression.
Kaito watched himself from his own memory, standing there calmly as if nothing was strange.
The phone screen flashed again.
And the camera angle shifted slightly, as if his hands were adjusting focus.
Then Kaito saw what he was looking at.
A poster.
Bright, printed, taped onto a wall.
The arm-wrestling match poster.
The words on it were sharp and readable, and the image looked familiar, like something he had seen before but never truly noticed.
His memory-self stepped closer.
The phone moved again, scanning up and down.
Not like taking a normal picture.
More like reading.
More like measuring.
Kaito could see the exact pattern of his movements—how his wrist tilted, how his thumb paused, how his eyes narrowed slightly while he focused.
It was too precise.
Too deliberate.
The memory continued like a video playing on its own.
After finishing, his memory-self lowered the phone and stood still for a second. The lamp light covered his face, making his eyes look darker than usual.
Then he turned away.
He started walking.
The street around him was quiet, empty. The footsteps sounded clear on the pavement. The city felt asleep, but not peaceful—just silent.
Kaito watched every step.
Every movement.
Then the scene shifted again.
His memory-self arrived home.
He reached the door.
His hand moved naturally to the handle.
The door opened with a soft sound.
And Kaito watched himself step inside.
The door slowly closed behind him.
A brown Persian cat was already waiting inside. She was sitting near the door, her tail wrapped around her legs. The moment she saw him, she meowed in an emotional way, soft but full of complaint, like she was saying why did you leave me alone.
Kaito's face relaxed.
He came in, closed the door behind him, and locked it. The click of the lock echoed in the quiet room. He bent down, lifted the cat gently into his arms, and smiled.
"I'm sorry," he said softly."You were scared… I'm really sorry."
The cat rubbed her head against his chest and meowed again, quieter this time.
He walked into the kitchen. The light there was brighter, cold and white. He opened the chiller door. Cold air flowed out. Inside were medicines, neatly placed. He took out an injection and a small serum bottle.
Kaito put the cat down on the table.
Dora looked at the injection. She understood. Her ears moved a little, but she didn't run. She just sat there. Her tail stopped moving. She meowed softly, like she was saying be gentle.
Kaito swallowed.
"It's the last dose," he said, trying to sound calm."After this, you'll be fine, Dora."
His hands were careful. A little shaky.
He pushed the needle into the serum and pulled the liquid inside. He tapped it gently, pushed a little out. He didn't want any mistake.
First, he cleaned her back with hexixaul. The smell spread in the air. Dora flinched just a little, then stayed still.
Kaito took a breath.
Slowly, he put the injection into her skin.
Dora didn't move.She only meowed once, very softly.
Kaito pressed the liquid in, slowly, carefully, watching her face, watching every breath she took. When it was done, he pulled the needle out.
For one second, everything was quiet.
Then Dora screamed.
A loud, sharp meow filled the room. Her body reacted suddenly, unnaturally, like something inside her went wrong. The table shook. The bottle rolled and fell to the floor.
Kaito froze.
Dora's scream became sharp and broken. Dora's small body suddenly swelled, unnaturally, like a balloon filled with too much air. The change was instant, wrong, and terrifying to look at .
. Kaito's eyes widened. His smile disappeared in an instant.
"Dora—?"
Then it blasted.
A sharp, brutal crack the cats body it split apart instantly, unable to hold itself together anymore. Blood exploded outward with crushing force, slamming into the walls, the ceiling, the floor all at once.
The room was filled in blood in a single heartbeat.
Blood rained down heavily, soaking everything. The floor disappeared under it. The sound was loud, overwhelming, then slowly fading as the movement settled.
The cats skin flew everywhere.
Torn pieces were thrown across the room, sticking to walls, hanging from edges, scattered across the floor. Some slid down slowly, stretched and empty. Others lay still, useless, stripped of any purpose.
Then—nothing.
Only dripping remained.Slow.Cold.
Before he could move, there was a dull, violent sound.
The walls, the floor, the table—everything was ruined in a single moment. Pieces of what used to be Dora were scattered everywhere. The smell in the air changed, thick and unbearable .