Five days had passed since the fateful encounter between The Ghost and Satsujin Sha. Those five days would become a blur of bloodshed and madness as The Ghost, once a man of discipline and control, now found himself spiraling into chaos.

  Satsujin Sha’s words had taken root deep in his mind, festering like a poison. "You think you’re free, but I can see through you." The Ghost had once prided himself on his sharp mind and unshakable will, but the encounter with Satsujin had left him vulnerable. And now, the unthinkable was happening.

  The Ghost had started killing.

  It began with a single murder. A man in the wrong pce at the wrong time, perhaps. The Ghost couldn’t even remember his face. All he could recall was the sensation of his knife slipping into the man’s side, the blood spilling across his hands, and the eerie satisfaction that followed.

  From there, it escated. The Ghost’s mind, once focused and precise, was now clouded with violent impulses, all driven by the voice of Satsujin Sha. Each killing seemed to push him deeper into a fog of delusion. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing it anymore. The Ghost had become a pawn in Satsujin’s twisted game, compelled to kill for reasons he couldn’t expin.

  The killings were brutal, methodical, and cold. Victims were chosen at random—strangers on the street, people in quiet corners of the city, anyone who crossed The Ghost’s path. But no matter how many he killed, the feeling of control he once cherished never returned. Instead, he was drowning in guilt and confusion, his mind unraveling with every life he took.

  Back in Japan, the situation was growing more tense. Mr. A had been relentlessly working on tracking Satsujin Sha, convinced that the key to stopping the killer y in understanding the events of 2000. He had spent sleepless nights poring over old case files, trying to draw connections that could help him predict Satsujin’s next move.

  But as Mr. A worked, one of his colleagues, Officer Kato, approached him with a suggestion.

  “Sir, maybe we should try contacting the assassin,” Officer Kato said hesitantly. “He’s been on the ground in Germany for a while now. He might have intel we don’t.”

  Mr. A, without looking up from his desk, replied coldly, “Shut up, Kato. I’ll think about contacting him when the time is right. But right now, I’m busy. Do not disturb me.”

  Kato was taken aback by the harsh response but said nothing further. He left Mr. A to his work, knowing that pushing the issue any further would only result in more hostility.

  However, Kato couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It had been weeks since they st heard from The Ghost, and the situation in Germany seemed to be escating. Murders were happening more frequently, and the authorities were at a loss. Kato couldn’t help but wonder if their assassin had gotten in too deep, if maybe he had lost control.

  A month had passed since The Ghost began his killing spree, and the streets of Germany were rife with fear. His once covert operations had devolved into a frenzy of bloodshed, drawing the attention of the local authorities. It was only a matter of time before he was caught.

  And that moment came on a rainy afternoon in the heart of Berlin. The Ghost, disheveled and paranoid, had been moving through the city like a hunted animal. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollow, and his mind fractured. He no longer cared about blending in or avoiding detection. He was a man broken, completely under Satsujin Sha’s control.

  The police, having tracked him through a series of witness reports, finally closed in. The Ghost put up little resistance. His body moved as if on autopilot, and the officers easily overpowered him. As they cuffed his hands and pced him in the back of a police van, The Ghost muttered under his breath.

  “He’s my friend… help me…” His voice was weak, almost pleading.

  The officers exchanged puzzled gnces but said nothing. They assumed he was talking about some accomplice or trying to py a mind game. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. The Ghost had been caught, and he was on his way to the police station for interrogation.

  Inside the van, one of the officers, a tall man with cold eyes, sat beside The Ghost. As the vehicle rumbled through the streets, the officer kept his gaze fixed on the broken man beside him. The Ghost, his head slumped forward, barely noticed the officer’s presence. His mind was still reeling from the recent events.

  After a while, another officer, the driver, turned to the tall man and said, “We’ll drop him at the station in an hour.”

  The tall officer nodded but said nothing. Inside his mind, however, a darker pn was unfolding. His thoughts were not on the station or the interrogation. His mind was on Mr. A.

  “You sent an assassin to kill me, Mr. A,” the tall officer thought with a slight smile pying at the corners of his lips. “But I’ll show you who the real hunter is.”

  An hour passed, and the van came to a halt, but it wasn’t at the police station. Instead, they had stopped in front of a dipidated junk shop on the outskirts of the city. The rain had started to fall harder, drumming against the roof of the van as the tall officer opened the door and dragged The Ghost out.

  “Where… are we?” The Ghost mumbled, his vision hazy, his mind struggling to focus.

  The officer said nothing, leading The Ghost inside the shop. The pce was dark and musty, filled with old, rusted machinery and broken furniture. It was a pce where no one would look, a perfect spot for what was about to happen.

  Inside, the tall officer pushed The Ghost into a chair and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, pulled out a long, serrated knife. The bde gleamed under the dim light of the shop.

  The Ghost’s eyes widened in realization, but it was too te. The officer’s expression changed, his cold eyes narrowing with cruel amusement.

  “You should’ve never come after me,” the officer said softly, his voice dripping with malice. “Mr. A sent you, didn’t he? Thought you could kill me? Well, he was wrong.”

  The Ghost tried to rise from the chair, but his body was too weak, too drained from the mental torment he had endured. He barely registered the knife as it plunged into his side, the pain searing through him like fire.

  The officer—no, Satsujin Sha—stabbed him again, and again, and again. Seven times, each thrust precise and deliberate. Blood soaked the floor beneath them, pooling around The Ghost’s body.

  Satsujin Sha’s face was expressionless as he worked, his eyes cold and detached. He leaned in close, his voice barely a whisper.

  “I told you… when I was in the mood, I would kill you.”

  The final act came with a sickening crunch as Satsujin Sha crushed The Ghost’s left eye under his boot, his cold gaze never leaving the broken man before him.

  The Ghost’s body convulsed once, twice, and then went still.

  Satsujin Sha stood over him, wiping the blood from his hands with a rag he found nearby. He stared down at the lifeless body for a moment, his expression unreadable.

  Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the night, leaving the junk shop as silent and desote as it had been before.

  Hours ter, the authorities would find the body of The Ghost in the junk shop, his identity revealed only by the scars and the files the police had on him. His death would send shockwaves through both the criminal world and w enforcement. The man sent to stop Satsujin Sha had become just another victim in his twisted game.

  In Japan, Mr. A would hear the news with a heavy heart. His pn had failed. The Ghost, his st hope to stop Satsujin, was dead. And worse, Satsujin Sha was still out there, moving unseen through the shadows, ready to strike again.

  The hunt wasn’t over. If anything, it had only just begun.