The rain hadn't stopped for three days.
Haratu Sota stood before the latest crime scene, his coat flapping in the wind like a tattered flag. The alleyway was sealed off by yellow tape and watched over by two uniformed officers, one of whom nodded solemnly as he approached.
"The body was found by a delivery boy. Just like the last one," the officer muttered. "But there's something… different this time."
Haratu raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"
The officer hesitated. "He left a note."
They ducked beneath the tape, and Haratu's sharp eyes scanned the surroundings. A trail of smeared footprints, too chaotic to be useful. Bloodstains, almost decorative in their spiraling formation. And there, next to the victim's head, a folded piece of old paper weighted down by a silver coin.
Haratu knelt beside it. The paper was damp, but the ink hadn't run.
It read:
"Even a clock that's broken is right twice a day. But what if time is running in reverse?"
Haratu's eyes narrowed.
"Someone's playing with us now," he muttered, handing the note to Officer Kirihara, who had just arrived. "This isn't the killer making mistakes. This is them taunting us."
Kirihara glanced around. "No witnesses. No cameras. It's like the city itself wants this to stay hidden."
A crack of thunder split the sky.
Haratu straightened. "Then we'll drag it into the light."
---
Back at his apartment, Haratu spread photographs across his wall: each victim, each location, red strings linking names and dates.
The pattern still held—victim A was killed by victim B, who was then killed by victim C, and so on. But the newest body threw it off. The supposed murderer had been dead before his victim's death.
Again.
And now, this taunting note—written in the exact same handwriting as a journal entry Haratu had examined back in Chapter 2.
From Rei Tsukishiro's notebook.
"She knew something," Haratu whispered to himself. "She was investigating them before I ever got involved. The Eye."
He turned to his bookshelf, pulling down an old file labeled "Kōkai no Me."
The Eye of Regret.
A cult? A game? A secret society? So far, they were only whispers in police archives and coded messages in Rei's journal. But this note confirmed it.
They were real.
---
Later that night, Haratu met Tanaka Ryoko at the rooftop of the Metropolitan Police building. The wind was even stronger up here, ripping across the skyline like invisible blades.
"She's disappeared," Ryoko said, lighting a cigarette. "Rei. Her university dorm's empty. Neighbors said she vanished after a strange man in a dark coat visited her. No ID, no security footage."
Haratu's jaw clenched. "We need to find her."
Ryoko nodded, flicking ash over the edge of the rooftop. "But you'll want to hear this too. Forensics pulled DNA from the silver coin left with the note."
"And?"
"It matches the sample from the body that was found ten days ago."
Haratu blinked. "But… that man was dead before this victim died."
"Exactly. It's like he came back… just to leave a message."
They both stood in silence, rain beginning to fall again, soft at first, then heavier, until the city was drowned in a cold curtain of water.
---
Elsewhere, in a candlelit room lined with clocks, a figure in a porcelain mask turned over an envelope.
Inside it was a photograph—Haratu Sota, standing beside the new body.
The figure laughed, a dry sound like paper tearing.
"The detective is catching up," they whispered. "Good. The game needs its hero."
Then they placed the photo on a board covered with dozens of others—victims, suspects, and a central, unlabeled square.
All radiating from one name scrawled in red ink:
"Haratu Sota"
The next day, Haratu returned to the rooftop where Rei Tsukishiro had last met him. He stood there silently, his coat soaked and heavy from the unending drizzle, and stared across the skyline.
Something was bothering him.
Not just the murders. Not just the impossible timeline.
It was the fact that the killer—or the one orchestrating this pattern—knew him. Anticipated his presence. Had even left him a message.
He felt watched.
Just then, his phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A voice, filtered and unrecognizable, echoed in his ear. "Detective Haratu. You're not ready for the truth. But the truth is ready for you."
Haratu's body tensed. "Who is this?"
"I go by many names. But let's call me The Collector. You've been solving a chain, Sota. But what if it's not a chain… but a spiral?"
The call ended.
Haratu stared at his phone for a long moment. "The Collector…?"
---
That night, he met with Ryoko in their hidden case office—an abandoned bookstore tucked between two closed ramen shops in downtown Tokyo.
She'd brought the files.
"Dozens of cases," she said, slapping a dusty folder on the table. "All unsolved. All weirdly connected by matching injuries, repeating locations, or the symbol of an eye carved into walls."
Haratu opened the file and felt the weight of it immediately.
The symbol. The eye with a broken clock inside. It had shown up once before—in the notebook Rei had stolen. But now… he could see it in crime scene photos spanning five years.
"This is a pattern within a pattern," he said slowly. "A hidden trail."
Ryoko looked at him seriously. "And I think we've just found the first real clue."
She pulled out a photo.
Haratu froze.
The man in the photo was one of the early victims. His name was Shin Yagami, murdered two months ago.
But in the background—blurry but unmistakable—stood Rei Tsukishiro.
She wasn't just investigating the Eye.
She had been involved long before she claimed she was.
---
Meanwhile, in a candlelit chamber beneath the city, Rei sat opposite a figure draped in black, their face obscured by a shifting veil of shadow.
"You lied to him," the figure said.
Rei's lips trembled. "I didn't have a choice."
"You got too close. Now he's unraveling the cycle."
She lowered her eyes. "He deserves to know the truth. He's already caught in it."
The figure leaned forward, revealing two silver coins resting in their gloved hand. "Then give him the choice. Let him walk away now… or become part of the cycle forever."
---
Haratu didn't sleep.
By morning, he'd filled two boards with names, dates, photographs, and time stamps. His mind traced invisible lines between each point—like trying to read music from scattered notes.
Then it struck him.
He grabbed a calendar and laid the deaths out again. Not by date—but by interval. 7 days. 14. 3. 10. Then 7 again. Then 21. Then 1.
There was a rhythm here. Not linear. Not backward.
Cyclical.
"Reincarnation?" he muttered. "No. Repetition."
But what if the killer—or the orchestrator—was using time as a weapon?
A tool?
---
A knock at the door.
Haratu opened it cautiously, half-expecting Ryoko or an officer.
Instead, a young boy stood there, drenched and shivering.
He handed Haratu a folded note. "She said you'd understand."
Before Haratu could ask who "she" was, the boy ran.
He unfolded the note.
It was the same handwriting as before.
But this time, it said:
"Find the house with no time. Where the clocks are blind, and mirrors lie."
Haratu knew exactly where it was.
---
An abandoned mansion on the outskirts of the city. Once owned by a wealthy clockmaker who vanished without a trace, the place had been empty for decades.
Haratu entered cautiously, his flashlight cutting through layers of dust and cobwebs.
The walls were lined with clocks—all of them frozen at different times.
No ticking.
No sound.
Just silence.
He moved deeper inside, passing cracked mirrors and faded portraits.
Then he saw it.
The Eye.
Carved into the floor at the center of a circular room, with seven silver coins arranged around it.
And in the middle of the circle…
Rei Tsukishiro.
She looked at him, eyes full of guilt and sorrow. "You shouldn't have come."
Haratu didn't flinch. "You led me here."
"I didn't mean to. I was trying to protect you."
"From what?"
Rei reached into her coat and pulled out a folder. "From the truth."
Haratu opened it.
Inside were newspaper clippings, autopsy reports, and old photographs—dozens of them.
All showing him.
Standing in backgrounds. Caught on CCTV. Present at scenes before he officially joined the case.
In one photo dated five years ago, Haratu appeared younger. But his clothes—the same coat, the same watch—were identical to what he wore now.
"What… is this?"
Rei's voice cracked.
"You're not solving the cycle, Haratu. You're part of it."