There was a realization Kokichi made as he walked. For the first time in his life, he'd find an answer to the question that haunted him every waking step.

Who killed his parents?

In his mind, he constantly switched up the image of the killer. All he knew prior to speaking with Maki was that the perpetrator was his age, a vampire with golden eyes. Now, he knew that the possible culprit was a man named Saihara—a nervous type of person that probably hated parties, and would make up any excuse to not go to them. Would he be too nervous to fight back, Kokichi wondered?

Would he be remorseful?

Kokichi felt remorse, but he also felt ecstasy. He wasn't afraid of dying as much as he was afraid of living, and seeing things through. Saihara was his proverbial Moby Dick, after all. He was his longtime rival and treasure—a battle to be conquered. Even if he remembered every fighting technique he learned, even if he counted each silver blade in his pockets, nothing could prepare him for the encounter when it came.

To take one's life was a sacred—or sacrilegious—act. If it were a human, an animal, or maybe a small, defenseless creature, Kokichi would hesitate. Even if he'd seen death firsthand, he never wished that sort of torture onto another innocent person, and worked hard to make his wishes reality.

Vampires, on the other hand, were entirely different. They were nearly parasites, thriving off of others' suffering in order to survive. They killed without thought and hesitation—why should a vampire hunter, then, be any different?

Why would Saihara be different? Well, for one, Maki didn't bother exposing his existence to Ouma. Sure, she didn't describe his appearance beyond his eye color, but the fact that she gave a name to a face to a thought meant that she either didn't care about him, or she was confident that Saihara was human, and that satisfaction would come from Ouma's inevitable goose chase over an imaginary enemy. Either way, he had to see the results of the experiment himself, and it was always, always, always better to be safe than sorry.

If Kokichi agonized over this, he didn't show it. To any outsider, he was a boy with happy and merry thoughts, skipping on the sidewalks without a care in the world.

He'd done his research on Saihara already. According to the internet, he ran a small detective agency with his uncle—an establishment that was less than three blocks away from the venue for Kaede's party. It was fate that brought him to that party, he thought.

It was fate that would bring them together.

It all happened so quickly. Even though he mentally prepared himself for this situation every day, it was different when it actually happened. He became unnerved, fingers twitching for some purchase but finding nothing except an iron-tight grip that begged for the shaking to stop.

Relax, you idiot, or do you wanna jump the gun and get yourself killed before you've even had a chance to live?

Fucking idiot.

.

.

The detective agency was a holed up building, caught between an antique store and some small insurance office. The street was busy but not too crowded, and Kokichi was thankful for that because he'd rather have less outside interference than was necessary. In fact, he'd like to tie up that fucker himself, and take him some place where no one could hear his screams. Then he'd bleed his body dry, and lose himself in the mad chorus of dripping blood and Saihara's pleas for mercy.

As if he'd listen to such pitiful lies, anyway.

Bang! Kokichi ducked behind the nearest surface—a large trash can in the middle of the street—before peering out. He knew the sound of gunshots well, even if they were rare in this part of town. There was a muffled cry for help, and then a chorus of police sirens right after.

A man wearing handcuffs passed by, screaming and hollering as about a dozen officers chased after him. In their ensuing chase, more gunshots followed, and Kokichi hid further behind the trash can. When the noise subsided, he emerged from behind the trash can, and turned his attention to the Saihara Private Eye Company, before witnessing—

"Shuuichi, wait!" A man called out as the door to the agency swung open. The figure that dashed out the doors was clad in dark clothing, quick as an arrow but just clumsy enough to allow Kokichi enough time to observe him.

He was a young man, probably around Kokichi's age, with dark navy blue hair sticking out from the brim of his black hat. His clothes were dark, but in the light Kokichi could see they were completely black, but impeccably neat and studious in style. Judging from the distance, he looked much taller than Kokichi, and equally scrawny but not so obviously thin.

It didn't matter what he looked like, though. All that mattered were his eyes, which Kokichi couldn't even see because of that stupid hat. Shuuichi Saihara was his name, and based on the urgency he carried himself with, he was the self-righteous type, who couldn't just let criminals escape the hands of the police.

If he was a detective, then even if he was privately affiliated, his matters often concerned the police. Kokichi wouldn't be surprised to know that Shuuichi was the one to correctly identify the criminal in the first place.

Even if his eyes weren't golden, they could see clearly. An asset like that might be useful in DICE, possible vampirism notwithstanding.

Possible. Possible? Yeah, it was possible that Kokichi was chasing a dead lead. Shuuichi Saihara could be a completely innocent person, and just in case he was, Kokichi knew the right things to say. He had the perfect apology planned when he inevitably made things complicated between them.

Eventually, the criminal, the police, and Shuuichi came to a dead end in an alleyway, and there were no more gunshots. Just sighs of relief and an angry convict, cursing Shuuichi's name and swearing he'd come back for him. As if someone handcuffed that badly could come back—as if such a minor player had a role in their story, to begin with!

As Kokichi finally caught up to Shuuichi, he realized something crucial. After all this time, he only managed to glean his backside—a habit that started since they were kids. Those days, the golden eyes managed to turn away, and now in the present day, Kokichi was staring at a black expanse of clothing and a lean figure, neither of which described the certain color of a certain body part. If this guy was supposed to be a detective, he needed better self awareness than this.

An eternity and half an hour passed between the crowd dispersing, and Kokichi stepping forward. When it ended, he spoke in a clear, loud voice: "Shuuichi Saihara!"

A quiet gasp. Visible hesitation. Shuuichi Saihara sucked in another breath, and turned around at once. His hat was still there, obscuring his face, but at this angle, his eyes were just visible enough for Kokichi to see them for what they were.

He saw himself, reflected in the irises that were less glinting, and more muddied, as if the gold had passed through murky waters before surfacing. Kokichi saw himself, six years old and helpless, witnessing his parents' deaths for the first time. In his eyes, he saw ice and fire—fear and courage, melded into one confusing sensation and bleeding from the edges. It was just like that fateful night, all those years ago.

Unlike that night, however, Kokichi had power to fuel his fury with—he had conviction.

It was so easy.

"U-Um," Shuuichi stammered, taken aback at the sudden call out in the middle of the street. "Is there something I can help you with?"

He knew his answer. He knew what he was staring at. And yet, as if still doubtful, Kokichi reached in his pocket, and felt around for a small throwing knife in the hidden folds. It was tiny, and much less lethal than its common counterparts. It wasn't decorated, either, so Kokichi had no qualms about losing this thin blade in the midst of an impulsive fight. Except, as he calculated the angle at which to throw it, he was everything but impulsive.

Shuuichi, meanwhile, seemed hesitant. There was no malicious intent, at least not outwardly, and yet his expression was clear as the day. It was a face that refused to give in—a strength that refused to waver. Even so, there was no way for Shuuichi to know what Kokichi planned out, even if he was a vampire.

"How do you know my name?" Shuuichi asked again. "Do I...do I know you?"

"That depends," Kokichi said, smiling slowly. "Let me see for myself."

"Huh? What do you mean by that?"

The knife curled up in Kokichi's fingers, a sleek gray cat ready to pounce. He revealed his hand, the black handle standing out against his white clothes, and threw with moderate force, blade soaring through the air.

Shuuichi wasn't ready. He cowered for a second, instinctively bringing his hands up to block his face. However, it was a fruitless effort, as the knife wasn't meant to pierce him at all.

The knife hit his hat, instead, and the force of the throw was enough to knock it off his head, both the hat and the blade cluttering to the pavement defeatedly. Kokichi didn't pay attention to these things, however.

Shuuichi flinched, shielding his eyes, but opened them again once he understood that he hadn't been hurt. The action was so, so slow, like he was a newborn babe opening their eyes for the first time. Although Kokichi wasn't sure what that actually looked like, he had a semblance of the idea. Someone opening their eyes for the first time was a sacred thing, wasn't it? It was innocent, bright, new, and alive—it was everything and nothing all at once.

When Shuuichi's eyes opened all the way, it was plain to see that the description was accurate. It was as if Shuuichi was awakening for the first time. And, for the first time, Kokichi could see how he really looked, without the shade of the hat blocking him from view.

His butterfly lashes were genuine and thick—casting shadows on the curves of his cheeks. And his cheeks were slight, as the whole of him was, but not unattractive in the least. His lips, pale and pink, had parted from shock, revealing a sliver of white teeth behind them. His hair was a gorgeous shade of strange dark-blue-black, shimmering like the night sky in the daylight.

Most beautiful of Shuuichi's features, however, were his eyes. It was like the morning starting over again, pure sunshine pouring itself on Kokichi's shoulders. He heard his mother's singing, his father's snoring, an empty hole in someone's chest being filled up, the broken glass of a window repairing itself in retrograde slow-motion.

Gold.

Gold.

GOLD.

Everything else was irrelevant. Everything else didn't matter.

There was no everything in this moment—only nothing.

Nothing else mattered.

"What did you—what was that for?" Shuuichi snapped, no longer bashful. There was evident annoyance in his voice, though it was undermined by his soft and gentle pitch. For a voice, it was careful, sweet, and kind. It wasn't anything like a monster's growls, or the monstrosities Kokichi faced on a daily basis, yet it was monstrous all the same.

His life's work had built itself up to this moment in time. He wouldn't let his own inner ramblings get in the way of it. Kokichi reached for a larger, sharper throwing knife in his back pocket, silver and ready to pierce flesh. He wondered if Shuuichi's skin would burn on contact in response to the metal like other vampires' skin did. He wondered if he could see Shuuichi's fangs when the other opened his mouth to scream out in pain.

He wondered.

"Oh, nothing. It's just that my life, as I know it, is coming to an end."

Shuuichi winced, as if Kokichi's words alone were enough to hurt him. "What do you mean?"

"You know, you should really worry about yourself, Shuuichi." Ouma wasn't strong like a vampire, but he was fast. He was fast enough to be dangerous, especially when vampires were careless enough to be slow around him.

Kokichi moved with such precision that Shuuichi vaguely wondered if he was human at all, or if he was some machine created to specifically hunt him. It was all he could think about, even as he dodged the initial blow, only to stumble when Kokichi's right foot stomped down on him, hard. In those precious few seconds, the blade was readjusted and made its mark: a long wound, trailing down Shuuichi's left side in a slim, jagged line.

It hurt much more than he expected it to. Half-panicked, Shuuichi was quick enough to remember himself, and he muffled his own screams as he ran away, sprinting through the crowd as if his life depended on it.

Because this time, it really did.

Ouma, not one to be undeterred, gave chase. "Saihara~" he cheered sadistically. "Come back, I'm not done playing with you!"

.

.

Kokichi didn't let up. Despite the traffic both on the sidewalks and in the roads, he ran at full speed. Despite the crowds of people, Kokichi navigated his way through the urban jungle, leaping over people and ducking under signs in order to maintain his speed. He wasn't normally this quick, but pure adrenaline made up for whatever deficiencies his body had. If he lived to see another day, he'd have some seriously sore muscles.

Shuuichi didn't give up, either. He kept running, and running, and running, and running. Every once in a while, he looked over his shoulder, only to groan as Ouma was still hot on his tail. The dogged determination in his bruise-like eyes made Shuuichi's chest throb with sadness, something forlorn and personal, despite not feeling any deep connection to the vampire in question.

Except hatred, of course. There was always hatred.

Though Kokichi had to give credit where credit was due: never had he taken part in a chase so thrilling before. In his many years of hunting vampires, this altercation was already the best one yet, and he didn't even need to think hard about why.

But what kind of a vampire was Saihara, anyway? Why did he continue to let himself get chased on foot, and why didn't he do something to slow down Kokichi? He could attack, retaliate, or even threaten to take a random hostage from the street! While Kokichi wasn't going to let him go no matter what, at least something could've been done to slow his roll. At least something could have been done to prevent his certain doom.

Yet, Shuuichi continued to run, and Kokichi continued to chase him. He wasn't stupid by any means—he knew that his stamina would eventually run out, and that his limit was near. His pace evened out at some point, but despite his exhaustion, Shuuichi never left his sight. All he had to do was hold on to that adrenaline, energy, and hatred. All he needed to do was figure out a way to cut the vampire off for good.

Because he was definitely a vampire. Their chase took them all the way to the city rooftops, where Shuuichi didn't even bother to hide his incredible agility and impressive speed, considering his injury and all. If—no, when—Kokichi caught up to him, his excuse needed to be better and not something shitty like "Oh, all that jumping? I'm just really good at parkour, believe it or not!"

Each leap from the edge of a building was graceful and innate, almost as if Shuuichi was a bird, instead, moving from branch to branch in search of safety. In search of a home.

Kokichi would hunt him to the ends of the earth—heights and skyscrapers and apartment buildings be damned.

"Quit it already!" The detective yelled over his shoulder. "Leave me alone!"

"In your dreams, Saihara!" The supreme leader retorted, trying to catch his fleeting breath. "Just give up and it'll be much easier on you, I promise~"

"N-No way!" he squeaked out, almost slipping on a ledge when he wasn't careful enough. He caught himself from falling anyway, another act that proved his inhuman capabilities. A real human would have been a bloody pancake at the bottom of the street by now! Kokichi rationalized this observation in his mind. Ugh, stop being so stubborn, Shuuichi!

"Did you hear me? Just...give up...already!" He was running out of breath. Granted, he was impressed with his stamina thus far, but to run out of energy while he was so close to the end? The thought of failing his mission crushed him inside.

"You're the one that should give up, already!" Shuuichi insisted. "Just stop it before you get hurt!"

"I'm not gonna get hurt!" Kokichi defied this reasoning, even when he knew it was right. "You're the one that's gonna die! Here, I'll prove it!"

Ouma reached for his other pocket, grasping another blade in his hand before throwing it with shocking accuracy. Shuuichi twisted to dodge the worst of it, but failed to realize that by doing so, it would land in another less-vital-but-still-painful place on his body. In this instance, the knife dug itself into his left shoulder blade. He cried out painfully.

A deep crimson color pooled where the injury was, although Kokichi noticed a faint pink in there somewhere, signifying that the silver blade was doing more than just cutting into flesh. It was eating away at the meat and bone that lay there, with a distinctly natural poison that only affected a certain breed of humans.

Vampire vampire vampire. God I told you so didn't I. This is what you get for everything Shuuichi oh my god I'm gonna kill you I'm gonna kill you I'm gonna kill you. You liar thief murderer idiot loser I hate you. Die die die! The thoughts were jumbled up into an incoherent mess inside his head, and he was sure that the look on his face didn't do any justice to his clarity, either. But that didn't really matter anymore, because the end was finally in sight.

Kokichi used the last of his strength to jump the distance between his rooftop and Shuuichi's, and gasped for air as he barely made the landing. But he didn't have to worry himself further, because Shuuichi's weakened form was doubled over in pain, desperately clawing at the silver blade embedded in his skin. The pain must have been agonizing enough that it distracted him from the hunter's antics. He had no time to divide his attention between Ouma and the knife, even though it was obvious that he had to keep an eye on the former in order to ensure his life.

He glanced at the blade's handle—a thorn sticking out from a rose, a knife protruding from a chest. Does it burn, or does it just feel dull? Is it cold or hot when the silver touches the skin? The more curious side of Ouma wanted to see the silver's effects on vampires up close, but the rational side of himself realized that he could observe such effects after Shuuichi was dead. So, listening to his more logical side, Ouma wielded the last blade he had on him. It was tiny in comparison to the ones he used before, but with Saihara's current state it didn't matter if it was small or not. A quick slit to the throat would be good enough for anyone.

He sauntered closer to the other's injured body, relishing in the fleeting look of fear that briefly crossed Shuuichi's face. Those golden eyes were wide, confused, and full of terror. Those lips were quivering once more—morphed into some pitiful frown that couldn't be masked no matter how hard he tried. Instinctively, his body curled up on itself, limbs inward as if trying to protect his organs.

It didn't matter. None of it did.

"Finally caught up to you! I really had to put my all into it! That was really fun, you should be proud!" The words were so fluid, it was as if Kokichi just took the elevator and stairs to get here, instead of various other rooftops. He smiled goofily, the expression further confusing Shuuichi and angering him all at once.

"But the game's up, Shuuichi. I'm finally gonna win."

"Who even...are...you?" Shuuichi croaked, surprised that he found difficulty to speak when it was only a shoulder wound he was suffering from. But the pinkish color spread over the red blood, indicating the metal's effect on his body. He shrunk away at the thought of it.

"Oooooh, that's right! I never got to properly introduce myself! How silly of me. My name is Kokichi Ouma. I don't mind telling you this, since I'll be killing you in just a few short moments. Such a shame, too. Even though it was really, really fun chasing you, I'm kinda disappointed that you didn't wanna do more to escape. Y'know, you could have easily gotten away from me all those times!" Kokichi gestured to the rooftops behind them, the many ledges that could have simply led Kokichi to his premature death instead of his long-earned soon-to-be victory. He shrugged.

"If I were you, I would have just pushed me off the edge when I was struggling. But instead you just wanted to keep running. I don't really get it, but to each their own."

"I was trying to escape," Shuuichi inisted. "I just—I didn't think you'd follow me all this way…"

"Never underestimate the power of…" he paused momentarily, thinking of what adjective-noun to put at the end of that sentence. Last time he faced a vampire like this, he said to "never underestimate the power of DICE." But given the situation, that would be useless since Shuuichi obviously doesn't know what DICE is, and Kokichi wasn't in a mood to give a whole dissertation about his group. So instead, he thought of the first silly thing that crossed his mind.

"Never underestimate the power of Geminis. I heard we don't give up easily, or some other inspiring astrological thing like that. Etcetera, etcetera, you know."

"W-What? What are you talking about?"

"I was lying about that, of course! But I said I'd kill you, didn't I? I always keep my promises!" Kokichi sprung forward, and laughed as he was able to pin down Shuuichi with minimal protest on the other's end. He even managed to straddle him, hoping their positions would help to further humiliate him in his last moments of life. The fact that he was able to do all of this with little effort was shocking. Ouma was fifteen centimeters shorter than Saihara, for goodness' sake! And he weighed next to nothing, so he could have been swatted away like a fly. Was Saihara a weak vampire, or a suicidal one? How could he let himself be dominated so easily?

"I've wanted to do this for a long time," Kokichi said, holding the small knife directly above Shuuichi's neck. He didn't plunge downward yet, seemingly reflective on all the struggles it took just to get here. All the years spent chasing would come to an end. All the lives lost and tears shed would finally mean something. All the waiting would finally, finally, finally pay off. And that patience allowed him to be just a bit more merciful in these crucial moments.

"So, any last words before I kill you for good?"

"Why?" Shuuichi croaked out. "Why are you doing this? I haven't done anything—"

"Oh, come on!" Kokichi whined, still gripping tightly onto the blade's handle despite his playfulness. "Why did you forget, silly? Don't tell me you're a big idiot that can't remember killing innocent people. It's fun to play dumb once in a while, but even during your last moments of life? Really?"

"I'm being serious!" Shuuichi insisted, doing his best to get his words in before Kokichi sealed the deal. He tried not to focus on the silver edge hanging above his jugular vein, seconds away from slicing into his skin... "I-I don't know what you're talking about, at all…"

He's telling the truth. That was the first thing Kokichi thought of in response to Shuuichi's words. He was such an attuned liar, after all, that he could tell when someone else was generally lying and when they were not. Saihara's voice was honest, if his trembling and intonation were any indication of it.

And honesty confused Ouma at times. Everyone glorified honorable actions, condemning lies to the darkness as they believed the truth was what set them free. But wasn't it the opposite? Didn't the truth confine others instead? Didn't it take over their lives and ruin it in the same turn? Right now, the truth was doing that exact same thing to Kokichi, because everything he thought he knew up to this point suddenly became questionable.

"Huh?" Kokichi asked aloud, not bothering to mask his true bewilderment. "What the hell are you talking about, Saihara?"

"You heard me, Ouma. I-I don't know what you're talking about. I don't even know you," Shuuichi pointed this out, voice cracking without his permission. It was the anxiety of this situation alone that hurt him, and he knew it. "S-So what's going on? Why is this even happening? Y͟ou ̨sh̡o͞u͝l͡d ̕e͏x̧pl̴a͘in ͡t̕hi̸s͏ ́to me b͜e̛c̶a̢us͞e̵ ͟I͢'͢m re̸al͏ly͘,̢ r͏e͠ally co͟nf̨u̕s͞ed̨. ͟Íf͝ ͞you͟'̢r͞e͞ ̕ac̷t̢uąll͜y gơing ̨to ̨kill͘ m̀e̢ ͏lik̕e̵ ̛y̧ou ̧s͢aįd҉,̷ t͟hen͡ ͢I wa̡n͠t that͝ tǫ bȩ ҉my ̶final͢ ̡wįsh̨."

Paused movement ensued, and Kokichi's face went blank again. He knew it did, because if he didn't purposefully make a good expression, his body would just forget how to keep up its own appearance. Or something like that, it was hard to tell with everything spinning around him just now. He became aware of the situation again, and his mood fouled as a result.

"Do I really have to spell it out for you? Killing you was supposed to be easier than this!" He whined again, voice coming to an annoyed peak like this was some upset in a game he was playing and not a life-or-death situation. "Okay, so for convenience's sake, let's say I'm seventeen years old right now. I'm really not, but like I said, convenience. Okay, so now imagine that I'm a six-year-old eating sweet buns and drinking soda at a late hour in the night because I can't sleep and all my homework is done and my parents are upstairs sleeping. Except they're not sleeping and I can hear a loud noise like crashing, so I run up to see what the hell's going on, like any other six-year-old would!

"And I walk into the room, turn on the lights, and my parents are dead. Dead as dirt, Saihara. And in that room I can't make anything out except for blood and bone, and this weird shadow-monster thing that jumps out the broken window. And then I see something else that shouldn't be there. And it's someone with really ugly golden eyes, staring at me like they can't believe what they're seeing even though they can and they just wanna play it off like they're some cool asshole, or something.

"And then that golden-eyed monster runs to the windowsill, and stares at me for an eternity before I beg them to wait for me. I want them to wait and explain to me what the hell just happened, because it used to be three people in that house but now I'm six years old and I have to start raising myself because my mom has a hole in her chest and my dad's head is caved in on the side."

Shuuichi wanted him to stop, but he didn't have time to say anything. Kokichi wouldn't let him get a word in, edgewise. "And then that golden-eyed stranger falls out the window. I'm laughing to myself thinking that the people that murdered my parents just turned into pancakes on the side of my house, because there's no way they could survive falling out the second story! Okay, maybe they could survive a fall at that height, but I was literally six years old and I used to be scared of shopping carts because I thought you'd die if you fell out of them, so imagine what I'd think if I saw someone fall out a window! Anyway, that's when I look out the window and I see nothing except that shitty bicycle they bought for me when I was four years old, and leaves from the nearby trees that don't mean anything anymore.

"Now, this is a convenient story, yes? But it all happened when I was six. I'm certainly older than that now, and all this time I've had to take care of myself. And I'm sort of tired of having nightmares and seeing your eyes in my dreams and whatever. Because even if you conveniently forgot everything, I didn't. I remembered that it was you in my parents' room that night, and it was you that probably killed them or something. Right? Right?" He prodded the other in the stomach with his free hand, keeping the dominant hand holding onto the knife at a close range. It wasn't a painful jab like it could have been, but a friendly poke, instead, like he was Shuuichi's friend egging him on.

He smiled before repeating himself again. "Right?"

"Stop it!" Shuuichi yelled. He finally had enough. "Kokichi you have to—no, you can s̙͖͜t͙̦͚o͓͔̝p̠̼̟ n̻͍͎o̙͚̘w͕̟̘." The words weren't begging for the ending like the initial exclamation was. In fact, they were almost sweet, consoling words, like the words of a parent telling a child it was okay to stop crying, already. Like the words of a teacher telling the class that the exam time was over, and they can stop stressing about it all, already.

Kokichi blinked. He felt exhausted for some reason, and wondered why he went on talking for so long like he did. But at the other's verbal assertion, he seemed to regain his senses again. As he did, he really panicked because holy shit, did he just tell this vampire his entire life story? Granted it was the same vampire that made the story the way it was to begin with, but that didn't mean he had to recite every agonizing detail like that! And while Kokichi could certainly talk up a storm if he wanted to, this was not a situation in which he needed to indulge in the enemy like that.

So why did he? Why did he keep blathering away just now? And why did he only stop when Saihara said he could—when Saihara gave him permission to stop? It confused him enough to the point where he temporarily forgot where he was, which allowed the tiniest window of escape.

Perfect. The momentary lapse in Kokichi's judgement was just enough to usurp him, and he cried out as he felt Shuuichi move suddenly from underneath him, using his strength to shove him off and squirm free from his reign. Shuuichi stood up straight, and at full height he easily towered over Kokichi, asserting some sort of strength over him that none of them were quite aware of yet.

Shuuichi knew better than to give him a chance to understand, however. He ran away from Kokichi, staggering as the pain in his shoulder became agonizing. But he couldn't give up, because if he did then the other would be so sure to follow him once more. The nearby rooftops were too close, though, that any of them would give enough purchase for a continuation in their chase.

And that's not what Saihara wanted. He wanted the chase to end, not continue, because he might actually die this time if he gave Ouma the chance. With that resolve stuck in his head, Shuuichi shuffled towards the edge of the building, and stared down at the great height below him. There was no comfort to be had in the cars, scaffolds, or people below, but somehow they were less frightening adversaries than the vampire hunter on the roof right now. The detective took a deep breath, and decided.

He threw himself off the edge. It was dangerous, yes, but he wouldn't have done it if he wasn't sure he could come out of it unscathed. And while Kokichi was doggedly pursuing him up until now, there was no way that he would follow him off the side of a building. If his vengeance was as great as he made it seem, it meant that he had to be alive in order to chase Shuuichi again. So there was no way that he could have followed him. There was no way—

"As if! You can't hide from me now, Saihara!"

No way, he thought inwardly. He looked up from his falling position to see something just as heart-sinking above him.

It was Kokichi. And he was, indeed, falling off the building after Shuuichi. And unlike him, he seemed unfazed by this action, even though falling would mean certain death for someone like him.

"You're really...difficult…" Saihara said aloud, sounding utterly defeated. "Why did you follow me?"

"Because I'm not done playing with you! I won't let you leave me!" His voice broke with desperation and the sensation of air rushing past his body all at once. His eyes widened, and a wet sheen of tears threatened to spill out from beneath him. It was a sad, miserable sight, and Shuuichi couldn't look away from him even if he tried.

And he tried.

"Ouma…"

Shuuichi sighed, and closed his eyes. In the darkness, his thoughts hammered against his head like concrete. If only he'd stayed inside—if only he didn't choose today, of all days, to be helpful to the police. How awful. If he'd just listened to his uncle, he could be inside the agency enjoying some fresh air-conditioning, and not facing a vampire hunter as he was doing now.

"I guess there's no changing things this time around, huh?"

Kokichi was starting to lose consciousness against his will. It must have been the wind, the force of falling, or the sheer exhaustion his body had after running on adrenaline for so long. He was crashing down in more ways than one, and suddenly he cursed himself for being so unusually impulsive.

He closed his eyes, and felt the world melt out from beneath his weightless feet. He felt something soft and warm grab hold of him, and a sedate voice murmuring out into the air: "Sorry, Ouma, but it looks like you're in my hands now. I'll take things from here."

A weak nod or squeal would have been sufficient enough for an answer, but Kokichi didn't have strength for either of those things. He gasped for a final breath of air, and then everything blacked out for real.

He dreamed what he believed to be the last dream he would have in his life. And like every dream before this one, he saw the same thing in his mind, over and over again.

He saw those stupid, insipid, golden eyes, staring straight into his soul...