Chapter 2:

My How I Met Your Mother Story is Darker than Expected…

Tsurumi Rumi loved her black hair and blue eyes. Her mother's features that she can be grateful for inheriting.

But her personality was definitely her fathers. She wouldn't describe herself as outgoing, socializing was hard for her, and she'd rather observe than be observed.

She was an only child and people say that's why she's like this. But Rumi found that wasn't the case, she just wasn't that good around people she didn't know all that well, it was harder for her than for most to be open to people. Because of that she has few people she can call her friends..

But she was close to her father. Someone like her who wasn't all that good around other people. They share the same shortcomings and that's what made them grow close. After school, she meets up with him after work so they could go home together.

But every week he had a new job, a new place to work and that's where most of the fun is. He didn't work in an office or behind a desk. He was too much of an outdoors man for that, they both were. Being cooped up all day surrounded by people they could drive them both crazy.

She didn't mind taking a bus to where he worked, for her it was half the fun, seeing new places and taking different routes around Chiba. Like a new adventure every time.

When she arrived at the construction sight, the other workers seemed to have gotten used to seeing her around, they didn't know her specifically but they knew who she came here for.

Rumi didn't have to ask around to find her father. She found him where she always found him, working on a metal pipe, but this one was admittedly bigger than the one's in their house.

He was working on a giant pipe that was the size of a tire and stretched to almost the entire length of the construction site, he was operating a big pipe cutting machine, a loud piece of equipment that can cut through metals pipes by having cutter wheels that wrap around them like a chain.

She kept at a safe distance that was close enough to get a good look, closer to the offices than the actual construction. Her view was perfect, and she could see her father do what he does best.

Rumi loved watching her dad work. It sounds strange, to be fascinated seeing your father do his job. Only Rumi's father was considered by most to be pretty good at his. The best she'd like to boast when seeing others try to do what he does.

He operated the heavy tool as if he was born with it, nothing seemed to matter except for him, his tool, and the pipe he was cutting. His concentration was mesmerizing. Even motivating. Because like most construction jobs, there is always that hint, that small possibility of something going wrong, and that small likelihood of accident seems to grow the bigger the tool you worked with.

He spun the tool around, using his strong arms to pull the cutter toward him in a clockwise way, the cutting wheels send flakes and ringlets of metal to the ground, the noise of screeching metal continued until finally, with one last pull, the pipe cutter made a complete circle and the seemingly unbreakable pipe split in two.

With a job well done, Tsurumi Tatsumi finally lets himself acknowledge his daughter's presence, he waves at her as he always does. As if he knew all along she was watching him.

Rumi waves back and smiles brightly, but he can't see it.

A cloud of dust obscure his vision.

His gloved hands were dirty, dirt, oil, and metal falling from it as he waved. He was too hasty in greeting his daughter he forgot how messy his hands were, so he wipes away the excess oil and metal shavings on his work uniform, then he takes the towel around his neck and starts shaking it off him.

But a single metal clipping falls inside his clothes.

He doesn't notice it.

It was just a small chip that landed on his shirt.

The piece of metal stayed with him until it landed on Kayo Takahashi's pajamas while he was putting her back where he murdered her.


A cannibal serial killer. Hiratsuka thought in her office. That's what we're dealing with. A cannibal serial killer.

The literal stuff of nightmares, the monsters you only read about, morbidly study from the safety of psychology books and historical accounts.

Never do you make a profile for one, let alone have to catch one.

Hiratsuka looks at the pictures of the missing girls, all innocent and sweet, smiling at her without a care in the world.

He's probably passed them through his digestive system by now. The bastard.

Seven young girls…a deranged psychopath's meal.

Hiratsuka feels the gastric acid in her stomach rise, but holds it down with sheer rage.

She takes one look at the map, dots of possible abduction locations with no recognizable pattern. Mocking her.

She pounds at it hard with her fist.

The image of the killer in her head as she keeps hitting the map, over and over, thinking "Where?"

Where?

Where!?

WHERE!?

Hiratsuka only stops when a few pictures fall. Doing what exactly as her anger management coach taught her; she takes a long breathe before letting out a puff of suppressed rage.

For a second she found her center. Her phone rang again, she lets the phone ring for a bit before ignoring the call.

It's not even nine yet, and her phones rang more times than she could count, her bosses and the bureaucrats wanting answers that she doesn't have yet.

They're impatient. Meaning they're backed in a corner.

She has to smile. Her higher-ups have it worse than her ever since today's headlines came out.

Serial Killer on the Loose.

Targeting Schoolgirls with Black hair and Blue eyes

Ever since the story broke out, public has been giving their concerns. They're scared and they should be.

And when people are scared, they blame the police. Hiratsuka picks up the photos and puts them back into place, the trivial chore numbing her mind enough to perfectly grasp this situation.

"God, this is really fucked up." She said, holding a picture of a girl that may have been eaten by another human being.

This was no longer a string of unrelated kidnappings. This was now a murder case, and if Hikigaya was right, only the latest in a trend.

She needs him now more than ever, the talented profiler as gifted as he is ostracized, the only person available with the training and the skills that could catch this killer.

The Criminal Profiler. The only profiler in the world whose insight she can trust.

Most of the time, profiling is disastrous for an ongoing investigation, leading investigators down wrong trails and prolonging the investigation.

When the official profile is released to the public, mouth-breathing idiots often make accusations, citing that their neighbor or co-worker has the same profile, even though they have neither the experience nor the training required to profile a person.

Worst, if the killer finds out for sure or by instinct that the police have profiled him, throws a monkey wrench into the investigation by changing his modus operandi for no other reason than to trick the police.

He becomes a fox doubling back on his tracks on the hounds because he knows where the hounds are, and how close they are to catching him.

It's that reason alone that the ever efficient Japanese Police Force tend not to rely on Profiling, citing them as inaccurate and subject to biases.

They were right of course, profiling is not an exact science. Only overly romanticized to the point that profilers are all gifted detectives and psychic investigators in fictional works.

A common perception, even a professional like Hiratsuka had harbored.

Profilers in general are used to exclude people off the list of suspects, not describe them to the point that they can describe the color of their shoes. That was until Hikigaya Hachiman returned from his studies abroad.

Changing the game entirely. Giving a new light into criminal profiling. His profiles weren't just accurate, they were downright terrifying, meticulous to the last detail that made more than a few people wonder if he was staging these crimes to take the credit for solving them.

Another common perception, Hiratsuka had harbored, regrettably.

In one particular case, Hikigaya describe the perpetrator of murder so perfectly, one of the police officers overhearing the profile actually knew of a person that matched the profile living next door to him. In the end, the police officer's neighbor was arrested because not only did he fit the profile, concrete evidence and witness reports were found that he was at the scene of the crime and he later confessed to the murder to avoid capital punishment.

A feat that makes forensic psychiatrists everywhere read all his case files. Journals have been published entirely on Hikigaya's foresight, making him out as a new breed of investigator whose genius defined a new era. Others simply point out the exaggeration of Hikigaya's skills, notably by Hikigaya himself.

You'd think a person like that would be famous, but with great power comes great unlikability.

His skills make him simultaneously revered and resented by other police officers. They called him many things, "Psychic Detective" was the nicest Hiratsuka remembered if not.

"Crime-Drama Reject." was the mildest of the many insults that came Hikigaya's way.

"Hikigaya 'Killer's Eyes' Hachiman" and "Evil Eye Hikigaya" where the childish ones that stung.

The cruelest, Hiratsuka remembered was the honorary title of "Crime Loving Homocidephile."

Hiratsuka knew it was the cruelest, because she called him that in a fit of rage when he talked in gross-detail over the fantasies of killing several police officers and their immediate family members.

He was speaking in the mind-set of the Vigilante Killer, a serial killer responsible for the deaths of former yakuza members and petty thugs.

Hikigaya announced to them all of the killer's fantasies, how their fellow police officers were in danger, and instead of using that knowledge to narrow the net of suspects and make proper arrangements to protect the detectives working on the case, Hiratsuka dismissed it as nonsense, calling out Hikigaya as just another criminal waiting to happen.

Everything changed when their lead detective was attacked in his own home by the Vigilante Killer, he would have died if Hikigaya Hachiman hadn't been around, staking out the detective's home that night.

Calling for back-up, Hikigaya stopped the killer but ultimately, the Vigilante Killer escaped and the detective who was attacked could no longer serve in active duty because of injuries sustained.

Hiratsuka wasn't proud of that, she regrets it every day, thinking that if only she listened and not dismissed his warning as a hoax then maybe things could have been different.

But she didn't know him then, all she thought of him was an upstart who thought he was Japanese Sherlock Holmes schooling the useless police, fueling the belief that the personnel on her task force were to blame for the lack of results, that her and the investigators she worked with were too insular, that they couldn't think outside the box and were too constrained by the law to do what was necessary to solve the case.

He did none of that. And that only made Hiratsuka feel worse.

She was wrong about him, he never wanted the glory, or the thrill, not even results.

Because in the end, all Hikigaya Hachiman wanted was to give people- one's he didn't know and owed nothing to- the closure that was brought by justice for the victims.

When the Vigilante Killer was finally caught, and Hikigaya Hachiman refused to take any credit for arrest and gave it all to the task force, Hiratsuka wanted nothing more than to work with him again, treat him like the asset he was. Like a comrade he is. To give him the respect he deserved from one police officer to another.

It was unfair what the higher-ups did to him, dishonorably forcing him to resign over such a petty thing for the sake of public order and political opinion.

Now Hiratsuka needed him.

Needed his particular set of skills.

But now she had a high enough position to give him back his badge and enough sway to make sure he can keep it.

She was Commissioner Hiratsuka now.

And what's a commissioner without a mysterious, broody, night loving, unsavory individual to commission the jobs no one else can do?

On her table would be the first step, Hiratsuka looked over the request again, making sure that it sounded important enough. Enough bureaucratic bullshit to sway even the harshest tight-ass into consenting Hikigaya Hachiman's reinstatement into the police force.

She needed him on the team, not just as a consultant. The Japanese government would never allow a civilian to have that much access consulting on such a high-profile case.

Hachiman must be a detective again. It was the only option in the strict eyes of the Japanese Law.

That's what will put their dense minds at ease, a badge on Hikigaya Hachiman's shirt. The same one they ripped out.

But they haven't made it easy for her, apparently a few people have been locking doors ahead of her. Denying a few requests and making a mess out of the paper process, treating her like a hot potato, tossing her from department to department until eventually she's in HR requesting a requirement she knows Hikigaya can't get.

A letter written by a licensed psychiatrist permitting return for active duty.


After being rejected time after time, she found one doctor willing to listen at least hear her out.

At first glance, you wouldn't expect her to be a doctor, her blonde hair and polished nails scream fashion designer or hostess better.

Slut and whore for the most vulgar or honest.

Yet, none could deny that Dr. Miura Yumiko was every bit a licensed psychologist. One that courts deemed worthy of being called in to be a consultant.

She worked in the same university as Hikigaya, as a professor in the Psychology department. Originally, if Hikigaya said no to the case, Hiratsuka would have come to Dr. Yumiko for help regarding the missing girl's case.

She came back to Chiba University to maybe ask her for a letter, hoping that being Hikigaya's co-worker would make things easier.

Sadly, Hikigaya's not as unpopular with the other teaching staff as she had predicted.

"No."

After being told that for the fifth time today, Hiratsuka's shouldn't even be surprised, yet she still tries. "All I said was Hikigaya's name."

The woman had the eyes of venomous reptile, as green as the snakes she probably eats for the extra venom in her voice.

"I want nothing to do with him. Ever."

Hiratsuka sighed, and let her hand pound on the chair she sat. She takes a nice, long look around the university office, and damn was it small. A fire hazard with all the papers stacked on leaning towers that clung to the wall, how Dr. Miura could fit a desk in here was a feat only befitting a Tetris master.

This is a waste of time. The police commissioner thought as the lack of sleep and rejections finally getting to her. I should just get back, solve this case without Hikigaya's help.

And if she can't, another girl might get kidnapped, killed, and then eaten.

She couldn't let that happen. She won't let that happen. If Hikigaya Hachiman can solve this case faster, then Hiratsuka had a duty to make sure he gets that chance.

And if she can't, Hikigaya's prediction would come true and another girl would get taken.

And to her knowledge, he's never been wrong with a profile before.

"What do you want with him anyway?" The sound of Dr. Miura's voice brings out of her thoughts and back to the reality harsh where no psychiatrist would give Hikigaya consent.

But one was apparently asking her a question.

Hiratsuka thought about it, and found no harm in telling the truth. "I'm just trying to get him his job back." To put him back on the field to lead the charge.

For a second, Miura didn't look hostile. Only unconvinced. Her look made Hiratsuka feel like a shady con artist in a cheap suit.

"Is that all?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in skeptical hostility.

"No." Hiratsuka might as well be honest, lying will only get her reported and PR will. "A psychiatric evaluation would help ease myself into the thought of putting him in active duty."

She wanted to trust Hikigaya, but Hiratsuka can't forget the way he acted in the bathroom, the conflicted panic in his eyes. The desperate need to be somewhere- anywhere else. To talk about be anything else. To be alone.

"From what I've seen, Hikigaya has serious personal problems that go deeper than this case." The look on his face as he explained to her the thoughts going through the killer's mind, like seeing someone gnaw their own leg off. Hiratsuka feared if she pushed one more time, something would break.

It wasn't that simple unfortunately, Hikigaya knows something she doesn't. He knows things that might break this case wide open, but he's suppressing it. She knows he is. Suppressing it because he's scared of what's inside.

But she can't blame him. Not after what she's seen.

"It's scary how he works. Like he's possessed or something." Hiratsuka could almost call it supernatural, How Hikigaya becomes less human more drone in that state. Nijima even joked that maybe Hikigaya is psychic and just didn't know it.

"I almost told him to stop when I first saw it." She nearly did, observing him from a far was nerve-racking. Like watching a skyscraper swaying in the breeze. Setting off all her instincts to have her senses watch him carefully.

"All abilities have a price, his is just heavier than most." came Miura's gentler voice, a softer tone than Hiratsuka thought she could ever make, a sad little line that felt tragic without even trying. Hiratsuka watched her, but Dr. Miura seemed to busy herself with something in her desk. A melancholy growing as the sound of her fumbling became the only thing that could be heard.

Hiratsuka gave a small nod in agreement, her shoulders slouching. Hikigaya seems to be the subject of depression, even just discussing Hikigaya could leave your mood less bright.

Hiratsuka found something redeeming in his suffering, a selflessness she discovered about him, a new light to him that blossomed in her mind.

"Despite that, he seemed unwilling to stop. It's like he has this need…"

Dr. Miura knew what she was going to say and said the version she knew. "To inflict himself with as much psychological pain as possible in a misguided attempt to help people he doesn't even know because he thinks he's worth less than anyone else and that nothing anyone can say will stop him from thinking that way." She finished her rant and looked right at Hiratsuka, whose image of a selfless Hikigaya just shattered, replaced by the picture of a self-depreciating loner who believes he deserves to suffer.

In that moment, Hiratsuka saw something in Dr. Miura Yumiko. The way she spoke of Hikigaya wasn't criticism at a mere professional point of view, but a genuine concern for him that can only come from worry.

A worry Hiratsuka knows all too well, because Hiratsuka was also young and made silly- stupid mistakes once.

"You know him pretty well then." She knew from experience that they had to be. You don't get angry over someone you don't care about.

"The idiot will try to deny it, but yeah, I consider that creep my friend." The psychiatrist said, her wall of harshness and jagged edges going up. "Remember that when you put him out there without a way back!"

Hiratsuka's been a cop long enough to know when she was being threatened. And Miura's threat felt real.

Usually she'd have pinned her in an arm-lock by now. A woman Yumiko's size shouldn't be so bold when addressing a highly trained police officer.

Instead of a confrontation, Hiratsuka had other ideas.

"I swear to you that as long as I'm in charge, he won't get too close to." Hiratsuka promised, choosing diplomacy over violence this time around.

Every time Hikigaya's on duty he'll have at least one member of her team with him. After every case, she'd get him help. And if she puts him out there, Hiratsuka already has someone in mind to help.

"Yet so want him to profile this…cannibal you're after? You want him to get into the head of a serial killer who eats teenage girls?" she makes it sound like adding high-explosives in a fireworks festival.

"No, doctor. I want him to catch this cannibal." Hiratsuka corrected, catching Miura off guard.

"And he will because there are lives at stake."

In Hiratsuka's mind, Hikigaya was already reinstated out in the field, a part of her team, her best and brightest investigating the killer, and putting him behind bars waiting to be hanged to death.

That is Hiratsuka's goal, her mind was already made up, and Miura will not get in the way of that. A better option was available, and Hiratsuka had a feeling Miura would want to reconsider if she asked.

"But I'm no expert." She admitted. "I'm a police officer, not a shrink. So I'll ask if you want to be his way back." Hiratsuka offered. Knowing for a fact what this offer meant. Many psychologists would kill to have the opportunity to study Hikigaya Hachiman up-close. To have the honor of calling the reclusive profiler as one of their patients.

The tempted look on Yumiko's face was just that, tempted. She stays in silence for a minute before eventually shaking her head.

"No. We're only friends because we don't mix it up with work and if there's one thing I know that will piss Hikio off is someone studying him while acting like a friend."

How responsible.

Miura might not look the part, but she's a professional deep down. And from her response, one could only assume she has experience with mixing work with friends, an observation most investigators should have seen.

But all Hiratsuka got from that was;

"Hikio?" Hiratsuka's voice came out mocking, but that was only the surprise. Hopefully Yumiko could see that from all her glaring. "I've been told you two were close, I didn't actually believe it but..."

"Me and Hikio are friends, just leave it at that."

Hiratsuka wonders just how close the line was for being friends, but she holds back her curiosity.

Letter first, Hikigaya's relationship status later. She told herself.

"What do you think is Hikio's strongest drive?" Yumiko asked, as if testing how well the commissioner would respond.

Hiratsuka thinks about it, but the answer always seems to be one thing.

"Shame."

She seen the same thing for years, whenever a law-abiding citizen makes a mistake and gets thrown in jail or when a student embarrass himself in front of a class, she sees that in Hikigaya. Shame. The shroud of shame his peers have put on and he's resigned himself to wear for the rest of his life.

"He's ashamed of what he is. Of what the imagination turns him into."

"He's not proud of his gift, but most of all he knows what happens when he doesn't use it. Or to be exact, let it use him."

Pleased by the answer, Yumiko nods sadly, before adding.

"He's a good man, but he's scared of rejection he's felt it before and ever since, scared of what happens when one day that which makes him so appealing to the angels, makes him look even more like a demon."

"So he's afraid of what people think?" To Hiratsuka, such a thing shouldn't even happen to such a promising young profiler.

"It's not just what they think. It's how they act!" Dr. Miura slammed her fist on her desk, an outburst she immediately regretted as she knocked a few pencils and pens down unreachable places.

"No psychiatrist, at least not the ones who are hired by police, will ever want to have Hikio back, there's people in-charge who won't let him."

"They're conspiring against him?" Hiratsuka had her suspicions, but to think Hikigaya was this unpopular was beyond unfair.

Yumiko shakes her head.

"The opposite. They're looking out for him and for themselves?" she spat out with just as much respect for the people she was talking about as her spit.

Her voice become low, a frustrated rasp in her voice. Yet she began to speak with caution of the very real danger that was Hikigaya's stability.

"To them, Hikio is a live-grenade, whose detonation is imminent and no one wants to be the one to blame when he goes off inside something as important as the Japanese Police."

And Hiratsuka got her answer to why no one wanted to help. An answer like that almost makes her want to change her decision, to turn back around and just leave the status quo as is. Leave Hikigaya where he is. And act just like the rest of them.

Never.

"Grenade or not, he's the one who'll solve this case." Hiratsuka bet against him once, it won't happen again. She has a faith in him this time, the kind that he should've had a long time ago. Maybe if he did, he wouldn't be such a mess.

"If he blows up, I'll fall on top of him myself." Hiratsuka had done more for allot less. And her eyes showed it.

Locking her purple eyes with Miura's green, outright telling her the she will not let this one go. That she is not the same as those police officers who can't see Hikigaya Hachiman's value.

At last, Miura conceded. "Oh, my God…Fine!" She pulls out her pen and writes something down on her small desk, it wasn't a letter, cancelling Hiratsuka's victory dance.

"I won't write you a letter." On this, Miura will not budge. "It would be unprofessional, and I'd hate to lose my job."

Hiratsuka nods "I understand." she truly did, in more ways than one.

"And like, if that happened I'd totally report you for psychological problems, like a dictatorial personality and work place psychopathy or something that cause workplace hostility."

"I underst- wait what?"

"But I know someone who would be willing to look into him, a practicing psychiatrist, they say she's the best in the country."

Back from her initial shock, Hiratsuka asks. "Who says that?"

"The other psychiatrists in the country."

Miura hands Hiratsuka the note, written on it was an address in the richer part of Chiba.

"Give her a session or just a few minutes with him, if she thinks Hikigaya can take the pressure of this case, then it's good enough for me. I'll write the letter myself if she vouches for him."

"Is she that good?" Hiratsuka asks sceptically. It's a bit of stretch that there was a psychiatrist skilled enough that a single session was all they needed to get read on a person.

"Better." Yumiko sounded bitter when she admitted it. And Hiratsuka liked her even more now. "Just be careful though, she's not for the faint of heart."

"What's her name?"


Dr. Yukinoshita watches her patient weep in his, studying him with an inscrutably expression to hide her true feelings on the matter.

As her patients opens up his heart to her Yukinoshita just stares, giving him nothing, unblinking, almost uncaring in how little she reacted to her patient's feelings of sorrow and inadequacy.

Because she didn't care.

If the government hadn't made it a law to give hikikomori's compulsory mental health care, Yukinoshita wouldn't bother with such a client.

One who wastes his precious time complaining about his loneliness and inability to socialize because of expectations too great to achieve, blaming the world for his inability to live in it, citing things such as normies and pressure that can't let him be who he is.

And now he's weeping.

All over her furniture no less.

"Why am I like this?!" he cried out like a sickling pig, then he began rubbing the tears flowing from his reddened eyes with sleeves of the jacket his parents paid for.

By far the biggest offense today, was his complete lack of a handkerchief.

For the sake of his clothing, Yukinoshita offers him a box of tissues she keeps near. Things like these tend to happen from time to time.

In Fujio's case, it's every time.

When the tears start dying down, Yukinoshita decides it's her turn to speak. She heard a fleeting mention of this as one of his fears, and just has to know what it means.

"You're afraid of becoming a…" Yukinoshita stoops to suppress a cringe, the term was so stupid she can't even properly remember it. "…a sorcerer."

"A wizard." Fujio corrected her. "If you stay a virgin until thirty you become a wizard."

Yukinoshita barely stopped herself from reacting, she had never heard of something so miserable in her life. To her knowledge, the average age to lose one's virginity is seventeen.

It was exactly this lack of sexual activity that led to Japan's population to plummet. Yukinoshita even wrote a paper on it.

"And you don't think you'll be able to find a sexual partner because you believe your current status as a hermit living of your parent's hard earned money prevents you from being appealing to sensible women."

"Y-You don't have to make it sound so cruel."

He didn't say she was wrong.

"Fujio. People are inherently different and are dreams and aspirations don't often coincide with the life given to us." She means every word, but none of it seemed to help Fujio. "It is only through effort that we can move."

She tended not to do this, forcing her philosophy in her patients, but in the case of Fujio, it has to be done.

"I can't…I'm just too crazy."

To a person who's studied years on human psychology, hearing someone incorrectly diagnose themselves was the last straw.

"Crazy?" Yukinoshita asks in a seemingly calm voice.

"You know, not right in the head."

"In exactly what way do you think you're mental faculties are different?"

"Huh?"

Perhaps she used vocabulary to advance for him.

"Let me rephrase that, Fujio." She prefers using her patients given name, makes them more susceptible. "What do you think is wrong with you that you can't succeed?"

"I'm neurotic…" Fujio said as meekly as a lamb "I suffer from anxiety e-everytime I-I go outside. And I have this existential crisis, like I shouldn't belong. And I suffer from depression a lot too, so I guess I must be neurotic."

"The term neurosis has no longer being used by the psychiatric community for over twenty years now, Fujio." Yukinoshita corrected politely, barely hinting of her annoyance.

"Oh." was all the sound Fujio made.

"To characterize yourself in such away, you've already defeated the purpose of trying to be better. Stop hiding behind the preconceived mold psychology tries to fit you in and improve yourself."

Yukinoshita notes the look on Fujio's face, no doubt he's already been given the same lecture by other psychiatrist and immediate family.

As incorrigible as this man is, Yukinoshita simply has more ways to manipulate him.

"It can't be as bad as you think." Yukinohita forces herself to sound genuinely caring, adding a warmth in her voice that felt like vinegar to her. "There's plenty of people just like you, suffering from the exact same things, and a lot of them are making steps towards reforming themselves. Why shouldn't you?"

Yet, despite her attempt. Fujio eyes still looked like that of a scared little rabbit. Cowering at even the slightest possibility of failure.

"But I'm so depressed." He sounds almost ready to cry again.

Depression by your own creation. A state you subject yourself to as an answer to your own shortcomings and lack of ability.

But no matter, the cure was simple. Highly effective for virgins.

"Then I recommend this."

Yukinoshita opens her wallet and hands him a shiny black calling card too shiny and decorated to be a business card.

Taking the card, the realization takes a while to sink in until it finally dawned on Fujio. "Is this a-"

"An escort service. I believe that certain problems regarding male image and psychology can be solved with sexual release. And I mean real release, not just the depressing self-gratification with your hands and a screen."

Quite frankly, that just makes things worse in Yukinohita's opinion.

"I don't want to…"

Yukinoshita knew his immediate response would be to think himself better than that, he shouldn't need to pay for sex. That his manhood was a gift to women everywhere and he was simply finding someone worthy of it.

Yukinoshita will try to break him down gently.

"What? To rely on money to have sex? That you're simply too good for whores? Fujio all women are whores; the ones who do it for money are just the cheapest, it's the ones who ask for houses and cars that are most depressing, and the ones who ask for your life in return to be the most demanding. Don't you agree?"

In truth Yukinoshita has no problems with prostitution and prostitutes in general, they have an integral role in society, and as her studies have found; legalized prostitution actually decreases the likelihood of domestic abuse and divorce. But an illogical being like Fujio wouldn't be able to handle such logic, a misogynistic quote would suffice to change his perception enough to try.

"Be a man. I recommend Neko-chan, she caters to those with weak perceptions of themselves as well as those with peculiar fetishes."

Yukinoshita shrugs, wanting to look nonchalant. Friendly as they called it.

"Or don't. I'm your psychiatrist and nothing more. I'm here to guide you and nothing more." Her policy has always been "Not to give a starving man a fish but teach him how to fish."

But simply forcing a man to fish would gain nothing, instead, she'll make her man want to fish. Make him think this was all his idea.

"In truth, there's no shame in using whores. It's only recently that society has deemed relying on prostitutes as the only option for unattractive men to have sex."

Yukinoshita checks her watch and almost smiles.

"It seems our time is up." Yukinoshita rises from her seat elegantly and ushers her patient out the door and opens it for him.

Where Hiratsuka was waiting for her.

"Dr. Yukinoshita?"

Frowning, Yukinoshita stares at the lab coat wearing woman, observant of the firearm on her hip and the tight fitting bullet proof vest under her tight blouse.

Yukinohita puts on a calm but irritated mask befitting the situation. "This is a private exit for my patients, if you want to make an appointment, please call my office so we can schedule and an appointment at a later date."

"My apologies doctor, but I'm with the Chiba Police And this is for a case."

Hiratsuka opens up her labcoat to show her badge and Yukinoshita nods.

"I see."

"May I come in?"

"You may wait in the waiting room." she tells the police officer.

That doesn't happen often to Hiratsuka, showing off her badge and credentials usually gets her in to places instantly.

It wasn't a "No!", so it's a small victory for Hiratsuka.

Yukinoshita turns her attention on her patient "I'll see you next week, Fujio. Call me if there are any changes after your session." Her patient, a man with the hair and pale skin of a hermit otaku, looks down and blushes before walking past Hiratsuka.

Now Hiratsuka felt bad, she didn't mean to embarrass the poor guy.

Yukioshita's gaze goes from her patient and sets it on to Hiratsuka. "Unless of course, that this is about him."

Comically, Fujio looked panic for a second. Before Hiratsuka assured him. "Oh, no. This is all about you doctor."

At that, Yukinoshita blinks and forces a flat smile.

The door of Dr. Yukinoshita's office closed, and Hiratsuka found a seat on the sofa and began to wait.

Hiratsuka remembered the last time she waited this long in a doctor's waiting room was when she was eight years old and her mother brought her in for an appointment, she was seventh in line and the doctor took at least an hour on all her patients. By the time it was her turn, every inch of eight year old Hiratuka Shizuka's schoolgirl sketch book was filled doodles. Morbid ones depicting the destruction of the small clinic she wanted nothing more than to see being crushed under the feet of a giant, toad summoned by a sage of Mount Mikasomethingburu.

Right now, Hiratsuka wished she brought along some paper work to get some work done while waiting. Or at least some paper she can scribble on.

Anything would be better than having to read all these magazines about gourmet, fine dining and surgeon's digests.

When Dr. Yukinoshita's door finally opens, Hiratsuka almost jumped out of her chair in joy.

"Please, come in." were the sweetest words Hiratsuka heard coming out of the doctor's mouth.

The police commissioner stepped into the office and had to stop herself from whistling.

Ornate antique furniture, a bit dimly lit, but the natural lighting seems to be covered by large, heavy curtains for privacy.

"As expected doctor, your office is a classy as they say."

Yukinoshita smiles, a forced one but Hiratsuka was too busy to notice. "And what do they say about me?" The doctor trails Hiratsuka, always only a step behind, her footsteps silent, almost predatory.

"Good things I assure you." Hiratsuka wants to be on her good side, no doubt for the favour she wants to ask.

"May I ask, what do you mean by this is all about me?"

Hiratsuka wanted to answer, but first she had to make sure that the walls weren't listening.

"No secretary, doctor?"

Yukinoshita shakes her head in a forlorn way, "She left suddenly. Apparently, her heart didn't belong behind a desk."

In actuality, her heart belonged in Yukinoshita's refrigerator, marinating in sauce prepped for tonight's dinner.

Her secretary's liver was supposed to be for today's lunch, but due to Hiratsuka's untimely arrival, Yukinoshita had to dispose of it thoroughly.

Too bad, Yukinoshita already had tea to go with it.

"So we're all alone?"

Yukinoshita seemed impatient, her eyes looking at Hiratsuka as the police officer kept exploring her space, seemingly looking for something.

"I have no other clients, today."

"I see you're a woman of culture as well." Hiratsuka noted as she approached the corner of the office that didn't look so sterile. A small art studio had everything you'd expect, from a half-finished painting of renaissance art on canvas, a table dedicated solely for sketching with architectural sketches and anatomical drawings.

Very Leonardo Da Vinci, if you ask Hiratsuka. Who was unfortunately, the only artist she could name that could sketch anatomy.

"Look at that detail…" she remarks at the lines so fine they look almost digitally added.

Yukinoshita takes that compliment with a small stride in her step.

"In my experience, scalpels make finer points than pencil sharpeners." To emphasise this, Yukinoshita picks up a scalpel and pencil and carves the pencil to an almost needle point.

When Hiratsuka turns away, Yukinoshita puts down the pencil.

But not the scalpel.

It stays in her hand, held tightly in a reverse grip.

Yukinoshita listens to Hiratsuka, her blue eyes drifting to the police commissioner's jugular. Slowly, she closes the distance between them, masking her footsteps with the rhythm of her breathing, syncing it up with Hiratsuka's.

Looking back at Yukinoshita, Hiratsuka saves her own life by saying. "I hear you won a national competition for your sketches, doctor. When you were still a student in Kyoto University."

Hiratsuka's words just made the arteries in her neck an even bigger target for Yukinoshita, a target she'd already locked on, but kept losing.

Patiently, Yukinoshita slowly guides Hiratsuka away from her art works. Walking across the middle of the large office.

Now Yukinoshita had all the space she needed, and with Hiratsuka's back turned towards her. Yukinoshita found her moment, slowly raising the scalpel in her hand.

She's close now. Well within striking distance. Her grip on the scalpel was perfect, her pulse was steady, and her voice was calm enough to give an observation.

"I'm beginning to think you're investigating me, Commissioner Hiratsuka."

The small accusation catches Hiratsuka off guard, as Hiratsuka paused, no doubt to explain or lie, Yukinoshita took a last step towards her unwitting victim.

It was then Yukinoshita's blue pupils dilate, turning cold and focused, a detached and almost unearthly light shined through them.

She grows still, a predator ready to strike at her prey. Her leg muscles grow tense, storing energy ready to pounce. Her only regret was the mess she'd make, the amount of bleach and laundry she'd have to do getting all of Hiratsuka's blood out of her clothes and floor.

Like the night sky the moment before lightning strikes, the room was as eerily quiet.

But then Hiratsuka's voice broke it.

"Investigating? Oh, no it's not like that. Dr. Miura Yumiko from the psychology department of Chiba University recommended you to me. Told me stories about you, so don't worry, I'm not looking into your practices."

Ever so slightly, Yukinoshita's demeanour changes, her grip on the scalpel loosens, and she no longer finds the need to mask her presence. Her hand falls back to her side innocently.

"Are you in the market for a psychiatrist then, Commissioner?" Yukinoshita asks, putting the scalpel down on the desk inconspicuously. "It would be an honour to have a decorated police officer as one of my patients."

"I am but not for myself." Hiratsuka explained. "It's a police matter."

"Oh?" Yukinoshita's expression becomes one of curiosity, it's been a while since she's been curious of something. Her face has trouble remembering the feeling of wanting to know.

"I need you to help me on a psychological profile." Hiratsuka quickly added in a hush tone.

Interest peaked, Yukinoshita's curiosity got the better of her.

"Whose?"


"Yo! Hikigaya Hachiman!"

My name was called, but after learning to ignore name calling for years, I don't immediately respond. I shouldn't.

My focus was on the target.

The classic bull's-eye. A good distance away. Olympic-level distance away. So I'm testing my limits? So what?

I took a deep breath, then pulled on the string of my takedown bow.

The 45lb draw weight felt nothing to me anymore, my arms and back already conditioned to such strain. As I pull it all the way back, my cheek feels the edges of the fletching of my arrow, meaning I've pulled it properly.

I take aim, not using any sights, my eyes are too unfocused for such a thing, but instead I aim using instinct, the kind of aiming you don't see in the Olympics but in hunting game.

Carefully, I aligned the arrow with my aim, balancing my weight on the uneven ground, controlling the bow and all its weight, and keep my back as straight as it can be.

As I feel the tension dig into my fingers, I took a deep breath.

Then I release.

Suddenly without warning that it even surprises me.

I barely see the arrow fly, only a line of neon green and the target shaking, then the sound of an arrow embedding into my target from a distance. A thump of triumph.

I smile.

Bull's eye.

I congratulate myself, taking in the small victory. After the six failures dotting an ugly constellation around the target.

"Nice."

"Yeah, not bad, man."

I keep my back to them as I put my glasses on first. I don't wear my glasses when I practice the bow, the last time I did it got caught in the string and flew out of my face.

Besides, I'm far sighted.

With my glasses securely on I turn and finally acknowledge my small audience consisting of Nijiman and Nishiyama.

Do these two ever come separately? Or are they a buddy cop drama I wasn't aware of. Now that I think about it, Nijima's leather jacket aesthetic sure watched well in contrast with Nishiyama's older man, suit and tie, he's also got that "I'm about to be too old for this shit." look he's got going for him.

"Don't you two have a case to solve?" Buddy cops or not, they still shouldn't come around my house without an invitation. So forgive me for sounding grouchy.

"We're doing just that." Nijima told me as if explaining everything. "The commissioner told us to come and get you."

I give them both a look.

And Nijima gets it. "Okay…that may have sounded wrong."

"We aren't arresting you."

I raise my hand to stop them from dragging this joke on. "I get it."

So the commissioner's sick of fetching me herself and sent her two lackeys. She's probably worried I might hide in the bathroom again.

I would have, but not because of the case. I just can't waltz into a police station without a badge, people will suspect me for a being criminal or something.

"She was worried about you." Nishiyama said. "But I guess everyone's a little on edge with what we found out. So will you come with us or should we tell Hiratsuka you're not coming?"

Even though they're giving me a choice, why do I feel I'm in the scene where the P.I. gets forcibly taken by the two, oversized thugs, because their boss has a job that only the detective can do and he has no choice in the matter but to comply?

I guess it has more to do with something I didn't understand, some information I'm not aware. I've got a certain sense for something like this, comes with the job description and overall paranoia.

"Something happened. What did you find?" Why else would they make such an effort if they didn't find anything important?

The two share a look, Nijima mouths "Psychic." Before Nishiyama shakes his head at his partner and shows me a file.

"You were right. That piece of metal Ishiki found. It's from an industrial pipe. The kind only trained plumbers can use. A new composition too. So the constructions sites using them are limited, were narrowing down the search, but Hiratsuka needs you, she says to finalize the profile so we can start handing them out to the other police stations."

Figured as much.

Walking over to the target, I pull out my arrow before awkwardly trying to put in back in my shoulder quiver.

To my horror, they were following me, both of them watching me fail at quivering an arrow. I try to ignore that, make it look like being bad at putting an arrow back is ten times harder than pulling one out.

The pain between my ears returns, now a dull throb. I try to walk it off, hoping it won't last for much longer.

I put my bow and quiver of arrows away, feed my dogs a big meal and lock up my tiny house before I take the back seat in their police issue black sedan.

The throbbing's still there, just somehow duller.

I lean over and ask the two buddy cops. "Can we stop by a drugstore first?"?

The drive wasn't as exciting as I thought it would be being in the backseat with two detectives.

My eyes felt heavy and my back starts to ache. It's too soon for me to feel old and jaded. I seat up right, adjusting my posture.

In the end we forgot all about that drugstore.


The office Hiratsuka brought me into was not in any way unexpected. It had everything you'd see in the office of a bad-ass police commissioner from the action-fueled 1980's.

Decorative plaques of past achievements covered the walls along with the immortalized photos of her with men and women who she served, trophies of karate tournaments lining the top shelves on the right side, on the left, a cased- and probably functional- Arisaka bolt-action service riffle hanging on the top and below that a boring desk that felt like bear trap to keep Hiratsuka from moving.

But there was one thing I wasn't expecting.

In the museum of a life of bad-assery that Hiratsuka calls her office, sat a woman with the kind of beauty that makes men murder their friends and mangakas write self-insert manga about.

She just sat there reading the profile I wrote. Completely engrossed by it.

Facing the desk, her left side to me. Her eyes fixed on my gruesome descriptions of a serial killer's mind.

Oblivious to me and Hiratsuka.

I could less if she noticed me or not.

But I noticed her.

Too much of her.

She had dark hair, ebony, like the sharp and flat keys of the piano. Tied up in bun for the singular reason of showing more of her slender neck and framing her delicate face.

Her skin looked pale, an unearthly kind of pale. Not like the corpses I deal with, but the paleness found in the illustrations of faefolk or fairies you see in medieval paintings.

I feel homeless in comparison to how well she's dressed.

Elegant and dressed sharply for firing employees. She's so neat I almost mistake for ex-military. She's wearing a charcoal grey woman's suit cut to her exact dimensions down to the molecule, I noticed. Now I can't seem to unnoticed how well the suit fits her.

The way she sat. The way she just seemed to not just exist in this particular space, but designed into it. How the lights of Hiratsuka's seemed to have been artistically moved to make her look better.

It was like looking at a masterpiece painting for the first time.

An instant fascination.

Understanding it without really knowing what it is you were looking at, but knowing exactly what the message the painter wanted to convey.

I believe the Psychological Crime Thriller Gods painted a picture whose sole purpose was to elicit a reaction from me.

Damn…they know how to paint a picture.

"Commissioner Hiratsuka. Who is this man?" she asked, looking at Hiratsuka as if this was her office.

"He's the one who wrote that report your nose-deep into."

She then looked at me with scepticism with those blue eyes of hers.

Blue just like the girls that were taken.

I freeze. Cold runs down my spine. She's no longer a painted figure to me, now she's a ghost haunting me with those blue eyes.

The same blue eyes I see every time I think about this case. She had the looks of all these girls, hair, eyes, height, even her flat chest makes me think about the killer's desire.

If she was a decade younger, our killer would've come for her too. Collecting her. Eating her. Her pale skin sizzling on a pan. Damn I need some sleep, or at least stronger aspirin.

I feel dirty now, pushed into the mud and cess that was my own attraction. The killer made it so, and somehow I can see him clearer. Like a foggy mirror.

Now we share a type. I thought. The cannibal and I.

And if there's one thing you don't want, is having similarities with a cannibal serial killer.

I have to remind myself that this is different. It's only natural that a single guy like me would be attracted to a woman my age who was tiers above me in the looks department.

Besides, I barely even know her. She's pretty. Sure. But I'm not obsessed with her to the point that I kill girls who remind me of her…Hmm, well damn.

The killer's killing girls that only look like his special girl. Good breakthrough brain, keep it up and we might get out of this case with my sanity intact.

"So you're this profiler I've heard so much about."

I don't know how to respond to that. Should I say yes or do I have to make a quip to sound impressively witty.

"Dr. Yukinoshita, this here is Professor Hikigaya Hachiman, he's the profiler." I don't try to correct her on introducing me as the profiler, I'm just thankful to be introduced, I hate introducing myself suddenly to a group of people or person, the longer I wait the harder it gets, it's so much better to have someone else introduce you.

"Hikigaya Hachiman, meet Dr. Yukinoshita Yukino, she's here to work on the profile, same as you." She says, I try not to notice how excited she sounds. This isn't one of those odd team ups you see in crime genres is it? Two unlikely partners that do unrealistically well despite their differences. If it is, Hiratsuka might just be the biggest crime-drama otaku I've ever met.

Per Japanese custom, Dr. Yukinoshita stands up and greets me with a curt bow, I follow the gesture. Our eyes almost meet for a second, thankfully my glasses' frames hide some of my eyes from her.

Her eyes stay on me, even when I look away.

Blue eyes that look like they were made of glacial ice. Damn, I've been rejected by girls with warmer eyes than hers.

Yet I'm drawn by their arctic gaze. Drawn to the northern bitterness for the promise of warm nights.

I took a seat and still feel her eyes on me, scrutinizing, I can't even tell if she's blinking or not. It makes me feel like I've done something wrong.

I haven't felt this self-conscious since the first day of college.

And just like college, I smell something that I've forever associated with all-nighters and test taking. I notice Yukinoshita's face twitch at the smell as well, no doubt familiar with the scent given her degree.

Hiratsuka just made us some coffee, the smell of freshly-made liquid emotional support brings back memories.

Hiratsuka puts it on the edge of her desk, offering it to us before plopping down on her oddly chosen doctor's chair that, now that I think about, suits her lab coat apparel nicely.

Instead of taking a cup, Dr. Yukinoshita walks towards the map where we keep track of the missing girls. I notice a freshly lined picture of Kayo Takahashi with her very own tack now in the map.

I try not to look at her and creep her out with my eyes. I fail when she leans into it for closer inspection, my sight drifts downwards. Watching like a perverted idiot as her skirt rises just a little bit, showing more of her creamy, milk-pale thighs…

I look away as fast I can forcing myself to look at the folder I complied, out of respect of course. Believe me, I'm not the kind of guy who'd ogle a girl.

Not really getting much out of this, I hand it to Hiratsuka, our eyes met and she gives me a knowing look, an amused smile on her face before she tilts her head to the right, making me follow her gaze back to Yukinoshita's…assessment of the map.

Keeping the humiliation to myself, I take a long sip from my coffee, using the mug as a barrier between me and Hiratsuka.

I got caught, there was no need to overreact. It's okay too look.

"Has there been any confessions?" Yukinoshita asked, making Hiratsuka's face become irate.

False confessions are annoyances to every investigation, most if not all aren't even that clever or funny. I've had my fair share when doing even the most basic of cases.

"There has. No matter how awful the crime, there's always going to be false confessions. What's up with that?" Hiratsuka asks.

Bu the answer is simple, some people are just attention whores and trolls. My faith in humanity's dignity went away long ago. You can't post anything online these days without it receiving hate.

But while I tend to keep answers to myself, Yukinoshita doesn't seem to share my opinions on keeping opinions.

"The plain and perhaps regrettable fact is that it is part of the eternal human psyche and cycle for the normal individual to derive cathartic satisfaction and enjoyment from savouring the crimes of others, and from luxuriously dreaming of personally committing them." Yukinoshita says all that from the top of her head, as if she'd rehearsed it hours prior.

I recognize that quotation, hell it was on the very first criminal psychology book I read

"The Gates of Janus. Written by Ian Brady." The words leap from the tip of my tongue, too amazed that she read such a book. What is she, Murderpedia?

"So you read his work?" she asked sounding pleasantly surprised, that for some reason felt insulting.

I nodshrug. "I've read every book written by a serial killer." It wasn't a boast, its common practice to read the works of literate deranged murderers to get a better feel for their head space.

Most of it is sensationalized and overhyped, written for the sole purpose of inflating ego. But Brady's book is a rare one, more of a critique to books about understanding criminals, undermining psychology and the very notion of getting into people's heads.

"People love serial killers is the abridged version. Which explains all the letters and false confessions we've been getting lately."

Ever since Jack the Ripper, society has always had this obsession with serial killers. Studies show this is due to a morbid fascination people have with the worst of humanity. Recently however, our obsession with serial killers are similar to our love for tragic tales and horror flicks, experiencing dark emotions like fear and disgusts help purge them away. Experiencing them without really experiencing them, learning about serial killers is like skydiving for some people. Feeling the thrill of falling while not actually dying has been known to cure a fear of heights.

In short, everyone's a serial killer deep down, watching someone else do it keeps the impulse at bay.

With things quieting down, I reach for a cup of coffee. It keeps you awake and not much else, even Hiratsuka seemed to dislike the taste, presenting it on her desk for either of us to take but not getting one herself. Nonchalantly I take a sip.-

I've had worse.

Hell, I've made worse.

I cradle mine, letting the hot mug heat up my twitching fingers, the small bit of warmth against the cold presence of Dr. Yukinoshita Yukino.

"How many confessions? Any of them containing details?" Yukinoshita asked and I can't help but not care. Confessions don't really help when the guy your after doesn't want to get caught.

Hiratsuka made her displeasure known, typing up something on her laptop with excessive force. "I got four confessions since last night. Twenty in total. None had details. Until…" she shows us what was on her screen.

It was blog: and the top article had a picture of Takahashi Kayo, of photos taken in the scene, of the Takahashi household.

"A reporter by the name of Sagami Minami posted this article, apparently she has insider information, a leak in the department. I'm still investigating the leak, but the public, and maybe even the cannibal knows we're tailing him."

I find myself clenching my mug too tight, spilling hot coffee on my fingers.

"Now I've had to disconnect my phone from all the confessions I've been getting." Hiratsuka vented with flick of her wrist at the phone.

That makes our jobs harder. A lot harder. This is the Freedom of the Press that ruins investigations. What's the point in making a profile if the killer is just going to act out of character to cover his tracks?

All for a few views and add revenue, some people are just too stupid or have no decency.

I search for the insult to describe this. "Tasteless." came out of my mouth, which at the moment had a lingering bad taste.

"You have problems with taste?" Yukinoshita asked me as she sat back down, I couldn't help but take a peek at her eyes, amazed at how curious they looked staring at me.

"Idiots and crime scenes leave a bad taste in my mouth." I take a sip of my coffee to wash it down.

"Then you must have poor eating habits."

You can say that, for the past five years I've been eating nothing but convenience store food and instant noodles.

"It gets easy to just swallow it down."

She hums a reply, it echoes a bit so that means she's humming into her coffee cup making it echo.

I can't help but notice she's staring at me, I'm used to being stared at so I can act like I'm oblivious to judging glances, but she's just looking right at me, she's not even hiding it.

"Most men have to concentrate on keeping eye-contact." She said suddenly, her voice holding curiosity in every tone.

That's only because men's eyes are naturally drawn to large breasts, dear. Yours aren't that much so I don't have to keep my eyes from wandering to them with eye contact.

"Perhaps you have bad experience with women."

At that, my eyes briefly – defiantly – look at hers. Blue eyes. Icy. Like those of a white dragon from an old card game.

I quickly look away, like I just looked directly at the sun.

I'm usually not that easily intimidated, believe me. It's just the way she looks. And I mean that both ways.

She looks gorgeous. And at the same time, she literally looks at me like I'm not a creepy molester. It's almost unsettling whenever her eyes look at me.

Is this how other people feel when I look at them?

"In my experience, Japanese men have been so emasculated to the point of relying on the creation of sex bots, most of it stemming not from the pressure of conforming to being an employee of a large corporate bureaucracy, but failed confessions and unrequited love from women their age during adolescence." Dr. Yukinohita said, directing it at me all of a sudden.

Where did this come from?

I look at Hiratsuka. She just looks embarrassed and looks away.

Thanks, Hiratsuka. Great support.

"You don't seem to be homosexual, judging from how you looked at me." She says after one up-and-down glance.

The insult Hikigaya-kun comes to mind when she said that.

"But you didn't once act on that attraction. Hesitation comes from past failures. And a failure that has held you back from developing romantic relationships. Any relationships for that matter. You might also have experienced some harassment in your youth. Were you smarter than the other children or were you perhaps simply incapable of making long-lasting bonds."

Out of reflex, I say what I've always said. "I didn't make bonds because those bonds aren't real. In a few years those so called friends move on, the only reason most people are friends in school was because you spend nine hours a day with them. Youth and the joys of it are all just hypocritical garbage sold to us in bulk, in the end none of it really matters; being social and having friends in youth didn't prepare any of us for the solitary life of Japanese working adult, we all end up alone, it was better to just start early, I say."

My throat was dry and my mouth was tired when I finished my rant, and suddenly, I feel like an idiot.

I am an idiot. Talking like that would only get me into trouble.

"And you see yourself as enlightened then. Everyone else is lower than you because they don't see how hypocritical and bleak the world really is. So why socialize with the herd if the truth you preach will only get you ostracized?"

I've heard that line before.

Wait a minute…

"Whose profile are you working on?" No wonder she was eying me so much, she was observing me like she would a patient.

I look to Hiratsuka, I don't need a degree in accusing people to know that this was her idea.

"Whose profile is she working on?"

I feel more than just betrayed, I feel ambushed. Hell, I feel like someone broke guest rights.

"We're both scientists, Professor. What we do is for the sake of knowledge, logic is our sword, curiosity our guide, we are the shield that protects the realms of education. I can't turn mine off just as you can't turn off yours."

By your logic, I'm not a fellow researcher in your eyes, doctor. I'm the experiment. No! I will not experience science in the perspective of a lab rat.

"Don't psychoanalyze me, doctor. You won't like me when I'm psychoanalyzed." I do a good Bruce Banner impression, in my FBI days, my fellow cadets joked that I even looked like an Asian Bruce Banner. Now I'm beginning to feel the similarities, but emotionally I'm more relatable the other guy at the moment.

"I know getting inside people's heads give you a power trip that you can't get off without." For the first time in our entire conversation, she breaks eye contact. A small victory for me.

"But leave that in the sex dungeon you call your office."

I drop the mic.

But she had her own.

"A Freudian excuse? I see like most, you believe sex is the greatest impulse. That the human beings only objective is to propagate their genes. To satiate their lust and find release."

Why does she make it sound so hot?

"If that were the case, I can assume that means you feel release when you catch these unsavoury individuals."

The only release I get, is the thought of knowing there won't be another victim by their hands. But deep down, that's also a form of release.

A relief.

That doesn't mean I can let her be right. I won't show her anything that proves it and that's a victory for me. She's a know-it-all that feeds off being right all the time.

Her words don't hurt me. Words haven't hurt me since middle school.

"I'm sure there must be quite a rush, some people only think about killing, you experience the closest alternative without the liability. It must be quite a thrill, to indulge in mankind's oldest pastime, every time you close your eyes. If it felt good to the killer, it must certainly feel good to you."

Feel good? What am I to you, a serial killer? Do I really look so repulsive that you can see me enjoy causing death?

No. Nothing ever felt good about killing someone, even when I'm in the killer's place.

It's a dark fantasy that some people have killing. But they don't understand. Just how ugly and painful it really is to see a person who you could have known, met on the street, talk to about your hopes and dreams, worked with. A small light, a tiny bit of hope that could do so much more, so many possibilities and options, and have it snuffed out.

Gone.

Just like that.

And nothing else.

But I guess that's what makes it so appealing. How unspeakably evil it is. A fetish that you're curious in but never want to try.

And just one try would get you hooked, forever.

I've tried and the most I've ever gotten was second-high. A thrill you get when watching POV stunts on a GoPro.

But it's still there. A feeling. A tingle in the right places that makes it feel good. Positive reinforcement that has made my body learn to find some joy in the act of getting into a serial killer's head.

I never thought about that until know.

Not until she told me.

It's like she's towering over me, a giant looking down on scum. Looking at me with so much disdain I'm almost convinced that I am scum.

I see the look in her eyes. Her cold, superior blue eyes that make me fell less of a man. Less of a human being. I must look like deer to her, caught in a snare, a bullet with my name on it. Helpless because…

She's got one more in her.

"Now not even your headspace is entirely your own. It's now full of dark thoughts that you wish weren't yours but still feel it, clawing at the door, leaving your headspace without vacancy for anything else. Or anyone else."

She got me, I'm laid bare beneath her, exposed, naked, my internal organs out in display for her to gawk at.

My brain picked out of skull through my nose for her to scrutinize with those ice-blue eyes of hers.

She's got me. Understood me. Labelled me and checked off the boxes on the list labelled "What Makes Hikigaya Hachimnan a Freak."

I want to hate her but I can't.

Because…no one's understood me so well before.

But like that would save her.

"Rich girl." I state in retaliation.

"Excuse me?" she goes, her voice barely a whisper of irritation. She knew it was directed at her. A reflex from all the times she's been called that.

"Rich girl. You come from a wealthy family. Probably old money too. I bet you can trace your lineage to some samurai ancestry. A third- no second daughter."

"Exactly how did you come to that conclusion?"

"The five figure suit is a dead giveaway." It's worth more than all my outfits put together. "Then there's your profession."

I swear it's like I'm looking directly at a snarling ice dragon.

A reaction like that means I'm hitting her where it hurts.

"You're obviously not the first born, if so you'd be running your evil company as the CEO or something. But instead you're a psychiatrist, even in eighteenth century England, that was reserved by the second born child of a wealthy or aristocratic family. Considering the costs of a medical degree these days, you have to be from money."

She genuinely looks surprised, and seems to realize herself that the mould she creates.

"But you didn't start out as a psychiatrist. No, you were once a surgeon." There's mostly guess work in this and allot of personal experience. But I'm pretty sure I've met enough doctors to tell them apart from the rest of the crowd. Surgeons in particular.

"Only a surgeon's hands are always so steady and clean."

"Because I wash my hands, I'm automatically a former surgeon?" she found the flaw in my deduction, but I've already encountered this once before.

"It's because you obsessively wash your hands that you were a surgeon. Most people use soap and water, you have a routine of meticulous hand washing. I can smell a faint hypo-allogeneic beeswax on your palms. An old habit that keeps your palms from being dehydrated from washing your hands too much. A surgeon's old habit."

I see her clench her fists, rubbing the tell-tale wax in her palms together. I see her nostrils flare, not out of rage, but to sniff it out for herself. Judging from her expression, she smelled it as well.

"No doubt you were disgraced, in most cases, you got your patient killed during an operation. Ashamed, you switched to the less stress full psychiatry. Where the only cut arteries are the ones your patients do to themselves. "

I take a breath, and wait for her attack. She's the kind of person who defends by going on the offensive.

"A pretty big leap, don't you think? I could have many reasons to transfer to psychiatry." She once again, challenged my logic, my reasoning has a hole in it. I can see that. But I don't play the observation game with guesses and theories.

I play the person.

And we're all just the same, deep down. We're predictable.

"You're too prideful. You stopped being a surgeon because of your pride, a single death in your eyes is considered an offense too great, and that's why to protect your pride, you quit being a surgeon and went for psychology, where you can dissect people's minds instead of their internal organs."

By the end of it, Dr. Yukinohista has a dark look in her eyes, she looks angry enough to want to drown me. I got her there.

I don't even stop to smirk.

This isn't over, far from it.

I hit her somewhere that hurts hurts, so she's going to hit back with everything she has. I may have woken a sleeping tiger, and her claws are long and as sharp.

"It's the eyes isn't it? I can tell from how you hide them." she said. And I barely contain myself from rolling my eyes at her. I guess I can't blame her for picking an easy target. I just thought she'd be more imaginative than that.

I've heard all the insults. Every single time someone looks at me and judges me without even knowing me.

I know what she's going to say.

How I'm a vile, dirty, creep, that leers at girls with dirty thoughts in my head. How my eyes perfectly describe the terrible personality I have.

Say what you will, doctor. I've already developed a tolerance for it.

"I've seen this before on patients with deformities."

Deformities? My eyes aren't that bad.

"They believe they're poor social standing and social life is due to a disfigurement, you think of your eyes the same way. The eyes are the windows to the soul, yours are a reflection of the disfigured being inside, and the gods judged you as vile and evil and so gave the world a hint of your darkness through your eyes."

That just plain hurt. Burned even.

"But I have no doubt your classmates and peers have already said everything there is to say about your dead fish eyes. Which makes me curious, do you hide your eyes or do you hide behind them?"

Where's she getting at. Of course I hide my eyes. No one talks to me if I don't

"You're eyes are nothing but an excuse. You use it as such. Something beyond your control that lets you get away with not overcoming your weakness. You can't socialize and make long lasting bonds because you don't try. Those dead fish eyes of yours are nothing, I've seen many disfigured, and even freakish people make friends and even romantic relationships. You. What's your excuse?"

I can safely say that she is in fact the Ice Queen, because I'm frozen right now. The light of her eyes freezing me in place. Only my mouth could move.

I took control of my quivering lips. "My eyes."

"Your eyes? Don't joke. If you really wanted to you could have overcame them, instead here you are blaming them for the shortcomings of your youth."

So it's my fault then? Everything I've went through is my fault. Huh, I wish I've known that when I was being bullied in middle school, when girls kept spreading rumours about my hikigerms. Or that one time I just looked at a girl I suddenly found myself being scolded by my homeroom teacher for being a detestable person and a bother to the girls and classroom harmony.

Explain those doctor. Explain those!

I was this close to yelling when I realized she wasn't finished yet.

"And quite frankly, my dear Hikigaya. They don't even look that bad."

It's sad how that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my eyes.

Now I just can't in good conscience let it end there. With a smile I take her jab on the chin. If it affected me, I don't show it.

I'll never show it.

I wear it like armor now.

I just have to pretend I'm okay. Besides it's not all bad.

I've never had an argument this long before, never been motivated enough to be angry at someone, it's almost like a fight and I'm almost enjoying it.

This might be the most I've ever said to a woman in ten years. Having to keep up with someone…it's almost fun.

I already have a counter in me, an observation I made, I was about to give it before she makes a gesture for a cease fire, bringing her hand up.

"Before we continue verbally beating one another. For the sake of courtesy I have to ask; are you sure you want to play this game, professor?"

Even when she's being polite, I can still here her try to dominate and undermine me. Worst of all, she sounds like she believes she can decimate me.

Holy shit, she's having fun too.

In some sick, twisted, Freudian way, we both seem to be enjoying this.

With every bad memory telling me otherwise, I give her a smile, not a flirty one, she'd sue me for sexual harassment for that.

Just a cocky smile. "I'm afraid you'd lose, doctor."

Her mouth forms a thin line of smug.

Let the intellectual pissing contest begin.


Hiratsuka watched the ongoing brawl of sorts, watching each blow, forcing herself to look impassive at the low blows and personal attacks.

She felt like a referee watching a boxing match, only to learn that the opponents were too big for her, and stepping in could hurt her, turning her into a spectator instead.

"You were hated by most girls your age." Hikigaya said, convinced at his own statement.

Yukinoshita nods, conceding. "Your reasoning?" she challenged.

"You're pretty and talented, most girls hate girls who outshine them. To them you must've eclipsed them all, they probably put garbage on your desk every day."

Yukinoshita smugly shakes her head, "No, but they did steal my shoes from my locker."

Hachiman nods. "Children can be cruel."

That's just plain awful, Hiratsuka thought while watching the scene unfold.

"You're practice archery, caused by a childish association with your given name and the God of Eight Banners."

"That was only partially the reason." was Hachiman's response. "Let me guess, it's the way I have a callous in my hands, doctor?"

Yukinoshita looks offended at that statement.

"Not even a trained eye can spot that without closer inspection. No, it's written all over your face, specifically your right cheek, there's a faint line right below your eye. It's not a scar for it should be lighter than the skin around it. Then I remembered those Olympic archers, the proper way to draw the bow." Yukinoshita mimics the drawing action of the arrow, revealing the closeness of her right, drawing hand is to her cheek.

"The fletching of their arrows scratch their cheeks as they release, and since yours are at least a decade old, and from your speech patterns indicate an old love for anime targeted for males, all adding to the conclusion of you learning to use the bow and arrow at high school age because of delusionary media."

Hachiman raises his hand in recognition before leaning closer, his eyes darting about, Hiratuka tries to follow his gaze, wanting to see just as much as him.

"Well, you're obviously a practitioner of kendo, it's obvious from the smell of sword oils on you. That and you can just tell from a glance the way you grip things that you practice the sword."

Yukinoshita clicks her tongue, giving Hikigaya a point in their little game.

"You live in the rural areas, you drive a truck to work."

"You live in the city. You own a car but someone else drives it."

"You recently gained a new pet. A stray dog."

"You're a cat person. Considering you're so obsessed with appearances and glare at anything that moves."

"From that bias analysis, you must be a dog-person then, unsurprising, you share many traits found in mutts, notice how a dog would retreat with its tail between his legs to protect its genitals, is similar to how distant and asocial persona, hiding your lack of masculinity and social skills by acting superior and far beyond such things. A mangy mongrel."

That wasn't an observation, it was a thinly veiled insult.

Hiratsuka had to stop herself from reacting too much. A hit like that was deserving of an exaggerated "Oh!" like in the old memes.

"It was your mother wasn't it?"

The room just got colder.

Hiratuka looked at Yukinoshita's expression and no longer found lording arrogance, but simply terrifying pensiveness.

While Hachiman's had that, "You just activated my trap card!" look about him.

"Rich girl. Practically a princess. So mommy made you a proper princess, almost moulded you to be one. You don't get a look that cold overnight."

Yukinoshita's eye, for a brief second, flinches.

"You're not the first girl I've met with a silver spoon stuck so far up her ass you can bite werewolves to death."

Fictionally speaking, that was a pretty inventive insult by Hiratuska's standards.

Hikigaya continues to drive his point home. Putting more pressure on Yukinoshita's old wounds.

"Controlling parents, emotionally distant, abusive in everything but the legal definition. I bet they had such high-expectations of you, expectations of perfection. And every flaw, every single mistake, they punished you for it. Hell, I bet you started doing their job for them and hated yourself; your imperfections."

Hiratsuka backed away, eying the two, readying herself for a fight or at least a slap.

Hachiman kept probing, unrestrained, feeling an insatiable need to use his skills irresponsibly for once.

"You had thoughts about being free, but deep down, you didn't want it. If you had, you wouldn't be sitting here. Because you were clever, clever enough to know nothing would come out of rebelling, clever enough to know a sheltered girl like you couldn't survive a day without your parent's money."

Yukinoshita looks pensive. Yet, Hiratsuka saw nothing that said she lost. The doctor's chin stayed high, still looking down on everyone here. As though she had something much more powerful in her hand.

Hachiman doesn't notice it, thinking her calmness was speechlessness. Pushing on with his assault.

"And now you're and adult, finally free from the shackles of your last name. Now to cope with the rough childhood of the 1% or following an above average self-worth instilled in you at an early age, you play the healer, saving people, but in reality you simply like the feeling of being superior, of how you're so well put together that you can spare some time for the lowly damaged goods. The expert fisherman teaching the man how to fish to lord his skills over a novice."

Hachiman slowed down, basking in the deconstruction of the well-made image that was Dr. Yukinoshita Yukino.

"Or am I wrong, doctor?" Hikigaya said expecting a reply, or at least some form of denial.

Instead he was met with only silence. The kind right before all hell breaks loose.

The dust hasn't even settled yet when Hiratsuka checks her watch and made an effort to make it look like they were running out of time.

"Can we just get back to the case." she sounded firm, but her words were too weak to penetrate the tension between the two.

"I don't know, Hiratsuka. Can we?" Hikigaya says, his voice sounding course from all his talking.

"Don't get sarcastic with me. It makes your eyes even darker."

"Considering what I'm doing, it wouldn't be surprising my eyes manifest the alignment of the dark subject matter I'm dealing with." Hachiman said, using vocabulary that didn't sound like it was his.

Despite that, Hiratsuka opened her mouth to respond to him.

Yukinoshita beat her to it.

"Unsurprising considering your personal background on the subject."

There was a pause. Hikigaya stared at Yukinoshita.

"Personal background?" he asked.

Hiratsuka wondered as well. As far as she knows, Hikigaya Hachiman has no personal ties to any of the family members affected.

"Your sister, Hikigaya Komachi. Wasn't she also a victim of a serial killer?" Yukinoshita said, taking a sip of her coffee without missing a beat like mentioning a tragedy in Hachiman's life was nothing to her.

Shocked, Hiratsuka checks on Hikigaya. Her only thoughts were of how much of this was true. And how much of this actually explained allot of things.

As Yukinoshita looks straight at him.

Hachiman on the other hand breaks eye contact, his eyes hiding a pained expression, grimacing at the memory. He thought he buried it long ago.

But who can forget their first case?

A fact that Yukinoshita had known from the start. Her victory has always been assured.

Out of now where, Hachiman gets off his chair, the chair nearly toppling over as he pushes it away, before he storms out of the office.

"Excuse me. I'm late for a class." He says courteously while not looking at anyone in the room. "On psychoanalysing."

"Hikigaya. Wait!"

Hachiman already slammed the door before she could even get up from her desk.

Angry, Hiratsuka asks the psychiatrist enjoying her coffee a question that's been on her mind the moment they started talking.

"Was that really necessary doctor?"

She says the word doctor as if she's beginning to doubt my worthiness of that tittle.

To be completely honest?

It wasn't.

None of it was.

But I was curious at what would happen.

How Hikigaya Hachiman would react.

The moment I saw him, all jaded and a haunting look in his eyes, I wanted to know more about him.

I admit, I expected a more violent outburst, yet he surprised me with his restraint.

I have no doubt he wanted to strangle me for even mentioning his sister's name. Traumas such as those tend to turn youths…inclined to violence.

He should be a killer.

But he's not.

He's the opposite.

He turned his pain in to power, motivating him to do a job he seems to blatantly hate. He turned the disdain others had for him as the base to the tools he uses to solve crimes.

How remarkably heroic. It makes me want to eat his heart. Perhaps some of his courage will fill me. But I have enough hearts in my pantry.

"Empathy, Hiratsuka. He has pure empathy."

It's a startling discovery, I've never personally met someone so naturally empathic.

They're have been recorded cases before, of people who can read a person's feelings like they magically appeared in the air. Of individuals who can naturally understand othersbetter than most. A controversial disorder that I have the rare opportunity of studying.

That is, if I can convince Hiratsuka that she needs me. Give me unlimited access to Hachiman.

But first I need to make her understand what Hachiman has. Explain in a way that's so simple, I might even be an expert of it.

"He can walk a mile in anyone's shoes, he's just trained himself to dance in the red shoes of serial killers." Is this admiration I'm feeling? Strange. It's allot less demeaning than what I've been told.

A mind a rare as his should be studied in a university.

Then perhaps dissected?

I wonder which hemisphere is more pronounced.

"For years he's been on the outside, observing people. Never engaging only watching. And all those years of watching, he's learned to read people as a defense mechanism. Eventually it manifests into something more. An empathy if you will."

That brings me to another, more common quirk in his nature.

"Has he ever made large leaps on a single glance or minor detail?"

"A few times, I thought he was just…" Hiratsuka shrugs, no doubt unable to find existing adjectives to describe Hachiman. "Sherlocking it."

"He's more like Harry Dresden in that regard actually."

"Who?"

The lack of culture in this department is almost inspiring. "He senses are just better trained than most, sharpened like a sword, free of the rust that pollutes most of people's."

"An empathy disorder couple with an alarming sensory ability." Hiratsuka concluded, the profile of Hikigaya Hachiman becoming clearer and clearer in her mind.

A mere shadow of his true skills, but an acceptable summary.

"Hachiman has the right mix of inherent traits, psychological trauma, hyper awareness, and a new type of disorder we haven't actually studied about that make him an excellent profiler."

He won the lottery of some sorts, giving all the traits that would be useless if not dangerous on their own, but together form the perfect disorder that allows for highly accurate profiles.

"So in short, he has the tools necessary to catch this killer- any killer for that matter. The perfect profiler."

My, my, such a pragmatic, heartless way of thinking Hiratsuka. Treating poor Hachiman as a tool. How ruthless of you.

It seems it won't be so difficult to convince you.

"This cannibal, you have him searching. I might be able to help Hachiman see his face."


In a hidden room deep in the secret attic of Yukinoshita's home, a small shrine is there in dedication to the one god- the only god of the samurai of old.

In here, in this dark and dusty place, Yukinoshita's heritage is preserved, a full set of samurai armor and weapons is enshrined, along with the banners and artwork of her family's deep bushido roots.

Yukinoshita kneeled, almost in prayer at the altar of violence. She could be herself here, no eyes to scrutinize her, here she didn't need the mask.

She took a long look at the fierce decorative helmet, the demonic facial plate looking right at her.

Asking permission, Yukinoshita took the wakazashi blade from the stand of the altar, unsheathing it, she begins the ceremonial way of maintaining the blade.

As meticulously as ever, she applies oil to the steel. A ritual preserving the blade's integrity as well as preparing the blade for the abuse to come.

Human blood after all, is very bad for the steel.


Yukinoshita's disguise was a simple ensemble.

An out of date jacket that was thick enough to hide her petite physique.

A pair of thick glasses to hide her facial shape.

A touch of make-up to add some age.

And a single eye-catching distraction, today it was a large red knit cap that she can discard after.

It was a short walk to the train station, and a shorter walk to the car rental.

She found her target, schoolgirl black haired blue-eyed girl coming out the back entrance of a karaoke bar, an unlit cigarette in her mouth, a lighter her hands.

Yukinoshita's been tailing her for months.

Kishima Kimiko, a popular girl in school that one of her younger patients alluded to as one of the reasons why he became a NEET at such a young age. It was her rejection and continuous bullying that drove her pathetic patient into the life of a hermit.

She's pretty, with her long-midnight black hair and big blue eyes, Yukinoshita can see why her patient confessed to her, and no doubt it was that same attractiveness that allows her to waste her life partying and hanging out with her friends instead of staying in school. The lazy excuse "She can just marry rich." is probably what lets her parents give her so much leeway.

Yuknoshita approaches the girl.

"You shouldn't be smoking at such a young age." Yukinoshita told the girl.

"What are you a doctor?" the girl snaps back, annoyed at having another adult tell her what to do.

"Technically, I am."

"Go eat a dick!" the delinquent lights her cigarette, and proceeds to smoke right in front of Yukinoshita.

"That's very rude." Yukinoshita says.

"What are you going to do about?" she said, blowing smoke in Yukinoshita's face.

Yukinoshita just smiles.

The next morning, police found Kishima Kimiko's dead, naked body mounted on a deer's head in an open field.

The crows were feasting on her corpse, perched on top of her breasts and neck, nipping at the girl's eyes and open wounds.

In the field next to a road, Yukinoshita painted the picture in the hopes Hachiman would like it.


A murder.

They called me in because a murder occurred in the fields.

A girl matching the profile was found dead, mounted like a table a top the antlers of a trophy stag head.

Hiratsuka's team and I came as soon as we heard.

We weren't the first here though.

A murder of crows got here before us, feasting on top of her, like guests on a dinner table. Enjoying the girl's meat before Nijima shoos them away.

I hear the beating of their wings beating off at the distance. Almost sending me off. Wishing me good luck as I approach another dead girl, the sound of their distant cawing above me makes this all feel so surreal.

"Like I'm dreaming." Or having a nightmare. The same nightmare I had about Kayo.

This looked like an identical copy of it, on the surface, a blue-eyed, black haired girl impaled on antlers. But it felt…worse. More sinister and awful. And that's comparing it to a murder.

I cringe myself back into reality. Details first. I tell myself as always.

Puncture wounds on her chest similar to Takahashi Kayo. Post-mortem.

A finishing touch.

The large, almost surgical incisions on her chest cause her death.

An organ was removed.

Next I looked at the stag head, the stuffed trophy looks worse for wear, especially the fur on the deer's face.

Like it was dipped in blood.

The grass beneath her is of a different color too. Meaning she bled right here.

Bled horizontally not vertically.

Following procedure, with the observations done. I need to cross reference this scene from the one in the Takahashi household.

The obvious one was the state of undress. Kayo Takahashi was fully clothed. This girl was left bare to be shamed and gawked at.

Whoever killed this girl hated her; wanted to humiliate her further, even in death.

The complete opposite of the "tender, love, and kill" mentality I've felt in Kayo's murder.

Then there's the missing organ.

Kayo's liver was taken first then put back in because it wasn't edible.

This girl's lungs were taken first. And nothing else.

This pattern of behavior is inconsistent. To put it in simple terms. "You don't go to another store that has the coffee you're looking for only to buy coke instead."

If a healthy liver was what Kayo's murderer wanted, he could have gotten it off of this girl. And yet, he chose an entirely different organ.

In an entirely different way.

Another important difference between the two murders is very subtle, and actually lucky on out part. No one really knew how Kayo was bled, we kept that a secret. I just said she was mounted on antlers. Not hang from them like a pig in a slaughter house.

But there was something else different. Something I don't think I would've caught if I was five years younger.

"Tell me about the stag head."

Instantly, Hiratsuka appeared at my side and held out a copy of a written report. "Stolen. From a hunting club a few miles away."

The killer didn't have antlers of his own. He needed to steal one. And then

Feeling it was safe to be around me, the rest of Hiratsuka's team approached the body.

They approach my field of vision so now I can't help but observe them.

Isshiki was taking pictures, her gender made it her role to be the one taking pictures of this poor girl.

Nishiyama was checking rigor mortis, I watch him and it seems I didn't need to. Most doctors ruin the scene for me, Nishiyama on the other hand seems adamant on becoming unnoticed, treading lightly. It's almost uncomfortable how little he reacts at the sight of this dead girl.

He just looks like he's doing his job, while I'm here almost ready to find a nice safe space and try to forget all this.

But I can't be as bad as a pale faced Nijima, who takes a look at the puncture marks and notice what I want to unnoticed.

"Her lungs were ripped out." Nijima looks sick enough to vomit right then and there. "…while she was still alive."


And what powerful lungs they were, she screamed and screamed much louder than most but it's not like she's was using them anyway. Dr. Yukinoshita put them to better use.

Kishima's lungs were being pounded hard on the chopping board, Yukinoshita is beating the air out of them with a mallet with a smile on her face, pounding the lungs flat to the sound of Vivaldi's strings.

She dabs her pinky into the raw lung tissue and tastes.

"Smoked."

Clearly, Kishima must've been smoking for almost a year now.

You'd never find such discoloration and bitterness in a non-smoker's lungs.

Cutting the lungs into small but sized pieces, Yukinoshita pours wine on the simmering pan and fries the cut pieces of Kishima's lungs with onions and tomatoes.


"Where did all his love go?"

I shake my head.

"It's not the same guy."

This was ritualistic torture.

A planned homicide designed to inflict pain and terror to this poor girl for her killer's gratification. He kept her alive, prolonging her suffering that energizes his fantasies of domination and control and escalates the violence with ritualized carnage.

Subjecting this girl to his eroticized anger.

Killing her wasn't what he wanted; hurting her was.

"Whoever killed Kayo killed her mercifully, just a painful thing to get over with quickly so he could get what he really wanted. He loves women. He wants to consume them. Treat them right."

A twisted form of affection and affection is the last thing I feel from this.

"This…" I gesture to the picture of sadism in its purest, cruelest form. "…is just torture. Whoever killed this girl didn't want her dead, he wanted her to scream and cry, hear her beg as he cut her open. The only regret he had was a how quickly she died and he was left with was an unresponsive pile of meat."

I can't believe that just came of my mouth.

I look around, gauging their reactions.

Neither one knew what was going with me, only staring as I start to unravel this case as well as my peace of mind for the next few days.

I can't stand it.

I try to walk away from this, too much is going on and my limit has been reached five minutes ago. My brain feels attacked on two fronts, two different forms of crazy are in my head now. Mixing in a pool around my frontal lobe, inky black crazy soup in the cauldron of my thoughts.

"So think we're dealing with a copycat?" Hiratsuka asked drawing away from the odd sense of murder between my ears.

No, I don't think, I know we're dealing with a copycat. I understand her reluctance to believe that two people in this world could be capable of such horror.

It falls upon me to convince her.

"The one who murdered Kayo only brought her back because he couldn't eat her. The rest- the other girls- he kept." And ingested.

My anger spiked at the sheer psychopathy, I point to a literal monument of sadism in front of me. "This one killed to show off."

"Kayo's killer…" Bled her, but not in her room. "The real killer had a place to bleed her, he has no interest in making a goddamn landmark!"

He has a place to do it. Secluded. Looks normal on the inside and out. It's now coming to me, ideas and answers to those ideas coming right at me, bypassing my brain and heading straight to my mouth.

Like the words of a poet just coming out in a blitz.

"He has a house. Or a-a-a cabin in near woods."

A private place, so she the girls wouldn't be humiliated in public…and one with antlers to mount them on.

"Something with an antler room to hang teenage girls!" This copycat got that wrong, she was vertical when she was bled, and no blood got on the stag's head.

Isshiki pulls out her note pad, wanting to write this all down. I won't slow down, I can't. It's all happening to fast. Like an inspiration you can't force but comes at you like an explosion, taking you far away.

Suddenly, this feels like I'm waking up from this dream, as excruciatingly slow as possible.

When Kayo's body was found, there weren't any reports of stolen stag heads or antler trophies.

The cannibal had to have his own. His own trophies.

"He took her liver…" Nijima's voice echoed in my ears. Then my mind flashes back to some unknown time when I watched a hunting documentary.

The smooth voice of the narrator over the image of a gutted dear's liver sizzling on a fryer.

"…as per tradition, the liver is eaten first as they decompose faster than…"

"He's a hunter." Then is dawned on me how difficult it is to profile this person. "With a license. Someone gave him a FREAKING LICENSE!"

Nijima says speaks into his radio. Given the circumstances, he must've been as shocked as I was to hear that the killer might actually be one of the few citizens in Chiba that are armed. And he's quickly warning police that the suspect may be armed and dangerous.

Dangerous enough to pass the rigorous background ground checks and psychological testing to be permitted to own a firearm in Japan.

A person like that is just terrifying.


Yukinoshita adds red wine to the skillet with fried human lungs. Humming happily when the meat sizzles perfectly.


And finally it came.

The piece of the frustrating puzzle I needed to complete the face of this cannibal came in the most unlikely of trains of thought.

A subtle inception that was there when I harkened back to my own childhood; when my dad taught both me and my little sister how to shoot a bow.

"He has a daughter."

I've been seeing it the wrong way. Looked at it at only the psychological angle. What I should have asked was "In what way does he love these girls?" The answer was staring me right in the face.

He loved them like a father.

He brought Kayo back in her room because that's how he would want his daughter to be returned.

He's a parent of a teenage girl.

My hands shake as I try to explain everything, "She's the same-same everything. Same height, same weight, same hair color, same eye color, same skin color, SAME CUP SIZE!"

The black hair, blue eyes, skinny and pale image of his little girl. "He loves her but she's leaving, he can't stand the thought of losing her."

Cannibalsim has three different meanings; to eat a person because you no longer think of them as a person like how the Kishima's killer thought of her, to eat your enemy to get their powers and abilities.

Or…

"So he eats her- them. He eats these girls- girls-girls that look like his daughter…so-so so a part of them…her will stay with him. THAT'S how he honors these girls."

Dr. Yukinoshita was right, there is a thrill when you get this right. To succeed in something almost impossible. I feel like Archimedes running through the streets of Syracuse screaming "Eureka!" after he discovered the principles of water displacement.

I'd do the same thing if my stamina wasn't punched out of me. I can barely stand around here let alone celebrate.

My head can't take any more of this.

So many answers.

Too many.

Too much madness in one spot, they all want to go into my head. Tentacle raping its way into my psyche and defiling every sense of right and wrong my mind has ever made.

It's too much.

"His daughter's his special girl." I say quietly before saying. "I'm leaving."

I just walked away, ignoring the surprise looks of the other police officers expecting me to pull another deduction straight out of my mind's ass.

"What about the copycat?"

I stop.

And turn.

Then stare at Hiratsuka.

This copycat. It's a monster wearing a suit that makes him look human, a sick creature capable of human speech but not human emotion.

The nurses around it the day it came to earth probably thought it was cute, they should have dropped it on the ground before it grew up and learned to blend in with the normal people he'll treat as lambs to be silenced and slaughtered.

But if Hiratsuka wants a profile I'll give her a profile. It's the only reason she wants me around anyway.

"An intelligent psychopath." He's smart enough to not leave evidence but also smart enough to leave the right evidence. There's not even enough here for me to empathize with.

"A genius level intellect."

Whoever he is, he must be laughing that the only description I can give is a compliment.

"A pure sadist. No empathy."

I guess to a guy who can carve up a human being like she was a Christmas turkey, those were compliments. The incisions were flawless, surgical and she was alive while he did it. She struggled for her life as he ended it.

"He's killed before, in different ways, and he may never kill this way again." A completely heartless individual who wants nothing more than to dominate and conquer.

Which reminds me.

"Have Dr. Yukinoshita write up a background report." I casually say as I maneuver around the yellow tape. Pushing my responsibilities on other people is a bad habit I've tried to shake in the past so I'm more than comfortable with doing it again in the present.

"You seem to love her opinion."

All I want to do is find a bed, lay on it, scream at my pillow, read something funny online, and fall asleep and wake up when this is all over. That would be my perfect night and I deserve it after all this.


Back in Chiba, Yukinoshita was already living her version of a perfect evening.

A gourmet meal cooked to perfection paired with some vintage wine and the music of Chopin to set the dining mood, she digs into her dish and almost feels guilty.

It was almost decadent to have a culinary master piece two nights in a row.

She tastes her meal, and approves, despite the suddenness the dish more than reaches her expectations. Say what you will about smokers, their bitter lungs almost always give the best gamey-charcoal grilled taste that just sends a warm feeling in your stomach.

With wine in hand, she thinks about Hikigaya Hachiman and wonders if he enjoyed the work she left for him in the field as much as she enjoyed making it

She'll have to pay him a visit.

Food this good is wasted when only eaten alone, after all.


The knocking in my motel room woke me up from my prolonged sleep, I was beyond exhausted yesterday, I didn't even unpack, I just fell down on my bed and closed my eyes until sleep found me. It didn't take long to fall asleep.

My head hurts from all twelve hours of sleep, the blood pooling in my head from laying down to long making my head feel heavy and full.

I opened the door, and I see Dr. Yukinoshita Yukino. Looking hauntingly beautiful and intimidating in a different suit, a casual brown office attire CEO's wear when doing work out of the office.

In her hands was a metallic bento, the new kind with advanced heating and insulation that was big enough to fit a meal for two.

"Good morning." She says, brighter than the tone I got from her the other day.

"Good morning." I politely parrot back, I didn't even know it was still morning, it felt like afternoon actually and I overslept but I guess when you sleep at seven, every morning feels like you overslept.

"I made us breakfast." She said and pushed her bento towards me. "May I come in?"

This is a first. A pretty girl has never made me breakfast before.

I look around, checking behind her for Hiratsuka. This could be just another test to profile me, Hiratsuka could be hiding somewhere to see how I would react to a honey-trap.

I couldn't find her lurking around, so she wasn't there.

Believe me, if she was, I'd know.

"Where's Hiratsuka?"

"She found a lead pertaining to the cause of the security leak, she'll be deposed for the entire day. Today's adventure will be yours and mine." She sounds a little too excited, like a rookie cop eager for his first beat. Then I remembered that she's a civilian, this might actually be her first experience doing an investigation, so of course she's excited.

"May I come in?" she asks again, looking at me hopefully with her bento boxes.

My stomach goes crazy over the thought of food. I step aside, letting her in.

Before I close the door, I take another look outside.

Nope. Still no sign of Hiratsuka.

Yukinoshita takes over the small table in the kitchenette, asking me to seat before gracefully setting the bento compartments and utensils on the small table like a dance before the grand finale of opening the lid to reveal what's inside.

"There's no better way to start the day than a nice protein scramble of eggs and sausage. I hope you'll like it."

By the old Shinto gods and the new fictional ones, a home-cooked breakfast. It smells like a school day and mom just made breakfast and started calling me from the kitchen to hurry up before I'm late for school. My brain was too overwhelmed by the sensory information, so my single-male senses moved my mouth for me.

"I might actually fall in love with you." I said suddenly, which I quickly regretted.

"That was out loud." Yukinoshita said, seating herself down.

At least sound embarrass with me, woman!

"My apologies." I say hastily before saying thanks for the meal.

The eggs tasted like heaven, or at least the kind of heaven you can find at restaurants with a well-dressed wait staff.

Yukinoshita watches me, her chopsticks idle.

She must be expecting me to compliment her meal, a meal this well-cooked deserves praise and she knows it.

"This is good." I say with some egg still in my mouth.

I hear her give let out the smallest of a huff of pride. "I'm glad you like it." she says as her mouth forms a warm smile.

Which oddly enough, it reminds me of an old global warming documentary. No clue why.

She then took to her meal. Eating it gracefully as if she rehearsed it several times under strict supervision; her mother's most likely.

It's none of my business, I just eat.

I missed this; a home cooked meal, sitting down and eating a meal with someone. I can't even remember the last time I had a good meal, let alone with a woman my age.

"I hope this means we can look past our little squabble in Hiratsuka's office."

Is that what you called it? Doesn't matter. I've completely forgotten all about that along with any romantic interest in you.

"Let's just be professional." I leave it at that.

A moment of quiet eating passes before Yukinoshita stops and says. "I heard you made a breakthrough on Kishima Kimiko."

"Huh?"

Who the hell's Kishiman Kimiko?

I choke on my egg and had to wash it down with some coffee. Black caffeine floods the eggs down my throat before I die of asphyxiation.

"That's not really a good topic conversation over breakfast." I told her, the murdered girl having a name still processing in my mind. A name for a picture.

Yukinoshita's face seemed to be devoid of a response to what I was saying. "I don't think so" she says, a piece of sausage disappearing into her mouth right after.

Almost choking on them, the eggs don't appeal to me anymore, so I try the little bits of sausage.

"Mmm!" On the first bite the umami hit me like a bolt of lightning, she must've put allot of work on them, the flavour is so unique, so refreshingly addicting, I can't even tell what meat this is.

I see Yukinoshita smiling.

"I heard from Hiratsuka you might be dealing with a copycat. That you reacted violently to the crime scene. Tell me about it."

Figures a psychiatrist would be interested in mental breakdowns.

You'd react the same way too if you saw a teenage girl's tortured body mounted on a stag's head. If she's so interested in the topic, I might as well humor her and talk about it.

"Every crime scene fits a purpose and that crime scene… It wasn't just a copycat imitating what happened to Takashi Kayo. It was like…"

Like Kishima's killer knows more about Kayo's killer better than I did.

"Like what Hikigaya?"

"Like it was gift wrapped." For me specifically, taunting me, telling me the details I may have missed. "The copycat showed me a negative to get a clearer positive."

"Aiding you?"

"Exactly!" the copycat killer was helping me, and murdered Kishima Kimiko to do it. He's mocking me and helping me at the same time, that kind of behavior...It's an entirely psychopathic way of being unpsychopathic. If you can understand what that means.

Yukinoshita hums, I can't confidently say she sounds impressed with me but my...ego I guess just can't rule it out.

Then it hit me, I must be trying to impress her. Oh, shit.

"Let's get back to the cannibal your chasing." she says "Let's not forget who our top priority is here."

She's right. As much as I hate to say it, she's...not wrong. Kimiko's death was awful, but we have no leads, no evidence, and nothing we can use to catch her murderer and we know he won't kill the same way again. Daddy Cannibal on the other hand is just about ready to kill again. It's Wednesday today and Friday's when he'll strike. We're on a race against my favorite day of the week to find this killer before he takes another girl.

It's awful, I know. But I'd rather catch one killer on the loose than none.

Or at least that's what I tell myself to get in the mood for this, crap.

"I've given Hiratsuka the new profile."

"Yes, I read the chicken scratch summarizing your Eureka moment."

Did she? Read Iroha's handwriting I mean. That girl writes like she's a doctor who dislocated her thumbs and writing a prescription. Wonder how that played out.

"To profile an offender, one must follow five steps. Currently, we're on the fourth; considering other possible motives. Have you been looking into his mind, Hikigaya? Reconstructing his fantasies. His impulses. Or have you gotten deep enough to learn his inner problems?"

Yeah I know how to do my job, the hard part was not learning his problems. There's just somethings too foul to be learned.

"Other than the sublimating wanting to have sex with his daughter by killing and eating other girls who look like her, he's got a few problems not even you can troubleshoot." I think I may have offended her, either my crass language or the fact that I may have doubted her abilities as a psychiatrist.

I go with the latter. Positive thoughts.

"Do you have any problems, Hikigaya?" she asked again in a tone that I'll now refer to as her "Psychiatrist Voice."

"Nope. None. What makes you say that I have problems?" I deflect her attempts at probing into my mind. "Is it the eyes?" Yukinoshita forces a smile, apparently that's how she responds to childish jokes. Maybe I'll try sock puppets next, then she'd have to laugh.

"Of course you don't. You and I are just alike. Problem free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about." then she says. "Do you know what I think?"

"What?"

She leans in just like a high schooler would when telling secrets and exchanging gossip. "I think Hiratsuka sees you as her silver bullet used for only the monsters that bump in the night."

I blink. Then burst in laughter.

Yukinoshita looks like she just lost her appetite. "Did anyone ever tell you have an uncivilized laugh?"

"Yes. Every time." It's partly the reason I laugh less and less these days. When I finally get myself under control, I bluntly ask her. "What do you see me as, doctor?"

Without even batting an eye, her response was immediate. "The bat that flies in the night devouring mosquitoes that carry disease."

"Something good that is mistaken as evil?" Is what I was trying to get from that. Bats do more good than most people think, yet people hate them for their looks. I can understand the symbolism.

Yukinoshita doesn't see it that way from how she shakes her head slightly.

"No. You're both ugly. You just don't have rabies yet."

Suddenly, the world just seemed cold. The food didn't taste all that great. And my head's debating whether or not that was an insult.

I stare at her and wonder what's inside that head of hers. What makes her see the world as she does? Or if she even sees the world. She's a psychologist, which explains allot. There's an old joke I remember back in college. "What's the difference between a psychologist and a coal miner? The psychologist goes down deeper and comes up dirtier."

It makes me wonder just how deep she went down…

"Finish your breakfast." She tells me in a calm voice that shouldn't be unsettling. Perhaps it was just the timing of when she said it and that's why I jumped at the sound.

I resume eating, remembering how badly the last time I looked into a woman's head ended for me.


I got inside my Toyota pick-up truck, I would've preferred taking the train but during investigations where you might have to go to multiple destinations having a car is better than relying on public transport.

That and there's always the unlikely possibility to go on a high-speed chase like in the movies.

Usually I'd be excited with a long drive. But with Yukinoshita tagging along, I feel self-conscious about my driving. And my car. And my body odor. And even my seat cushions. Being in a car with a woman my age doesn't happen to me as often as I would admit. The last time was when I was twenty and a fellow student needed a ride to school. It ended with her boyfriend greeting her. And me alone contemplating death.

I put on my seat belt when I notice Yukinoshita, she's a look on her face ever since I told her where we'd be going. Like a cat has when you first offer it food.

"What is it?" I ask her now before it drives me crazy guessing.

"I was always curious of how the police did their work, I feel privileged to be seen a glimpse of what happens behind a curtain. I've been behind many you see, school events, stage musicals, studio band, I've seen all the tricks behind the magic, but never an investigation. I only ever see the news reports. Never the operation."

I keep forgetting she's a civilian. This must be a completely new experience for her. She mustn't get much excitement in her office, after all. Somehow that just makes me feel responsible for her, a babysitter almost. If she wasn't made of solid, jagged ice underneath, I might even be protective of her.

"Don't expect any excitement." I tell her before her hopes are up and she's disappointed with what police work is when there's no camera.

"We're just following up on a lead on a case. The results got back from the metal scrapings." I start the ignition, my truck springs to life, never disappointing me.

"Leads back to a construction site near to where the third and sixth victims were presumed taken."

I see her subtly shake her head as I check my mirrors, apparently, she's not convinced.

"Something wrong?"

"There could be hundreds of construction sites. The probability of a single metal scrap leading to a specific site is improbable." she said like any logical person would.

I said the same thing once when I was just starting out, my partner, who was more of a mentor really, probably felt like I do right now. I need to dispel something first, I might not be police anymore, I still have the obligation to teach people about the unsung heroes of the forensics lab.

"Not when you know that the scraps are from a new type of pipe manufactured by Nippon Steel that can only be cut using heavy equipment, and they've happily gave us a list of shipping orders, and one of which leads to the construction site near Asuka Mirai Highschool."

That's right. The crime lab! The only decent organization in the police force. Unbiased scientists who actually want to find the real culprit with hard evidence, instead of police officers who pin the crime on the most likely suspect and keep them in a room under duress unless they sign a written confession.

Sorry for ranting, I just had to say it.

"I had no idea that criminal investigations deal with circumstantial evidence akin to guess work."

Something about that hit a nerve in my detective brain, my synapses already firing off a response.

"I don't guess. I never guess."If I can't prove anything with facts, I don't mention it. I don't follow a lead when I know it doesn't have the evidence to back it up. "But you won't believe how many crimes can be solved by something as simple as piece of steel."

Even I admit that not even science is an absolute science. Most of what I do is strives towards scientific truth, but ironically scientific truth is ever changing, it's incorrect sometimes, and changes with every new discovery. I can be wrong and it's a good thing. So we can learn more. Because science is a guide to understanding. A guide can be wrong sometimes and can lead you astray, but it's there so you don't have to start from square one, you've got something to help you.

So, you can say I may sound biased with the forensic labs. The truth is they can be wrong sometimes. And sometimes, the police officers can make right calls. It's the over reliance on either one I can't stand.

Instinct and Evidence.

Experience and Knowledge.

That's what I've honed. And that's what I believe in; my skills.

"The science can be wrong. Evidence can ruin the truth and vice versa." I told her. "But my former partner- the man who taught me how to be a detective- always said, to listen to your gut when the evidence isn't enough, because instinct has had forty-five million years of trial and error." I told her, the first person I may have ever told what is essential a trade secret. "And to trust the evidence- the science we developed- when your gut isn't talking."

"And what does your gut say?"

Honestly?

"That I should play music. It's a long drive."

I sync up my phone to the car's stereo system, I scroll through my lists and looked for the least embarrassing one. I'm at the T's when Yukinohita's open hand comes into view.

"Shall I pick?" she says ever so politely. I oblige her request and hand the phone over to her.

I nervously watch her scroll my phone, hoping she wouldn't comment on all the AKB-48 songs.

But it didn't come to that, I see her eyes light up and she immediately presses play.

The first second of music was unmistakable. I sat idly as I listen to the piece. Listening in anticipation as the innocent start of the song's first minute ends and suddenly- almost violently- transforms into a dark, terrifying horror that begins with a powerful blowing of brass. As always, the music sends chills across my body.

You've got to hand it to Tchaikovsky, even without the ballet, Dance of the Swans can still make you feel something. Awaken a part inside me that craves for a terror that only a few notes can unleash.

At the two minute mark, Yukinoshita speaks. "I didn't expect you to enjoy classical music."

She timed that. And the music hit me. Hit me in a way that my soul felt it. Her voice adding another layer to it that just somehow fits.

I nod, smiling uncontrollably.

Most people think it's pretentious to enjoy it, openly mocking people who enjoy them. The rest just like to feel superior, constantly showing off how cultured they are by saying they listen to this composer and that sonata when in actuality they've only listened to them from anime like Your Lie in April or something.

"A person's taste in music determines how well they really understand the art." That's wrong, I should have said was "Music is for everyone, not just one type of music for one type of person." Too late, no use regretting something I already said.

"I like it. And that's all that really matters."

Yukinoshita leans back on her chair, watching me with those eyes of hers as though I might do something to amuse her.

"You're full of surprises, Hikigaya."

Stop blushing and drive you idiot.


Yukinoshita smiles as the song continuous and the car was moving. It was a good thing Hachiman had this on his phone. The song's been stuck in her head ever since she played it over Kimiko's screaming.

End of Chapter.


AN: I won't give any excuses. Something happened to me and my family and I don't think is the right place to share so I apologize for the delay. Just know that this story is still alive. I'll try harder to update more but my writing has suffered. Review if you've noticed.