Chapter 27

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On February 22, 2005, someone called the police claiming to have witnessed a massacre.

The police took the report very seriously. Upon obtaining the exact location from the caller, they immediately set off, only to arrive at an art museum that had been abandoned for years.

The museum was located in a remote suburb, an area where there was virtually no activity for miles. After the museum closed its doors, it had fallen into severe disrepair and was now overgrown with weeds.

From the outside, the museum looked like a relic where time had frozen. The outer walls were mottled with peeling paint, and the once-vibrant colors had long since faded, replaced by a dull, oppressive gray. Vines grew wildly along the masonry, and the windows were nothing more than empty frames. The ground nearby was covered in shards of glass, which emitted a dull, mournful wail whenever the wind blew, making the scene truly hair-raising.

The responding officers, on high alert, drew their service pistols and turned on their headsets, ready to report the situation at any moment.

However, after a meticulous search that left no corner unturned, they found no traces of anyone having been there. In other words, they had likely been the victims of a prank call.

At the time, the caller’s tone had been extremely panicked—the hurried breathing, the hushed voice, the trembling sobs... all of it had been convincing. Had it not been for that, the police station would not have dispatched officers without first verifying the authenticity of the report.

This result was infuriating. The station immediately pulled the caller’s information from their database and brought the person in for questioning.

Faced with the stern reprimands of the police, the caller appeared deeply aggrieved.

"I didn't call the police," he said.

Seeing the man refuse to admit his actions, the police played the recorded phone call.

"Is that not your voice? Or are you saying you don't even recognize your own phone number?"

The caller looked shocked and bewildered. "That can't be... I have no memory of calling the police at all."

This time, the police did not believe him. After a severe warning, they let him go.

They had assumed that was the end of the matter, but three days later, the person called again.

"Do you believe me? I'm from the future. I saw a massacre—"

He mentioned the massacre again.

"Monsters, I saw so many monsters! So many people died, blood was everywhere, in Tokyo... in Shibuya!"

...

Wednesday, April 26, 2005.

14:37.

A sunshower had just passed, leaving the air filled with the scent of damp earth and fresh greenery. A colorful rainbow arched across the clear blue sky, radiating a dazzling brilliance.

Suguru Geto walked with his head down, looking at his phone and muttering the contents of the screen to himself.

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"...The first time was a stern warning; the second resulted in seven days in jail; the third time, the caller still insisted he had seen a massacre in Shibuya. His voice was hysterical. The police suspected he suffered from a mental illness and planned to send him for an evaluation after catching him again. However, he went missing that time and never appeared again."

Finishing the last paragraph of the intelligence report, Suguru Geto tilted his head toward the black-haired boy walking beside him.

"That's all."

"Hmm... it has the feel of a terrifying urban legend," Fyodor commented after a moment of contemplation.

Suguru Geto’s mouth twitched. "In any case, our mission is to stop by that art museum and check it again."

Masamichi Yaga had given Suguru two tasks.

In gaming terms, one was a main quest, and the other was a side quest. The side quest wasn't important; completing the former was enough. There was no special motive; it was purely because the two locations were close, just as Suguru had said: "on the way."

Fyodor lowered his eyelashes, masking the darkness in his eyes.

Suguru Geto was unaware of the gravity of the situation, but Fyodor, holding information from the future, knew full well that everything the man who disappeared after making three 'false' reports had said was true.

It wouldn't be long—about ten years later—that a horrific massacre would indeed take place in Shibuya, involving tens of thousands of people and nearly bringing Japan to its knees.

If it wasn't a coincidence...

It was a pity the man had gone missing, and it was impossible to tell whether he was dead or alive. Otherwise, he would have really liked to find him and have a proper talk.

*

Following the address they had been given, Suguru Geto and Fyodor arrived at a house. Suguru raised his hand and rang the doorbell.

Before long, the homeowner opened the door. Seeing two young men, he asked hesitantly, "You are...?"

Suguru Geto: "We are professionals here to resolve special incidents."

He emphasized the word "special."

To make his words more convincing, Suguru took a small booklet from his coat and opened it before the homeowner's eyes.

After glancing at the contents, the homeowner quickly stepped aside to let them in. "Oh, so it's you two. Sorry, sorry—please, come in."

"Should we take off our shoes?" Suguru asked politely.

"No need. In our current situation, that's not something to worry about," the homeowner replied with a bitter smile.

"Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"

"No need. Let's get straight to business."

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Suguru Geto and Fyodor sat on the long sofa, while the homeowner sat on the single armchair to their right. Before speaking, he glanced toward a specific room, then lowered his voice. "My mother went back to her hometown last September, and after she returned, she brought back a Buddha statue..."

In short: the old woman had picked up a Buddha statue from somewhere. At first, the homeowner didn't pay much attention to it, but later, she started bringing home lotus-shaped lamps, candlesticks, and other Buddhist-themed ornaments. She placed the statue in the living room, burning incense and worshipping it every day, muttering prayers for peace and hoping her son would have a smooth career and get a promotion soon.

Up to that point, it was still normal.

It wasn't until the beginning of this year that the old woman seemed to become possessed. She stopped eating and would just sit blankly in front of the statue all day, not responding even when spoken to.

Although the homeowner was worried, he was too busy with work and had neither the energy nor the time to look after her, so he chose to ignore the obvious red flags, hoping for the best.

About a month ago, the homeowner had worked overtime very late. It was nearly midnight when he dragged his exhausted body home and unlocked the door, only to be scared out of his wits—

The living room lights were off, but the dense array of lotus candlesticks was enough to illuminate the room.

In the flickering, dim candlelight, the old woman was still kneeling before the statue. Her expression was obscured by shadows, but her sagging skin and age spots were rendered distinctly visible, creating a truly eerie atmosphere.

The air was thick with a pungent scent of incense—so heavy that it was stifling and made it difficult to breathe.

Yet, the homeowner was very familiar with this scent. It was the exact smell of the incense his mother burned every day.

...

"It hasn't been right since then. You probably can't imagine—my mother even bit the neighbor's puppy to death, and then put a dead crow on a plate for me to eat, saying it was a gift from the Bodhisattva. Of course, I didn't want to touch the dead crow, but I didn't expect my mother to turn on me immediately. She grabbed me and tried to force the dead crow into my mouth. Her strength was terrifying; I almost thought I was wrestling with a strong man. I couldn't resist her..." At this point, the homeowner's face turned pale, and he stammered with a disgusted expression.

"I tried to throw the statue away when she wasn't looking, but no matter where I threw it, it always came back! And one day, it actually smiled at me! It's alive!"

"My mother somehow found out I had tried to throw that ghastly thing away several times, and she flew into a rage. Since then, she's kept the statue locked in her room. Later, and then..." The homeowner, perhaps recalling something, turned ghostly pale, his eyes filled with terror.

"Last week, I had a business dinner. After it ended, I was driving my boss home. My boss, who should have been snoring in the back seat, suddenly leaned his body against the back of the driver's seat. His knees were crouched, his upper body tilted forward, and his two eyes, positioned above the headrest, were staring at me sinisterly. I glanced at the rearview mirror out of habit and locked eyes with his bloodshot gaze. I was so startled that I jerked the steering wheel and nearly collided with a car in the opposite lane. In that heart-stopping moment, I heard my boss's voice ring out right by my ear—no, in my head! It said, it said..."

"What did it say?" Suguru Geto couldn't help but urge him.

"It said, 'You're next,'" the homeowner muttered.

*Click, click.*

The long hand of the clock on the wall moved rhythmically, making a sound that was impossible to ignore in the sudden silence of the room.

In normal circumstances, no one would have noticed such a sound, but at this moment, it was deafeningly loud.

Even the air seemed to grow two degrees colder, and a chilling, uncanny gloom permeated the living room.

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