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The house had been sitting unoccupied for nearly a century, an eyesore to the residents of the dying neighborhood, but also a great source of gossip. It's where the final murder supposedly took place, and now the Togami Conglomerate were said to own it.
The former rumor was true, but nobody believed the latter until a stretch limo drove through the old dirt roads.
When a butler opened the door, Byakuya Togami himself stepped out and squinted at the shabby little house. It was a traditional house, more than a century old— a miracle it still stood at all. The wood had rotted, the screens were broken, the roof had more holes than tiles. A servant had to cut through brambles and thick grass just to reach an entrance. Once the servant finished, Byakuya slipped a hospital mask with a respirator over his face and stepped inside.
The interior was as he predicted for a house long since abandoned. Pieces of long-ruined furniture scattered about the floor, the tatami peeled and curled , and a layer of dust and mold overtook almost everything. He would have hired a cleaning crew if it wouldn't have upset the integrity of his investigation.
(He sighed. His glasses fogged up. He waited for them to clear before proceeding.)
Turning on a flashlight, Byakuya proceeded further into the house. A few hooligans had left empty beer bottles and graffiti inside the living room; he made a mental note to have someone watch the premises from now on.
It was only once he reached the child's bedroom that he paused. Books with yellowed pages formed towers around the room. A mildew-coated futon sat unrolled in the corner. In the other corner sat a small writing desk. Most of it had been claimed by spiderwebs. None of the spiders were left in sight— maybe they'd given up hope of anything being alive in this house.
The wall was covered in water stains, but the blood had been scrubbed away at some point. The only evidence a murder had taken place here was the holes in the wall where the scissors had punctured.
The rest of the room didn't reveal anything new. Most of the belongings had been left by the police investigation, though some items may have been taken by others. He suspected that an old radio had been taken, for instance, leaving only a dusty outline on the desk. But the looters left behind an old serafuku uniform, glasses broken beyond repair, and a chipped old teacup full of some unidentifiable murky liquid.
All signs pointed to a single young female occupant who seemingly grew up here. He found rooms where her parents may have stayed, but no evidence of another male occupant like a husband. A single old photograph from the case file revealed the stains on the walls and condition of the room after the murder, but details were sparse otherwise. Any witnesses were long since dead.
The case was impossible— for anyone else, at least. But he was Byakuya Togami.
He turned to leave, and in that moment, the teacup fell from the desk. It shattered upon the floor, spilling the liquid inside. It was still across the room, too far for him to have caused the fall.
Byakuya observed closer. The spill had formed the shape of a heart.
Another week of investigation yielded no results. Rumors about hidden pairs of scissors turned out to be baseless. Forensic evidence didn't match a thing on record.
If anything, he only found more oddness. Lights flickered. Doors opened. Once, he thought a message appeared on a mirror, but it was too smudged to read. It must have been there the whole time, further graffiti— work was exhausting him, and it was taking a toll on his investigation.
Against all his better judgment, when he next returned to the house, it was with accompaniment.
"Woah… I totally feel the haunted vibes," Yasuhiro said. "Togami-chi, you were right to consult an expert on the matter. By the way, about my rate—"
"Just shut up and get to work."
Fortunately, he did. Unfortunately, the quality of that work was questionable as ever.
Byakuya watched as Yasuhiro set up incense and performed some type of chanting around various parts of the house. Minutes later, ofuda were plastered on most surfaces and he was waving a gohei around like a child with a pinwheel.
"What's this…?" Yasuhiro suddenly said. "Togami-chi, I'm getting a prediction! This is a good one, I can tell. You're gonna fall in love in this house!"
"I was a fool to ever indulge this. Get out."
A stray tarot card fell out of Yasuhiro's sleeve.
"Oi, oi, oi! We had a deal, Togami-chi!" He tossed the gohei down. "200,000 Yen for an exorcism!"
"We verbally agreed upon 20,000 if I deemed the quality of your work acceptable, which I do not."
"And another thing—"
A ghostly white hand appeared on Yasuhiro's shoulder. He froze in mid-sentence.
After Yasuhiro ran away screaming, the apparition remained. It took the form of a young woman- thin, mousy, with wiry aubergine hair tied back into two long braids and round glasses perched upon her nose. Her tongue lolled out of the corner of her mouth— a byproduct of her existence as a spirit, or just a strange habit? Either way, Byakuya wasn't impressed.
"Did his ritual actually work, or were you also fed up with his inane nonsense?"
"Maybe a little bit of both? Kyahahaha!"
He felt the words as much as he heard them. While suspended in midair, the apparition laid on her stomach and kicked her feet behind her, as if she were laying on a bed during a sleepover. "Who cares, though?! I wanted to talk to you, stud muffin!" This was punctuated by an obnoxious wolf whistle.
Byakuya began to realize he was better off before allowing Yasuhiro to perform his ritual. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You must have lived here in life. I have questions for you."
"Yes, I'm single! No, I won't tell you my three sizes… come feel for yourself! Kyahahaha!"
He found himself reaching out— not to grope the ghost, merely to see if his hand would phase through. Naturally, it did. Although this was his first time being haunted, he had read ghost novels for research just in case this happened.
"Oooh! Frisky, aren't we? So forward… UGH! I like it! It's getting me all hot and bothered!"
"State your unfinished business, spirit."
"I died a virgin! But you can help change that! Kyahahaha!"
This entire endeavor had been a waste of time. He turned and began to leave.
"Wait, wait, wait! You're not gonna make me beg, are ya?! You're the first person who's seen me in a hundred years!"
"I'll have this house bulldozed and made into a parking lot if you waste another moment of my time. Do you understand?"
"Clear as crystal!"
The spirit had been able to recite some basic information that matched up with the records Byakuya had found, along with a few other insights: she knew Genocider Syo's method of killing and exact number of victims.
But the more the interrogation went on, the more questions the spirit dodged or outright ignored with a lascivious joke. It didn't take long for his patience to wear thin.
"Why did the final murder take place here?"
"Because it's just so fuckin' charming here, what did you think?"
He snapped his notebook shut. "You don't actually know, do you?"
"I know, I just forgot! Seems like I've been snoozing too long!" She knocked her head cutely. "Maybe you could help me jog my memory with a little excitement?"
"No. We're done here."
He turned. The lock slid over the door on its own.
"Woah now, what's the hurry, hot stuff?" the spirit asked, materializing in front of him. "Don't tell me you haven't been able to read between the lines!"
Even with the gaps in her memory, it was hard not to speculate. She knew more than the police had in several cases. Her knowledge, along with her appearance as a spirit here- where Syo's last murder took place- formed a viable hypothesis in his mind.
He wasn't the type to jump to conclusions, but it seemed as if the ghost wouldn't let him leave until he shared his thoughts. "Don't underestimate me. I already know who you are."
"Say it," she said, inching closer. "Say my name."
"With your boorish personality and obvious lack of foresight, it's shocking you claimed as many victims as you did, Genocider Syo."
"Aw, c'mon! 37 is a low body count for a girl my age, right? ! Kyahahaha!" The ghost- Genocider Syo- reclined in midair. "Now that you know my name, only fair to tell me yours, ain't it?"
It sounded like an easy way to wind up with some type of generational curse. Still, though, the extent of Syo's powers seemed to be knocking over teacups and locking doors that he could easily unlock.
"I am Byakuya Togami. Don't forget it."
"Nothing's hotter than a man with confidence, Byakuya-sama!" Syo embraced herself and shuddered with an eerie smile.
"Don't call me that."
"Then how about 'boyfriend'? Or 'master'? Or 'owner'…?"
"Togami-sama will be fine."
"Oh, you're fine alright, Byakuya-sama! Kyahahahaha!"
This was going to be a long investigation.
It became something of a habit to visit Syo. The people in the neighborhood never grew acclimated to the limo showing up, and rumors began to fly when they heard a woman's cackling from inside the house.
He didn't mind that this had gone from a mere intellectual curiosity to a regular part of his schedule. For a few hours a week, he didn't have to think about business and corporate espionage and market values. He'd long since grown used to assuming everyone wore a mask, but for a former serial killer, Syo was shockingly open.
Byakuya first began to realize the shift when he arrived an hour later than usual. She was there as soon as he opened the door, like a wife awaiting him with dinner— what a joke.
"You're here!" she said. "I almost thought you were gonna leave me blueballed! Not my Byakuya-sama, though!"
"Work ran late." He smoothed out his hair, checking his reflection in an ancient dust-coated mirror. This dump was so far below him that it was laughable. Yet, nobody looked back at him from the mirror besides 'Byakuya-sama'.
"What happened? A hot rival CEO? Did he lock eyes with you from across the meeting table?!" She bit a nail, drooling. "Let me kill him! No, wait! Let me watch and THEN let me kill him!"
He waved a hand. "Nothing like that. The economy has been sluggish. Profits were down this quarter compared to our projection."
"Ooh, let me guess! Now you're all angsty because you're not livin' up to dear ol' daddy's standards, right?!"
Byakuya had grown so used to her ridiculous comments that he hadn't expected her to be right. It felt like an arrow had flown directly through the crack in his armor.
He had fully taken the reins of the Togami Conglomerate just last year. There hadn't been a thing that he had done that his father hadn't watched like a hawk. The man hadn't believed in him during the heir selection process and clearly didn't believe in him now.
"It's none of your concern."
"Old codgers like that always gotta try to make themselves feel useful somehow! My advice? Tell the old man to fuck off! Do shit your own way, not his way!"
Once he peeled back the profanity, it wasn't terrible advice— not that he had asked, nor had he needed it. "We're not here to discuss me. I want to know about your final victim."
The more details he pried from Genocider Syo, the more complete his investigation became. Soon, he would be able to close the case. But what then?
The question appeared to be on her mind as well. Lately, he had caught her in a lie about what she had 'forgotten' more than once. He still wasn't certain that she hadn't made up the entire thing. But if she had been stringing him along with just enough details that he wouldn't get frustrated and leave, then it had worked.
"I'll do it for a trade," Syo said, after a pause. "A little 'you squeeze my tits, I squeeze yours', ya know?"
"That is not even remotely close to the original phrase, and do not think anything even remotely physical will come of this, but continue."
She didn't even take the opportunity to follow that up with more absurdity. For once, she seemed thoughtful.
"Let me possess you! I wanna be inside you!" she pointed at him, tongue curling up like a snake. "I can't leave this dump any other way! It's gotta be in you!"
"No."
He braced himself for the worst. This person had been a mass murderer in her life, after all.
The seconds ticked by. She didn't move.
"Then at least you gotta come visit me. Or suffer my curse." She crossed her arms, seemingly satisfied. "It gets boring as shit around here! Gloomy doesn't even come out to play anymore!"
This had come up once in their conversations. "You refer to your original personality?"
"I see her as more of a beta version, y'know? I'm the real alpha!"
"You do realize alpha comes before beta."
"You said it! Kyahehehahahahaha!"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Syo was volatile, crude, and irritating. The house she occupied was nothing short of a biohazard. He had already satisfied his intellectual curiosity about the case.
"You assume that this won't end with you facing justice for your crimes."
"What are they gonna do, arrest me?" She mockingly stuck out her arms with her wrists together, as if waiting for handcuffs. "I already bit it big time! What else can ya do?"
"Demolish the house? Pay an actually competent exorcist? I can think of myriad possibilities."
"Don't force my hand, Byakuya-sama! Just because we're in love doesn't mean I won't protect myself!"
"Threaten me if you wish. The point stands that dozens of murders went unsolved. Much time has passed, but the truth should still be brought to light."
"And who's gonna believe that a ghost told you? Face it, Byakuya-sama, you're doing this for you! And I wouldn't have it any other way!"
He could probably cobble together enough of a case by following up on some of the information she told him, but she was right— he wouldn't. Too much time had passed and it was beyond the common proles, anyway.
"I hadn't been certain if you'd prefer to move on, if such a thing is possible." His research was inconclusive on this. "Does it not seem to you like Fukawa did?"
"Without me?! That bitch! After all I did for her ungrateful bony ass."
"So you admit it was for her sake?"
"I'll have you know I was a true artist! No requests, no commissions!" she spat. "Only the finest murders born from my own maiden's heart!"
"But you started as a 'protector' personality. Ergo, your inception was based upon the needs of another."
"She can ergo fuck herself for all I care! It's just you and me now, handsome!" she said. "If you really gotta know, I guess I could show you the time-out closet. I might not be moving on, but I can still do seven minutes in heaven! Kyahahahahaha!"
At the end of the day, he still hadn't agreed to keep visiting. But he hadn't needed to. She had known from the start.
Whenever he had asked how she had died, she would just say something along the lines of 'a broken heart', which only claimed lives in bad movies.
After hearing her explain her upbringing, though, he began to wonder if it could be an actual possibility. Dropping dead on the spot from heartbreak was impossible, but her childhood and early adulthood had sounded so miserable he wouldn't put a stress-induced heart attack past her.
Their circumstances had been several class levels and a century apart, but he found himself understanding her more clearly than he ever had.
Hori Kyou, age 20. No friends or family. His belongings would've been taken by the state, but he owned little more than the clothes on his back.
Byakuya would've written it off as shoddy police work, but searching his name went nowhere. Even his government files were conspicuously absent, which had been blamed on the war.
Sometimes, the proof was in the lack of evidence. A young man with no family who seemed to appear one day in a random place across Japan. He didn't look anything like father, or any of the stately portraits of grandfather or his father before him.
He was nobody. Barely more than pocket change on his person. But he had been everyone to her.
Kyou's spirit didn't seem to be around to talk the way Syo's was, so he only had her version of events. They'd met. She'd lured him here. What happened next remained unclear, but it had claimed them both.
The revelation left him unsteady. He had sat down to organize his thoughts. Maybe it was all the late nights, or maybe mold poisoning had finally taken him from spending too much time in this house, but he found himself drifting away.
She wondered what color his blood was.
Gloomy would say that only amateur writers described it as red. It was sanguine, crimson, maroon, vermilion. It was one thing Syo could agree with her about. She never knew just what pretty shade a boy would have until she cut him open like a birthday present.
But she couldn't touch him. Maybe she could possess him, split open a vein as a treat, watch his face twist in horror from a whole new perspective. But every time she came close, she stopped.
Maybe she had gotten soft in the last century. Maybe it was the fact that, even though Byakuya wasn't 'kind' in any way, he was still here. None of the others had lasted this long. Most of them hadn't even asked her questions the way he had.
He looked peaceful in his sleep. He commanded such a presence while awake and standing up, but he looks smaller with his guard down.
In her dreams, the moments before Gloomy let her take the reins, she wondered what it would have been like to have been born as a real girl. Maybe she would've been courted. Maybe they would've slept together every night, each others' loving visage last thing they'd see before falling asleep and the first thing they'd see upon waking. Maybe she could've had a family.
And maybe the world was made of pudding. There was no Genocider Syo without murder. The newspapers had named her and forgotten her just as easily as Gloomy's parents.
And yet, she was still here.
Syo watched. She floated next to Byakuya. She dreamed.
The tears in the screen mended themselves, the leak plugged up, the tatami unfurled, the mold receded, the wood rot vanished, the dust swept itself away, the windows came unboarded and sunlight shone through.
Fresh air flowed through the house, carrying the scent of the plants in their pots. The woman snipped fresh tea leaves to go with their breakfast. She placed them in the kettle and turned her attention to shredding up fresh salad from the garden.
He sat at the table. They had little, but when she smiled at him, he knew they were rich. The content of their conversation slipped away with the breeze, but he remembered they were both laughing.
When he woke up, his face was wet and his throat was dry.
Byakuya called her name, ignoring the scratching pain it caused. In his heart, he already knew the truth. He called anyway. He searched anyway.
Dusk had fallen by the time he left the house. He snapped his fingers and a servant cleaned his face with a warm towel. He held out a hand and another brought him an ice-cold mineral water.
The residents of the old neighborhood watched from their windows as the limousine ran down the old dirt roads for the last time. Nobody ever knew what had happened in the house, but it collapsed in on itself at the end of the night, as if it were an old pack animal whose legs finally gave in.
Within a week, the land had been cleared. Construction began on a new house. Within a year, a family had moved in.
The floors were oak. The interior style was modern. The garden was replaced with a swingset. But the family was happy.
"Did you find what you were looking for, young master?" his butler asked.
"I did."
As soon as they found themselves within proximity of the city again, his cell phone rang. He knew who it was. He answered. He listened.
For the first time, he interrupted.
"Don't waste my time. My results will speak for themselves."
He hung up.
His butler quirked a brow. "He will be displeased."
"I know."
They didn't exchange another word as they returned to the city. It was the first time in years the butler had seen Byakuya wearing a smile.