A Ghoul Investigator had no choice but to live in the shadow of death.
Heroic deaths were nothing more than stories for the media; in reality, far more often, they died in sudden, absurd ways.
He never considered himself the protagonist of such a story.
He knew that if he continued this life, an unavoidable end would eventually find him.
It wasn't that he had never thought of retirement.
Perhaps not in his youth, but lately, he occasionally dreamed of a quiet, ordinary existence.
He imagined collecting a monthly pension, idly tending to bonsai, visiting his son once in a while, and watching the little girl his son was raising grow up.
But such a life was impossible.
He had seen too many horrors to ever truly find peace.
The case he was currently handling was a testament to that.
A Ghoul attack. A common occurrence.
What made this case peculiar was that, unlike most Ghoul incidents, the victim had not been eaten.
Yet, the scene was more sadistic than any cannibalistic slaughter he had ever witnessed.
When the family saw the state of the returned victim, they collapsed in heart-wrenching sobs.
Seeing this, his newly appointed assistant and partner, Hajimoto Shinichi, had flown into a rage. Even Harima himself had struggled to maintain his composure.
That was likely why things had ended this way.
“H-Harima... sir...”
Shinichi lay on the ground, drenched in blood.
Perhaps because the moon was so bright, the blood spreading across the deserted, midnight landscape was vividly clear.
We... let our emotions get the better of us.
In their haste to hunt the Ghoul, they had wandered straight into the heart of the creature's territory.
This was the price of their recklessness.
“R-run... If it's just you... you might survive...”
“...”
Shinichi, his consciousness fading, was unaware of his partner's condition.
Takaki Harima.
He hesitated for a moment. Now was the time for a cold, calculated judgment, free from the cloud of emotion.
Between himself and Shinichi, who had the higher chance of survival?
The answer was immediate.
He would prioritize the one with the better odds.
Click.
Harima pulled a cylindrical metal object from his coat.
He pushed a release, the cap popped off, and a slender needle was revealed.
Thud!
He drove the needle straight into the center of Shinichi’s chest.
Shinichi’s body jerked once, and the light in his eyes began to dim.
He wasn't dead.
The cylinder contained a specialized drug that induced a temporary state of suspended animation, suppressing the pulse, respiration, and blood pressure to the absolute minimum.
Consequently, the bleeding slowed significantly.
If he could hold out until the rescue team arrived, he would live.
“Choosing your subordinate's life over your own escape? What a splendid sight.”
“...”
Having finished the emergency treatment, Harima rose in silence.
His once-white investigator's coat was shredded and caked with dried blood; not a single patch of white remained.
As he stood, something dangled and dragged along with him.
What had spilled from his side was neither torn fabric nor an accessory.
It was Harima’s own internal organs.
This was why he had judged Shinichi’s survival rate to be higher.
His flank had been ripped open, his viscera spilling out to reveal glimpses of bone. With blood draining from him in real time, Harima's complexion had turned corpse-pale.
Ignoring the fatal nature of his wounds, Harima turned around.
At the mouth of the sewer, where the moonlight failed to reach, someone lurked in the shadows.
No figure was visible.
As if it had always been part of the void, the voice merged with the mass of darkness, carrying a fishy, unpleasant smile.
Watching his son and that little girl had taught him that not all Ghouls were evil.
But there were still those who were—and who took pride in it.
Harima was certain that the Ghoul before him was among the absolute worst.
“Honestly, I’m impressed. I didn't think you'd actually slaughter all those Ghouls.”
Around the bleeding Harima lay the corpses of numerous Ghouls.
They had seemingly been a single pack, attacking Harima’s party in a coordinated swarm.
“I gathered followers who shared my philosophy, yet you butchered them all single-handedly. How tragic. To think the only people in this world who understood me are gone. I suppose I'll have to gather more.”
Despite the words, the voice in the shadows sounded nothing like grief. If anything, it sounded inconvenienced.
In truth, this Ghoul felt no camaraderie. During the fight, he had used his own kin as human shields to try and impale both Shinichi and Harima; Harima had suffered his catastrophic injury while shielding his partner from that very attack.
“...”
Harima offered no reply, standing silently with his Quinque gripped tight.
It wasn't that he had nothing to say, but rather that he lacked the strength to speak.
Frankly, it was a miracle he was still standing on two legs.
Yet, his gaze did not waver, even in the face of death.
The moment he showed a single opening, the Ghoul would rush in to finish him.
He could accept his own end, but he could not allow the partner he had just saved to be slaughtered.
Amused by this resolve, the figure in the shadows extended long, crooked fingers, like the branches of a dead tree.
He framed Harima’s image between his hands, creating a rectangular window.
“Magnificent! Beautiful! Your expression right now is exquisite! That fighting spirit, that will, that murderous intent—all refusing to extinguish even as your breath fails! This is exactly the scene I craved. I want to tear your face off and preserve that expression as a specimen!”
“...If you want it that badly... come and take it.”
Harima spoke in a voice that sounded like boiling blood. He even tilted his head to the side, exposing his throat in a blatant provocation.
The shadow did not bite, merely letting out a chuckle.
“I think not. Because you terrify me. A human who does not break in the face of certain death is beautiful, but dangerous! If I handled you carelessly, I might lose these artistic hands of mine. You look like you can barely lift your Quinque, but the moment I step closer, you'll likely snap back to life and slit my throat!”
The Ghoul knew he couldn't stay. The reinforcements Harima had summoned would arrive soon, and lingering would mean being hunted in an encirclement.
Yet, he seemed reluctant to leave, sighing with genuine regret.
“But what a waste... Material of this quality is so rare. You would have been a masterpiece of supreme beauty. But you're far too troublesome to acquire. A true dilemma. Ah! I know!”
Clap!
A pair of palms met in the darkness as a new idea struck.
“Tell me, do you have children?”
For a split second, Harima’s eyes—which had shown only disciplined killing intent—wavered.
The shadow did not miss that flicker of emotion.
“I see, I see! Children don't always take after their parents, but with a parent like you, I can certainly hold some expectations!”
The fishy smile deepened, the Ghoul imagining a far easier way to obtain high-quality material.
Suddenly, a flash of light tore through the air.
KWA-GA-GA-GA-BOOOOM!!!!
An overwhelming strike, designed to pulverize everything in its path.
It was a massive, greatsword-shaped Quinque swung by Harima.
It was impossible to fathom where such power came from—a body with its organs spilling out and bone exposed.
The azure blade didn't just shred the darkness where the shadow hid; it carved deep fissures into the concrete walls and floor beyond.
But when the dust settled, the grinning shadow was gone.
He had already retreated to a height beyond the reach of the dying man.
“Kahahahaha!! I knew I shouldn't have gotten close! You were suppressing your pain to the absolute limit just to prepare one final strike!!”
The shadow fled to the higher ground. From that vantage point, he could sense the CCG reinforcements rushing toward the scene.
Realizing his time was up, the Ghoul bid Harima a final farewell.
“Nameless Investigator, cherish this meeting! I've taken a liking to you! It may be difficult now, but someday I will find your child! And if they please me, I shall preserve them as my greatest work of art!!”
“...!!”
Harima tried to curse, tried to chase the retreating shadow, but no sound came out and his legs refused to move.
He had exhausted every last drop of his strength.
Harima collapsed forward, falling alongside his Quinque.
The warmth vanished from his body. The only thing that remained was the strange, lingering sensation of his internal organs shifting and scattering during that final blow.
He didn't resent death. He had long since accepted that this day would come.
But he could not close his eyes while leaving such a dangerous variable behind.
The Ghoul likely viewed Harima as mere prey and knew nothing of his personal life.
Finding his son—whom he hadn't seen in years, having practically severed all ties—would not be easy. But it wasn't impossible.
He thought of the victim from this case.
A corpse left in the most insulting manner possible, not even eaten for sustenance, but desecrated for sport.
His son could end up the same way.
Unlike himself, his son was an ordinary civilian. He had no training, no strength to withstand such depraved madness.
Harima tried to move his fingers, attempting to write his son's name in his own blood.
He wanted to warn the CCG that a Ghoul was targeting his child.
But his fingers would not obey. No matter how hard he willed it, they remained motionless.
Damn it. Damn it all.
The curses echoed in his mind.
Am I really going to meet my wife while carrying this much despair and misery?
“...Heh.”
A small, dry laugh escaped his bloodless, cracked lips. It was absurd.
To think that in his final moments, the only person who came to mind was the child he had once truly wanted to kill.
And yet, in this dying breath, that child was the only thing he could call “hope.”
I beg of you...
He whispered the thought behind his slowly closing eyelids.
You, the child I once hated so much.
Please protect my son. Support him so that he does not break and fall before such hideous malice.
Now that I am gone, you are the only family left who can do it.
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