Rose sat slumped on her threadbare couch, cigarette butts spilling from an ashtray onto the stained carpet, empty bottles scattered like fallen soldiers around her. The dull orange glow of a dying cigarette cast flickering shadows across her flushed, tear-streaked face. She took a long drag, then slammed the nearly empty bottle of whiskey down on the table, the sharp clink echoing in the silent apartment.
A harsh, bitter laugh broke free from her lips, low and venomous. She rocked forward, clutching the bottle, voice slurred but fierce.
"Kazou... always thinking he's the savior. The hero. But he's just a coward playing with fire."
Her eyes, bloodshot and burning, scanned the room as if looking for someone to blame. "He's the one who turned everything upside down. Not Ten. Not Casimir. Him! He created a killer! He knew what he was doing! He tried to destroy my life!"
Her trembling hand reached for the rotary phone on the table, fumbling for the receiver, then dialing the number she'd memorized weeks ago — the police station.
The line clicked. Then a tired, professional voice answered.
"Police department, how can I help you?"
Rose swallowed hard, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Listen. I have information about the murders. About Casimir. It's Kazou Kuroda... Kuroda's the one behind it."
There was a pause, a faint rustling on the other end.
"I don't know what you think you saw, ma'am, but—"
"No! You don't understand," Rose interrupted, voice rising with a mix of anger and desperation. "Kazou's been hiding the truth. He's been lying to everyone. I know him better than anyone—and I swear, he's the killer. And by the way... I'm Rose Brook. One of the detectives came over a few weeks ago."
She let out a shaky breath, voice dropping to a bitter whisper. "I've seen what he's done. The things he's capable of. If you don't stop him, more people will die."
There was a longer silence this time, then the voice spoke again, more cautiously. "Do you have any proof? Anything concrete to help us find him?"
Rose laughed bitterly, a sound twisted with pain and madness. "Proof? You want proof? I don't have time to gather evidence. You've got to trust me. Ask Detective Lisa!"
Her fingers clenched the receiver so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "Find him. Lock him up. Throw away the key. It's the only way."
Her breathing grew ragged. "I don't care if you think I'm crazy. I don't care if you think I'm lying. But I know what I saw. And I want him behind bars for the rest of his miserable life."
She heard a faint cough on the other end before the line went dead.
Rose dropped the phone onto the table, and for a moment, silence swallowed the room whole.
Then a wild, almost manic laugh escaped her lips.
"That's what you get, Kazou," she hissed, eyes burning with fury and heartbreak. "For ruining everything. For breaking us apart!"
She sank back against the couch, trembling, eyes glassy and distant, drowning in the dark storm of her own making. Rose stayed slumped on the couch long after the line went dead. The room around her seemed to close in, thick with smoke and regret. Her chest heaved as the weight of what she'd just done settled like a stone in her gut. Her fingers drummed restlessly against the bottle, eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling. Part of her wanted to believe the police would listen, that Kazou would finally get out of her way.
"I would kill you if I could..."
She took another swig, the burning liquid spreading a cold fire through her veins. Her mind flashed back to Kazou's face in the museum basement, calm but burdened, like a man already carrying too much. And yet… she hated him fiercely. Hated that he'd become the catalyst for everything unraveling.
She leaned back, exhaling smoke slowly, and whispered to the empty room, "Kazou… this isn't over."
The phone rang again, shrill and insistent, breaking through the haze of Rose's drunken haze. She fumbled to answer it, voice rough and suspicious.
With a sniff and a swipe of her sleeve, she answered. "...Yeah?"
A female voice came through the line, measured but curious. "Rose Brook?"
Rose hesitated. "Who's asking?"
"This is Detective Lisa. You spoke to one of our officers regarding Kazou Kuroda?"
Rose's mouth twitched. "Yeah. I did."
"We just need to clarify a few things—get a proper statement from you in person."
Rose leaned forward, her cigarette dangling loosely. "So you believe me?"
"We need you to come in and talk. Tomorrow morning. There are questions only you can answer."
There was a pause—Rose could hear the faint background noise of a busy station, officers moving, phones ringing.
"I don't see why," Rose muttered, the words thick with resentment. "It would be dangerous for me. If that man notices-"
"We will have officers escort you. The situation's more complicated than you realize so it is essential for you to come. Please. We need you."
Rose stared at the ceiling, the bottle forgotten for a moment. A slow, bitter smile crept across her face.
"Fine. I'll be there," she said finally. "But don't expect me to play nice."
The line went dead. Rose sank back into the couch.
"You hear that, Kazou? You're gonna rot," she muttered to herself. "You left me. You ran off to chase some damn ghost. But I'm the one who stayed. I'm the one who remembers."
She tipped her head back and emptied the rest of her drink straight from the bottle.
***
The terminal pulsed with quiet motion: rolling luggage, clipped footsteps, the muffled PA system reciting boarding calls in English, Japanese, and Polish. Kazou stood at the far end of Terminal 3, shoulders squared, but his eyes haunted. The early light bleeding in through the floor-to-ceiling windows gave his skin a grayish tint, like he was half in shadow, half in yesterday. In his grip was a note copied down from Casimir's journal. The address
A voice called out overhead: "Flight 239 to Warsaw, final boarding."
Kazou took one last look out the window, the skyline of Tokyo behind glass like a fading dream. Rose hadn't called. He hadn't expected her to. Kazou zipped his coat, tucked the note beneath his arm, and turned toward the gate. Each step felt like closing a door he couldn't reopen. But he wasn't chasing answers anymore. He was chasing a ghost that had learned to bleed.
And in the end, if no one else would stop Casimir, Kazou would. Even if it meant becoming the very thing he swore he'd never be.
Kazou knew what had to be done. Casimir... Ten had to die. And if that meant burning every bridge, every piece of himself to ash... So be it.