The limbs had been severed at the shoulders and below the knees. The cuts weren't clean—whoever did it wasn't practiced.
And because there were no gnawing or tearing marks, no signs of feeding, it could likely be ruled out as anything like the "corpse demon" Yūki had encountered before.
This was human.
Even though he didn't recall the exact timing of events in the story, Yūki made a judgment immediately.
This was the work of someone whose Origin had only recently awakened—someone turning into a killer step by step.
Shirazumi Rio.
Yūki couldn't see Shiki's expression—her back was to him—but the slight tremor in her shoulders told him what this scene meant to her.
Not fear.
Something worse.
Excitement.
Yūki knew it. A real murder scene could trigger Shiki's killing impulse. And once that crack appeared, it could flood wider and wider.
So his conclusion was—
"Step back, Shiki."
Even without adrenaline, without that strange "impulse" interfering—this corpse was far clearer than the one in the alley had been.
The grotesque sight made Yūki dizzy, nauseated, restless.
Before Shiki could make her next move, Yūki forced himself forward, planted himself between her and the scene, and—almost protectively—blocked her from it.
"Watch the surroundings. The killer might still be nearby. I'm calling the police. Until they arrive, don't contaminate the scene."
His hands shook as he pulled out his phone. But he stubbornly crushed the panic down and dialed.
For Shiki, being "protected" like this was also unfamiliar. That discomfort diluted the impulse somewhat. Behind Yūki, she clenched her trembling arm—trembling hard from excitement—and silently took two steps back.
"All right," Yūki said after the call. "They said they'll come right away. Let's move aside. Honestly, I don't want to look at that for even one more second. It's disgusting."
He gripped Shiki's wrist—slightly forceful—and pulled her away, to a spot where the interior couldn't be seen.
Shiki didn't react strangely. She followed.
That meant the "killing impulse" wasn't spiraling—at least not right now.
Relieved, Yūki finally turned to look at her.
No wicked grin.
No fear or unease.
Just calm.
Too calm.
Shiki silently studied the thing called Asagami Yūki.
"Yūki."
Rarely, she spoke his name the way she had in childhood. Yūki froze, then answered half a beat late.
"Huh?"
"Asagami… why do you trust me so much?"
As if it were an illusion, Shiki immediately returned to her usual form of address.
Yūki understood what she truly meant at once—but he couldn't answer the reason. So he played dumb.
"What are you talking about?"
He couldn't help avoiding her gaze. Even though he knew, professionally, that exposing your true feelings during negotiation was the worst possible move.
He'd only ever done that around Fujino and Miss Tama.
It was true: not long ago, Yūki had kept some distance from Shiki. He knew it. Shiki might have sensed it too—she simply hadn't called it out.
So why had his stance shifted?
Yūki thought it was because his "previous life" memories had returned more sharply, and he now "understood" Shiki better.
But the truth was simpler.
That night—when he'd almost died—he'd come back to himself on the back of this childhood friend.
The trust that followed wasn't based on experience, judgment, or even Fairy Eyes. It was just a feeling—one he didn't need to justify.
Shiki said nothing more. Just like the night she'd carried him home, she didn't press.
It was as if she was drawing a line—leaving distance before the relationship grew deeper.
Yūki had no complaint. He was used to doing the same.
He wanted to say more, but the distant wail of sirens cut through his thoughts.
…
Because it was serious, after the police recorded the scene, Yūki and Shiki were brought to the station as witnesses to make formal statements.
By the time they finished, it was late.
"Only early July and there are already two more…" The officer looked worn out. "…All right. You can go. We may contact you again—please cooperate if we do. And be careful on your way home."
If the atmosphere had been awkward before, the long questioning ground it down to nothing.
Yūki's responses were close to flawless, and any suspicion toward them vanished.
"Still," Yūki said as they left, "I didn't expect you'd also been present at the previous case, Shiki."
The previous murder scene had been near the hospital. Two grotesque cases in just a few days—both times with Shiki coincidentally present—of course they'd scrutinize her.
Family status didn't help in a situation like this. It only made you look more suspicious. So they'd endured the full interrogation.
"Shiki," Yūki said, "as someone who's been through it—if you can, you should completely eliminate any chance of being treated as a suspect. Otherwise it'll become a huge hassle later."
During questioning, Shiki's occasional thoughtful expression only increased suspicion. Yūki had been forced to explain repeatedly—eventually even argue. In the end, he'd battered the interrogating officer into silence with pure verbal firepower.
Shiki could only stare.
"I knew you were good at this, but…"
Thinking about it, it was the first time Shiki had seen him debate someone like that.
"Well, in business negotiations, using words to squeeze out more benefit is a core skill. This time I didn't need benefit—just trust."
"So… did you earn their trust?"
"Of course not. I simply made them fully understand how absurd it is to suspect that a high-born young lady secretly enjoys and is capable of dismembering adult men."
Shiki looked irritated.
"I feel like you're looking down on me. And this time aside— you didn't know anything about the earlier incident, did you?"
Yūki didn't remember the fine details of Shiki witnessing a scene like that. He only remembered the important part: it wasn't Shiki, and it wasn't the "other her" either.
So he answered easily:
"No matter what anyone says to you, don't overthink it. Shiki—you're innocent."
Shiki didn't seem satisfied with Yūki's baseless confidence. She looked restless. Yūki didn't explain further; he simply continued.
"Anyway, it's too late. The station's closer to your place. I'll walk you home. As for the things you left at the Asagami house, I'll—"
He stopped mid-sentence, realizing those "things" probably included clothes.
"—I mean, my sister will pack them up for you and bring them over."
Shiki didn't seem to notice.
"No. I'm not going home tonight."
Her tone was so flat that Yūki almost thought he'd misheard.
-------
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