The TV program was trending hard. The topic: a serial killer who had committed two gruesome murders but, due to severe mental illness and cognitive impairment, was not prosecuted by the Japanese courts.
"According to Article 39 of the Penal Code, suspects deemed not liable due to insanity are not subject to punishment."
"But doesn't that just let these deviant criminals walk free?"
Two guests debated fiercely on the screen, while the audience ticker at the bottom was flooded with angry comments.
"Japan's crime rate stays high because of garbage laws that protect criminals!"
"No, no, they get sent to mandatory psychiatric care."
"And two weeks later, they're back on the streets," Kenmei Isayama interjected coldly, voicing his inner thoughts as if speaking to the guests.
"Finally, they come out like nothing happened and commit crimes again?"
"A dog can't stop eating sht, and neither can these psychopaths."
No one had more right to speak on this hot topic than Kenmei. If sending mentally ill criminals to a hospital actually solved anything, he wouldn't be a victim's family member right now.
Kenmei couldn't listen to any more of this drivel. He turned off the TV.
Without the arguing voices from the show, the living room fell silent again. The only sound was the swish-swish of a mop being pushed across the kitchen floor by a giant blue "can."
Kenmei closed his eyes, and a specific image—one he would remember until the day he died—surfaced in his memory.
"You must be Kenmei-chan."
At the time, Kenmei was at the police station when he crossed paths with the killer being escorted for psychiatric evaluation. The killer looked up and recognized him instantly.
"You look just like the lock screen wallpaper."
Even while pinned down by several officers, the criminal was uncontrollably arrogant. He recognized Kenmei and greeted him proactively.
"Hey, shut up!" the escorting officer shouted.
"Don't be so tense, I'm just chatting."
Kenmei was shocked back then. He had initially deduced that the real "killer" was someone else, because he had absorbed Cursed Energy from his sister's corpse. The culprit had to be a sorcerer, not this ordinary guy with barely any Cursed Energy fluctuation.
But the guy's words forced Kenmei to believe he was the killer.
His sister's phone wallpaper really was a photo of the two of them.
"Hahaha, I've got good news for you."
The bastard raised his handcuffed hands to show Kenmei.
"You know what? I've been to the nut house before."
"Because of my 'mental disorder,' I'll be released without charge in no time."
"Oh, and one more thing... when I killed your sister, she was still calling your name. Hahahaha."
Kenmei didn't hold back. Without a word, he grabbed a nearby chair and charged at the arrogant bastard. If the officers hadn't "intentionally" held him back (read: let him get a few hits in), Kenmei might have done more than just leave the killer needing twenty-four stitches in his head.
"Fck, the first thing I'll do when I get out is kill you, kid."
Recalling the memory of the guy, beaten bloody and half-dead but still spouting threats, the teacup on the coffee table in front of Kenmei began to shake violently.
Suddenly, a harsh crack broke Kenmei's train of thought.
The teacup, unable to withstand the pressure, developed a visible crack that quickly spread like a spiderweb.
Strangely, not a drop of tea leaked out. It was as if something was plugging the cracks.
Kenmei didn't want to increase Uncle Blue's workload, so he used psychic energy to hold the tea in. But where was the justice?
The newspaper headline was black and white and crystal clear:
"Vicious Serial Killer Not Prosecuted. Who Will Be the Next Victim?"
"Killed a young, popular idol, staged it as a construction accident, released without charge. Only one month later, brutally murdered and dismembered another victim in broad daylight..."
It went without saying who that dismembered victim was.
Ironically, just as the killer had bragged to Kenmei, he was about to be released.
The paper stated it clearly: Non-prosecution. Mandatory hospitalization.
"I see now. The fact that Japan has so many Cursed Spirits really does have something to do with these 'wonderful' laws."
Kenmei exhaled slowly and signaled Uncle Blue to bring the trash can. With a wave of his hand, the broken cup fell into the bin. Without the psychic protection, it instantly shattered into pieces.
Although he had lost the emotion of anger, the calmer Kenmei became, the more vividly the image of his sister's mutilated body appeared in his mind.
Kenmei's resolve hadn't changed. The criminal who killed his sister wouldn't get the punishment he deserved by law?
No problem.
"Since you people can't do it, I'll do it myself."
And as for why there was residual Cursed Energy on his sister's body... he'd get answers to all those questions once he caught the guy himself.
---
"Hey, time's up."
In a psychiatric hospital in Tokyo, a "freak" who was physically strong but looked anything but normal was strapped firmly to a bed.
Nakamura Takashi. The perpetrator of two consecutive brutal murders. He had been in this hospital for ten days and was about to return to society.
He shouted at the doctor and nurse beside him, his tone nasty.
"Hurry up and untie me, or I'll sue you for patient abuse."
The trembling director threw the keys to an intern to unlock the restraints.
"Relax, I won't kill you guys."
Freed, Nakamura twisted his stiff body, joints cracking loudly.
"I gotta say, the environment here suits me. Second time staying here."
"I'll go out, kill a few people in a couple of days, and next time I'll tell the prosecutor to send me back here. Same room, got it?"
Nakamura had been caught twice and spent a total of a month here. He was so used to it, he treated it like a hotel.
"Understood, understood!"
What else could the terrified director, doctors, and nurses say?
"Welcome back anytime."
"Woo-hoo!"
Walking out the hospital doors, Nakamura took a deep breath of the street air and sighed.
"The smell of freedom... it's the best!"
But he didn't notice that under the cover of night, several dark red, palm-sized worms with terrifying faces were crawling on the tree branches nearby. Their tiny eyes were fixed dead on him.