An October evening, a light breeze, no clouds.
At a mansion in the outskirts of Srimnet City, United States.
La Ronja is a stretch of hills isolated from the rest of the city, a place nicknamed "the golden land" because only the wealthiest elites or A-list celebrities can afford to own a mansion here. Especially this three-story mega-mansion named "Eastern Moon," the most expensive house in the area.
Not a single sound of cars on the road, only the lonely whisper of wind brushing through the pine trees, their leaves rustling softly against one another. The rich say they enjoy the peace and comfort, but to me, this place is unbearably dull.
Clack. Clack.
The sound of billiard balls colliding echoes loudly throughout the "game room," a space nearly the size of a university hall. Across all three floors of the "Eastern Moon" mansion, this is the only room still lit.
Faintly in the air lingers the scent of orange blossom oil, mixed with the metallic tang of blood.
I gently set the wooden cue beside the billiard table and walk over to a small three-legged round table, where a bottle of champagne rests in an ice bucket. When I touch it, the bottle is freezing cold, a thin layer of condensation clinging to its pale blue glass.
"Hm… still unopened, huh… JJ, let me borrow the Morgan for a sabrage."
Standing nearby is a girl with black hair tied neatly into a ponytail. She wears a bright red dress, boldly cut at the back and shoulders, revealing countless scars across her pale skin. It's JJ's turn, and she's completely focused, not even glancing at me as she replies.
"Go ahead! Just pour me a glass too."
"There are already two glasses here." I smile, then use a handkerchief from my pocket to wipe away the blood splattered on the glass.
Once done, I pick up the blade, angle it just right toward JJ's face, and with a clean motion, slide it along the neck of the champagne bottle.
Pop.
A successful sabrage. Quite lucky, actually—the champagne still bursts out beautifully even though it wasn't kept at the ideal temperature. The cork shoots straight toward JJ's head, but she reacts instantly, tilting her head aside to avoid it.
"Nice dodge!"
She doesn't answer, only smirks, cue aimed carefully at the yellow number one ball.
Tap. Clack.
A precise, controlled shot—the number one ball slips neatly into the left corner pocket with just a single touch from the cue ball. JJ's solids are reduced from two to one, and it's still her turn. Despite only learning to play billiards today, she's already proven she's not an easy opponent.
I found my thrill
On Blueberry Hill
On Blueberry Hill
When I found you
There's a grand piano—Steinway & Sons—in the "game room," placed on a circular wooden platform in front of the billiard table. But since neither of us can play or sing, we chose a different kind of entertainment. Besides, it would be difficult to use it anyway… with someone lying inside it. A few drops of deep red liquid drip out, staining the lower part of the platform. That was JJ's work—she had punched the man straight into the piano with all her strength.
Pale golden champagne flows slowly into the glass. Under the amber ceiling lights, it glimmers beautifully. I pick up both glasses, humming along to "Blueberry Hill" playing from the vinyl record player. Louis Armstrong's deep, raspy voice leaves a lasting impression—it's far better than most singers of his time.
The wind in the willow played
Love's sweet melody
But all of those vows you made
Were never to be
The record crackles slightly—there are stains on it—but I'm too lazy to switch it out.
I set one glass on the edge of the billiard table beside JJ and take a sip from mine. The cool liquid runs down my throat, leaving a faint bitterness at the back of my tongue. To me, this expensive champagne tastes no different from the cheap white wine that comes free with cheese at the Italian shop near my house. I don't understand why rich people would spend thousands of dollars on something so pointless. Maybe it's the aroma… though I can't smell it over the stench of blood clinging to the glass.
JJ grabs her glass and downs it in one gulp. She shivers immediately, grimacing, then without hesitation hurls the glass at the head of an unfortunate man lying on the floor. The shattered shards pierce deep into his bald skull, fresh blood seeping from the wounds.
Almost pitiful…But it doesn't matter. He's already dead.
Running a hand through her damp hair, her eyes lock onto the red number three ball. She raises the cue, studying the angles, and after a few seconds, a smile curls across her lips.
"That's a tough shot," I sigh, leaning back on the chair opposite the table.
The man sitting beside me suddenly slumps forward, his blood-soaked face collapsing onto my vest.
"Tch, how annoying. Sit properly, will you?"
I set my glass down and adjust his posture. Even if he's just a corpse, he should sit straight—this is a luxury mansion, after all. Can't have him slouching like that. The other bodies might judge him.
His lower jaw hangs loose. JJ must have punched it out of place earlier. After failing to push it back up a few times, I simply drive my fist upward—problem solved. His mouth closes, though blood splatters onto my billiard glove.
How irritating.
There were around twenty people and a cat in this "game room" before. Now, only the three of us remain, casually playing billiards while the rest lie dead. As for the cat, it left the room earlier.
My black-haired companion has something in her mouth, blood trailing from her lips. From afar, it looks like a pale orange wafer. Up close… it's a human finger. She isn't chewing it, just holding it between her lips.
Though we're apart
You're part of me still
For you were my thrill
On Blueberry Hill
Each time her eyes move, the finger sways along. Drops of blood slide down her chin and fall onto the green felt of the table. Once she finds her angle, she spits it out onto the table, then strikes hard.
The cue ball shoots forward.
The wind in the willow played
Love's sweet melody
But all of those vows we made
Were only to be
A beautiful shot. The number three ball hits the cushion twice before dropping into the right middle pocket. A smear of blood on the cloth actually helps it glide more smoothly. I have to admit—she's talented.
Now, only the black eight ball remains.
Another difficult angle. The cue ball lies far out of reach. To position her hand properly, JJ nearly has to lie flat across the table, her red dress slipping, exposing more than it should. But she doesn't care. She wants to win.
Too bad for her.
The eight ball goes in… but with too much force, it ricochets off the pocket's edge. The cue ball stops right beside it, leaving me with an absurdly easy shot.
JJ puffs her cheeks, frustrated, kicking the bald man's corpse hard enough to flip it over. A large, muscular man in a suit, his throat deeply slit. Honestly, she held back—push a little harder, and his head would've come clean off.
"Unlucky," I smile, stepping up to the table.
No way I lose this.
With a simple, almost careless stroke, the eight ball rolls into the right middle pocket.
An easy win.
"Hmph, you got lucky," she folds her arms, annoyed. "That means one more finger from his right hand, right?"
We both turn toward the man tied to one leg of the billiard table. His head is secured neatly at the corner above the lower right pocket. Out of everyone in this mansion, besides JJ and me, he's the only one still alive.
Not for long.
"Go ahead, you handle this one."
"Gladly." JJ licks her lips and picks up the Morgan blade.
Standing before his tear-streaked face, she grabs his left hand. Blood-covered. Only his ring finger remains—the rest were lost in earlier rounds.
"Should I take the last one too, Hung?" she tilts her head, smiling. "The ring finger."
"Nah, leave that one. Let's call it mercy. End the game."
I roll the cue ball toward her.
The record crackles. We should've picked a better one for a grand finale.
Catching the ball, JJ smiles—a terrifying smile. Her eyes widen, her body swaying with the music. She walks over, lifts his hand again, smearing his blood across her lips until they glow red.
Then she brushes his hair aside and kisses his forehead.
A mark of blessing.And farewell.
She pulls the gag from his mouth, letting him scream.
The cue ball rolls freely… until she stops it.
She steps back, raises the cue high, aiming straight at his head.
"No! Please don't kill me! I'm begging you!"
His body thrashes, the table trembling—but not enough.
"Goodbye."
Tap. Crack.
The cue ball launches forward—blowing half his head away… and turning itself into a red ball.
Though we're apart
You're part of me still
For you were my thrill
On Blueberry Hill.
The game is over.Along with the music.
But before that…I want to tell you how it all began.