[THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER IS A RECORDING FROM ONE OF THE PLAYERS WHO DEDICATED HIMSELF TO THIS GAME - (PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR'S THOUGHT FOR DETAILS)]
The camera flickered to life.
Kyouya Kanzaki sat stiffly on a chair, facing his custom-built gaming desk.
His posture was too straight, his gaze fixed on some point just beyond the lens.
["Uh, how do I even start all this…?"]
He mumbled, then cleared his throat, the sound a little too loud in the quiet room.
["Okay. Right."]
He took a visible, fortifying breath.
["Hello. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kyouya Kanzaki. You can just call me Kyouya."]
He paused, a flicker of self-doubt crossing his face.
["Maybe if you find this video, you'll probably be wondering…"]
Damn it. Still missing something, he thought, watching the playback.
What kind of weird expression is this? So stiff, so unexpressive, like a goddamn robot!
He winced.
But that was precisely why he kept re-recording. And this was already the fifth take.
Why? He had no idea what this video would be used for.
Heck, he wasn't even sure what he'd end up doing with the video.
All he knew was that... it mattered.
Deeply. Very.
His heart in his chest pounded within every single take he took.
Kyouya Kanzaki—that was his full name—now found himself tangled in something he couldn't explain with his cold logic.
Something irrational.
Yes, love at first sight.
The kind of feeling that makes something mundane suddenly vibrant, radiant, charged with meaning. And yet, for some reason he couldn't even articulate, let alone he could bring himself to confess it openly.
So… he was recording this as proof of his true, undeniable affection.
For whom? Midnight, of course.
And no, it wasn't because he knew her real identity.
Identity hardly mattered; he didn't even care if she was conventionally beautiful.
Oh, you're probably wondering, 'So, he already knows?'
Yes. He did. He'd known for a very long, long time ago.
And the reason was inextricably linked to his true profession.
A psychologist? Not even close.
He'd certainly studied behavioral psychology at university, a branch that allowed him to meticulously identify every human movement and nuance based on extensive research.
Sure, he studied behavioral psychology in university — a field that let him analyze every gesture, every nuance of human behavior through deep research.
It was a skill set that proved oddly useful in his current line of work, ever since his previous career path had become incompatible with his gaming schedule and independent spirit.
So, his real job? Oh well, you'd find that out soon enough.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Kabukicho District, Shinjuku Ward, Tokyo ━━━━━━━━━━━━━
"So, what's the verdict, Kei?"
The question sliced through the stagnant air of the apartment, heavy with the scent of cheap perfume and something metallic.
The speaker was Senior Kenta, his face tight with tension.
It was around two in the morning when a witness, a neighbor, had been startled by an open door and reported the scene soon after its discovery.
The sight of a young couple sprawled lifelessly inside.
Both were naked. As if the game was the last thing they ever saw.
"It seems that... there are vital signs that they had sexual intercourse shortly before death," I replied, my voice flat, almost clinical.
"Kei, we're serious here! No joking around, especially not with irrelevant details."
Kenta was breaking into a cold sweat.
I wasn't joking.
Not in the slightest.
It's just my voice, I guess—I sound like I'm kidding even when I'm dead serious.
Either way, my words had probably just added to his anxiety, but they were true nonetheless.
"Kei" was my nickname among the police back then, even since kindergarten.
The girls used to call me "Kei-kei," a cute, childish twist on Kyouya Kanzaki.
But "Kyouya" was a name reserved only for my extended family.
It held a special meaning, a privilege for those truly close to me.
"Fine, don't believe me then,"
I said, calmly turning away then crouching to inspect a stray hair on the floor.
"Hey, don't sulk," Kenta sighed, exasperation clearly coloring his voice.
"You're paid to be a detective here. You should be grateful for this kind of work."
I turned back to him, my gaze unwavering.
"Grateful? For this kind of work? You gotta be kidding me."
"And no, false. Instead, the case should be grateful I'm still willing to take it on."
Kenta just sighed and shook his head. My arrogance and stubbornness were, as he often put it, "ingrained from root to branch."
Either I'm arrogant, stubborn, or maybe it's just that I actually want to find the truth, instead of just checking boxes,
I thought bitterly, recalling one too many arguments with higher-ups who prioritized paperwork over genuine investigation.
I joined not to fill out forms. Not to wrap things up in a neat little folder and pretended as if the world already makes sense when it's not. No, it never was.
That, and the constant calls interrupting my grind for the rarest in-game loot.
Well, you get the picture.
"Alright, dude. Whatever. Suit yourself," Kenta conceded, throwing his hands up.
"So, what's your take?"
"Hm..." I fell silent, my gaze returning to the two bodies.
I said nothing at first. Then, I began my meticulous inspection.
Two bodies—still seated.
Frozen in place.
Heads dipped forward slightly, as though they'd fallen asleep in the middle of a match.
We'd arrived at the scene around four in the morning, two hours after the witness had found them.
"The bodies are already quite stiff, rigor mortis. Two hours." I observed aloud.
"I already figured that out. Chronology?"
My eyes swept over the chairs, the desk, the keyboard, and the monitor.
"They were found roughly 30 minutes after they were last seen alive," I said.
Their computer screens were still on, displaying menu of a familiar game.
From my personal observation, there were no visible wounds or lacerations.
No signs of forced entry either.
"No defensive wounds. No visible drug traces. No foaming at the mouth,"
The scene's verdict was stark: no wounds, no lacerations, and certainly no traces of a struggle, let alone forced entry.
They simply sat peacefully.
And unnaturally so.
It was as if their deaths had been meticulously planned.
By whom, it was unclear.
If illicit drugs were involved, their mouths would clearly show signs of foaming.
The police themselves had already declared this a suicide incident.
Another case quickly closed, another statistic improved.
Kyouya snorted internally.
They always liked the simple answers.
As for me, I was merely instructed to collect existing evidence and confirm the chronology. And willy-nilly, I had to comply. I'd caused too much trouble before, all thanks to my addiction to the game and my general disdain for how things were run.
They were watching me, waiting for me to slip up again.
Well, they were absolutely wrong. Obviously.
But if they think that's all I am—some washed-up gamer turned reluctant cop—they're in for a surprise.
Because this case?
This game?
And Midnight?
Obviously, they're all connected.
And I'm going to prove it...
With my own way, of course.