Dazai elongated his tone, “No—Longer—Human—”

This was the price for ignoring him.

Anyone who dares to covet his puppet in front of its master, and disregard him, can die.

“White Kirin” Chibusawa was unexpectedly struck, avoiding a fatal blow. He wasn’t angry about the injury to his body; his face bore an unusual expression, and his world-weary red eyes were filled with intense emotions. “Such powerful explosiveness, able to attack me without perceiving the outside world, means you’ve seen my soul…”

“You despise me, you want to kill me.”

“My hands are stained with blood, and you wish to replace the deity in judging me?”

In an instant, Chibusawa read a wealth of information from Hyakki’s sword swing, deciphering his intent.

This made him immensely joyful and excited.

“A fallen angel… so imperfect yet so beautiful…”

No.

God wouldn’t create such an angel. Would you dare to praise the face beneath his mask?

That very day, to eliminate the increasingly obsessed and self-deluding Chibusawa, Dazai gritted his teeth and joined Hyakki in pursuing him. When his own stamina flagged, he would lean on Hyakki, directing him through the maze of Tokyo’s metropolis in their hunt for the fleeing Chibusawa.

With the lock-on of his spirit vision, even the illusory fog of supernatural abilities couldn’t hide the karma surrounding Chibusawa.

**Is Dororo really this excited, so supportive of my killing?**

**He’s not a demon…**

**Never mind, I’ll deal with this villain myself. I can’t let Dororo be tainted by more bloodshed.**

Transformed into a fighting demon, Hyakki unilaterally decided Chibusawa’s fate, increasing his speed.

“I will be the one to kill him!”

Right or wrong, he would bear the karmic burden of taking a life.

In the end, Chibusawa was decapitated with a single stroke.

The outwardly cold and handsome young man with long hair did not escape the judgment of the “angel”. His sins, accumulated in pursuit of the crystallized abilities of deceased Ability Users, were steeped in bloodshed and guilt. Though he might not good as Bai Lan from a parallel timeline, he had caused the deaths of far too many innocent bystanders.

“Judgment… of… my… angel…”

In the moment his head fell, Chibusawa realized the extent of his crimes over the years. He understood why a person who was physically impaired, lacking eyes, ears, or touch, was pursuing him.

Wasn’t his soul being judged as fallen?

The White unicorm, seemingly pure on the surface.

Consciousness plunged into darkness…

Amidst the splattering blood, Hyakki stood with sword in hand, his mask and the lower half of his face stained red. The severed arm, the decapitated body, and the handsome head with long hair formed a macabre tale unfolding in the Tokyo night. In a dark corner, a chubby mouse, after glimpsing at his face, scampered into the sewer in terror.

Hyakki saw the red light on his body increase slightly, but it did not shake his resolve.

**My soul essence remains pure.**

Therefore.

He hadn’t killed the wrong person!

He gently set down “Dororo,” protecting them from the bloodshed. Dororo’s expression showed a hint of confusion and complexity, tugging at his ponytail. “Is Hyakki protecting me?”

Hyakki tilted his head in the direction of the hair tug.

Dazai hesitated, “Although he wasn’t the target you wanted to kill, you still killed him for my sake.”

While removing evildoers was commendable, causing Hyakki to kill was not worth the cost.

【Dororo, I won’t regret it.】

“I regret it.”

He looked at his own cleanliness contrasting with the bloodied Hyakki, once again realizing how he had dragged Hyakki into this dirty world. Through the pursuit, he discovered that Chibusawa was a malevolent human Ability User, not as mysterious as Nakahara, nor as destructive as Bai Lan who could ruin an entire world. Killing Chibusawa did not restore Hyakki’s organs either; his intent to kill stemmed from what Chibusawa had said.

The initial excitement and novelty had cooled into sticky regret.

Dazai found some napkins and wiped the bloodied mask and skin of Hyakki without any disgust. The black yukata became the best camouflage in the night.

After cleaning up, Dazai noticed Hyakki crouching down, intending to carry him back.

The black-haired youth was slender, and killing gave him a sense of determination, forging ahead on his chosen path. Under the yukata, faint muscles testified to his perseverance.

He climbed back up and, without resistance, embraced Hyakki around the neck.

“Let’s go back. Someone’s coming to take us to Yokohama.”

Don’t dwell on it.

“Hyakki, you’re amazing.”

Dazai felt the warmth in his back after exertion, closing his eyes and saying, “I won’t make the same mistake again… I will never let Hyakki kill an innocent.”

Even in darkness, the one wielding the sword still aspires towards the light. How could he allow himself to be dragged into the abyss?

“Feeling so tired, Hyakki.”

“Let’s go back to the clinic to rest. Tomorrow, we’ll forget about today.”

…

In a orphanage on the outskirts of Yokohama.

In the darkness, a white-haired youth lay outside a window, grinning at the trembling Nakajima inside, teasing him with a marshmallow, “Little tiger, want some marshmallow? It’s really tasty!”

The ten-year-old Nakajima just wanted to scream, scared almost to tears.

Why was this person climbing through the window at midnight!

“Look, the moon’s out.”

Bai Lan persistently wanted to catch a glimpse of the white tiger before returning to Italy, purposely waiting until nighttime.

Stimulated by his perverse taste, his ability “Moon Tiger” manifested.

The white-haired child transformed into a fully grown tiger, fiercely pouncing towards the window, shattering the glass, its paw as large as a human head swatting towards him!

“Ahh!!!”

Bai Lan crawled away in a panic, but not before snapping a photo.

*Click.*

Commemorating the success of the ten-year-old tiger.

The next day, he was intercepted at the airport by a burly man in a suit. A member of the harbor’s mafia gave him no chance to escape, grimly saying, “Bai Lan, come with us.”

Once again, Ranpo was brought before Dazai, this time in a menacing outfit of black suit and coat.

Dazai pressed the muzzle of a loaded gun against his head.

The young man spoke with good humor.

“Good day, Bai Lan. Could you please explain why killing Rokodu had no effect?”

“…Uh, he needs to be dead to count as a target.”

“Huh??”

So you mean killing him once wasn’t enough—you have to kill him again to make it count?

Bai Lan, you’re truly twisted.