Chapter 120: Beyond the Rules
The dinner dragged on until 11:30 p.m. Despite Red Sound’s pleas, everyone prepared to leave—even the monitors stationed at the Special Division. In half an hour, Red Sound would face Hell Girl. Her sentience, revealed after being killed by a “god” and resurrected, was now a closely guarded secret. Monitors in the know had been phone-briefed to keep silent, but everyone present was aware. Red Sound planned to use the Forced Answer Earpiece to question her, and no one wanted to linger for the potentially dangerous aftermath.
Seeing his entreaties fail, Red Sound fumed, “You fair-weather friends! Shinji, Hachiman—we’re death-substitution monitors! You can’t abandon me!”
Kamihara and Hachiman ignored him, departing swiftly. Kamihara was curious to stay and observe, but that would raise suspicions. Within a minute, cars sped off, leaving Red Sound cursing their “friendship.”
At midnight, unlike the elaborate setup for Gojo’s test, Red Sound sat alone in a small room. He donned the earpiece from the computer desk. Days of training and intensive hypnosis sessions with psychologists prepared him. As he entered the Hell Correspondence URL, flames rose onscreen, and a flicker of resentment glinted in his eyes. Closing them, he summoned the needed emotions, typed a name into the input field, and hit confirm.
In the Special Division’s meeting room, Kimura Kohei and the think tank watched the monitor, hearts racing. Their expressions were grave, awaiting the outcome.
Red Sound found himself in an unfamiliar place, standing beneath a colossal tree, glancing side to side. A blood-red sunset bathed the riverbank in crimson, the scene both beautiful and eerie. He marveled inwardly—data described it, but the firsthand view was stunning. His gaze settled ahead on a girl with long black hair, her pale, sickly face framed by inhuman blood-red eyes. Her black kimono bore vivid red spider lilies, striking and ominous.
Red Sound, usually brash, considered greeting Hell Girl, recalling she’d once sent him to hell. He restrained himself—courting death wasn’t wise. “Put it on,” she said, extending a frail, pale hand. A straw doll with a red thread around its neck swayed in the breeze.
Red Sound didn’t take it. Swallowing hard, he hesitated. He’d accepted the mission confidently, but questioning her now stirred fear. As a monitor, he steeled himself and asked, “How did you revive after a god killed you?”
The question triggered a hiss of pain. His mind churned, thoughts fracturing like icy water beneath a calm lake boiling suddenly. Chaotic ideas surged, threatening to paralyze his mind. He fixed his gaze on Hell Girl, enduring. One second, two, three… Seconds passed, and disappointment crept in. Was the earpiece useless against anomalies?
“Beyond the rules,” Hell Girl said, her brow furrowing as if compelled to speak.
Red Sound’s heart jolted, eyes widening in shock. Anomalies embodied rules—humanity’s millennium-long conclusion. Everyone was bound by rules, inescapable. Yet, Hell Girl’s words—“beyond the rules”—unveiled a staggering secret. Suppressing his awe, he tried to ask a second question, but his mind’s chaos muddled his thoughts.
“Stay calm if your thoughts grow chaotic,” a researcher’s advice echoed. Red Sound had thought it simple then, but now, stunned by her answer, calm was impossible. Clutching his hair, he rubbed frantically, trying to clear his mind. His thoughts felt like threads strangling him.
“What’s the other question?” he muttered. Ordinary users of the Forced Answer Earpiece were overwhelmed instantly by disordered thoughts. Monitors, with stronger souls, could ask one or two more questions. But Red Sound faltered, his mind nearing rigidity, turning him into a thoughtless answering machine.
In the meeting room, Kimura and the think tank frowned at the monitor. Data suggested Hell Girl’s illusions lasted thirty seconds to a minute. A minute and a half had passed—why no exit? Red Sound was unreliable in jest but steadfast in duty. Kimura acted. “Use the Brain Fax to send the question to his mind.”
“Yes, sir.”
Red Sound’s mind was stiffening, unable to recall the second question. He took the straw doll absently as Hell Girl explained the contract. Suddenly, questions flashed in his mind. He blurted, “Are there other sentient anomalies besides you?”
Five seconds later, “Yes,” she replied, concise and clear.
Red Sound smiled, satisfied. A minute later, his consciousness returned, eyes vacant, mind fully rigid—an answering machine. The door opened. “Administer euthanasia to Lord Red Sound,” the leader ordered.
“Yes.”
Though an answering machine responded to questions, his chaotic thoughts yielded useless, disordered answers. Only death-substitution monitors could undertake such tasks. Red Sound soon awoke, startled to see Kimura staring intensely in the meeting room. “Where’s my straw doll?”
Spotting it on the table, he relaxed. If he’d pulled its thread, even death-substitution might not evade Hell Girl’s pull to hell. The red thread was untouchable for life. “Tell me the answers,” Kimura demanded.
Red Sound paused, then sighed deeply, recounting the exchange. “Beyond the rules?” The meeting room fell silent, as if the Sound Extinction Horn had stolen their voices. The twelve think tank members and Kimura froze, their thoughts mirroring Red Sound’s. Rules were omnipresent, anomalies their embodiment, humanity their prey. Yet, “beyond the rules” suggested an existence defying this order—simple, clear, and terrifying.
The think tank, gathered to discuss Red Sound’s findings, felt regret. If the earpiece had failed, they’d be spared this dread. Ignorance, they realized, was bliss. “Any thoughts?” Kimura asked, recovering first.
Silence persisted, the room dead quiet. Kimura sighed, thoughts tangled. He craved a cigarette.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 121: The Canvas
Meguro Ward, Mizuho Apartments.
Kamihara Shinji caught the last train, returning home just past midnight. Summoning Little Ai, he inquired about Red Sound’s session. Learning the two questions asked, he exhaled in relief. The Special Division’s queries aligned with his own, and their answers would keep them occupied for a while.
His priority was freeing Takanotsume Kaoru from the Sound Extinction Horn’s containment. He had a plan, but legend points were lacking. Ghost Calls spread via sound—New Beginning’s melody, Kaoru’s killing method. Hearing it trapped victims in her rule, inescapable. But with only 800,000 legend points used to create her, Kaoru could only kill passively. Robbers not hearing the melody or unlisted in victims’ contacts evaded her.
The notebook offered a rule completion: enabling Kaoru to actively seek robbers and kidnappers via networks, turning passive to active. This required substantial legend points. The immediate goal was diversifying her transmission beyond sound. Two completion paths existed for Ghost Calls’ three transmission rules:
Sound: Her current primary rule.
Signal: Enabling kills through any signal-receiving device, bypassing phones and escaping the horn’s restriction.
Magnetic Field: Self-explanatory, vastly expanding her reach.
Fully completing these, expanding her range globally, and making her active could let Kaoru instantly kill all robbers and kidnappers worldwide. For now, Kamihara aimed for partial completion. Checking his notebook’s legend points, he sighed—insufficient. He’d expanded Kaoru’s range to harvest points for leverage against the Special Division, but her killing pressure forced their hand, sacrificing 10,000 voices to contain her. It worked, leaving him speechless.
Should he craft a fifth urban legend? Lacking inspiration post-fiasco, he stood to search for ideas online in his study. Suddenly, his vision darkened, and he collapsed onto the sofa. Consciousness unbroken, he felt his soul wrenched free. In a blink, the scene shifted, like a movie cut, to an unfamiliar place.
“Where am I?” Kamihara realized his soul was separated, trapped in a cramped space. His 183 cm soul felt confined, like a tall man in a 170 cm cage, limited to moving hands and feet.
“Asada Kazumasa, you bastard! I’ll kill you!” a voice screamed.
“Where is this? Let me out!” another sobbed.
“Asada, you’ll pay!”
Kamihara scanned his surroundings, grasping his predicament. The room’s walls were plastered with 4A-sized canvases—four A4 sheets, often used by art students for half-body portraits. Many were torn, some in half, each imprisoning a soul. The room was a gallery of trapped souls—some cursing, some terrified, others despairing.
“You’re the calmest soul I’ve seen. What’s your name?” A young man with heavy dark circles approached, addressing Kamihara.
Kamihara squinted down at him, but before he could focus, the man plucked his canvas from the wall, shifting his perspective from俯视 to仰望. “I don’t like looking up or being looked down on,” Asada Kazumasa grinned, tearing the canvas slightly.
Excruciating pain hit, familiar from Matsunai’s soul-tearing. Kamihara grimaced. “This is your punishment,” Asada sneered. “Why aren’t you scared like the others? Are you faking calm?”
“Who are you?” Kamihara said, expressionless. “Answer honestly, and I’ll let you die painlessly later.”
He’d memorized Asada’s face and name from the souls’ curses. Even if the name was fake, he’d track him by visage. Though trapped, his fourth-stage spiritual power could self-destruct his soul instantly. No need for pretense—if Asada didn’t talk, he’d die and revive. Finding him in modern society was easy. His embedded Small Eye ability, not yet rule-level, couldn’t kill with a glance, and his spiritual pressure was blocked, likely by a rule-based item pulling his soul from Meguro. No matter—information was key.
“Kukuku…” Asada laughed. A powerless soul dared threaten him? “You must be some bigwig’s kid, spoiled rotten. That face is too pretty—no wonder Tanaka paid ten million yen to kill you. If I saw you, I’d want you dead too, man or not. I’ll give Tanaka a discount—seven million.”
Asada’s self-amused rambling convinced Kamihara no useful answers were forthcoming. Wasting no time, he obliterated his soul. Asada stared, stunned, as the canvas’s soul shattered. For the first time, someone had suicided.
A chill of foreboding gripped him.
(End of Chapter)
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