Chapter 160: Today Is a Lucky Day
Tokyo Metropolitan Area, Japan.
White Cat rose from the hotel bed, glanced at the time, and pushed the woman beside him away. After washing up and leaving a stack of cash, he calmly stepped out. A burly man with a resolute face, White Cat was somewhat known among monitors, though few knew of his peculiar hobby—a rather perverse one.
Every day, he rode Tokyo’s trains during morning, noon, and evening rush hours, silently relishing the press of strangers’ bodies, targeting men with inappropriate touches. White Cat was bisexual, or rather, originally a man attracted to women. But after becoming a monitor and joining the Special Division, unable to manage stress and uncooperative with therapists, his psyche twisted. Seeking new thrills under pressure, he’d indulged this habit for six months.
Initially, humiliated men reported him, and his arrests were awkward. But as a Special Division monitor, his authority was immense—each stint at the police station lasted mere minutes. The Division, aware but helpless, covered for him. It was just harassment, not murder, and targeting men complicated matters. White Cat’s actions, limited to groping for thrills, never escalated. The Division turned a blind eye.
Recently, he’d stopped getting caught, leading the Division to assume he’d reformed. In truth, he’d realized he could use spiritual power to immobilize and silence his victims, savoring their helplessness. At the train station, he scanned for targets, prioritizing effeminate men. Despite his habit, he’d never slept with men—it was just a thrill, and in his mind, he remained a straight monitor.
Surveying the platform, he noted the East-West line was, as always, packed—Tokyo’s most crowded route. Spotting his target, he smirked. Today’s a lucky day. The train arrived, its cars overflowing, exceeding 200% capacity. At this crush, bodies swayed with the train’s motion, arms pinned, allowing White Cat free rein. A veteran pervert, he slipped behind his target like a eel, unfazed as the conductor shoved him in.
As the train moved, he acted, deploying spiritual power to paralyze the man in front of him, then began his groping. Eyes narrowed, he activated spirit vision, savoring the man’s complex expression. White Cat’s morning ritual had begun.
Unbeknownst to him, a mist enveloped the tracks ahead, shrouding a section of Tokyo’s rail network. The driver, clad in a black uniform, blinked at the fog. His vision was sharp, and it seemed like ordinary mist, but the forecast hadn’t mentioned fog today. As the train pierced the haze, scattering it, a loud whistle sounded, mingling with clanging and rhythmic clacks.
The sounds—eerily like a steam locomotive from an old movie he’d watched—felt familiar. Shaking his head, the driver dismissed it as an auditory hallucination from too many films. But he didn’t notice that, as the mist dispersed, some passengers vanished.
White Cat, eyes closed, was immersed in the train’s sway when something felt wrong. The clack-clack sound was both familiar and alien, and the ambient chatter had ceased. Snapping his eyes open, he jolted. He was sprawled on the floor. Standing, he scanned his surroundings.
The sardine-packed crowd was gone, replaced by a handful of people lying on the floor—men and women. The car held only a few souls. His face paled as realization hit: An anomaly? My luck’s this bad?
Other monitors often warned against crowded places, citing anomaly risks, but White Cat had scoffed. Bad luck could strike anywhere. Now, regretting his arrogance, he cursed encountering an anomaly on a train. How had he fallen into its rules? There had to be a common thread.
Calming his mind, he studied the unconscious figures but didn’t wake them. Special Division records detailed countless anomaly cases, and monitors studied them religiously. Though he’d only investigated one anomaly, White Cat was well-versed in lore. In unknown danger, observation trumped action—those on the floor could be humans, ghosts, or the anomaly itself. He stood rooted, unmoving.
He realized he was on a train, but its windows revealed only swirling black fog, obscuring the outside. The car’s walls, rusted and originally brown, bore deep, jagged scratches exposing blood-red paint beneath. Crimson streaks dotted the floor, walls, and ceiling. A stench of blood and char filled his nose, making him grimace.
As he observed cautiously, a faint “ugh” broke the silence, startling him. One of the prone figures stirred. His cold gaze hid deep wariness and fear. He had a bad feeling about this.
The first to wake was a salaryman in a suit, clutching a briefcase as if it held something vital.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 161: Newbie, Your Composure’s Not Bad
“Where… is this?”
The salaryman, a middle-aged man in a cheap suit, gripped his briefcase tightly. Opening his eyes, he met the icy stare of a standing man. His body tensed, eyes locked on the stranger, rising slowly with palpable caution.
White Cat noted the first awakening. Thoughts racing, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and exhaled a thick plume. Grinning, his white teeth gleamed menacingly. “Not bad for a newbie in this batch. Your composure’s decent. This mission might just be doable.”
Feeling the briefcase’s odd weight, Matsuoka Higashi sighed in relief—it hadn’t been discovered. White Cat’s words, accompanied by secondhand smoke, sparked a glint of hostility in his eyes. “Who are you?” he asked, squinting, scanning the surroundings.
The more he saw, the more unsettled he became. The environment oozed dread. Suddenly, he felt stickiness underfoot. Glancing down, he flinched—he stood in a small, congealed pool of blood. Stripping off his suit jacket, revealing a white shirt, he grimaced at his stained clothes but kept the jacket, continuing his survey.
“Stop gawking,” White Cat sneered. “You’ve crossed into a movie world. Better think about your skills if you don’t want to die fast.”
“Movie world?” Matsuoka’s first instinct was skepticism. But the surroundings silenced him. He vaguely recalled being on a train, then somehow ending up here. The clack-clack outside suggested a steam locomotive, obsolete in modern times, seen only in films. The black fog outside obscured everything, lending credence to White Cat’s claim.
“Fine, you won’t believe me yet,” White Cat said impatiently, pointing at the prone figures. “Wake them up. Saves me explaining to each of you.”
Matsuoka stayed still, silent. Why hadn’t this man, the first awake, roused them? Matsuoka had woken naturally. White Cat’s eyes narrowed, reassessing the man. He looked like a typical office drone, with heavy dark circles and a meek aura. Yet his vigilance and composure in this bizarre situation were striking—unfitting for his demeanor. Not a normal guy. The anomaly itself?
White Cat’s suspicion grew, but he didn’t press, his smile cold. A loud whistle blared, slowing the train. The sound roused the others. Including Matsuoka and White Cat, there were five in total. Based on experience, White Cat pegged the others as a student, a prostitute, and an old man.
As they stirred, the prostitute and old man radiated panic, while the high schooler, surveying the train, showed barely contained excitement. “Excuse me, uncles, where are we?” the student asked first, his youthful face brimming with curiosity. He touched the rusted walls, unfazed by the eerie setting, unlike the others’ wariness.
Named Mikasa Itsuki, he’d woken to see Matsuoka and White Cat standing and naturally questioned them. Matsuoka glanced at White Cat, and the others, noting his deference, followed suit.
“This is the Nightmare Space,” White Cat said, his thoughts clear, voice calm. “You’re in a dream now…” Relief washed over them at “dream,” but he continued, “Die here, and you die in reality.”
Shock replaced relief. “No way!” Wenko, dressed provocatively, shrieked in fear. “Is this a prank?”
No one else spoke. The air reeked of blood and char, and the train’s scorched, scarred state suggested a past inferno. White Cat smirked at their reactions. “Nightmare Space” was a codename for an American anomaly, still troubling their counterpart agency, per Division records. It was a perfect lie to scare these civilians, gaining their trust to use them as pawns for trial and error.
As silence fell, the train lurched, unsteadying them. Those with poor balance fell. White Cat stood firm but stepped back instinctively as the train door screeched open, its chalk-on-blackboard sound grating. All five stared at the doorway, still shrouded in black fog, revealing nothing.
The others, except White Cat, backed away. Wenko’s muffled screams were stifled by Matsuoka’s hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with terror. A petite woman in a white dress boarded, her long black hair obscuring her face, exuding a chilling aura.
Horrifyingly, she had no legs, her movement like being dragged, blood trailing from her skirt. The stench of blood filled the car, nauseating. Her gaze swept the five, a kind smile forming, but it only deepened their fear.
White Cat, calmer, exhaled. The legless woman was a grudge—a mere resource to monitors. Kill it? He held back, cautious.
(End of Chapter)
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